#grief whump

[comfy-whumpee]

The Box

@bloodybrambles, @wildfaewhump, @lektric-whump, @that-one-thespian, @raigash, @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi, @rosesareviolentlyread, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @burtlederp, @mylifeisonthebookshelf

Josephina Engels sits with the box.

When she is at her kitchen table, eating cold pasta from Saturday night’s batch cooking session, she sits with the box. Its cardboard is slightly bent around the corners, the brown colouring uneven where it must have spent time in the sunlight. The lid fits snugly on, unadorned. It’s an odd box. It must be the kind that was bought just to be a box, not repurposed and reused as most boxes are. It has no personality except a little wear and tear.

When she is at her desk, messaging friends and working on her heritage research, she sits with the box. It is buried at the base of the family tree she sketches out, neat lines tracking siblings and marriages, dates written in pencil as she discovers them. The story of her family opens out with her at the centre, the middle child of three. B. 1849, she writes, after scrolling through handwritten records scanned two decades ago. B for born. M for married. D for death.

When she is half-curled across her sofa with a book open in her hands, she sits with the box. The stories she likes are historical romances, where the steps towards courtship are subtle and mild, and the barriers are antiquated and unrelatable. She turns the pages with a finger, slow over the paper. She loses herself in another time and another country, but the box is always in her mind.

When she is out with friends, the box is there. When she goes to work, the box is there. It’s under her seat on the train. It’s tucked amongst the street furniture when she walks. She feels like she should be carrying it around with her, never once letting it out of her sight. A little shoebox like that, and one that hasn’t even held shoes, should be unremarkable. But it won’t let go of her.

After a long day at work, where spreadsheet grids are burned into her eyes and her head throbs with each glare from each passing pair of headlights, she comes home to it. She drinks a glass of wine with dinner. She reads. She researches. She returns to it.

It makes her feel sick just by existing. Pulling it out is worse. Opening the lid is enough to make her feverish, her heart running wild and her blood rising to he surface. She glances at the curtains, closed. She resists the urge to check over her shoulder.

Her vision blurs as she reaches in. Her fingers flinch from the soft plastic of the toothbrush grip, as if its slight yield is cold flesh. Her fingers skim over the splintering wood of a roughly-sharpened pencil. Then they slide over paper.

She closes her eyes tightly enough to worsen her headache. She swallows each breath, fighting back a sob or a scream. She pulls out a random piece of paper from the pile. Some sheets are whole. Some are scraps, torn into halves or quarters. Some are folded, sharper corners pricking her fingertips. If they draw blood, she could sleep for a thousand years. She could wake up when all of this, and whatever it becomes, is ancient history.

She unfolds the paper. Her thumbs find the tiny indents of the writing, and feel the smooth, dusty graphite. She can feel her stomach pushing up against her ribs in rebellion.

She owes it to him to look.

Through swimming eyes, she can see it.

1. I must always obey Master.

She huffs out a lurching breath. It doesn’t get easier. It doesn’t ever, ever change. The grief twists and spasms and writhes, but some days the leech of it is weak and placid, clawless. This is what never fades.

Her stomach rebels against the words.

2. I must never question Master.

She’s sweating, or shivering, hot and cold. She should ask someone over to take care of her, but who could she ask? This is a whole other world to her colleagues and friends. Her parents don’t deserve this burden. Her sister has already faced too much.

Josie is the one who has to hold the box.

3. I must kneel and submit to Master.

God. She knows what it sounds like, when she reads that.

4. I must always address you as Master.

She tries to breathe. The words are true, and real, and held between her hands. No matter how badly they jar and splinter against the memories in her head, this is her reminder of how wrong she was. How wrong they all were.

5. I must make no noise unless invited to by Master.

She lets the paper fall, her legs pushing her back from the box. She needs a break. She needs to stop getting sucked into this endless, eternal spiral. Every time she opens the box, if she even thinks too hard about it, she ends up here.

She rubs her wet cheeks with the palms of her hands. Why did this have to happen? Why did it have to be so close to her, and hurt so much?

There is nobody who can know. Nobody. Her brother’s memory depends on it, this secret she keeps in his shoebox. She can’t imagine ever saying it aloud. My brother was a monster. The details are too lurid, a horror story she lives inside. He banned his captive from making noise, so even when we were there outside, he didn’t call for help.

Marcie doesn’t talk about it anymore. Mum refuses to believe it. Dad clings to excuses. None of them want to know about the box. Josie was the only one who looked inside it, and she took it home to hide it, and the truth it held. She thought she was protecting them.

Even so, she can’t stop herself opening it, grasping the weapon to hurt herself over and over. Her eyes are drawn back to the paper. She can see the numbers continue down the page. Every piece of paper in the box has the same message.

She doesn’t need to read them anymore to know. She can remember the key parts. I must ask Master for permission. I must treasure Master’s touch. I must always thank Master for punishment.

Sometimes, she thinks that she should destroy it. It doesn’t make any difference, of course. The evidence was burned into his skin. She could, maybe, protect his memory from the world. She could let these details go unknown. The nauseating everydayness of the toothbrush, a reminder that he was there for years. The confessional pages of these rules, transcribed on repeat.

Why him? Why her brother? How could he do that to them? And how could he do that to someone? Josie has looked him up online, has read his missing person reports, and has watched the statement from his mother that she gave on his birthday. Ellis was a gentle, kind boy, who never hurt anyone.

She could still remember his smile, when Marcie had found him in the cupboard. She remembered his words. She hadn’t known his name until much later, because he didn’t give it.

12. I am Master’s pet and I need to be kept.

She puts the lid back on the box and crawls into bed.

[chaotic-orphan]

Noble Consequences

“You see now?” Villain yelled across the street, a building levelled behind them. Smoke and dust partially obscuring them from moment to fleeting moment. They were panting, twin trails of blood making lines down one side of their face. They stepped forward, or more, limped forward, their usually pristine coat in tatters.

Superhero watched them move, only very distantly aware of the sirens in the distance and the chaos on the street. Unlike Villain they were frozen in place, looking at the place behind Villain, at the rubble, at— at Hero’s apartment block. Their mind couldn’t comprehend that fact. It wouldn’t let them, certain that their brain would crumble as quickly as the bricks and foundation of the apartment block did. Destroyed right in front of their eyes.

“You can’t save them,” Villain screamed, still hobbling over to Superhero’s statue-like form. “They don’t care about you, or me, or anybody or anything!”

Superhero’s mouth opened, as if to reply, but any words escaped them. Surely… surely Hero wasn’t home at the time, surely… they were alright. Somewhere else. Far from here, having coffee or dinner or something. Something normal, living people did.

Villain was in front of Superhero, grabbing their shirt in both hands and shaking them. “Supervillain is a monster,” Villain howled, voice broken and filled with heartache and fury and pain. Superhero’s mouth opened and closed like a goldfish, struggling to work properly. “Look at what your kindness did! Look at where your second chances got us! Hero is dead because of you.”

“No,” Superhero mumbled, the words clogging their throat as they shook their head. “No… no, no, no, no. Hero is… Hero’s not—”

“We have to kill them, Superhero.”

Superhero tore their gaze from the rubble to Villain in front of them. “W—what?”

“We have to kill Supervillain, or they won’t stop.”

Superhero bristled, putting a hand over Villain’s and pulling them off, stepping back and their legs buckled and hit the floor. “No… no, no. No, no,” Superhero repeated, like a fucking tape stuck on loop.

Villain dropped to their knees with Superhero, supporting them as they fell. Thick wet tears rolled quickly down Superhero’s face as the first firetruck pulled up onto the scene.

Villain grabbed Superhero’s face, tilting it to face Villain again. “We have to kill them, Superhero. Promise me.”

Superhero didn’t respond.

Villain shook their head again and screamed in a guttural, heartbroken voice: “promise me you won’t stand in my way. For Hero… they…”

A sob ripped from Villain’s throat cut them off and once they started, Villain couldn’t get them to stop. Their grip on Superhero loosened as they fell forwards, loud, pained cries of agony wracking their body as they wept.

Superhero wrapped their arms around Villain and let them cry on their shoulder, holding them tightly, like Hero would’ve if they—

Superhero blinked, and sniffed and said: “okay, Villain. We do it your way.”

[crash-bump-bring-the-whump]

Whumpril 2024 - Day 23 - Presumed Dead

I'm shameless and I'm not going to apologize for it. Miguel is @whumpr's as always!!

TWs: assumed death, blood, referenced suicidal ideation, grief, kidnapping, drugging/fantasy drug overdose resulting in coma

"Brat!" Dimitri's voice rang out in the tiny room, tight and horrified. "Bastian! Bastian, he's over here!"

Mariano lay sprawled on the floor, bruised, skin almost grey in the light of Dimitri's flashlight. He wasn't even restrained. There was almost too much blood to seem real.

Dimitri sprinted forward, gathering him up in his arms. "No--no, Mariano open your eyes." He pressed his fingers to a too-limp wrist, gripping Mariano tighter when he couldn't feel anything.

He wasn't making any move to wake up. There was no flutter of lashes, no little pathetic noise of him clawing his way to consciousness. There was nothing.

Bastian caught himself on the doorway, breathless from his run down the hallway. Distantly, Dimitri could hear the others fighting the people who'd taken Mariano days ago. The huge dragon fell to his knees beside Dimitri. "Dimitri--hey, he...Dimitri?"

When Dimitri looked up, his gaze met terrified silver eyes. Bastian's hands hovered near Mariano, like he was afraid to touch him. "They drugged him, right?" Bastian asked, voice shaking just so. "I can't feel him."

Dimitri swallowed hard. "I..." He didn't want to say it out loud. He didn't want to tell Bastian, to be the one to break the news to him about what had happened. About how this was the last place Mariano saw. About how he bled out in pain, in a little grey room, alone with people who wanted to hurt him.

Mariano hadn't wanted to die like that in a long time.

"They gave him pact dampeners, right?" Bastian pushed, his hand coming to rest on Mariano's chest. Mariano's head fell backwards over Dimitri's arm when he was shifted again, and he made no move to raise it to a more comfortable position. "That's what's going on, right?

"Right?"

"Bastian, I--" Dimitri started, voice failing. He tried again. "Mariano is--"

Something caught his eye. The glimmering scales on the back of Bastian's hand sparkled as they slowly, so slowly moved in the light. But he wasn't shaking. And neither was Bastian. Readjusting his fingers, Dimitri felt the smallest, fluttery heartbeat at Mariano's wrist. He laughed in disbelief. "I think so. Go get Manuel, he'll be able to tell."

Bastian didn't question it as he scrabbled to his feet, already out the door before he was even properly upright.

Dimitri held Mariano closer, pressing his lips to Mariano's forehead. "You fucking cockroach--" He laughed. Mariano didn't respond, but as Dimitri moved two fingers to press to his neck, he felt another blessed heartbeat. "Scaring us like that, you'd better be glad it was me and not Miguel. Just hold on, we'll get you home soon."

@whump-captain @whumpr @whumperofworlds @lektricwhump @cyberwhumper @bxtterflystxtches @inscrutable-shadow @honeybees-125

[whumperofworlds]

Rules here!

(TW: SUICIDE UNDER CUT)

Whumpee, who is royalty, is taken captive by Whumper and is held on a cliff in exchange for the Macguffin the team has. The team arrived with the Macguffin, and their plan was going smoothly... then it went very wrong. The team then has to decide on whether to give up the Macguffin or not to Whumper.

Whumpee, however, made the decision for them--they jumped off the cliff and killed themself, to the team's horror and grief (with Whumpee's sibling, Caretaker, trying to save them to no avail). With Whumpee dead, the team had no choice but to flee with the Macguffin, and Whumpee's death had caused not only grief to their team, but also to Whumper's team, as many deserted them.

What piece of media does this whumpy scene come from? Tell me via replies here, reblog, ask, etc! You have 24 hours!

[inhurtandincomfort]

AIlessWhumptober2024 day 3: It's Not Your Fault

I'm not super happy with this, but it's what I've got sooooo...

Featuring: Lady Whump, Grief, referenced murder and child murder

Liana was bored. Turns out being stuck in one room unable to make a sound and with no wi-fi did not provide much stimulation for ones brain. She'd looked at the books but they were mostly very old-fashioned, and many of them weren't even in English. She was allowed to play some records as Adelia claimed she sometimes leaves them on for the rats so no one would be suspicious, but Liana was nervous about doing so alone. She had a sketchpad, but lacked inspiration. Her life, when not filled with fear, was so terribly dull. 

So she decided to clean the room a bit. She was never someone who could enjoy cleaning, but it was better than nothing. There wasn't much to clean, to be honest; Adelia... didn't do very much in here bar change her clothes, and Liana couldn't clean those without leaving the room. So she straightened the bedsheets and curtains about ten times each, took all the books off the bookshelf only to put them back up again exactly as they were because she doesn't want Adelia to be mad at her (really though, who arranges books by age. She did however rearrange her clothes in the closet, sorting them by colour. Adelia didn't seem to have any particular order for them, so it should be fine. She sorted the makeup and perfumes putting the ones that were still usable at the front and not daring to throw away the ones that weren't - vampire seemed to like holding onto really old useless things. Apparently being old will do that to you.

And then she decided to sift through drawers of the bedside tables. One was largely empty, but the other held various trinkets, including a little notebook that may have been a diary, what looked to be some kind of antique lighter, a long blue ribbon and a black and white photograph, protected by an ornate frame. It was this Liana picked up, studying it curiously. 

It looked just like any other Victorian family photo. A tall, handsome man stood proudly with on hand on his wife's shoulder from where she sat in a chair, the other on his sons who couldn't be older than eight. In front of the mother stood two little girls maybe six years old wearing identical twin dresses with ribbons in their hair. As everyone else was fashionably solemn, the girls were smiling, wide gap-toothed grins. The father had a twinkle in his eye, like he just couldn't be stern with them. They looked happy. They looked a wonderful loving family, but Lianas eyes were drawn to the woman, an eerie sense of foreboding taking over her. I shouldn't be doing this, she thought, but she couldn't tear herself away.

It was Adelia. She seemed healthier, even without colour,  her hair was done up in a tight bun very unlike how she wore her hair today, but it was undoubtedly her. Liana found herself transfixed, staring mesmerised when the door opened. Liana let out a squeak and hurried to put the things away, but it was too late.

"What do you think you're doing?" Adelias voice was cold, colder than Liana had heard before. She squeaked, fumbling with the frame mercifully managing not to drop it.

"I- I-" Liana stammered, flinching as Adelia stalked over and grabbed her wrist, nails digging deep into her flesh.

"You had no right," She snarled, snatching the frame from her hand. 

"I'm sorry!" Liana tried to pull the fingers off her wrist where they were drawing blood, but she couldn't compete with supernatural strength. She threw a panicked glance at the door praying no one would sense it. "I- I was just trying to clean up, I had nothing else to do and I didn't mean to pry, I'm sorry!" 

"I should have left you locked up! I've been so good to you, yet I leave you alone for a few hours and this is how you repay me, snooping through my personal effects? What else did you see!?" 

"Nothing! It was just this, I swear, I didn't look at anything else!" Tears welled up in her eyes as a harsh slap struck across her face with enough force to send her to the floor. There was no time to recover before Adelia grabbed her by the hair and dragged her into the closet.

"Don't you ever look through my things again!" She hissed, and slammed the door closed leaving her in complete darkness. 

Liana curled in on herself and quietly sobbed, clutching her stinging cheek. Every time things are going well, she has to do something to mess it up.

*

It was some time later she heard the door unlock, a crack of light shining through. No one entered, but Liana knew by now that was permission enough to leave. Tentatively she opened the door wider and looked around, keeping her head bowed submissively. 

Adelia was sat on the bed clutching the photograph in her hands, her shoulders shaking. Liana contemplated before she cautiously approached, hesitating just before her. 

"Did I ever tell you about them?" Adelia broke the silence and Liana froze, slowly shaking her head. 

"No, ma'am," She whispered. Adelia patted the bed beside her and Liana shuffled over fiddling with her borrowed dress, awkwardly sitting down next to her. She kept her gaze in her lap, fearing looking anywhere else without permission. 

"Henry was my husband. We'd known each other since we were children, and he was the sweetest man I've ever known to this day. He'd always pick wild flowers for me even as children - sometimes he picked weeds, but coming from him they meant everything." Her voice was quiet and held a tenderness that told of so much love and sadness as she gently brushed the frame with her fingers, careful not to scratch it. "My parents didn't approve of course, but I never accepted any other suitor. He was the only man who ever wanted me for who I was, not what he could gain from me. And he was such a wonderful father. Our son John -he would have been a brilliant pianist- and our daughters Lettie and Sarah, they took so much after their father, and he adored them more than anything." A soft smile came over her face and Liana realised she'd never seen a genuine smile from. But it wasn't to last, and her voice shook as she continued. 

"When a vampire is first turned... You don't know what to do with yourself. Your new instincts override your humanity, you lose the ability to think to an intense hunger, a depraved bloodlust like nothing you've ever felt. Your mind clears once you've had your first meal, but until then..." 

A single tear dropped onto the frame, protecting a black and white photograph that depicted a cheery family. A tall and handsome man standing with his hand on his sons shoulder, next to an elegant woman with her hair tied up in a bun and standing in front of her were two smiling girls, twins, in identical white dresses. A shaky hand tenderly stroked the frame, claw-like nails careful not to leave a scratch as a choked sob filled the heavy silence. 

"My own family," Adelia choked, "How could I do that to them? They loved me, trusted me... And I loved them, so so much, how could I do that!?" 

"It wasn't your fault," Liana said softly, cautiously placing a hand on her shoulder. She was surprised when Adelia sagged into her touch, falling against her chest as she collapsed into sobs with her face buried in her dress. Liana wrapped her arms around her, rubbing her hand against the others back as she soothed.  "I killed them! I murdered them, in cold blood! My own children!" 

And what could Liana say to that? She doesn't know the circumstances of how Adelia was turned, whether it was willing or not. She doesn't know if blame can be placed upon her, if she's really the monster she makes herself out to be. But right now, as she wept in her arms, Liana couldn't see a monster. She only saw a grieving mother, wrought with pain and guilt of losing ones she loved, so long ago. Grief never truly fades. It just lies dormant, waiting to rear it's ugly head and catch you at your most vulnerable to drown you in it's depths. "It isn't your fault," She says again, more surely this time. She'd keep saying it as many times at it takes. 

She only wished she could believe it. 

[whumpbump]

Years

Cw: mentions of medical whump and experimental surgery, fear and panic, major character death

Years. It had been years since the ordeal. Whumpee 1 woke up and felt the familiar choke in the back of their throat as they remembered Whumpee 2 crying for help as they were wheeled out of their adjoining cells and into the operating theater for the last time. The last memory Whumpee 1 will have of Whumpee 2 will forever be their face contorted in true fear, tears streaming down their face as their voice cracked from screaming so hard.

Romantic Partner roused next to Whumpee 1, saw the look on their face, the tears glittering in their eyes. They made eye contact and Romantic Partner opened their arms for Whumpee 1 to lean into and cry on their shoulder.

“I should be over this. It’s been years. Years.”

“Sweetheart, you know that grief isn’t linear. You know that it sneaks up on you every once in awhile, please don’t be mean to yourself over it. You deserve to treat yourself as you would treat me if I were grieving. You’re a star, baby. You’re my star that guides me.”

Whumpee 1 sniffled. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re the only star in my sky. So treat yourself that way. Mkay?”

“Mkay.”

[whumpypepsigal]

“Listen to me. What happened… it’s awful. She’s your mom. What happened’ll always be a part of you. But it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t your fault. And you don’t ever have to be done grieving your mom.”

[bebs-art-gallery]

Christmas Eve at the Grave (1896)

— by Johan Otto Hesselbom

[aceofwhump]

@whumpgifathon | Day 15: "Locked Inside"

Star Trek: Into Darkness, James T. Kirk

[a-reader-and-a-writer]

For What You've Done

AI-Less Whumptober 2024: Day 4. non-consensual body modifications Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, Past Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Reader, Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader, witch!reader, f!reader Summary: Five months ago, the love of your life was killed in a car accident. In the aftermath of Jake's death, you and Rooster lean on each other to deal with your grief and soon become a couple. So when you suggest a camping trip together, Rooster agrees. After all, what’s the worst that could happen? Word Count: 5773 TW: Main Character Death, Whump, Non-Consensual Body Modifications, Witchcraft, Car Crash, Drugged, Resurrection, Betrayal, Possession, Vomiting, Language  Notes: A huge thanks to @sunlightmurdock for beta reading this! 💗 Part of @ailesswhumptober's event!

Whumptober 2024 Masterlist

“Now can you tell me why it was so important we came to this spot on this night? Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for spending a few days camping under the stars with you, but the middle of the week when it’s supposed to be fucking freezing isn’t maybe the ideal time.”

Bradley glances over at the passenger seat of his Bronco where you are currently gazing out the window at the trees flashing by. 

You turn your head towards him with a smile and take his hand from where it is leaning on the armrest between your two seats. Giving it a tight squeeze, you say, “I told you, it’s a surprise. But I promise, it’ll be worth it, you just have to trust me.”

“You know I do.” Bradley’s eyes have returned to the almost non-existent road in front of him, but he raises your hand to his lips and places a quick kiss on the back of it. You giggle softly as his mustache brushes against your skin and he wiggles it to make you giggle again.

Bradley’s heart soars seeing you this happy again, even if these moments are fleeting. Before the accident, you seemed to carry the sunshine with you everywhere you went. Your light filled up every room you entered and no one seemed able to be in a bad mood when you were around. However, these last five months…

As if reading his mind, you slip your hand from his and slide it up his cheek until you run your fingers through his hair. “Hey, I know this between us is still new and I’m still struggling with everything that happened to…” You close your eyes and swallow hard as if his name is caught in your throat, still unable to pass your lips. But then you open your eyes and continue, “But I wouldn’t have made it through it without you. Your patience, your support, your love…you’ve been amazing, Bradley. And I just hope you know that what happens tonight, it’s all because of you.”

He gives you a small smile. “I know I’m not him and I’m never going to try to replace what you had, but I’m really happy we found our way to each other. I don’t know how I would’ve made it through without you either, sweetheart. But we did it…together. And as long as we’re together, I know it’ll be okay.”

“Together,” you hum, your fingers continuing to run through his curls. “I love hearing you say that because I plan on you being by my side for the rest of our lives.”

There is something about that statement that scratches at the back of Bradley’s brain. Maybe it’s your choice of words or the slightly serious tone your voice suddenly dropped into. 

But before he can consider it further, you perk up in your seat and point out the window. “There! Pull over there! This is the spot.”

Bradley doesn’t see anything special about the place other than a slight clearing in the trees on the right side of the road—just big enough for him to park the Bronco. But, he promised to trust you on this excursion, so he did as you asked.

Once he is parked, the two of you grab your backpacks, sleeping bags, cooler of food, and the tent from the back. You promise it’s not a long walk so you take everything in one trip. After about five minutes of trudging through dense underbrush, unruly trees, and hidden roots, the two of you stumble into a clearing. 

The space is maybe twenty feet across in a roughly circular shape. All of the foliage is suspiciously missing from this space even though it doesn’t seem like it was cleared necessarily. More like it just grew this way. As Bradley glances up, he sees another sort of circular opening in the treetops above, giving him a clear view of the sky as the sun begins to set. 

The place has a strange energy and a chill goes up Bradley’s spine as a sudden wind blows through the clearing. But before he can say anything, you whisper an awed, “We’re here.”

There are tears in your eyes and you begin to bounce slightly as you gaze around. You let out a soft squeal, then compose yourself. Turning to Bradley, you say, “It’s going to get dark soon and we have a lot to do before then. Can you go gather up some firewood? We’ll need a lot to keep it going throughout the night.”

Bradley nods slowly, still not completely sure what he has gotten himself into. “Yeah. I’ll see what I can do. Do you think you can put the tent together by yourself?”

“Oh, I have something else to get ready before that. It’s your surprise,” you say with a wink. “But we can put the tent together when you finish with the wood.”

Deciding to just go along for now, Bradley sighs. “Whatever you say, sweetheart. This is your trip. I’m just along for the ride.” He kisses the top of your head then heads off into the woods.

Thirty minutes later, there is a towering pile of sticks in the center of the clearing. Bradley isn’t sure why you wanted him to put them there considering you wanted to keep most of them for later in the night, but once again, he didn’t question it. However, it did strike him as odd that you seem to have not really done much while he’s been gone. You’ve taken a few smaller bags out of your backpack and laid out some clothes, but that’s it. Meanwhile, he’s been working up a sweat trudging all over collecting wood. 

At least when he brought back his final bundle you gave him a cold water bottle and a kiss on the lips. He downs the bottle as you return to whatever it is you are up to. 

As he watches, everything begins to blur around the edges of his vision. 

He blinks a few times and rubs his eyes, but the blurring only begins getting worse. And what’s more, he’s feeling light-headed. It feels just like that moment in his plane where the Gs get too intense and he begins to blackout. But why would that be happening now?

Stumbling slightly, Bradley mutters, “Sw-sweetheart…I think…I think I need to sit down for a minute. I might’ve overdone it with the w-wood.” 

The next thing he knows, his world spins ninety degrees as he crashes to his side on the clearing floor. He tries to sit up, but every part of him is made of lead and he doesn’t have the strength to even lift his hand. His vision is no longer just blurry, it's starting to tunnel into darkness. He can just make out your feet as they step into his line of sight.

 With the toe of your sneaker, you kick his shoulder so he rolls over onto his back. He’s now staring up at the pinkish-purple sky framed by a circle of treetops.

Then, your face peers over, blocking everything else from view. A cruel grin—one unlike any he had ever seen on your face—stretches across your lips. “No, Bradley, that’s just the drugs I slipped in your water kicking in. I have work to do and I need you to stay out of my way while I do it. So enjoy your little nappy-nap. I’ll see you when you wake up…or maybe not.”

Before Bradley can process what is happening, he is swallowed by the darkness.

Bradley was eyeing the couple in the corner, trying to decide if it was his job to step in or if he should leave them be. After all, this was far from the first time you and Hangman had one—or three—too many drinks on your night off and gotten too handsy for a public establishment. At the moment, things were still fairly tame, but Bradley knew from experience that could change in an instant. Last month, he and Coyote had to drag the two of you out of the bar after Penny complained about the near-pornographic sounds coming from her back booth. 

It had been the last straw. After putting up with your drunken hanky-panky since the two of you started dating ten months ago, Penny finally put her foot down and swore if it happened again, you would both be banned. And as much as it would please Bradley to see Hangman’s face when he sobered up and found out he was no longer allowed at The Hard Deck, Bradley knew the whole squad would be bummed if they lost one of its members for their weekly hangouts. Plus, he had come to really enjoy your presence among the group (that was when you weren’t plastered and attached to Hangman’s lap). So, somewhat reluctantly, Bradley stood and walked over to your table.

Neither one of you seemed to notice him as he approached. You were too busy jamming your tongues down the other’s throat. But Bradley sighed and clapped his hands, startling you apart. “Come on, you lovebirds. Time to go home.”

Hangman’s eyes were slightly out of focus as he shifted you slightly on his lap so he could glare up at Bradley. “Aw, come on, Bradshaw. Just because you aren’t gettin’ any doesn’t mean you have to spoil our fun.”

You giggled into Hangman’s neck and Bradley swore he saw you lick his skin before mumbling, “Don’t be mean, Jakey. Maybe Bradley just wants to watch.”

“No. Bradley definitely doesn’t want to watch,” he groaned. Crossing his arms over his chest, Bradley said, “Look, I have an early morning meeting with Cyclone tomorrow so I’ve got to get some sleep. But Penny’s already threatened to kick you out and I’m not going to let one of you drunk idiots drive home.”

“Jake’s drunk, I’m fine,” you grinned. You slid off Jake and straightened up to prove your point, but the slight sway in your stance only served to further Bradley’s assessment. 

He sighed again, pressing his fingers to his eyes. “Sweetheart, I can smell the booze on your breath from over here and something tells me you wouldn’t make it to the bar without falling over. I’m driving you. End of discussion.”

You pouted, your bottom lip jutting off your face in a way Bradley had to admit was adorable, but it didn’t sway him. He held out his hand and, after a moment, you rolled your eyes and dug your keys out of your pocket. Slamming them into Bradley’s open palm, you stuck out your tongue at him. But then you gave him a clumsy wink and he knew even if you did remember tonight, you wouldn’t hold it against him. 

Walking ahead, Bradley patiently held open the door as Jake and you stumbled across the room, each leaning heavily against the other in a mess of limbs and slobbery kisses. When you made it to your truck, Jake helped you climb into the back, his hands roaming across your ass far longer than necessary as he pushed you up the tall step. Then he dragged himself into the front seat and closed the door. 

“Seat belts.” Bradley waited for a second but neither of you made a move to follow his instructions. Sighing, he said, “I’m not going anywhere until both of you put on your seat belts.”

“Yes, Mom,” both of you mocked in unison before collapsing into a fit of drunken laughter, but at least he heard both belts click into place.

As he drove towards Hangman’s house (where you had moved in a few months ago), the two of you continued your slurred dirty talk, occasionally throwing nonsensical jabs in Bradley’s direction for making you leave early. Normally, he might have tried to fire a few back, but it was too much fun listening to Hangman smugly say something he thought was so clever only for it to be nearly incomprehensible in actuality. Bradley couldn’t help but laugh at a few particularly bad ones.

He never saw the other truck run the red light.

It slammed into the passenger’s door, sending your truck spinning out of control as broken glass filled the air. Bradley tried to control the steering wheel as it jerked in his hands, but his head smashed into his door and he blacked out.

He came to a few moments later—his vision blurred and his head pounding—to the sound of you screaming from the back seat. “No! Jake! Nooo!”

Apparently, nothing sobers a person up quicker than seeing their greatest fear come to life in front of their eyes. 

Bradley slowly raised his eyes to the rearview mirror, a fresh stab of pain driving through his head, and looked back at you. With blood pouring down your face from where your head slammed into the seat in front of you, you thrashed around for a moment until you managed to unbuckle your seatbelt. Ignoring the glass covering the interior of the truck, you pulled yourself forward between the two front seats and crawled into Jake’s lap. 

It was only then that Bradley got his first look at his other passenger and he immediately wished he hadn’t. 

All it took was one glance to see that Jake Seresin was dead. 

Between the unnatural bend of his neck where the seatbelt still dug into his skin and the glassy, blank stare in his once-spirited green eyes, Rooster knew his wingman was gone. There was nothing anyone could do to save him.

However, you apparently refused to accept that.

Laying your head on his shoulder, you begged, “Baby, please, wake up. Don’t do this. Come back to me. Please, Jake.” 

You placed your hand on his cheek and gently tried to turn his face to look at you. His head flopped unnaturally far backward and Bradley felt bile bubble in his throat that he struggled to keep down. 

Your eyes grew wide as your bottom lip began to tremble. “No, no, no, Jake, no. Please, baby, I love you. You can’t—you can’t—no!” You sobbed and buried your face in his chest.

Bradley heard you muttering something under your breath, but he couldn’t make out what it was. It almost sounded like something in another language but not one he recognized. He began to worry that your head injury might be worse than he initially thought.

He softly called out your name and began to reach out to touch your shoulder, to try and move you off the corpse of the man you loved. Yet before he could, your head shot up. Your eyes darted across Jake’s face once more, almost as if you expected something had changed in the last few seconds. But when you saw that it hadn’t, your mouth opened wide and you let out an ear-splitting, heart-wrenching wail.

That wail has haunted Bradley ever since that night, and it is that wail that is echoing in his ears as he slowly opens his eyes. He can’t be sure how long he was out, but it has gotten significantly darker since his eyes were last open. Stars dot the midnight blue sky above and a full moon rests perfectly in the center of the clearing opening. Dark shadows stretch and dance against the trees surrounding the clearing, cast by the blazing fire that had materialized while he was unconscious. 

You are standing in front of the fire, muttering something under your breath. As Bradley watches, you toss a handful of powder into the flames which flare deep red for a second before returning to its usual yellow-orange glow. Your flannel shirt and jeans from earlier have been replaced by a flowing black dress that brushes the ground just high enough to reveal your bare feet poking out underneath. 

The clearing floor is littered with broken sticks, burrs, and rocks, and, as you move around the fire, he notices you are leaving a faint bloody trail in your wake. Yet you don’t seem to notice or care as you continue whatever you are doing undeterred by any discomfort. 

Suddenly, Bradley’s stomach lurches and he rolls to his side just in time to vomit, the contents of his stomach spilling across the clearing floor. He heaves a few more times before things settle, and he collapses onto his back once more.

“Ah, good. You’re awake. I was afraid I gave you too much and would have to start without you.”

Bradley turns his head to see you still standing by the fire, but your attention is now fixed on him. Slowly, on trembling arms, he pushes himself to his feet. “What is this? What the fuck are you doing? If this is some kind of game or kinky shit I didn’t know you were into, I don’t like it.”

“Are you really that stupid that you still don’t get it?” you sneer, the cruelty in your voice cutting into his heart like a knife. “Five months ago, the man I loved more than life itself was ripped from my arms because of you. You insisted on driving that night even though I told you I was fine and because of that, Jake is dead. If you had just stayed out of our fucking business, he would still be here with me.” 

No. That’s not what happened. Bradley takes a step toward you. “Sweetheart, tha—”

“I’m not your fucking sweetheart!” you snarl, your eyes burning with a hatred that takes his breath away. “Do you know how repulsive it's been pretending to love you? Letting you touch me, kiss me, all the while despising every atom in your body for what you took from me. The only thing that kept me from strangling you in your sleep was the knowledge I still needed you for my plan to work.”

Bradley’s mind is still groggy from the drugs, but things are finally starting to click together. “So all of it was just a lie? Leaning on each other after Jake’s death? You were just using me? For what? You still haven’t explained what the fuck you’re doing to me!”

You continue on as if he hadn’t spoken, your voice filled with cold fury. “I knew how to get everything I needed. All I was missing was a host. A body for him to return to. But as much as I ached to have my Jake back, I knew I couldn’t take an innocent person’s body. It wouldn’t be fair and he wouldn’t want that. But that’s when it hit me. Why not take the body of the man responsible for Jake losing his? The one who should have died in that crash instead of him? Why was it fair you got to be here when he didn’t? So…I’m going to change that.”

“You’re fucking insane,” Bradley laughs in disbelief, the absurdity of the situation not fully processing in his brain.

Your face softens just a fraction and you scoff lightly. “Jake never told you, did he? Though, honestly, I’m not surprised. I don’t think he ever really believed me when I told him. He thought it was all a joke, a bit of ancient fun family trivia that was all nonsense. But it’s all true.” Taking a step closer to him, you pull out a small, leather-bound book from a pocket in your dress. “You see, Rooster, I am part of one of the oldest magical bloodlines in the known world. In other words, I’m what you might call, a witch.”

Bradley looks from you to the book to you again. Then he mutters, “You’re more insane than I thought you were.”

“We’ll see about that shortly enough,” you say with a thin-lipped smile. Then you begin strolling slowly around the fire. “Up until I lost Jake, I was more than happy to only dabble in the light side of my magic: A calming spell attached to my aura to soothe those around me. A positivity potion mixed into the cookies I made for the squad when you all weren’t getting along. A good luck charm tucked into Jake’s flight suit when he was leaving on a mission. Just tiny things to make all of your lives a little better. And I was more than happy to do it. But now?” 

You stop walking and turn to face him. “Now, I’m willing to do whatever it takes to bring my Jake back to me. Even if that means tapping into the kind of magic I’ve sworn never to use. That’s why we had to come to this spot on this night. It’s a place of unlimited power for those strong enough to tap into it. And tonight, that’s just what I plan to do.”

Bradley still doesn’t believe a word you are saying. Maybe it was the trauma of seeing Jake die. Maybe it was something from your past before you met any of the Daggers. But whatever it was, something had knocked a few screws loose in your head and Bradley had to find a way out of here before you turned violent. 

He had spotted a knife attached to a belt around your waist, but he is fairly certain he can disarm you if it comes down to it. Yet, even though you are talking about hurting him and that everything you had been through together had been a lie, he still cared about you and didn’t want you to get hurt—get help was a different story, but first he had to get out of here.

However, almost as if reading his mind, you give him a small smile. “It’s too late, Rooster. There is no escape. I already started the ritual while you were asleep. All I need now is blood.” And you draw the knife from your belt.

Bradley takes a few stumbling steps backward, but you shake your head. “Not yours. I’ll be taking enough from you already. No, this sacrifice is mine to make.”

Before he can stop you, you slash the knife across your palm. You drop the knife to the ground with a soft cry as you clutch your hand to your chest. But then, you hold out your shaking hand to the fire, letting blood drip into the flames. 

Suddenly, the entire clearing is engulfed in a blinding red light. Bradley squeezes his eyes shut but he can hear you chanting something across the clearing. He doesn’t understand the words but he recognizes some of them as what you muttered in your truck the night Jake died. 

Figuring you will be distracted, Bradley opens his eyes and tries to sneak off into the woods. However, he only takes a few steps before a vice-like grip latches onto his throat. His eyes bulge as his fingers claw at whatever is choking him, but his hands only scratch against his own skin. He looks at you but it only increases his panic as he sees your eyes are now two pitch-black orbs as you continue your chanting, a strong wind beginning to sweep through the clearing. 

Then, Bradley begins to feel a strange pulling sensation deep within him. His body remains exactly as it was, but something—his consciousness, his soul, whatever it is that makes Rooster the man that he is—is being dragged down and out of himself. He tries to fight it, to hold on, but how do you fight something that is happening within you?

As he feels himself being pulled deeper, slipping from his body, another consciousness brushes against his. A person he immediately recognizes and never thought he’d meet again. “Jake?” he gasps. Tears begin streaming down his face as the presence grows stronger and he just manages to whisper, “I’m so sorry.”

Then Bradley Bradshaw is gone.

Jake Seresin opens his eyes to find himself in an unfamiliar clearing at night. Towering trees surround the space, illuminated by the full moon high above and the towering, flickering flames in the nearby fire. As he glances around, he rolls his shoulders and stretches his back. His entire body feels…off. He doesn’t have any words to explain it but something is not right. 

But just then, he notices a woman standing across from him in a billowing black dress. It takes him a moment to recognize you, and when he does, he inhales sharply.

Gone is the bright, smiley, vibrant woman he had come to love with his entire heart and soul. Instead, you are a ghost of yourself: Your hair has been dyed pitch black and it looks like it’s been a while since you washed it. Your cheeks once full are now sunken. And you have huge bags under your eyes as if you hadn’t slept for weeks. Yet, your eyes themselves are the most startling change. Once sparkling and full of sunshine, they are now dull and carry a pain in them Jake has never seen before. 

Taking a shaky step towards you, he calls out, “Baby?”

As if you have been holding your breath in anticipation, you gasp at the sound of his voice. “Jake? Is it…is it really you?”

Who else was it supposed to be? “Ye-yeah, it’s me. What’s going on? Where are we?”

“Oh my god. I did it,” you breathe as you stare at him in awe, your eyes dancing across his face, drinking in every inch of it. “I didn’t know if I’d be strong enough, but it worked. You’re back.” 

Before he can ask what you mean, your eyes roll back in your head and your knees give out beneath you. Normally, Jake would have been able to cross the distance and catch you instantly, but for some reason, his movements are strangely clumsy and uncoordinated to the point he just barely manages to grab your arms and pull you close before you hit the ground.  

You moan softly as he lowers you both to the damp ground and he settles you into his lap. As he tries to reposition you, he notices your feet are bare, coated in mud and steaks of blood. There is also blood oozing from a deep gash on your hand. Your skin feels icy to the touch despite the heat of the fire and he can feel your heart fluttering wildly in your chest. He's still not sure where you both are, how you got here, or what happened to get you in this state, but none of that matters until he can make sure you are alright.

Gently running his fingers across your cheek, Jake mutters, “Come on, baby, you've gotta wake up for me.” He clears his throat and pounds once on his chest. Something about his voice sounds off—he doesn't sound like himself yet there is something familiar about it that he can't quite put his finger on.

But that's forgotten as he watches your eyes start to slowly open, the act seemingly arduous as you struggle to lift your lids. However, as you gaze up at him, the bright, tender smile he had come to love so much stretches across your face. Slowly, you raise a trembling hand to cup his cheek. “Jake. You’re really back.”

“Why do you keep saying that? I didn’t go anywhere.”

“It’s a long story.” You wet your lips and mutter, “Can you help me up?”

Jake scrambles up (still strangely tripping over his own body) and gently helps lift you to your feet. You take a few unsteady steps forward but then seem to find your footing. Turning to face him, you say, “This is going to be hard to hear but I promise, it’s the truth.” You stare at him and when he nods for you to continue, you take a deep breath. “Jake, you died five months ago.”

“What?” Jake’s brow furrows. “What are you talking about? I’m not dead.”

“No, but you were.” you take his hand, your blood smearing across his skin. “What’s the last thing you remember before waking up here?”

“I-I don’t know. I guess…We were at The Hard Deck having some drinks an-and Rooster, he told us he was taking us home. Then I remember a bright flash of light and—” He gasps, clutching his neck as he remembers hearing a sharp snap followed by a single second of the most intense pain he’s ever felt then—he woke up here. Yet his neck feels fine now, if somehow thicker, more muscular than he remembers but that wouldn’t explain the pain. 

You nod. “That’s when it happened. Rooster was t-boned by a drunk driver and you broke your neck. He should never have been driving us. I was fine! I was more than sober enough to drive, especially with my protection spells. If he would’ve just kept his fucking nose out of our business…” You close your eyes and slowly take another long, deep breath. When you reopen your eyes, you continue, calmer than before. “I tried to get to your body in time but your family had you cremated before I could try to bring you back. I thought it was over and you were gone for good. But then I found another way. I needed a body. It didn’t have to specifically be your body. And since it was Rooster’s fault you were taken from me, it was the perfect solution.”

“Wha—”

Suddenly, Jake realizes why his voice doesn’t sound like his own yet is still so familiar. Why his limbs don’t feel the same and his neck is thicker. And as he lifts his trembling hand to his face and his fingers brush against a coarse strip of hair covering his upper lip, any lingering hopes that he might be wrong are shattered. 

It’s not possible but he is trapped inside Rooster’s body.

With his eyes wide and voice shaking, Jake screams, “What did you do? What the fuck did you do?”

You stumble back, surprised by his furious outburst. “I-I gave you back the life he stole from you. I gave us another chance.”

“And Rooster? If I'm here, then where…” His voice trails off as the last piece of this nightmarish puzzle slips into place and he finally realizes the full extent of what you had done.

“It’s simple, Jake. A life for a life. One soul traded places with another. You’re here now, so Rooster is…” You shrug with a slight wave of your hand, clearly unbothered by the unknown fate you had sent the other man too. 

That complete callousness towards a man you had both cared for is all Jake needed to know he hadn’t only lost his wingman, but the woman he loved. He drops to his knees—Rooster's knees—and violently heaves onto the ground. Over and over, his whole body—Rooster's body—convulsing as it tries desperately to rid itself of everything in it, including the intruder. Yet try as he might, nothing comes up. Not even bile. Rooster must have already gotten sick before… 

Another full-body tremor sweeps through him.

When he is finally able to pull himself together even the slightest bit, Jake crawls to his feet. Backing away from you, he stutters, “I'm…I'm going to go to the police.”

“And tell them what?” you snap, your eyes turning black as a wind picks up from nowhere and blows through the clearing. “Tell them you're a dead guy in your friend’s body while his soul is currently rotting in hell or wherever the fuck you were? What good do you think that's going to do you besides landing you in the looney bin? No. You're either stuck in Rooster's body or you're going back to where you were to join him. And I'm not losing you again.”

Raising your hand in front of you, fingers reaching out towards him, they suddenly twitch and Jake feels this body stiffen outside of his control. As you begin to slowly twitch one finger then another, Jake's foot lifts and steps closer to you. Then another step. And another. As much as he tries to struggle, Jake can’t resist as you force him to walk across the clearing and stop before you.

Cupping his face with your non-controlling hand—your eyes still black—you whisper, “This is not how this was supposed to go. Jake, you love me. You were supposed to be happy I brought you back.”

“Maybe…” Jake squeezes his eyes shut as he tries to hide the disgust crawling down his spine at your touch. “Maybe I would have been if things were different. But I can’t live my life knowing it’s at the cost of Rooster’s. I don’t care what he might have done. No one deserves this.”

You thrust your hand downward and he drops heavily to his knees at your feet. Running your fingers tenderly through his curls, you coo, “I know you need time to adjust, baby. I’m sure this is a lot to take in. But let’s just make one thing very clear—” You suddenly grab a fistful of hair and yank his head back so he is forced to stare up at you “—I brought you back and you belong to me now. One way or another, I will have the life I was always supposed to have with you before any of this started. You can either be a good boy and accept that so we both can be happy, or you can make this difficult and I will make you behave.” 

You ball your hand into a fist and Jake feels like his brain is about to explode. An intense pressure unlike anything he has ever felt squeezes his mind and he sees sparks explode behind his eyes. You release your hand and the pressure disappears, leaving Jake mewling and quivering on the ground. 

You place your filthy, bloody big toe under his chin and raise his head so he is looking at you. “Do we understand each other?” Jake has no choice but to nod. Your eyes return to normal as your bright smile from before returns to your face. “Good! Then you better start practicing your best rooster crow. From now on as far as anyone else is concerned, you are Lt. Bradley Bradshaw.”

Jake feels like he is going to get sick again, but you just turn around and gather up your belongings. In no time, you are ready to go. Jake takes one last look up at the full moon, tears streaming down his face. 

And, as he is forced to follow you out of the clearing towards the waiting Bronco, he wonders if Rooster’s fate is really so bad after all.

Taglist: @ohtobeleah, @green-socks, @lorecraft, @heart-0n-fire, @mayhem24-7forever,

@blue-aconite, @the-untamed-soul, @inglourious-imagines, @airhogger, @piscesvancouverite,

@straightforwardly, @bonnieelizabethparker, @srry-itshockeyszn, @flyinlove, @fandomhopped,

@yjwnoot, @wanderdreamer, @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy, @callsign-phoenix, @shanimallina87,

@forever-sleepy-sloth, @notroosterbradshaw, @dezthegeek, @blessupblessup, @cherrycola27,

@phoenix1389, @nicangelinee, @smells-like-perfect-senses, @boringusername3, @petlaufeyson,

@cycbaby, @footprintsinthesxnd, @fantasticcopeaglepasta, @writercole, @onebigfangirlworld,

@wkndwlff, @ravenmoore14, @clancycucumber230, @slightly-psycho-multifan, @kmc1989,

@deppresseddyslexic, @horneybeach1, @mandylove1000, @aczhang777

[ceruleanmindpalace]

Inktober No. 10 - Cloudy

I know this has been painted uncountable times already (once by me, too) but have this defining moment of S4 again - this time way darker than the original shot, because… *mood*.

From @BluebellofBakerstreet's amazing promptlist for Inktober 2023

I am flattered if you reblog, but do NOT post my art on other sites/social media or use in any other way without my written permission.

[comfy-whumpee]

Jane: Interlude

Whumptober 21 - found family. CN: BBU, missing person search.

-

It took far, far too long for her to realise. She needed to do a head count every morning. She needed to keep better track of who was in the house. She should have known immediately if someone had gone. She should have their trust enough that they wouldn’t disappear in the night. She should know them well enough to know where and why they had disappeared.

She should never have given up on Boo.

The thoughts crowded in a vicious cycle in her head as she drove into town with Tenten in the passenger seat. He’d insisted on coming even though she’d rather face her abject failure alone. He was probably the only one she’d bring. He could go out alone, and talk to strangers on an even footing. He could ask around while she scouted further afield and made calls. Mrs Kaur was coming up to help, as was Neeta, who thankfully had a day off. Nobody else was able to come. Nobody else could help her, and she couldn’t know whether Boo had left on purpose, so filing a police report was useless.

It was all her fault. She had brought Jane back. She had disrupted the house. She had thrown something new into the mix. She hadn’t asked. She hadn’t checked with them. She had assumed everything was fine and gone to bed happy that she’d helped someone.

It’s all my fault, she imagines telling Dr Cerasale when she sees him next, for her fucking counselling that she got for her fucking broken family. Well, look at her now. She’s broken another one.

You were responsible for them, Dr Cerasale says back, in her head. He wouldn’t say it in real life but she’d fucking deserve it if he did. Just like you were responsible for your son.

Tenten is silent. He probably understands what happened. She’s let him down, as well. He’ll feel less safe at the shelter now, because of her.

“Let me know if you want to go back,” she tells him as they park. “Call me if you want to, for any reason.”

She’s given him a phone. He’s tucked it into his jacket, and merely nods at her. She doesn’t know how he isn’t terrified, but she’s glad he’s not. Maybe he’ll break down later. She’ll probably miss that, too.

She’s been in Boo’s room and confirmed all their things were left behind. It’s proof that they were driven to leave. This wasn’t planned.

Maybe they know Jane. Maybe she reminds them of someone. Maybe they thought she would take their place. She doesn’t know. She knows so little about them, and she’s been so complacent.

The sun stings her eyes. As soon as she went up to get them for breakfast and found their room empty, she’s been on the move. She searched the house. She searched the garden. She ran through the lanes near the house, imagining them passed out, injured, dead in the hedges. She covered miles through sheer panic. She told Roman, who went white as a sheet and locked himself in his room. She told Kamala, who burst into tears for less than a minute and then forced herself to be calm. She didn’t have time to deal with either of them.

She told Tenten, and it took Tenten telling her for her to think about asking in town.

So now she’s striding through the streets with their one picture of Boo, taken for their passport and never since used. Their passport, that’s still in her bureau in the front room, where they could have taken it but didn’t. She shoves their bland little photo in front of everyone she goes past. She sees the distaste in their eyes at her unkempt desperation. “Have you seen them? Have you seen them, please? Please look out for them. Please, have you seen them?”

Tenten is on the other side of the road. He is the picture of calm. He shows the photo in front of him as he walks. “Has anyone seen my friend? Can anyone help me?” he asks. People shake their head at him, apologise, and wish him luck. From Avis, they turn away with averted eyes.

She can’t do this again. She can’t think straight. Her heart won’t slow down. She can’t lose another. She can’t take this. She can’t.

“Please, they’re vulnerable,” she begs parents and children alike, the former shielding the latter from her raw despair. “I just want to make sure they’re safe. Please.”

She’s not speaking to the people in front of her. She’s pleading with the world. Just let them be safe. Let them be okay. God, she has a brand new Romantic rescue back at the shelter with nobody better than Kamala to keep an eye on her. She’s so fucking reckless for thinking she could do this alone.

She needs Mrs Kaur to get to the house and look after them. She needs Neeta on the streets with the flyers she said she’d make. She needs help. She needs her family back.

“Have you seen them? Please look, please, they’re vulnerable…”

Everybody shakes their head.

[thewhumpcaretaker]

⚜ 𝕋𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕎𝕙𝕠 ℍ𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕊𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕠 𝕃𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝔽𝕠𝕣 - ℂ𝕙. 𝕏: ℍ𝕠𝕨 𝕍𝕚𝕟𝕔𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝕃𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕕 𝕚𝕟 ℝ𝕠𝕞𝕖 ⚜

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ ✧.*★ Thank you to @evren-sadwrn for the beta read!

Summary: Vincent goes back to his old life in Rome as if nothing happened. But there's Chidi, at his side, the one thing Vincent doesn't want to forget from the last few months. And it's causing complications...especially with Santino.

TW: grief, nightmares, PTSD, drug use, hypersexuality, stalking, jealousy, withdrawing consent during sex (and the response to the “no” is scary, although there’s no assault), attempted kidnapping, knife wound, concussion, Dead Dove Do Not Eat

Author's Note: The title is a callback to that line in one of the first chapters, in which Chidi wonders how Vincent lived in Rome - bonus points if you remembered!

Fine. Good and done with. Vincent was strong again.

It was better to forget all of it. That bloodied thing that he could not recognize reflected in the mirrors outside the ballroom. The words coming through the intercom. The time in the hospital. Even the coronation. That was worst of all, perhaps. The disappointment in himself, in the way that perfect day had felt so hollow… No, no, no, just forget any of it had happened. And to Vincent’s great relief, his mind blanked it all mercifully away. There was a gaping hole at the center of him where he dared not tread, but that was better than dealing with it. He could even talk about it, very easily, just as he had done at the ball with everybody. As long as he didn’t feel it, he could talk about it. This was the way one recovered from grief, he decided. One day, one simply decided to stop being a baby.

Yes, he was just going back to Italy after a few days away, and everything would be normal. “Il palazzo,” as he called it, was the quaintest, pleasantest place anyone could imagine living, and he would thoroughly enjoy it. It was humble by the Marquis' standards, but still very comfortable, and fully staffed with maids and a cook. He’d made it every bit as lavish as might suit him, while being a little less stuffy than Versailles. There was an abundance of French furniture with a Roman twist, in sunset gradients from pink to burgundy, with gilding glittering at the edges of everything. There was statuary in honor of Bacchus and Apollo. There was a full bar in the parlor where Vincent was sure to entertain guests as often as he could. There was some obscure art piece or trinket in almost every room, gifted from suitors. He would walk by the river in the mornings, with one of those suitors on his arm, and have luncheons with Gianna to talk business. And sneak off with Santino, not to come back until morning. What happened in between was…generally something of a blur.

In Rome, he didn’t feel quite as unsafe as he did in the estate. He had learned to navigate this city on his own – always guarded, yes, but giving the guards the slip long enough to do a line unseen. The Myrmidons didn’t have the slightest idea about his activities…well, maybe the slightest idea, but they couldn’t prove anything. In the past, Vincent had made sure of that because they reported to his – no. No. Nothing happened. Don’t think in that direction.

There was one problem with this perfect plan, and its name was Chidi. He had absolutely no desire nor ability to forget Chidi. And it was Chidi who carried his broken body out of that bloodbath, it was Chidi who held him together in the weeks afterwards. It was Chidi who stood up for him at the coronation, and then swayed with him in an empty side room, leading him with unexpectedly graceful steps and an exhilarating hand pressed to his waist. Chidi was inextricably tied to everything that had happened to him, everything he had suffered, lacing every poisoned memory with something too sweet to spit out. Chidi had seen all of it, dealt with all of it, and now he haunted Vincent, reminding him of every moment. Vincent found that it was becoming difficult even to look at his bodyguard. A mixture of shame and hope and…something hung over Chidi, making him unbearably beautiful.

So, when they arrived at the precious Il Palazzo, Vincent assigned him a room on the lower floor, not adjacent to his own. It was much finer than the servant quarters. It was the finest of any room in the house except Vincent’s, in fact. But they absolutely had to sleep separately. He was not a child, nor was he a lover. What was acceptable in grief was no longer acceptable once one was done grieving. And Vincent was done grieving, thank you very much. He could sleep very well on his own, and he would need his privacy. Chidi made no protest.

Thus it began. Forcing his eyes to close in an unfriendly darkness. Waking up in cold sweats at three AM until he learned to fear sleep more than exhaustion. Sobbing with his face buried in a pillow so that no one would hear him and force him to admit that yes, things were different now. That he could no longer take being alone. Each morning dawned in pure, golden relief, spent gasping until the remnants of tears had cleared out of his breathing, and then meeting Chidi with a stately nod at his bedroom door. Chidi must know, by the way he waited there earlier and earlier each time, but he said nothing.

There was, of course, an alternative to this torture. He could go to bed with someone. Not Chidi, no, that would reopen too much, but…someone.

It was just three days after their arrival in Rome when Vincent dismissed Chidi for the first time. “Je sors avec les autres gardes ce soir. Prenez du temps libre. [I’m going out with the other guards this evening. Take some time off.]“ He said it casually, the way that one might casually toss a grenade into the center of a crowded room. They were seated at either side of a little round tea table for an afternoon snack. Chidi stood up and stared at him, breathing hard. Vincent raised an eyebrow. “Avons-nous un problème? [Do we have a problem?]”

He promptly sat down again. “Non.”

“Bien. [Good.]”

That night, Chidi had already gone to his own bedroom when Vincent returned with a man on his arm. But the door was cracked open, and Vincent could feel eyes on him as he passed, prickling his skin with visceral guilt. Well, to hell with that. He would not be guilted for doing what he had to do to get a moment of peace. No matter whether he pictured Chidi alone in that downstairs bedroom, unhappy. Probably very unhappy…

The night passed without troubled dreams – in fact, it passed almost entirely sleepless. And in the morning, Chidi was waiting for him at the door, the same as ever. His co-conspirator must have passed Chidi on the way out in the early hours. They didn’t speak a word about it.

And they didn’t speak a word about it the next time, or the time after that. It became Vincent’s habit to ensure that he did not sleep alone two nights in a row – which was to say, it became Vincent’s habit not to sleep more than two nights in a row. It was a perfect system, really. A liaison kept the nightmares away for a night. Drugs kept him upright and free of shame over the course of the day following a liaison. And by the time he passed out from exhaustion the next night, he was too tired to dream. As long as he didn’t look at Chidi, he didn’t have to feel bad about any of it, which was perfect, because he was trying not to look at Chidi anyway. What could go wrong?

Best of all, the whole cycle numbed him just enough to maintain things with Santino. The relationship had become…draining. A series of encounters that he had to get through by being drunk or high or teasing Santino to vent his own resentment. But the connection made sense politically. Vincent wracked his brain for a real reason to break up, and he couldn’t justify it. He definitely couldn’t deal with the fallout that would ensue if Santino decided to throw a fit about the breakup, not right now. It could ruin things with Gianna, and that was going so well.

Santi, for his part, was only too glad to have Vincent back in the city, and to restock his drug supplies whenever he wanted. He made excuses to stay in Rome until winter. The D’Antonio family was already making plans for how they would spend Christmas together. Again, the only hitch was Chidi.

“Pourquoi ne vous débarrassez-vous pas de votre garde du corps stupide? [Why don’t you get rid of that brainless bodyguard of yours?]” Santino would say, while eyeing him across the room and grimacing. Normally, Vincent tried to see him when Chidi wasn’t on shift, but Santino had an infuriating habit of showing up unexpectedly. And every time the two were in the same room, some variation of this conversation played out. “Il ressemble à un gros bœuf stupide. Je peux t'en trouver un meilleur. Quelqu'un de pointu. Vous savez à quel point Ares est efficace... [He looks like a big, stupid ox. I can find you a better one. Someone sharp. You know how effective Ares - ]”

“Je suis très bien fourni en gardes du corps, merci. [I’m very well supplied with bodyguards, thank you.]” But he never seemed to drop the subject for good. It was like Chidi was getting into everything, changing every aspect of his life, haunting his thoughts throughout every one-night-stand. No matter how he tried to act like he didn’t care, no matter how he tried to compartmentalize him, there was Chidi again.

What bothered him most of all was that Chidi seemed to have no trouble getting a life of his own. He was settling into his role as head of the Myrmidons admirably. In the evenings, when Vincent allowed himself the agonizing ecstasy of an hour in undivided company with Chidi, he learned that Chidi was exploring Rome by himself and finding it very much to his liking. He had even discovered a favorite restaurant in a historic building downtown. Would Vincent like to go there together sometime? He seemed to be testing the waters. Vincent couldn’t resist saying yes. Despite his best efforts to exclude Chidi, he couldn’t bear the thought of Chidi having a favorite place that didn’t include him. It was very confusing.

Apparently, the other Myrmidons sometimes accompanied him on his walks through the city. One of the maids, too. Chidi was friends with them now. Everybody liked him, because of course they did. He was so gentle in his brutishness, so playful and yet so steadying, so infectious when he laughed. And on top of that, just look at him. Vincent did, and felt physically burned by the way his shoulders strained with muscle under his blazer, the way that beard cut knife-sharp along his jaw. As usual, he had to look away.

The next day, Vincent watched him with this maid. He felt burned then too. The way her shining, brunette curls bounced when she nodded at something Chidi said, glowing with smiles. Did Chidi feel burned when he looked at her? When he looked at Vincent? Had Chidi ever felt this way, about anyone? Had anyone in the world ever felt this way about anyone else, or was Vincent being tortured in some cruel and usual manner peculiar to god’s least favorites? He was in flames. He was dying. He must be.

That night, he got very high indeed.

He went to Santino, because damn it, if Chidi was going to go to the maid when he was lonely, then Vincent was going to go to Santino.

A line. Santino’s finger running over a wine glass as he stared out at the river at dinner, interrupting sparkling candlelight. A line. That sparkling transformed into flashing on a club floor. A line. Their bodies pressed together in the back of a limo. A line. Santino’s words spilling into his mouth between kisses. “Sapevo che mi volevi, mio ​​caro. Sapevo che saresti venuto da me da solo uno di questi giorni. Hai finalmente finito di farmi implorare? [I knew you wanted me, mio caro. I knew you’d come to me on your own one of these days. Are you finally done making me beg?]”

Disgust twisting in the pit of his body. “No. Prega più forte. [No. Beg harder.]” Say that you desire me. That I’m worth something…that no one could resist me… Santino whined and started humping into the leather seat with Vincent still buried in his ass.

“Per favore, mio ​​amore. Per favore. Fammi sentire bene. Non so come fai... aaaa... devi essere una specie di diavolo. La mia tentazione. Non sei nemmeno umano. [Please, mon amour. Please. Make me feel good. I don’t know how you do it…aaaa…you must be some kind of devil. My temptation. You’re not even human.]”

“Ovviamente non lo sai. Non mi conosci affatto. [Of course you don’t know. You don’t know me at all.]” It just slipped out. Santino didn’t seem to notice.

But he noticed when Vincent went soft and retreated into the seat away from him.

“Dove-cosa...? Dove sei andato? [Where-what…? Where’d you go?]”

“Ferma la macchina. [Stop the car.]”

“Che – [What the – ]“

“Sei sordo e del tutto inosservante? Ho detto di fermare la macchina. Ho avuto tutto ciò che volevo. [Are you deaf as well as completely unobservant? I said stop the car. I’ve had all I wanted.]”

Santino’s face went from confused to livid. “No! Verrai a casa con me stasera. Hai accettato. [No! You’re coming home with me tonight. You agreed.]”

“Davvero Santino? Sei quel tipo di uomo? [Really, Santino? Are you that kind of man?]” He rolled his eyes disdainfully, but his heart had started doing something utterly sickening. Was Santino that kind of man? His hand closed on the handle of the knife in his back pocket.

“Non ti toccherò. [I won’t touch you],” Santino said very graciously, despite caressing the air just above his cheek in a gesture so close to touching that it might as well have been. “Ma avevi promesso di venire. Ti terrò finché non ti renderai conto di quanto ti piaccio. [But you promised to come. I’m going to keep you until you realize how much you like me.]” His face hovered inches from Vincent’s. How did this escalate so fast? Only minutes ago, it seemed, he was sober, having dinner and planning to go home soon…

Don’t panic. He wished Chidi were here. How could he get back to Chidi? What could he do? His bodyguards were following behind them in another car. They’d know if he went missing. And they’d notice if he jumped from the vehicle. His eyes flickered from Santino’s too-close lips to the door handle. Santino caught the look and covered the lock with his hand, grinning. “Non mi sfuggirai, Vincent. Finalmente, dopo mesi, sei venuto da me volentieri. Non a un pranzo con me e mia sorella, non a una cena per cui ho dovuto implorare. Sei venuto da me, da solo, perché stai iniziando a vederlo anche tu. E non ti permetterò di buttarlo via solo perché a volte ti confondi. Apparteniamo insieme. Quella guardia del corpo ti sta dando fastidio, ma io... [You’re not getting away from me, Vincent. Finally, after months, you’ve come to me willingly. Not at some lunch with both me and my sister, not at some dinner I had to plead for. You came to me, all on your own, because you’re starting to see it too. And I won’t let you throw that away just because you get confused sometimes. We belong together. That bodyguard is messing with your head but I’ll - ]”

The blade plunged into the center of Santino’s hand. It was so satisfying that Vincent had to take a moment to enjoy the look on his face. “Oh, sei sorpreso di essere stato pugnalato dopo un discorso del genere? Hahahaha, malato di merda! Non appartengo a te! [Oh, you’re surprised you got stabbed after a speech like that? Hahahaha, you sick fuck! I do not BELONG with you!]” It was already too late – he might as well unleash everything. “Sai perché sono venuto qui stasera? Perché sei il fondo del barile, la persona che vedo quando ho voglia di sguazzare. Ti ho sedotto solo nel caso in cui tu uccidessi tua sorella più tardi, e sai una cosa? Spero che tu ci provi, e spero che lei ti uccida prima. Ti odio a morte, questa è la verità. Ovviamente devi ricorrere al rapimento solo per la più piccola speranza di ricevere il più piccolo briciolo di attenzione, patetico e disperato succhiacazzi. Risparmiati la fatica e non cercarmi più [You know why I came here tonight? Because you’re the bottom of the barrel, the person I see when I feel like wallowing. I only ever seduced you in case you kill your sister later, and you know what? I hope you try, and I hope she kills you first. I hate your guts, that’s the truth. Of course you have to resort to kidnapping just for the smallest hope of the smallest scrap of attention, you pathetic, desperate cock sucker. Save yourself the trouble and don’t look for me again.]” And with a spray of crimson trialing behind, he wrenched himself and the knife out into the battering midnight wind.

It hurt…a lot more than he was expecting. His shoulder made impact first. The purple-black of the city sky rolled over and over itself as he tumbled across cobblestones. There was tearing fabric, rocks driving into his flesh, a sharp impact against the back of his skull. In the distance, he could hear screeching tires. Was it one or both cars that turned back for him? But he blacked out before he could learn the answer.

He woke up in motion. A familiar scent. Someone’s arms underneath him. “Move. Don’t stand there, get a doctor.”

“Chidi…?” He curled closer against his chest. They were going up a flight of stairs, it seemed.

“C'est moi. Vous allez bien, monsieur. Vous êtes à la maison. [It’s me. You’re okay, sir. You’re home.]”

Splitting pain down the center of his head. “Je ne… je ne ressens pas… [I don’t…I don’t feel…]”

“Vous avez une commotion cérébrale. Mais tout ira bien. Tu étais si courageux. Ils m'ont dit – [You have a concussion. But everything will be alright. You were so brave. They told me – ]“ Chidi cut himself off, seemingly overcome. “De toute façon. Je vais te déposer maintenant, au lit. Est-ce que ça va? [Anyway. I’m going to set you down now, in bed. Is that okay?]”

Vincent realized he was shaking. “N'allez nulle part. [Don’t go anywhere.]”

“Je ne le ferai pas. [I won’t.]” He was laid very gently onto soft sheets. His shoes and tie were pulled away, the blanket tucked up to his chin. Everything was so warm, so bright…his head was still cradled in Chidi’s arms. Finally, Chidi was in his bedroom again, and everything seemed fixed. The change from the past few days was so enormous that Vincent couldn’t understand why he hadn’t done this sooner.

“Chidi?”

“Oui?”

“Je déteste Santino. [I hate Santino.]”

That gorgeous jaw set tight. “Il t'a fait du mal? [Did he hurt you?]”

“Non, heureusement non. Il a juste essayé de me kidnapper. [No, fortunately not. He just tried to kidnap me.]” Vincent scoffed. “C’est de ma faute, j’ai renvoyé mes gardes du corps, donc j’ai dû sauter – [It’s my fault, I sent my bodyguards away, so I had to jump – ]”

“Ce n'est PAS votre faute. [It is NOT your fault.]” Chidi pressed a kiss against his pounding head. “Cet homme est une petite fouine dégoûtante. Je ne le laisserai plus jamais toucher à toi. [That man is a disgusting little weasel. I will never let him lay a finger on you again.]”

Vincent smiled, savoring the way the warmth spread from the spot his lover’s lips had touched. “Merci.” He studied Chidi’s face. Worry lines at the corner of his mouth and eyes stood out prominently. There was the burning thing, flaring up in his chest at the sight of Chidi’s face. The guilt, the shame. The terrifying magnetism. “…Que vous ont dit les gardes? […How much did the guards tell you?]”

“Que veux-tu dire? [What do you mean?]”

They didn’t tell him anything, then. This was going to be incredibly difficult. Vincent tried one more time. “Vous ont-ils dit ce que je faisais avant de quitter le club ? Vous ont-ils dit… dans quel état je me trouve? [Did they tell you what I was doing before we left the club? Did they tell you…the state that I am in?]”

“Ils feraient mieux de ne rien me cacher. [They had better not have kept anything from me.]”

“Je leur ai fait jurer de ne rien te dire. [I made them swear not to tell you.]” He stared at the far corner of the blanket for a minute, trying to muster the courage. Instead, he found himself deciding maybe not. Maybe it was better Chidi didn’t know. If he quit, then who would ever have to tell Chidi? Nobody, right?

But Chidi saved him the trouble. “Que prenez-vous, monsieur? [What are you taking, sir?]”

Infinite silence, still staring into the corner. “Cocaïne.” He waited for disappointment, for crushing sympathy, already preemptively irritated by both.

“Comment ça a commencé? [How did it start?]”

“…Santino. Quand je suis arrivé ici seul pour la première fois. […Santino. When I first came out here alone.]”

“Je vois. [I see.]” Vincent could almost feel that information being filed for later. “Voulez-vous arrêter? [Do you want to stop?]”

“Non. Oui. Je ne sais pas. [No. Yes. I don’t know.]”

“Eh bien… c'est mon travail de protéger votre santé, monsieur. Je ne ferais pas mon travail si je te laissais continuer. [Well…it’s my job to protect your health, sir. I wouldn’t be doing my job if I let you continue.]”

“Et si c’était la seule chose qui me garde sain d’esprit, hmm ? J'ai besoin… [What if it’s the only thing that’s keeping me sane, hmm? I need…]” Fuck, he was going to cry if they kept on with this discussion. “Et si ça me maintenait en vie ? N'est-ce pas important pour ma santé ? Je serai trop fatigué sans ça, et puis je dormirai, et puis je… je ne peux pas… je ne peux pas… [What if it’s keeping me alive? Isn’t that important for my health? I’ll be too tired without it, and then I’ll sleep, and then I’ll…I can’t…I can’t…]” At some point he had started hyperventilating and couldn’t stop.

Chidi took his hand and kissed it, looking deeply pained on his behalf. “Monsieur. Je veux t'aider avec les cauchemars. Avec le chagrin. Tout cela. Chaque jour, je te vois souffrir alors que tout le monde s’attend à ce que tu ailles bien. C’est impossible, vu la pression que vous subissez, d’essayer de revenir instantanément à la normale. Sachez que vous n’êtes pas obligé de le faire seul. [Sir. I want to help you with the nightmares. With the grief. All of it. Every day, I see you hurting when everyone else expects you to be fine. It’s impossible, the amount of pressure you’re under, trying to go back to normal instantly. Please know that you don’t have to do this alone.]”

“N'êtes-vous pas trop occupé avec la femme de chambre? [Aren’t you too busy with the maid?]” Vincent wished he could take back the words but they were already out, and now he would have to hear the answer, hear Chidi lie or get angry or pity him or -

“Comme si quelqu’un pouvait être plus important pour moi que toi. Vous êtes ma vie, Maître Vincent. J'ai donné ma vie pour la tienne volontairement, tu te souviens ? J'étais prêt à être exécuté. Et je reste prêt. Je vous attends. Je n’ai touché personne d’autre, et je ne le ferai pas, peu importe le nombre de personnes que vous coucherez. Faites ce que vous devez faire, monsieur. Je veux juste être là pour toi. Même quand les choses vont mieux. Quand tu n’as plus mal… et je ferai en sorte que ce jour vienne… quand tu n’as plus mal, je veux toujours être à côté de toi. Pas besoin d’être malade pour dormir à mes côtés, Vincent. Si tu me veux, c'est tout ce qu'il faut. Je viendrai à toi. Peut-être que tu ne ressens pas la même chose, mais je t’aime et je le ferai toujours. [As if anyone could be more important to me than you. You are my life, Master Vincent. I gave my life for yours willingly, remember? I was ready to be executed. And I remain ready. I wait for you. I haven’t touched anyone else, and I won’t, no matter how many people you take to bed. You do what you need to do, sir. I just want to be there for you. Even when things are better. When you’re not in pain anymore…and I’ll make sure that day comes…when you’re not in pain anymore, I still want to be next to you. You don’t need to be unwell to sleep beside me, Vincent. If you want me, that’s all it takes. I will come to you. Maybe you don’t feel the same way, but I love you, and I always will.]”

Maybe it was the dawn finally starting to rise, but the world shone gold at all the edges. Like it was cracking, and sunlight was seeping in. It bled around the curtains, onto the bed, onto their joined hands. But Vincent’s eyes were too well adjusted to the darkness. He didn’t know what to do. Barely even knew how to talk around the lump in his throat. Say it back. I love you too. I love you too. I love you too. “Je ne savais pas… Je ne savais pas que tu pouvais parler de cette façon, Chidi. [I didn’t know…I didn’t know that you could talk this way, Chidi.]”

“Ce n’est pas une conversation, monsieur. Je t'aime. [It’s not talk, sir. I love you.]”

I love you too. “Allonge-toi à côté de moi. [Lay next to me.]” I love you too. “Jusqu'à ce que le médecin arrive. [Until the doctor gets here.]” I love you too. “Je ne veux pas que tu ailles n'importe où. [I don’t want you to go anywhere.]”

And Chidi slipped into the bed beside him, embracing Vincent skin to skin, arms securely around his waist, sighing contentedly against his neck… not asking him to say a thing. “Je sais. [I know.]”

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Image Sources: One | Two

[crash-bump-bring-the-whump]

Whumpril 2024 - Day 11 - Can't Sleep

Hehehehehe Dimitri and Laredo time, this takes place when they're about 22-ish c: A day late but no less fun!!

TWs: talk of death and funerals, survivor's guilt, smoking, raw grief

Dimitri didn't flinch as the back door of the war mages' house opened and light spilled out around him. He took a long drag from his cigarette as Laredo silently joined him, lowering himself down to the wooden steps. "Couldn't sleep either?" Laredo asked, taking a drag when Dimitri offered.

Dimitri sighed, letting the smoke rush out into the still, summer night air. "No."

"Funeral's tomorrow." Laredo said after exhaling his own plume.

"Might skip it."

"Adriana would haunt you if you did. You know she'd be pissed at you missing her last hurrah." Laredo wasn't smiling when he laughed. "Joaquín too, he'd say that you were being a brat."

"Maybe I am." Dimitri huffed, putting the cigarette out and curling his arms around himself. "Had to hear...all of that a few days ago. They got enough of my attention."

One of Laredo's arms looped around Dimitri and pulled him tight against him.

"Plus, Valentina gets to miss it." Dimitri continued, ignoring how his own voice shook and heat began to drip down his cheeks. "Why can't I?"

"Luis says she wants to go but it'd be bad for her--" Laredo held Dimitri tighter and took a deeper breath. "Valentina isn't...she's not coming back when they let her out of the hospital. He says she can't even look at her mask or gloves anymore without--"

Dimitri shouted, voice shattering as he flung the now-empty pack of cigarettes across their backyard, into the dark. The soft tap of plastic against metal told him that it hit the obstacle course. Adriana still held the record for clearing it.

He coiled in on himself, forehead pressing to his knees as something between a wordless scream and a sob ripped from him. His fingers tangled into his hair, silky and soft and freshly bleached in town from just a day before their last mission. Joaquin always did insist on him going to his stylist.

Dimitri wanted to shave it all off. He wanted to rip it out. As he shuddered from the force of everything, he thought about how Valentina would tell him to do breathing exercises when the urge to tear and shred and sear began to get too intense. He could almost hear her voice. It felt like he was the one who'd been crushed and trapped and burned alive.

He almost wished he was.

Pressure against the back of his neck and around him said that Laredo was hugging him tighter. He felt Laredo lift him up, pulling him into his lap. Laredo's hands wound into his own as he sobbed, untangling his fingers and giving him something softer and warmer to hold.

Turning his face and uncurling, Dimitri pressed his forehead into Laredo's neck and shook harder, uncaring of if anyone could hear how he was nearly howling. Laredo did the same, tucking his face against Dimitri's shoulder and starting to soak his sleeping shirt in return. Neither one said anything.

Neither one moved, even once their tears dried up and sleep claimed them there on the porch steps.

Luis wasn't even angry when he stopped by to pick them up for the funeral. The extra ten minutes that went into covering everyone's pallor and the dark circles under their eyes went uncommented-on. The extra five that went into just holding each other in the safety of the suddenly-too-large home stayed just as unmentioned.

Luis had a flyer posted for war mage tryouts two weeks later.

MY POOR PINGLIST GOOD GOD: @lektricwhump @cyberwhumper @bxtterflystxtches @inscrutable-shadow @honeybees-125

[honeycollectswhump]

more on grief. the symptoms.

the feeling overwhelming you at random times of the day, without warning. suddenly you are stuck crying and gasping for breath.

your stomach cramps every time you think about them. it makes you want to vomit. nothing really helps and it can kill your appetite.

you are constantly tired, no amount of sleep seems to be enough. you could sleep for a thousand years and maybe you wish you could.

no matter what you are doing and how happy you are, they are always on your mind. you ruminate and ruminate if there was anything you could have done differently. you think about all the things you should have done.

grief alienates and isolates you. it feels like people can’t understand, there is no right words to calm you down.

you will hate yourself for this but sometimes you feel so powerless you wish you would have never been put in this situation. even if that means never knowing that person. you don’t really mean it though you are just desperate.

you can grieve people that are still alive

your grief can project in other things and situations. your mood can drop quickly. you can overreact or be aggressive and abrasive. this alienates you further

people will tell you to distance yourself. you cannot.

feel free to torment your blorbos with this

[whumporama]

Caretaker who can see ghosts.

Whumpee who was taken, tortured, and killed. Now, their ghosts hangs around Caretaker, and they can't move on until they come to peace with what happens.

Caretaker is the only one who can help, because they're the only one who can see and talk to Whumpee. So now they're dealing with a traumatized Whumpee, who is also dead.

And Caretaker tries, they try so, so hard. But they break down a little more every day. How are they supposed to help Whumpee, when helping them means they'll be gone? How can they look at Whumpee and not think about how everything is not okay? How Whumpee is dead and they failed them. How Whumpee is so scared, how they cry and scream in terror, even in death?

What happens when Caretaker succeeds? Who is there to help Caretaker?