#i just needed to get some of my grief out

[ladycremecaramel]

So this was my ask from a long time ago, and I had thoughts of mgit (modern girl in thedas) story for this, but it never came to fruition. What I did do, though, was write a drabble from the Inquistor's POV. I thought it was long gone, but I stumbled upon it through my Google docs. After reading it, I thought I would post it here.

For context, the woman's name is Nora, and she is married and has a kid. There was an accident of some sort where the husband and child didn't survive, but she did and wound up in Thedas with the mark on her hand. She didn't want anything to do with the Inquisition as her spouse and child were her whole world and was grieving. She didn't care if she lived or died, but her moral compass of wanting to help those in need prevented her from outright killing herself.

Over time, the grief becomes...less in a way. After the fall of Haven and becoming the Inquisitor, her depression ramps up again but also has conflicting feelings about Cullen.

Then she becomes kidnapped red templars and...I forgot what they called the evil mages that worked for Corypheus were called. The ones that went crazy or were they called blood mages? Anyway, their plan was to 'kill' the Inquisitor and then use necromancy on her dead body to have control of the mark. Obviously, that doesn't happen cuz the Inquisition comes to the rescue juuuust in time.

So here it is. Below this is a TW of depression, blood, thoughts of suicide, and mentions of rape

Whack.

She yelped in pain as he punched the side of her face again. Another swollen bruise to add the collection on her body and face. She tried to wrench her wrists free of her binds, but the rope held tight was starting to cut into her skin. “Why am I fighting this? Don’t I want to die?” She thought to herself as her body struggled against her captors. 

She wasn’t sure, but her thoughts were stilled when a rough hand grabbed her by the throat. The red templar forced her to look up at him as he tightened his grip. Staring into the glowing crimson eyes, he snarled. “Should I let them rape you, mage? If you keep fighting, I won’t let you have any dignity left.” 

Nora froze upon hearing those words. To be raped and let whatever was to be become of her? His grip was tightening as she went limp with fear. If she were to die anyway, she wanted to at least have the choice to stay intact. The man stilled his tightening grip and slowly loosened his hold to see if she would struggle again. She didn’t move. Taking as a sign of surrender, he ordered the other men to bind her legs quickly. 

Everything moved quickly in a blur for her after that as she was carried to the open wooden box and placed inside. Her eyes began to sting with tears while her captors placed the lid on top and hammered it down with nails. She couldn’t see anything, but she could hear their voices. 

Soon she heard what sounded like chanting. It sounded low and in another language. What was going on out there? Did it matter? She watched interior of the box glow at the seams with a dark purple energy. It glowed brighter and brighter what felt like the longest time before it faded away, plunging her back into darkness. 

The next thing she knew was that box was being lifted and then lowered back down. She rocked back and forth with the casket, but it soon lurched with a soft thump. Nora fidgeted around with her hands tied in front of her until she heard the sound dirt being poured on top of the box she was in. Her eyes grew wide, and she sobbed. “This is it. This is how I die.” She thought as she tried to calm herself and accept her fate as she was being buried alive. 

“It shouldn’t be painful. I’ll fall unconscious as I lose oxygen. I’ll get to see my boys again soon. Just like I always wanted. I would have already offed myself if I didn’t have this fucking curse on my hand. They wanted their world saved though. My stupid guilty, noble do-the-right-thing just HAD to win out…” 

She thought like this as the sound of the dirt grew fainter. She assumed it was because her grave was almost filled up. She wondered how much time she actually had. It could be a few minutes to possibly a few hours or so she was told by Google. Looks like she was going to test that theory. 

Nora let her mind sift through all her memories. From her childhood to her adolescent days to adulthood. Then it went to more recent memories of losing her husband and child in a flash of green and then winding up in Thedas. Going through the story of the game or most of it anyway. She thought about the companions she met and actually becoming friends with them. She even thought about him. She wasn’t sure how she felt about him still but he definitely made her heart race. 

She wasn’t sure how much time has passed but the sound of the dirt stopped and she heard muffled shouts and what sounded like metal clashing. She strained her ears as best as she could. She couldn’t tell how deep she was buried but it didn’t sound like she was buried too deep or she wouldn’t have likely heard anything. 

She was starting to feel tired. When she heard a muffled angry voice that sounded like...

“Cassandra?”

They came all this way for me?

--------------

Aaaaannnnd end. That's it. Then my ask picks up from there.

You don't have to do this one. DAi: LI's only. After locating the Inky's they find that their leader is nowhere in sight. After some fruitless interrogating, they hear a faint THUMP THUMP THUMP and muffled screaming. They search for the source and find a half filled grave and the sound of their leader under the dirt. Their reaction: Discovering their Inky was buried alive.

Cassandra: Her heart drops, and the panic doesn’t even have time to settle before she is loudly barking orders and trying to steady her breathing. The second she gets the Inquisitor out of his shallow grave; she grabs him in a big hug and refuses to let go. The seeker is far from a merciful person, any may Andraste protect whoever dared do this to the person she loves. For a second she looks up at the man she loves, dirty and bruised with a mixture of panic and fear in his eyes. She doesn’t even want to think about what would’ve happened if they hadn’t gotten there sooner. 

Solas: Bring along the fury of a wolf and you will end up being ripped apart by the pack, this is very much apparent with Solas. The apostate is quick on his feet, helping his vhenan out of the grave and staring at the people responsible whom they just questioned; he has murder in his gaze. The only thing stopping him from acting then and there is the soft touch from his lover, her shaking body quickly moving closer to him for comfort. He would never forgive the people who did this and the ones who survived his visit later that night were the unlucky ones.

Dorian: At first he is rather unsettling, extremely calm and soft-spoken, only to lash out when someone makes a rather poor comment as the Inquisitor is helped out of his grave. Dorian feels utterly helpless and furious when he sees his Amatus like that, the man has bruises around his wrists showing he was tied; a busted lip and a tired gaze. he knows that if they had been slower the man he loved would’ve been underneath them all along but lacking the consciousness to ever speak up about where he was. One wrong clue or details lost could’ve led to being one minute too late. And that terrifies him.

Sera: May whatever god these people look up to be a just and forgiving one; because Sera sure as hell isn’t. As soon as Inky is out of that grave, an arrow is lodged into the leg of the nearest guilty person; and she has to be held back from jumping the man. She has no mercy for these people, and absolutely no pity for them as their screams reach her ears. Sera is scarily silent as she calms down, quickly finding her girlfriend and latching onto her- a shaky breath escaping her as she promises that she won’t ever let this happen again.

Blackwall: Honestly; it would surprise noone if Thom admitted to having done this himself, seeing as how calm he was when he was met with the issue itself; quick and steady hands knowing what to do right away. He doesn’t speak much when the Inquisitor stumbles out of the grave, clinging onto him and gasping for air and shaking. The tears in her eyes is enough to send his very being into a angry rampage; but he simply stays silent. Comforting his lover as he leads her away from the site, the others can deal with the vermin.

Iron Bull: May whoever did this rest in peace, because honestly they messed up the second they dared to mess with anyone who had contacts within the chargers. Bull is extremely gentle and careful with his lover; the poor thing shaking and it breaks his heart the second he sees the bruises on their face. Being buried alive is not fun, he would know. He is more aware than anyone else how lucky they were; because you loose oxygen fast in a casket. He lets out a shaky breath before kissing their face, muttering an apology for taking so long.

Josephine: When she had heard the word of what happened, she couldn’t help but close herself inside the office and just cry. Leliana had made sure she got time to let out all the worry and stress as she awaited for her lover to return. When they did? They were met by Josephine, puffy eyes and a lip that she had clearly chewed on more than enough to draw blood. And she only started crying again when she saw their bruised face, just about starting to heal from traveling back. She hated that she had to let them go on these trips; but she knew stopping them would only make things worse. With a tired sigh she grabs their hand, they needed a few hours. Just to be.

Cullen: He was the one leading the rescue operation, and he thought he had the ability to act cool. But when the Inquisitor is helped up from the casket and is finally able to see in the much brighter area; she sees him acting extremely out of character. The man on the ground is bleeding heavily from his face as Cassandra pulls the commander away from him. Cullen had been scared, he had felt so lonely when he found out that his rage blinded him and for a split second he wanted nothing else but to kill the person responsible. He feels his anger melt when the hand of his loved one is carefully placed on his cheek, as she whispers for him to calm down. She is bruised, tired and was probably on her last breaths. He would never forgive himself for allowing this to happen to begin with, but may the maker have mercy on the people responsible. They would face the wrath of Cullen Rutherford.

[homuraakemis]

Ok, I need to get this off my chest, because it really annoys me when people blame Vi for having sex with Caitlyn because they think she should have known that Jinx was suicidal and gone after her. And it also annoys me when people say that she is "stupid" if she didn't realize that Jinx was suicidal. Because no. She is not stupid for not realizing it.

People severely overestimate the amount of time that Vi spent with Jinx after she got out of prison. She reunited with her sister in that tower and spent less than five minutes talking to her before the Firelights attacked. Then, she meets Jinx on the bridge and they don't talk, Jinx only shoots at her. Then Jinx kidnaps Vi, and when Vi wakes up, they spend around 10 minutes talking before Jinx kills Silco and blows up the council, and Jinx is gone again. The next time Vi sees Jinx, it's in Janna's temple and they only exchange a few words before they start fighting. Before Act 2 of Season 2, Vi didn't even have half an hour to talk to her sister and get to know her again. She didn't get the chance to know her sister beyond the simple fact that her sister has changed into a terrorist that needs to be stopped, but she couldn't possibly know all the details of Jinx's mental issues from such a short time she actually had to spend with her sister. The longest time Vi actually got to spend with Jinx after being released from jail was when they went to get Vander and spent a few days in Viktor's commune. And during that period, Jinx was in a much happier and healthier mindset, so it would not have been obvious to Vi that she had been suicidal.

I've seen people give some arguments that Vi should have known because of a few reasons, but I really disagree with all of them. The reasons I see people give as for why they think Vi should have known are: 1) Jinx blowing up herself and Ekko; 2) Jinx telling Vi in the tea party "you're the reason I'm still alive"; 3) Jinx telling Vi to kill her by saying "Go on. I'm ready. I'm glad it's you. Had to be you"; 4) Jinx's grief after Isha's death; 5) Jinx saying that she will break the cycle. And I don't agree any of these are enough for Vi to know for sure Jinx is suicidal:

1) Jinx blowing up herself and Ekko - Vi didn't see what happened in that bridge. She was carrying Caitlyn and only turned around to look back after she heard the explosion. She didn't see that Jinx deliberately tried to kill both herself and Ekko; she only saw an explosion, but that explosion could have happened for any number of reasons during the fight. Jinx could have tried to kill Ekko and got caught up in the explosion by accident. Basically, Vi didn't know what happened.

2) Jinx telling Vi in the tea party "you're the reason I'm still alive" - this line doesn't have to be interpreted as someone being suicidal. Vi says pretty much the same thing to Jinx ("I spent so many nights in that shitty prison [...]. The only thing that kept me going was the thought of getting back to you"), but that doesn't mean Vi was suicidal, only that Powder was the reason she kept going, kept hope. Vi probably interpreted what Jinx said the same way: she was the reason Jinx kept going, but that doesn't automatically mean Jinx was suicidal.

3) Jinx telling Vi to kill her by saying "Go on. I'm ready. I'm glad it's you. Had to be you" - Again, Jinx being suicidal isn't the only possible interpretation that Vi could have of this line. Jinx says this after Vi has her defeated and pinned down, so she could very well just be saying this as a way to accept death with dignity, not because she is suicidal.

4) Jinx's grief after Isha's death - a person can grieve and be sad without being suicidal. You don't jump to the conclusion that someone is suicidal just because they're sad.

5) Jinx saying that she will break the cycle - how exactly is Vi supposed to know what is this cycle that Jinx is talking about? Sure, we as the audience saw her conversation with her Silco hallucination, but Vi didn't. And even if Vi knew that Jinx was talking about the cycle of killing, breaking the cycle doesn't mean "killing yourself", it could simply mean walking away and leaving. Hell, when I watched the scene, I actually didn't think Jinx was going to try suicide, considering that right before that she had said to ghost!Silco that "killing isn't mercy", so I actually thought that she wouldn't think that killing herself would break any cycle. So if it wasn't completely clear that Jinx was going to kill herself even to me, who was privy to the whole conversation in Jinx's head, then I hardly blame Vi for not knowing.

I know some people might still argue that Vi should have remembered what Jinx said in (2) and (3) and pieced things together, as well as Jinx saying the line "doesn't matter what I do, I just can't seem to die" (this one does seem more concerning). However, not only they are not conclusive evidence that Jinx is suicidal, Vi probably doesn't even remember that Jinx said those things. Both were extremely stressful situations for Vi. During the tea party, she was focused on trying to apologize and get through to her sister, then she was panicked that Jinx might kill Caitlyn or that Caitlyn might kill Jinx. With all the stress Vi was under, I very much doubt that months later, Vi remembers the specific line Jinx said that might maybe suggest that she was suicidal. The same goes for what Jinx said in Janna's temple. Again, it was a highly stressful situation for Vi, and again it's highly likely she doesn't remember every detail of what her sister said after so many months.

So to sum things up: Vi had around half an hour of actually speaking with her sister between the time she gets out of prison and the time they fight in Janna's temple. She didn't have time to actually get to know her sister and her mental problems beyond the surface level, and yes, while it can be argued that Jinx said some concerning things that might indicate that she was suicidal, many of them can be interpreted in different ways, and Vi might not even remember exactly what her sister said after months have passed. The next time Vi does manage to spend more than 30 minutes with her sister while looking for Vander and in Viktor's commune, Jinx is in a much happier and healthier mindset, so again, it would be difficult for Vi to see that she was suicidal before. So no, Vi is not "stupid" or "bad at understanding mental health" for not knowing that Jinx was suicidal, she simply never got the opportunity to actually get to know her sister again.

And as we see in the sex scene, it's clear Vi didn't know. She tells Caitlyn "I was an idiot to trust her", which suggests that she believes Jinx simply betrayed her, that she was wrong to believe that Jinx had changed for the better, and Jinx is yet again probably going to do something violent. She clearly didn't realize her sister was suicidal.

And I wish people had a little more empathy for Vi in this scene. Think about this from Vi's perspective: she spends 7 years of her life in prison, being beaten up, with the only hope of reuniting with her sister. Then, when she gets out of prison, that very sister that was her hope is working for and killing people for the man that killed her family and is ruining Zaun; and then her sister also tries to kill her, kidnaps her, emotionally tortures her with the idea that she might have decapitated her girlfriend, and then asks her to kill her girlfriend. Jinx hurt Vi a lot. Vi has many feelings of betrayal and resentment towards Jinx that many people in the fandom don't really recognize. But because Vi is Vi, she is very loving and forgiving towards the people she loves, and as soon as she sees Jinx showing empathy towards Isha, she is eager to believe that Jinx has changed and wants to forgive her sister. Only for her sister to punch her, lock her in a cell and disappear when Vi tries to help. Think about how betrayed Vi must have felt here. Jinx hurt her so much, and when she gives Jinx yet another chance, Jinx betrays her again.

Yes, Vi is wrong here: Jinx didn't really betray her, Jinx did change for the better and is actually thinking about Vi's happiness when she locks Vi in that cell. But from Vi's perspective, this is yet another time where she tries to reach out to Jinx and gets burned in return. So of course Vi is feeling hurt and betrayed. Of course Vi is not immediately thinking about whether Jinx is suicidal or not, because right now, Vi is actually focusing more on her own feelings of hurt. And I wish the fandom would have some empathy towards Vi and allow her to have her own feelings, allow her to feel hurt because of Jinx's actions, instead of demanding that Vi should be paying attention to Jinx's feelings instead.

When Caitlyn arrived and told Vi that she allowed her to free Jinx, that Vi didn't lose her, that Caitlyn didn't blame Vi for what she did, think about the emotional relief and happiness Vi must have felt. In Vi's mind, she felt hurt and betrayed thinking that she lost not only her sister, but that she would lose Caitlyn as well for having chosen to help Jinx. So learning that she still has Caitlyn's love and support? No wonder she was so overwhelmed with joy. No wonder she needed to seize that moment of happiness for herself and let herself enjoy it. Because just like Vi had said before, that she was done blaming herself for her sister's mistakes, she is now also done chasing after her sister if her sister refuses her help. So she chooses to stay with the person who, despite also having hurt Vi in the past (though not to the extent Jinx has), is choosing to stay with Vi and support her. After everything Vi suffered, and after all that she has sacrificed for others, especially for her sister, she deserves to have a moment to focus on her own happiness without having people in this fandom pointing fingers at her for not martyrizing herself and going after her sister yet again.

[celerydays]

long time no see…

Hey, hi, hello~

I don't know if anyone is still around this little blog o' mine or if I'm just showing up suddenly on the dash and whoever is seeing this might not recall ever even following me lol.

But – if you remember me or not – I'm just dropping by to say that I've missed you and that I truly hope you're doing well 🫂💗

I...have not been doing so well. But I've been working on it.

In a way, it's been healing to reshape my approach to things like journaling and capturing photos. I've been generally taking the time to develop a practice in documenting daily life, the people I care about, the places we visit, and all the random little moments in between with more intentionality and care.

(tw: grief and loss/death under cut)

We lost my mother very suddenly last November – and things have been unbearably hard the last few months.

In a lot of ways, 2024 was one of the best years: my partner and I traveled to Japan for the first time ever, my family had a small reunion in our hometown to watch the total solar eclipse together, my best friends got married, and we went on so many amazing trips and had the type of outings that made me so inspired, optimistic, and excited about life and the future.

But in so many other ways, it was also one of the worst years I've had in a long time: starting with a hard-learned (but perhaps overdue) firsthand lesson on how scary and mean the internet can be, followed by losing both my grandfather in the spring and then my mother just before the winter holidays.

I'm not particularly good when it comes to emotions– forget about even processing grief or putting into any sort of meaningful words how it all feels. But I guess all of this has made me shift my mindset when it comes to wanting to just...remember. To not forget.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

On documenting life through journaling...

I had always journaled in some way or another all my life, but I only really started considering it a serious practice and hobby sometime around 2020. But I had lost my way with it in recent years, treating it solely as some kind of aesthetic-only venture, and only dedicating the time if I knew that I could make it "pretty" and "palatable for sharing".

And so, many entries were missed; days and weeks lost to fuzzy recollection, months bled into each other, and little moments only existed as vague and passing snapshots on my phone gallery (if I even remembered to take a photo).

But I now wish I had just written it down; whatever it was – big, small, angry, sad, happy – just wrote it all down. It didn't have to be an aesthetically collaged spread or artful doodle or drawing. I wish I had documented some of the last times I had seen or spoken with my mother; what she had said, did, or how she reacted to silly news or quips I told her. I barely remember anything even just from the last year.

So now I write it all down, day after day: I'll write what's on my mind, what we did before, what I'm doing currently, or if someone calls or my partner walks in and tells me something that has me reacting in the moment I'll jot down a little "omg!!" or "lol" or "holy shit" next to whatever they said or did.

If I get little scraps from the day – receipts, tags, tickets, wrappers – I'll paste it in wherever it happens to fit in my journal, with a little note of the date or what the outing was. And every so often, I'll print out photos to paste in with notes relating back to past entries or junk journal spreads.

Is always pretty? No. Is it always even chronological? No. Does all of it always make sense? No. But I love every page so, so much more than anything I had carefully curated before in my previous journals.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

On documenting life through photos...

I had once carried a camera with me everywhere before phone cameras became decent enough that I didn't feel the need to have a dedicated tool for just taking pictures anymore.

It wasn't until we were all looking through our collective family photos to use for my mother's memorial service and headstone that it hit me that I just don't take as many pictures as I used to– or if I did, they just don't compare to the ones that I used to take years ago when I did carry a camera with me on every outing and trip.

We ended up choosing a photo of her that I had taken on my once-beloved dSLR camera I used to haul around with me almost 10 years ago; she was smiling, strong, radiant, beautiful– and it was just a random moment I took my camera out in a Taiwan salon while she was waiting as my sister and I were both getting our hair done for our cousin's wedding.

A bit indescribable – and not even something I realized was missing – but there's something about having an actual camera on hand that pushes me to take more photos, and somehow better and more mindful photos at that.

And so I made the decision to invest in a new camera. An absolute necessity to take photos? No, of course not; I do still have my phone camera after all. But they say (apparently) that "the best camera is the one that you actually use"– and I was most definitely not using my phone as much as I could have been.

This new camera though? Only time will truly tell, but the past has shown that I've worked better with a dedicated camera on hand and already I can't begin to explain the difference it's made in the last week alone since I picked up the habit of carrying a camera around with me again.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

This was a crazy long post that sort of got away from me. Not sure where I want to go from here – I guess I just want to say that if you ever felt called to document your life in some way, it's never too late to start; you'll only wish that you had begun sooner.

If you're still here– I love you. I hope you're taking care of yourself.

And thank you for reading along with my incredibly longwinded life update of what was essentially just "I'm grieving so I started journaling more and also bought a camera" lol.

💗

[a-most-beloved-fool]

I desperately want more fics where the t'hy'la bond forms between Kirk and Spock from birth soulmate-style exclusively for the sake of making Spock, 16, feel the pain of starvation during Kirk's time on Tarsus IV.

There's maybe... two? fics I've read that used a similar concept, but there should be MORE.

Like, picture a Spock who knows that he's bonded to his t'hy'la, but has never met them. This bond is the one thing which makes him "acceptably vulcan" in the eyes of his peers. Surely he can't be a failed vulcan if he's got a t'hy'la, the rarest of all vulcan bonds, right? So, to Spock, this bond isn't only an honor, but a lifeline. His whole life, he's taken comfort from it, because it proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that there IS someone who will truly love and care for him and that he IS vulcan enough (and if he has some suspicions that the one he is bonded to isn't vulcan, well, he keeps them to himself).

And then, at some point, Spock begins feeling... oddly anxious. A little hungrier than he should be, most of the time. At first, he writes it off as simply another aspect of puberty, but then it continues. Then it gets worse. The sense of never getting quite enough to eat grows, and the anxiety builds, and eventually, Spock realizes that it's not him. His t'hy'la is the one who is hungry and afraid.

He brings it to his father, then, deeply concerned. "They are hungry," he says of his t'hy'la. "It is persistent and... palpable. I believe they are in danger."

Sarek is sympathetic, but unable to do anything save offer advice: "Be with them. If you meditate and focus on your bond, you may be able to reach them, to offer some modicum of comfort."

And so Spock does. He spends his days deep in meditation, projecting calm and comfort and gentleness into the bond, and he hopes that it is heard, though he can't help but feel that he isn't doing enough. He wishes that he could reach into their mind and find their location so he could help them, but even with the aid of T'Pau, it would be impossible.

And still, the fear and the hunger grow worse, gnawing away at his t'hy'la until Spock wonders if there is even anything left of them, on the other side of the bond.

"I fear they are dying," he confesses one night, emerged from his meditation for just long enough to eat a meal. "They are... so weak, now, and filled with such despair. I -" Spock's voice breaks. "I have not even met them. It is unfair!"

Amanda holds him, and he, for the first time since he was seven, allows it.

"Their mere presence in my mind has done so much for me, and in return, what good have I done for them? I wish..." He swallows, throat aching with suppressed grief. "I would take their place, if I could."

He wonders, almost, if it would be better for them, to die. Their pain was so intense, and their terror so strong - surely death could be nothing but release.

Still, selfishly, he wants them to live.

He wants to get a chance to know them, to love them as more than just a warm link in the back of his mind.

So, still, he meditates, and tries to press as much warmth and affection as possible through the bond, saying don't give up, I'm here, I'm with you.

And, eventually, slowly, the hunger goes away. The fear takes longer, but it, too, eases over time. It never goes away entirely, of course. Sometimes, starvation plagues his t'hy'la's memories, or disembodied terror strikes them out of nowhere. But still, they are healing, and Spock is grateful for it.

Someday, he hopes to have the chance to hold his t'hy'la in his arms, but until then, he offers his mind. Every time he meditates (and every time he feels his t'hy'la's distress) Spock presses love and warmth into the bond. He still doesn't know if he's reaching them, but he hopes - and sometimes, hope is all you need.

(Jim, for his part, thinks often of the gentle warmth and reassurance which filled his mind during his darkest days. He wonders if he could have kept going, without it. He wonders, too, where it came from, and why he can still feel it sometimes, brushing lovingly over him. He hopes that someday he'll find out, to thank them for staying with him, for granting him a light in the darkness.)

[freewilllife]

Viktor’s commune always gave off creepy vibes, but for me, the path it was taking became crystal clear at the start of ep6. That first scene basically spells out the extent of Viktor’s corruption and how far his actions and mindset are from any kind of altruism.

@jaybejaybeyes Personally, I interpret this after having some conversations as "Victor´s dream come true".

Indeed, it is a sort of corruption, but it seems Victor is actually well-meaning here.

And look at Viktor's face when it happens. That’s not horror. That’s not astonishment. That’s not grief. It’s… mild annoyance, I'd say?

Why should he grieve Salo´s death? I am just curious. They are neither friends, nor related. Victor "healed" them, but that doesn´t make him Jesus.

He may consider himself responsible in a way, but I doubt, that he became suddenly all-loving.

And that’s the thing about Viktor’s commune — it was never about the people who joined it. It was never about understanding them, helping them, or connecting with them. It was all about Viktor’s desperate need to be in control, about his refusal to confront suffering, pain, and all the messy, complicated parts of being human. From the very beginning, it was about Viktor going, “well, the end justifies the means”, but there’s nothing kind or humanistic about that philosophy, because it always comes at the expense of people’s lives. The end never justifies the means.

Nope, you are definitely wrong. Victor indeed has wished to make the lives of the people better with "hextech" , was even more outspoken, that he did not wish to create weapons and I guess that this commune is literally, how he envishioned it. There is corruption...but it is the arcane at work here. And maybe even in Jayce case.

There can be a conversation to be had, if the people are already dead or are still alive...but what is undoubtly true...The whole commune is dependant on Victor.

People can be both...Yes, Victor wanted to stay alive, but he is not a control-freak...And surely not a guy, who thinks that the "the end justifies the means". I mean, isn´t it funny, that the solution Victor is conviced of, plays in the hands of the arcane, which obviously has a will of its own?

It is literally right there...that the arcane heavily influenced and manipulated Victor, and most likely also Jayce.

The end never justifies the means.

That is an oversimplification. There are cases, where the end literally justifies the means.

And honestly, I was surprised to see how many people were mad at Jayce for blasting Viktor at the end of that episode. In my opinion, by then, it was quite clear that Viktor didn’t care much about his Arcane-modified toys. He wasn’t even pretending he did. Salo wasn’t a person to him. None of them were. They were just tools, stepping stones for his glorious evolution. And all of that was right there in the first scene of ep6.

Oh, that is interesting. Did suddenly "the end justify the means" or becomes murder a great deed, if the right character is killed?

In contrast, Victor tried to be responsible for his commune and tried to protect them, literally dying. I am sorry, but I am not sure, why you suddenly jump to such conclusions?

I still feel like we were ROBBED of that whole arc, watching Viktor descend to this. Because he gives a shit about Vander, so it's not like he's totally unempathetic--like he's still Viktor. It's just that from the start of the commune up to this point, Viktor has been going through a slow descent into madness from not having a single actual person to talk to who isn't completely bound to him in some way. There is nobody to question him and everyone is relying on him constantly.

@straysparks Yes, the influence of the arcane gets stronger.

Viktor is deeply empathetic but also vulnerable to megalomania, and having a whole group of people worship you for months on end is gonna get to your head eventually even if you really really really hate the idea. Which I think we can be pretty certain he does at first, unless you subscribe to the idea that the Hexcore is really majorly influential to his personality change.

Both, but why should this not be the case? The arcane has a will of its own and can be vicious if challenged. Victor was literally drowned in it and hears a voice the moment he wakes up...Of course, he is being changed/manipulated to a certain degree. When Ekko literally broke the armour, Victor woke up and realized, what he had done...This moment of "waking up" does not make much sense, if the arcane has not played a major role in the corruption process.

Because people being wrong are rarely persuaded by violence alone.

I think his disconnection from his empathy is driven by a need to get away from the closeness of the commune members. He's an extremely private person and he gets virtually no space or time to himself for months on end. Seeing the commune members as cogs in a machine is a coping strategy and I must stress that there is NO ONE to check him on this.

Or he already knows deep down , that they are already dead? He does care for them, but I mean, he is literally not Jesus, has hardly any personal attachment to them. In fact, Victor had always difficulties in that area.

Hexcore influence is convenient to the narrative, but Viktor's character is set up in such a way that his behavior here isn't even out of character given a particular series of events which we KNOW happen, we just don't see them on screen. It's ooc if you assume Viktor doesn't change between the times we see him on screen, but that's the thing, he DOES.

The hexcore influence is not just convenient, it literally explains so much...Look here:1,2

I saw the light after reading those posts. Nope, Victor does not suddenly become mad or cold for no reason, he literally is partly mind-controlled.

Viktor’s commune always gave off creepy vibes, but for me, the path it was taking became crystal clear at the start of ep6. That first scene basically spells out the extent of Viktor’s corruption and how far his actions and mindset are from any kind of altruism.

Think about it: Viktor sees Jayce kill Salo through Salo’s eyes. He’s connected to Salo but doesn’t even try to comfort him, verbally or mentally, or ease his pain with magic in his final moments. He just stands there, watching. Waiting for Salo to die, staring at Jayce. The only time he flinches is when Jayce lunges forward, and Salo dies abruptly — his vision cuts to black.

And look at Viktor's face when it happens. That’s not horror. That’s not astonishment. That’s not grief. It’s… mild annoyance, I'd say?

Like, ugh. Jayce didn’t get it. He didn’t appreciate my work. And now he’s also destroyed one of my puppets. Sounds pretty frustrating, doesn't it, Viktor?

Then Sky says, “poor Salo”, and Viktor? Immediately pivots to, “That’s not Jayce. It’s another will at work within him”. And a moment later, he’s fascinated by the Anomaly. Salo’s gone, and no one spares him an extra thought.

And that’s the thing about Viktor’s commune — it was never about the people who joined it. It was never about understanding them, helping them, or connecting with them. It was all about Viktor’s desperate need to be in control, about his refusal to confront suffering, pain, and all the messy, complicated parts of being human. From the very beginning, it was about Viktor going, “well, the end justifies the means”, but there’s nothing kind or humanistic about that philosophy, because it always comes at the expense of people’s lives. The end never justifies the means.

And honestly, I was surprised to see how many people were mad at Jayce for blasting Viktor at the end of that episode. In my opinion, by then, it was quite clear that Viktor didn’t care much about his Arcane-modified toys. He wasn’t even pretending he did. Salo wasn’t a person to him. None of them were. They were just tools, stepping stones for his glorious evolution.

And all of that was right there in the first scene of ep6.

[wendichester]

Can I please request a bf!Sam x reader where

At first, Dean and Sam are very worried, bc reader is gone since the morning and by now it's late afternoon and she hasn't returned yet

And when they go looking for her, they notice, hey, the GPS on the phone is on

And Sam goes to get reader, and finds her at a grave in the graveyard thats practically abandoned

And he finds out its the death anniversary of a close family member of hers, and she's been there all day to "talk" and take care of the grave

And he just comforts her on the shitty day, taking care of reader?

I have a death anniversary coming up in a few days of someone from my family I was close with, and it'd mean a lot if you could write this as a bit of comfort <3

𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ where you are,

summary. sam finds you where you always go on this day—grief lingering, him standing by your side.

pairing. sam winchester x reader

wordcount. 424

warnings. dealing with grief and being alone ; angsty

notes. apologies if this one is coming a little too late. i honestly didn't notice it between the other requests. hope this brings you a little bit of comfort (despite late) and know my dms are open if you need 🤍

Sam’s heart is pounding as he follows the GPS, boots crunching against dry leaves as he moves through the graveyard. The place is nearly abandoned, the air thick with late afternoon stillness, and he finally spots you, sitting cross-legged in front of a weathered headstone.

His breath leaves him in a rush.

You’re okay. You’re here.

He slows as he approaches, not wanting to startle you. He sees the small bouquet of flowers beside the grave, the way your fingers absently trace the carved name. He watches the rise and fall of your shoulders, the weight you’re carrying alone.

"You weren’t answering your phone," he says softly, finally breaking the silence.

You flinch, head snapping up, but when you see him, some of the tension in your body eases. “Oh.” Your voice is small, almost sheepish. “I—I didn’t think to check it.”

Sam exhales, closing the distance, crouching beside you. "Dean and I were worried. You were gone all day." His voice is gentle, no anger, just concern.

You nod, looking back at the grave. “I just… I had to come. It’s their death anniversary.”

Understanding washes over him in an instant. He doesn’t ask why you didn’t tell him, doesn’t push. Instead, he reaches out, his warm hand covering yours where it rests against the cold stone.

"I should’ve told you," you admit quietly. "I just—I didn’t want to make a big deal about it."

Sam frowns. “You being here all day, alone? That’s a big deal." His thumb strokes over your knuckles. "You don’t have to do this by yourself.”

Your throat tightens. "I just… I wanted to talk to them. Take care of the grave, make sure it’s not forgotten." You sniff, looking down. “It feels like if I stop coming, no one else will.”

Sam swallows hard. He understands that feeling too well. He shifts, settling beside you, one arm sliding around your shoulders, pulling you against his chest.

“They’re not forgotten,” he murmurs against your hair. “Not as long as you remember them.”

You let out a shaky breath, curling into his warmth, letting the exhaustion of the day press into him. He holds you tighter, rubbing slow, soothing circles against your back.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble.

"Don't be." He presses a soft kiss to your temple. "Just… next time, let me be here with you, okay?”

You nod against him. “Okay.”

For a while, you just sit there, wrapped in his arms, letting the world go quiet.

And for the first time today, you don’t feel so alone.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @taurus0queenie33 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @whereiwakewarm ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystems ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @s0urw00lf ⋆ @mrs-pondwater19 ⋆ @myceliumsunshine ⋆ @idk6505 ⋆ @giggles1026 ⋆ @idontwannabehere7

[everythingmp3]

no need to be brave

adult Van x fem!reader

as your lover deals with a hangover, which is only made worse by her illness, she insists that you leave her to deal with it by herself, but you have other plans -with a bit of tenderness and heat, you manage to make her feel it: that you want to be with her, always, not just on her good days

authors note: hi! I was on a break from posting these fics but that promo clip where adult taivan are bickering gave me some inspiration, so I just took the idea of being sweet with her while shes suffering and this came from that, hope you enjoy <3 (5.8k words)

warnings: some smut (both receive in certain ways), mentions of cancer/grief etc.

it was a sunny winter afternoon as you laid on Van´s couch and listened to the outside noise, cars driving by, the day going unfolding while you relaxed with your legs stretched out, your eyes closed, your breathing slow and steady.

you´d been dating Van long enough by that point to feel like her apartment had become your second home, and she was more than glad to leave hers years of solitary living behind, but in that moment she had no idea that you were still there.

the night before, you had gone out to a nice dinner and against all better judgment she had insisted on getting a few drinks at the bar next door; you were aware of her diagnosis, unlike when you´d first started dating, and asked her if she was sure, to give her a chance to change her mind, but she did not budge, she wanted a proper drink for once, a few even, so, instead of playing mother and telling her that she was forbidden, you caved and indulged her. for the next few hours you joined her in enjoying the present moment, regardless of consequence, soaked up the atmosphere of the dimly lit room as you stole touches under the table and both got tipsy from a few shots and two drinks, kissing to taste the citrusy booze on each others lips.

as you walked home, arm in arm, you were glad that you hadn´t dragged her home, that you got to see her face glow pink as she smiled at you under the light of the moon, paused on your way back to kiss you in an empty street, to feel you up against a wall until you heard a group of people approaching and ran, or rather stumbled, away. you had fallen asleep later on in a tight embrace while caressing each others hair, whispering sweet drunken thoughts, "my baby..", "I´m so lucky..", falling into a dazed slumber.

that burst of sparkling euphoria was replaced by a dull dread the next morning, at least on Vans part.

she couldn´t blame anyone but herself for the banging migraine she woke up to, she knew this, so she refrained from complaining to you, even though she radiated a palpable air of "I am gonna die today. not in the near future, this is it, I´m fucking done for.", her body punishing her for her recklessness, her joints and muscles aching with every move.

you were already familiar enough with her physical makeup to know exactly what she needed on mornings like that: an ice cold coke, some strong pain killers, a flaky pastry, and you doting on her, even though she denied it. Van felt embarrassed from the moment she woke up, aware of how beyond rough she looked, her hair disheveled, her face puffy, failing to suppress her groans of discomfort, and yet, you weren´t put off by it, any of it, even when she was convinced you were surely losing all of your attraction to her by the minute, it never happened, not once; you had yet to see Van in a state that didn´t elicit feelings of adoration or warmth in you, her freckled nose and cheeks, the shape of her lips, her voice, her flame colored hair, that distinct sweet warm scent she had in the morning, they were never diminished in their effect on you by a cranky attitude or signs of her sickness, ever.

you knew that she did not always believe you, that she often wondered why on earth you stayed with her, through everything, even though you weren´t even girlfriends, not officially, not really. you knew Van well enough to know that she would not ask you to be exclusive, much too afraid of the unbearable sense of guilt of locking you down, when she might die within the year, when she might evoke widow-like feelings in someone who had barely just started their adult life.

you had no way of knowing, but in her darkest moments when she was cruelest to herself her mind told her "youre a fucking monster. you already knew you had a few months at most and still looked for a lover. you tell yourself that you werent looking for more than sex but you know its not true. you were too selfish to die without having anyone wrecked by your death. you wanted someone to really grieve your loss. and now youve found a poor soul. enjoy it."

still, even when she kept things undefined and told you you were free to date other people - while dying of envy at the mere thought - in your head, and in hers, Van was your girlfriend, she was, you didn´t need her to say it because her behavior sufficed, she treated you like a partner, not just a a hook-up, she was far from detached and you let her believe that it was casual, that you weren´t at risk of having your heart shattered by her death, that you weren´t already in love with her.

the way you´d found out about her cancer had been less than ideal.

during your first date, her attitude was "no need to tell her about it, I doubt I will see her more than a few times" at the time still very attached to her idea of keeping her love life non-committal, unromantic, only allowing hook-ups and maybe a few low-key dates here and there. this plan was abandoned fast when your first date went so beautifully that you ended up kissing her goodbye in her car, which inevitably turned into a heated make-out, which turned into you asking her to come up to your room, both of you a little shocked by how deeply into each other you were after just a few hours of talking over a dinner table.

one of your fondest memories from that night was after you´d gotten lost in each other for hours, laying there tired but far from sleepy, exhilirated by your natural chemistry, when she laughed and shook her head, still breathless, and said "what the fuck are you doing to me..", since she was not used to it: a stranger being as overtly sweet and intense during sex as you´d been, kissing her not just in the obvious places but on the back of her hand, wherever you could reach in the heat of the moment, still reeling from the way you´d begged to taste her after she´d done it to you, the way you´d caressed her sides, had given her a type of intimacy that she usually felt like she’d have to earn by being more open, more vulnerable during a date - but you didn´t care to hear her life story, you were eager to feel her, fully, and it broke her down, hit her at her weak spot, the romantic in her, that she´d kept buried, coming back up to hold you as you slept together that night.

you saw each other again two days later and you ended up spending the weekend at her place, which went so smoothly that Van abandoned her rule of "no sweet stuff, nothing relationship adjacent" : she started inviting you out for breakfast, always offered to drive you to work or to meet up with a friend, picked you up at night, listened and calmed you down whenever you seemed worried or stressed; you returned the same energy by randomly showing up at her store with flowers for her place or her favorite take-out or to just keep her some company and sit near the counter while she talked to you about her recent film discoveries, gossiped about some customers, pulled you into the back-room to make out until the bell rang, you pushing her away as she groaned and uttered "I´m not done with you" as she left the room and prayed that the person would leave within a few minutes.

this honeymoon period made her feel an acute sense of shame. she had tried again and again to find the right moment to tell you, to just say it: "I am so sorry. I have been keeping something from you." but the love she had so unexpectedly stumbled into with you, that light she felt in her chest, that unfamiliar warmth that had wrapped its soft arms around her soul, she was too desperate to keep it in tact, so weeks passed before the moment came, unplanned, she didnt want it to go the way it did.

one night as you laid on top of her, still breathing heavy, still trembling a bit from the way she´d wrecked you, her hands drawing soft circles on your back, her heartbeat under your ear, you had fantasized about possibly going on a summer vacation that year, to get away from everything, to have a few days just to be together and lounge around and jump into the ocean together, eat good food, be at ease. it hit her then, the inability to picture her future because she did not know how long she still had, so she went quiet and burst into tears.

at first, you were shocked, unable to speak, since you´d never seen her shed a single tear up until then, but you quickly recovered and held her face and tried to soothe her in any way you could as the confession came spilling out: "I´m so sorry, I´m so fucking sorry, but I don´t even know if I´ll.." she choked up in the middle "if I´ll..." you coaxed it out of her, rubbed her shoulders, listened quietly as she cried, "if I´ll still be alive in summer. I have cancer. terminal."

Van had expected you to be angry with her, to feel blind-sided and betrayed by her stringing you along for weeks without ever mentioning her severe predicament, but all you could think to do then was to pull her head against your shoulder and assure her that you weren´t going anywhere, that you would figure it out together, that she had no reason to apologize.

you put on a brave face for her but later that night the other person who was home with you had to stop you from almost hyperventilating at the thought of having to watch her lose her physical strength and suffer til her premature death, which you would have to survive, somehow. you allowed yourself one night of fully falling apart and grieving the loss you were being asked to face in the near future, but the next day a determination took over, you told yourself, "I love her. I love being with her. and I will make the most out of every second. I will ease her pain in any way I can, until the end."

Van could sense this energy from that point on, your protective spirit, and it humbled her while also making her feel a bit uneasy about her being older and yet being taken care of by you, almost shedding tears when you did things for her like massage her temples and joints with essential oils to relieve some of the pain or when you clocked her lies about having eaten enough during the day and cooked her elaborate meals at night, when you made her switch during sex to keep her from exhausting herself just to make you come again and again, a sweetness to it, the way you´d sometimes move away from under her and push her back into the pillows with a pleased smile that said "your turn now, I´m very satisfied, no need to prove yourself".

that morning, the guilt had come back to haunt Van, so she told you to leave her to deal with her aching bones and hangover by herself, to go out and have a fun Saturday, to enjoy yourself and stop worrying about her, to not turn into her "unpaid nurse", as she put it.

she´d insisted quite aggressively, her mood not helping at all with her self-loathing, so you´d assuaged her by saying "okay fine, I´ll go, call me if you need any help though" and left her room, walked down the stairs, loudly, on purpose, to make it sound like you´d left, only to quietly creep up again and stay.

you refused to leave her to her own devices in a state like that. it was out of the question. not when you were afraid she might pass out on her way to the bathroom or in the shower. about two hours after she´d fallen asleep again, around 3pm, you heard some noise coming from her room that signaled to you that she was awake.

you wouldn´t just sit there and listen, so you got up from the couch and made your way over to her room, cracking the door open and preparing yourself for her to tell you off, which of course, only took a few seconds to happen, a barely suppressed grin on your face as you saw her laying there, her eyes still half-closed, her cheeks pink from sleep, and heard her voice crack as she whined your name and said "noo come on, you said you´d go, what the fuck are you still doing here??".

you smiled as you took a few steps further into the room and crossed your arms, eyeing her with an unmistakably loving gaze, "oh, perfect way to be greeted while walking into the room" an air of smugness to you as you walked over to her nightstand and popped an aspirin into the glass of water you´d left there for her earlier. Van shook her head as she rubbed her eyes and let out a "fucking hell..", clearly still out of it, so you sat down on her side of the bed to get a closer look at her, your hand resting over the blanket, a twist in your heart when you saw how tired she still looked, but a bit of life had thankfully come back into her from the nap.

"this isn´t funny... take a fucking look outside!" Van told you, gesturing wildly at the window "it´s so nice out today, you should be with friends, moving your body, enjoying the sun, whatever, not staying inside to take care of an old decrepit woman." her tone low, an attempt at sternness that wasn´t unattractive to you, still, her pout took away from her ability to seem intimidating, to seem anything but sweet to you. you watched her, brushed a strand of hair out of her face, tucked it behind her ear and said "uh, would you mind pointing to the woman you´re talking about because I dont see anyone decrepit here".

Van rolled her eyes and squeezed your arm then for emphasis, trying not to be charmed, "listen to me lady, I told you, I don´t want to feel guilty all the time, I really don´t, this is my fault, I chose to drink, so you go, be free, have fun, please, I will call you when I am better again, I promise".

she was trying her best to sell it to you, the simple idea of: let us part ways, let me deal with it, and get back to you when I am fit again. but what you heard was "abandon me" and you never would. so it was pointless. she couldn´t sway you and maybe deep down she was secretly glad for it, your unwavering loyalty, the way you never seemed fazed or annoyed by her ailments, her moods, her little moments of melodrama.

"do you really think I am doing all of this out of pity? really? that I secretly hate this and just put on a brave face? come on. Van. you know me by now" you said, earnest, holding her hand then, clasping it tightly as she softened from your impact, felt touched by your gentle way of handling her. "yeah... yeah I do" she agreed and squeezed your hand, her voice barely above a whisper, a wistfulness to her tone, her eyes drawn to where your fingers were interlaced, a light kiss to her cheek from you before you took the glass with the dissolved aspirin and ordered her "drink.", which made her drop the tough act and smile, genuinely, pleased by that subtle sound of authority.

she obeyed and drank about half of it before pausing to take a breath and then finish the rest, a pleased "good, there you go" from you, which made her laugh as she wiped her mouth and lightened up a bit.

"do you have some kind of savior complex kink going on, is that it?" she teased, nudging you in the side as you sat closer to her and took in the sight of her eyes finally getting that familiar sparkle again.

"oh I see, you think I am getting off on all this, huh?" you joked, pretending to be offended, which only amused her more. Van leaned back against the headboard, stretched her limbs a bit and shrugged, "you tell me." a pause before she added "I´m sure you loveee seeing me all frail and helpless, hm". she´d slipped into the playful tone she often used when she was trying to get you to come onto her, to make her pay for some out of pocket comments by grabbing her and rendering her weak with certain kisses and touches.

Van was not in a state that allowed you too much aggression, but you had your ways, so, you nodded and said "hm sure, I love having you at my mercy", which made her flush, a hit to her core, her utter weakness for being overpowered by her lover, being toyed with, flustered by them.

you eyed her and saw it, that she was getting turned on as she responded "yeah. you could do whatever you want, couldn´t even fight back, not like this".

"hmm" you sighed and moved from the side of the bed to take your place on her thighs instead, carefully, making sure she was fine as you slowly settled on her and straddled her, your hands on her shoulders then, smiling at her as her face got colored in both surprise and arousal, her hands immediately on your hips, holding you in place, a soft groan as she felt your weight pressing down on her and sighed "okay. maybe I dont want you to leave.." her hands wandering up to your waist, a sound of pleasure from you as you nodded, pleased that you´d won, that she was finally surrendering, going quiet, letting you be good to her, make her feel wanted, even then.

"see, that wasn´t so hard hm" you cooed at her, your finger tracing her facial features in awe, the way you always did in intimate moments, her eye briefly closed as she leaned into your hand, let you caress her for a moment, sounded like a purring cat, until she grew eager for a little more skin contact and said "take this off" while tugging at your shirt.

within a few seconds you were topless, and to give her a bit more you also freed yourself off your bra, leaving you on her just in your jeans, a sight that enticed her to no end, the contrast of your fully covered legs and the soft flesh of your chest, all for her, her hands running down your shoulders over your collarbones down to your tits, your head falling back, a pleased "hmm" sound as she teased you a little, kept her hands over your tits while pressing her fingertips down, feeling you up, savoring the sight of you on her like that.

"come here" she whispered and beckoned you forward, so you leaned close enough for her to wrap her arms around your back and press kisses to your neck, quiet moans from you as she breathed in your scent and kissed her way up your pulse point, sighed to herself, kept a tight grip on your back, holding you as if she was afraid you leave, after she´d begged you to do just that mere hours before.

after a minute or so of letting her have her way, you grew too needy to restrain yourself and grabbed her face to give her proper, deep kiss, to run your tongue over her lower lip and bite it lightly before turning it more intense, slowly making out with her as she caressed your hair and sighed into your mouth, your hands on her face, your hips moving a bit from sheer need, a heat between your legs as you felt her desperation, the way she moved under the blanket to sit more securely and have a stronger grip on you, her tongue soft and warm against yours, her hands firm as they wandered from your hair to your neck, pulled you closer, until you both lost your breaths and separated for a moment, shaking, deeply turned on.

"god.. I want you so fucking bad right now. but I´d pass out, I´m already dizzy... " she confessed, her head resting against your arm, her breath hot on your skin, "the second I am stronger again, I swear to god..." she uttered and gave your hips a squeeze, another wave of heat to your core from the words, the touch, her sudden intense need for you, your hand on the back of her head, cradling her almost.

"we can still do something..." you said, unable to leave it at kissing, so she nodded eagerly and asked "oh yeah? like what?".

"I could.. help myself.." you said, which made her perk up, so you went on "I could jerk off and you could watch, if you want. help me out a bit, touch me.. my chest, your fingers in my mouth, anything", a pleased smile when you saw that the image alone thrilled Van from the way her expression changed, that look she always got when she was hungry for you. she hadn´t considered it before, watching you masturbate, adding to it, when she was too weak to follow her instinct to please you, and it moved her as much as it got her hot, your way of finding moments of deep pleasure and joy to offer her even on her worst days.

"hm.. yes please..." she said and waited, giving you a light slap of encouragement, looking at you with eager eyes as you climbed off her and took your place next to her on the empty side of the bed, pulled your jeans and underwear down, and got comfortable, spread your legs apart, ran your hand over your thigh, a sound of desperation from her as she took it all in, turned her body to face you more directly, leaned over to give you a kiss while whispering "show me, show me what you do when you´re alone", "when I´m thinking of you?" you corrected and smiled while moving your hand between your legs, a nod from her, "yes, yes that´s right..", a groan when she saw you part yourself to slick your fingers up to start rubbing your clit, slowly, taking your time with it, enjoying the act of performing for a devoted witness, for her. you let out a moan as you increased the pressure and felt yourself grow even wetter, already swollen and sensitive from before, the effect that making out with Van had had from you right from the start, you regularly soaking your underwear just from messing around on the couch a bit.

Van´s gaze remained your cunt, what your fingers were doing, how you were playing with yourself, salivating almost, until she moved her eyes up to your stomach, your chest, your face, and sighed "my angel.." as she felt overcome with affection and desire from hearing your sweet sounds, the vulnerability of it all, letting her see you the way you looked when you touched yourself in the privacy and dark of your own room, the distinct sound of your wetness almost making her black out for a second, stirring her need, her mouth watering.

she ran her hand over your chest, squeezed the flesh and got you to moan louder, teased your nipple, hardened it, felt your body shudder and react, "fuck.. please yes.." you whined and nodded, begging for more of her touch, as you rubbed yourself more aggressively, still, not too hard to come already, drawing it out, the ache, to have Van lavish you with her attention, so she did, gladly, her fingers digging into the swell of your breasts, hard, until she traced a path up to your neck, your jaw as she whispered "so fucking pretty..." and swiped her thumb over your lower lip, slowly, touching the tip of your tongue, which got a pathetic moan from you, so she took the cue and smiled as she pushed her index and middle finger into your mouth, slowly sliding them over your tongue, until you closed your lips around them and started sucking, intensely, as if you were giving her fingers a blowjob, perverse with it as you sucked and swirled your tongue over them, as she lost her mind from the feel and view of it and groaned "jesus christ...", trembling as you shut your eyes and savored the feeling of her fingers in you, as you felt your cunt throbbing with the need for release and picked up the pace of your fingers again to really come hard, to use that moment of double pleasure, both your face and lower half stimulated, rushing with blood.

Van licked her lips and let you keep her fingers wet and enclosed by your lips, an appraising "god look at you baby.. always so sweet for me...", only to move her fingers once you were close to finishing and touch your inner thigh, tracing a path up to where you were a soaking mess and helping you out by touching you below your clit, while you focused on your most sensitive spot, her fingers teasing your entrance lightly, which gave you the final push and made you shudder and come undone, the orgasm hitting you hard, your face twisted to the side, sounds muffled by a pillow, Van also moaning as she felt and heard and saw you come for her, to make not just yourself but her feel good, which she did, shaking as if she´d been the one to come as you went slack and laid there, bare, panting, flushed, smiling up at the ceiling as she kept caressing your thigh while you came down form the intense high.

you reached over to pull her hand to your mouth and lick yourself off her fingers, which made her laugh to herself in a resigned way while muttering "you know I might just die from this before the cancer has a chance to kill me.." which made you laugh too, still breathless, trembling. you kissed her hand before letting it go and rolled over to prop yourself up and look at her, "you good there, love?" you asked, grinning as she fussed with your hair and smiled back at you, "oh yeah, perfect, look at me, the picture of vitality" clearly alluding to her tired, worn out state but to you she was beautiful as ever, so you leaned in closer and said "I am looking yes, and enjoying it very much" a tap to the tip of her nose before you gave her a brief kiss, a scoff from her at your comment, which didn´t conceal the pleasure she took in being admired by you, earnestly.

"I am pretty fucking spoiled... some other chronically ill lesbians would kill to be in my position" she joked as you rested your head on her lap for a moment, felt her play with a strand of your hair. "well, I think some others would love to be in mine as well, so" you countered, smiling, but Van shook her head, a bit emotional all of a sudden. "I don´t know about that..." she said quietly "god. sometimes I feel so fucking sorry that I let things get this far. really. it was pretty selfish of me to keep you to myself like this.. like I should´ve told you from the jump, I should´ve made you -" she was falling into that familiar spiral of guilt so you interrupted her, "shhh" you said while moving your head up again and looking at her "easy there, take a breath, okay? and not to be morbid but even if you died right now you´d have still already given me way more than anyone else I´ve been with, and they were younger and fitter, so..." you told her, not lying, still, playing it up a bit, to amuse her.

"well they must´ve been doing something really fucking wrong if I of all people blew your mind" she said, raising her eyebrows, her tone dry, which got a genuine laugh out of you "maybe" you said, cocking your head, touching her arm "or maybe I just love you".

you didn´t plan on saying it but it was true and you had no desire to waste your time pretending you didn´t love her when you had for weeks and weeks already. it was natural, to say it, matter of fact, and it resonated deep within her should, the utter seriousness of your words. "love", she hadn´t heard anyone tell her that in years. she couldnt help it. she teared up, "please..." she begged, almost as if to say "I don´t deserve it.. don´t.. not me..not like this.." but she knew there was nothing she could do to stop you from doing so, so she leaned in and buried her head in the crook of your neck while shedding a few tears, clinging to you, as you held her close and whispered "I love you, I do, I´m not leaving, not today, not next week, not ever. so you can stop trying to convince me."

you sounded determined in a way that cooled her burning mind, so she wiped her tears and held your face in her hands, kissed you, a faint taste of salt from her tears, an urgency to her lingering kiss before she pulled away and said "I love you too. so much." her thumb running over your cheek, your eyes closed, a smile, a reversed image of what she´d done earlier, your turn to melt into her open palm.

you felt the need to be closer again so you laid on her more directly, which got a suppressed groan from her as she laughed and said "ah, careful there.." her hand gesturing at where you were laying, only the blanket and her sweatpants separating your elbows weight from pressing against the spot where she felt the effect of the previous actions. you knew Van was sensitive, but the idea that she had gotten wet from it, that she was soaked enough for it it hurt when you applied too much force, made you want to alleviate her from the ache, to taste her, to have her relax from your mouths work. you loved being devoured by her but sometimes nothing satisfied you more in bed than knowing that you were reminding her that her body was not just diseased but deeply desired, capable of giving her deep pleasure, giving had become more intense for you after youd found out about her illness, and at times she did almost cry from it, your energy of "I will heal whatever part of you I can, I will".

"let me help you with that" you told her as you slowly moved the blanket down her legs and tugged at her waistband, smiling, "I´ll be gentle, don´t worry" assured her when you saw that she feared she might react in an undignified way, lose her composure, faint from it.

she nodded as she felt you kiss her forehead once, twice, before you moved down between her legs and pulled her pants down, glad that she wasn´t wearing underwear, getting comfortable, softly licking and kissing over her freckled thighs before doing anything else, easing her into it, enjoying the intimate, sacred vibe of having her in that weak state, in bed, while the winter sun was casting a golden hue over your bodies tangled in the sheets, your lips glued to her inner thigh, perhaps your favorite part of her, the divine tenderness of the skin there that made every little touch from you send shivers down her spine.

Van was at peace then, free of the earlier intense pain, lulled into a full bodied warm state of arousal, one that wasn´t overwhelming but got some soft moans out of her as she laced her fingers through your hair, a deep sigh of relief and pleasure as you held true to your promise and ever so gently ran your tongue over her, gave her kisses and soft licks, teased her, tasting her just on the outside at first, slowly, only the tip of your tongue, before you felt her open her legs further, silently begging for more, so you moved your tongue in deeper, your arms firmly hooked around her thighs, holding her in place, caressing her stomach, more romantic with it than in moments of a shared urgent hunger, your hands eventually moving up to find hers, staying like that as you savored her taste, the deep, barely suppressed groans from her that always drove you to go a bit harder, to hear more of that, her voice strained from what you were doing.

you remained down between her legs were for a while, both of you sinking into the delicious rhythm of it, the faint sighs and whimpers, her encouraging you "feels so good... don’t stop", finally able to let you show her how much you always wanted her without pushing you away but pulling you closer, asking for more, receiving it with a smile, her head pressed back against the pillow as you made "hmm" sounds from the pleasure of eating her out for that long, a brief pause when she looked down at you, tapped your shoulder, met your eyes and said "thank you, for staying."

Van didn´t just mean that exact moment, you could tell, so you kissed her lower stomach before looking up at her again and said "always" as if you had years and years ahead of you, because in moments like that, it felt like you did, everything was forgotten, love collapsed time and made the threat of her death vanish into thin air.

[iiheartarc]

MY TAKE ON THE CAITVI DISCOURSE

total wordcount: 1591

I will say that I've briefly commented on their dynamic in the past, but it was worded really badly so I feel like I need to defend my writing skills a little bit as well with this, but that's just a sidenote. 💀

I think what a lot of people are missing when people do criticise CaitVi is that they aren't necessarily hating on the ship, it's what writing choices have done to it.

I'm not even going to even say I'm a CaitVi hater, I'm not (S1 CaitVi my beloved, you deserved better), but I do think the choices that writers made this season heavily effected how audiences portrayed the ship, even including myself.

Idk I hope this insight might give some people more perspective on why CaitVi became so hated in this season, people rlly need to start looking at both sides and not taking criticism as a personal attack. It really could've been avoided too if the writers had added more time or extended the series onto a third season, but that's another issue on its own.

1. Caitlyn hits Vi

I really don't get why people are so quick to defend Caitlyn on this one, especially considering the amount of hate Vi got when she hit Powder. Are both inexcusable? Yes. But I do think that the situation is a little different when it's a fifteen year old child who had just witnessed the death of her entire family and a twenty something year old woman who took out her anger and grief on the woman she loved because she blocked her shot.

I do think that people also do ignore the immense amount of trauma that Caitlyn suffered at the hand of Jinx, but unlike when Vi 'abandoned' Powder, (again, that's a whole other conversation, we know she was not abandoned), Vi was not that direct source of anguish to Caitlyn the way Powder was to Vi. (Pls lmk if you want me to expand further on this)

Again, not excusing Vi hitting Powder, I'm pointing out the differences.

It's then also incredibly tone deaf when Caitlyn hits her on two more occasions with the same gun, the third time being played off as a joke. It really doesn't come off well, especially when Vi had been a victim of police-brutality even before the abuse she faced at the hands of the enforcers in Stillwater.

And then, even after all this, it's never addressed. It's brushed over, like Vi's entire trauma in the show, the most we get is Caitlyn brushing her hand over Vi's abdomen in the cell scene. Again, can be taken as an apology, but I think that for some very specific things (like hitting your romantic partner), verbal apologies do need to be made in order to communicate healthily and somewhat build a healthier relationship.

I don't really want to talk about the abusive implications of this, because I don't think I'm someone who can talk about it with a full understanding because that's something I've fortunately never been through, but the blatant disregard and shunning of abuse survivors when they pull up the red flags raised because of this is disgusting. In real life, or if it had even been someone else in the show, if the ship had been a heterosexual relationship, people would call Caitlyn an abuser and would be outraged that Vi had been paired with her in the end. But I digress.

1. The cell sex scene

Initially I hadn't been too bothered about this when I had first watched the episode, but when you really think about it, it shouldn't have happened. Hell, they could've had sex in Caitlyn's office and half of the criticism wouldn't have happened, the ship wouldn't be so hated and the fandom wouldn't be half as divided as it is now (from what I've seen).

First and foremost, the cell.

All I can say is wtf. It was such a poor choice it's actually unfathomable to me now. I don't know why the writers thought that it'd be a good idea for Caitlyn and Vi to have their first time in a jail cell, not only the one Jinx had been locked in, but the one Vi had herself been locked in for what we can assume to be hours. The place of her abuse should not be somewhere where the writers could possibly think would be a suitable for a victim to have such an intimate moment with her partner.

Then there's the fact that Vi had looked to have had some sort of breakdown, we see she's sh and there are literal crates in the wall from where she punched it as well as her knuckles bleeding. As soon as she sees Caitlyn, there's a parallel to when they first met, to when Vi is quite literally caged. She's clearly not in the right state of mind, and so when the scene eventually happens it inevitably comes off as wrong because Vi is incredibly emotionally vulnerable in that moment.

"But Vi initiated it!" That still doesn't make it okay. I do think that this also came with an issue of timing, but then again, as I mentioned earlier, it literally could've been in the office as they argued and it would've been recieved so much better then the cell scene was. Vi wasn't breaking down, she wasn't locked in a reminder of the abuse she faced and her sister hadn't just ran off to do goodness knows what (in Vi's POV, us as the audience know exactly what she's about to do). They could've even have it fade to black and cut to the next scene tangled in bed doing whatever they would've been doing in the cell, Vi would assumably have had time to calm down, would be having sex in a warm and safe environment, and guess what? The audience would've been even happier.

Sure there would've been criticism, but Vi could literally save a thousand babies and adopt them all and still face hate, because a lot of the hate is being directed to Vi too because of the situation with Jinx. That, again, is a whole other situation.

3. "Dirt Under Your Nails"

Again, for the love of god, there can be so many takeaways from this sentence but do not be surprised that people didn't like it. I didn't, it made me cringe horribly.

And before people throw 'media literacy is dead', this whole post (practically essay), is analysing a piece of media that I love. To be literate, you can draw different interpretations and conclusions and that's exactly what I'm doing. It's like saying literacy is dead if two people were to disagree on what the meaning of Macbeth's quote 'I am in blood' meant.

I digress.

I think the main issue here is the class difference between Vi and Cait. Caitlyn is from the aristocracy, a direct heir to a position of power in Piltover, while Vi is lower class, effected indefinitely by growing up in poverty. Even though she grew up as Vander's kid, they were still 'scraping for scraps'. The wealth margin between the two is almost immeasurable, and with the difference in money comes a difference in experiences, as we - the audiences - know.

It especially comes off wrong considering the class tensions and political themes heavily focussed on within the first season. The conflict between Piltover and Zaun, the abuse of power and exploitation of Zaunites by both topside and the chembarons, the prevalence of police brutality on the streets of the Undercity. Again, Vi is someone who is directly effected by this, while Caitlyn came into this blissfully naïve. She did learn yes, and in s1 she was so determined to help, but when then this progress reverts into her calling zaunites 'animals' and using the grey as a weapon, it again makes Vi's words feel uncomfortable.

Again, I think this was a massive timing issue, I would've love to see Caitlyn succumb fully to a villain arc. It would've been so interesting to delve into.

I think Vi has always had the image of herself that she'll always be viewed as less by Piltover, that she herself views herself as less. She says it herself to Vander in s1 ep2 while they're on the bridge, "I grew up knowing I'm less than them." So when she then says as her final words in the show, "I'm the dirt under your nails" obviously, that's going to come across as tacky.

People are free to think of romantic connotations for this, I won't stop you, but when you think about how the show was so focussed on class tensions, police brutality, oppression and exploitation, it doesn't come off right. Idk, that's what got me so interested with the show in the first place, the way these themes were explored so deeply but subtly in a way that didn't feel forced, so Vi's words really rubbed me the wrong way.

Conclusion

So I hope everyone that read somewhat gets where I'm coming from, this was my attempt to try and explain what I think needed to be, badly. Again, you can like the ship, I'm not saying I don't, but it also needs to be acknowledged that there is so many things that could've been worked on properly, done properly or addressed properly, and ignoring criticism won't help these issues to be fixed in the future.

Feel free to ask any questions and thanks for reading this long ass rant :)

[saoirseyun]

⸝⸝ x fem reader

‹‘ 🚬 ’›— trust/vulnerability

CW :: slightly angsty, sui ideation.

—The touch on sunlight oozing from the window blinds of Dazai's dorm laze on the surface of your skin free. Kissing to golden hues lightly shining—bold to highlight sweet specks of your dear body. Despite the careless, sensual feels clouding the atmosphere under sunny skies, how you yourself indulged on the comfort of his futon, a chilling numb bothers you deeply on dead silence towards uncomfortable. It just wasn't that however, is it? You knew it yourself personally but you couldn't point a finger on what really did made you feel so pent up. Loose breathing becomes evident, the touch of your own hands tugging aside messy baby hairs... "[name]?" A grasp reaches your shoulder, alarming—worrying. Dazai lightly reaching out for you at tender and warmth. Groaning, you could barely have yourself face him. "...Sorry, just thinkin' about things." Which is perfectly fine on its own! Insignificant or whatever it was, Dazai still probes you to tell him. You shuffle a reluctant look. "Well—you know..."

"...I can't exactly stop wondering about those countless tries at suicide." You managed to say, in a way that was unreachable—unapproachable. Conflicted. "You'll play around with your own life reckless with me and maybe others suffering the result... Won't you talk to me?" You ruffle your hands into a mess between your hair. "I could try my hardest to help, and—!"

"Don't take it too seriously."

You double take his words. Giving Dazai one last confused glance before disregarding those words completely rash. How your voice comes off as like a furious retort, alongside Dazai watching your movements being much more frantic. You sat up with an impatient look, waiting for him to reply... "I haven't found a method to painless death yet, there's not a chance of you losing me."

But you hate it. You hate how simple he makes it sounds. Why can't Dazai get it? Grief to over what isn't dead, right—you're too good at doing such. That's what makes this so terrifying. An empty stare from his face, some tension in his expression. There was no other way to put it so easily for Dazai to say. "Listen, [name]. It's hard for me to try and talk about this with you."

"It's best if you weren't involved at all."

You held his hands—suffering panic from hesitancy. Remaining silent. What were you supposed to tell him, just what or would it be enough even for him to reconsider? You're the worst.

"Bella... Can't we just enjoy now?" Pressing against bodies of one another, warped together in a single hug and doing nothing but appreciate closure.

"Now?"

Dazai nods, whispering quiet—"Yeah."

"...Just... Right before I die." You frowned when Dazai smiles back sweetly. Shutting his eyes and syncing together hand-to-hand.

"And who's saying you wouldn't die alone?"

A/N; there are suicide prevention hotlines that's listed below: USA, Canada, UK, other regions or countries reminder that there's absolutely no shame in seeking help. if you or anyone you know of struggle with any sort of suicidal thoughts or even self harm, please try and get in touch with the necessary support you or they may be needing. from south korea with love, ~수빈

12/18 for my valentine's special masterlist -— daily clicks

@emyyy007, @emmzai, @adventurinea, @moomuzan, @kissedloveletters, @skibididazai, @iams0up

[walkingstackofbooks]

IPS/BIL AU where Tain dies before he can send the message. Garak and Worf never go to the gamma quadrant. Julian and Martok don't get rescued.

Back on DS9 the changeling is stopped pretty much just as it was in canon, with Kira and Dax managing to stop the Yukon from reaching the sun, just as it explodes. (Maybe since Garak is still on the station, he notifies Sisko that Bashir has taken the Yukon out?) This time, however, no-one knows it was a changeling, and among all the shock and grief, there's tense speculation about what the hell Julian was doing out there in a runabout with a bomb.

The changeling had planned to never be identified, believing it would sow more confusion and fear in the Federation if they believe one of their own had been secretly allied with the Dominion. And so the changeling had left behind a trail of "Julian" interacting with highly questionable locked-down message-boards such as "Would enhanced individuals be better off under the Dominion?", which would never have been tracked back to him apart from under such scrutiny he's now post-humously receiving. (The changeling knew about Julian's enhancements - to become something is to understand that thing, after all.)

Of course, it is considered whether Julian may have been impersonated by a changeling, but once the link to his enhancements has been revealed - and his parents can't hide it, they confess, and are sentenced to time in a penal colony - it seems very much decided that Doctor Bashir had become an augment extremist, biding his time on DS9 until he could play out his part in the Dominion plot. There's varying levels of acceptance of this among Julian's friends - even if it seems that they have to admit it, it's still almost impossible to believe that Julian could have tried to do that. But it doesn't really matter what they think - life has to go on, and the war's continuing whether they like it or not, and little by little they move on with their now-Julian-less lives.

Time passes. they get a new CMO. The Cardassians re-occupy the station, and Sisko leads the campaign to get it back. Worf and Jadzia get married. Garak gets a message.

A.L.I.V.E. J.S.B.

And no-one knows what to think. JSB can't be... can it? But how...

Garak argues that Doctor Bashir's death is so well-known that no-one would use his name as the basis for some sort of trap. Miles agrees. Everyone else wants to agree. (For a certain definition of 'want'. Julian being alive, not a traitor... that also means he's been doing somewhere in the past ten months, and it's difficult to think about what sort of awful place that might have been.)

Garak and Worf are sent out to chase this signal - in theory, it's recon, but naturally it quickly devolves. They get captured themsleves, finding Camp 371 and Julian, looking ten months worse for wear. Garak learns about Tain's death, and the subspace transmitter he'd began working on and that they'd only just been able to finish, having managed to recruit a recently-abducted Starfleet engineer. An engineer who's currently in solitary, leaving them with a plan to escape now there's a runabout in orbit, but no way to effect it. Unless there's something Garak can do...

And Worf, of course, meets Martok, and is impressed by the Klingon's tale of daily fights for nearly three years. "Almost every day," Martok corrects him. "There have been times when I've woken up with a sore head to find that the doctor has taken my place."

Worf looks to Julian, nodding. "So you are the man we remember," he says. "Your enhancements may have helped you fight, but it was an honourable thing to volunteer."

"My... my enhancements?" asks Julian faintly. "What- what do you mean?"

"Commander, is now really the time—" Garak tries to interrupt but Julian speaks over him.

"No, Garak, I want to know— I-I need to know. What do you mean, Worf?"

And Worf, in his short, succinct way tells Julian how they had believed he had died, and what they had discovered thereafter, and while they know now that he is not an augment extremist, his parents' confession made it clear that he is an augment.

Julian doesn't say very much after that, apart from what is needed to help with the rescue - he calms Garak down, he volunteers to try and figure out what needs doing in the crawl space ("I've learnt at least a few things from tinkering with it over those seven months...") - but otherwise, he's withdrawn and spacey. Garak perserveres - he must get Julian back to DS9, has to hope there's still time to rekindle that light in his doctor's eyes - and manages to get them out, and even locking onto the engineer's life sign in solitary. They make it to the runabout, and escape.

It's a very different sort of homecoming. This time, rather than having only a few hours to get used to the idea that Julian had been missing for a month, they've been mourning him for almost a year, angry and confused and left with so many questions. And they've had almost a week of wondering what's become of Worf and Garak, and to tie themselves in circles wondering if J.S.B really could be Julian Subatoi Bashir.

Garak gets them all beamed directly to sickbay, and it's obvious that Julian's overwhelmed enough by that without having hordes of emotional friends come to greet him. So they're allowed in, one at a time. Miles petitions to be first, and wraps Julian up in what would have been the firmest of hugs - apart from Julian's so gaunt, so... fragile, that Miles find he dare not squeeze too hard. Words gush out - ones that he'd never have thought he'd admit out loud - about how much he missed Julian and how glad he is none of what they said was true, and it takes him some time to realise that he's been blabbering on and Julian's not been saying a word.

Julian has been clinging onto him tightly, though, and that... that's got to be enough, for now.

[doiliedaze]

Apple of my Eye: part two

Butch farm hand! Abby x Farmer! reader

Warnings: none in this part besides the both of them lying to themselves in the beginning :( especially reader, Owen mention, talks of grief, both of their insecure tendencies of wanting to help each other pop out, talk of being bi and comphet, Abby being a control freak, reader is horrible at reassurance

Genre: fluff, angst

A/n: hey dolls I know I said I was gonna make moodboards but nevermind LMAOOOO It’s hard finding pictures for the masculine counterparts especially Sevika because Pinterest sucks sometimes so yeah! They have an Australian shepherd because I love Bluey so much and all of them have silly little names, so her name is Biscuit!! I also wanted to make note of the bisexual and comphet conversation because I know I have bi dolls here and bisexuality is a valid sexuality and you’re a valid lesbian no matter what that looks like even if you were bisexual in the past! I added it because I’m a femme lesbian who use to identify as bisexual and I was comphet and I didn’t want to erase Owen so I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to introduce those identities struggles.

1

───────┈ · ·

The farm has a new ambiance to it. Abby has brought a new peace I never thought I'd feel here. I mean moving out here was the best thing I could've done, but it hasn't been peaceful truth be told.

Abby is the ultimate gentleman and the perfect person to live with! When I'm sick she takes care of me and when I fall asleep on the porch, she'll either join me or she'd take me to my bed. She even lets me take care of her, which I can tell is a struggle for her. She's all "don't need ya help pumpkin" and "sit down little missy" oh! and my favorite "just relax sugar."

The way she looks at me when she calls me sugar could make me melt! Doesn't matter though because I doubt she sees me that way, no one should anyways.

My thoughts get interrupted as our dog Biscuit jumps onto my lap, knocking my ignored book out my hand in the process. Biscuit is an Australian Shepherd and she is a huge help to the farm!

She’s a needy little thing…just like her mama y’all figure out which one I’m referring to. She plops her weight on me just begging for cuddles and obviously I obliged.

“There’s my girls” Abby states as she makes her way onto the porch. She’s coming back from doing field work and holy shit she’s so fucking fine. Her chest is heaving from her hard work, her pretty face dirty just a little, her usually tight braid has fly aways and her skin is more tanned.

In the midst of my gawking Abby leans into my face, “heard me sugar?” I feel heat run straight through my body. She stands up straight rubbing her big hands, “always zoning out, just asking what you wanted for din-”

“No! I mean I was wondering if we could cook together tonight?”

Her face slowly grows into a smile, “I’d love that.”

We settled on a beef brisket which will take a while so as that slowly cooks we made our sides. Barbecue beans and toast! As I was making the sauce for the beans…giving some to biscuit here and there Abby breaks the silence.

“Y’know I really have enjoyed myself here.” I look at her, “I’ve enjoyed you too, I have never lived with someone outside my family.”

“Really? I was always at a friends place or anywhere but home…” she chuckled softly then cleared her throat.

I want her to open up to me more but I’m not that good at getting her to want to talk to me about that sorta stuff, but I’ve also never directly asked!

“Wanna talk about it?” I say and I can feel my words hanging in the air. I couldn’t bring myself to look at her.

She walks over to me and looks down at me, “why?”

That completely throws me, why else girl? “Because I want to know you better, I want you to be comfortable enough to talk to me…if that’s what you want.”

Her demeanor can change at times. She can be very playful then she can be very guarded and it’s intimidating.

She’s overthinking I can see it in her eyes but she whispers, “I never liked being home, I just didn’t and I regret that after my dad passed.”

My mouth gets dry and a clutch the spoon. Y’know what they say there is no right thing to say when someone mentions a death in their life. What if what I ask her is annoying? What if I come off self centered?

In disbelief I just try to read her body language, does she want me to talk? Does she want a hug?

Her body was stiff but still open to me but her arms are crossed over her chest. “I loved my dad, but I was being a teenager and teenagers hate being around their parents so I just followed the crowd and…now I can’t take that back.”

I bite my lip wanting to hold her or wipe the tears I see building in her eyes. “So when he passed and everything was settled I moved to Seattle…lived with my ex at the time which is another difficult story.”

“You don’t have to get into that if you don’t want to there’s no pressure!” I immediately chip in, wanting to reassure her in some way.

I wipe her tear and her face leans into my hand a little and she mutters a thank you. She closed her eyes and breathed shakily then she just straighten her shoulders and pat mine. “Thank you for listening sugar I needed that.”

“I’m here for you always Abs” I say as I bump her with my hip successfully getting a smile and a flustered expression out of her.

We ate dinner cuddled up on the porch in silence.

The next couple days we’re peaceful but informative! I told her small fun facts like I’ve set a field on fire before by accident to serious things like this time I got cheated on which led to the time she got cheated on.

We both talked about how we were bi and comphet and how sometimes we don’t feel valid in our lesbian identities because we’ve been in relationships with men.

She told me more about this Owen and Mel situation as we were riding our horses to get our animals in their coops when I suggested that I should fly up there and beat there ass when I guess she took that shit serious.

“Sugar wake up” she whispers as she shakes me awake, “Abby leave me alone it’s Saturday!” I whine as I feel her sit me up. “C’mon we’re gonna miss our flight!” My eyes shoot open to that.

“Flight?”

“Flight!” She beams as she moved to get my packed bags, “Abby what the fuck!” I say as I get out the bed.

“Well I was thinking hey I really like this girl maybe she should meet my people and I know her grandpa could watch the farm for a little while so I schedule a little trip to Seattle for us!”

My heart flutters as she talks so effortlessly about liking me…even though she probably means it platonically.

I just go along with it. I know that once her mind is set on something she’s just going to do it.

This whole morning felt like a blur! I woke up, got on a plane and now I’m being introduced to this girl named Nora while I’m jet lagged and in hello kitty pj pants. She’s funny and she’s nice, she’s easier to talk to compared to some of the others.

Nora breaks down the groups dynamic to me and honestly I don’t know how they are friends but it’s not my business.

This is all happening at Mannys house he seems to host everything. Leah was telling me how it’s convenient that Owen and Mel are late and I take that as a mental note.

Abby has kept me close as much as possible, almost as if she’s on edge so I pull her to the side. “You okay?”

She gulps down her water, “yeah! Why wouldn’t I be?” “You made a kinda irresponsible, super spontaneous decision and brought me along and I think it kinda stems back to the ex so…”

She stares at me before saying, “this is so stupid! He’s never seen me like…this.” “Like who you are?” I rub her bicep and her arm tenses so I move away. She rubs her face, “look I just…I’ve never felt so small and he always makes me feel so small! And it’s not just him…Mel and I have had a complicated relationship and for her to be with him…she’s everything I wasn’t and I don’t want to be like that but-”

I hold her hand, and mimic that she needs to breathe because her face is so red. She follows along and clears her throat. “I don’t want to be like that but it still hurts…” “okay well I say maybe you should talk to her. I don’t know if you want to talk to Owen but I think you should talk to Mel and burry the hatchet.”

Before she could respond we heard a collective “oh shit” from inside. Manny comes rushing outside, “Not trying to intrude but to intrude just um brace yourself…”

With that he moves to the side and we see who I assume to be Owen and Mel with a baby bump. I immediately look up at Abby and see her face a hue of green. Her larger hand is crushing mine but I endure it because she needs it.

The air in the room was so heavy. I guess the others didn’t know she is pregnant. She doesn’t look that far along.

Owen takes a step forward to introduce himself but Abby takes me through the back and to the car. “Okay wait!” I say as I hold onto the car door before she opens it. Her face was a mixture of disgust and anger and confusion.

“Abby listen that is a lot but it doesn’t matter!” She scrunched her face up at me, “it matters but it doesn’t? I feel like if you just talk to them…I mean they are a couple right? You don’t want either of them so let that hurt go…”

She let go of me and leaned on the car and the rain started to drizzle down. She just stood there and cried and I feel like I can’t do nothing about it! I mean what do you say, what do you do! This is such a difficult situation. She doesn’t like him anymore she doesn’t like men anymore in general, but at the end of the day that was her first love! Mel was her well I don’t think she was her friend but she’s envious of her in a way and never got the closure of letting it go she just keeps leaving. Oh…

I inch closer to her and wrap myself around her. The rain started to pour down on us but I didn’t care. She needed to be held, to be cared for, to know she’s a butch that’s loved.

Her body was shaking and I nuzzle my head against her back. To lighten the mood I say, “my hair smells like smoke can we go somewhere dry?” And she laughs a little, “I’m sorry” she touches my now messed up press out.

We get in the car and she looks at me, “I’m so sorry for everything. I made you go to Seattle, meet all these people, fuck up your hair and…I just wasn’t considerate of you.”

“I appreciate your apology because this whole situation has been a lot but I’m here for your, I’m your girl.”

“You are my girl” she smiles, before I could respond Mel knocks on her window and mouths can we talk.

“I could just drive off…” “Abigail!”

She sighs and unlocks the back door, “no I’ll leave, I don’t have to hear this.” Mel gets in the passenger seat and I exit the car and go to Manny’s stoop where everyone else is.

Owen approaches me and I can tell he’s sizing me up. He extends his hands and I stare at it then look away. He scoffs and stands to the side and talks to Jordan’s bitch ass.

To be honest Abby needs a whole new friend group besides Nora but she has enough on her plate.

Eventually Abby and Mel emerge they seem more calm around each other but there’s work to be done. We say our goodbyes and go to our hotel.

“So this trip got cut short!” I say as I fix my hair and she steps into the shower. “We could spend some time here then go somewhere else…”

“Where?” I hum as I slowly pass the flat iron to through my hair.

“Atlanta!”

“Atlanta?”

───────┈ · ·

A/n: I’ve been approaching this like it’s a romcom and I feel like it shows lol, I hope y’all enjoyed!!

Taglist: @manfuckthisimout @bambishaven @femme-historian @furrytaesss @milanyas @highnfemme

Dividers- @dollywons

[enden-agolor]

im not sure if you've been asked this yet, but im curious to know what kind of music you associate fdau with

Sorry I'm getting to this ask so late, I was kind of waiting until we got to a certain part in the story to answer. Here's this song that Andy and I really like that we believe fits the au very well.

For my own music taste towards the story, I will have to continue down below to avoid posting spoilers.

Firstly, I think it is extremely important to understand the mood of the forest. To Lukas, the forest is beautiful. A place that comforts him and sets him in a realm of peace and familiarity. Nature is everything to Lukas, and his view on the forest is drastically different than Jesse's own. While there is beauty to be seen, there is also the much needed acknowledgement that this place is the foundation of someone's lost sanity. This place hides a lost soul, one that has given up on the world he once sacrificed everything for.

There is a special type of music that can properly represent this, and it's music that does, I personally believe, fulfill the feelings of grief and despair that Jesse feels. It sets the tone of dread that the forest's ambiance thrives in.

I listen to a lot of Silent Hill music+ambiance when writing the chapters of TFB. It really helps capture the scenes in my head as I write them out. It is that much needed feeling of sorrow that follows Lukas with every footstep he takes beyond the fog. It's not his sorrow he's feeling, but the forest's and all that it has witnessed.

Chapter 27 is very special, because there are two songs I really base the emotions felt on Jesse's side off of during the cabin scene.

Just Kids has to go here. It played during the cabin scene in Season 2, but because Petra had her life figured out by this point in this AU, this song wouldn't have had the same emotional affect as it does now, ten years later, in a completely different cabin and during a scene devoted to Jesse and everything he has lost.

You're A Fighter first starts off very somber, hitting a chord that you know resembles a tone of grief. It represents Jesse's loss of sanity, loss of life, and his own self hatred, but as the song carries on, it becomes more uplifing, brighter, representing Lukas' presence and kind-hearted determination to stick by Jesse's side and believe in him for who he was, and who he is now.

These songs are really special to me, and I'm happy to share them with you guys now. I may post some more, but in the meantime, I hope this post is satisfactory.

[schrijverr]

I Didn’t Mean to Say I Do, but I Do. I Do. 47

Chapter 47 out of 50

Secret marriage of convenience buddie slow burn AU, where Buck and Eddie have been married for years so Buck could adopt Chris and no one at the 118 knows.

In this chapter, Eddie tries to convince the nurse at the VA hospital to let him go back out there with Athena as his backup, while Buck continues his search for Chris, which is getting more hopeless by the second.

On AO3.

Ships: Buddie

Warnings: self loathing, injury, minor character death mention, grief

~~~

Chapter 47: Don’t Give Up

Buck has been stumbling around for hours. His head is woozy and he feels weak. However, he keeps pushing, keeps going, keeps walking, keeps swimming. He has to just keep swimming. Like Dory. He can’t let Chris down.

He’s looked everywhere and it seems Chris has all but disappeared from the face of the earth. That has implications he doesn’t want to think about.

So, he doesn’t. He just keeps swimming.

Just keep swimming.

Just keep…

He tilts, but rights himself with a start, before rubbing his face to wake himself up. He can’t fall over now, he has to find Chris. Has to keep swimming.

In the distance, he sees lights. They’re swaying, but maybe that’s just him. Whatever, it doesn’t matter. What matters is getting there. People are collecting there. People are going there. Chris is people. Chris could be there. Buck just has to get there, just has to keep swimming a little longer.

The only thing that keeps him awake is the stabbing pain in his leg. He’s pretty sure that is not good, but he can’t think about that right now. Not when he’s just reached the VA hospital.

“Are you okay? Let me get your name and some help,” a nurse stops him.

“No.” Buck shakes his head. “No.” He can’t be helped yet, he can’t stop. If he stops, he sinks and he can’t sink. He has to keep swimming.

“No?” the nurse frowns.

“I need to find Chris,” he manages to get out. “Christopher Diaz. Did he come here?” Now that he’s close to getting a possible answer, adrenaline courses through his veins, propping him up enough to make it through this.

The nurse checks the papers. Neither of them can know that Christopher is at that very same hospital already, just a few meters away, his name on a list, but one that has not gone around to be updated yet. “I don’t see him on here. You may wanna check over there at the black tent.”

Buck turns slowly to see what the nurse is talking about. The black tent he indicated is a sad place, with body-bags being filled every moment as more and more of the dead are counted. The harsh reality of a natural disaster made visible.

In turning to look at the black tent, he does not see less terrible aspects of a natural disaster. The people that made it through, the people that have found a loved one, instead of lost them. Like Bosko and Ronnie, and even Eddie and Athena.

Athena, who assures Eddie she’s okay as she scans him for injuries, by saying: “Not my blood.”

“Ronnie?” Bosko asks the form on the stretcher, eyes wide with horror. Eddie’s eyes instantly follow her, managing to add it not being Athena’s blood up to it then being Ronnie’s.

However, luck is on their side here, because Ronnie manages to open his eyes, smiling tiredly as he asks: “Bosko?”

“Y- Yeah, it’s me. Everyone’s okay, they’re all okay,” Bosko cries.

“Tha’s- Tha’s good,” Ronnie nods haphazardly.

Bosko sends Eddie and Athena a worried look and Eddie waves her away. He has new back up now in the form of Athena. Bosko needs be to with her Captain. She’s done more than enough for him. He has family in his corner now, Bosko should be backing her own family.

“What’s going on here?” Athena asks, catching on that something is wrong.

“She’s not letting me go back out there,” Eddie answers immediately as he points at the nurse. He feels a bit like a little kid, tattling to his mom, but he doesn’t care. “Buck is out there, ‘Thena. He’s out there and she won’t let him look for him.”

Understanding dawns on Athena’s face and she says: “Bobby said you’d be out there looking. You still haven’t found him?”

Eddie’s throat feels tight as he swallows and shakes his head. “No.” The weight of that word heavy in his stomach. It’s been a while since he’s run into anyone who’d seen Buck and he knows what that can mean, even if he doesn’t want to face it. It’s why he has to go back out there. Has to find him.

Athena closes her eyes for a moment, as if processing a hit. Eddie can relate to the feeling, he’s been feeling it for hours now. He feels like he failed Buck. Like he failed everyone. He has always sucked at being a husband, but at least it didn’t get Shannon killed.

“Hey, don’t do that,” Athena says, seeing it on his face. “He’s out there, you can’t give up.”

His lip wobbles and he feels like he’s drowning, like the water clawed its way up his legs and crawled down his throat, forcing itself into his lungs and into his skull, pushing at his eyes as it fills him, drowns him. With quiet voice, he confesses: “I love him. I love him and I never said and now I might never get to.”

“Oh, Eddie,” Athena sighs, pulling him in a hug.

Eddie buries his face in the crook of her neck. He lets himself teeter on the edge of breaking down, shaking silent sobs, but never letting a tear fall. It’s hard to step back from that ledge when you’re already tumbling down. However, he forces himself to step back, to suck it up and look Athena in the eyes as he implores: “I have to go find him.”

Athena meets his eyes for a moment, then nods, before barking at the nurse: “Why are you keeping this man here against his will?”

The nurse looks surprised by the turn of events as she explains: “We want to avoid people getting lost in the dark, those who make it to the collection points have to wait there until they can be evacuated. I can’t let him go out there until he’s with his unit, especially not with a child.”

“Give Chris here.”

“What?”

“Give him here, I’ll keep him safe and send you out with some of my people, tell them to let you go your own way. Or maybe help you, if you’d like,” she says.

Relief and gratitude wash over him at the offer and he quickly undoes the sling, moving Chris from his back to his hip, before setting him down on the ground. He kneels in front of him, draping the blanket around his shoulder as he says: “You heard that, mijo? You’re gonna stay with Athena, so I can find papi for us.”

“No,” Chris shakes his head stubbornly. Eddie pinky promised that they’d find papi. They as in the two of them. Chris isn’t just going to be left behind.

Much like his son, Buck is stubbornly refusing to take what he’s being told. “No. No. No.” Again he’s shaking his head in denial. That black tent can’t be where today ends. Buck just needs to keep searching, needs to keep going, keep swimming. Chris is out there, he has to be. He can’t have killed Chris. His own son. Eddie’s son. Their child. He refuses to believe it.

An empty void, an ache, claws at his insides. It feels as if the pit of his stomach has turned into a black hole, trying to suck his entire being into it. He cannot continue to exist if Chris is truly dead. If Buck truly killed him. He- He just can’t.

“I’m really sorry, sir,” the nurse says sympathetically. However, it’s clearly not the first time he’s had to break terrible news to someone today.

“No!” Buck doesn’t want to believe it. Chris isn’t on the list. He’s not on there. They might have a list of the dead, but Chris isn’t there and until he sees Chris’s body, he’s not going to believe it. He refuses.

With almost inhuman willpower, he forces himself up. Up and moving. He can’t stop yet. He has to keep swimming. He has to get back out there. He was weak moments ago, but not now, not as he shrugs off the hand that tries to stop him.

“Sir. Sir! I can’t let you leave again,” the nurse protests as he grabs at Buck’s shirt to stop him, but Buck just keeps walking.

“Papi?” Chris’s voice interrupts Eddie’s patient explanation as to why Chris can’t come with him, no matter how badly they both want to.

The switch of his tone is enough for Eddie to pause, then he hears Buck’s voice and his head whips around as he practically gives himself whiplash.

Behind them, Buck in the middle of a commotion. There’s a nurse pulling at him and telling him to stop, while Buck stubbornly tries to walk on, walk back out into the dark.

Buck shouldn’t be standing. His face is all scratched up and there are multiple cuts on his arms bleeding sluggishly. To not even mention the way he keeps nearly buckling, nearly tilting over, even as he puts up a fight.

Despite it all, he looks like a mirage in the desert to Eddie, like a hero from the tales of old, persevering in the face of impossible odds.

Then it hits him that Buck is there. That he found him. That he is about to slip through his fingers once more, because he is absolutely winning that fight. The thought is enough to jolt him into action, calling out: “Buck! Buck!” Athena has Chris, he needs to run now, before Buck is gone. Before he loses him once more.

The yells don’t register. Buck is so focused on getting to the exit, getting out of here, shaking this weight, so he can keep going, keep swimming. So, he’s completely taken by surprise when a weight smashes into him from the side.

He lets out a groan as he is unbalanced. For a moment, he thinks he is being tackled, but whoever hit him is spinning so he can take Buck’s weight. Then the smell hits him. It’s waterlogged and the sweat scent is stronger than usual, however it’s unmistakably Eddie. It’s home.

His senses refocus and he can feel Eddie’s arms around him, hugging him tightly, the mop of brown hair right under his nose, as Eddie says: “Oh my god, I’m so glad I found you. I found you. You’re here. I got you.”

Buck feels frozen. He wants to melt into Eddie, wants to tuck himself into this bit of warmth, this bit of comfort. Today has been the worst day of his life and all he wants is the shelter Eddie has always offered him. The safety.

But how can he? How can he let Eddie comfort him, when he lost their son?

“Eddie…” he starts with no clue how to go on. His vision blurring and throat tightening until noise becomes almost too difficult.

“Buck?” Eddie asks, looking worried as he pulls back to take a better look at him.

He doesn’t deserve that worry, not with what he’s done. Eddie must not know, must not have realized what his presence here means. He’s in his firefighter uniform. He’s probably been out there helping people, oblivious to what has happened.

Right now, the choice to let Eddie do his job while Buck did his, seems monumentally stupid. He is not ready to break this news to Eddie. He probably never will be. However, he can’t keep this to himself, not for his own comfort. Eddie deserves to know. It will break them forever, but Buck is slowly starting to realize this might be something he can’t fix, because how do you fix the death of your child?

Buck takes a deep breath and says: “Eddie… We, uhm- me and Christopher, we were at the- the beach and, uhm- and listen to me, okay? I swear to you, okay, I tried. And I just- but I- Eddie. I- I don’t know how to say this, but I- I lost him.” His voice breaks and tears start up as he gasps: “I lost our son.”

Eddie is shaking his head and Buck knows the feeling. He also didn’t want to believe it, but it’s true. It’s what happened. It’s not until he said it, until he’s looked Eddie in the eyes and said it that it became real.

Chris is gone.

Their son is gone.

Grief hits him hard and he has to look away, but Eddie doesn’t let him. There’s a hand on his cheek, on his face and Eddie is forcing him to look him in the eye. Buck screws his eyes shut, not wanting to see the blame, the anger.

However, Eddie’s voice is gentle as he says: “Buck. Buck, look at me. You didn’t lose him. I got him, okay? I got him, you didn’t lose him. You saved him.”

Buck doesn’t believe it, eyes snapping open, but Eddie looks to be truthful and indeed, he can hear a voice that can’t belong to anyone other than Chris call out: “Papi! Papi!”

“Chris? Christopher,” Buck calls back, frantically looking around before he spots Athena coming up behind Eddie, carrying Chris in her arms.

Eddie steps to the side, never breaking the contact with Buck, just shifting so he can take Buck’s weight, while he moves to meet Chris in the middle.

Athena hands Chris over to Eddie, who immediately makes sure Buck can reach him. The two of them falling each other in the arms as it becomes a group hug. Chris’s curls are dry since so much time has passed, still smelling like he used to do as toddler, even if it’s buried under the smell of dirty sea water.

“Oh my god, Chris,” Buck cries, tears rolling down his face and into Chris’s hair as he weeps, hands gripping the back of both Eddie’s and Chris’s shirts so tightly. He never wants to let this moment go, never. He’s never been so relieved before. It doesn’t matter what has happened before right now, because he gets to hold his family again.

“Papi, we found you. We saved you like you saved me,” Chris says, excitedly and proud.

“You did, Superman, you did,” Buck smiles through his tears. It leaves him weak in the knees and he officially buckles as today finally catches up with hi,

Eddie makes sure to soften his descent, holding him closely as he lowers the three of them to the ground. If he weren’t so exhausted, he would be more obsessed with how strong Eddie is that he takes both their weight easily and controlled, even after what must have been a heavy day.

They end up on the ground with Buck sitting sideways between Eddie’s legs, leaning against his chest to stay upright. Chris is more on Buck’s lap than Eddie’s at this point. It shouldn’t be, but it’s the most comfortable Buck has felt all day.

“I got you,” Eddie promises and Buck swears he feels a brush of Eddie’s lips over his forehead when he does.

Though, it must be the exhaustion that overtakes him, because he starts to pass out. Still, the words – however imagined they may be – knit the skin of his heart together. He didn’t break this beyond repair and that brings a lightness to him, even if he only manages a crooked grin as he mumbles: “I know, you always got me,” and then he’s out.

When Buck goes slack in his arms, Eddie’s heart stops for a second, but then he feels puffs of breath against his neck. So when Chris gives him big worried eyes and asks: “Is papi okay?” he says: “Papi’s gonna be okay. We got him. Can you get off or do you need help?”

“I got him,” Bobby’s voice is suddenly next to them, picking Chris up after getting a nod from the boy.

“Cap?” Eddie can’t help but say, not having heard or seen them arrive, however, when he looks, the whole 118 is there.

“He was really out there?” Hen says with a concerned frown. “I mean, I know we’ve been looking, but it didn’t feel real.”

“Yeah, and I need a stretcher, right now,” Eddie calls out. He doesn’t have time to catch up with them. Buck needs him, Buck trusts Eddie to have him. He’s not going to let him down. Not again, never again.

Like professionals, Hen and Chimney spring into action as Eddie calls out orders for them to get a drip for Buck; fluids to replenish what he lost and antibiotics, he’s been out there in the filth with open wounds. There is no stretcher available, but there is a bed for Eddie to carry him to.

Despite not usually being the paramedic, the other two let Eddie push them out of the way as he does it all by himself. They give him some looks, but Eddie doesn’t doubt Bobby recounted his breakdown at the engine of the 136 to them. So they must know something about his state.

He’s probably also being obvious, but he doesn’t care. He almost lost Buck today, he’s never going to let him go, not without letting him know how sorry he is for running and how much Buck means to him. How much he loves him.

Eddie has been running, but trying to find a way back. To have a natural disaster push them back into each other’s orbit feels like a sign. If Eddie is ever going to believe in the universe, it will be because of this, because it gave Buck back to him, because it didn’t make someone he loves leave him again.

Pretty soon, Eddie got Buck hooked up and sleeping on a cot. He is efficient and good at his job and he does nothing but the best for his Buck.

With the work done, Eddie feels his own exhaustion catch up with him. So, he has collapsed onto the chair next to Buck’s bed, his hand in his own, Chris now on this lap. Together they watch Buck sleep.

To assure Chris, Eddie says: “Papi is sleeping like he was in the hospital, remember that, mijo? He had to rest so he could get better.”

“Yeah, he had to sleep for forever,” Chris nods. “It was so boring.”

Eddie snorts, then agrees: “Yeah, it was kinda boring, wasn’t it. But we’re gonna let him sleep, right?”

“Of course,” Chris says very seriously. Then he yawns and mumbles: “But only because I’m maybe a little sleepy too. He’s not allowed to be boring forever.”

“He won’t,” Eddie laughs, kissing the top of Chris’s head as he softly says: “Go to sleep, Chris. I’ll watch over him.”

“Alright, daddy, wake me up if papi does?” Chris ask.

“I will,” Eddie promises.

Chris drops off within seconds. It seems like that is the signal the others have been waiting for, because they move closer from where they’ve been hovering. Bobby speaks first: “Seems like you found him.”

“I did,” Eddie says cautiously.

“Seems like you followed my orders,” Bobby says, giving him a slightly mischievous look, as if he knows Eddie didn’t in the slightest.

Some of Eddie’s nerves settle at that and he grins. “I did. Bosko’s here too. Don’t say you doubted me?”

“Never,” Bobby tells him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Somehow, it doesn’t feel like he’s joking around anymore. Like he genuinely never doubted Eddie. It feels weirdly nice to be trusted like that, even when he knows he doesn’t really deserve it with how he fucked up these past few months.

Hen checks Buck over, Eddie doesn’t take offense, he keeps his fingers on Buck’s pulse to assure himself he’s okay. She looks up at Eddie and asks again: “Was he really out there all day?”

Eddie’s face darkens as he remembers today and he nods. “He was. Must have pulled at least two dozen people out the rubble or to safety on the way. I don’t know how he did it. A hospital’s gonna need to take a look at that leg again.”

“Guess he probably won’t be re-certifying in a month,” Chimney grimaces in sympathy.

“God, he’s gonna hate that,” Hen also sympathizes. “Pretty sure he was climbing the walls with the need to do something. Isn’t that right, Eddie?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Chimney asks incredulously.

“I haven’t been home in two weeks,” Eddie says, unsure why he’s suddenly confessing all this. He can’t even look any of them in the eye, just staring holes in Buck’s forehead, to where one of his curls is sticking to it. He should straighten that out.

“What?” Hen chokes.

“You’re in the dog house, Diaz?” Chimney asks.

“I fucked up and I ran,” Eddie says with shame, before determination hardens him again. “But I’m gonna make it right. I’m not going to fuck up like that again. I’m doing better now. I just needed to get back and now I’m back.”

He misses the way everyone exchanges looks behind them. All of them have their own theories about what’s going on, however, this isn’t the moment to prod or push. So, Chimney breaks the moment by clearing his throat and saying: “I’m gonna call Maddie, tell her we found him.”

“Good idea,” Bobby says. “I’ll call the Chief, explain why I’m sending you home and getting some transport for Buck. He needs care for that leg.”

“Thank you,” Eddie says, meaning more than just the organization of right now.

Soon, he finds himself carrying a sleeping Chris on one hip, before carrying an equally unconscious Buck into the back of a van. No ambulance, because they can’t spare one, definitely not an air lift, because thankfully he’s not critical enough for that, but a van is already pretty good.

However, a van means it jolts more than an ambulance, especially with how rough the terrain is in the aftermath of a tsunami. So when there is a particularly hard bump, Buck blearily opens his eyes, not fully conscious, but not unconscious either.

Like the stubborn, lovable dumbass he is, he starts to get up, groaning something about needing to find Chris and needing to keep swimming.

“You found Chris,” Eddie assures him, letting go of Buck’s hand so he can push him back down, before he hurts himself. “Look, here. Chris is safe. Rest, Buck.”

“Christopher,” Buck says with a relieved smile when he spots Chris.

“Yeah, Christopher,” Eddie confirms, his heart bursting with love and affection. It’s probably written all over his face, but he can’t push it down, even if he wanted to.

Buck now looks at him, face clearing up as he exclaims: “Eddie! You’re here. You came back.”

“I did,” Eddie says, heart wrenching slightly at how awed Buck sounds when he says that. “And I’m never going to leave you again,” he adds, because he can never let Buck doubt that again.

“You promise?” Buck asks, vulnerable edge to his voice.

“I promise,” Eddie says, feeling equally vulnerable. It makes him a little uncomfortable, laying himself bare like that, so he jabs: “You’re stuck with me, Buckley. Married me and everything. You aren’t getting rid of me that easily.”

“Good. Don’t ever want to be rid of you,” Buck tells him with a goofy smile.

Eddie can feel the blush color his cheeks at that. He doesn’t know what that means yet, but it makes him feels warm and fuzzy inside. That horrible crush – deep love, but shush – creeping up on him and making him feel like a middle schooler writing his last name next to Buck’s and doodling hearts around it.

Fortunately, he doesn’t have to figure out how to react to that, because Buck slips back into unconsciousness immediately after.

Unfortunately, that doesn’t stop one of the elderly ladies they’re sharing the van to wistfully comment: “Och, young love,” which makes Eddie’s ear burn. It’s going to be a long drive to the hospital.

~~

A/N:

No, confession, I know, boooo, but I wanted to keep it a Chris moment, because that scene in canon rips me to shreds every single time and then it didn’t fit with the vibes.

However, fear not, the slow burn is almost a flame! (would be kind of rough if it wasn’t with only three more chapters to go, but still). Let’s see if Eddie can keep up that talking streak when outside a disaster zone xp

[sunnysidezblog]

Spoilers, I guess, for the Desmond Miles story/games?? Idk they're games that've been out for years, but I thought it was only polite. If you don't care, then the rest is under the cut. I just need to get my love for and thoughts on Desmond out of my system.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

The thing I find most tragic about Desmond miles as a character is the fact that even though the assasins preach freedom, Desmond was never given the freedom of choice until the very end and even then it wasn't a real choice.

We don't know much about Desmond's time at the farm when he was growing up, but it's insinuated multiple times that he was hit by Bill, or that he had been abused in some way.

He grew up in a place where he wasn't given a choice in whether or not he wanted to be an assassin. That in itself breaks one of the core values of their creed, which is that they fight on the side of freedom. And one could, and should, in my opinion, argue that the freedom of choice is one of the most important rights someone can have. The freedom to choose to fight for something is fundamental to what the creed is all about.

Then, he finally is able to make a choice on his own when he runs away from the farm. He thinks everything they've told him is a lie, that templars aren't real, and there's nothing to worry about. He finally makes a choice, yes, but it was one that was predetermined from the very start. The isu knew he would do it. They calculated it and set up dominos to knock over when the time was right, down to the millisecond.

Desmond Miles was very much set up to die, much like a lamb raised for slaughter. He ran away to see the rest of the world and only got to see that world for 9 years. He was always destined to be caught by the templars, fall in love with and get betrayed by Lucy, he was always meant to die.

His entire personality was also manufactured if one would like to argue that. The isu made sure that the steps leading up to his demise were calculated to perfection (with the exception of Juno, who even with little wiggle room was able to manipulate conner). Desmond's entire personality-- his humor, his attitude towards life, and his roll over stance to his mistreatment.

By giving him the childhood he had and then running away, he was hardened and had been instilled with the creeds' principles and then was exposed to the rest of humanity. He probably always had compassion and kindness for people, and that part of himself was probably increased when working as a bar tender because bar tenders see the world at their best and their worst, and he himself after having fought for his place in the world knows how resilient humans can be.

He was given an impossible choice that wasn't much choice at all, seeing as there was never supposed to *be* a choice at all. The only reason there was a "choice" was because of Juno. Minerva originally only set up the eye to be the only choice, leading Desmond to his willing-but-unwilling sacrifice, but Juno threw a wrench in the plan.

Not only was he given the most impossible choice ever, but he made the one everyone was expecting him to because in his eyes, what else was he supposed to do? Let most of humanity, which consisted of 7 billion people at the time, die? Because what, a megalomaniac false god thought she could reenslave humanity after she's long since passed?

Even more tragic is that he was arguably tortured before his death as well. He had to watch his ancestors go through horrors and conspiracy. He had to go into the animus and feel what they felt, whether it be injuries or emotions.

He felt the stab wound Altair got, and the betrayal Altair felt as his father figure was revealed to be a Templar in disguise. He felt all the injuries Ezio sustained and felt the horror and shock and betrayal and grief that Ezio felt watching half his family die. He felt the inner turmoil of Conner as he was thrust into a world that hates people like him and had to suffer the pain of knowing he'd have to kill his father AND he lost Achilles, who was a father figure to him.

Desmond was forced to live three lifetimes, and while doing so, he lost control of his own life. He suffered from the bleeding effect, he lost all sense of time, he suffered ridicule by people who were supposed to be his comrades. He suffered further under the harshness of his father.

And he was never given a choice, and neither were any of the others up until the point of his death, which is what to me makes his character so tragic and appealing. The entire timeline could have shifted, had he made different choices or his personality was just a tiny bit different.

This aspect is also why I think that his death is so underwhelming in terms of satisfaction. Maybe that was the point, though. His death, maybe, was supposed to feel anticlimactic and unjust. Maybe the ending was supposed to, instead of feel like a real ending with a good conclusion, was more so meant to emphasize he never had a choice to begin with.

Anyway, I just think Desmond is neat. Have this:

[feyrevelry]

Of course Sylverian had waited when Astarion asked him to. Of course he had listened. How his heart ached for this poor man! How he wished he could take away his pain, could ease the weight of all that suffering. He wanted to reach out, to tell him that he understood. That they never had to be intimate, and he would be just as content simply holding him, just as devoted, just as hopelessly enamored. A promise Sylverian firmly believed he could keep, just as he believed he could anchor his fickle heart to one man, that what they had was truly special, that he could handle Astarion’s dark side.

He wanted to snuggle up to him, to thread his fingers through those pretty curls, to whisper against his skin that it was alright. That Astarion never had to do anything again that he didn’t want to.

But the depth of his sympathy was suddenly eclipsed by something heavier, something cold and leaden in his chest.

Astarion’s words echoed in his mind like a cruel whisper, over and over, refusing to fade.

To lie so you’d touch me.

His lips parted slightly, as if to say something, anything, but no words came. His thoughts reeled, struggling to process what had just been laid bare before him.

Had he understood correctly?

Had Astarion just admitted that… he had never truly wanted to have sex with him? That every touch, every moment of intimacy had been built on deception? Had he lied every time?

Not that it mattered. Even once would have been horrible enough.

The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. Sylverian remained still, his hands resting in his lap, his expression growing more and more shocked by the second.

Sylverian had never once questioned whether their passion was shared in equal measure. Until today, he never had any reason to! Particularly, when it was often Astarion who had initiated intimacy. Oh, he must have been truly determined, truly skilled, to weave such a convincing illusion on someone so attentive and caring as the feyblooded half-elf. One should commend his skill at deception of the lowest order. How utterly despicable!

Even so, Sylverian still blamed himself for failing to see the invisible.

❝Tell me this isn’t true...❞ The words came out softer than he intended, barely above a whisper, as if he feared speaking too loudly might shatter him completely.

❝Gods, I—I would never have touched you if I had known, I would rather cut off my own hands...❞ His breath hitched, tears welled up in his eyes, his throat felt tight and for a moment, the weight of it all rendered him speechless. When he finally spoke again, his voice wavered between grief and fury. ❝Do you have any idea what that does to me? How I feel? Like some wretched, loathsome, vile bastard——!!❞

He needed to go. To get away from this tent, from Astarion, from the unbearable weight of betrayal that sat heavy on his chest like a stone. He pushed himself to his feet so fast his vision swam. Or maybe it was the tears. ❝I gave you all of me, and you let me! I—by the gods, I will never forgive you for this!!❞ A sob tore free from his throat, but he refused to stay long enough for Astarion to see his complete undoing. He turned on his heel and stormed out into the night. Crying.

BEING SPURNED SHOULDN'T HAVE STUNG SO PROFOUNDLY. It was as if he'd been stabbed. Where normally pain required that Astarion have an iron grip on his overt emotional responses, he'd been free to express himself for far too long. What (horrors) wonders being free for a couple months could do for his ability to reel it in.

He could go limp and pliant and allow his body to be used, but he couldn't take a little rejection?

"Wait." It was a snip delivered with a cold hand held up between them, but it was firm. He needed to take a moment, and he couldn't have Sylverian slithering off before he could respond. Astarion's jaw clenched, and rather than look at the hurt painted on Sylverian's face, he leaned over to retrieve the clean underwear he'd forgotten to put on after he'd scrubbed himself clean. Fishing them from a neatly folded pile of clothing, he set about pulling them up his legs and - he reached for a blanket. He didn't want to be clothed, nor did he want to be exposed.

If he swaddled himself, he'd be safer for it. Sylverian wouldn't be tempted to come back to his body as if he were sorry he'd said no.

Wrapped tightly in a rather exquisite fur, he finally turned about-face, scrutiny evident in the wrinkle of his brows. No one had ever said no to him before.

He'd always been the one who -

And no one ever -

He had two choices. He could remain angry and snap at Sylverian like a cornered animal just as he'd done all day, or he could give up the act. No, he couldn't afford to spill it all, not right now, but this... this wasn't working. Hells, if he were being honest none of it was but he couldn't think of a single way to cough that whole vile business up that wouldn't end horribly in one fashion or another. Either way he had to stop this. What he was doing. Preferably all of it, but he didn't want to.

Funny that. If he were deluded enough to believe Cazador was a god he may have thought Sylverian was put in his path to torment him.

"Sex is... complicated for me." Astarion admitted, fighting against his urge to simply throw Sylverian out of his tent and be done with this whole mess. "I feel desire sometimes. Often at times you might find inappropriate. But I - well... Cazador had me use my body to lure him the prettiest things I could find."

This was ugly. He should make this innocent man leave before he was eternally scarred. He couldn't. The dam was broken. "I never had a say in what anyone did to me. Or with my body. I never had the luxury of saying no. Not unless Cazador allowed it to entertain his guests."

He was spitting and snarling, perhaps, but for once it wasn't at Sylverian. This wasn't Sylverian's fault. He was right to stop this. He was right and he was kind and it had thoroughly complicated his simple plan.

This time when he reached for one of those warm, pink-tinted hands, it was with a tenderness so genuine that he wanted to gnaw off his own tongue. "Thank you. For what it's worth I do want you. But being touched, it... brings back those feelings of disgust and fear. I disappear into myself. I don't know where I go but I..."

Something in Astarion's voice breaks and he released that soft hand, body rolling to face the wall of his tent and exposing his bare, scarred back to the man beside him. "I was wrong to do that to you. To lie so you'd touch me and I could avoid what you asked me for. You are under no obligation to forgive me, or Gods forbid pity me. But you want this, right? This is what you wanted."

There are several moments spent in shameful silence, red eyes burning holes through the canvas of his tent. So much honesty feels almost as if it's torn him open and left his entire being as a gaping wound on the stone floor of the kennels. It's happened again. One wrong word and he was being defiled.

"I don't know if I can be what you think you see in me, Sylverian. I would do unforgivable things to be free of him."

He already had.

[mysticmjolnir]

thinking about jaws of hakkon in particular and how it contains depth and richness and world-building and story and just good fukcing writing that i've only glimpsed dregs of in dav.

the shrine of andraste adorned with halla statues to make it one to ghilan'nain as well, both mortals raised up by the gods. something that would be considered shameful heresy by dragon age-era dalish and andrastians alike but seems to have just been very normal in ameridan's time. this shrine fucked me up so bad i think about it often still, it healed and wounded me at once.

how important it is that some of your companions hate each other - or are at least so ideologically opposed that their only point of connection is the protagonist and they are constantly in simmering conflict with each other.

the avvar being the only sensible people in thedas but still having strong rules about magic and spirit companions, the culture's existence in stark contrast to basically everything else you've seen so far in thedas. they're earthy and grounded and don't really give a fuck about how weird everyone else is but do want to try and trade a bit.

ameridan, the elven mage with dirthamen vallaslin who was best friends with emperor drakon and led the goddamn inquisition, a time before the racism and divisions of dragon age-era thedas, proof that nothing is immutable, things can get worse and therefore they can get better too. ameridan, who was dalish in that he was a citizen of the dales, the elven homeland that to us is a lost tragedy and to him a beloved frustration as he tries to get his fellow elves to work with humans against the second blight instead of coldly watching orlais burn.

solas is there or possibly long gone, but his shadow remains, someone who knows more someone who is outside of all of this someone who is enraged and enchanted and embittered by the way everything has had the nerve to change in ways he did not anticipate or permit. solas the maker who turned away from the world he made but is now back to cast his aloof gaze over all and decide to start again.

in dav I walk through an underwater elven ruin called the ossuary. at first I was excited for some kind of gothic bone palace but there are no bones. it is very unclear what the original purpose of the ruin was, there are no codices for me to find and read, no half-written diaries no poems no manuals no letters no supply lists no descriptions of the wards holding the water back. the wards are failing in places, actually. i watch the water trickle through and wait for one of my companions to comment, even to simply raise the tension by suggesting we need to finish our quest near before the water fails and we're crushed by the sea. i eventually give up waiting. i cannot deduce why this place is called the ossuary - this is not an elven word, and while it has been taken over for some time by the venatori it is a laboratory, not a charnel house. my companions call it a prison, but i can't tell if it was a prison originally built by the elvhen, or only repurposed recently. why is it called the ossuary. i visit the necropolis later, which is full of bones, lots of bones.

it is very beautiful under the sea, but it is also proof that whatever dav is, whatever merits it otherwise has, the levels of history and world-building and depth of lore that were present in the previous games is utterly gone.