sebastian wännström

I love love love this scene, but when I started thinking about it, I can’t help but feel like it shows so much about Sam

He runs a veteran therapy group

He knows loss and he knows pain and he knows war and sure no one knows quite what Bucky’s been through but this is as close as anyone normal can get

And sure when you think of veterans, when you think of people who have suffered and who have lost and been hurt so much, the world tells us that these people need extra special treatment, which can sometimes lead to them feeling further separated from the rest of society and make it harder for them to integrate back into the world

Bucky doesn’t want to be singled out or made to feel different or ostracised because he suffered

He wants to feel normal and he doesn’t want to feel as though everyone is treating him as a special exception and gives him everything he wants without having to do anything in return

And Sam knows this and he understands it and respects it

So when Bucky asks for something menial, Sam says no because it’s giving him the sign that he’s still normal. And that yes he went through hell but that doesn’t make him any better or worse than anyone else

Sam lets Bucky know that he doesn’t think he’s made of glass or that having been broken in the past means he’s fragile now

Sam tells Bucky no because dammit Bucky’s been managing by himself for a goddamn year now and obviously he’s been doing okay and he’s managed to bring himself back all by himself so why the fuck shouldn’t anyone treat him like they would anyone else, like any other human being

  • Aveline: Is there seriously anyone here who thinks I shouldn't throw Hawke's ass in jail?
  • Hawke's Companions: *raises hands*
  • Aveline: Anyone who hasn't slept with Hawke?
  • Hawke's Companions: ...*lowers hands*
  • Aveline: ...
  • Hawke: *imitates airhorn sounds and hip thrusts desk*
10

A letter full of regrets. So I played dragon age and here is a small tribute for a decision I had to make.

“I’m not a specialist in writing feely stuff. Despite being completely sure drama was my thing. Whatever…
I used to recall our life in Kirkwall pretty often. Every single day actually. Sitting in tavern with that good old smile and openly saying nonsense like “Oh yeah, that joke of him was perfectly timed” or “Never gonna forget such stupid faces those sons of nags made”. I didn’t care if someone’d heard me. Memories were too fresh to shut them up. All that adventures, no wonder nobody believes my books. Come on, kicking tons of asses, getting wealthy, killing few dragons, robbing a castle. Sounds astonishing, right? And what’s the coolest part - I remember it all. Every tiny detail. Bet I can even recall how Rivainy’s burnt hair smelled after one of slavery market’s clean ups. She looked like a well cooked vivern and screamed furiously. Hawke had to buy every single shiny Jewell from all the Hightown stores just to be sure he won’t be stubbed harshly later on.
Hawke…you remember that bloody champion never played cards well? I still can see his eyes glittering with glory and pride at the day the victory was finally his. Once and for all, I guess. Odd man. You know, despite being damn serious in business and battles, he never said names in such rude and harsh way. He was all like “Hey, Varric, buddy how’s life going?”, “Aveline, you, woman of honor, get out of your desk, lets get some drinks”, “Fenris, I owe you an elvenage-sized box of vine for saving my poor ass!”. It never resembled metal cold “Die” he addressed every piece of crap standing against us. He called us family. We all had dark temptations, odd weaknesses but he saw the light in shadows. And even when our bodies tried to betray him, Hawk…believed. He cared for us so freacking much my own mother never did. Though he wasn’t even the oldest of us. Did anyone really felt older? Doubt that.
So….what I’m trying to say…
Danm, I can’t. Why is it so difficult to operate with simple words. Or don’t I still believe it?
You remember our nights in the Hanged Man? Alcohol, games, face punching. Although Saint boy barely held cards, Hawke still was loosing. Daisy got knocked out from the first glass and all gang unwillingly had to carry her home. And of course there were bandits on the way, and of course they got screwed. After a huge lightning show party had to skedaddle not to bump into bunch of templars. Grumpy argued about “stupid magic” and Blondie just had to answer. Captain talked in commands and Daisy hiccuped so loudly I was aware knights would track us by sounds. Hawke remained silent. And then burst in laughing. Hugged everyone tightly in the giant arms of his. And said he’s happy. He thanked us for all we were. That was a long time ago…
Hawke is gone, guys. I wasn’t there to help him. Wasn’t there to save. I didn’t even had a chance to make up to him. For all he did. I was the one who dragged him into it. It’s on me. But…he wouldn’t want me to blame myself, would he? Guess I still can hear his voice.
Hawke would have said something…supportive. It won’t help anyway. When he lost an important part of him words barely worked. And Hawke wasn’t just a part. He changed people from the inside. Made them better. He made us better. Without him…I don’t even need to know, what would I be like. Life did its best in challenging him. He never fell, never surrender. Beating Arishoc to stand up for Pirat Queen? Sure, why not, he only was five times bigger. Fighting mad templar empress? Living statues? Beams of fire and energy? Oh, okay, everything so that Blondie won’t cry over and blow up something else. Ghosts, spirits, blood mages? No problem. He ripped his ass for our sake. I owed him life I live. I still do.
I want nothing, but promise. From you all. Hawke…was a person worth following. Do not forget it. Do not forget him. Keep that memory. Save it. We had known him long before he became the champion, before he became refugee. We knew him out of those titles, out of history pages. We knew real him. Knew and loved.
Hawke will always be with us….
In our hearts”

When Seb started working for Jim, his new boss gave him a special cellphone only reserved for calls from the consultant criminal. 

Many years later, every screen in the United Kingdom asked the same four words in endless repeat:

“Did you miss me?" 

Except one. Exept that old black and white screen of the old nokia Seb kept. 

There was just  one new message.
Only three words.

"I missed you." 

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