#tw: major character injuries

[untoldsoup]

Worked on this all day to make sure I could get this update out earlier than planned lol. Thanks for all your patience over the past 1.5 months waiting for this update!! Anyway big things coming in part two! Please read the tags for this before reading as some content can bother some people. Comments appreciated i worked so hard on this.

previous: chapter 1 and 2

next: here

This is a sequel! First comic can be found here.

[loulou-land]

Can’t stop thinking about a dying Tommy. He’s in Buck’s arms. Barely hanging on to consciousness. Confused about why the other man is crying and begging him to stay with him, when he knows Evan doesn’t have any feelings for him.

[nowimjustastranger]

just a fun little angsty idea: STMCO Ford trying to intervene for a Stanley whose Stanford got there too late to stop a critical injury but soon enough to hold his wounded brother while he fades, who won't let Ford near if he can help it - clinging to his bleeding twin and wary of the stranger approaching them

You can't give me a scenario like that and expect me not to take off running with it, lol.

“Put it down.” Ford barked, throwing his quantum destabilizer aside.

The gun landed in some nearby brush with a rustle, barrel still smoking from its recent use. The mutilated body of an unnaturally large grizzly bear laid still a few feet away, its neck nothing but a bloodied stump. There was red everywhere, splattered on the surrounding vegetation and collecting into puddles on the ground.

“Stay away from him.” Stanford snarled, adjusting his grip on his unconscious brother –who was half sprawled across Stanford’s lap– the triangular gun in his other hand unwavering in its aim even as the rest of him trembled. Shock was setting in, understandable considering that his brother had just been mauled by a mutated bear during what was supposed to be a routine creature hunt. Luckily, Stan seemed more or less intact, no chunks or limbs torn off.

Ford hadn’t made it in time to do more than damage control, squeezing the trigger before he could even process what he was seeing. His ears still rang with Stan’s shouting, demanding that his brother run even as the bear sunk its teeth into Stan’s arm, the bite force fracturing the bone. The cry that escaped through Stan’s grit teeth had Ford firing three more shots with precision into the neck of the beast, his counterpart shooting in tandem.

“He’s going to die! Just please–” Ford bit out, slowly sinking to his knees. The barrel of the gun followed his movement even as the man holding it could hardly tear his gaze away from the prone figure in his arms for longer than a second. Ford risked inching closer, pausing when those wild eyes darted to him every so often before snapping back to Stan.

Ford made a grave mistake when he stepped on a small twig, which snapped under his weight and drew his counterpart's attention back to him. Stanford’s glazed eyes struggle to comprehend that the distance between them has closed for several moments, but when it inevitably clicks and his finger tightens on the trigger, Ford presses himself closer to the ground to make himself look as harmless as possible.

“Not another step!” Stanford shouted, panic making his voice two octaves higher than usual. Ford obeyed for the moment, staying perfectly still.

“I can save him.” Ford insisted, all but begging. His helmet scanned Stan obsessively, the hud blaring red as Stan’s vitals nosedived into critical condition. Ford had to do something now or Stan would die. So, his hands left the ground to unclip the strap under his jaw, pulling his helmet off and setting it aside. He hoped that a familiar face would be enough for his counterpart to let him close. It had to be enough.

“What–” Stanford spluttered, the gun finally wavering. Ford took advantage of his counterpart’s confusion and edged closer, fingers twitching with the urge to get his hands on Stan now that he no longer had the security that the helmet gave him with the constant scans of Stan’s person. 

“Shoot me if you want, but I’m not letting him die.” Ford grunted, ultimately deciding that getting shot paled in comparison to Stan dying while Ford uselessly watched from the sidelines. Ford wasn’t going to let Stanford’s paranoia and trust issues stop him from saving Stan, he’d sooner take the gun from Stanford’s hands and shoot himself in the head.

“You– you’re me? How is this possible?” Stanford demanded, the cogs in his head turning as he watched Ford with a perplexed stare that seemed a little muted due to the shock. Stanford’s arm was still extended, gun pointed at nothing but trees. Meanwhile, Ford carefully tugged Stan away from Stanford’s lap to gently lay him on the ground before setting to work on his wounds. “The portal. You’re from another dimension.”

“Yes, definitely what you should be focusing on right now.” Ford said dryly, stitching the jagged gashes on Stan’s chest closed with sutures that would dissolve on their own in two weeks. The healing itself was sped up with the penlight, its output cranked as high as it could go so the bleeding would stop as the damaged skin rapidly repaired itself.

As the last gash sealed into a fresh scar, Ford realized that Stan was no longer breathing.

Ford glanced at Stanford and immediately wished he hadn’t; witnessing the exact moment that Stanford noticed his brother’s state, his eyes welling with tears as his expression crumpled with overwhelming grief and self-loathing. Ford’s heart ached with pained sympathy at the sight. Stanford’s grip tightened on Stan before he dragged his brother closer, head bowing as his back heaved with sobs.

“No… no Stanley please. Please wake up.” Stanford choked out, pathetically nudging Stan’s pale and slack face with his nose. “I’m sorry. We never should’ve left the boat. I should've listened to you when you said you had a bad feeling about this island. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Stanley–”

Stanford was cut off with an alarmed yelp when Ford seized a fistful of his bloody turtleneck sweater to practically throw him away from Stan. Ford didn’t have time to coddle his counterpart and explain what he was doing. Stanford needed to be out of the way so Ford could rectify this horrible tragedy, so manhandling was the best option.

Stanford made an entirely animal sound of pure rage when he landed on the ground with a meaty thud, scrambling to all fours with his teeth bared. Ford ignored him, injecting Stan with a serum of his own design before retrieving two rectangular metal plates from a pouch. He rubbed the plates together before pressing them to Stan’s chest, making sure they were in position.

The paddles glowed blue when Ford hit the button on each handle, crackling with a surge of electricity that made Stan’s body lock up. The buttons popped back up and glow dulled, Stan going limp. Ford checked his pulse, forcing down the immediate swell of panic when he found nothing. He simply put the plates back and administered another controlled shock, begging the universe to let this work.

By the third round, Ford found a pulse.

He felt like he could suddenly breathe again, watching Stan’s chest rise and fall with shallow breaths as he set Stan’s arm. But he was breathing, he was alive. Ford startled when a body slammed into his back, tensing on instinct. The fight drained out of him just as quickly as it had surfaced when he realized that he wasn’t being attacked, but hugged.

“Thank you! Thank you! He’s alive, you saved him, thank you!” Stanford sobbed, clinging to Ford as he buried his face between Ford’s shoulder blades. Ford awkwardly patted Stanford’s hands, which were gripping the front of his trench coat, before he went about stabilizing Stan. Ford would have to walk Stan back to the boat, unwilling to risk putting Stan’s body under duress by using teleportation.

“We need to bring him to your boat so he can rest. He’ll be unconscious for a few days.” Ford relayed to his counterpart, turning his head to look over his shoulder. All he saw was fluffy hair, Stanford still hiding his face against Ford’s back. Ford heard a loud sniffle before the man slowly leaned back, releasing Ford’s trench coat to scrub a hand over his face.

Stanford simply nodded, climbing to his unsteady feet to lead the way back to the Stan o’ War II as Ford scooped Stan up. Ford trailed after his counterpart, who kept looking back at them every three or so steps, clearly worried about his brother. Ford did his best to look calm and reassuring even though his heart had yet to slow down and he felt shaky, the adrenaline lingering.

After Stan woke up and was given a clean bill of health, Ford would go home to Lee and try to cope with his near failure. Granted, seeing Lee safe and happily keeping himself busy with some task or another would help him calm down, his body and mind finally releasing him from his hypervigilant state as Lee’s presence imbued him with a sense of safety and comfort.

But first, he had a mission to complete.

[radio-writes]

It's about time for your blood to spill + you should sleep + we were soulmates

(Congrats on the 300 followers btw!)

Now, The Echoes Interlace

300 Followers Event

Warnings: Blood, physical injuries to reader, ambiguous major character death(s), angst

Tags: Alastor x reader, gn reader, relationship can be read in any way

MDNI

"You always have looked so pretty in red, Al." You hummed as your combed your fingers through his soft hair. You pressed your fingers against his scalp, lightly massaging against his antlers.

The light static that varied in volume crackled. "Fuck you." Alastor managed to say as his head laid on your lap.

His smile was strained—present, of course, as it always was, but strained. The trail of blood from his mouth dripped from his chin, joining the warm pool under both your bodies.

"Rude." You scolded him. Your breath coming out in a hiss as Alastor dug his claws into an open wound on your leg. 

"Must you continue to hurt me? You're already dying." You glared down at him as you would at a misbehaving pet.

You leaned forward, easily removing his hand from your body without much of a struggle. He only had so much strength left after all. 

"Fuck you." Alastor repeated, static morphing his voice this time around.

"Yes, well, I get that you're mad, Al." You continued your casual tone. "But it was about time for your blood to spill, don't you think?"

You grunted as you leaned your back against the cold wall again, sighing as the tension on the wound across your stomach was lessened.

"F—"

"Fuck me, yes yes." You cut him off. "Save your strength or you'll die out faster."

Alastor didn't mean to listen to you, but he just felt far too tired to argue otherwise.

Your hand returned to his head, damp with sweat and blood, and yet somehow still so adorably fluffy. Leave it to this guy to still look so presentable even when dying a second time around.

Your fingers scratched at one of his tufts of hair, causing it to give a slight, involuntary twitch.

"So they are ears." Your voice was soft. "I always assumed but was never really sure, you know?"

Alastor didn't respond. His red eyes continued to glare at you.

He adjusted his hands to lay over his chest. A weak attempt to slow his loss of blood. He didn't even have enough energy to press on it anymore.

"Hey, Al." You wheezed, breath slightly knocked from you. You had adjusted the way you sat so the demon could lay more comfortably on your lap. "Do you remember how we first met?"

"You told me that cheesy pick up line. How'd it go again?" Your hand paused as you tried to remember. 

A rather dashing demon slid up to you at the bar; charming, sharp smile, on full display. You've seen all sorts of sinners by now, but none so happy while rotting in hell.

You expected him to sell you drugs, or quite bluntly tell you to sleep with him. What you got instead was a very corny: 

"You must be buried treasure, because I am absolutely digging you." You let out a tired laugh, hand continuing to pet Alastor once more.

The sound of static crackling again was the only response you got. You think it meant fuck you. 

"Well you must be treasure as well, Al. Because it seems I'll be burying you tonight." You met Alastor's harsh glare with a soft smile.

"What? That absolutely was funny, you can't deny it." You defended yourself.

Alastor didn't think him dying was funny at all, actually, but he didn't exactly have any energy left to say that.

His smile was a tight, close lipped one, but you see his lips try to curl just a tiny bit in what you assumed would have been a snarl. 

"You always thought I was hilarious." Your own hand moving over the gash on your neck as if it was a mild inconvenience. You titled your head as you looked down at the demon on your lap. "What changed?"

Alastor merely glared at you.

Your eyes traveled down his body, staying on the deep wound oozing across his chest.

"That's not fair, Al." You laughed tiredly, eyes staying on his bloodied torso. "I always thought you were incredibly handsome—sinfully so really. But your attempts at killing me never changed that."

"Fuck you." The static over his voice was gone now. His tone was as spiteful, angry, and condescending as always, but much, much weaker.

Your eyes drifted back to his face. His smile was still present, but his lovely red eyes seemed more unfocused than they were a second ago.

Your hand in his hair stopped their movements. For a moment, the world was still as you wondered if your company had already left.

But it was merely for a heart beat, as a ragged breath from his lips snapped time back into motion.

You pealed your fingers from his hair, bringing them down to softly rub your knuckles down his cheek. He doesn't so much as flinch, but, you knew he would have had he been able to.

"Hey, old pal." You cooed softly. "You should sleep, you look so very tired."

His fingers on his chest twitched once, but you didn't get much of a reply anymore after that.

You sighed heavily. Your hands rested on his face as you leaned your head against the wall behind you, face craned upwards to the red sky that covered all of Hell.

Your own eyes closed, realizing just how tired and weary you yourself were.

Still, you were never one to be silent around a friend—or foe. It had always been unclear to you when it came to Alastor.

"We were soulmates, wouldn't you say so, Al?" You continued softly. "But in a funnier way, I think, where we were always meant to destroy the other."

Alastor's skin felt as it always did beneath your fingers. The stench of blood heavy as it always was around him. You felt his familiar eerie presence by you, as you always did.

And yet, you were unsure if he actually was still there. You were quite conflicted about how you were supposed to feel about that, truth be told.

"Fuck you, old friend." You sighed, eyes remaining closed, smile tiredly stretching across your own lips.

[aainiouu]

Just…

———

Buck gets reckless again, with his own life, and he gets hurt.

He gets hurt rescuing Tommy.

And when Tommy gets to Buck, him being little banged up but otherwise ok and Buck knocking on death’s door.

Buck grins and coughs out and he’s clinging to conciousness.

”I bet you didn’t see this coming, that actually, you would be my last.”

Tommy screams ”Evan! EVAN!?”

But Buck can no longer hear him.

———

Sorry?

[clangenrising]

Month 19 - Leaffall

Content Warning: This piece includes content that may be triggering to some viewers. See this post for details.

Prev | First | Next

Lakepaw was trying to sleep, her head aching and her skin clammy, when the night was split by sudden caterwauling. She jolted out of her nest, head swimming, as a cacophony of screaming voices flooded into the den from outside. 

“What’s going on?” Sagetooth groaned weakly, trying to sit up.

“I dunno,” Lakepaw whispered. Steadying herself, she crept quickly and quietly to the mouth of the den, staying low and light on her paws. Out in the clearing, a horde of cats was engaged in combat, hissing and clawing at each other with bloody muzzles and fur between their claws. Lakepaw’s eyes widened in fear. 

“It’s rogues!” she whispered back to Sagetooth. “There’s rogues in camp!” 

“Fox-dung!” Sagetooth spat under her breath.

Lakepaw tried to pick familiar faces out of the storm of fur and teeth. There, Yarrowshade dodged blows from two separate kittypets. There, Pantherhaze tumbled with a black and white cat twice his size. There, Ospreymask grabbed a kittypet by the ear and tore him off of Slatepaw’s struggling form only for another cat to lunge for the apprentice’s tail as soon as she was on her feet. The warriors were outnumbered and fighting tooth and nail to keep their heads above the metaphorical water. 

“Get off me!” Lakepaw heard Yellowkit screaming and her gaze whipped to the nursery where a scarred smoky tabby was struggling to lift the kit by the scruff while another kittypet pursued Bluekit deeper into the den. 

“I have to go help them!” Lakepaw said, looking back at Sagetooth. The old healer had heaved herself from her nest and tossed the moss from her forehead, stumbling back to the herb stores with a wobbly step. She didn’t seem to register what Lakepaw had said and suddenly she wasn’t so sure if she should leave Sagetooth alone. 

“This way,” she heard a stranger’s voice close by and instinctively pressed herself against the wall of the den and out of sight. “Their herbs are stored in one of these dens.” 

“Not this one,” another voice said from somewhere to the side -- Goldenstar’s den, most likely.

Lakepaw backed away from the entrance, tail bristling and tried to make herself as big as she could. If the rogues got to the herbs, cats would surely die of injuries. She couldn’t let that happen. Besides, Sagetooth was back there, heat-stricken and vulnerable. Lakepaw took a slow deep breath and tried to remember everything Floodstrike had taught her, deeply grateful she had been putting in extra battle training hours lately. 

Two kittypets pushed their way into the den, the first of them a smallish brown tabby with a dark mask and a silver collar. He narrowed his eyes as he saw her, back arching slightly. The other, standing a step behind him, was a white, snub-nosed tom who raised his brows and cocked his head, an amused smile on his face.

“Aww, she’s trying to be intimidating,” the white cat purred mockingly. “Should we take her with us too?” 

“If you want to deal with her, be my guest,” the tabby scowled. “I’m going to do what we came here for.” He took a step forward and Lakepaw hissed loudly, rearing up on her toes. 

“Stay back!” she spat, “You’re not allowed in here!” 

“Oh no,” the tabby said sarcastically, “I guess we’ll have to turn around.” Then he glanced over his shoulder and said, “Casper?”  

The white cat shouldered his way past the tabby and prowled towards her, grinning. Lakepaw knew she had to move. She bunched her legs underneath her and lunged at his face, swatting at him with a series of quick claw strikes. He hissed and reared back before headbutting her squarely in the nose. She cried out and thumped gracelessly onto the ground. Her pre-existing headache throbbed nauseatingly and she nearly gagged when a heavy paw pressed down on her abdomen. She vaguely registered the tabby picking his way past her with careful pawsteps. 

He opened his mouth to scent the air as he ventured deeper, saying to himself, “Alright, now where are those-” 

He cried out suddenly as Sagetooth’s familiar hiss sounded over the noise of a solid thwap. Lakepaw tilted her head to watch the kittypet recoiling, blood pooling over the bridge of his nose. Sagetooth had apparently been waiting around the corner and now she struck out again, scraping her claws against his cheek. 

“Get out, you faithless, snake-hearted kittypets!” the old healer snarled, swaying on her feet. “Begone! And may StarClan curse you for all your days!” 

“You backwards old hag!” the tabby spat back and struck Sagetooth on the side of the head so hard that her face collided with the wall of the den. With a loud thunk, she slid to the ground, groaning weakly. 

Lakepaw twisted and bit the paw pinning her down as hard as she could. Casper yanked it back with a hiss of pain and she scrambled to her feet then charged the smaller tom. With a leap, she sank her claws into his back and the two of them toppled under her momentum. The tom cried out, flailing his legs in her direction, but she clung tightly with her forepaws and rabbit-kicked as hard as she could with claws unsheathed. His flesh tore under her blows and another wave of nausea overtook her just long enough for the tom to wrench himself free from her grasp. 

“Insufferable little-!” the tabby puffed up as he got to his feet, looking like he’d just suffered a terrible indignity. 

“Lakepaw, run,” Sagetooth managed to say, shifting her weight as she tried to stand. 

“Ah, ah, ah!” the tom said as if correcting a naughty kitten and smacked Sagetooth sharply on the forehead again. She crumpled to the ground but that didn’t stop him. He kept raining blows on her head one after the other after the other. Lakepaw screamed and lunged for him but Casper intercepted her with a hook of his claws, pulling her tight to his chest. She thrashed, vision blurring through tears, but couldn’t seem to free herself. 

“That’s what you get!” the tabby shrieked with one final strike. “How dare you lay your paws on me?!” Lakepaw held her breath and strained her ears but Sagetooth didn’t even moan. A tense silence filled the den, contrasted by the sounds of battle still raging outside. Lakepaw desperately blinked the tears from her eyes and nearly burst into tears again when she saw the blood dripping out of Sagetooth’s nose, the healer’s eyelids moving sluggishly over her fully dilated pupils. 

“Sagetooth!” she wailed, paws shaking. 

The tabby took a deep, slow breath and let it out shakily then ran his tongue over his paw like he had dirtied it by touching her. When he straightened back up, he was wearing a placid smile as if nothing had happened. 

“Right,” he said to himself, glancing over at the cat holding Lakepaw captive. “Are you really going to bother with that thing?” He frowned at her in distaste. 

“Maybe,” Casper shrugged. “We’re here for their kits, aren’t we?” Lakepaw trembled against his chest, too afraid to move. 

“We’re here for the exalted kits,” the tabby scoffed. “This one’s a savage through and through. Look, she’s already bitten you. Just be done with her and help me with the actually important work.” 

“Fine,” Casper sighed and suddenly teeth were in Lakepaw’s throat. She gasped sharply, clawed at his face and kicked at the paws holding her still but they didn’t budge. With a tug of his head, he ripped something in her neck and then dropped her to the floor, stepping over her with a few quick strides. She fumbled to stand but collapsed again, slipping in her own blood as it soaked her fur all the way down her right foreleg and pattered into the dirt. 

“Everything gets destroyed,” the tabby said. “I don’t want a single usable leaf left.” 

“Whatever you say, Sardine,” said Casper. 

Lakepaw crawled across the floor, feeling dizzy. It took all of her strength to drag herself over to Sagetooth and gently rest their foreheads against each other. 

“It’s… gonna be okay, Sagetooth,” she murmured, closing her eyes so she could focus on the words. “We just have to hang on… It’s gonna be… okay…” Sagetooth didn’t respond. Lakepaw sniffled and tried to purr, hoping that maybe -- just maybe -- that would be enough to keep Sagetooth awake until someone came to help them.

UPDATES: - Sagetooth and Lakepaw are killed by rogues.

[typicalopposite]

𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝙸 𝚃𝚛𝚢 𝚃𝚘 𝙵𝚕𝚢 (𝙸 𝙵𝚊𝚕𝚕)

BuckTommy Fic | M | 41,371 Words

Link to AO3 | Original Tumblr Post

Summary: They tried to tell him. They tried to warn him. He let his own inner voices be louder than the ones who were pleading with him to look at the damage he was causing. Then when he finally decides to listen… It's too late.

There is blood on his hands…

Tommy’s blood is on his hands…

Hello beautiful people! I decided to just make my normal Fic Post for this last one, so if you're just finding this fic, the ao3 link will take you to chapter one. If you're all caught up, the epilogue is posted to ao3 now I just want to thank you all for going along this ride with me! I really never expected it to become what it did, it was just a sad little idea I had... but I'm really glad I wrote it! <3

Tagging the OG's and then some that showed interest from the beginning. Hope you all enjoy it <3

@bucksxkinard @30somethingautisticteacher @girlwonder-writes @kinkley-are-adorkable-flirts @sira1420 @somethingaboutfirefly @ilikethe-internet @itsametaphorok @mannafromtevan @marvelousbuckley

@houseofevanbuckley @parrishjeanna @samar-arijjj @peppermintquartz @saraliiinn @sunset-bobby @onthewaytosomewhere

[hmshermitcraft]

joel had a head. two arms. two legs. plain to see. he also had one pair of wings. it wasn't plain to see.

so he lied. he said he was as human as the sky was blue. and then when they asked about his antenna, something he forgot humans didn't have, he lied some more. one quarter ogre he said. said he loved shrek to seal the deal a bit more.

nobody needed to know about the remains of his wings, charred edges that stuck out like small pretty and shimmering blue pieces of burnt paper against scarred skin.

he'd never fly again. that was plain to see.

so nobody needed to know what happened or why.

that's how he liked it.

that's how he would've liked it.

because as like all things, grian knew. joel didn't want to know how or why, but he knew.

And yet, Grian never does anything about it. If anything, the guy seems more awkward around Joel for knowing. It's like a strange, unspoken issue neither of them dare bring up. Makes for some stupidly awkward conversations; Joel feels bad for all the friends he's dragged in to mediate.

And yet, when Joel is dealing with pain from the scarring, he spots Grian fleeing from his house. He doesn't think the guy saw Joel, and Joel finds a pot of cream that ends up working better than anything he's tried before left behind.

Joel leaves some flowers. As thanks. It's the best he has to offer.

[ghostlysoaps]

Do not stand by my grave and weep

This is entirely @emmster 's and her artwork's fault, and also the anon who prompted her. tw: major character death and canon compliant violence

He’d never been shot before, surprisingly enough. Grazed by bullets, yes. Beaten, stabbed, concussed. Par for the course when you’re a soldier working behind enemy lines. The agony of it is indescribable. It permeates his thoughts. The entirety of his nervous system is set ablaze as the synopses in his brain fire at a rapid pace in vain hope to make sense of it all. His ears ring. The breath rushes from his lungs. A taste like rusted pennies coats his tongue. With his head tipping to the left he can see Ghost fall right by his side with a dull thud he more so feels than hears.

Leveraging himself up is strangely, paradoxically, painless as he hooks weak fingers around the data they’d retrieved only to receive a boot to the chest for his efforts.

Wind whips dirt into his eyes as the world swims and goes dark and Roach figures that’s all there is to it. A last glimpse of his beloved before he, too, joins him wherever it is they’ll be welcomed after death. If there is anything there at all.

That semi-lucid musing, if anything, terrifies him to the core. Not only is it fear for himself but for Ghost as well, who’d never done well in the dark – no matter what he’d claimed. The flood of adrenaline forces his eyes open again.

It’s only a few feet. 

There’s practically an ocean between them.

Roach digs his fingers into the grass regardless. 

He pushes deep, deeper still, until his hands hit soil. Crooks his digits into claws. Drags his uncooperative form inch by inch along the ground until they’re less than an arms length apart. Reaches out with a trembling hand to grip Ghost’s– Simon’s limp wrist. Cradles it gently with dirt stained gloves and chuckles, all wet and mucus-heavy, when Simon doesn’t reprimand him for it, the streaks of grime he presses into the fabric, the way he would have if–

Tears blur the sight of blue eyes, open and void. The glasses he’d worn must have been knocked aside, crumpled in the grass somewhere. A part of him is grateful for it. To see more of Simon in his last moments, of the man behind the weapon he’d been moulded into, even if there’s only the mortal shell left of him. 

If for any reason he’s seen fit to linger, Roach brings Simon’s hand to his mouth and kisses it through his mask, hoping the imprint follows his beloved into the great beyond.

[sad-girl-hours23]

Sharing something I'm working on.

I love to read them, but I never thought I'd actually write a "crash that truck" fic. TW for Major Character injury

I'm still figuring out what this is & can be, but this literally came to me today after first, having a flash of Buck telling Tommy their relationship had "good bones." Cut to me listening to Don't Fear (The Reaper) a few hours later and well, this was born (my mind is a weird place, y'all)

Tommy stands with Evan in front of a Craftsman. He’s not sure he loves the boring, earthy tones but knowing Evan, he’s already imagined a thousand different ways to spruce it up. 

This is the fifth house they’ve looked at today and the headache forming at the base of his skull is urging him to finally just say yes to one. A voice in the back of his mind tells him he’s running out of time.

He looks at the covered porch and the decent sized yard and tries to picture a life here: coming home to Evan every day. His husband inevitably bringing home a stray animal, or three. Bringing home a baby, with tiny fingers and toes and Evan’s eyes. Watching their kids grow up. Growing old together.

Evan laces his fingers with Tommy’s, his hand burning against Tommy’s. Why’s he so cold? “I could see this being our forever home. It’s got good bones.”

It’s got good bones. Deja vu claws at the inside of Tommy’s brain. He really needs to take something for his growing headache.

Tommy laughs. “That is does, Evan.”

Evan tilts his head, furrowing his brow. He laughs, but it sounds wrong to Tommy’s ears somehow. “Since when do you call me, Evan?” 

The pain is growing brighter now, like flames licking at his skull. This is all wrong, but he can’t say why.

Evan walks toward the house. On the porch, he turns back to look at Tommy. “Are you coming?”

Tommy starts to follow, hears more than feels glass crunching under his feet. He sways, closes his eyes against the wave of vertigo that hits him.

He holds onto consciousness just long enough to think, where is that goddamn music coming from?

🞶🞶🞶

It’s just past midnight and somebody’s pounding on Tommy’s door. He opens the door to find Evan, his eyes red-rimmed and brimming with unshed tears. His face lights up and as if on instinct, he takes a few steps toward Tommy before his expression drops and he leans in Tommy’s doorway.

“Are you drunk? Did you drive here?” Tommy looks past Evan, but doesn’t spot his jeep.

“I may have had a few beers, but that’s besides the point. I took an Uber from the bar.” He looks at the ground. “My date left me.”

“You should go home, Buck.”

Evan’s head snaps up. He digs a finger into Tommy’s sternum. “Don’t call me that.” He clutches Tommy’s henley. “What happened to us? I thought we were good. Solid, you know?”

Tommy’s not drunk enough for this conversation. “Sometimes things just don’t work out.”

Evan pouts. “No. I don’t believe that. We—our relationship, it had good bones.”

It had good bones? Tommy bites back a smile. It’s been a month since they broke up, but he’s still as hopelessly in love. It doesn’t change the fact that he was what was broken in their relationship.

“I just want to talk. Please.”

Tommy sighs and turns back into the house. He looks back at Evan, still standing on his porch like a lost puppy. “Are you coming?”

🞶🞶🞶

Tommy’s head is pounding. His vision swims. His ears ring. The smell of gasoline fills his nostrils. He nearly retches.

He thinks somebody’s calling his name, but they sound as if they’re underwater. He can’t hear anything over the song blaring. He moves on instinct to turn the radio down, but he’s pinned in place. Oh. He’s in his truck. He closes his eyes and tries to remember where he was headed.

The sound of shattered glass brings him back to consciousness and a familiar face fills his vision. “Buck?” he croaks. “What—?”

He attaches the Jaws to the door of Tommy’s truck. “That’s Evan to you asshole,” he grounds out. “You were in an accident. But we’re going to get you out. You’re going to be okay.” He wrenches the door open. “You don’t get to die on me, do you hear me?” Evan cradles Tommy’s face in his hands before he’s being pulled away by Hen and Howie. He prays this isn’t the last time he sees Evan, face stricken and staring down at his hands saturated with Tommy’s blood.

Howie shines a light into his eyes as Hen checks his pulse. “How’s that fat head of yours?”

He groans.

“Sounds about right. Just stay with us, alright?”

The last thing he hears is Bobby yelling, “let’s get him on that gurney.”

[liamket]

Day 18 - Revenge

Character(s): Sky and Legend (LU)

Words: 446

Summary: Sky will do anything for his family, blood or not related. This time the first one was the reason of bloodshed

Whump scale: 4 (see the full scale here)

Warnings: Major Character Death, sliced bread and strawberry jelly used to describe violence, injury, derealization(? I didn't wrote this as that, but now reading it again I'm putting the warning just in case

-

Sky was too slow, always too slow.

Every time he tried to reach for the ones he searches for, each time he’s faced with the consequences of his slow pace.

If he was a second faster, if he decided to ignore that injury, he would be holding in his arms the one he desired to protect.

He would not be seeing Legend’s throat, open like a clean cut on bread bathed in strawberry jelly. The bakers being these stupid-looking-banana-obsessed assassins.

If his insults didn’t make sense, that’s because his head wasn’t making sense. The only thing that was as clear as the water that Faron protects and keeps as her terrain is that he’s angry.

Angry towards the ones that sliced his sweet, grumpy and still so young descendant’s throat. Angry towards himself for not being fast enough, again.

Voices were distant, someone was talking to him. Wavy hair, a blonde that reflected the light, almost making it look like it was shining, inexistent gusts of wind playing with it. Not a soft straight hair, darker blonde and parts of a soft pink.

He will never be able to see that hair without red tainting it ever again.

These voices, people he thinks, aren’t important right now. The ones holding him back weren’t important. His child was the priority.

Fi. Were was she? Her glow, easily seen across the room, got his attention. These fuckers hold her hostage, a light more closely resembling an orange one, but still her.

Running never was his stronger ability, but when he needed, he ran. Fast. Fi was in his hands, safe and powerful.

So powerful, so fast, that strawberry jelly turned to be the main toping for this amount of sliced bread.

Someone was talking, a topic about a stupid pig or something like that. He didn’t want to hear.

The bread was ready, strawberry jelly spilled all across the place.

He was hungry. He didn’t like strawberry jelly; a simple apple was enough to make him satisfied. His favorite apple wasn’t here anymore. Just strawberry jelly and sliced bread.

Someone else was talking, more people at once maybe, the voices were familiar. One wasn’t there, he knew why.

His favorite apple, the one that he had worked so hard to make sure that will grow to be sweet and strong. The bunny, fast and intelligent, ready for any problem presented in front of him. His descendant, losing his precious, young life. Even if the cut wasn’t in the throat, he was sure that no words would come out of him ever.

‘DAD!’ So, this is what Gaepora meant when he told him that one day he will understand?

[lunarosequarts]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Gravity Falls Rating: Mature Warnings: Major Character Death Characters: Stan Pines, Ford Pines Additional Tags: Major Character Injury, Character Death, Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Dying words, Apologies, Emotional Hurt, I'm Sorry, Blood Loss, Blood and Injury, Tears, Sibling Love, Stan Pines Needs A Hug, Stan Pines Angst, Young Stan Pines, Mullet Stan | Early 1980s Era Stan Pines, Stan Pines Has Issues, Stan Pines Has Self-Esteem Issues, Stan Pines Has a Bad Time, Stan Pines-centric, Ford Pines Has Issues, Stanangst, Young Ford Pines and Stan Pines Series: Part 1 of Only Hurty Summary:

Stan is dying on the street, in his final moments he drags himself into a phone booth to call his brother for the last time.

[clangenrising]

Month 15 - Newleaf

Content Warning: This piece includes content that may be triggering to some viewers. See this post for details

Prev | First | Next

Battle With Razor Pt 4

It wasn’t long after the start of the battle proper that Razor made a break for it. Goldenstar couldn’t believe the absolute cowardice on display, especially from a leader. He didn’t call a full retreat, he just looked around, seemed to come to a conclusion, and fled. 

“Come on,” she’d barked to Orangestar and the two of them had bolted after him. Luckily, his size and the jingling of his bell made him easy to follow. 

“He’s going deeper into the woods!” Orangestar shouted. 

“Why would he do that?” Goldenstar called back above the noise. They burst from the throng of cats in pursuit of Razor’s fleeting tail tip. 

“I don’t- Ah!” Orangestar cried out and fell to the ground. Goldenstar whipped around to see the ginger cat she had met in the city pulling roughly on Orangestar’s tail. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” he growled, reeling her in. 

Goldenstar dropped into a crouch. “Orangest-”

“Keep going!” the other leader ordered, rolling over to kick at the tom’s face. “I’ll catch up with you! Don’t lose him!” 

“Got it,” Goldenstar nodded and pivoted again to charge deeper into the woods. Orangestar was right. The point was to kill Razor. If they let him go, the whole meeting would have been for nothing. 

She bounded through the woods after his scent trail and the faint jingling sound of his bell. The massive tom left a path of broken twigs and scattered leaf-litter in his wake that wasn’t hard to spot. As she raced through the trees, her mind was also racing. He was barrelling west, north-west, deeper into EarthClan’s territory and away from the city. Why would he do that? It wasn’t like he was headed for their camp. How would he have even known where it was? If they kept going, they would eventually run into the river but she couldn’t imagine he would run for that long. 

She couldn’t hear the bell anymore. She paused, looked around, and realized that the trail had vanished too. She looked around at the trees, tried to figure out if he had jumped up one, but that didn’t make any sense given where the trail had ended. It was as if, in the middle of a clearing, he simply disappeared. The fur along her spine prickled with unease as she padded carefully to the end of the trail, mouth open to find his scent. He was close, she was certain, but where exactly? The muffled breeze was blowing against her face but there was no trace of him on the wind. The smell of mulch and growing green things was distractingly strong. 

“Where are you?” she mumbled under her breath, eyes flashing around the clearing. She turned around to try retracing her steps and there he was, looming behind her. She gasped in a particularly undignified manner, puffing up to twice her size. 

Razor laughed. “Did I startle you?” 

Goldenstar lunged. There was no time for fear or conversation. She raised her claws to swipe at his face, aiming to blind him, but he reared up and slammed one of his heavy paws into the side of her head, sending her tumbling into a gnarled root. She groaned and heaved herself to her feet but he was on her again, laying multiple swats on her skull in quick succession. The world spun dangerously. 

“Shh, stay down, girl,” he soothed, one giant paw pressing down on her throat, claws unsheathed. She coughed and clawed blindly at his leg to no result. She quickly realized that he hadn’t been taking the fight seriously before. She had underestimated him, the one thing Scorch had told her she should never, never do. 

“I’m glad we could get some time alone,” he continued, his other paw trailing feather light along the ridge of her sternum. “A girl like you deserves special attention, don’t you think?” 

Goldenstar snarled and he chuckled to himself. As her vision started to clear, his face swam into view, silhouetted against the blood red light filtering in through the canopy above. His too-white smile spread like a menacing butterfly across his face, his pale eyes roving intrusively over her body. Goldenstar knew that, pinned as she was, her hind legs wouldn’t reach any part of his body that would matter so she settled for curling up to try and kick at his leg in a desperate attempt to dislodge it. 

Razor’s smile widened and he pressed harder on her throat, drawing blood and cutting off her air. Her body panicked at the sensation and she thrashed her body as hard as she could against his weight but there was nothing she could do. He was too heavy and seemed unfazed by the claw marks she was leaving on his legs. 

“This is my favorite part,” he purred. “I think it’s just adorable: the moment when a creature realizes there’s nothing she can do. If you stop struggling, this will be easier for both of us.” Goldenstar tried to hiss at him but there was no air in her lungs. She gaped helplessly, starting to feel darkness encroaching on the edges of her vision. Razor frowned and very slightly lifted his paw to allow her to gasp for air. With the immediate threat of death removed, her eyes shut tightly and her body went slack, save for her chest which heaved over and over again as she greedily gulped down air. She couldn’t think straight.

“That’s it,” he said, “stay with me. As fun as it would be to see you choke and squirm until you turned blue, that’s too good for you.” His free paw trailed down from her sternum to her stomach. As it went, he unsheathed his claws and Goldenstar yelped as they scraped her skin hard enough to draw blood. 

“No,” Razor rumbled,  “you thought you could take what was mine and get away with it. But nobody,” and here, he sank his claws deeper into her belly and twisted them, causing her to nearly bite through her own tongue, “gets away with stealing from me.”

“I didn’t steal anything,” Goldenstar choked out around the blood now pooling in her mouth. “She couldn’t wait to get away from you!” 

“I know,” he laughed and Goldenstar nearly gagged. “She’s always been a flighty little bird.” He dragged his claws across her stomach and flicked them out of the flesh, tearing it away in a spray of dark blood. Goldenstar whined in pain and threw her eyes upward to try and focus on the branches of the tree, hoping it would distract her from the overwhelming pain.

He purred at the sound and kept speaking. “But she’s always known her place. It was your influence that fooled her into thinking she could live without everything I gave her.” He lifted his bloody paw and swiped his tongue between his toes, grinning down at her all the while. 

“You tortured her,” Goldenstar spat, trying to thrash again. 

Razor’s smile contorted into a furious snarl. “I love her!” he shouted, slamming both paws down on her throat. “I’ve shown her more kindness than she’d ever known! More kindness than a jealous little bitch like her deserves!” He sank his claws into her neck, that look of bloodlust back on his face. Goldenstar gasped and felt an uncomfortable flutter in her windpipe as the air escaped around his claws. If she didn’t do something soon, she was going to die. 

She kicked her hind legs up at him again, scrabbling at his now bloody arm. She twisted her head to try and sink her teeth into anywhere on his body she could. He snarled again and sank his claws in even further. 

“What could you possibly give her?!” he roared. “I am the Speaker! I am excellence personified! I am the most powerful cat alive! What are you?! You’re nothing!” The world was growing dark again, his voice fading as blood pounded in her ears and her focus started to drift uncontrollably into the void. She had failed. Tears welled in her eyes, not just from pain but from the shame of knowing she hadn’t been strong enough to protect anyone. The cold earth was leeching all of the heat from her body. Her paws started to grow stiff and numb. She couldn’t find the strength to lift her legs anymore. 

Distantly, she registered that Razor let go of her throat and heard him shout, as though at the end of a long tunnel, “Dammit! Don’t you dare die yet!” 

In one last act of defiance, she ignored him.

[typicalopposite]

PLZ READ TAGS FOR TRIGGER WARNINGS

𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝙸 𝚃𝚛𝚢 𝚃𝚘 𝙵𝚕𝚢 (𝙸 𝙵𝚊𝚕𝚕)

BuckTommy Fic | M | Chapter 2/? | 5817 words

Prologue | Chapter 1 | ao3

I also made a Tommy Begins-esque tumblr story a little while back which ties into this fic, and since it won’t be added directly to the story I’ll share it here (killing two ideas with one fic… if you will 😂)

Parts: one | two | three | four of the backstory

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚃𝚠𝚘: 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝… 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎

As soon as Tommy pulls Buck’s front door closed, every ounce of anger, all the annoyance, the jealousy—everything his mind had been so desperately clinging to up until this moment—dissipates. He doesn’t know what makes him feel worse: Tommy’s lack of anger that Buck had gone through such great lengths to uncover his past, Tommy not fighting him on the break up (regardless of the tears in his eyes, and the hurt on his face saying he desperately wanted to), or Tommy calling him Buck. 

Or, maybe they’re all equally combined in making it so the second that latch clicks, and he hears Tommy’s footsteps fade off down the hall, he immediately regrets everything. 

The intensity of it surges through his body and overstimulates him. He stands in the middle of his loft while the reality of what just happened—what he’s just done—comes crashing down onto him. He wants to scream, but he can’t breathe. He wants to chase after Tommy, but his feet are cemented to the floor. He squeezes his eyes shut, pinches his arm as hard as he can, and hopes this is just a nightmare and he will open his eyes, and have woken up. 

Instead, when he opens them all he sees is the closed front door. When he finally manages to break them away from that, he sees the flowers, the wine, and the card… He grips his phone in his hands… his fingers are already itching to call Tommy so he can beg him to come back. It was never supposed to come to this. Sure, he was upset… but not relationship ending upset. 

He feels so stupid, and hot-headed… he feels like an asshole… He feels like he definitely doesn’t deserve another second chance, or forgiveness for his once again loose and hurtful lips. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t call, and instead just goes back upstairs, and collapses onto his bed. 

He doesn’t think he really deserves to succumb to the tears building in his eyes, because he did this to himself; but if he does cry it out… at least the exhaustion it will bring might help him fall asleep. He needs to sleep; he has work in the morning. He doesn’t sleep, though. He just lays, curled around his pillow, and spends the night going through all of the pictures of them. 

What was supposed to be years, and years and years spent growing old together… now will only exist as yearly memories. 

Before he knows it his alarms are going off and he has no choice but to drag himself back out of bed. A pot of coffee, black, and an ice cold shower… do nothing to help the exhaustion. He doesn’t even change clothes before sulking out of his loft and down to his Jeep. The drive to the station feels like it takes an eternity. His head has never hurt this bad in his life. Not to mention…

…he now has to tell everyone he ended things with Tommy.

A new wave of dread, nausea, and exhaustion wash over him, and the amount of energy it feels like it is going to take to make himself get out and go face the music is far too great. He considers just driving back home; Bobby would understand.

“S’up Buck!” Eddie says, slapping the hood of the Jeep. Buck jumps so hard it causes Eddie to jump, too. “Whoa, you okay?” Buck looks out the window blinking slowly—because he is too tired to do much else—until Eddie starts to look concerned. 

“I– I’m fine,” Buck lies. “Just… tired.” 

“Tommy told me he was heading over there after his shift…” Eddie says, Buck tenses up, dreading talking about it. “The hell did he do when he got—You know what… I don’t want to know.” Eddie’s face relaxes back into his warm, bright smile—which has finally returned after months of it being nonexistent or just plain forced during everything that happened with Christopher. What’s Buck supposed to do, ruin that with his self-inflicted drama. 

No.

So Buck just goes along with it. He slaps on his best, cheesy, classic Evan “Buck” Buckley smile, laughs at Eddie’s discomfort from the images he put in his own head, and tosses all his woes and regrets into the negative thoughts bin.  He tiptoes around any mention of Tommy, he says the bare minimum when he must, he lies where it is necessary… 

He goes on about his day as if nothing—no major life-altering thing—has happened, and he makes it to the end of his shift managing to leave the team none the wiser about his relationship status. 

He does this for a week. 

Everyone has lives, and their lives are busy, so he plays on that and keeps them talking about themselves instead of him. Apparently Tommy isn’t too keen on sharing the news of their break up either, because he doesn’t mention it to Eddie or Chimney during their game on Thursday. Buck wonders how long he can avoid it; logically, as he gets back into his regular clothes (trying to not look at the picture of him and Tommy hanging up on the inside of the door he hasn’t been able to take down yet) he tells himself this was the last day. He hasn’t spoken to Tommy—not that he thinks Tommy wants to speak to him—and he hasn’t been able to get the courage up to reach out himself. He decides to break the news when he comes back to work. 

“What are you and Tommy doing tonight?” Chimney asks, stopping Buck just as he reaches his Jeep. Buck can feel the color drain from his face, so he keeps his back to him for a moment to compose himself. At least he remembers Tommy’s schedule for the near future so he is able to get out of whatever this invitation is with: “Oh—uh—actually Tommy has a shift today.” 

“I thought he said he was taking a couple days off,” Eddie interrupts. Buck is sure he looks like a deer caught in the headlights. His brain sputters to a stop rather than working on a back up plan, but before he is sure he has to come clean, Eddie snaps his fingers; “No wait, that’s right. He said he was taking time off after this shift.” 

“So you two finally have snagged a few days off together, then?” Hen chimes in, joining them at Buck’s Jeep. “He planning on taking you up to meet Mrs. K, yet?” 

Chimney lets out a dramatic Ooo; he nudges Buck with his elbow. “Those are the big steps, Buckley.” 

Buck tries not to react. 

They had made plans to take a trip up to NorCal to visit Tommy’s mom actually; before… everything. Buck has only spoken to her on the phone—never FaceTimed because she’s older and doesn’t like smart phones—because they were taking it slow. Tommy didn’t want to rush bringing Buck home to his mother; Buck didn’t push, his nerves always in hyperdrive at the thought of her not thinking he was good enough for her baby. 

Tommy’s an only child, and they are extremely close. It was such a big deal to him for her to meet Buck. Tommy swore she already loved him, and she made it seem as such the few times they had spoken. That’s all unimportant now, though… 

“Yeah— yeah, I know… right?” Buck says, a nervous (very unconvincing) laugh bubbling out of him. “We’re definitely taking some… big— big steps on our time off.”

Chimney narrows his eyes, and Buck is certain he is about to start asking questions. “I feel like this just pivoted into sexual territory,” he says, and Buck has to force himself to not sigh in relief. “And I’d very much love to not go there… so changing the subject—”

“Yeah, great… let’s do that,” Buck blurts before he can stop himself, nervously shoving his hands down into his pockets. 

“Uh huh,” Chimney says. “So anyway, do you have plans tonight?” 

Buck should say no. He should go home and get his head straight about all of this… he should consider calling Tommy… and if he decides to not—if he decides to stay broken up—he should figure out how he’s going to tell everyone. “I’m free,” he says instead. 

~~~

The bar is noisy and packed; it’s definitely doing wonders for Buck’s already pounding headache. He has to squint his eyes at the brightness of the dimmed lights just to navigate his way towards the table Chimney is frantically waving him over from. “Hey! You made it,” he says, moving further into the booth so Buck can sit. “Everyone else should be here soon.”

“Cool,” Buck replies. “Cool, cool, cool…” He swallows around the nausea that everything—the lack of sleep, the pounding headache, the entire situation—is causing. A young bubbly waitress comes up, pad waiting to take his drink order. “Water,” he tells her, and that’s enough to get Chimney curious. 

“You ok?” 

“Uh— uhm— yeah, I’m fine. Why?” Chimney cocks a brow, Buck knows why. “It’s just… I think I’m coming down with something,” he lies. “Figure I should avoid making it worse with alcohol.” 

Chimney keeps eyeing him like he’s not buying it, but Hen and Ravi thankfully walk in to distract him. Of course the distraction is short lived because both of them question his glass of water the second the waitress sits it down in front of him. “He says he’s sick,” Chimney fills them in.

“Buck’s sick?” Eddie asks, joining them. He furrows his brows at Buck, concerned. 

“I’m fine!” Buck manages to laugh. “I just feel like I could be catching something.”

“Keep it to yourself please,” Ravi says, letting Hen in before him so he’s furthest from Buck. “I can’t afford to get sick!”

Buck sighs, taking a sip from his water, and looks around the bar. “Is Bobby coming?” 

“Nah he and ‘Thena have the house to themselves tonight,” Hen replies. 

“Oh god… I don’t even want to think about what they’re doing,” Ravi quickly says, cringing. Everyone agrees. Buck kind of feels a little bit better. 

That is until he sees an oh too familiar body slump down on a stool up at the bar. What the hell… he thinks, as he watches Tommy order a drink from the bartender. No one else knows he’s there; the booth they’re in isn’t facing the bar… Buck was just looking around and happened to see him, and since he has not looked in their direction since Buck spotted him it’s likely he doesn’t know they are there either. 

So back to Buck’s original thought; what the hell… is Tommy doing here? He was supposed to have a shift… not that he owes Buck an explanation of his whereabouts… but still. 

Then some guy walks up to the bar, right to the seat beside Tommy; and Tommy looks at him and smiles. It probably shouldn’t make Buck’s blood boil the way it does… but it most definitely does. The next thing he knows he’s out of his seat and walking towards them. He thinks someone at the booth asks where he’s going; he thinks he hears someone ask if that’s Tommy; he thinks he is maybe just overreacting about halfway across the room…

Then Buck is spotted by the guy— he looks up directly at him, and he is very familiar. Buck stalls; it’s Sal. There’s a sudden relief in recognizing the person there with Tommy… not that it matters if he were on a—

Sal says something to Tommy, then grabs his face and kisses him. 

Buck feels like the wind is sucked completely out of him. Tommy jolts away from Sal and frantically turns around, locking eyes with Buck instantly. His eyes go wide and he scrambles to his feet and towards Buck, who is already walking back to the booth as fast as he can. He blinks back his tears and tries to not think about the many eyes on him (most notably from his team). 

Tommy catches him and grabs his arm just before he reaches the booth. “What?!” He snaps, bitterly. 

“You don’t understand— that wasn’t what it looked like!” Tommy cries, he sounds winded, or desperate. Buck is hurt enough (justified or not) that he doesn’t care either way. “Evan, please let me—” 

“Oh,” Buck scoffs. “So now it’s Evan again?” 

Tommy deflates, he lets go of Buck’s arm and stares at the floor. “That was— I’m sorry about that…” he says softly. 

There’s a split second Buck wants to just let it go. He was considering trying to fix things already… This is his chance, and Tommy is willing to talk, but he sees Sal watching them from the bar and the anger comes rushing back. “What’s there to talk about? You don't have to explain yourself, Tommy… it’s not like we’re together anyway, right?” 

“What?!” He hears Hen ask from the booth. 

“Since when,” Eddie adds. 

“Apparently long enough for him to already move on,” Buck says. Sure, it’s petty… but he’s having a hard time making himself care. He grabs his keys off the table, throws some money down towards the tab, and is walking towards the exit… leaving everyone watching after him in confusion. Everyone, of course, except for Tommy who is hot on his heels. 

“Evan, stop…” 

Buck ignores him for the most part, getting all the way to his Jeep before he finally turns around. “No, Tommy, you stop. Stop making excuses… or trying to make me understand. It’s— it’s pointless… I don’t want to hear it.” 

“Then what do you want to hear? I’ll tell you anything you want to hear!” Tommy’s eyes already look red even just under the dim street light. “You’re right, I was way too guarded about my life…” he continues. “So I’ll tell you everything: About Jay, about the army, about my childhood… I don’t care— I can’t— Baby, I have been losing my mind this past week… I can’t live like this—without you. Please…”

Buck feels like his heart is being ripped in two. “You sure seemed like you were living just fine without me in there…” he says, biting his tongue after. 

Tommy covers his face, Buck can hear him sniffling and whimpering behind his hands… he has never seen Tommy like this. It makes him want to grab him and hold him and apologize. He should be the one apologizing! The thought gets shoved back down by the louder, angrier ones. “I’m so sorry, I fucked all this up, I know that. But that was just Sal being an idiot!” Tommy says. “He thought it would make you jealous…” 

“So you let him kiss you to make me jealous?!”

“No! I didn’t know— Evan please…”

“Maybe you should… just stick with Buck,” Buck says. Tommy’s face falls more. He takes a step, his mouth falls open like he’s going to speak. Buck turns back to his Jeep, opens the door and climbs inside. “I’ll— uh… I’ll see you around.” Then he pulls the door closed and jams the key in and takes off, leaving Tommy standing there, dumbfounded. 

He spares one glance in his rearview mirror—catches Tommy just as he pulls a fist back and connects it with the light pole. 

~~~

It’s not like Buck has never been through a break up before. He’s been through a few of them, actually. Bad ones… This time shouldn’t be any different.

Except for the fact that there are a plethora of reasons this time is completely different. 

Everyone likes Tommy, for one. He has potentially been Buck’s only partner that not a single person in his life has disliked. His parents even like Tommy. (That is saying so much it makes Buck sick to even think about having to tell them it's over.)

There’s also the little (extremely significant) detail of everyone telling Buck to leave this whole mess Gerrard stirred up alone. Now, Buck has to face the fact that he, in fact, did the exact opposite, then used that as the fuel that ultimately blew up the relationship. 

It shouldn’t have surprised him when everyone tries to tell him maybe he needs to step back and reconsider this decision. It shouldn’t have surprised him when after all was said and out there they seem to sympathize less with Buck and more with Tommy. It really shouldn’t have surprised him—after he walks in to work the next day, and overhears Chimney telling everyone Tommy shattered his hand with that punch—when all eyes turn judgingly onto him. 

Doesn’t make it suck any less that it seems like no one is on his side. 

“Of course I’m on your side,” Maddie says, after he confides this to her. She reaches across the table to squeeze Buck’s hand. “I just want you to be one hundred percent sure this is what you want. I mean… you were so happy together.”

“And then I found out he was hiding stuff from me…”

Maddie’s face shifts, she tries to shift it back but Buck sees. She sighs: “Was he really hiding it from you… or had he just not told you about it… maybe because it was a difficult memory.” 

Buck scoffs and pulls his hand away. “But you’re on my side…” 

Surprisingly Maddie’s face doesn’t soften. “That’s not fair,” she says. “I can be on your side, and still point out the flaws in your reasoning, Buck.” 

And even if he wants to argue with that, he can’t. 

Hen and Chimney haven’t necessarily been avoiding him at work, but they haven’t necessarily tried to stop Buck from avoiding them—like they normally would—which tells him all he needs to know about where they stand. Eddie has remained neutral, but in remaining neutral he has distanced himself from them both. (Well… he has definitely distanced himself from Buck.) Bobby gives Buck that worried papa bear look everytime he sees him, but he pointedly doesn’t bring it up… 

Ravi is— At least Ravi is still Ravi. He blurts out needing to call in air support when they are at difficult fires. He asks if Tommy is still available for car problems, given everything… He asks when they are all going out again—Buck included—as if anyone wants to be around Buck at the moment. 

Regardless… Buck would have never guessed when the Buckley-Kinard divorce era finally happened (maybe a part of him always planned on this ending, like his relationships always do…) Tommy would be the one to be granted custody of the 118 family… his family. 

That jealousy that had taken root inside of him from Jay, begins to grow and blossom; logically Buck knows the rage he feels from it should be aimed at himself, but instead he turns it outward. He projects onto everyone around him who clearly sees Tommy as the fan favorite. Clearly no one wants to see Buck’s side of the story… Clearly they don’t care about him as much as they used to act like they did…

Clearly he is reaching. Logically he knows this. Unfortunately he is too lost in his own head to stop himself. 

Then the 217 starts to reach out. 

It’s about a week after the blow up at the bar. First, it’s a call from Lucy, asking him—demanding him, really—to talk to Tommy. “He’s a wreck, dude… just— I don’t know… Just consider hearing him out?” 

“Hear him out about what?” Buck snaps back. 

“About all of it! God damn, Buck, do you even fully know what you’re mad at him about?!” 

“I— what— what the hell is that supposed to mean? Of course I do!” 

She laughs, actually laughs at him and hangs up. 

Next it’s an older pilot, James McCarty, who comes into the station requesting to speak to the kid. He just wants him to know Tommy is starting to slack at work. He’s getting careless. Buck looks from McCarty to the team eavesdropping from upstairs. He feels his face heat up. “What am I supposed to do about that…” he asks, trying to ignore how bitter and petty he sounds. 

“Look, kid, maybe whatever you two had was one-sided… I’m letting you know what’s going on.” Buck tenses his jaw, pushes back the bile that statement brings, and how it reminds him of what he said to Tommy about Jay. “I guess I just figured he meant a little more to you than that, maybe I was wrong.” 

Buck itches to correct him, instead he stands firmly planted in place and watches him turn and leave. 

When reaching out to Buck gets them nowhere the 217 starts reaching out to the 118… and then the 118 starts trying to convince Buck to talk to Tommy; which only makes the anger grow despite the little voice in the back of Buck’s head telling him maybe he should listen to them. 

“Why are you acting so childish about this, Buck?” Hen blocks the exit to the lockers when he groans and tries to leave. “Stop getting so defensive, no one is attacking you… It’s a legitimate question.” 

“I really don’t want to do this, Hen…” Buck says. He crosses his arms tightly over his chest and leans back into his locker. Hen gives him that look; she’s not backing down either… they might be here a while. “I told you what I found,” he tries, and her glare intensifies. It’s true, in a last ditch effort to not be painted the bad guy in this Buck told them everything he found—ignored how grimey it made him feel to bring up Tommy’s personal business—and just stood there waiting for them to jump ship. It didn’t happen, of course… 

“Buck, all that proves is that you went digging for something to be mad about,” Hen sighs. “Look… I get it, okay? I’ve been there… feeling like you’re doomed to be unhappy in love… and then you find someone who is different. Someone who is good, and honest, and just too perfect to be real. So what do you do? You sit and wait for it to go south… and when it doesn’t you end up sending it there yourself.” Buck shifts his feet, looks at his hands instead of Hen… so maybe she won’t be able to read him like an open book… so maybe she can’t tell he knows she’s right. “Buck, you remember when you asked me what I thought the secret to happiness was?” Buck finally looks at her… “I really thought—I’d hoped you’d finally figured it out…” Then she’s gone, and Buck is left with that to weigh on his mind the rest of the night. 

It’s still on his mind when he walks back into the station for his next shift. 

Everyone is gathered around the engines, looking up to the second floor; to where Bobby and the captain of the 217 are having a very serious looking conversation. “What’s going on?” Buck asks, about ninety percent certain that conversation is about him. Everyone looks at him, no one says anything.

“Buck,” Bobby calls down, both men now looking at him. “In my office.” 

Captain Collier says something to Bobby then turns and starts down the stairs, eyes remaining fixed on Buck until he feels like he might come out of his skin if he doesn’t get away from them. He pushes through the small crowd and goes into Bobby’s office to wait. Bobby barks for everyone to stop being nosey; he sounds pissed… Buck dreads this conversation. 

Bobby walks in, shuts the door behind him, and slowly crosses the room to his desk. He sighs as he drops down into the seat, and motions for Buck to do the same in the chair in front of him. “I’m sure you already know what that was about,” Bobby starts, running his hands over his eyes tiredly. Buck nods. “Listen kid, I’m not about to tell you what to do; I can’t demand you go talk to Tommy. I do, however, think you should.” 

“Cap I—” 

Bobby throws a hand up, and Buck snaps his mouth shut. “Look I don’t know the full story, and it's not my business. I don’t want to play favorites; I’m not here to take sides. If you don’t want to be with Tommy… don’t be with him. I’ll set my opinion on that to the side and let you be a grown up and make your own decision. But Tommy is not the only one who needs closure from this; you do too, Buck.” 

“What— what do you mean?” 

“You’re letting this drive a wedge between you and your team,” Bobby says. “You have to have each other's backs out there and you are barely speaking to any of them.” Buck goes to say it’s more they aren’t speaking to him, but is met with Bobby’s raised hand again. “I want you to consider talking to him…”

Buck fidgets in the chair. “I doubt he wants to—”

“Buck stop… if Tommy didn’t want to talk to you he wouldn’t be grieving this hard over losing you.” 

“He— he’s grieving…” Buck says quietly. 

The look Bobby gives him is almost comical; it's so exhaustive. “Have you just been tuning everyone out who’s been trying to tell you that, kid?” 

Buck shrugs; he kind of has. “I don’t know why he’s grieving me.” 

Bobby groans: “I really didn’t want to get in the middle of this,” he mutters, before pushing himself to his feet and walking around the desk. “You ever think it could have something to do with him loving you? Or maybe that you actually do matter to him.” Bobby sighs. “You know… I was so happy to see you grow up in this relationship, given your history… but it seems like maybe it got a little bit too real— too serious— too grown up. So you turned and started running in the other direction ” 

“But— But he—”

“He what, Buck? Didn’t tell you about something from his past.” Bobby crosses his arms and sits on his desk. “Look, kid, just because you have no problem over sharing doesn’t mean everyone can. Sometimes things are too big, they hurt too bad… Did you ever think maybe he was planning on telling you one day? Bottom line is he didn’t owe you that information… and you let it sit and fester until it turned into a problem… and rather than fix it you got mad that people called you out on it.”

“Wh- what about him kissing Sal… he seemed to have moved on pretty—” 

“Again… did you even stop to think maybe you had it wrong?” Buck falters; he did think that… he didn’t really dwell on the thought long though. “Chimney said Tommy talked to them after you stormed out. It turns out Sal was in town, so Tommy took off a day earlier than he was going to, to catch up. He confided in Sal about the break up, and Sal suggested going out for drinks… Sal saw you were there, and thought maybe if he gave you a little competition… you would get jealous and take Tommy back.” 

Buck is… confused, if not dumbfounded… but mostly confused. “Kind of a bold move,” he says more to himself, but Bobby still laughs. 

“Yeah Sal’s good for making some questionable heat of the moment decisions…” Bobby says with a sarcastic laugh. “Kind of reminds me of someone, actually.” 

Buck can feel his cheeks heating up. “So— so your saying I should try to fix this?”

“I’m saying you should take a moment and look at this whole situation. Then do what you feel like needs to be done… whatever that may be.” He tells Buck to go home, and to take a couple days to get this figured out; that he wants it resolved and for Buck to have a clear head (and hopefully Tommy will too) when he comes back to work. 

Buck reluctantly agrees, and leaves, trying to avoid everyone and their curious judgmental stares as he walks out of the station. He climbs into his Jeep, feeling every bit like the terrible person he’s sure everyone thinks he is—feeling like he definitely deserves to feel like it, too. 

~~~

Buck spends most of the morning trying to work up the courage to call Tommy. It’s past noon before he finally manages it. The call goes straight to voicemail. He waits an hour and tries again. Again, straight to voicemail. Buck groans and collapses on his bed. Maybe he should just go over there…

Of course, Tommy’s not home. 

Buck contemplates just sending a text for him to call after he gets off… except when he gets back in his Jeep he drives straight to Harbor. He’s met out in the lot by Collier. “Damn, that was quick,” he laughs. “If I’d have known Nash would be able to get you over here that fast I’d have come to him to begin with.” 

“Uh… yeah, well…” Buck feels like his face is on fire. “Is— Is Tommy here?”

“Should be back soon,” Collier replies. “He is flying over Angeles Forest; got some calls about a possible fire… a ground crew already checked it out, we’re just following up. You’re more than welcome to wait for him here,” he offers. 

Buck should say no, if the glares around the station give any indication how the time will be spent… “Uh, yeah— yeah, sure, that would be… great,” he says instead.

Collier leads him into the station, towards where Lucy and Morris are sitting. The two are watching him and whispering to each other instead of their usual greetings—teasing jokes about how much Tommy talks their ears off about him. “I’ll let him know you’re here,” Collier says, gesturing for Buck to sit on the couch; both firefighters get up and leave the area as he does. 

Not even an hour passes before Buck is too antsy, awkward, and annoyed to stay seated. 

He goes to Collier’s office, knocks, and pushes the door open. “Hey listen I’m just gonna—”

Like a mirror of Bobby, Collier throws a hand up, silencing Buck. “Are we certain this isn’t a prank call,” he says into the phone, before lifting his walkie to his mouth and panickedly radioing Tommy, only to get no answer. “I understand— it’s just that I recently spoke to him, ma’am.” Buck wonders if Collier told Tommy he was at the station. “I want to be sure they are positive they saw a helicopter go down—” is the last thing Buck hears. 

Then he is moving. 

Away from Collier’s office, out of the station, across the lot to his Jeep. He doesn’t even put his seat belt on before he is driving in the direction of Angeles Forest. 

Buck throws the Jeep into park at the edge of the forest; doesn’t even lock it and slams the door closed behind him. He doesn’t even know what direction to go in. He doesn’t even know if they saw it go down in this forest, or in a forest at all… he just knows he has to find Tommy. 

He is running blind, he knows that. The forest is massive and his chances of getting lost are far higher than his chances of actually finding Tommy. 

But he has to try. 

He runs until he loses track of which way he’s going, or where he’s already been. Until the land is no longer flat that he is running on, and he is leaping over fallen trees and boulders and brush. Until his legs—specifically his bad leg—are burning and aching and ready to give out… but then he just pushes himself to run faster. 

And as if by some miracle… he finds the helicopter.

Off a little ways in the distance—just as Buck is almost ready to give up hope… or at least slow down for the sake of his legs—he spots it. Part of the propeller is broken off, the front window is busted out, the tail is snapped in half… and it’s caught between two trees, about thirty feet above the ground. “Oh god…” Buck gasps, faltering his running to take in the sight. The helicopter is tilting and the door has fallen open. “Tommy.” 

He is hunched over, seemingly unconscious… possibly worse—Buck can’t let his mind go there, not yet. He has to stay focused because Tommy is literally hanging out of the open door. All that is holding him in is a single strap across his chest.

Buck tries to pick up speed, but his legs are so tired; too tired. He screams at them—at himself—to go, move, run faster. He has to get to Tommy. He has to save him. He has no idea how… but he has to. 

“I— I’m coming!” He calls out to him, doubtful that it’s heard; between the noises all around them, and the fact that Tommy doesn’t appear to be alert, Buck is sure he doesn’t hear—

Tommy moves.

He groans.

“T- Tommy,” Buck gasps, barely above a whisper. He thinks there’s no way he is heard that time but still Tommy’s head lifts, his eyes instantly meet with Buck’s. His face is covered in blood and so swollen that one eye is completely closed; and yet he smiles. He looks directly at Buck and even from the distance Buck still is away from him, he can see the wave of relief that seems to wash over Tommy. Like just seeing Buck has made what is an incredibly dire situation into a simple walk in the park. 

He shifts his body, and the helicopter creaks. The limit that the tension being put on the belt can take is being tested. “T- Tommy! Tommy, don't move!” Buck screams; reality rushing back to him as he tries again to somehow get more momentum into his now limping feet so he gets there faster. 

“E- Evan…” Tommy calls out to him, and Buck suddenly loves his name. He swears he will call and thank his parents for giving him that name and even allow them to use it again. If he can just reach the trees and get Tommy out safe. 

Buck mentally pleads with his legs to move faster. He has no idea what he’s going to do; he will climb up to him if he has to, crawl across the wrecked helicopter and then carry Tommy down on his back… if that’s what it takes. He doesn’t care. He will do anything.

He’s so close. 

There’s another creak. 

A snap. 

The belt suddenly goes slack. 

It no longer matters how fast Buck runs… there is nothing he can do. Tommy falls from the helicopter—his hands frantically reaching around, trying to grab something to stop it—and he collides with the ground just as Buck reaches him.

My little tag list for this fic 🫶 @bucksxkinard @30somethingautisticteacher @do-androids-dream-ao3acc @girlwonder-writes … I think that’s everyone (let me know if you want to be added 🫣😂) hope y’all like the next chapter of angst!

[hmshermitcraft]

(Tw gore, self-hatred)

Everyone knows Something Bad happened to Etho when he used to eat redstone.

Everyone knows it did something to his face. It's why he wears the mask after all.

No one knows how lowly he thinks of himself since.

He's so stupid! Of course the radioactive dust wasn't safe to eat!

And he's so goddamn ugly. Most of the skin around his mouth is completely dissolved, his teeth are permanently stained red and the little skin that is left is covered in red stains that he can't figure out if they're redstone, blood or both. And his eye. Gods, don't even get him started on his eye. He can't see out of it, and it's ugly?

Joel was the first person to see his face since The Incident. It was an accident. During Double Life, Etho took his mask off for a minute, and Joel happened to walk in. Etho thought for sure Joel would hate him. After all, he hates himself, why would Joel think any different? But Joel doesn't care. He thinks Etho is beautiful, scars and all. He just wishes Etho could see it.

-purple heart but i'm on a laptop and emojis aren't working rn ;-;

Etho is just Etho. Why would Joel ever judge him for that? Yeah, he's a little worried about if it hurts - solely 'cause they're teamed together, that's the only reason, duh - but... he's not going to judge Etho for his face. Plus, it's hardly like Etho is the only one who did something stupid in his youth. Joel used to be green.

So, yeah. Joel thinks Etho is hot, mask on or off. What's Etho going to do about it, huh?

[linkedspirit-fanartfunart]

Warning: This page contains semi-realistic graphic injuries & discussions of character death

[Image Description: A 8 panel colored Legend of Zelda AU comic  “Linked Spirit”. Panel 1: Princess looks at a book, Hope hugging her from behind, looking over her shoulder. "Spirit, look over here," Princess says. Hero points their thumb at their self, "What? Me?" Hope looks at them flatly, "Yeah you Ghosty. Princess found a book about you." Panel 2: "This book has some details about how different spirits are created. Some are separated from their bodies by magic," Princess explains, gesturing at Hope. Hope stands next to her, eyes wide exclaiming "Don't tell them that-" Princess ignores him, "I've seen that before with Link." Panel 3: A dark purple ooze climbs into a purplish armor shoe. Princess continues "Others are lingering spirit s of the dead." Panel 4: A purplish Iorn Knuckle stands in the background, posed like a statue in the background by a window. Hope, in the foreground, is turned away from Princess, arms crossed, pouting. Princess holds the book up for Hero to see, "Unlike ghini you don't seem to be fueled by dark energy, rather... you seem more like these... strong, magically charged spirits who have a lingering role in the world..." Hero lifts a hand to their mouth, brows furrowed. Panel 5: "...I'm not dead..." Hero says, appearance changing to look like Rinku after Link's Awakening, "No. No. I'm- Im the first one. I-" Panel 6: Hope says "Look, my spirit experience was a magic accident. You’ve kinda got a knife in your back. Pretty sure you’re KERK” she gestures a slice along the neck with one hand, leaning against the table. Princess frowns, fist at her sides "LINK Don't say it like that?!" Hero looks on, one hand on their chest, eyes wide. Panel 7: Hero's appearance changes to look like pre-ressurection Breath of the Wild Link, heavily injured, hair cropped short in the back. They gesture at theirself with both hands, shouting, "This isn't what being dead feels like!" Panel 8: Hero's appearance shifts between LA Rinku, BotW and their usual look, looking down, eyes wide and startled, holding their hands loosely together against their chest "...How do I know that?" End ID]

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