#and I just hope I survive and can write in that time

[nausicaaandhermouth]

A Kiss For Loyalty

masterlist

young!silco x gn!reader [1.2k][AO3]

summary: You find him after the attack on the bridge, and you're left to figure out how to tread the fragile state of him.

tags: young silco, a few hours after vander tries to drown him, angst, established relationship, hurt silco, not betad

a/n: mid-lecture we were looking at photos of gash wounds and i couldn't help but think of young silco's face fresh after the drowning, so ofc i had to write a comfort fic for him. kinda comfort. it's mostly angst.

Vander couldn’t look you in the eye, couldn’t form a single word. And at first, worry was what overtook you—Silco hadn’t survived, lost in the fight. But the more you looked at the larger man who had returned, the more you recognised something else: the aftereffect when he’d had too much to drink, had raised his voice, had felt guilty. Regret.

You find Silco in your bedroom, curled up on the worn mattress that had held you both some countless nights. It had overheard the visions for your new nation, the sloppy passion of drunken evenings, the quiet rise and fall of breaths during winter. Now it’s witnessing something new.

You’ve never heard Silco cry. Your bedroom shrinks at the sound of it, as if the corners darken and round themselves to hold and hush him. It’s a sharp sting, an undeniably pained cry bleeding into his palm, cupped around his mouth.

When you approach, you’re silent—assessing, investigating, worrying if this isn’t something you can fix. He’s never been so evidently broken. You’re not sure whether it’s about Vander or at the failure of their uprising, both of which had taken a large portion of his heart.

“Silco?” you whisper, taking another step forward.

“Don’t,” he manages, his sobs becoming quieter, but affecting his breath, bubbling out of him in squeaks and chokes. “Please,”

You shake your head, keeping your ground but keeping your eyes on him. He’s refusing to remove his reddened hands from his face, his hair curtaining over his left side, black, wet strings.

“You’re hurt,” you furrow, focusing on the blood down his hand. You rush forward, chest attempting to wrangle in a frenzied heart. “Show me, hey, S—”

“Stop!” he inches away from you, a childlike recoil that makes you freeze.

It’s a foreign behaviour, a desperation he’s never worn, never come close to mimicking. As far as you’ve known him he’s been the opposite. Even in pain, he stitched together a composure so convincing it made others doubt he could ever truly feel the hurt he was raised around.

You suppose that it’s something he’s worked on, refined throughout the years after taking on the responsibility of becoming Zaun’s face, alongside Vander. His ideologies had spilled straight from his heart into your ear. You understood why he worked so hard to maintain a strong face.

That man was gone; he hadn't entered the room this time.

He’s hiding, you see, shielding his face from you. This, you understand, is something he thinks may spare you from even a fraction of the pain he must be feeling. He’s always been so. To hoard the suffering and smile.

“You don’t want me to see you?” you ask, kneeling by the bed and retracting your hands.

Silco doesn’t answer, the chokes of suppressed sobs the only sound from him.

“It’s alright,” with a shake of your head, you turn around, facing the other way and leaning against the bed. “I don’t have to see you. Just… just talk to me,”

You wait a beat, then another, waiting for his voice, willing his voice to regard you again. Anything with a meaning that you could warp into a sign of hope.

“Please,” you add. It’s unintentionally desperate, pleading, giving him the power of controlling where the conversation goes. Something he needs, you suppose, something he’s certain is still predictable.

You hear a sharp breath behind you, then the shuffle of your bedsheets. Your eyes slide the farthest they can without turning your head, attempting to see any glimpse of him.

Then his hand enters your periphery, pale skin against scarlet, fingers twitching and shaking as his forearm rests on your shoulder.

You take gentle hold of his hand, turning it this way and that in search for wounds. But nothing. “Who…” your breath escapes, “Is this your blood?”

“Yes,” he responds, a word that pricks at your lungs sharply.

You see the moment clearer now. A wound so deep that to reveal it is its own pain.

You recall Vander’s face. The shame that distorted his features, how ugly it becomes as you try to piece together the fragmented pieces. 

“Vander did something,” you surmise. Your breath quickens, a sneer creating brackets around your flared nostrils. “Did Vander do something?”

You feel Silco’s breath near the top of your head, but before you’re able to turn, a weight settles over you. Momentarily, you hold, letting the firmness of his muscles process on your body, around your shoulders, his other arm snaking over your bones and holding you backwards to him.

You hear his soft sniffs over your head and slightly to one side, the bone of his cheek pressing against your crown.

There it is again. It’s a spear through your body, the sound of him. It strikes a fissure along your lungs, each sudden inhale a crack veining in your airways, each tremoring breath he takes an earthquake on your skull. Vander, what have you done?

You take his hand and hold it to your cheek, the cool back of his hand against the warm apple of your face. You interlace your fingers, a familiar practice, just as fluid as the locking of legs in the night, or the pressing of palms for a prayer.

Next was the chaste kiss on his index knuckle, for loyalty. Then on the middle knuckle, for liberty. Another on the ring knuckle, for luck. And lastly, a kiss on the pinky knuckle, for love.

It was a silent conversation he and you had made, meeting mouth to bone always easier than devoting a voice to each word.

His other hand wrapped around your wrist, bringing your arm upwards and over your head, your own knuckles meeting his familiar lips. But they tremble.

He breathes a kiss, gentle, on your index knuckle, starting, then failing. His breath falls jagged on your skin.

For a moment he restarts, the warmth of his air hovering over your knuckle. But again he fails.

Your frown deepens. Even more so when he moves your hand and skips to your pinky knuckle, the only promise fulfilled.

“How bad is it?” your voice slightly muffles against his hand near your mouth.

He swallows, clearing his throat. “At the… we were at the river, he—” he grips your hand slightly tighter.

“It’s still hurting?”

His clothes shuffle. “Yeah,”

“Let me look?”

Silence.

You start to think he’ll reject you again, not yet prepared to face you in whatever shape Vander had left him. But he loosens his arm around your shoulders and moves away, his presence at your back fading.

Your other hand remains in his, the anchor, as you shift on the floor and turn.

You look up and your eyes meet. No. One eye meets yours.

You sense his panic by how the one remaining blue jumps between your eyes, tips of his mouth downwards. He brushes aside his wet hair.

The left side of his face had been marred, a trench of exposed muscle, skin, and blood bared at you. The blackened sclera is haunting, a flame moving in tandem with the watery blue of his other eye.

You’re more than certain there’s nothing but indignation gushing through your veins. Yet, Silco remains beautiful. You realised a long time ago it was difficult for him to not be, no matter the state of him. And still now, left eye diseased with the molten of betrayal, mouth frowned by grief, fear in his good eye.

“It’s not over,” he whispers, leaning forward as you reach up and cup the unmarred side of him. “We’ll take back Zaun,”

There he is. No man, no river, could ever kill him. “You’ll show them,” you press a kiss to his index knuckle.

[accio-victuuri]

THE Life of Us/Drifting MUSIC VIDEO IS AMAZING 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼

I think one can make an entire essay long post trying to explain what the scenes could mean. I’m glad that XZ was able to meet and work with a director like LIN who was able to execute this. I can only imagine the creative ideas XZ had for this and to have someone understand his vision and bring it to life is special. It’s so obvious the time, effort and money spent on this and we got it for free. The entire album is free to listen to. I just. Everything about this drop is such a slap to the antis who said it will be 9 covers and 1 original song but XZ goes bitch hold my beer lemme give all original songs and high quality music videos. oh wait, let me write some of the songs too. let me put in some details in my life there just to make it fun. how about that?!

which leads me to those said details/references that someone has compiled. i’m gonna share it here. 📝

P1: the person climbing a ladder in the clouds is something he drew before. I’m proud of him cause this idea of his has been realized. this reminds me of jack and the beanstalk!

P2: the books are design related. i’d like to think it’s his favorite go-to books!

P4: Knitting yarn! XZ knits!

P5: this is pretty obvious and recurring theme when it comes him - the little prince 🌹

P6: more of a comparison from when he was designer xz to now. he was wearing something similar.

P7: Life of Us = Life of Pi. Which is explained more in P8. OP mention that the main character Pi said when writing in his diary: "Everything has become chaotic and broken, I can no longer distinguish between daydreams, sleep, and reality.” The movie/book is a story about a young man who survived a shipwreck and drifted on the sea.but the deeper level seems to be a discussion about human nature, animal nature, and divinity. It’s about the struggle between ego, id, and superego.That tiger may be Pi's heart. What is drifting on the sea, for Pi, is me and "I"; and Pi, It seems to be the epitome of every "us". Finally, Pi told more than one version of the story, and he asked: "Which version do you prefer?" In fact, the choice of the story has always been "me".

"Life of Us/Drifting" sings "What is a dream, what is my greatest fear" "What is a dream, what is what I want most" It’s a question about your own heart, and only you can give the answer.

P9: that scene in the movie ET

additional ones, his favorite paper plane making an appearance and a similar shot from the animated film castle in the sky.

and i noticed that one take where you can see some vintage things like the telephone, but i realized that xz is almost the same age as me so these are things we grew up using!

i’m sure there are more details here and not to mention the hidden meanings too. but that is what makes this video so fun to watch multiple times! you can discover something new each time! I hope they release some behind the scenes on how this was created and all that. i think there should be a documentary of sorts connected to this album if i remember correctly. so yeah! so much more in store for is when it comes to this album 😊

[thewritetofreespeech]

Can I request headcanons for Astarion, Gale, Wyll, and Halsin celebrating his gn s/o's birthday please?

Astarion

In truth, Astarion has never celebrated a birthday before; or at least one he can remember in the past 200 years.

He of course knows about birthdays and what people usually do. Celebrations at the local taverns on such occasions were easy to pick off just…not the guest of honor. Astarion felt that would be tacky.

His gift would be something small. Memorable. A ring or necklace his love would always wear to think of him. And seeing them wear it make Astarion feel like he in turn finally has something of his own. Ending with a night of passion which, for once, he truly deeply means. Sweet words and all.

Gale

Gale would be planning for your birthday for months. Either in secret, or an attempt at keeping a secret because he’s just so excited.

He creates a new version of his Starlight incantation. One that is more reminiscent of their current living arrangements, but with hints of the forest where he first professed his love for them. A blend of the old and the new, to remember their past & look forward to the future, he said.

Besides the illusions, Gale makes them a very real dinner of their favorite meal and a cake to rival even some of the finest bakers in the Gate or the Deep. He also gives them a journal, hoping that it will be a comfort to them to write down their thoughts but also one day help with the novel on their adventures he’s going to write.

Wyll

Despite not celebrating many birthdays in recent years, Wyll actually loves them. He is of the opinion that every year, surviving, growing, and moving on in the world, should be celebrated.

The day would be spent more for quality time. Taking a (hopefully) peaceful walk. Maybe a little hunting for dinner, if they can’t find a tavern on the way. Gazing up at the stars as night falls, with Wyll pointing out his favorite constellations that are only visible this time of year (and therefore must be a gift for them from the gods themselves).

His gift would be a small blade he had fashioned for them. Naming it ‘the Protector of the Blade’s Heart’ since they are Wyll’s heart and this will protect them. They also get the finest rendition of ‘happy birthday’ an aspiring bard turned adventure his lungs can handle.

+Ascended!Astarion

Once he finds out when their birthday is, never really having asked before as it was of no interest to him until now, Astarion makes great effort to have it be the most memorable birthday ever. Everyone should be celebrating when his consort graced the universe with their beauty, and they should have a party that would dwarf all others in their past; now that they are at his side.

He throws a grand ball every year. Themed, perfectly executed, nobles & dark affiliates from all over come to pay tribute to them across Faerun.

It wasn’t until year’s later that they realize that the date had slowly changed from their birthday to their ‘new birthday’. The day they became a vampire.

First where there was one party, then two, now there is only one again for the new date.

Astarion insists, at first, that it’s just a fluke of scheduling. Too many meetings with his dark horde or aristocracy to make it work. Suddenly they are traveling during their birthday and can’t do the party.

Eventually, Astarion admits that your original birthday is pointless. “Why do you need to remember that when you have been reborn with this new life, my treasure?” And thus Astarion had successfully changed your birthday to your deathday, as it were.

[pinkpastels113]

romance is not dead (if you keep it just yours)

also on ao3

a/n:

for @mcrololo and @shikariix <33 did i listen to paris by taylor swift and enchanted on repeat the entire time while writing this?? maybe... also thanks for the idea/encouragement to write this based on this tumblr post @pyresrpgear!! hope you like this as well :))

People often forget that you can find romance in the most mundane of things, that love exists in the most simplest of gestures.

Chloe was getting some water at the fountain in the common area of Beca’s music label when one of these moments happened.

“Shoot your shot!”

Chloe turns at the sound of the man’s voice behind her. It belonged to one of Beca’s coworkers and she can just make out him slipping behind the wall of the opening to the common area with a subtle wink before her attention lands on Beca, her wife, walking towards her, her own water bottle in tow.

Chloe grins, as she always does when in the same vicinity as the love of her life. “Fancy meeting you here!”

Beca chuckles, nervously, and lifts a hand to rub it at the nape of her neck as if working up the courage to pop the following question:

“You’re really cute. Wanna go out with me?”

Her dark blue eyes are downcast, just like that time eight years ago when they were both in their twenties in university, high on the serotonin and adrenaline of yet another win with their Bellas, after a group hug, when Beca had also asked her out with the same expression, her bottom lip snagged between her teeth and a hopeful lift to her eyebrows. 

Chloe’s heart leaps in her chest in the exact same way back then, too, now, like she had been waiting forever for that feeling, that confirmation, that Beca liked her back in that all consuming, I-might-be-sick overwhelming way that Chloe had felt towards her best friend ever since she’d joined their silly little acapella group. 

(Even though Chloe considers herself a romantic– she had been reading romance novels ever since middle school, after all– she feels like Beca might just secretly be a bigger one.)

She sets aside her water cup, reaches forward and repeats the gesture with Beca’s, in favor of taking both of Beca’s hands in hers. Beca’s fingers were cold, so she threads them together and squeezes to breathe some warmth into them. 

“Yes. Of course I would love to go out with you.”

Beca’s face lit up, like a dang near Christmas tree, and her lips quirk into a huge relieved smile just like they did when Chloe had first said yes all those years ago as well. (Pft, as if Chloe could say no.) She returns Chloe’s squeeze. 

“Cool beans.”

And it may be cheesy, and corny, and just a tad bit dumb especially since both of their matching wedding rings are digging into their skins, but it still made Chloe’s day. She already knew that nothing would wipe that dopey grin off her face for the next twenty four hours, and she’s completely satisfied with that fact.

When they got home later that day, after dinner and they’re cuddling on the couch with the heater on and a movie playing in the background, Chloe talks about it, mentioning the shoot your shot comment.

“Was he new or something? What was that about?”

Beca snorts, burying her face into the crook of Chloe’s neck where her breath ghosts over Chloe’s collarbones, “Nah. I told him that I was about to ask out the hottie at the fountain and he’s simply encouraging me. He knows that we’re married, Chlo. Just cheering me on like the dork that he is.”

“Like the dork that you are, you mean,” Chloe corrects, pressing a soft kiss to the center of Beca’s forehead. She finds the whole thing incredibly cute, even though it was small and mundane.

Who says romance is dead just because you’re married? It survives even past death, unlike those classic vows for marriage.

[deerspherestudios]

Hello,

I am a young person like you, but life has taken a different turn for me because of the war. I live with my family in very difficult conditions, trying to survive day by day. I never imagined that I would ask for help from someone I don't know, but now I find myself in need of any helping hand. I am just like you, I had dreams and ambitions, but now all I wish for is safety for me and my family. I kindly ask, from the heart, that you help us if you can.

With all appreciation and hope,

https://linktr.ee/balsamfamily

Link to donate is HERE ! 🍉 Listed at #62 on the Gaza Family Funds Directory list and vetted by bilal-salah0. 🇵🇸 At the time I'm writing they're currently at €19,277 / €100,000.

Help the numbers keep going if you can afford it! Share if you can't!

[cursed2soul]

I loved you dangerously

hello sorry for being so inactive! I’ve been busy with school and everything :(

pov : You loved him dangerously.

Genre : angst / comfort

tw : reader dies

interesting plot twist

Never have you dared to even think for a second that you could be Gojo Satoru’s love. Gojo Satoru does not love. At least that’s what he’s shown to you. He is kind to anyone but you. Can 2 souls really be happy at the end of the day?

All his teasing, all his jokes and even a playful wink was enough to send you butterflies. How can you even dream of being by his side? Ever since the star plasma vessel mission, he’s never opened his heart deeply anymore. Not even to you.

What did it even mean to risk your life for someone? How can you even tell? You would do anything, as ridiculous as it may sound - Gojo Satoru is the strongest. He does not need your life. He is the law, truth and justice of this world.

“I think I have feelings for you” I spoke to him

the air between us froze. I looked up at him as he smiled awkwardly

“…don’t be offended y/n…I do not reciprocate such feelings…” gojo awkwardly responded back

Of course. Gojo Satoru does not love. He never says sorry, that is not in his vocabulary. How can you expect him to love you back? How can you even expect him to say “sorry, I do not reciprocate your feelings” as much as it would sting less than the words he spewed out.

These feelings are dead. They shouldn’t exist.

“…Y/n…” gojo found you, dying at your mission that was assigned to you, he holds your dying body. What is that look in his eyes, can you at least cry for me? If I even dare to hope you do.

I look into his crystal blue eyes. How peaceful does my body feel right now? For 17 stabs in my stomach it sure felt painless.

“..I’m sorry for not being able to say this before…I love you too” Gojo spoke silently… “…don’t die y/n…y/n…”

My eyes widened…before I let out a small smile. “I know Satoru…I know”

“…say…it’s the 28th October right?” I spoke

Gojo nods

….………

“Well then…be careful…something big may happen in 3 days” I spoke as I drew my final breath leaving gojo confused…

The air felt thin. I never saw the broad daylight again. Sakuras covered the ground as I opened my eyes in a bed of sakuras. I feel no pain. But…a sick feeling left here.

“ahahaha… y/n died? That’s unfortunate I was thinking she could be of big use in 3 days…why did you kill her?” A playful voice spoke out..patchface. Blue hair.

“Don’t be ridiculous, she’s useless now anyways” Jogo spoke “just carry out the initial plan we had for Shibuya, October 31st…remember..what we are doing”

Yes, as sick minded as I was…Gojo Satoru, would you really think I would allow myself to die in vain when we have never had a single romantic moment together? Yes. I love you……

Dangerously enough that I want you to die with me

But I also love you enough to also spark hope that you will survive…if you even want to take my warning well, you might live or please…die and come with me.

Yes, I love you. Dangerously enough that I want others to kill you so you die with me

author note : yes! The reader is insane in this. The reader does team up with kenjaku and his team for the shibuya incident.. 👀. My next fic will be more for a comfort one! Hopefully I’ll have time to write it :D

[sungfairytales]

⠀⠀·　 　𐙚

*boom* I’m back to posting twisted stuff !!! after some time without post anything.

i warn you guys that you can expect mistakes in english, my first language isn’t english. then, it’ll have some mistakes. ☹️

also, it’s my first time (i guess?) posting my writing, so forgive me for anything.

then, so here's to you: what if book 7 showed yuu's dream?

synopsis: basically, a short one-shot with “what if yuu was also enchanted in a dream in book 7?”

some warnings: angst !!! but i’m not sure it’s that bad. well, good reading and maybe, just maybe, good luck.

⠀·　 　⊹ ⠀·　 　⊹⠀·　 　⊹⠀·　 　⊹⠀·　 　⊹⠀·　 　

Somehow you knew it was a dream, it was clear. It wasn’t a normal dream — it wasn’t a dream with the big seven either.

It was as if you knew the turmoil shouldn’t be there, but there was nothing you could do about it. There was a brief moment of silence, and it became easy to breathe. Even everything was dark, with memories of the other dreams and malleus overblot slowly fading away. Even Grim’s voice had faded.

“What do you dream about?”, the voice echoed in the void. It was an almost pacifying silence, except that it was clearly a false peace. Because the answer wasn't what everyone wanted to hear.

“Home”, the answer was quiet. However, a shot in the dark was fired. In a way, that was his answer and would continue to be. But it wasn't specific.

Home. Home. Your home. The place where you close your eyes and see yourself there, with your family. Important people — people who make your life worth living. People who give you courage to face your problems.

The problem was that you weren’t sure where that famous home would be. Your family had always been your resting place. Being away from them made it hard to breathe. Surviving in a whole new world with existing magic was difficult to say the least, but living there without powers was a level of vulnerability that demanded more — more of knowing how the students would react, more of having to fight to survive.

Yet somehow, in that chaos, something like a family emerged. Grim. Your Grim. And becoming two students in one with him was as easy as breathing. Love him was as easy as breathing, somehow. For a few seconds, you held your breath. The reason was different this time.

A vivid memory then surfaced of Ace and Deuce. Unintentionally, but almost obviously — they had become important. With small actions, which they said were small, being almost blatant. You hope that one day they'll know how important they are to you and how much you'll miss them.

This time, the vivid and confusing memories about a house stopped. With a slightly resigned, but still somewhat melancholy sigh. It was a transparent, even vulnerable melancholy.

“Where is your house?” the voice sounded melancholy somehow, and it was easy to wonder why. However, the question never left your lips. You didn't have the courage to ask it.

You pondered it. And you did, more than you should have. The guilt was overpowering for thinking about it, trying to think of a different possibility than the one you'd been thinking about since you'd arrived at the night raven college.

You should speak clearly, a voice accused.

And yet, the words that came out of your lips were totally different from what should have been said.

“I don’t know. Maybe i don’t have one anymore.”

the melancholy voice fell silent. there was nothing else there, at least nothing that belonged to you.

·　 　⊹ ⠀·　 　⊹⠀·　 　⊹⠀·　 　⊹⠀·　 　⊹⠀·　 　

[buckbuckleybegins]

God i hope this is around what you imagined. This prompt tugged at my angst loving ass 😭

•

Christopher has always been the elephant in the room since he left. The one topic that sticks in Buck’s throat whenever he considers bringing it up due to the fact that he can tell Eddie is suffering—even when he acts like he isn’t.

It’s been months now since that day Eddie’s parents showed up at his door to take Chris away from him… away from Buck. And Buck always feels so guilty whenever he thinks this because… as much as he loves and misses him, Chris has never truly been his. Even if Eddie’s made him his godfather, writing Buck’s name in his will… Chris isn’t his. He’s Eddie’s. And whatever feeling of loneliness, emptiness, and hurt he feels whenever he enters Eddie’s house and isn’t greeted by those curls full of laughter, smarts, and love—Buck knows Eddie feels it a hundred times stronger.

“I need to take him back,” Eddie says, still pacing around his living room. Buck—sitting on the couch after Eddie called him, urgently asking him to come over—wants to stop him, grab him by the arms and ground him before he spirals into a panic attack. Because Eddie looks frantic, terrified. He’s staring at nothing in particular with wide eyes, sweat glistening from whatever terrible thought his imagination is serving him in that moment. “He can’t—he can’t stay there, Buck. I can’t lose him.”

“Okay,” Buck says, calm and steady. For the first time since he’s arrived, Eddie looks at him—teary-eyed and scared out of his mind. And God, Buck can barely meet his gaze without feeling the exact same emotions crawl up his own throat.

“What do we do?”

Eddie pauses, covers his face with his hands, and looks like he wants to scream but instead just sobs. Buck’s heart shatters into a million pieces at the sound.

When Eddie’s hands fly off his face, he looks at Buck with a different expression. It’s still sad, but now there’s a quiet, simmering resolution that wasn’t there before.

“I’m going to Texas,” he says, looking Buck right in the eyes. “I’m going to take my son back.”

Buck feels his throat tighten at Eddie’s words, and this time, it’s his brain conjuring images after images of things he really wishes will never happen. But Eddie is suffering, and his suffering takes priority over whatever fear of abandonment Buck could ever feel. So Buck just nods and helps Eddie pack his bags.

—

There’s a sense of déjà vu when they reach the airport, and Buck quickly pushes it aside—or tries to, at least. Because it comes back once again, a million times stronger, as he looks at Eddie’s frame just outside the glass doors, bags in hand, ready to leave.

Ready to leave him—

But Eddie looks back. A smile on his face and a thank you on his lips. Buck wants to grab him by the hand, pull him away, and tell him not to go. Not to leave him as well, just like everyone else in his life because this time he doesn’t know if he will survive it.

But Buck doesn’t. Because Chris is away, Eddie is suffering, and Chris and Eddie have always been his priority. Is their happiness as important as yours? Buck remembers and he loudly declares to himself that yes, it is. Their happiness is so much more important than his.

Eddie notices, though. He always does. Buck never has to speak for Eddie to understand him. It’s kind of their thing. Their BuckandEddie thing. No words needed when you understand each other to the core.

Eddie takes a few steps toward him, lets his bag fall to the ground, and—does something unexpected. He unclasps the St. Christopher medallion from his neck, slipping it around Buck’s. His hand lingers there, warm and grounding, as if passing on a promise.

“I’ll be back,” Eddie says, a soft smile on his lips, full of this newfound determination. “We’ll be back,” he corrects himself.

Buck nods, smiles back, and he can’t stop the tears from falling down.

But, still? Still, he believes him. He believes that Eddie will be back, Chris in hand and happy.

And he keeps that thought close to his chest, his hand clasped around the medallion—the promise Eddie just made him. This time, he believes it. This time, he knows he won’t be abandoned again.

So um.. does anyone wanna maybe write a fic where Eddie goes to Texas to get Chris and buck ‘abandonment issues’ Buckley is feeling anxious that Eddie won’t come back and then Eddie takes off the st Christopher medal from his neck and puts it on bucks as like a symbolic thing to tell him he will (cos buck will be like I can’t- then Eddie is like this way you can just give it back to me next time you see me ) and they have a moment™️?

[lost-technology]

A thought on my mind: I apologise for not hustling butt on getting any new chapters of Survivor's Guilt out for those of you who are reading it in any kind of timely manner. I never had an update-schedule for it, anyway. It was always a pantsted, meandering "working with ideas as they come" fic - although, at this point, I have rough plans in mind for how it's going to go, up until the end. (I want to end it coinciding with the end of Trigun Stampede and upon release of Stargaze, make an entirely new sequel fic if I want to continue the storyline). I've had some hiccups between chapters. When I started it way back, I wrote out one chapter to get the basic idea out - and then I got The Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom and was basically just playing that for 2 1/2 months straight (well, not straight, I ate and slept, but you know). Considering that I was grieving a very dear loved one at the time, I really threw myself into that game as a distraction from life because nothing is as good a distraction for me as video games. And then I got back onto the fic and was really chugging along for a while - until I got a much-sought after and needed part-time job. My job took some time from me. It's okay - I've actually worked out storylines for the fic in my head while working! Nowadays, well, I'm an American and our very important Presidential (and general 4 year election for Senators and Representatives) is coming up. I think that even some of you who AREN'T American are paying attention to it because "when America sneezes, the world catches a cold." It's an incredibly important / world shaking one, too, as we have the potential to either have the first Madame President in our entire history or to re-elect an increasingly unhinged, publicly demented fascist who has loyalists in place to actually create a fascist government for him at his behest. I have, so far, kept politics off this blog (my rantspace for it is my main blog), but I am deeply afraid. The U.S. has a very wonky system for selecting a President whereby they don't have to win the majority vote of the actual people, but a series of representative slates of the states and that's how the jerkface that's running for a non-consecutive second term got in in the first place. He Who Shall Not Be Named was BAD years ago (arguably responsible for hundreds of thousands of deaths due to his adminstration's purposeful mismanagement of the Covid pandemic). He's said and done things that SHOULD have gotten him shitcanned for EVER having a place in politics, but...somehow... he's around and has people (such as our Supreme Court) bending over backwards for him and I honestly wonder if he promised his firstborn son as a sacrifice to the Devil or something. Anyway, we're on the cusp of a decision that can go really right or go really wrong - and I have a lot of fears because... well... for all our supposed progress, we remain a deeply racist and sexist country and there are just some elements that have roughly half of us ready to chuck good ol' Democracy away for a potential dictatorship. And I happen to live in THE most coveted "swing state" - Where I live is said to basically decide the Presidency. (And there are people here who are already trying to pull voter-suppression shenanigans). And the advertisements and the signs and... I am losing my mind. (I've EATEN at the McDonald's that He Who Shall Not Be Named cosplayed at. I'm that close to the action).* - *in the past, not on the day, I'm not a supporter. So... too scared, too stressed to write. That's where I am right now. And who knows? The fic may wind up abandoned because I'll wind up being bare-bones survival, looking to flee my country or just jumping off a bridge or something on an impulse. Or you know, getting imprisoned for being in the wrong political party. Or shot for protesting. Anything can happen here.

[shalom-iamcominghome]

I've been doing a lot of reflection as of late, especially after this past class.

This past class was about the Torah and Tanakh in general, and the way the rabbi talked about the commandments (specifically the ten commandments) has made me really reflect on how I interpret them, specifically the fifth commandment, or honoring your mother and father.

This is a commandment I have wrestled with for a long time - in fact, it brought me away from g-d at multiple times. I was severely abused when I was incredibly young by my mother, and I used to feel insulted at the implication that I were to honor her while she got to live a better life. It was hypocritical, in my eyes.

But this rabbi surmised that this particular commandment was because parenthood is an act of creation, something that is like the g-d from which we come from. My realization is this: I don't think we're necessarily meant to take even these commandments literally.

I this particular commandment is more of a call to honor creation - creation is a gift, and like any gift, many people simply will not like it and will discard it. The person who abused me created me, but she did not honor creation. She didn't honor me, but I can still honor it.

I have started to honor creation much more. I'm too young, too unstable, not mature enough to be a father (though I fantasize about it), but I create all the time. I create relationships, I create with my hands through crochet. I create memories, I create my world. And I can honor who I am and where I came from that made me who I am. I've been learning one of the mother tongues of my family (Italian, since part of my family originates there) and it was judaism that inspired me to do this.

I don't think g-d wants me to honor my abuser. I think He wants me to remember the Holy action of creation. When I am a father, that act of creation will be Holy, and indeed, I am already joyful about the thought.

I have seen many people struggle with this particular commandment, but I think this perspective helps me personally. I don't think I ever have to forgive my abusers (plural), and I don't think I am commanded to simply because they happened to be family. I am commanded to recognize the holy, to elevate the mundane. In doing so, I will remember g-d. Through creation, I honor g-d and everything he has done for us, for me, and for our collective people.

[buttercupshands]

MHA didn't create some miracle way of helping others. It was never promised to be this way. And when it came to villains...

Spoilers for manga all the way to chapter 423.

The only way to get anything in life in MHA was to be born "normal" like everyone else and that way of thinking never left Izuku with Toga getting the same treatment she did before from everyone from her family to her "normal" classmates. It was Ochako who helped Toga even if just a little by lifting the weight of all the feelings that Toga had.

She couldn't save Toga the way one could save a civilian by saving them from harm. If it worked that way Dabi would've saved Toga even before Ochako could apologize for failing to notice Toga. She was so lazer focused on saving everyone else, that she was just another villain to stop, not a human.

Even if by the end of it Ochako helped Toga to deal with her grief, acceptance as it was wasn't something possible when a quirk makes you want to drink someone's blood from jealousy.

We got a bittersweet ending with Toga, in which she probably died from blood loss just like her double did in MVA. If it wasn't for Twice she would've died back then.

Giving away her blood for Ochako wasn't a redemption or a way to save Toga in the end, more as it was her being true to herself until the very end.

Just like Twice chose to stay with the League even if Hawks offered him a way to survive that battle. He refused and died protecting his friends who accepted him instead of choosing to betray them and accept Hawks' offer.

After Twice's death... It was a matter of time that more 'active' LoV members would join him as well. As sad as it is, we now can return to Izuku.

Who, after his time OFA-AFO quirk space, now wanted to help a "crying boy" he saw in Tenko just as before with Katsuki in chapter 1. He didn't forgive Tomura and didn't excuse the way he chose to solve his problems.

It didn't mean that Tomura would survive in their battle, even if Izuku didn't see killing others as a way to solve problems. He didn't understand Tomura, but he still wanted to try, and try he did.

The rest of this post was nothing more than a contextual prologue to understand that it's not the first time a hero failed to save a villain and in Twice's case we know that he died and his death was the reason Toga started thinking about her own possible death and Dabi finally revealed himself as Toya.

The goal of saving a "crying boy" never was an end-goal for Izuku in the Final arc, since helping Tomura deal with his feelings just left him hollow with a goal that clashed with Izuku's. As being a hero for villains meant destroying the world for them to help them live freely.

But that was before AFO resurfaced.

Sadly after that Tomura who was talking about making his own choices for a while now stopped doing that. Even if he still had a goal of helping villains and only villains, Tomura was almost gone. And his goals were now unreachable.

Izuku helped Nana who in turn kept Tomura from fading away entirely. In MHA there were countless situations where Izuku's help affected people by helping a different person to keep hope, All-Might being the first one and Nana being the last one at the moment.

Hollow after Izuku helped him to get rid of his hatred Tomura could do the only thing he did - accept the situation as it was.

Accepting AFO as his Sensei, accepting Stain's ideals and Overhaul's deal was the way he solved his problems. Just like Izuku had a problem of understanding something outside of his norm, Tomura was accepting too many things, which lead to his downfall after accepting AFO's quirk.

Just like Twice could've given up everything that he had for his friends so did Tomura.

With Izuku helping as much as he could let Tomura to finally rest as he wasn't really living ever since waking up in the hospital. With his body now affected by AFO's wishes instead of his own until the end.

In a way Izuku didn't succeed in his wish for Tomura to stop ever since PLF war arc. As he "kept fighting to destroy" no matter how hard Izuku tried to stop him.

The only thing he succeeded in was changing Tomura's mind about himself, instead of viewing himself as a monster he accepted that he was a human just like Izuku said. A "crying boy" who couldn't really destroy Izuku's hands in the end.

For a group of Villains who weren't supposed to get profiles of their own at the start of the series, League is slowly fading as the most memorable group that there was in MHA, getting backstories, their own Villain themed arc all the while being as human as anyone else.

As sad as their story is they were not "unlucky", they didn't need a happy false ending where they would need to change to be normal - they chose to live this way and they lived it to it's fullest.

[hanzajesthanza]

dandelion is indeed the worst but if he’s not present in the next book i would legitimately be sorrowful as the whole thing will become a slog . you basically cannot have the “short stories” era-of-the-timeline iteration of geralt without dandelion, it would be like eating unbuttered bread.

though it’s not like season of storms did them dirty, i wasn’t disappointed with it (… with regards to them), but since it’s literally been over 20 years since the saga was finished i’m trying to prepare for any potential reality

[tyrannuspitch]

the government should pay me a living wage to write niche fanfiction very very very slowly. i am providing a vital cultural service

[ziracona]

I know I say this every time I read my own work, but Speak for the Dead really is the best chapter in ILM.

“Well, you know for the first time in a long time this actually feels like fall?”

Jane Romero was smiling at him, sitting propped up against a tree in what had sort of become her usual ‘therapy’ corner in the past almost two weeks. And she was right, it did feel like fall. The air wasn’t as sharply cold as normal, and honestly ‘sharply’ cold was a nice break in and of itself when it happened—usually the weather here was somehow just cold—cold with no adjectives attached. But today it was nicer. It was the kind of waiting fall cold that came when it wasn’t biting outside yet, and it was almost pleasant. A promise of a change in the seasons. Tapp wondered why.

The trees hadn’t started to change color with it, or fall in piles, and as far as he’d gathered there weren’t seasons in here. Everything looked the same. Tall, thick woods, undergrowth and moss and rocks and fallen logs, a slight breeze on and off. Dark sky overhead, full moon, at this point long since throwing off everyone’s idea of what day and night were supposed to mean. All the usual. Except, somehow, the kind of cold in the weather. Who knew, maybe nothing had changed. Maybe they had just started to feel better.

LIKE. Those opening lines mean nothing but environmental flavor when you read them. But they’re a lead in for the thesis of the entire chapter.

“Well, you know for the first time in a long time this actually feels like fall?” - A promise of a change in the seasons. - Who knew, maybe nothing had changed. Maybe they had just started to feel better.

Like that’s it. Speak for the Dead is about a lot of things, but at its heart it’s about healing. It’s about forgiveness and healing, that exists between the living and the dead. It’s about how you can only speak for them, by speaking for them. Not how you want to punish yourself or live for them, but by how you know they would forgive you, or would ask you to live. Very little other than exchanges of information happen, but so much happens at the same time. All of it significant. It’s hope. It’s about how Tapp (and Meg) have spent every day here fighting in their own way to cope with the agony and failure of their lives, and the loss of people they couldn’t save, and have only dug their wounds deeper. About love. About nothing stoping the lambs from screaming except accepting that they want to let you go.

[justabunchofdragons]

o... .. .,,, ! !!! i am very happy with where i am in this moment

[slugghee]

"I am Youssef, an 18-year-old young man, and my dreams and hopes vanished in an instant. My family’s house in Khan Yunis was destroyed, and I found myself and my family living in a displacement camp in Deir al-Balah, under the scorching sun, inside a tent swaying in the wind. I wake up every morning to the sounds of waves crashing on the shore, but they no longer mean anything to me—they only remind me of the freedom we lost and the life we once had..."

Hello everyone! As of writing this, Youssef is at $3,877 out of his EXTREMELY ACHIEVABLE $15,000 goal. He has only gotten eight don@tions in the past day. Youssef is asking for $15,000 to support himself and his family, mainly for medicine, shelter, and food, which are hellishly scarce as a manifestation of Israel's genocide. He is only 18 and he is responsible for his family's SURVIVAL. Please take the time to read Youssef's own words on his GFM page, as well as on his tumblr account, @yousefjehad3 . Read them, stare at them, process them. Let them truly sink in. Then, go to his fundr@iser and DON@TE. Every single coin you can spare counts, because everyone's small contributions will snowball into a massive one. None of these fundr@isers reached their goal because of one loaded don0r. It was always a group effort.

And, whether or not you're able to d0nate - SHARE, with your family, your friends, your groupchats, your tumblr followers, so that someone who can will have the chance to see it! If you are on Tumblr, you are able to reblog.

Don't ever think your contributions are useless. They provide material help and are expressions of care during impossibly dire times. Palestinians quantifiably cannot afford your apathy.

Youssef's GFM is vetted. He is shown on line 255 on the Vetted Gaza Evacuation Fundr@iser List by @/el-shab-hussein and @/nabulsi.

(btw, I've heard that it's not a good idea to tag posts like this with terms such as correctly-spelled 'don@tions,' which is why I'm spelling things as such. I encourage you to refrain from tagging your reblogs with these terms just in case..)