#still think they should have used the coda

[incorrectfigureskatingopinions]

Noooooooo Katerina 😱

[hotshotsxyz]

the golf course job

(8x03 coda) (buddie adjacent) (562 words) relatively minor 8x03 spoilers. this one goes out to the leverage girlies (gn)

Buck’s not panicking. He’s not! It’s just his least favorite sport with his least favorite person, who he maybe tried to murder last week. It’ll be fine. It’d be nice if Eddie stopped looking so goddamn amused about the whole thing, though.

“I don’t know why you’re so surprised; I told you he wasn’t going to be mad,” he says, handing over an uncapped beer.

“Okay, but like—Eddie, he wants to take me golfing.”

“Relax,” he says, the corner of his mouth twitching. He waits until Buck brings the bottle to his lips to add, “You can borrow my clubs.”

Buck chokes. “That is not the problem,” he sputters.

Eddie’s lips twist in that oh-so-familiar way. He hums a noncommittal noise and takes a sip of his beer.

“You think this is funny,” Buck accuses.

“Who, me?” Eddie asks, the picture of innocence. Buck knows him better than that.

“You do!” he says.

Eddie snorts. “Maybe a little,” he says.

Buck throws his head back dramatically. “Betrayed by my own best friend,” he says, bringing a hand to his chest.

That makes Eddie laugh in earnest. “I just—you should have seen your face,” he says between chuckles.

“I thought he was going to fire me!” Buck exclaims. “And then he just—”

“Took you under his wing,” Eddie snickers.

“I don’t want to be under his wing,” Buck laments.

“You know,” Eddie says, tapping his beer bottle thoughtfully against his hip, “this could be a good thing.”

Buck fixes him with a disbelieving look. “In what universe,” he says flatly.

“In the one where we get him fired so Bobby can come back,” Eddie says. He tilts his head and raises a brow.

“Um—how?” Buck asks.

Eddie puts his beer down and takes a step closer to Buck. “Go golfing with him. Take him to brunch. Make him like you.”

Oh, Buck does not like where this is going. “I don’t want him to like me,” he protests.

“Sure, but he doesn’t know that,” Eddie says.

“But—”

“No, no, I think this could work. Get him talking. You know he’ll say something that could get him fired.”

Buck frowns. “I guess, but it’s not like the brass will believe me over him. We’ve tried that already.”

“Sure,” Eddie says with a shrug that doesn’t land anywhere near casual. “But we didn’t have proof.”

“And golfing with him gets us that how, exactly?”

“Come on Buck, I know Chimney made you watch Leverage,” Eddie says.

“But Eddie,” Buck says, “I hate golf.”

Eddie pats him on the shoulder. “And that’s what makes your sacrifice so noble.”

Buck groans. “I still think we should all just quit.”

“Too bad, Buckley,” Eddie says with a wolfish grin, “you’re going undercover.”

Buck scrubs a hand across his face. “Why’d I have to save him from that stupid saw,” he bemoans.

“Nobody’s perfect,” Eddie replies sweetly.

“Fuck you,” Buck says without any heat.

Eddie laughs. “I’ll buy you a drink after, you can complain about golf all you want.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” Buck says.

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie says lightly.

And, okay, everything about this is going to suck, but Eddie’s smiling more than he has in months, and there’s not really anything Buck wouldn’t do to keep it that way.

“Fine,” he says with a sigh. “Let’s steal a captaincy.”

[littlespoonevan]

i'll keep it all to myself

7x04 coda (she's back, baby xoxo)

-

“Hey, killer.”

Buck winces, mouth already tripping over an apology as he moves into the Diaz living room. “Eddie, I’m so sorry-“

“Buck, I’m kidding,” Eddie interrupts, exasperated and just a little fond. He hasn’t been on the receiving end of that tone in a few days. It’s embarrassing to say he missed it. “Sit down.”

Buck takes the armchair instead of sitting on the couch next to Eddie. He’s not sure why. He never sits in the armchair. Sitting in it now he almost feels…off balance. But then catching sight of Eddie’s foot propped up on the coffee table sobers him immediately and he forgets all about the strange discomfort in his stomach.

Reaching for the cushion behind him, he gets up again. “You should have something under that,” he says, gently lifting Eddie’s leg to place the cushion on the table. He lowers it again carefully, nodding in satisfaction when Eddie’s foot is nestled safely in the cushion. “The table is too hard.”

“Oh sorry, I thought I was the one with real medical training,” Eddie quips but there’s no bite behind the words.

“Yeah but I’m the one with crush injury experience,” Buck says, kicking his own legs up on the table in proof.

Eddie opens his mouth as if to argue back but then closes it again, rolling his eyes, but his lips twitch a bit. Just at the corners.

“Eddie, I really am sorry,” he says, straightening in his seat and forcing himself to meet Eddie’s gaze properly. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I just got so-“

“I know,” Eddie replies, quiet and careful and devoid of any of his earlier teasing. “But you know you can talk to me, right? Like, it’s me Buck. You can just tell me when something’s wrong.”

Buck does know that. He knows he can tell Eddie everything. Anything. The bad and the good.

Which means he should be able to clear this up right away, right? He should just be able to say, ‘Hey, I was apparently working through some latent feelings I never knew I had. And I took that out on you. But guess what! I like Tommy and he likes me back and we have a date Saturday!’

But thinking about telling Eddie that Tommy kissed him makes his chest constrict in a way that he doesn’t expect. So he tucks it up in a neat little box in the corner of his mind for now and focuses on making sure Eddie’s okay. Because he can do that. He knows how to do that.

“I’m an idiot,” he says. “And if you want I will totally give you one free punch so we’re even.”

Eddie huffs a quiet laugh. “I could never hit you.”

“Should I go get Christopher’s Legos instead and step on them with my shoes off?”

Eddie lets out a real laugh then, the kind that makes his eyes close and his head fall back against the couch cushion, and Buck feels so much affection for him well up inside him he’s almost breathless with it.

“You’re an idiot,” Eddie tells him. “And a martyr. Seriously, Buck, I don’t care. I just want to make sure you and I are okay.”

“Of course we are,” Buck says, without actually stopping to interrogate if that’s true or not.

They are, he thinks. The fact that something absolutely life altering happened to him an hour ago and he somehow can’t make himself tell Eddie about it is…inconsequential.

He’s just hedging his bets. Not trying to get ahead of himself before he has yet another failed romance.

“In that case, can you go to the fridge and get us some beers?” Eddie asks, pulling Buck back to reality.

“You shouldn’t be drinking,” Buck says, even as he stands. Maybe they can split a beer. Half a bottle shouldn’t hurt. “Tommy says you’re on pain meds.”

“Oh, so you guys talked?”

Eddie says it unassumingly and when Buck freezes at the dining table and looks over his shoulder he finds that Eddie isn’t even looking at him. He’s leaning forward on the couch, adjusting his leg, but when Buck takes too long to answer he raises his head and gives him an expectant look.

“Yeah,” Buck murmurs, the phantom rasp of Tommy’s stubble against his mouth still tingling and making him want to reach up and touch his lips. That would give too much away though. “We talked.”

Eddie smiles, nodding his approval. “Good. Maybe all three of us can actually hang out together now.”

The thought immediately makes Buck’s stomach swoop with something unnameable but he doesn’t let it show on his face.

“Sure,” he breathes. “Sounds great.”

[carlos-in-glasses]

Thank you for the tag @ironheartwriter @whatsintheboxmh @lemonlyman-dotcom @carlossreaders

@bonheur-cafe @strandnreyes @paperstorm

Today is hard and scary and I'm so sorry and I love you. I wish I had some wise words but at the moment the only thing I have up my sleeve is our two favourite idiots 🧡 I hope this snippet of my TK POV 4x12 coda brings you some cheer. Planning to post tomorrow.

Three hours later, Carlos is scurrying around the living room, picking up what they’ve already knocked over and knocking other things down in the process. Meanwhile, TK has been tasked with searching the bedroom for the fifth time.

“He’s not under the bed!” TK yells, “I can confirm – he’s not in the sex toys.”

“Good!” Carlos hollers, lifting up a throw pillow and jumping out of his skin even though nothing is there.

“We should use the purple plug more often,” TK calls.

“Okay!”

“And the rainbow beads. I know they’re gimmicky–”

“Sure, anything you want.”

“I’ve been thinking about your foreskin lately and how sensitive you–”

“TK, I really can’t talk about this right now!” Carlos cries, spinning around at the sound of scuttling. “I think he’s in the kitchen!”

“On my way!” TK yells, struggling to secure the lid onto their very-full toy box before rushing out of the bedroom.

Carlos, armed with a Swiffer mop, is poking at the gap between refrigerator and cupboard.

TK joins him there, poised with his hands out, ready to pounce.

They stand still, silent.

“I don’t hear anything,” TK whispers.

Carlos gazes all around with a haunted expression. “Neither do I anymore.”

Open tag and tags below!:

@thisbuildinghasfeelings @goodways @reyesstrand

@lightningboltreader @welcometololaland @rmd-writes

@alrightbuckaroo @heartstringsduet @herefortarlos

@ladytessa74 @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @liminalmemories21

@never-blooms @orchidscript @three-drink-amy

@chicgeekgirl89 @freneticfloetry @theghostofashton @honeybee-taskforce

@sugdenlovesdingle @tellmegoodbye @carlos-tk

@emsprovisions @sapphic--kiwi @irispurpurea

@pimento-playing-hopscotch @eclectic-sassycoweyes

@captain-gillian @butchreyes @kiwichaeng @anactualcaseofthetruth

@fifthrideroftheapocalypse @corsage @nisbanisba

@the-126-family @henrygrass @nancys-braids @mikibwrites - if you want to share/haven't already! No pressure ever! ❤️🩷🧡💛💚💙🩵💜

[preseriesdean]

for @spnficrecfest day nine: vintage fics 🧡 (published pre-season six)

by CANDLE_BECK

Last Day on Earth 10.8k words, rated E, published july 2009 A list of things to do if you only have one day to live, presented in inconvenient non-list form.

Eight Things You Should Know 7.7k words, rated T, published dec. 2008 Being in love with Dean is the most annoying thing.

Speechless 11.2k words, rated T, published oct. 2008 Dean loses his voice and their rapport is only moderately impaired.

Second Map of the World 13.9k words, rated E, published sep. 2010 They're on a lucky streak, and then Sam does something ill-considered, and the plot thickens.

American Myth 11.5k words, rated M, published nov. 2007 As long as you have a car, you are free, and other lies my country taught me.

by WHEREUPON

Breathing Hard 9k words, rated E, published aug. 2009 The day Dean figures it out.

Love Letter 4.8k words, rated E, published sep. 2009 It's almost fall and Sam hasn't said anything about leaving.

Head On 8.3k words, rated M, published june 2009 And then, just like that, Dean falls.

by SEVENFISTS

Wear Him Like a Habit 2.2k words, rated M, published march 2008 Their first kiss isn't an accident. It's anticipated well in advance, discussed for weeks, argued over, second-guessed.

Someone Else's Blood 6.7k words, rated E, published aug. 2006 The first time, of course, was an accident.

Life As We Know It 13.7k words, rated M, published apr. 2007 On the morning that Sam woke up, Dean ran five red lights on the way to the hospital, his half-empty coffee cup sloshing in the holder.

Just Reach Out 1.9k words, rated E, published apr. 2006 Sam wakes up slowly. The dull hum of noise in the distance resolves into Dean's voice, quietly singing along with the radio. Sam's face is stuck to the leather seat. He's been drooling a little; the corner of his mouth is wet. He moves his hand tentatively, feeling it prickle, heavy with blood. The window's rolled down.

The Art of Manly Hugging 1.6k words, rated E, published aug. 2007 Sometimes, you know, Dean just needs a goddamn hug.

by COYOTESUSPECT

Odysseus, American 10.1k words, rated M, published feb. 2010 Dean finds Peter O'Toole's recording of the Odyssey in a bin marked “Audio" in Casa Grande's only used bookstore. The place smells like cigarette smoke and old books, and it reminds him of Sam.

Divine Intervention by coyotesuspect 3.8k words, rated T, published aug. 2008 "Dude," says Sam. "I think Castiel just hit on me."

by ASTOLAT

Leader of the Pack 14.9k words, rated E, published dec. 2007 Teaching old dogs new tricks.

Inseparable 6.7k words, rated M, published jan. 2008 It was just plain sense, so Dean didn't understand why something about the way Dad said quietly, "It's time you had your own bed," made him feel guilty and confused.

Unasked 15.3k words, rated M, published june 2007 Sam doesn't ask.

Worth The Wait 4.4k words, rated E, published jan. 2008 Sam couldn't remember a time when he didn't want Dean.

Generosity 1.7k words, rated E, published may 2007 John had traded the gun; he'd have traded away more, and he was still feeling the cold dread of the moment when the demon had cocked its head like a pistol and said, "You know, I'm feeling generous today," because if it hadn't taken more, that was only because it figured what was in store was going to be worse.

by MOLLYAMORY

North of Wednesday 3.5k words, rated G, published feb. 2008 Coda to Mystery Spot.

Open Road 2k words, rated T, published may 2010 Sam's old enough to know what's good for him.

by FLESHFLUTTER

whose wings, though tattered, shall carry me home (dean/cas, sam/dean) 2.2k words, rated T, published march 2009 There is a breeze moving across the field. It stirs the long grass in lapping waves like the sea. Castiel runs his fingertips through it and remembers flying.

I'll take my chance on a beautiful stranger 3.9k words, rated M, published june 2007 If Chase were a better friend, he might try to end the game now, before Brendan loses even more money. But if Brendan is a dick at Stanford, it’s nothing compared to how he is on break.

by others

The Last Outpost Of All That Is by gekizetsu 59k words, rated E, published feb. 2008 The world ends while they’re asleep.

a journey of a thousand miles by killabeez 2.3k words, rated T, published aug. 2006 Sam spends a lot of time being afraid, but it's not the things that go bump in the night that scare him the most.

Almost At Home by balefully 24.3k words, rated E, published july 2008 Sam graduates from high school in early June in rural Tennessee. He and Dean start the summer with an all-nighter of celebration; the day after, while both fight hangovers, John calls to assign them their first hunt by themselves.

State of Love and Trust/As I Busted Down the Pretext by cormallen 2.9k words, rated M, published jan. 2010 When you know exactly what your brother's thinking, there are some chances you just don't take.

[inawickedlittletown]

What Do You Mean, A Plane (BuckTommy) - 8x03 coda

Read on Ao3

“I really hope those idiots get a huge fine,” Tommy said. 

Lucy bumped her shoulder against him. “I think they will.” 

“How many incidents like this is it going to take before people figure out that it isn’t a good idea to use a freaking explosive to find out the sex of their baby?” Tommy asked. 

Lucy sighed. “In premise it’s a cute concept if it’s like a cake with pink or blue frosting inside but it has gotten out of hand.” 

“And what if the kid is nonbinary? Or trans? Then what, the parents went through all this trouble just to then realize that they were wrong the whole time. I just don’t get it. And considering how dumb they and their offspring are likely to be, what if they go and have a different gender reveal and set off another fire even when they’re told that the dry climate isn’t the time or place to do something like this.” 

“You’re just a grump today, aren’t you,” Lucy said with a grin. “Lighten up, I think we should be good to go home in a bit. And hey, at least now I know I’m not expecting a gender reveal party whenever you and Buck wind up having kids.” 

Tommy decided to ignore her second statement. It was way too soon to think about kids even if Tommy could picture it. 

Lucy gave him a nudge. “Too early?” 

“We haven’t even moved in together yet. Yes, too early.” 

“Yes, but you want him to move in, don’t you.” 

She was not wrong. Evan was at his house all the time as it was, but the times when he wasn’t it felt emptier and far more quiet than Tommy preferred. 

“That’s not a denial,” Lucy said. “Come on, Kinard, this was not that bad.” 

It wasn’t. Tommy had been in the air to start dropping retardant and also helping smokejumpers get to the fire from the inside. Then, he’d been told to bring the copter down and join the ground crew. He’d found Lucy there. 

“Any idea why they brought us down?” She’d asked. 

“I guess they needed more hands down here,” Tommy said, but took note that there were no other helicopters or jets flying over the fire.

It had been a long day, but the fire was basically out, some smoke still rising into the sky. He really did think going home sounded perfect. It’d be even better if Evan was there, but Evan was on shift probably still dealing with calls related to the killer bees. Evan had said the weather had likely sent them on their way and Tommy supposed the smoke from the forest fire had calmed them too. Probably. No more bee-nados. 

When they did get cleared to go, Tommy just let out a huge yawn. Maybe it was the lack of sleep making him feel grumpy. Except that he would still be pissed at stupid people and gender reveal parties if he was fully rested. He and Lucy wound up hitching a ride with another company and they were all far too tired to talk to each other. 

Tommy checked his phone instead of making small talk. There were a few emails. Promotional garbage, a couple of bills that were on autopay and a few other random things. Nothing that required his attention. Evan hadn’t called or texted since the morning, but Tommy had seen and responded to that text. 

Evan: I don’t know what’s bothering me more today, Gerrard or the noise from the construction. 

Tommy: Tune them both out? Hang in there. 

When they got back to Harbor, he ignored the way that some of his coworkers seemed glued to the tv in the break room in favor of going to get cleaned up and out of his sweat drenched clothes. By the time he was done, they all seemed to have scattered again. The last he saw was a helicopter going up into the sky. 

He made it out to his car and found that there was way more traffic than should be normal especially when he wasn’t getting on a highway, so he put on a podcast and didn’t mind the longer drive. He made it home in one piece and then after warming up some of the leftovers went straight to his bedroom, got out of his clothes, and climbed into bed. He sent Evan a text before putting his phone on do not disturb. 

Tommy: Fire’s out. I’m home. Come over when you’re done with your shift, I’ll probably still be asleep when you do. Be safe out there. 

Then, he passed out. 

Tommy woke up when he heard his front door open, but stayed in bed until Evan made it to his room, sitting up slowly and blinking at him. 

“Shit, did I wake you?” Evan asked, voice low. 

“It’s okay. Hi, Evan.” 

“Hi,” Evan said and he crossed the room to lean over to kiss Tommy. 

“What time is it?” 

“Little after two,” Evan said as he sat down on the edge of the bed. “I’m actually surprised we were allowed to go. They’re still working on clearing the plane. I guess if you call out half the firehouses out they had too many of us to keep all of us.”

Tommy blinked a few times. “What do you mean, a plane?” he asked. 

“The one that landed on the 110?”

“What?” Tommy asked. “A plane landed on the 110?” 

“Yeah,” Evan said, “why do you think everyone was grounded? Weren’t you? Anyway, Athena landed the plane on the 110 after Bobby and I cleared it for her. Everyone made it. Well…not the Captain I think they said she was pulled out through a hole. The co-pilot had a heart attack.”

Tommy was at a loss for words. And then, it hit him…

“Did you just say Athena landed the plane?” 

Evan nodded. “But don’t tell anyone. Bobby says she wants to remain anonymous. She’s happy to just be the passenger that saved the day.” 

“Evan, we’re going to have to backtrack to the beginning. I haven’t heard about any of this.” 

“Oh,” Evan said, eyes widening. “How? It was on every news station.” 

“I was at a fire,” Tommy said.

Evan went through it. An in air collision that wound up with Athena of all people in the pilot’s seat with a kid that was at most twelve. How the 118 had spent most of their day talking people on the plane through triage and first aid for other passengers. How Evan had been trying to reach Bobby the whole day and then just went to get him instead. Lucky decision as it turned out. 

“Who talked Athena through all of it?” Tommy asked. 

“ATC got a flight instructor on the phone,” Evan said. “It worked even when the plane couldn’t be turned.” 

“The plane had no rudder?” Tommy asked.

“The plane had at least two holes and caught on fire after landing,” Evan said. “Sure add not having a rudder.” 

“Evan,” Tommy said because it was not the time for joking. 

“Bobby, Brad, and I were on the phone with Athena trying to get to the airport when she found out it wasn’t going to turn, so we wound up clearing the highway for her to land. It all worked out.” 

Tommy let out a breath and he reached for Evan’s hand. It did work out. Tommy had clearly missed the whole thing, but it had worked out and that was very important to him especially because it meant that Evan had come home to him. Still, a small part of him did wish he’d been looped in. Tommy had never flown a commercial passenger plane or anything, but he did know how. At one point he’d even considered that a possibility after the Army. Tommy didn’t know how much help he could have offered from the ground, though, and Athena had already been connected to a flight instructor. Still, that didn’t meant that he didn’t feel a little left out maybe. 

“Wait, you said you had to clear traffic on the 110,” Tommy said. “How’d you manage that?” 

“Borrowed a motorcycle,” Evan said. 

“Borrowed a motorcycle,” Tommy repeated. 

“Needed to get there somehow,” Evan said. “Bobby and I already stole a truck from the set of the show.” 

Tommy let out a small laugh at that. “What?” 

“How do you think we were at the right place at the right time.” 

They talked a little more about it. How Bobby had taken a firetruck off the set of Hotshots and how they were joined by one of the actors. How it took a while for anyone else to arrive. How Buck had felt the windstream of the plane as it came down. 

“It was so good to see Bobby take charge. I missed him so much, Tommy.”

“I know,” Tommy said. “I know you do. Where was Gerrard during all of this?” 

At that, Evan pulled away, he turned so he could look directly at Tommy. 

“He was — probably still is — in the hospital. They never did get back to us on how he was.” 

“The hospital? What happened to him?”

Evan went stiff. “Uh…so he got in my face again. Started just ranting at me and then I heard one of the buzzsaws come loose. Well, no, I don’t know if I did. I pushed Gerrard so hard he hit his head on the ground. There was so much blood, Tommy. Hen thought he was concussed.”  

Whatever he felt about Gerrard, and whatever that man deserved, he didn’t like what this was doing to Evan. Tommy sat up a little more, letting his sheet pool at his waist. He pulled at Evan until Evan scooted next to Tommy, leaned into him. 

“The buzzsaw would have hit him?” Tommy confirmed. 

Evan gave a nod. “I just acted. Pushed him. But I was so angry so I don’t — I don’t know why I did it. I don’t know if I did it to save him. I don’t know.” 

Tommy wrapped an arm around him, brought Evan right into him and kissed the side of his head. 

“I know you, Evan, and Gerrard has been taunting you and driving you crazy for months, and while I think he can hit nerves — he’s good at it — you wouldn’t turn to violence even against him. I think you saved him.”

Evan groaned. “I’m going to get fired, aren’t I?” 

“Why?” Tommy asked. “You saved your Captain’s life even if you did injure him and you were instrumental in saving a whole bunch of people both on and off that plane. I really can’t believe I missed it.” 

“Well if not fired, then how much worse is Gerrard going to be?” 

That Tommy couldn’t predict. Gerrard was a loose cannon, a bigoted one that didn’t approve of anyone and had certainly had it out for Evan from day one. Tommy hated how powerless it made him feel, but he could be the shoulder that Evan leaned on. 

“Hey, whatever he does, I know you can handle it. Now, tell me again about you stealing a prop from a set, how does that even work?” 

“Apparently they use real trucks even if they’re not outfitted with the right tools,” Evan said. 

“And the motorcycle. And why is this the first I’m hearing about you knowing how to drive one.” 

Evan laughed, leaning into him. “Tommy, I’m so glad I could come here after all that madness.” 

“Me too, Evan. Me too.” 

The next morning, when he finally got around to watching the footage of the whole thing he figured it was probably better he hadn’t known until after the fact, when he already knew that Evan was alright and that so was everyone else. 

[fiona-fififi]

Quiet

Rating: G

Fandom: 9-1-1 

Pairing: (pre-relationship) Evan Buckley/Eddie Diaz

Summary: Christopher leaves, and everything is endless quiet.

Notes: angst with a hopeful ending, hurt/comfort, 911 spoilers, canon compliant to 7x10, episode coda, Buckley Diaz family, pre-relationship buddie

—

Ao3 Link

—

It's late when his phone rings. The screen displaying Eddie's name and a photo of a smile Buck feels like he barely remembers.

A desperate pain squeezes at his chest, and Buck thinks he might die for the return of that smile, even though he knows he'll never be able to bring it back on his own.

He answers. Stays quiet for long moments. Then, “Eddie?" he murmurs, and it's a careful plea. One full of misguided hope that it might be something good for once. Knows that’s wishful thinking.

Eddie doesn't answer. Long moments pass with nothing but the sound of his breathing to keep Buck company in the cold of his empty bed.

“It's quiet.”

Eddie's voice finally breaks the silence. It's barely a whisper, but it's broken in ways that slice open every old wound Buck had thought was beginning to heal, and suddenly he's flashing back to Christopher’s cries for help and to the ruined walls of Eddie's bedroom and to the way he'd thought, for too many fearful moments, that he'd find a body instead of the broken gaze of his best friend.

“Eddie?” He asks, a careful, quiet thing of his own. All his vulnerability betraying him as he begs for Eddie to be okay, even when he knows better.

“It's quiet like—like the middle of the night, when he's fast asleep. Except—” Buck hears the break in Eddie's voice, the way the pain he'd been trying to hold back had flooded all at once, leaving his voice so choked it's near unrecognizable, “—except he's just not here.”

Buck swallows hard against the emotion that threatens to spill over in his own voice, tosses the blankets off himself and finds his feet in one smooth motion he's not sure how he manages with the shake of his hands. “Eddie, I'm coming over,” he chokes out with the kind of conviction only Buck can manage through the tears that threaten.

“No,” Eddie begs on the other end of the line. And it's a harsh and broken thing—wet with tears but hard with anger Eddie's trying to use to mask it. “No. I told you, I don't want you here."

Buck has to bite his lip to keep the whimper of pain from dripping out around his own conviction. Holds his breath until it clears and then hangs up the phone without another word. It feels cruel, to cut Eddie off like that, but he won't argue. 

He'll break down the goddamn door again if he has to.

—

The moment he's in the car, he finds himself taking a deep breath, hands gripping too tight to the wheel as he debates his next move.

He knows he should go. Or maybe stay.

But either way, he knows he needs to make a decision and he knows that decision will always be to go to Eddie.

But there's one more thing he needs to try before he can.

He's calling Christopher before he's even processed the thought. It's late, and he shouldn't, but the line is ringing before he can manage to stop himself, and then Christopher's picking up, sounding somewhere between groggy and irritated, and Buck knows he shouldn't have called. Still can't bring himself to regret it.

“Is everyone alive?” Christopher asks first, through a yawn, and he's trying to hide it, but Buck can hear the legitimate worry there, and a pang of guilt hits him as he cringes in response.

“Yeah! Yeah, bud, of course everyone's alive,” he promises, all false cheer and forced smiles he hopes makes his tone sound just a little more convincing.

Christopher sighs, and Buck can hear him shuffling around a bit. Thinks maybe he's sitting up for what he's worried is going to be an argument. “Then why are you calling, Buck?”

And, okay, that tone cuts deeper than anything Buck's heard from Christopher in the past. He finds himself fiddling idly with his car keys, trying to keep his hands busy as he tries to choose his next words carefully.

He's quiet so long, Christopher has to reset him with an irritated “Buck.”

“Right, uh,” Buck begins, squeezing his eyes shut and scrubbing a hand over his face. “Buddy, your dad's not doing well.”

“No."

“Christopher,” Buck pleads, voice betraying all his frustration and pain because he understands, he does—he knows why Chris is angry and why he's not ready to talk. But he also knows how much Eddie is hurting and how little of it had actually been Eddie's fault. And it doesn't change the hurt it caused, but Buck needs Christopher and Eddie to be okay, and right now, he's not sure Eddie's going to be. “Look, I know you don't want to talk to him. And I know it's unfair of me to ask. But Christopher, he needs to at least hear from you. Just. you don't even have to call. Just—just text him. Tell him you love him.”

“Buck—"

“Please, Chris.” 

Christopher's silent for long moments. They stretch through the darkness. So long Buck thinks he's hung up the phone. In the end, though, a tiny voice breaks the silence—one full of a softness Buck hasn't heard in far too long. “Are you with him?”

Buck sucks in a shaky breath. Guilt flooding him at the question. “I'm going to him now.”

Buck thinks he hears Christopher breathe a sigh of relief. “Okay,” he says, sure in a way Buck knows neither of them feel. “Stay with him?”

Buck swallows hard. Fights back the tears. “Until you come home,” he promises.

And he means every word.

It's quiet for long moments again. Buck swears he can hear Christopher thinking. “I do still love him, you know,” Christopher promises. And there's that guilt that just keeps circling between the three of them.

Buck feels a sad smile tilt his lips. “I know you do, Chris. He knows, too. But I think he needs to hear it right now. From you.”

Quiet again. Buck thinks for a moment he's pushed too hard.

“I gotta go,” Christopher says, then. Sad, but sure, and Buck feels like his heart has been crushed. “Bye, Buck.”

“Bye, bud,” Buck chokes out. He thinks Christopher's already gone before he says it.

Tears cling to the corners of his eyes as he wills himself not to let them fall. Doesn't want to put anymore hurt on Eddie when he gets there. Tries to prepare himself for all the pain he knows he'll always take on to support the weight of Eddie's own because he knows he can't add to it now.

So with a heavy heart and a little extra hurt, Buck turns the key in the Jeep's ignition, buckles himself in, and wipes harshly at the tears blurring his eyes. 

Eddie needs him, and he won't wait another moment.

Before he can go, though, his phone dings with a text message, and when he checks it, it's Christopher. 

Tell dad I love him.

When Buck sees it, a harsh breath of relief catches in his throat, and a couple of stray tears manage to sneak out the corners of his eyes as he huffs a laugh devoid of any real humor.

Still, there's relief there. A huge, heavy weight lifting just the slightest as he snaps a screenshot and sends it to Eddie with a message that reads I'll be home in 20. Leave the door unlocked.  

And then he waits.

Stares at the phone in his hand, even when he knows he should already be on his way. But he doesn't have to wait long.

It's only seconds before the word okay comes through, bright as daylight. An invitation and a surrender Buck won't take for granted.

Instead, he swallows the sob that threatens to choke him and points himself in the direction of home.

—

[xeilon]

Heyyy, do you want to read Party Of Your Lifetime lyric analysis / speculation / vibe check that would make any sensible literature teacher weep (not necessarily for good reasons)? Hi :)

"Party of your lifetime" -> So title, obviously menacing, you WILL die after this. Very cool 10/10.

"We're On-Lyne" -> Not just announcing the bands name but also alluding to the fact that they have the technology based Techrot. Also, infested, hivemind, online, got it? Gotta love it.

Bit of a theory, if the Techrot was a thing before Y2K but Y2K is still a threat, it could be argued that the Techrot would/will become more powerful once the clock hits 0:00, especially if the computers are not turned off. We know how fans are, if your faves name is On-Lyne you will keep your PC on going into the new year, as every true On-Lyne fan should. So their name's also a tactic to make sure they spread as far as they can.

"Step into the night, where all the stars are bright" -> Stars, celebrities aka. On-Lyne, also stars make up the night sky, they are a 'unity' could allude to the infested hivemind, also also, manipulation, "You can become a bright star just like us, you just have to 'step into the night' / become infested."

"We're back again to do this, and we're gonna do it right" -> This song is On-Lynes big return, but also could mean that the infestation is here. Also could mean that the Techrot isn't just 'infestation that started in 1999' but the infestation we know and love from the game, that Albrecht brought back from the future to make proto-frames that is now spreading far and wild in 1999. This would also explain why the Techrot / Coda Technocyte managed to evolve into Liches while our 'basic' infestation couldn't. Because they are the basic infestation that had ages to evolve.

"Something wild's in the air, I just know it" -> Infestation obviously. I'm also gonna say that this line has a double meaning, and is a warning to the listeners.

I think this song, other than being a catchy indoctrination 'hymn' of the infested is also a warning by the original On-Lyne members. Throughout the song the heat as motif pops up multiple times usually followed by / following references to fighting / winning. There are also some lines that makes the song feel like a bit of a tug war between consciousnesses, a fight for control, I believe between the Techrot and the band members, which is actually a pretty common theme in Warframe, see Umbra, all the Warframes, Ordis, Narmer, the Holdfast, even to some extent Drifter in Duviri and Stalker in his recent quest.

"Now we're moving quicker [...] there's no turning back" -> Again, obvious infested reference, the "Once we hit the scene, there's no turning back" being another double meaning warning, that once the concert happens something will change forever. I believe this would be the Techrot taking complete control over On-Lyne.

[Chorus starts]

"Gonna bring that feeling, gonna feel the heat, On-Lyne is in town and we can't be beat" -> This is again the Techrot spreading, little shout out to heat damage that is effective against them except, no.

If my reading of this song being sang by 2 opposing forces is right this is probably one of the coolest lines here. So if this is On-Lynes big return this could also be the first time they're preforming this song live. Now the Infestation and most likely Techrot too, are weak to heat, so it could be that it's influence gets weaker the higher the temperature is. And this will be a concert. Do you see the vision?

"We come alive moving under the neon glow" -> And what a follow up, someones "coming alive" moving (generating body heat) under the neon glow (lamps probably also generating a lot of heat).

"Everybody rock!" -> Again as reminder that this would be a stadium filled to the brim with people. Also a call to make people move, sing, etc. which is also could and probably is a tactic of the Techrot to get people more in sync.

"It's the party of your lifetime" -> Love the title.

"The signal's strong can you feel it in the floor?" -> This line gives me the vibes of both a cover up, like the Techrot moving under the crowds feet and so giving a reason for it, "Yeah that's how loud we are!" but also as a warning again "Can't you feel the floor moving???"

"It's the party of your lifetime"

[Chorus ends]

"Now that you can see there ain't no stopping me, The city's on 11 it's two thousand degrees" -> Again with the heat motif and fighting, this line to me has the double meaning, the infestation can't be stopped, it's 11, almost midnight, and shit is soon hitting the fan, but also could be a call out OF the infestation, "Here we have some control, it's HOT in here, like 2000 degrees"

"Something big is coming, but it's just the beginning (this is just the beginning, just the beginning)" -> This is one of the 2 lines that made me believe this theory, because while this could just be the infested cheekily telling us "Hey hihi shit is gonna happen soon, lol" it's right after the line that can be read as 'going against the infestation' and while this line could be read as a warning, we can't forget about the background vocals. Let's consider the difference between the lines 'It's just the beginning' and 'This is just the beginning' the first can be said by someone who has nothing to do with something, very general, while the second says THIS, THIS thing that I'm doing, THIS thing that is happening. The way I read it the front vocals are sang by the actual humans that the Techrot is controlling, and the background is the Techrot.

"Neon lights flicker, DJ spins the track, the boys are in sync and there's no turning back" -> Notice how right after the last line we get a sharp switch to 3rd person story telling, as if the Techrot just managed to get control back? This is obviously telling someone that these people are now under control and this is something that can't be undone. But whom? This sounds just like "There's no reason to fight now, everything is lost anyway." Also the line "Neon lights flicker" is painting a scene that usually alludes to something changing / bad happening.

"Now that you're invested, we're turning up the heat, Everybody sing together on the one, two, three" -> This is the line that is being called out as famously mishear for 'Now that you're infested', for good reason, but again, notice how heat and fighting (albeit well hidden) come up again in the song, 'You're in(f/v)ested so we're turning up the heat, and everybody should sing along now, (which is again something that would make the stadium hotter from moving -> body heat.

[Chorus]

"Floating higher as the stars align, here on the edge of 1999" -> This could be meaning that as Y2K approaches they are getting stronger 'floating higher', just as it could mean out of body experience, aka. losing control.

"All systems go in this moment like you've never known (you've never known)" -> This is the line I'm gonna cling to as the biggest clue to the Techrot going crazy at the New Year. Also why I think On-Lyne encouraged their fans to not turn their computers off before midnight. I'm not sure I really believe this but this line could be the reverse of 'Something big is coming' with the boys singing in parenthesizes 'You've never known what's happening' to the crowd.

"Join us embrace us, don't ever erase us (On-Lyne's in the house)" -> So subtlety is out the window, we're bringing in the chanting until-

"Stop" -> And this is the line that made me write this whole post. Just. Why? Why would the Techrot put a stop to the chanting? Except if this isn't the Techrot but there is some humanity, something, anything remaining from the people they infested, that is for one last time fighting back?

"On-Lyne's in the house to bring the party of your lifetime" -> So this is purely speculation but I do believe that from this line forward it is the actual On-Lyne singing right until the end. Why?

Right after this line the music stops, like a moment of clarity, that could be so much. It could be the infestation wrestling back control once and for all, but I don't believe that that would be the case, from the lyrics that follow.

[Chorus] -> So I already explained that everything in the chorus could be interpreted as either the Techrot or On-lyne singing it, but after it comes

"We come to life, we come to life on the floor, This feeling's what we came for, The beat is strong, we can feel it in the floor" -> 'We come to life on the floor' can be interpreted as the Techrots control loosening which is the 'feeling that [they] came here for' and it's not the infested moving underfoot, but the beat they will feel in their last moments as the song ends.

"Party of your lifetime"

"[distorted] Party of your lifetime" -> The Techrot singing, trying to imitate human sound probably.

"Party of your life. Time." -> The moment I think the Techrot won was right after 'life' but it couldn't stop the 'time', because Warframe is at the end of the day about love, and hope and all that good stuff and so I refuse to look at this in any other way.

So anyway, this is just a random theory / analysis that I thought of after listening to this song too many times. I think the themes of battling for control over our lives fits Warframe perfectly, with the quests that we had in the past few years, and so I wouldn't be surprised if our new fan favorite boy band had a similar story to tell.

[spurious]

what was the moment where you said yes to McShep?

OKAY SO.

Obviously you, audioletter my beloved wife know all this but. I’m not sure I’ve talked about how I got into SGA/mcshep on my tumblr so.

After finishing the x-files in 2022, my wife’s Zaddy Husband Mitch Pileggi beckoned us to watch Stargate Atlantis (because we couldn’t stomach Walker Texas Ranger). We’ve both been in fandom for a Long Time and thus remembered the years that McShep reigned supreme, and starting the show we said to each other “haha wouldn’t it be funny if we became ride-or-die mcshep shippers?”

……..yeah.

From the very start of the show, basically every single time John and Rodney were on screen together we’d go “haha mcshep lol”

So now I’m like. trying to excavate my memories to figure out when it Became Real for me.

I do tend to love buddy slash pairings and ships where one person is shrill while the other is chill so it’s not, like, surprising to me in hindsight that I did end up shipping mcshep? And then the SGA fandom being so friendly and active just…allowed my fixation the space to flourish.

But anyway, let’s see what the first McShep thing I saved to my camera roll was!

*drumroll*

It’s this art by the amazing @luluxa:

So at this point I think I was still at the “no no, I’m saving this fanart to my phone ironically” stage.

Now, this was October 30th. By November 3rd, I have photos of a trip to mandarake where I was really hoping to find SGA doujinshi cause I SWEAR I’d seen it before (I’ve not managed to find it yet. Japanese fans why. You guys love generic white guys mcshep should be massive here)

The first fic I have bookmarked is from November 2nd with the note “oh no I have feelings about McShep now” and it is Counting Down by @alienfuckeronmain, which is a post-trinity fic.

HOWEVER. I also have a Grace Under Pressure coda bookmarked from a day or so later, and this tracks with my impressions: this is the episode that most intensely sticks out in my mind as being emotionally memorable and something I needed to be reading fic about. Soooooo I guess it was Rodney that got me, and the need to process my emotions about episodes by reading other people’s processing, and, uh, now here I am almost two years later!

SO. To get to the actual question, several paragraphs and approximately a day later, I don’t know that there really was a single moment that put me there, as opposed to a series of moments enacted onto an already-primed pump? Because truly I should know by now that the danger of doing something ironically is that you end up doing it ronically, but. I remember devouring the fic I could find that was non-spoilery as we were watching (lots of episode tags) and it definitely shaped my perspective on John and Rodney’s interactions.

But essentially, this is a ship archetype I tend to like, and Rodney McKay is absolutely the type of horrible little gremlin man I tend to like, and the fic was good, and. Here we are lmao

[galadrieljones]

"Bet on Hope": More Thoughts on Isabelle

This is a response to @frangipanilove's post about Isabelle as a Beth Proxy. I agree 100% with everything frangi says and had to type up this quick follow-up, regarding Isabelle as a "proxy" for Beth.

I want to add that this may feel a little out of left field, but I believe that Beth and Isabelle are connected even in the hard wiring of some of the symbols we've seen over the years. What I want to talk about here is one of the last things it seems we will hear Isabelle say in the series, which is: "Bet on hope." She can be heard saying it in the trailer, and it also appears in the *leaked* script from episode 2.6.

The language "Bet on hope" is unique and uses gambling rhetoric and essentially conjures an underdog situation. To bet on hope is to call the enemy's bluff, and to hold out "hope" that you can win, even against all odds. The opposite of betting on hope would be to fold, to give into your fate, even if you still have a chance to win, or if your chances are, essentially, no worse off than your enemy's.

First, I have to wonder, what "hope" they are betting on here. I maintain there's a connection to the actual character Hope Bennett from The World Beyond, who, as a distiller and a scientist currently hiding out with T.B. Ellis, I think will be instrumental in curing Wildfire or finding a remedy for it. I think we should literally "Bet on Hope" (capital H).If you rewatch the WB coda to season 2, you'll notice that the French scientist (who has a folder full of T.B. Ellis papers on her laptop) uses the word "hope" multiple times, mainly in iterations of the phrase: "Hope beyond hope." She is "hoping beyond hope" that the Primrose Team will return to France and "end all of this."

We also see in episode 1.4 of The Ones Who Live, at the "Greenwood" laboratory where Rick and Michonne find themselves after exiting the helicopter, a poster that urges residents to "Keep Hope Alive!" None of this is coincidence!

Hope Bennett aside, when thinking of the phrase "Bet on hope," I am also reminded of episode 10.19 "One More," which TD pounced on long ago as containing a huge number of "Still" callbacks, including alcohol consumption, drinking games, golf, color parallelism, and cards. The episode revolves largely around Father Gabriel's slow loss of faith, a conflict which he will confront in season 11, and Aaron's struggle to believe in himself as a survivor. Their dynamic mirrors that of Daryl and Beth in "Still."

In "One More," FG and Aaron play a game of poker while drinking whiskey. At the end of the scene, FG bluffs his way to a win, because, instead of calling his bluff, Aaron folds. Episode 10.19 is all about foreshadowing and setting up characterization for the future, just like so many of the episodes in 10c. It is also the episode that comes directly after "Find Me."

What's so interesting about their poker game is not JUST that Aaron folds in the face of adversity, but the way that the hand goes down. Mind you that they're not playing for money. They're playing for bottle caps, so essentially, there's nothing at stake. Aaron, in a very Beth-esque "bullshit" moment, accuses FG of bluffing, so FG urges him to call his bluff.

Aaron, however, is afraid. He "doesn't have enough" to call. In a game with no cash pot, FG, however, realizes one has to be creative. He tells Aaron to bet his whiskey.

At this point, Aaron considers it. He even starts to push his cup toward the pot, but then at the last moment, he folds. You can see in his hand that he has a jack, just before he throws his cards down. It doesn't mean he has a better hand than FG, but it does mean he could have something, and that it's worth soldiering forth. He will not "bet on hope" here, so to speak. He gives up.

After FG wins, Aaron then demands that FG show him his hand, and what are the cards that FG holds? An 8 and a 2.

In the shot above, you can see in the background of FG's hand a mini-golf set. Apparently a game of mini-golf was among deleted scenes for this episode. The 8 and 2 here, which is a terrible hand, and which beat Aaron (who was too afraid to call FG's bluff), is yet another callback to Engine 82, the firetruck that mysteriously disappears without any explanation after "Coda." The firetruck that Abraham's group previously fights tooth and nail to defend from walkers. Where did it go?

Whatever happened to the firetruck may explain what happened to Beth. After "Coda," both Beth's body AND the firetruck disappear without a trace, and we never learn what happened or why.

"Bet on hope" could mean, essentially, hold out for the long odds. You could still find the one thing that's been missing all these years, which could solve all of your problems and deficiencies. Even if it is hidden behind a major, major "bluff." You must see through it and be brave enough to call it out. You may have to be creative, to bet everything. And to do this, you need all the hope you can muster. Unsurprisingly, Isabelle, a woman of faith, just like Father Gabriel, gets it.

It could also be important, especially as this is in response to a frangipanilove post and contains the reference to "Hope" Bennett, that in "One More," Aaron considers betting his alcohol to call FG's bluff. Alcohol, we are all pretty sure, has some connection to the "cure" for Wildfire, as the "Staff of Life" (quoted by Jim, the beer brewer from Fear season 4). I've also written a post comparing the French herbal liqueur Chartreuse to the potential cure for Wildfire. Essentially, I think "Bet on Hope" also means "Bet on a Cure." It also just means, "Don't give up. To get the happy ending you desire, you have to take the long odds."

Alcohol, Engine 82, and golf all in one shot. Both a nun and a priest encouraging a doubter to bet on hope. Idk if it means what I think it means but I'm going to "bet on hope" a little longer.

[cassandraclare]

no mourners, no funerals

spoilers!!

poesflowercrown asked: Why didn't we see kit's [Christopher Lightwood's] funeral

Okay, so quite a lot of the questions I’ve gotten are some form of “Why wasn’t there a funeral for Christopher?”

And the answer is that Christopher surely did have a funeral — but that it strikes me as fairly obvious why he didn’t have one that took place during the time when London was under attack by Belial. Also, had they had a funeral in Idris during this time (where his body was, and where they have funerals), we have no POV characters who are there to see it.

After that, we jump ahead six months, and obviously his funeral isn’t going to be after such a long period of time has elapsed — instead we see grief at the stage of what it is often like after half-a-year: the most active part of the mourning is over, and the Shadowhunters are moving into fitting Christopher and the grief for him into lives that go on and go forward. James dreams of dead Christopher almost every night, and yet he is still moving on with his life: they are Shadowhunters, this is how they live, knowing life can always be interrupted by destruction, battle or war, and knowing (in a way mundanes don’t) that any day carries with it the possibility of immediate death and loss.

Now, could I have shattered the structure and timing of the book to shove in a funeral between the coda and the wrap-up of the epilogue? I think it would have been a lot of more jarring and weird than people realize, but I also think that it wouldn’t have offered anything. I get a lot of questions that seem to think a funeral for Christopher would have offered “closure” somehow — either to the characters or readers — and the fact that I don’t think it would have done anything like that, or offered anything useful or meaningful, is partly why I didn’t include it.

Shadowhunter funerals aren’t like mundane (human!) funerals: they’re not for closure, but rather for generally honoring the dead of war, because the Shadowhunters live in a constant state of war. What would have happened at a funeral for Christopher is that he would have been burned on a pyre along with Elias and those who died freeing London; people would have come up and given polite condolences to Gabriel and Cecily, the Consul would have given a general speech, and that’s about it. We see this with Livvy’s funeral. — how it is entirely unspecific to Livvy. We see how much closure her funeral offers her family (none, basically.) I think what people are imagining as “Christopher’s funeral” (everyone cries, makes speeches, has feelings) is not what a Shadowhunter funeral is.

There is one more thing I would say, which is that death, as depicted in art and fiction, is not required to offer closure. Sometimes the point is to sit with that lack of closure, and feel the absence of that person, that character, because living with the death of someone close to you is often living without total closure: sometimes for a long time, sometimes forever. That is okay. It is not required of books that emotions be neatly put away at the end of them, like guest towels. Sometimes they are just there to be felt afterward.

[I have also seen people say that Christopher’s friends didn’t mourn for him — which is so bizarre I haven’t decided whether to address it or just leave it as a Thing We Totally Disagree About, like the many questions I get about how we “never see that Tessa loves Jem” or “Isabelle doesn’t care that Max died” etc. Sometimes you just can’t see eye to eye about things; I don’t really get how Thomas being so stricken by Christopher’s death that his physical appearance is literally altered forever, or Anna “turning to stone” with grief, or Matthew being unable to even say Christopher’s name without flinching in pain, is “not mourning”, but we all have our different ideas of how things should be depicted. I tend to believe in a less-is-more philosophy about showing intense emotion, but we are not all that way!]

Anyway, closure. The intense mourning for Christopher in the Sanctuary is short-lived not because the Shadowhunters have gotten bored mourning intensely, but because of Belial. Because they are at war, and then and forever their grief for Christopher must fit itself within the interstices of them needing to save the world. In looking at research into Shadowhunter mourning, I looked at the way people mourn when they are either civilians in war, or soldiers on the front lines, because all Shadowhunters are all least one of those things. A great deal of intense compartmentalizing is required, because the preservation of life going forward must be the priority. The Shadowhunters know this; they are raised knowing this. They know that not only may you be called upon to sacrifice your own life to be what you are, but that it is likely you will lose other people, and if you lose them in battle, you have also sacrificed the ability to stop the world and engage in just grieving. You sacrifice, sometimes, even the ability to bury your dead or to know where they died. As Lucie observes:

“And now they were back at the Institute courtyard, which was empty and quiet, as it always was. There was no scar here, no sign of the dreadful things that had happened there such a short time ago. Lucie envisioned a plaque: HERE IS WHERE IT ALL BROKE APART. Matthew and James’s vanishing, Christopher’s death—they seemed both very close, a trauma still ongoing, and yet far away.

On the other hand, she thought, this courtyard had been torn up by Leviathan a couple of weeks ago, and there was no sign of that, either. Perhaps to be a Shadowhunter simply meant drawing runes over one’s scars, over and over.”

They mourn, they grieve, they have to go on — to “draw runes over their scars” — because the other option is wallowing in grief and doing nothing to prevent Belial winning. Lucie is feeling these things as “far away” because they have to be shoved down in order for the Shadowhunters to continue doing what they need to do. They can’t lie on the ground and scream NOOOOOO for days; they honor Christopher by going on, by seeing his project through to the end and using it to save countless lives. Which is what Christopher would have wanted — not a cold and monotonous funeral in Idris.

So short answer: I didn’t think a funeral for Christopher would have provided anything worthwhile to the story, but rather would have made it worse. In the end, that’s usual the answer to the why of any decision. :)

[smaeemo]

Destiel would have been more canon if Supernatural were a book series and here’s why:

Destiel feelings are “subtext” but as Jensen said it’s “Clear Text,” and that was canon destiel confirmation enough for me. I think that a lot of people wanted Destiel to be canon in the sense that they got a romantic relationship, however with what we know now, and prior to that knowledge; they already had a relationship. Relationships encompass a lot, such as friendships, platonic, familial, etc. And they already had a much more complex and intricate relationship than most people can comprehend. Speaking strictly in canon, they technically already had a relationship that was fueled on savior, on love, on so many foundations. And let’s say for argument’s sake that neither of them had romantic feelings, but rather familial love, their story would still be circulated around LOVE.

However, I think that most of us can agree that it wasn’t just love that comes from a sense of friendship and commrodery. I think that a lot of the time we forget that Castiel and Dean are paradoxical, they realistically could never be in a happy relationship due to the fact that their story is inherently a tragedy. Now, we can also incorporate the “Chuck wins theory” into this and argue that they can never be together because of Chuck’s manipulation. However that can also be easily outweighed by the fact that Cas was never even supposed to be in the story, and that he was the only one with a “crack in his chassis.” (sorry got a bit rambly”

Destiel, is the love story (for many reasons that I will get into another time), but it is also the tragedy. The fact that over and over again, Dean and Cas hurt eachother, the fact that emotional repression and incommunication is a constant in the story is what makes them, them. So, in my eyes the confirmation that it wasn’t just subtext was enough for me to feel that it was canon. For a tragic love story to be canon there doesn’t have to be dates (which there are, they just don’t know it) or kissing, or grand love confessions (which again, there is CANONICALLY), but there doesn’t have to be the confirmation that they even know what they are. But, with interpretations of canon we can clearly see that they are in love they just don’t know it/they can’t know it.

What my point is, is that Destiel is already canon but we should have been fed more! Like if Eric Kripke wasn’t a bigot, or it wasn’t made in the 2000s, or if Sera Gamble didn’t hate Cas etc. Most all of the factors that played into the tragedy and denial of canonical destiel was due to circumstance. Also, given that Supernatural is a show about Sam and Dean and their fucked up family and brother shit, it wouldn’t have made sense to not make destiel a tragedy or to let them be happy. After all, the show wasn’t originally about them.

All in all,

If Supernatural had been written as a YA book series, Destiel would have still be canon, but we would have been given a better perspective on why and how they were canon. Actually seeing into their inner monologues, whereas in the show so much of it is left purposefully open for interpretation. So, realistically Destiel could never actually be happy, but they already are canonically burdened and tortured by their love for eachother and we would have gotten a better perspective of their own perspectives if it were in book form (such as Twilight and Midnight sun).

Which is also why fanfiction is such a staple of what makes them, them. Now I have to say, The fanfics I like the best are “Codas” rather than “fix-its” because Destiel is already canon, and their tradgedy is what makes them, And I want my Destiel version of Twilight and Midnight sun!!!

[landwriter]

Ok, for the WIP title ask game, would An Eternity of This happen to be the Oaths follow up? 👀

It would be!! This snippet is the first thing that I wrote again after too many months with not enough writing. It's a scene with Thomas and Catte after Hob has gone out after Dream about the. V grateful to it for getting the gears going again, even though it doesn't quite fit in the rest of the coda. Pleased to have a reason to put it somewhere else, like riiiight here. ~1.1K of Oaths Coda under the cut:

When they were small, Catte had teased Hob for his lack of patience. When they were grown, she persisted in doing so, for he persisted in having none.

He took it in good humour, as was his character; just as it was hers to tease him in all the things she knew better about. It was a mercy that he had been born into a saddle and not to any other manner of work. Strong though he was, she suspected he would not be able to withstand waiting even for a dough to rise. Making a simple basket had nearly driven him to grief.

It was only now, that she felt the abashed stirrings of sympathy. Patience. She turned away from the window and sighed.

“By morrow, he told you,” she said, again.

“By morrow,” replied Thomas, again.

“How many times is that now? God’s blood. It’s not as if the answer is going to be different.”

“Four, I think,” he said dryly. “You’re beside yourself.”

Catte shook her head and scoffed. “So I am. Come and comfort your insensible wife, Thomas.”

He stood up from where he was sat by their hearth, and came to wrap his arms around her. Only she was insensible on the inside, and had to shut her eyes to resist the impulse to slide out of his embrace as soon as it caught her and go back to the window. Her husband was warm and solid and smelled of smoke and himself, and she could be still as him, even if she felt less like a woman and rather more like a flystruck horse in the fields, twitching and restive and nearly mad.

Thomas pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “I’m not sure you can will yourself any calmer than this, hart. The others are surely drinking themselves blind tonight. If it wasn’t that your company was far better, I’d join them. You’ve more grace than us all.”

She smiled at the flattery and turned her face against his chest so she could half look out onto the dark moors. “I do have more practice.”

Thomas drew in a breath. “Is this what it’s like? Each time we ride out?”

Catte looked up. He met her eyes, and she thought of all the long winters, of waking before dawn and starting the day’s labours in the blue-grey light just for a reason to look to the horizon. Waiting for her Thomas before he was even hers, not wanting to put a name to the thing that already had her looking for him in the crowd of returning riders, dry-mouthed, no matter what they called each other.

She cupped his face and thumbed over his cheeks. Her husband now. Not that it made any kind of difference to how it felt, before or after, each and every time. But it was her work to carry the waiting, as riding was theirs. He should never have learned this feeling too. He’d recall it afresh when he rode out again and feel sorry twice over, for leaving and for knowing now how it felt to be left.

“Would you believe me if I say no?” she asked.

Thomas raised his eyebrows. “No. But I’d let you have it.”

“You shouldn’t let me have anything,” she said indignantly.

“Nay, you’d prefer to win it, love,” he said, hiding a smile, and she sighed. It was unjust that he knew her as well as she knew him. “You don’t need to explain. I just don’t know how you bear this.”

“It is like this. But it’s easier, too. Tonight is different.” When Thomas rode out, he was surrounded by good men, brothers and kin, some who she would grant were even as cunning or strong as her man. Hob had gone out with nobody, against a fell enemy they had never met before, not to chance suffering but to pay in it, and no way home but to withstand it all. It didn’t bear saying, so instead she said, “I have you with me. The bed won’t be cold.”

“You’re only trying to make me feel useful,” said Thomas. He pressed his face into hair. “Catte, I hate this,” he murmured.

“I know,” she said. “I hate it too.” Outside, rain gusted down, and they both fell silent, imagining Hob, outside and alone, making his way to Miles Cross.

“I’ll bank the fire,” said Thomas abruptly. Catte looked at the hearth and laughed. It had hours left in it. Thomas had been stoking it ceaselessly. It would take the whole bucket of cold ash.

“And I suppose then we’ll lie in bed and fall asleep,” she said.

He smiled crookedly. “Aye.”

But she did lie down in bed, and soon Thomas joined her, and pressed himself to her back like another bastle wall. Neither of them spoke. Catte had been surprised to discover how much she enjoyed the comfortable marital silence that came in sharing a bed, near as much as the very foremost activities of a marriage bed. Tonight, it hardly warmed her. Tonight, they were only silent because the remainder of their thoughts were too grim to speak aloud. They sounded awful enough inside her head.

Catte wanted to throw off the covers, shake all the fear off with it, but instead, she breathed slowly, and began to paint a picture behind her eyes. It was a childish habit, to soothe and distract. She hadn’t thought about it in years. Her eldest sister had told her to do it when Catte confessed she lost sleep for her nerves as soon her friends began to ride out. Think of someplace else. It doesn’t even need to be real, Effy had said solemnly. Name every detail of it, the smell and the sound and the feel, so you can go into it like another room.

A summer’s evening, she decided. A sky dark blue in the gloaming, the leavings of a perfect clear day. Sweet smelling air and a cool breeze in her hair. Dark enough for bats to be on wing in the field, light enough to point them out still, to her children, who were bonny and hale, and favoured her and Thomas both. But tonight they were indoors, sat at her feet on a yellow woven rug, listening wide-eyed to her fearful recounting of the Faerie Queen and the night their kinsman Hob Gadling won his love. Thomas comes inside, with more lines on his face and more handsome for it, and they pester him with questions, and he laughs—as he does, easily and often now, for here in this little room their future is plentiful and kind—and fetches Hob and his fey husband, both long since returned from the clutches of monstrous creatures, and then Thomas holds Catte in his arms the way he had since they were still half children themselves, and they all together listen to the only fairy story that was true, and ended happily.

WIP Title Ask Game

[hotshotsxyz]

nothing's the same except everything

(buddie) (1.1k words) (6x15 coda) this started as a 6x15 coda and ended as spec for the rest of the season so ?? pls enjoy whatever it is i just did

On average, adults spend two hours per night dreaming. 

Ever since his coma, Buck’s wondered if that statistic is skewed. Were coma dreams counted? If they weren’t, should they have been? And even if the statistic is right, does it take into account the way he is now?

Because he’s different. Buck knows he’s different. Eddie knows too, apparently, but it’s not just the him that interacts with the world every day that’s changed, it’s the him that lives in his dreams, too. 

His dreams, jagged and sharp where they used to be soft and hazy. Buck’s different, and god, he needs to understand why. 

Natalia helps, in a strange, roundabout sort of way. Not because she understands him, no, though he’s embarrassed to admit it took him four entire dates to figure that one out. 

(And honestly, in what world was someone he just met going to get him like that?)

Anyway, it’s not what she sees in him that helps, not really, it’s what she asks when, at the end of their fourth ‘date’, Buck tells her he doesn’t want to see her again. 

“What is it you’re still trying to figure out?” She tilts her head to the side in that enigmatic way of hers, and though she doesn’t explain herself further, Buck knows what she means. 

You’ve seen what happens at the end, what else is there to know?

“What happens now,” he replies. 

No weight falls from his shoulders when he ends things with Natalia, not like it did with Taylor. He thinks maybe it’s because, for once in his life, he let things run their course. Chose not to cling to a sinking ship. 

It doesn’t really solve anything, anyway. 

He says as much to Eddie one night, clutching the neck of a bottle tight between his fingers. 

“So what now?” Eddie asks, leaving him all the room in the world to deflect. He finds he doesn’t really want to. 

“I think,” Buck says, frowning, picking at the condensation-covered yellow label of his beer, “I think I’m going to start therapy again.”

A line of tension seems to release from Eddie’s shoulders and he nods. “That’s good, Buck,” he says, “I’m glad.”

There’s something else he wants to say, needs to maybe, but the words don’t come. It’s a feeling, and for the moment it’s vague. He’s got time, though. Enough time to find the words. 

Buck wakes with a start. It’s hard to say, these days, whether he’s had a dream or a nightmare. The scenes are always disjointed, riddled with faces he doesn’t recognize wearing expressions he wishes he could forget. 

Have you figured it out yet? They ask him. 

How much longer do you think it can wait?

“You know,” Eddie says as they survey the remains of a burnt out house, waiting for the okay to begin overhaul, “it’s okay if you don’t have all the answers.”

Buck turns to him, cocks his head to the side in a silent question. 

Eddie shakes his head. “I just mean– you can ask. Whatever questions you’ve been sitting on. Maybe Bobby’ll know, or Hen. Or– maybe I will.”

Buck swallows harshly. “I’m not sure I even know where to start,” he says. 

“That’s okay too,” Eddie replies. 

That night, he dreams of water. He claws at it, desperate to pull his way to the surface. The scene fractures, and he’s dangling from the top of the ladder truck. It groans loudly and begins to tip, slow at first, then fast, until the ground is hurtling towards him and–

Buck!

He wakes with a gasp and reaches for his phone with trembling fingers. 

He dials and waits. Waits until–

“Buck?” Eddie’s voice is sleep-rough and worried, but Buck can’t bring himself to be sorry for calling. 

“What happened?” he asks, so quiet he can’t be sure Eddie hears him. 

For a moment, only the sound of breathing reaches his ear. 

Then, Eddie tells him. 

It’s strange, in hindsight, that Buck never thought to ask whose hands he came back to life beneath. Stranger still, the way his heart seems to react to the news. 

Every time he sees Eddie, it gives a little jump, a small acknowledgement of the man that saved it. 

Nothing’s the same but everything is, and the only constant in the universe is change but statistically, things always regress to the mean. 

On average, adults dream two hours per night, and now, Buck only ever seems to dream of Eddie. 

“What do you think dreams mean?” Buck asks Hen one morning, apropos of nothing. 

“Why?” she asks, “Have a weird one last night?”

Buck shrugs. “Something like that.”

Hen pauses for a moment, takes a moment to look at him, really look. “I’m not sure they mean anything,” she says finally. “But how you feel in the morning… that’s got to be worth something.”

“Do you think I’m looking for the right things?” Buck asks Maddie.

 

“How do you know when you’ve found what you’re looking for?” He asks Chim. 

“Are we clear to head out?” he asks Bobby. 

The roads are always bad after an earthquake, but Buck navigates them carefully, driving slowly around old potholes and new cracks in the asphalt. None of the traffic lights are working, so Buck takes a circuitous route to the loft, making only right turns where he’d usually go left. What’s usually a twenty minute drive takes over an hour tonight, but they make it without incident, and that’s all Buck really cares about. 

“I’ve got him,” he whispers to Eddie, nodding towards Christopher, who’s half-asleep in the back of the Jeep. 

Eddie smiles tiredly at him and shoulders his bag. 

As they wait for the elevator, another question occurs to Buck. “How did you know?”

Know what? Eddie should probably ask. Because Buck hasn’t really asked a question. He could be asking about anything. Could be asking–

How did you know I needed the jaws earlier?

How did you know what I wanted for dinner last night?

How did you know you could trust me with Chris?

How did you know I wasn’t the same?

How did you know I needed permission to ask?

Could be asking any of it. But he’s actually asking all of it. 

Eddie smiles at him, tired but warm, wearing that soft expression he only ever seems to direct at him or Christopher. “Because I know you,” he says simply. 

Buck’s eyes snap to Eddie’s, because suddenly, he gets it. I know you, Eddie says, and he’s right. Eddie knows him, and he knows Eddie. 

All those weeks ago, he’d wondered aloud: what happens now? And this– this is the answer. Him. Eddie. 

“Oh,” he says softly, a little awestruck. 

Impossibly, Eddie’s expression softens further. 

For once in his life, Buck knows exactly what happens next. 

The ground shakes beneath their feet. Eddie’s eyes widen and he reaches for Buck, even as the shifting concrete has him stumbling back. The building around them groans and screeches, and Buck pulls Christopher tight against his chest. 

Fear twists its way into Eddie’s expression. It’s the last thing Buck sees before the world crumbles around them.

[shinakazami1]

I've joined The Beginnervs Guide discord and passed my exam so, art time :]

Coda is the lamp guy while Davey (the character, not the actual Davey Werden) is the cube head fella, with hidden lamp inside. These are designs showing how Davey sees both of them

Some more design details under the cut:

As I've said, these designs are based on how Davey perceives them. They have human designs but I'm still thinking how Coda should look fosiahfsao

Davey (the character design):

He wears a red bandana and a stripped shirt, just like in IRL Davey's Twitter pfp (it's based on the actual outfit he used to have)

He takes big inspo from Coda, that is why he becomes a cubehead-

-but he actually is a lamppost. Which is the part that he gives to Coda. However, his own lamppost, instead of a lightbulb has a flame - making him way more fragile, to show how emotionally unstable he is.

His cube has 3 speak sides, 1 listen, 1 think and 1 doubt :]

Most of the time, instead of actually listening, he has "think" since he throws his own interpretations of what other people say

Coda

he has a polar jacket, since he overall seems like a cold, closeted dude and Davey wants to make Coda warm up to him.

His human form actually wears a fedora OIHFSAOISAHIOI

[thevioletcaptain]

the ashes by imogenbynight

1.2k | mature | deancas

a 13.01 coda with dean scattering cas' ashes. technically this is canon compliant but i feel like i need to trigger warn for like… cannibalism? not really but. man. idk.

Dean sits with the ashes when they get back to the bunker. Sits with them and stares and goes a little insane with it, until he can’t stop imagining himself cracking open the lid and reaching his fingers inside.

Would Cas be soft? Chalky, velvety, like the white-charred remnants of driftwood after a bonfire? Would he be rough as his voice; as the sand his pyre had been built upon?

With a belly full of fire and whisky and desperate unease, he stares and stares as his thoughts spiral. As he thinks about pressing his damp index finger into the ash and raising it to his mouth. Swallowing it down and letting Cas become a part of him.

He could keep Cas forever that way; absorbed into his being.

Fuck, he can’t stop thinking about it.

Years ago, they worked a case where a young couple had been so frantic with love, intensified to the trillionth degree by the cruel touch of famine, that they'd eaten one another alive. Torn into each other's flesh with teeth as they clung together, ecstatic and bloody. Dean remembers feeling as confused as he was revolted by what had seemed to him a far-too-literal leap from desire to hunger.

Now, though, he kind of understands it.

Because it wasn't hunger, exactly, that lead to such a violent conclusion. It was need, followed through to its inevitable end. And he gets it now. Gets wanting to take the one you love into yourself and keep them there always. To hold them so wholly that they become a part of you, so you can never be parted again.

Of course, that's the thing that stops him, in the end. Not what should have stopped him--not the sick, visceral horror of what ultimately equates to eating his best friend's remains, no matter how he spins it--but the fact that tying Cas to himself in such an irreversible way feels like a betrayal. A punishment to Cas' spirit, however much of it still exists. He can't do that. Can't force whatever part of Cas' grace or soul might linger in the ash to endure however many years Dean has left as a part of him. Can't tether Cas so selfishly in death when Cas had never seemed to want to stay with him in life.

Cas might have been the love of Dean's miserable fucking life, but he's not under any illusions that the feeling ran both ways.

He learned early that it wasn't even possible--learned before he'd even fully slipped into loving Cas himself. Learned before he ever could have known how important it would be to him. Anna had told him, point blank, and he'd seen the difference in her. Human, feeling; angel, cold. And sure, Cas has come a long way -- had come along way by the end. He feels. Dean knows he feels, and feels for him, in particular. But his capacity for it is limited, and it's never been clearer than in his ability to leave Dean behind at a moment's notice. He's detached. Was detached.

So he can't force Cas to be a part of him. Would never forgive himself.

When he had eventually started falling, he'd hoped the knowledge that nothing could ever come of it would help keep him from toppling headfirst into something deeper than a fleeting infatuation. He hadn't been so lucky.

And now here he is, staring down a can labeled Cafe Bustelo Medium Roast and thinking the kind of thoughts that make his stomach turn in endlessly cycling fits of longing and revulsion, all because he fell in love.

It's half past five in the morning when he decides he can't keep the ashes in the bunker. Can't have the sick temptation. Less because he thinks he's actually going to do it, and more because he knows he won't be able to stop thinking about it whenever he sees the tin. So he scoops up the tin, and creeps down to the garage to the Impala, and drives west on US-36. 

Keeps driving until the rising sun starts turning the sky in his rearview a pale shade of pink, and he sees a few lonely lightning bugs blinking in and out of view on an quiet roadside near Phillipsburg.

He's pulled over before he's consciously decided to do so.

It's a pretty spot, is his first thought. Tall grass and scattered wildflowers spanning the open meadow which slopes down to a stream. A rusted old windmill stands vigil over the scene, slowly spinning in the gentle breeze.

Cas would like it here, is his second thought. Would gaze up at the windmill and make some observation about the ingenuity of human invention, and crouch down to watch the fireflies as they gently sink back into the grass at the arrival of the sun. 

The image is so clear in Dean's mind that he forgets, just for a second, that Cas is gone. Or-- he doesn't forget, exactly. He just isn't thinking about it so directly. Is so focused on the visual of Cas in the tall grass beside him, on the memory of his voice and the way his long fingers would look dipping between blade of grass that when he looks back down at his hands, at the coffee can he's holding with white-knuckled grip, the reminder of why he's here is harsh enough to leave him winded.

"I woulda brought you here," he says once he's caught his breath, like Cas can hear him, but it's a lie. They rarely had downtime, and whenever they did Cas almost always took off. Dean was lucky to get him to stick around long enough to watch a movie, most of the time. But he'd have wanted to bring him here. That much is true. He would have wanted to.

"I hope--" he starts, then stops, drawing his lip between his teeth and looking first to the sky, then to the ground, then just closing his eyes. Taking several deep breaths. "Man... Cas. Cas, I hope you're--"

Okay. Safe. Alright. Fuck, but all the words he has equate to alive, and with me, and whole, and underneath them all an unwavering current of coming home soon. Anything else feels like another lie. His throat clicks on a swallow.

"I hope you're happy," he says finally, and pries the can open. Stares down at the small cloud of ash that rises with it. "I'm gonna miss you for fucking ever, but wherever you are... I really hope you're happy."

With the windmill at his back, and the field of flowers spread out before him, he lets Cas' ashes run through his fingers as he gives him over to the earth, and he doesn't notice the texture at all. He's too busy thinking about how Cas' hand felt in his the last time he'd helped him to stand. How heavy he'd been, then. How light he is now.

It's not until he's preparing to return to his car, wrung out and cracked open and raw as an exposed nerve, that he notices the thin cut on his ring finger. He must have nicked it on the coffee can, or the fence, or the dry grass, and it doesn't hurt, but-- his blood is swelling from it in a bright red drop, and his hands are dusty with ash. His heart lurches at the sight of Cas' ash and his own blood mingling.

He raises his finger to his mouth.

Cas is holy on his tongue.

[also on ao3]