#tw: referenced death

[shiorimakibawrites]

Silence of the Mind (Castlevania Fic)

Inspective character one-shots about the said characters tragic backstory and/or current terrible situation seems to be the only type of pure angst I can actually write.

Anything longer and my brain started thinking of ways to make the character's life start sucking less.

This story was written in 2018 and is based on the Castlevania series (2017 - 2021), not the games. It has been posted on AO3 for several years but since it is a one-shot and my only fic in this fandom, it seemed like a good place to start importing the fics that are only on AO3 over here.

But fair warning, this is one of the darkest things I've ever written.

Shiori's Fan Fic Masterlist

Word Count: 861

Summary: All Trevor Belmont wanted was silence of the mind.

Warnings: Referenced murder, referenced murder of children, referenced torture, grief / mourning, survivor's guilt, PTSD, alcoholism and other unhealthy coping methods, anger, revenge fantasies, hurt no comfort

Silence of the Mind

All Trevor Belmont wanted was silence of the mind.

A time when he didn't hear the screams. A time when he could forget exactly what it sounded like when his brothers and sisters' screams went from terrified pleading to shrieks of agony. Could forget the roar and crackle of the fire that consumed his home, his family, their servants. Could forget when the screaming stopped and the only noise was the fire and the jeering mob that started it.

He wanted to forget the sight, pretend like that the blaze of yellow, white, and blue wasn't burned into his mind like a brand. Pretend he hadn't caught a glimpse of someone – possibly his mother or one of his sisters or maybe even one of the servants – wreathed in flames, mouth open in a scream, body contorting in a twisted parody of a dance. Wished he could forget the faces of the mob that burned them. Those smug, pleased faces, so happy to watch people being burned alive. So happy to watch him cry, scream himself hoarse, and beg them not to do this.

So happy to inform him that once his family was dead, he was next. He could still hear the plans being made for his execution. They hadn't made up their minds before he had gotten away from them but all were in favor of something just as torturous and slow as the fire that killed his family. Not fire. They had seen fire. Him, they would see bleed.

He wished he could forget the smell. The stench of the smoke – sometimes even just a whiff of someone else's or his own fire was enough to fill his sleep with the roar of flames and agonized screams. Or the equally terrible stench of burning flesh. He has lost track of the number of times that someone simply cooking meat has made him vomit when the present smell shifted into the past smell.

He wanted time where he didn't hurt. When he didn't feel like someone had ripped chunks out of his heart and soul. Time when he could remember his father, his mother, his sisters, his brothers, the servants without also remembering their screams. Time when he didn't wish he had been home that terrible day so he could have died with them. Time when he didn't curse his own survival instincts and the trained martial prowess that allowed him to get away from his would-be murderers.

He wanted time when he didn't seethe with rage. Rage that wanted the entire world to burn, to hurt as badly as he did. Rage that wanted to hunt down his family's killers and see how they liked watching everyone they loved die. And not die cleanly either. In his darkest and most rage filled moments, he wanted those deaths to be as agonizing as the one they sentenced his family to. He wanted them to know what it was like to beg for the lives of their loved ones only to have that pleading cruelly ignored.

Fighting helped, especially fighting monsters. Monsters required more concentration and focus for him to beat than men. So much so that his mind couldn't focus on anything else. He could simply live in that moment. And he was allowed to kill monsters. It felt nice to be able to vent his fury, his pain on something.

But fighting wasn't enough. He never had trouble finding monsters to hunt, even when he wasn't looking for them. He also had regular encounters with thieves and murderers as well as the drunk and belligerent. But not regularly enough to keep his mind silent of the screams.

Alcohol could drown out the screams. It numbed the pain, muted the rage. Provided he got drunk enough. Which he couldn't always. The Belmont tolerance for alcohol was nearly as legendary as their battle prowess. Trevor had discovered he was no exception. It took either a lot or very strong alcohol to get him more than tipsy. Which often cost more coin than he was willing to spend.

Fortunately, he didn't always have to get completely drunk to get the silence he craved. He just needed to drink enough that either the tavern patrons decided to pick a fight with him or whatever monster was infesting this particular village decided he would be easy prey. Or he decided to pick a fight with something or someone.

He tried not to do the last one very often. Partially drunk him thought wrestling a werewolf was a good idea. It was not a good idea. He had won but he had also gotten pretty chewed up. Good thing Father's promise that as a Belmont, Trevor was immune to such curses, proved to be true. He didn't know why. It was something that Father was going to explain when he was older. Maybe he planned to explain it when Trevor returned from his first solo hunting mission.

'Except by the time I returned from that mission, Father was dead or dying,' Trevor thought. He grimaced and signaled for another drink. He had clearly not drunk enough if thoughts like that were parading around his head.

[jackyjackdraws]

@stanuary week three: Paranormal

What have I done?

Ghost Stan Au is from @trekkerac please go follow them, their AU is super interesting

[diamondcitydarlin]

"All hail to the Realm of Raj!"

AMC's Interview with the Vampire 01x07

[serickswrites]

Comfort & Joy

Warnings: grief, death, mcd, referenced mcd

Caretaker hated this time of year. They hated everything about it: the joy, the gatherings, and most of all, they hated that it reminded them of Whumpee.

Whumpee loved the holiday season. They lived for this time of year. As soon as Caretaker would allow it, Whumpee would decorate the entire house and bask in the glory of the holiday. They loved everything about the season.

"I see you everywhere," Caretaker said to the dark and empty house. "How can I not? Every window display. Every house that's decorated. It all reminds me of you." Caretaker closed their eyes against the tears that were threatening to overwhelm them. "I....I don't mind thinking about you. But when I do.....when I do I always end up thinking about what happened."

Caretaker didn't want to think about what happened to Whumpee. Didn't want to think about when they didn't know what happened. Didn't want to think about finding Whumpee. Or what was left after Whumper had grown tired of them and disposed of their body. Caretaker didn't want to think about that. They couldn't.

"Whumpee, I can't do this. I can't live without you like this. I can't. YOu always said this time of year was full of miracles. So can you do one for me now? Can you please just come back. Can you come back healed and whole? Can you please, please just be alive again. I can't live without you, Whumpee."

Despite Caretaker's sobbing, despite their begging, the house remained cold and dark. As it had every day since Whumpee's body was recovered. As it would remain until Caretaker's grief was no longer all consuming.

Tags: @mousepaw @jumpywhumpywriter @knightinbatteredarmor @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 @anightmarishwhump

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @celestialsoyeon @st0rmm @ay5ksal @pedro-pedro-pedro-pedro-pe

@pepeniascat

[queermentaldisaster]

Rumor has it that the Riley family is cursed. First, their youngest son, kidnapped under mysterious circumstances. The nephew? Hit by a motorcycle that just happened to roll off the road. The oldest and his wife? Crashed into a tree that was in the middle of the asphalt. The father? Murdered in his hospital bed. The mother? Overdosed on pills she'd never had.

Task Force 141 knows the rumors. Who in the UK doesn't? One day, 141 is sent out to help a team in Las Almas called Los Vaqueros. Apparently, the Las Almas cartel is having a territory dispute with the neighboring city's cartel, the Zaragoza cartel. While Los Vaqueros is handling the Las Almas cartel with Gaz and Roach's help, Price and Soap go to handle the Zaragoza cartel. They go undercover, and discover someone with brown eyes and blond lashes, wearing a balaclava, being passed around like many of the blunts in that room.

Soap manages to get his hands on this person, who's clearly out of it. After some finagling, he manages to get them outside, wrapping them in his coat to provide them with some decency.

When they wake up, they're in a bed in the Los Vaqueros base. Soap asks them for their name and pronouns, and he introduces himself as Ghost.

[schrijverr]

Hi, Eddie. Hope I’m Not Bothering You?

Divergence from chapter 9, where Buck decides to go through with calling Eddie after making it out of the plane crash. His side of the conversation is overheard by Hen, who has some questions for him when they make it back to the station.

On AO3.

Ships: Buddie, Henren

Warnings: referenced minor character death, referenced near death experience, insecurity

~~~

Hen is still shaken herself. Mass casualty events always make her anxious and slightly despairing, always make her want to hear her wife’s voice. Hear her son.

It’s already late, so the latter doesn’t happen, but Karen picks up the phone and talks with her for a bit as they drive back to the station. Hen leans against the window, letting the words wash over her. She’ll listen better some other time, Karen knows this is more about the comfort of hearing her be okay.

When she finally feels human again, she thanks Karen in a soft murmur, promising to drive home safely, before she hangs up.

After that, she finally tears her eyes away from the streets zooming by outside. Most in the rig are sleeping, having called spouses or partners. The only outlier is Buck, who is staring at the lit up contact screen of someone. Hen can’t make it out.

On his forehead is a little crease and he keeps biting his lip. She is about to ask if he’s okay, when he suddenly takes a deep breath, before he clicks the screen, bringing the device up to his ear. Curiously, Hen keeps quiet, listening.

It barely takes a second, before whoever Buck just called to pick up. From where she is, she can’t hear what is being said, but she can hear Buck shyly say: “Hi, Eddie. Hope I’m not bothering you?”

Hen watches as Buck’s eyes turn surprised, then bashful. Whoever this Eddie is, it’s clear Buck is fond of him. Very fond. And Eddie is probably also fond of him, because he must have expressed concern for Buck to reply with: “I’m okay, just took a small dip in the ocean, but it’s alright. Ice baths are good for you, right?”

That last part makes him want to strangle him, because ice baths are not a proven thing and what he just did very much wasn’t an ice bath. It was a near death that almost gave her a heart attack.

Fortunately, Eddie must agree, because Buck goes: “I am, I am. No hypothermia, I promise. Hen gave me a blanket and I’m going to make sure I’ve stopped shivering before driving home.”

It’s a little strange to hear her name said to someone she doesn’t know. It becomes obvious that Eddie is someone close to Buck, maybe even a boyfriend. He did stop sleeping around after all. However, she half expected that they all would have known if Buck started dating. He’s not one to keep that sort of thing to himself. So, this puts her off slightly.

She doesn’t know what Eddie replied to that, but Buck sounds a little confused as he says: “Uh, yeah, that was the plan, yeah.”

Eddie must disagree, because Buck frowns: “What? No.”

“Come on, Eddie, you don’t have to do that. I can drive just fine,” Buck tries to convince Eddie, but Hen mentally hopes Eddie wins this. Buck is still pale and shivering. He shouldn’t be driving. She is half starting to feel bad about listening in on a private conversation when Buck hits her with something that piques her interest: “What about Chris?”

Eddie was already a new name and a surprise, but adding Chris is suspicious. She doesn’t want to assume or judge when she doesn’t know, but that sounds questionable. Why would he need to check if a random other guy is okay with Eddie supposedly picking him up?

She already thought that Eddie might be a boyfriend. She can understand him not sharing, since he never mentioned anything about his sexuality. He might just not be comfortable being out. But now, she has to wonder if there is another reason he didn’t mention it. If it’s an affair instead.

This is almost immediately tossed out as possibility by Buck saying: “He needs sleep, you could accidentally wake him. I’m good to drive, I swear.”

Hen knows that concern. That is parental concern. Did Buck start dating a parent? Is that why he didn’t tell them, because he didn’t want to get the flack and jokes?

Now, she feels bad for him, because she knows that they would have made jokes about it. Buck isn’t an immature kid or anything, but he has a frat boy vibe. She thinks it’s sweet of him to want to help and with the way he is with kids, he’d probably be alright, but they would’ve teased him regardless. It makes her guilty that that prevented him from asking for support.

“You don’t know that,” Buck sulks indignantly.

Hen blinks back into the conversation, putting her musings aside to focus. It takes her a second to connect that response to Buck’s assurance that he’s okay to drive. Seems that Eddie agrees with her assessment of him, despite not being able to see him. That’s kind of romantic.

And it seems that Buck is also won over by it, fondly rolling his eyes as he goes: “Alright. Fine. You win. Come pick me up.”

Almost immediately after, Buck pouts: “No need to be smug about it.” Eddie says something, then Buck’s pout deepens as he quietly exclaims: “I’m not pouting!” There is a beat, then Buck rolls his eyes: “Ugh, you’re such a dick sometimes.” Hen can’t stop the small grin on her face at that.

Then he suddenly falls silent. Hen’s smile drops. It doesn’t seem like the listening silence, Buck’s eyes get a little watery and he chews his lip, as if he’s considering if he should say something at all. Despite herself, Hen holds her breath as she waits for Buck’s decision.

When he finally speaks, there is a vulnerable note in his voice that she has never heard there before, but instantly recognizes when she hears what he is saying. “But Chris- He’s okay right? I know that’s stupid, I just… There were kids on that plane, you know?”

Her heart does a familiar constriction. She still feels exactly like that every single time with Denny, but it was so much worse at the start. This is Buck’s first mass casualty event. Maybe even his first big accident since he starting dating this dad. Of course he must be terrified and unsure if it’s okay to ask if the little guy is okay.

It’s very sweet and she can’t help but watch how Buck’s eyes get wide and his face flushes, a pleased little smile tugging on his face, before he shyly asks: “You will? I mean, you don’t have to, but, uh, thank you.”

The smile grows a little and he looks practically giddy as he says: “Yeah, I’ll meet you two outside.” Then after a beat: “Bye, Eddie. See you soon.”

He hangs up and looks at his phone a bit, smiling, but unsure what to do with himself. In the end, he nods a few times, then clicks the screen off, before stuffing it back into his pocket. With a little grin on his face, he watches them pull into the firehouse.

Everyone starts to wake up, the familiar sounds and corner of pulling in rising them. Bobby has been sitting in the front seat, but Hen doesn’t think he’s been listening. He seems kind of zoned out, which is unusual for him, but then again, he’s only been here 18 months. This is the first time she’s seen him this close to losing his life. Maybe that’s normal for him.

They all climb out of the rig and trudge towards the showers. Hen would pull Buck aside to ask her questions and give the encouragement he might need, as well as help or advice. However, he is still soaked, so instead she says: “Make sure it’s lukewarm when you start. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“Thank you, Hen,” Buck smiles and Hen is glad to see he’s dealing better with the losses they’ve suffered today than when he started. This Eddie is good for him.

Everyone washes the gross ocean smell and salt of themselves, with most of them leaving in their own cars or getting picked up. It’s been a long shift and Hen is glad they can hand it over.

She herself would usually already be on her way to drive home and collapse on top of her wife. But she wants to check on Buck before she leaves and satisfy some of her nosiness. Both to support a potential fellow queer parent and to have gossip to bring to Chimney in the hospital, since he can’t be here to collect it himself.

So, she doesn’t instantly crawl behind the wheel when she comes out of the shower. Instead going to sit down next to Buck and nudging him with her shoulder as she asks: “Are you okay, Buck?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” he smiles tiredly at her, damp hair curling at his temples. “Just called for a ride, my arms feel like they’re going to fall off.”

“I hear you, I’m gonna sleep so hard when I get home,” Hen smiles back. Then she makes her move, curiously asking: “Eddie coming to get you?”

Buck stiffens in surprise, giving her a confused look.

Apologetically, Hen says: “I couldn’t help but overhear your call on the way here, sorry. I didn’t know you were seeing someone.”

At that Buck flushes a bright red, seeming mortified as flails his hands and goes: “Oh, uh- No, no, it’s- it’s not like that.”

Now Hen feels uncomfortable and wrong footed. It’s not like she’s never been wrong before, but it doesn’t happen often and she was so sure. “Oh, I’m sorry, I just- I guess, I assumed. My bad.” A beat, then curiously she can’t help but ask: “Then who is Eddie? And who’s Chris? He sounded like a kid.”

Buck’s face does something complex, before settling on a grimace. “It’s complicated.”

Hen nods quietly to herself a few times, trying to figure out what to say. She started the conversation, it feels weird to just end it now. However, she knows how annoying it can be for people to poke. But she’s also nosy. In the end, she asks: “Complicated as in you’re not willing to tell me or…?”

“Complicated as in it’s a long story,” Buck finally sighs, rubbing his face. “I’m married to Eddie, adopted Chris.”

Now her eyes nearly fall out of her sockets. Maybe that assessment of it being an affair wasn’t that far off, but Buck wasn’t having an affair with Eddie, but cheating on Eddie.

Oblivious, Buck continues, only making it worse: “Eddie was in the military. He got injured, so I’ve been kind of providing for now. Chris is a great kid, I’m going to miss him.”

“Uhm, Buck…” Hen says, as in ‘what are you on about?’

“Yeah?” he asks, looking to be completely genuine.

“I- I don’t mean to assume – again – or judge,” she lies, “but leading an injured person on and fucking over a kid, is a horrible thing to do.”

“What do you mean?” he frowns, looking confused. Hen’s heart stops. She honestly thought Buck was a good kid, someone who’s heart was in the right place. She warmed up to him. God, she really should have known better than to trust a frat boy vibe. Of course he doesn’t even realize that what he’s doing is wrong.

“You’ve been sleeping around left and right,” Hen exclaims. “And clearly he doesn’t know that by how he’s acting. And clearly you’re aware it’s going to blow up in your face and tear your family apart and all you can manage is that you’ll miss him?”

Blink. Blink.

“Huh? Oh… No! No, no, that is- that’s not what is happening.” With wide eyes and grand movements, Buck desperately tries to convey that this is not the situation.

“Then what else is happening?” She honestly can’t come up with an explanation that will make all this better.

“It’s a marriage of convenience. Eddie’s straight. He only married me so I could adopt Chris and take care of him while Eddie was in the army. The plan was to divorce when he came back from tour, but then he got hurt, so we didn’t so he can recover. But he never wanted me in his life. It was just easy, you know. Once he can work, he’ll divorce me and- and I’ll lose it all…”

Tears come to his eyes and his voice wobbles when he forces out that last bit of explanation. He seems devastated, but trying to hide it and kind of failing at it.

Again, Hen finds herself wrong footed. That sure is an explanation that will make all she thought better, but that is also so much worse. She can’t imagine knowing there is a deadline to having Denny. To be married to someone who doesn’t love you, but just uses you.

She gets dealing with that has been so hard. It explains why he was practically spiraling when he got there. The sleeping around, the exploding at a patient, the way he never fully commits to team drinks after work.

It’s clear Buck is all in. That he loves Chris and Eddie. His family. That he doesn’t want to lose it and isn’t ready for it to end. And she can’t imagine how anyone could do that.

But it still doesn’t sit right in her stomach. Sure, she didn’t hear what Eddie said, but she’s pretty sure he’d been worried about Buck catching hypothermia, as well as strong armed Buck into getting picked up when he wanted to drive home, and at least comforted him about Chris. None of that sounds like a person that would just kick Buck to the curb.

However, she doesn’t know Eddie and she does know Buck, who is sitting right next to her looking like he’s about cry. So she definitively says: “Well, then Eddie is a dick.”

“Hen!”

“What? He is!” Hen exclaims. “If he is only using you for money and child care and is then kicking you to the curb, then he is a dick and you deserve better. You’re married and adopted Chris? You can take that man to court when it comes to it. Cause he’s an asshole.”

“No, no, he’s not,” Buck immediately goes to assure her. “He’s the best person I know. I just-”

“Buck? That’s- I-”

Both their heads snap up at the stuttering. They’d been turning to each other more and more as they spoke, slowly getting in their own bubble, both forgetting that they’re still in the locker room of the firehouse.

Hen thinks it might be one of their colleagues who just also had to hear the batshit lore Buck just dropped on her, but when she looks it’s not one of the people on their shift. Instead it’s a brown haired, brown eyed man, who is looking almost as devastated as Buck did moments ago. It hits her that this must be Eddie.

“You think that’s what I’m doing?” Eddie finally finds his voice, sounding like a kicked puppy.

Buck stumbles to his feet, immediately assuring him: “No, no, I know you’re not using me for my money or whatever. You were hurt, I want to hel-”

“No, not that, Buck,” Eddie cuts him off, looking angry on Buck’s behalf. Maybe Hen did pin him right that first time. Because he seems more upset now: “You think I don’t want you there?”

“Uhm… No… I mean, maybe?” Buck replies, the answer clearly being ‘yes.’

“Buck, what the hell!” Eddie says. “You’re my best friend, of course I want you there. You’re not allowed to just walk out on us. I- I can’t-” He stops himself with a swallow and Hen guesses there is a story there.

“Hey, hey, I’m not going to leave,” Buck shushes him. “If you want me here, I’m going to be here. You are my best friend too. Of course I’m not going to walk out on you or Chris.”

Eddie nods a few times and Hen can see him push down tears and straighten his shoulders, pretending like he never did anything close to crying ever. “Good. That’s good.”

Hen seriously wonders if they’re ever going to talk more about this or ever mention the tension between them that she can clearly classify romantic. God, these two idiots probably don’t even realize any of this and she has got herself caught up in this. She could’ve been at home in Karen’s arms by now. At least it’ll be proper drama to tell Chim when she visits.

It seems like neither know what to do with themselves now. In the end, Buck puts them both out of their misery, asking after an awkward silence: “So where’s Chris?”

Eddie is grateful for the change of topic, a fond smile on his face: “Asleep in the backseat. I came to see where you are, figured I’d let him sleep. Didn’t wake up all throughout the entire thing. I swear he gets from you.”

“Oh like you’re one to talk, you can barely be dragged out of bed in the morning,” Buck teases, his shoulders relaxed again and eyes sparkling at the comment of Chris getting something from him.

“People just aren’t supposed to be awake that early,” Eddie shrugs, before moving. “Besides, I don’t think you’re waking up easy tomorrow. You look dead on your feet. Still think you could have driven home?”

Buck sends him a half hearted glare. “Oh shut up.”

“I think the words you’re looking for is ‘you were right, thank you, Eddie, for picking me up instead of letting me do something stupid,’” Eddie retorts with a bad impression of him, before starting to usher him towards the car. “Now, go check up on Chris, I’ll grab your bag.”

“Oi, I don’t sound like that,” Buck complains, but he starts to do as told. The exhaustion has truly hit by now, probably not made better by the emotional conversation. Still, Buck has the mind to throw a: “Goodnight, Hen,” over his shoulder.

She smiles. “Goodnight, Buck.”

Eddie watches Buck go with a fond smile for a moment, checking that he can make it on his own, then turns to her again. “Uhm, I’m Eddie. It’s nice to meet you,” he says, looking a little uncomfortable as he holds out his hand.

“Hen. Nice to meet you too,” Hen shakes it. Then she indicates a bag, “That one is Buck’s.”

“Thank you,” Eddie says, giving her a grimace-smile. She watches him grab it, then move towards the door, pause and turn back to her. He hesitates for a moment, then says: “I don’t know exactly what caused him to say that, but I promise that is not what I’m doing. Buck is the best thing that happened to me, I- I would never- It’s not-”

He starts stuttering, before he gives up, cringing at himself. Hen thinks it’s probably a gay mental barrier and internally rolls her eyes, but externally, she just smiles. “I believe you. I think he needs to hear it more than me. It was a rough call.”

“I’ll tell him,” Eddie vows. Then makes an awkward move, says: “Uh, goodnight,” before speeding out of the firehouse.

Hen watches him go for a second, then shakes her head to herself. Today has been weird. She misses Chimney. He would have made today more weird, but also more fun probably. She contemplates swinging by the hospital before going home, but ultimately decides against it. It’s late, they both need the rest.

Instead, she texts him, then Karen, before going to her car. She needs to face plant on her beautiful wife for a bit.

~~

A/N:

The entire phone conversation for those interested:

E: “Hello? Buck? Is that you?”

B: “Hi, Eddie. Hope I’m not bothering you?”

E: “Of course you’re not bothering me, you dumbass. I just saw your unit on the news at that crash. Are you okay?”

B: “I’m okay, just took a small dip in the ocean, but it’s alright. Ice baths are good for you, right?”

E: “Oh my god, please tell me you’re trying to prevent hypothermia.”

B: “I am, I am. No hypothermia, I promise. Hen gave me a blanket and I’m going to make sure I’ve stopped shivering before driving home.”

E: “You’re driving home?”

B: “Uh, yeah, that was the plan, yeah.”

E: “That plan is stupid. I’m picking you up.”

B: “What? No.”

E: “Uhm, yeah.”

B: “Come on, Eddie, you don’t have to do that. I can drive just fine. What about Chris?”

E: “Chris can survive sleeping, or I can buckle him into the backseat.”

B: “He needs sleep, you could accidentally wake him. I’m good to drive, I swear.”

E: “Buck, you’re in no condition to drive.”

B: “You don’t know that.”

E: “I do know that. You’re a stubborn shit and your definition of ‘fine’ and ‘little’ are off, so you’re gonna stay there and let me pick you up.”

B: “Alright. Fine. You win. Come pick me up.”

E: “Ha.”

B: “No need to be smug about it.”

E: “No need to be pouty.

B: “I’m not pouting!”

E: “Hm, sure.”

B: “Ugh, you’re such a dick sometimes.” … “But Chris- He’s okay right? I know that’s stupid, I just… There were kids on that plane, you know?”

E: “I get it, I check on him all the time. I’ll buckle him in, so you can see him soon.”

B: “You will? I mean, you don’t have to, but, uh, thank you.”

E: “Of course, I will. It’s no problem. I’ll see you two at the station, then?”

B: “Yeah, I’ll meet you outside.”

E: “Goodbye, Buck.”

B: “Bye, Eddie. See you soon.”

[spot-the-antisemitism]

Er what

Not exactly antisemitism but I was running over a blog's search of what they said about apartheid (and its inevitable comparisons with Israel) and a showcase of leftist brainrot

ID:

A screenshot saying: here is probably ONE thing Soviet Russia did right and ARGUABLY BETTER than anyone else in the entire world in the past 100 years of human history: ANIMATION.

Other says:

i would say their funding and material support of antiapartheid groups in south africa is a little more important but this is tumblr so i expect nothing from you people.

https://gardengnosticator.tumblr.com/post/751884453312348160/i-would-say-their-funding-and-material-support-of

I doubt the Soviets' funding of anti-apartheid groups are as noble as those tankies think

Nobody tell OP they were funding those groups to cause a revolution in American Allied country and destabilize the region.

And OOP is objectively correct, any empire can create a puppet state, Soviet animation and film was the same 100 people over and over and they were really good at their jobs.

Soviet Animation had paper dolls and stop motion and hand painted backgrounds and is frankly the one way USSR was actually better than America in literally anything besides sending a bunch of dogs into space. Not even necessarily getting them all safely back either.

(BTW the main engineer who sent Yuri Gagarin into space was a Russian Jew. Gagarin’s second words after his famous first words ever spoken in space “It’s beautiful up here”, was to thank the man. This thank you was censored by the Soviets because they’d rather die than admit a Jewish engineer put the first man in space)

capitalist dog?! Op the Soviet Union would treat you like a dog, the ones they sent into space, so maybe watch some “Hedgehog in the fog” and shut your ignorant Western goy mouth

[whumpitisthen]

Blasphemy

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7.4k words....... my brain is mush but i wanted to finish this so badly so here it is!! i need to stop looking at it, you look at it now i dont want it >:( CWs: blood, referenced torture, broken bones, unconsciousness, self-esteem issues, crying, begging, self-sacrifice, bleeding out, religious themes, angel whumpee, nonhuman whumpee, multiple whumpees, nonhuman/vampire/deity whumper, bad caretaker, carewhumper, slavery mention, death, psychological whump, emotional whump, power dynamics, Grim's inability to be normal about his little guys, Auden's inability to be normal about anything, nudity (nonsexual)

Don't panic. Don't panic. Don't panic.

Of course he panicked.

How could he not? He just watched someone slowly bleed out in front of him, now lying in a pool of their own blood on the floor, motionless and gone, — and right before they pass out, all they ask of him is not to panic? What kind of request is that!

He told them to stop, he told them to take a break; why would they not listen? He doesn't need to be a healer to know that blood needs to stay inside a body, mortal or not. Blood means pain, blood means danger, blood means something is wrong. Blood covers every single inch of the floor.

Are they dead? He doesn't know, he doesn't know! They stopped moving, they fell to the ground like a corpse. They look dead, with the darkness under their eyes, and the sickly cold paleness that took hold of their skin. He should know, should be able to tell, he's an angel, how could he not know if a mortal is dead or not?

He has never needed to know. Healing is not a Guardian’s job, it's the sign of a Guardian’s failure. A Guardian protects, a Guardian shields, a Guardian prevents hurt before it could even occur. If their Dependant needs healing, that means they have failed in their duty.

He cannot have let this happen to them. He cannot have failed again. He cannot have failed them again.

All he knows to do is what feels right. The way he scrambles out of the bathtub is akin to a wild thing. He slips onto his knees, cradling Mori's unconscious body, barely feeling the wet tiles under his bony limbs. He holds them close, calling to them, shaking them gently.

They are cold, but mortals are only cold when their bodies die. He looks around frantically. A towel of some sort, large, folded neatly on a dresser near him. He leans over to tear the one he can reach out of the tower, not caring about all the rest falling to the floor after it. He drapes it over the both of them, hoping to achieve some sort of tent to trap the heat under.

Mori doesn't stir. No matter how much he warms them, no matter how many times he calls their name, no matter how much he begs them to remain alive; they show no aspiration to live. He grabs another towel and wraps it around their head, trying to stall the bleeding of their broken antler. That must be key; blood is finite, he has to stop it.

He isn't sure if mortals feel pain in their sleep, so he works carefully around the wound, putting far too little pressure onto it to cease the flow. The towel just keeps languidly swallowing up their blood, but it has to help, it must be better than nothing. Maybe if he holds them closer, if he cleans off all the crimson from their face. He wipes away the curtain of blood from their forehead and eye. He fixes their hair — it was a little dishevelled, but they kept it out of their eyes, carding through it habitually any time they got nervous.

There, they look a little better. That must have helped.

It has to help.

Please, please help.

They aren't moving. He holds them a little closer, shakes them, pleads with them. No response. The tent of towels and black wings aren't warming them at all. The blood still oozes.

He doesn't know what to do; he doesn't know how to help!

They need help.

He shouldn't…

‘They will die if you don't, and it will be all your fault.’

The only healer he knows of here is the Doctor, but he doesn't know how to contact it. He has seen absolutely nobody else in this silent mansion of endless corridors, and he fears leaving Mori's side for even a moment to go look. He wants to help them, but he needs help to do that.

So, in his weeping desperation, he calls to the one person he knows will answer.

Tears of worry pooling in his eyes, scared and helpless like a child, he wails for the Reaper.

Mori told him not to yell when they first met. He hadn't understood yet just how dangerous it could be to draw attention to himself. He was scared, just as scared as he is now, and now here he is, yelling again, listening to his own voice echo back at him, waiting for Death to arrive. This time, he makes noise on purpose, with purpose, and that only scares him more, because then if things go wrong, it won't be an accident anymore. He chose to do this all on his own.

He needs to, he has to. The Reaper has to understand. Mori will understand.

Even if they don't, at least they will still be alive to be angry at him for it.

The Reaper isn't here yet, and Auden tries his best to be patient. He counts the seconds, managing to make it past sixty, up till seventy. At around seventy-two he touches the towel wrapped around Mori's antler. It's heavy with blood.

He decides to try calling again.

It takes him another minute to psych himself up to raise his voice again and scream, his lungs filled with a convoluted mess of desperation to save Mori no matter the cost. The knowledge that he is demanding a deity to hurry up and answer him — his Lord would have erased him just for thinking he was entitled to His time.

But the Reaper isn't his Lord. Calling him a deity feels like sacrilege in itself, but Auden doesn't know what else to refer to him as. Anything lower seems unfitting, but he will absolutely not for even a moment think them coequal in status, power, or any other metric. He is powerful, and terrifying, and vicious and cruel, a force, necessary, but the angel only sees a twisted sanctuary every time he thinks of him. He is all those terrible things, and he saved him. He has to save Mori.

Auden fidgets under Mori. He rustles his wings. Tries to swallow the growing lump in his throat. The quiet fills with the gentle sound of rain droplets landing against the windows. Three large windows, with a double cross of thin black iron running up it to end in a pointed top elegantly. Should he open the window, let in some fresh air? No, it must be cold outside, Mori would get even colder. He holds them a little closer.

Where is he? Last time it barely took a minute for the Reaper to show up, popping up out of thin air like he never even left. It has to have been at least ten minutes, maybe twenty. An hour. A long time. He keeps having to reorder his black-blue legs under him, going numb on his knees with the extra weight.

He shudders out a breath that sounds suspiciously close to a sob, getting dizzy with how much he cranes his head from wall to wall, hoping to catch his black-cloaked saviour leaning up against it. Why is the Reaper not showing? He has to be coming. He looks down at Mori, sniffling. Whines pull at the corners of his lips, wobbling his chin.

Auden yells again, as loud as he can. The end of his cry wanes off into a miserable sound, muffled into Mori's hair.

Maybe he misunderstood. Maybe it wasn't the noise that had caught the Reaper's attention before. Maybe he is just so far away that he cannot hear. Maybe he heard and he doesn't care. Maybe he isn't coming at all. Lord, he isn't coming at all, is he?

Auden is all on his own, and Mori will die, or they are already dead, because Auden is a useless, winged fraud. Just a weak, pathetic nobody, getting people hurt and making fake promises. Mori died because of him. They died because he couldn't do as he was told.

“I am sorry. I am so, so sorry, Mori, I'm sorry,” — he blubbers through his tears. If he wasn't holding them as he does, he would draw blood with how deep he wants to dig his overgrown nails into his palm.

He wonders if Mori's soul can feel the force of his sobs through his chest. If it can hear his pitiful apologies. His ridiculous weeping.

He is so preoccupied with his self-loathing that he fails to notice the change. The candles giving a gentle, warm light flicker with an inexplicable gust of wind. The air cools and thickens with dread, filling his throat with a wicked black fog. The feeling of being watched is ignored. The suffocating terror starting up inside him is not much different than his grief. Past the curtain of his half-washed hair, a pair of heavy boots appear. A cloak of darkness. The smell of rot follows.

Then, a dark, haunting voice.

“Peril finds you good company, doesn't she?”

Auden jerks at the Reaper's insincere lamentation, his gasp loud in the otherwise silent room. His crying quiets immediately, frozen in his throat. He can't decide if he should be relieved or even more scared upon finding the Grim Reaper had heard him. He brought with him his deadly scythe and cloak of shadows. Auden cannot see under the canine skull, and it makes him nervous that he doesn't know what kind of expression it hides. Was that a tone of disappointment or indifference? Boredom? What if he is angry? Angry at him for yelling, for not doing as he said, for letting Mori die; oh, he must be angry…

His mouth opens and closes, suddenly dry of all sound. His eyes switch wildly between the deity and his maybe-dead companion, eventually filling with new tears and looking up pleadingly at his saviour, hoping for a little more mercy. — “I-I’m sorry, I yelled, I sh-shouldn’t, I know, but I-I-I didn't, I didn't know what else to do ah-and — Help, please help them, please help, I-I do not, I do not kn — I am not a healer, please don't let them die like this, I beg you, I beg you…”

The plea is soft, a quiet prayer. He is begging earnestly, deeply and perplexingly distraught at the misfortune of someone he hasn't even known for a day. His grief is raw and true. Kneeling in a pool of blood like this, weeping unendingly, painting the fawn with his sorrow, holding onto the tortured soul in his arms like they are the most precious treasure he has ever known — Grim finds it all such a pleasant surprise to come back to. Far more interesting than whatever the Hell those mortals were bumbling on about at the parley.

He expected Mori to have passed out, naturally; that part doesn't surprise him. But the angel… oh, this angel is surpassing all of his expectations. He is terrified for them, holding their unconscious body as if they will disappear if he lets go. And this beautiful red sheen across the floor, wall to wall; the overwhelming flavor of Mori's blood dancing in the air…

His footfalls remain measured as he approaches the two. He considers them silently, letting the pause eat at the angel, making up his mind on where to go from here. Finally, he sighs.

“The irony of calling me of all people here to save your friend cannot be lost on you,” — the Reaper says as he removes his mask, casually untensing every muscle that was primed to roll heads upon arriving at the angel’s desperate call, — “whatever made you think I would help them? Do you know me to be so merciful?”

The angel seems a little crestfallen at that, a little confused. Can't the Reaper see the person dying in his arms? Why would he not help? He has to help! — “Th — Mori, did — They need help…”

“Do they deserve help?”

“Yes!” — the Fallen cries, manic in his own uselessness, — “they, they did it right. They said you, you told them to help me, and they did, they kept going until they fell, even though I told them not to, and, a-and now you won't help them?”

Death tilts his head at him, brows raised and eyes laying him bare. A look of faux-confusion, like Auden is not making any sense, as well as something a little dangerous underneath peeking through at Auden's last words. — “They did not do it right. They have failed.” — He gestures at their unconscious body, still slowly oozing blood onto the floor, a puddle having been made to halo their head. — “I asked them to feed you, bathe you and get you ready for your new master. You are soaking wet and naked, distressed, kneeling in filth on the floor. Nowhere near ready. They have failed in their task.”

He isn't angry with them; there is no fury in his voice. He is stating this like it's a fact that they deserve to die for not meeting his impossible standards. The chilling conviction in him stalls the angel’s breath.

‘Convince him. Try to convince your saviour that he is wrong. Beg for his favour. He is testing your faith.’

His bare shoulders jerk, the sudden weight of the persistent voice landing on them like a pair of heavy hands, guiding him further into desperation. Grim narrows his eyes.

Any other angel would have taken the straight refusal of help and backed down, bowing their head and apologising for asking for something so untoward. Angels do not argue. They do not plead; they pray and hope, and if their wishes aren't granted, then it is the will of God, and so there must be good reason for it. It's part of their culture, something that most of them do not even notice about themselves as strange or naïve. It's just how they operate in Heaven, and only once removed from their palace of ignorance do they start understanding all the intricate little ways in which they are taught to obey and never question much of anything.

Auden never found this particular skill to be so self-evident or natural to weave. Even if he did, his Guardian nature will not allow him to let go so easily when Mori could very well die in his arms any moment, and it's on him to try to plead with the Reaper to save them. —“Please. They do not deserve this. It, it isn't fair.”

The Reaper smiles. It's an empty smile that doesn't reach past his lips. — “Is that so?” — Pretending to be in deep thought, Grim hums, then leans down as if to whisper to the angel about something forbidden, the blade of his heavy scythe floating above him like a crescent moon as his hands move to cross at the small of his back. — “Is it fair, up there?”

The angel pauses, swallowing. — “Whu — What?”

“Was it fair when they deemed you a sinner? When you were cast out? When you landed; burnt, bruised, defenceless on the earth as a mortal? Was it fair?”

His eyes widen. Auden remembers when it all fell apart. He remembers vividly every pair of eyes that turned hateful, the friends he lost, the time he spent praying, begging for another chance. He thought he was invincible back then. He thought that as an angel, a Guardian, no matter how weak or clumsy he was, as long as he kept his faith close, there would be nothing more he could want. He worried about such insignificant things, spending days with worry etched between his brows because of an off-handed comment someone more capable than him made, trying so pathetically to prove himself to people who couldn't care less about him.

He was trying so desperately to fit in, while failing to follow the most simple of instructions given to him by his Seraph.

He thought he knew better. When he was told his human no longer deserved protection, he thought there must have been a mistake. When he kept watching over them despite clear orders, he thought he was doing the right thing. When his human got into trouble, real trouble, and he had to help, he had to, but there was no way to do it lawfully, not without breaking the most unbreakable of rules; — when he locked eyes with his human for the first time like he always dreamed he could, when he saw recognition in theirs… He was arrogant, selfish, unfit to be a holy servant. He was told as much when his sins were tallied by the cold voice of the Council during the ceremony of his banishment.

He wonders if he could visit his human sometime now that he is stuck here. He hopes they are safe. He hopes they don't remember him at all, but he wonders sometimes, — if they do remember him, do they think of him often?

Maybe he shouldn't visit them anyway. He would much rather they keep the image of who he was back then instead of who he is now.

“It w-was…” — His head droops. He tries to consider the Reaper's question, but the more he thinks about it, the more it confuses him. He huffs frustratedly. It should be the easiest answer to give. His Lord is fair and just. Every angel lives by strict rules, orders, responsibilities. His punishment was fair. He takes it to be another failing of his own; just how much it hurts to believe this. — “…It doesn't matter if, if it was. Mori doesn't deserve this.”

‘Your crime was not sin. It, too, was inadequacy. Failure. You were not malicious. You were weak.’

He may have been weak, but Mori isn't. They are stronger than he ever was.

‘They failed their Master like you failed yours.’

That's different, the Lord is not Auden's master — Mori wasn't made to obey —

‘Were they not? They told you what they are. A slave from birth. Made to serve.’

“Mori doesn't deserve any of this, they, they — “

‘They are hellspawn. They deserve everything they are given.’

“They don't! — he nearly shouts, overwhelmed and manic with grief, trying to drain out the malevolent voice inside his head. — “They did everything as well as they possibly could, they made no mistakes, they were kind and brave and helpful and they for-forgave me, even after, after I messed up, over and over again! Just, if,“ — his voice breaks in preparation for what he is about to ask for, — “if they deserve punishment, let me take it! If they failed, it was because of me, and I will, I will take it, no matter what it is. I won't let them — please don't punish them for my mistakes.”

The Reaper's expression hardly changes in reaction to Auden's outburst. The angel's choppy babbling doesn't really phase him, though the corner of Grim's mouth catches on that almost threat; — ‘I won't let them.’ As if the angel had any power over what happens next. The thought is amusing.

It's hilarious how little he knows of pain. He would not be so eager to take it otherwise.

Grim's polite smile quickly vanishes, eyes narrowed to slits. Leaning back in a slow, assertive manner, he straightens his spine to stand tall once more, looking down upon Auden like a judge. His head is haloed by the light of the chandelier behind him, casting an intimidating shadow over the both of them. — “I am not deaf, angel. If I wished to hear your shrill screeching, believe me, I would have plenty of ways to drag it out of you.”

The angel's mouth snaps shut instantly. This sudden change in the deity's tone freezes him to his core. The way he fights himself to speak so he may apologise reminds Grim of a fish out of water, mouth agape and gasping. — “I-I didn't… I am sorry, I didn't realise I was —”

“No, you did not. Perception eludes you like oil does water.”

It's that little righteous incredulity that crawls its way into his tone. That disappointment, but a lack of expectation to begin with, that sears Auden's heart like venom. It's a familiar pain, and so he does what he has learned to do all those other times he felt this same shame — he bows his head and remains silent, letting the self-loathing eat up any stray thoughts that could distract him from his shame.

Truthfully, Grim is not so angry. Maybe a little, — after all, this is the second time he has come to the angel's rescue, only to find him perfectly fine — but it does irk him, this… shadow, behind every word he says. Something bothers him, clearly. Whatever it is, it muffles his true thoughts, distracts him, diverts his attention; and well, Grim has never been very good at sharing with others. He wants to rip open that silly skull and pick at his brain until he finds what he is looking for.

The angel shivers under his gaze. In allowing Auden a moment to steep in his misery, he also allows for the mouthwatering aroma of Mori's spillt blood to overwhelm his focus. With the crimson smeared so thoroughly in this small room, the smell of it is near impossible to ignore. In the angel's arms, Mori is angled just so, their veins supplying drop after drop of crimson for the floor to collect. The sound of wasted nectar could drive him mad. This lovely scene coupled with the angel's pleasant vanilla-scent, and his beautiful sorrow on display is a perfect cocktail mix for all his senses to drink up.

He inhales deeply. Eternal hunger is a hell of a curse.

Eventually, the angel's sobs quieten. Softness carries Death's next words; — “Were you scared for them?”

Auden nods, sniffling sadly. His only friend, perhaps already dead. It devastates him. He loosens his hold on Mori, breaking under the voice telling him over and over that he is holding onto a corpse.

“You have grown so close to them already… a foolish mistake, but you couldn't have known. You know so little.”

A backhandedly sympathetic assurance that only serves to drive the edge of that searing shame deeper into his chest. The tent he holds sinks as his wings do, pooling the towel around himself and uncovering Mori's cold body. They look so small and defenceless. A sea of scars, old and new. Deep bruises that will never have the chance to heal. Tired eyes that will never open. A shattered wrist and a snapped antler, his own contributions to the collage of their suffering.

He is truly the most pathetic being in all of existence.

In the soft candlelight, Grim watches him unravel with great excitement. Though he says nothing, his lips curl and his eyes light up in amusement. This Fallen is a funny one. A large golden heart hidden beneath the thinnest layers of skin and bone. Naïve. Easy to mold, to trick, to scar. Passionate, even now, during a time most would consider too unbearable to be worth holding on for. And the taste of his sorrow; the sweetness of his tears… Such a darling little lamb.

Though the sound of footfalls were not silent, Auden still flinches from the silver claws entering his vision. Dropped to a crouch, Grim had sat aside his scythe and attempted to lower himself to the angel's level, now reaching for Mori.

Numbly, Auden watches those clawed fingers sink beneath the sticky brown locks of the unconscious servant. They massage tenderly, avoiding cutting into the skin underneath. The closeness has Auden’s skin inadvertently crawling, his already cold flesh chilled even deeper from such proximity to Death. Like this, he finds himself paying that much closer attention to every little detail about his saviour.

The Reaper's skin is truly pale, its hue only surpassed by his snow-white hair. Auden's gaze catches on the small dot right under his left eye — do beings like him have such flaws? Mortals have plenty, birthmarks and such, but Auden has never imagined deities could have such mundane imperfections. His left arm is where the void-black markings on his skin begin — downright monstrous with sickening veins popping out of wicked muscles, fully corrupted by the darkness, a gauntlet of silver claws enunciating its role being a weapon of slaughter. From the tips of the fingers, to the wrist, shoulder, then presumably up the chest and crawling all the way up under his chin, drawing confusing, intricate shapes that remind Auden of an all-consuming hellfire.

The hand carding through Mori's hair is jewelled as opposed to armoured, the markings there more… unnatural. Man-made would be a better term to use. They remind Auden of some of the painted pages of his codices in their pattern, as opposed to the fuller, consuming, almost infectious spread running up his neck. Parallel lines, symbols, some sort of language. They run along each finger, disappearing under shining metal rings, ending in sharp black nails. Auden never noticed before, just how marred the flesh under those rings are. It's like they were welded into him. Deep, sickening scarring that is red around the edges under each iron band.

He wonders just how much influence Hell’s infection has had on the Reaper. As far as he is aware, Death has been a neutral, non-conforming being since the beginning of time. Because his job requires him to be a bridge not only between Heaven and Earth, but Hell and Earth as well, and because of his independent nature, angels have grown further and further from conversing with him, and Auden has only really been taught that the Grim Reaper is a necessary evil, and that it's not his place to be inquiring about things that do not pertain to him. But he has to imagine, with how much of Earth has been swallowed up by demonkind, the balance of things changing must have had some sort of effect on him.

His brain feels like there are a thousand ants crawling all over it. His train of thought halts upon contact with those iron claws, holding his chin to direct his wide eyes toward the Reaper's. The claws are sharp, an ornately carved glove of icy blades. His breath halts completely, and the Reaper grins.

“You are fond of them,” — the Reaper states, jerking Auden's head to lead his gaze back to himself when he tries looking away, — “did you get to know each other well?”

Auden finds it hard to care, right now. Even through his fear-indebtedness-adoration for the deity and Death's cursed aura snuffing out any breath of disobedience with a chilling sense of terror, he just cannot bring himself to respond. His eyes are red and empty and tired, similar to Mori's — their gaze is always alert, fearful, but tired, missing their spark. They hold no flame in them anymore; that is, if they ever did. A wilted rose.

He cannot nod, but the fresh tears and a lovely shudder are enough of a response either way.

Grim tuts sympathetically, feeling a great urge to kiss away those beautiful tears. While it is a mere fact that angels are not exactly made to deal with loss, this one is young and so very tenderhearted. It very nearly breaks his heart to watch the darling dove shatter like this.

It is the angel's most endearing quality; how strongly he feels. It's like all rational thought escapes him as soon as his heart fires up. When he is frustrated or sees some sort of injustice, he forgets himself, and becomes foolishly unafraid. When he is sad, he cannot bear to exist at all, shutting down completely. And Grim does not doubt for a moment that he becomes the most bouncy, passionate, energetic critter when he is happy. It almost makes him curious to see just how much joy can fit into this broken-winged-broken-hearted darling. It clearly doesn't matter who witnesses, if the little thing behaves like this even in front of him, someone he is well and truly afraid of.

“Do not weep,” — he settles on, the soothing murmur coupled with a kind expression, — “It will be okay. It will all be okay. I will make sure of it.”

It isn't a lie, depending on a given day. Somedays, okay means content and safe. On others, it will mean just enough mercy to keep his lungs working so he may live. However, it doesn't matter what it means to the angel. Right now, what he hears is what he needs — supporting words, kind words, caring words. He could forget about the blades at his throat for those, like he has already forgotten the godly being comforting him is the same one that wounded his friend so deep and cruel, then forced them to work themself bloodless and unconscious.

A tear slides down his claw, glimmering tantalisingly as it rolls down like a pearl of glass. It's so perfectly silent. His pointed ears twitch at the sound of the drop splattering on the floor.

He cannot resist lifting a hand soaked in Mori's blood to wipe away the rivulets of sweet sorrow from the angel's red cheeks. Hopefully his tears blind him to the condescending expression on the Reaper's face. — “There there. Come, let me help.”

Wiping, petting, caressing, pinching, ruffling, — his hands do not leave him until Auden starts reacting, once he realises he is being teased, weakly pulling back from all the unwanted, giggling attention. It should really not surprise him at all that Death would find the passing of a mortal so uninteresting, but his stomach still flips at just how unbothered he acts. Mori spoke so reverently of him…

With one last pull on his still slippery hair — the conditioner was never rinsed out, it seems, though the strong yet pleasant smell coming off him in waves should have been a dead giveaway — Grim rescinds. Gently, he takes hold of Auden's wrists, pressing his thumbs flush against his pulse there and massaging. He feels so wonderful. — “Let go of them, angel.”

Belatedly, Auden draws back from Mori's body, letting the Reaper cradle them instead. In the tall deity's arms, they look even smaller. As he stands, Auden finds himself reaching after them, watching Mori's legs swing in the air limply, their body held in a bridal carry. The unshakeable urge to protect eats at him relentlessly. He feels like a dog growling at passerby above its owner's corpse.

“Whe-Where are you take-ing them?” — Auden croaks tiredly, cursed with the after-cry hiccups.

The towel the angel had wrapped around Mori's head falls to the ground with a wet splat. The stump where their antler used to be is still weeping, though much slower, demanding attention from the vampyric deity. He may have gone a little overboard with that one, he ponders, humming himself; —  but really, it's his little fawn’s fault for making the most adorable sounds when he threatened to rip the antler off by grabbing onto it and slowly twisting their head by it. Their ears pulled back, their eyes turned as large as dinner plates, and they trembled, so small, so sweet against the floor, pinned and vulnerable, squirming under their master to escape, but too scared to actually try. They do so well with threats, so proficient in begging for mercy, so perfect soaked in terror.

There is no wolf that could hold its jaw slack around the throat of its prey once its fangs have drawn blood. It is fun for a while; the squirming, the whining, the pleading and crying; — but it is only a matter of time until those jaws slam down and shatter the vermin's spine.

Gently, with so much care, he presses his lips onto the wound, kissing it closed. His fawn’s delectable blood could send him into a frenzy on the best of days, but unfortunately, they might really not survive if he doesn't concentrate, so he makes sure not to lose himself in his violent thirst.

Miraculously, the bleeding stops. Grim purrs, perfectly content as he licks his teeth clean of the divine crimson.

Auden is… mortified. What did Death just do? Does he do that often? It looked like he enjoyed it, and the very thought of taking pleasure in the taste of someone's blood — someone who is dying of a lack of it! — sends a horrid shiver down Auden's spine. Perhaps it's some sort of ritual, for the Reaper to drink the blood of the deceased? That sounds like some sort of demonic ceremony. He called Mori a demon, before… He can't really make up his mind about this, so he just stares at the deity like an idiot, a somewhat questioning-disgusted look on his face.

Auden is so stunned that Grim cannot help the laugh that bubbles out of him. Those big wet eyes are so perplexed at what they were just witness to; he is reminded of a baby seal. — “What is it? You look positively aghast.”

The big grin on his face is tainted with smudges of red. Auden opens his mouth, but he ends up closing it anyway. He blinks, shakes his head. It's nothing, he signals.

To that, there is no response. A moment stretches between the two, listening to the sounds of rain and Auden's hand rubbing at his face. There is blood under his nails.

“Well, to answer your question, since you won't answer mine — I am helping them,” — he states, bouncing them carefully to get a better grip on their body, — “is that not what you wanted? Would you prefer me to leave them here to rot?”

Auden shakes his head vehemently, though his eyes water and his face falls again at the confirmation of his perceived situation. He is going to dispose of the body. — “No, no, I do not want that, I am sorry, I’m, I-I just…”

Grim can see his throat closing up from where he stands. The angel’s sobs are choking him, barely letting him speak. What comes out is a fragile, quivering breath. — “Could… Could you please tell them that, h-how, that, that I am sorry? I, I am sorry that I could not save them? Please. A-And that I nev-ver, ever meant to hurt them? I-I, need them to know this, please…”

Oh, now that is just precious. He is so scared they won't forgive him. It warms Grim’s heart. — “So I am your messenger pigeon now, am I?”

Auden could never live with the thought that Mori died because of him and that they never even heard him apologise. The crushing guilt he feels will kill him if the last thing Mori was allowed to do was clean his body of filth, a slave from birth ‘till death, as they bled out, and Auden could never let them know how much more he thought of them, how in the short time he spent with them, they have entirely changed how he sees the world. Auden wanted to ask them so many things, he wanted to hear them talk and see them smile and help them and protect them, and he cannot keep living if they will never even know how much they meant to him.

It was only a few hours at best. Half of it was spent in terror, pain and confusion. But, Auden cannot help it; — when he sees an innocent, good soul suffer, he would give up everything he can to preserve their life. If Mori deserved half of what was done to them, then Auden deserves a hundred times worse. It's no wonder in his mind that he feels so strongly for them, even after such a short time; to him his duty is clear as day. That must be why he hurts so much, watching Death take them like he would any other perished mortal.

He sounds like he's demanding again, and he is starting to feel like that might be true. His thoughts vacillate. He goes quiet for a moment.

He's already kneeling. What else does he have to lose?

“Angel…” — the Reaper gasps, scandalised by what he sees.

The boy just keeps on thinking of new, outrageous ways to surprise him. He is bowing in front of him, putting his hands together in humble prayer. At his feet, showing obedience and loyalty, he supplicates to someone other than his Lord. He breaks another rule, disobeys another law, because what does it matter to follow divine law when he will never get to gaze upon his Heaven or be grazed by God's holy light again? What does anything matter, all that he does and thinks and finds right, in this upside down world of torment and perdition? Why was he even created, allowed to live, if he cannot even fulfill the one purpose he was made for? He is a failure, through and through, if he truly would rather hold onto dignity and loyalty to something he will never have the opportunity to be part of again — if he ever was — over what truly matters.

The Fallen closes his eyes, hiding from his own act of sacrilege. Behind his eyelids, he sees Mori, scared and alone, stuck inside their body, in darkness, feeling only the frigid touch of Death nearby. The image provides inspiration to continue what he began. — “I ask you, Grim Reaper, you who governs death, who ferries mortal souls to the beyond, to hear me. I need you as much as I fear you, but more than myself, I fear for the blameless soul in your arms, and ask… beg, that you find it in your endless might to allow my message to be heard, before they leave here and never return.”

This is prayer. He is praying to him. The angel has thrown away everything this very moment, broken down and empty, and prays as he would have — should have — done for no one else but his Lord. The rule, one that cannot be broken, of faith above all else, of belief and reverence and worship for nobody but their one true God, a law engraved so deeply into every angel's soul that even after death they cannot help floating towards light, no matter how far they have fallen; — he would betray his divine nature so easily; for a slave of Hell. For a single, inconceivably small speck of dust he barely knows. Absolutely astounding.

He wouldn't dream of cutting short this beautiful show of veneration. He waits patiently until the angel convinces himself to spit out the Amen, sealing the prayer as is customary, and waits longer still to see if he will say anything more. Temptation drives him to keep waiting until the Fallen crawls forward to kiss his feet or start making other desperate offerings of submission in the hopes that he grants his wish. Alas, time is not infinite.

“I think I may have a supposition about what the reason you were cast out may be,” — he crools belatedly,  — “I have to ask, angel; — are you mad?”

He must be, Auden is certain. He hears voices that aren't his own, he cannot understand things that are obvious and clear to anyone but him, he would give up everything for the smallest of rewards and do it all over again if the opportunity arose, he is an outlier and a failure and he is the only angel in existence that would choose to worship a bringer of death over spending all that is left of his life begging the Lord for forgiveness. No sane angel acts like this. No sane angel even thinks of doing this.

It feels impossible to squeeze any sort of a response out of himself. Lacking any other way to proceed, he bows low, all the way to the floor. His forehead touches the cold, sticky layer of Mori's blood below. It surprises even him, how little shame he feels. He doesn't really feel much of anything, unable to see past Mori's teary face in front of him. All he cares about is making sure they know someone will miss them, and remember them.

He is as close as he can physically be without touching the deity. His hair reaches for the toe of Grim's boot. He remembers how similarly Mori bowed before Death when they met, right before their hand was shattered bit by bit. He forces his hands still.

“I cannot tell if you were made too well, or made to fail. Your sense of duty flares so bright, it supersedes your faith. A disloyal angel: how paradoxically peculiar…” — Grim wonders aloud. Despite himself, he is a small bit awestruck at this rather sacrilegious turn of events. An angel that would willingly serve another god — oh, he knew this one would be special, he knew as soon as he had laid eyes on him! His old friend will have plenty to nibble on with this wretched little dove, what with all their mirrorisms. He cannot wait to finally introduce them.

With this, he wonders — what kind of angel would do something like this for someone like Mori? A fierce sense of protection, responsibility and righteousness, enough to rival faith. He does not have to think for long.

“You're a bit small for a Guardian, aren't you?” — he beamed, his tone patronising and wicked. — “A protector of the innocent. Justice is your flesh and self-sacrifice sweetens your veins. Mori is more than a companion to cling to in your darkest time of need, I see now. You chose them as your Dependant. What a brashly unfortunate decision that was.”

It wasn't a decision — he wants to scream those words at Death, for seeing through him so effortlessly, like he knows exactly what goes on in Auden's head. A decision would require conscious thought. It can be abandoned at any point. What he has made is a pact, and while he may have been somewhat conscious of his initial urge to protect, it's become something he cannot let go of, something that drives him crazy every day as long as it lasts, and that haunts him long after it's broken. He cannot help it, he can love no other way.

He wants to scream, but all that makes it out is a sound similar to a miserable choked off sob. The wings on his back are lopsidedly sliding off his back to soak on the floor instead, too exhausted to be kept neatly folded behind him.

The Reaper's laughter is a haunting melody ending in a good-natured sigh. — “Mm, well. I must admit, you have given me a taste of something new. My name is only spoken to pray me away by most. I am so used to ignoring pleas — but one so beautifully spoken I cannot ignore so easily.”

There is a pause, the sound of rain. Then, Death steps closer again, finding grip under the angel's chin with the toe of his blooded boot. He doesn't stop lifting until those gorgeous lavender eyes find his own; wide, frightened, full of life.

They look so alike.

“I will let them know,” — he promises, a fond smile telling of something sinister under his sincerity, — “you need not worry about a thing, little lamb.”

The angel crumbles like a house of cards, gratitude and grief spilling forth from him uncontrollably. Near unresponsive with his pain, he can only nod to show he can hear the Reaper's orders. Finish bathing, dry off, put on some clothes — further teasing about how unangelic it is of him to be bare in front of others so unapologetically — and wait for the Reaper to return.

Backing off, Grim watches the little one reach for the blood-soaked towel to drag close and bury his face in. He keeps the fabric close, reminded of his precarious nakedness so suddenly. He pulls his knees out from under him and up to his chest, shuddering with the force of his weeping, but so quiet, quieter still than Mori’s slowly beating heart.

Sorrow looks beautiful on him. Why else would he have been made this way, to feel so strongly, if not to show off all the beauteous shades of his torment?

The next time Auden lifts his head, he finds himself alone in the crimson bathroom. His cries have died down, his lungs have emptied themselves of anguish, and the Reaper has long disappeared into a black mist, bringing with Mori's body and soul, as if they were never even here to begin with. The water in the tub has gone cold, but he only notices after a couple minutes of numb soaking.

Mori will understand. They will know. The Reaper promised. That is all that matters.

<3

Mastelist | Ko-fi

Taglist: @whumpsday @whump-me-all-night-long @sordayciega @a-miscellaneous-number-of-rats

@letitbehurt @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

Taglist (tagged in everything I write): @morning-star-whump @whumprince @a-living-canvas

[lycankeyy]

Nobody ever wants to hear about his favorite pyrotechnics disasters :(((

[unlemony]

taco's daily message to OJ

[itsbebebrainrotting]

Fucking haunting that bagheras the only one who has been in the house and gotten suspicious that something wrong (but she went there to find out what was wrong so even then its not like the house itself made her realise). Bad didnt quite disappear without a trace but he didnt go out with a bang either yknow?

[mugloversonly]

Silver over Gold

Ch 3: Kintsugi - Final

Ch.1 Ch.2 AO3

Summary:

Steve and Eddie finally talk.

Steve stood outside Eddie’s door horrified by what he heard on the other side. Eddie was sobbing and his inner omega was whining weakly. “Eddie? Baby can I come in?” He pleaded.

“Alpha?” Eddie cried softly. “Door’s locked.” His voice was fading into a whisper. “I’m sorry alpha.”

Steve didn’t think twice about ripping the door of the hinges; he'd fix it later, he just hoped Wayne would understand. His omega needed him and his alpha would stop at nothing to help him (for once he was in total agreement). The smashing of the door echoed through the whole trailer but Eddie didn’t seem to notice. He was curled up on his side in the corner of the room with his head tucked against his knees, shaking violently. Steve rushed over to him and gently swept his hair out of his face. He gasped when he saw his beautiful omega. “Oh, Eddie.” He whispered. He was paler than usual, practically translucent. His lively chocolate eyes were red rimmed and puffy, empty as they stared up at him. Steve wasn’t even sure if Eddie could see him right now.

“I’m sorry alpha.” Eddie whispered. Steve stared at him hoping for some awareness in his eyes but there still wasn’t anything. He must be speaking unconsciously.

“Sh,” Steve cooed. “I’m right here, omega. Your alpha is right here. I'm not going anywhere.” He ran his hands up and down Eddie’s arms and kissed him on the forehead. His skin was freezing to the touch and if Steve didn’t know better he’d think he just came out of Lover’s Lake.

He took him into his arms, laid them back in Eddie’s nest, and removed their shirts for skin contact, pulling the blanket over them for good measure . Steve made sure to hold the omega’s nose directly onto his scent gland. He didn’t know much about rejection sickness, but from what he learned in school one way to cure it was through comforting touch and scents. Eddie barely moved and didn’t acknowledge Steve at all. Steve was having a hard time staying calm but the whines and howling of his omega were helping him to stay focused.

H is shivering finally subsided and Eddie fell into a light haze. He pulled back from Steve and his eyes were a bit clearer. “Stevie?” He asked. At Steve’s nod he threw himself back. He didn’t deserve to be held like this. He was a bad omega. His alpha didn’t love him and it was all his fault. Steve didn’t let him get far before he was yanking him right back in. He ran his fingers through his tangled hair and nuzzled his neck. “I’m sorry Steve. I should’ ve trusted you . I'm a bad omega.” He sobbed but Steve clapped a hand over his mouth.

“You're not a bad omega Eddie. You're my omega.” Steve said. He felt more than heard Eddie’s gasp and watched as his wet eyes widened. He reached up and pulled Steve’s hand off his mouth.

“I’m still your omega?” He whispered hopeful yet terrified.

“Yes, darling.” Steve replied caressing his cheek. Eddie put his hand over Steve’s and held it there.

“You still want to be my alpha? After everything I put you through?” Steve looked deep into Eddie’s eyes and kissed him on the nose.

“You didn’t put me through anything. I will always be your alpha. Even if you decided you wanted nothing to do with me, I will be here waiting. There is nothing you could do that would drive me away. I will never leave you.” He promised. “Let me apologize now.”

“No, Steve you don’t owe me anything.” Eddie said clutching his shirt. “I was the one in the wrong.”

“No you weren’t. I was scared. I didn’t stop to consider that I was stringing you along.” He bowed his head as tears finally spilled over. “I love you, Eddie. I never want you to doubt that. I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner. And I’m sorry the first time I said it was in an argument.” He grabbed Eddie’s face and tilted it until their lips were barely a millimeter apart. “I would never lie to you. I know why you would think that. Wayne told me. Just know, that the most important person in my life, is right here in my arms. Okay?”

“Except Robin?” He knew it was shitty, but he needed to know.

“No my lovely omega. Even more important than Robin.” He kissed him then. A quick press of lips, there and gone in mere moments. “Robin is my best friend and I won’t stop loving her or change how she and I are with each other. But you’re my future mate, and nothing is more important than you feeling secure in us.” Eddie surged forward and kissed him hard practically shoving his tongue down his throat.

“I don’t want you to stop being friends with Robin or anything like that, Stevie. It’s just…” Eddie knew he had to let Steve hear some of this from him. “The pups constantly tell me how you two were made for each other and how it’s only a matter of time for you two to mate.” Eddie looked down. “I guess, with you wanting to keep it a secret and when I ask about courting you brush it off, mix that with Dustin asking me to find out if you’re secretly dating Robin and I thought it was only a matter of time before you stopped what we had and went with her. And when I saw you two together, I thought it finally happened and you didn’t even have the decency to tell me first.” His voice broke on that last word.

“Wait a second...the pups have been saying what?!” Steve yelled out startling the omega and causing him to whimper. “Sorry.” He took a few calming breaths before asking again. “The pups have been telling you that Robin and I are secretly together?”

“Basically.” Eddie admitted.

“No wonder you didn’t believe me.” Steve scoffed. “Don’t worry my love I’ll set the record straight as soon as I can.” He snuggled Eddie closer and kissed his hair.

“You don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with Steve. Not for my sake.” He understood that it may be hard for Steve since he had only dated female omegas before. But his alpha just rolled his eyes.

“I’ll put an ad in the newspaper try me.” He laughed. “It’ll say something like: I, Steven Anthony Harrington am courting and plan to mate with the beautiful” he leaned over and nuzzled against Eddie’s scent gland causing the omega to giggle. “Wonderful, remarkable, one of a kind, Edward Wayne Munson.” He nipped lightly at his neck. “I will don’t tempt me.”

Light finally returned to Eddie’s eyes. “Thank you.” He whispered. Steve knew he was thanking him for much more but Steve didn’t want him to feel grateful that Steve treated him like a worthy partner.

“No thanks necessary. I’m not going to hide any more okay? In fact, close your eyes.” he said. When Eddie did so, he reached into his pocket to pull something out that he fastened around Eddie’s pale throat and kissed him softly. “Open.”

Eddie opened his eyes and gasped. It was the most unique courting gift he’d ever received. Pure silver because he mentioned to Steve once that it was his favorite precious metal. The pendant was a perfect copy of his warlock with small rubies creating the red lightening. As he took a closer look, he realized the neck of the guitar was actually Steve’s nail bat. It was the perfect combination of them.

His chest no longer felt tight and his nose tickled as his blood orange scent began pouring out of his scent gland. It was faint, but it was there. Steve beamed and pushed his nose to the source and took a big inhale. “Thank you, Alpha. I accept your request to court.” Eddie said in the traditional manner. He pulled away. “I’ll give you something I scented in return once it gets back to normal.” Eddie promised. Steve nodded and pulled him into another kiss. This one was more heated and while Eddie did feel better and the sickness was receding, he wasn’t ready to go very far. He leaned back slightly but stayed close so the alpha knew he was okay. “Is it alright, if we take it slow?” He couldn’t meet his eyes.

“Whatever you need.” Steve said tilting his head up. “What ever you want. It’s yours.” He said more like an oath than a promise.

“I threw away your yellow sweater. I’m sorry. I know it was your favorite.” He admitted ashamed. Steve slid away and for a second Eddie thought he was leaving, but before he could let out a single noise of protest he was getting hit in the face with soft cotton. In his hands was the best thing he'd ever seen.

“Wayne said he saw you throw it away and figured you were just upset.” Eddie smiled.

“He knows me so well.”

“I’d hope so, he is your dad and all.” Steve said. “Speaking of, I’d like to formally ask him to court you. I know you already said yes, but it’s traditional to ask an omega’s parent.” Eddie beamed.

“You really do love me, don’t you?” He asked.

“I do. I love you so much. I want to court you and mate with you. I want to see you round with my pups.” Steve replied and laid down pulling Eddie with him. “I want us to smell like one another so there’s no mistaking who we belong to.”

“How long have you had this necklace by the way?” Eddie asked the pendant clutched in his hand.

“Since right after spring break.” He admitted. At Eddie’s raised eyebrows he sheepishly said “I told you, I’ve wanted to court you for a long time.”

The two talked a bit more about their insecurities and about Eddie’s past trauma with alphas. When the alpha that hurt him came up again, Steve growled. “Give me a name.” The fire in his eyes would have scared Eddie if it was directed at him. But at the moment, it may have made him a bit slick. He’d never had an alpha want to protect him like this.

“If I tell you, can you promise you won’t do anything crazy?” Eddie asked.

“No.” Steve said. “I promised no lies.” He defended at Eddie’s snort.

“You did, you did. Okay, just promise you’ll be careful.” Steve agreed to that and motioned for Eddie to continue. “It was Tommy Hagan my first senior year.” He admitted. The scent of burning woods filled the his nostrils.

“When?” Steve growled. Had he still been friends with Tommy?

“We started courting in August. The heat we spent together was in November.”

“You were the omega he couldn’t shut up about?” Steve asked. Eddie shrugged.

“I guess. Weird that he couldn’t shut up about me when he cheated on me with Carol.” Eddie said meekly. The faint blood orange Eddie was finally emitting was turning sour and he was trying to pump out calming omega pheromones to calm Steve, but it didn’t seem to be working well due to the dull nature of it.

“Sorry, sorry.” Steve said as he willed himself to calm down. “It’s not important right now.” He stood and pulled Eddie to his feet.

“What is important is getting you checked out by a doctor. Let’s let Wayne know and we can go okay?” Steve asked. Eddie nodded and the two got dressed with some difficulty since they refused to let go of each other. Steve wore his yellow sweater so it would smell like him again and Eddie pulled on his favorite band tee. On their way out of the trailer they wrote a note for Wayne and Steve walked Eddie to the passenger side. He opened the door and kept a firm hand in Eddie’s until he was seated. Eddie watched on amused as Steve practically sprinted around the car so they could spend the least amount apart as possible.

~ ~~

At the hospital, the Doctor that saw him last time was able to see him again. “Eddie, this one could have killed you if your alpha hadn’t come when he did. To help you get back on your feet it’ll be good for the two of you to spend the next 48 to 72 hours together. Now for cases like yours we have a new type of medication that can stop rejection sickness from getting worse once it starts. I’m giving you a prescription for that. And I want you to go back to taking the preventive ones for a while.” He looked between the two men knowingly. “I’d say until you’ve mated. After that, you should be okay to stop them. But, keep the emergency one on you at all times. It could be the difference between life and death.” He said before leaving them with a nurse. She gave Eddie some fluids in an IV that were supposed to help him return to normal and then they were on their way.

“So, what now?” Eddie asked. Steve took his hand again.

“Let me take you out on the town? Then we can go back to the trailer and cuddle?” He asked. Eddie blushed and his blood orange scent finally filled the car in full force.

"I'd like that."

@v3lv3tf0x @lexirosewrites Final part!

That's a wrap on this one. But I do have plans to write some Robin POV and what Steve does the next time he sees Tommy.

[serickswrites]

Deflect

Warnings: implied captivity, implied torture, implied restraints, rescue, hospital, referenced temporary character death, hurt/aftermath, hurt/comfort, hurt/recovery

"Whumpee, can we talk?" Caretaker said as they stood in Whumpee's hospital room door.

"What's there to talk about? I'm fine," Whumpee said quickly. The truth was they were very much not fine. Everything hurt. They couldn't move very much without being exhausted. And they still had a hard time breathing.

The doctors had reassured them that would fade. That they would feel more themself soon. But still, Whumpee wasn't sure how long that would take. And what the lasting impact would be from what Whumper did besides the scars from various acts and from being tied up with coarse rope for so long.

"Whumpee, you were dead when I found you. Actually dead," Caretaker shouted. "I did CPR for I don't even know how long. I thought...." Caretaker's voice caught.

"That I was really dead," Whumpee supplied for Caretaker. "But I wasn't. You kept my blood pumping long enough for help to arrive. And they get my heart going again. And now I'm ok."

"Whumpee, you died again in surgery. And then you were in a coma for so long. Whumpee, I....I nearly lost you. And you're acting like it is nothing!" Caretaker's eyes flashed with anger. Though they had been crying, Whumpee could see the anger boiling beneath the surface. Caretaker was angry. Not at Whumpee, but for Whumpee.

"What do you want me to say, Caretaker? That I thought I was going to die? That I didn't hold out long enough? That you were going to find what was left of my corpse and I was going to be the reason why you break? No? Or how about how every time I close my eyes I see what Whumper did. I see Whumper every time I close my eyes and I can't escape. I can't escape anything."

Whumpee's chest was heaving and they were sobbing. They had tried to keep this all in. Tried to not feel. Without a word, Caretaker came forward and threw their arms around Whumpee. The two of them held each other as they cried.

Whumpee was alive. Whumpee was safe. They hadn't died. And Caretaker had them now.

Tags: @mousepaw @jumpywhumpywriter @knightinbatteredarmor @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 @anightmarishwhump

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @celestialsoyeon @st0rmm @ay5ksal @pedro-pedro-pedro-pedro-pe

@artisticdemon

[kasparovv]

very sketchy illustration for the latest chapter of my bipper thing

[schrijverr]

I Didn’t Mean to Say I Do, but I Do. I Do. 32

Chapter 32 out of 50

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

In this chapter, Buck wakes up to find no one except Chris and Eddie in his hospital room, the more time passes, the more he questions why no one else is there. Eddie has to explain what went down while he was out, before another bombshell is dropped on them.

On AO3.

Ships: Buddie (slow burn)

Warnings: ableism mention, emotionally abusive parents mention, insecurity, self loathing, injury, homophobia mention, referenced near death experience

~~~

Chapter 32: Breaking the News

Buck feels groggy and bone tired as he tries to pull himself to consciousness. A part of his brain registers beeping and the sterile smell of a hospital – which he is very familiar with due to the line of work he’s in, his kid and the injury prone people he surrounds himself with – but it’s not yet connecting that to what that might mean.

He is yanked out of his limbo by Chris, who half clambers on top of him as he yells: “Papi! You’re awake!”

Behind him, he can hear Eddie call out: “Mijo, be careful! He’s hurt,” while Buck fully opens his eyes and clicks the pieces together that he’s in the hospital, because he’s hurt.

Once he has the realization that he’s injured, the dull ache that comes with being medicated hits him with full force. He hasn’t been in a hospital like this since he was a teen, but he still knows the feeling well and gathers that he’s broken a bone at least.

With momentous effort he moves his arm, hugging Chris to his chest as he lazily croaks: “Hey, buddy.”

“You’ve been asleep for forever,” Chris complains. “It was so boring.”

“Because he had to rest,” Eddie explains, with a gentle tone that informs Buck he’s explained it a hundred times before, as he appears on Buck’s other side. He holds a glass of water so Buck can drink with a: “Here.”

“Thanks,” Buck smiles, taking a sip. He knows that he got stuck under that engine, but he barely remembers anything after he was pulled out from under it, except the blinding pain. He desperately wants to know what happened, but he doesn’t want to traumatize Chris by asking.

Oblivious to his inner turmoil, Chris happily says: “But he’s done resting now, right?”

Eddie, however, is a little more in tune with Buck, so he says: “Well, he’s not done resting, but he can be awake for a little bit. But he’d probably like a snack for breakfast, so why don’t you and Carla go pick out a chocolate bar for him?”

Chris pulls a thinking face for a moment, considering the request from his perch on the bed next to Buck. On the one hand, picking out a chocolate bar is fun and a highly important task to a seven year old, on the other hand, he doesn’t want to leave Buck’s side.

Buck’s heart melts a little and under different circumstances, he would have loved nothing more than to keep Chris there, but he does really want to know the verdict. So, to encourage Chris, he says: “You know daddy has horrible breakfast taste.”

That makes Chris giggle and he whispers way too loud to actually be a whisper: “He does, he wanted a Bounty.”

“Oh, that is bad,” Buck agrees, pulling a face, wanting to muffle his laughter and failing.

“Yeah, yeah, I can hear you,” Eddie mock complains, as he moves to lift Chris off the bed. “Go have better taste than me, huh, buddy.”

“Don’t worry, daddy, I’ll find you something better too,” Chris informs him cheerily with a bit of little shit thrown in, before he and Carla leave the room.

For a second, Buck meets Eddie’s eyes, the two of them sharing a fond smile at Chris’s antics, before reality sets in again. Scared and tentative, Buck says: “I, uh- I remember it being bad. What did the doctors say?”

Eddie hesitates for a second. Eddie never hesitates like that, so Buck braces for the worst. “Uhm, well, you’re now the proud owner of one titanium rod and four cobalt-chromed screws. Surgery went okay for how you were looking coming in. They’re expecting you to walk again.”

Relief washes over him, mixing in with confusion. “But that’s great, right? Why are you still looking like you got sentenced to the gallows?”

“It got pretty close for a second there,” Eddie admits, looking shaken. The only time he ever looked like that is the day Buck met him at the Johnson farm. Softly he says: “They nearly amputated, you’re gonna have chronic pain for the rest of the life. You’re gonna walk, but they’re not sure if you’re gonna work, Buck.”

“Wh- What?” Buck chokes as he struggles to place the information.

Remembering the accident, he knew it was bad, I mean, he got tossed out of an exploding fire engine that then landed on him. He assumed it would be bad, further confirmed by Eddie sending Chris away to break the news, but that… that is a lot.

He’s been in a lot of accidents, but he’s always come out unscathed. It’s ridiculous with the line of work he’s in, with what he sees every day, but a part of him never believed something truly bad could actually happen to him, yet here he is, faced with the reality that that just isn’t how the world works.

If he’s honest with himself, it’s not even the chronic pain part or the nearly amputated that gets to him. He knows that chronic pain is nothing to sniff at, and he’s absolutely not looking forward to figuring out how bad it’s going to get, and while loosing a leg would have been a massive adjustment, it’s not the end of the world. No, what gets to him is that they’re not sure he’s gonna work again.

When Eddie says it, he knows it’s about firefighting. Both of them know that this is his job. He might have only started because it was the best option with his level of education and the income they needed, but he fell in love with it.

Buck is a firefighter to the core.

It’s not as if he’s only a firefighter of course, he’s a father, a brother, a friend, even a husband – though he tries not to think about the last one too much, because it always messes with his heart – but those are personal. In his profession, a firefighter is all he wants to be.

But just because he wants to be that, doesn’t mean he’ll get to. The doctors aren’t sure he’s going to work again. If he wants to be a firefighter, he’ll need to re-certify after an injury like this and he might never make the cut again.

Then he’ll have to find another job. A new job. A job he’ll probably hate, or at least won’t be as good as what he has now. He’s done it before, many times already, but the thought alone is still enough to make him feel ill.

“Hey, don’t- don’t do that. They’re not sure, with your stubbornness, who knows what will happen,” Eddie snaps him back to the room. It’s a little stilted and stunted, but he means it.

Buck is sure his eyes are still devastated, but he manages a watery smile: “Yeah, you’re right. I mean, we’re practically PT experts at this point, right?”

“Yeah, Chris is already excited about giving you all the tips.” There is a clear relief in Eddie’s voice when Buck reacts like that instead of breaking down into tears, something Buck would make fun of him for just a little, if he weren’t still feeling so fragile.

“Can’t wait,” he says, trying to mean it and semi-succeeding.

Before they can get into it more, Chris and Carla return triumphantly with arms full of vending machine snacks. The second he sees him, his enthusiasm and smile become real. “Oh wow, Superman, that’s quite the haul. Lemme figure out these buttons so I can sit up.”

Chris proudly shows off the candy and chocolate, going into great detail about why he chose the things he did. Buck has never found any other talk more interesting than this one. Whatever will happen with his job, this at least, will still be here. He won’t lose his family.

He eats his chocolate bar with Chris squeezed in beside him. He still feels a little groggy and maybe a little scared too, but he’s managing pretty well all things considered.

After a bit a doctor comes by to check on him. He doesn’t know her, but Eddie seems like he does, giving her an awkward half smile. When Buck sees that he quirks a brow at him, curious why she’s getting that reaction, but Eddie only gives him a shake of the head, before he nods to tell Buck he needs to pay attention to what she’s doing.

Then Eddie quickly leaves the room with Chris for a bathroom trip and a coffee run. Tea for Buck, since he’s not allowed coffee yet.

When the doctor is gone, Buck asks Carla: “What was up between Eddie and the doctor?” He can’t imagine what would make Eddie uncomfortable like that. Maybe he flirted with her? Or vise versa and it didn’t go well? But that seems out of character. Still, it’s not entirely unplausible and the thought knots his stomach.

“I wasn’t there for it, but when she came to break the news about you, it got ugly in the waiting room, especially when she suggested they’d amputate,” Carla tells him.

Not what he expected, but better than he feared. Eddie was probably upset at the thought or something, or angry on his behalf that this was his fate and now likely feels awkward about what was a messy altercation about it. The thought makes him feel warm and his stomach untangles itself.

He smiles at Eddie when he comes back into the room. Eddie studies him for a second, before deciding it looks genuine and he returns the smile. As always, the sight of that smile makes Buck’s heart flip and he hates the heartbeat monitor he’s hooked up with for giving that away as he blushes and quickly focuses on Chris to avoid having to look at Eddie.

Some awkwardness keeps lingering and Buck focuses primarily on Chris as to not talk about it. He also naps some here and there, which is still very boring according to Chris, but he lets him doze. At some point, Carla leaves and a bit later Buck gets an actual meal in the form of lunch.

By the time lunch is gone and the afternoon is creeping in, he finds himself wondering where Maddie is. He can understand she had to work or organize her own stuff in the morning. He also didn’t show up until the afternoon when she was in the LA hospital after Doug, but it’s already getting late and he hasn’t heard from her at all.

The others not being there is also a little weird, but they have their own families to go home to after being in an explosion and maybe there is paperwork to be done around the incident or something. So, he doesn’t question them not being there, while Eddie is (the thought of Eddie and Chris not being there never even crossed his mind). But Maddie’s absence is weird.

So, he asks: “Where’s Maddie? I half thought she would have been hovering already.”

The joke is to cover the hurt. He can’t remember a serious injury Maddie wasn’t there for. It’s how it’s supposed to go, her being there because he got hurt. He half expected the others there too, everyone waited for Chim to wake up. Maybe his injury wasn’t serious enough? Was that it? It felt serious, but comparatively, he might be blowing it out of proportion? It’s just a broken leg after all, they see worse every day, no matter how scared he’d been at the time.

That is before he sees Eddie’s face. It shutters for a second, pain being reflected in those beautiful eyes of his, before they become blank. He tugs Chris onto his lap and seems way more interested in adjusting him than looking at Buck as he says: “She had to go home. They were all there until you got out of surgery, but there was an explosion, you know. They went home to rest. Athena said she’d and Bobby would come by later. So did Hen.”

It’s a weak excuse and Eddie’s heart isn’t in it. Buck can easily make out that there is something wrong, very wrong. A bit sharper, he asks: “Eddie, what happened?”

Eddie stares at the top of Chris’s head for a moment, as if that will change anything. Chris just looks confused, eyes flicking from Buck to Eddie, then back. If Buck had known it would be a serious conversation, he wouldn’t have started it in front of him, but he’s started it and now that he knows there is information to know – information to explain why no one is there – he is desperate to know.

When the silence drags on and Eddie figures out Buck isn’t going to break it, he finally looks up and says: “I’m your medical next of kin, Buck. I got to make the call on what happened to you when you were in surgery. Maddie wanted to make a different call, but as your husband, my opinion was the only one that counted. Everyone was there for that conversation.”

He brings it delicately enough that Chris doesn’t pick up on the intricacies, but with enough clarity that Buck immediately knows what happened; they’re busted.

“Oh. That’s not good.”

Eddie laughs humorlessly. “Yeah, you can say that. Bobby, uhm- he wasn’t pleased. He has to appear in front of the LAFD brass today. He’s still waiting on the verdict of his suspension and now this has come on top of it.”

Buck’s heart sinks at the news. Both knew they were taking a risk when they started lying at work, but that was always meant to be just the two of them, who were taking that risk. Now it’s the whole station, especially Bobby, that are jeopardized. No wonder no one is there, he’s about to lose them all their jobs.

The thought of everyone turning against him, against them, makes him paralyzed with fear. He loves the 118, the family he made there. Sure, he had tía Pepa and Abuela, but they have always been Eddie’s side of the family, in a way, the 118 was his side, before he had Maddie.

But now he has neither.

A part of him can’t help but be incredibly disappointed that this was what was too much for Maddie, that this is what made her run. Again.

Buck knows that they hadn’t spoken in years before she came back into his life and that they’ve had their ups and downs. They promised no more lies and Buck broke that. He broke the trust they had just rebuilt, but he at least expected her to be here to yell at him about it. Not this.

He is crushed. He fucked it all up. He just got her back and now he’s pushed her away. All he wanted to do was spare her the headache of keeping the secret, but now it’s out in the open and he lost her.

However, he can’t feel like that right now. There is still a chance he can make it right with Maddie, explain his side, grovel, apologize, try to make it up to her. He doesn’t know if he can make it up to the others, but he has hope about maybe Maddie and that is something he needs to cling to, because he can’t break down when Chris is right there.

So, he plasters on a grin and says: “Well, hopefully our news heroics swing it in our favor. I remember the cameras, do you think they got my good side?”

For a moment Eddie looks as if he can’t believe Buck just said that with all the deep shit they’re in, which gets wiped off and replaced with understanding the second Chris giggles. “Of course it will, papi, you’re the best heroes.”

“Ahw, thank you, Superman,” Buck smiles, the expression feeling more real and less strained. “Want to show me the drawing you’ve been working on?”

Chris happily clambers off Eddie’s lap to return to his place on Buck’s bed to show him his drawing. Meanwhile Eddie gets up to stare out of the window. Buck wishes he could make it better, but he can’t do anything from his place in the hospital bed. All they can do is wait until they get word from the brass. If Eddie feels the need to brood while they wait, he can brood.

They have to leave when the night comes, but Eddie promises he and Chris will be back the next day, so he won’t be alone. Eddie offers to ask for a cot so they can stay there, but Buck tells him to go home. Chris being properly supported while he sleeps is more important than Buck’s abandonment issues.

The next day, tía Pepa comes by too. When she comes into his room she claps her hand over her mouth as tears spring into her eyes, then she rushes forward to give him a big hug. “Oh, Buck. Are they feeding you well in here? I’ll make you some food.”

“Thank you, tía Pepa,” Buck smiles, melting into the hug. “But I’m fine, I promise. I’m gonna be out of here soon. Probably today or tomorrow.” Then he remembers he likely can’t cook when he gets back, so Eddie is on chef duty. “But maybe some food would be nice for when I get discharged.”

“I’ll make sure to bring some by when Eddie springs you,” Pepa tells him with a wink. She also knows whose cooking he’s going to be stuck with.

Chris is also excited to see his tía. Buck doesn’t know whether it’s good or bad thing that Chris feels comfortable enough in hospitals to treat this as normal. With how Eddie danced around his prognosis when Chris was in the room, he thinks Eddie shielded him from how bad Buck got hurt and how close it got. So, he probably doesn’t even realize how serious this could be.

He puts it out of his mind for now, just like he puts the lack of other visitors, lack of messages and cards or flowers, out of his mind. He has Chris and Eddie. That’s all he had for a long time and that’s enough. It has to be. It is. …Only he also misses what he had. Just a little.

Still, worrying about that seems practically inconsequential when two uniformed LAFD officers enter his hospital room. The first one identifies himself: “Firefighter Buckley, Probationary Firefighter Diaz, I’m the Chief of Staff for the LAFD, Mike Brandson, my colleague here is the Deputy Chief from HR, Miranda Halleway.”

“I’ll take Chris for a moment,” Pepa says, whisking a confused Chris away with a small frown and short: “Bye, daddy, bye papi.”

Both Buck and Eddie say bye back, because it’s important in their family to say bye. Even if both of them internally wince, because that’s not a good look for them, which is confirmed by raised eyebrows they get from Brandson and Halleway.

“We have been informed by Captain Nash that the two of you are married, but have failed to file the appropriate paperwork that would potentially allow the two of you to work together, instead choosing to lie to the department, creating an unassessed safety risk and liability in the meantime,” Brandson starts.

He levels both of them with a stern look and Buck feels a despair grip at his throat. This is already not sounding great for them.

“However, when informing us of this, Captain Nash imparted on us that this is because the two of you are not actually together,” Brandson continues. “Further clarification was not given, so we would like to know exactly what was meant by that.”

Room to explain and share their side. Neither of them had expected that and they share a quick look, before Eddie gestures to Buck to explain.

“Well, I met Eddie when I was living in El Paso in 2015, it was. I knew his ex-wife and had met Chris while he was with the army the year before. We didn’t speak much at first, but then Shannon left, signing over custody to Eddie. It’s a lot to suddenly do it alone, so I offered to help,” Buck explains. “I worked days, Eddie nights. Just friends, but co-parenting. Then Chris needed two surgeries and PT is expensive. Eddie needed to sign up for another tour to get the bills paid, but then he’d have to leave Chris with his parents and he didn’t want that.”

“Might I ask why you didn’t want that, Mr. Diaz?” Halleway cuts in, directing the question to Eddie, who’s been quietly nodding along.

Eddie’s mouth tightens into a line, before he tells them the harsh truth Buck doesn’t think he ever even admitted to himself out loud like this. “Because they’re overbearing and baby Chris to the point of debilitating him further. I want my kid to be healthy, Deputy Chief. I want him to have as much independence as he can. And I wanted to get him back when I got home. I know what they say about teen parents, but I love that kid like crazy, okay? I don’t want to lose him.”

Halleway nods, writing something down on a notepad. Neither of them know if that’s good. Buck wants to check in with Eddie after that confession, but he’s staring out of the window again, arms crossed and shoulders tight.

Buck decides to tell the story further. “Uhm, yeah, that. So, I offered to adopt Chris, you know. Take care of him while Eddie was away until he could come back and we could do it together again. He was already kind of my son too at that point.”

“And you don’t find that an offer that is unusually close for just two friends?” Halleway asks.

“No!” Buck frowns, slightly offended she’d ask that. “I like helping people, it’s one of the reasons I became a firefighter. Eddie became family, as did Chris. I didn’t have anyone back then. Maddie, my sister, only got back into my life late last year after not speaking to her since I was nineteen and I still haven’t spoken to my parents since then. Of course I was going to offer to help.”

Halleway gives him a skeptical look, but writes something down again, before asking: “And how did marriage come into play?”

“The easiest and fastest way to adopt a kid is through stepparent adoption,” Buck shrugs. “It’s not like either of us had anyone we wanted to marry, so it made sense with the time frame we had. It was convenient, nothing more. Eddie got hurt in the army, he could stay on my income while he recovered, as could Chris. Tax breaks are nice and we’re good friends. Best friends. Our plan has always been to divorce when we found someone to settle with, but we just haven’t met anyone yet.”

At that Halleway makes a soft humming sound. “So why didn’t you inform Captain Nash or the LAFD that you were married to each other?”

“You don’t have to declare marital status,” Buck tells her, a little annoyed at her attitude. “It’s part of the anti-discrimination laws. I didn’t want to have my on paper gay marriage there when I didn’t even know who I was going to be working under. Not to mention that it wasn’t a traditional marriage out of love. I am single, just legally married.”

“And when the two of you decided to lie to work together? According to Captain Nash, everyone at the 118 was under the impression, the two of you met last year at the station.”

“That might have been a bad call on our part. But our situation is complicated to explain and it’s a hassle to make people understand. It would be easier to not have to do it, but when you say you know each other, people wonder what from. We lied, because it was easier.”

“Without thinking to file a fraternization papers?”

“Why would we? We weren’t dating. Look, the two of us working together isn’t any different than other friends working together. And friends are allowed to work together, every day. We didn’t feel the need to file those papers, because they aren’t true for us now and they weren’t true for us when we started working there.” He and Eddie aren’t dating, no matter how much Buck wishes they were sometimes. They’re just married.

“Would you not state that the two of you have a connection that are different from best friends. The two of your are co-parents, are you not?”

“We are,” Buck confirms and Eddie nods sharply. “But the fraternization papers are specifically about dating a coworker, there are no specifications about raising a kid together. Are divorced couples with kids meant to file those papers? What about foster parents, who happen to get custody over the child of a coworker? There are no clear specifications, we didn’t file, because from what we could see, they didn’t apply.”

He’s gaining steam now and goes on: “Not informing anyone that we had a legal connection might not have been the best call, but it wasn’t illegal. And looking at our record, you can see that we never prioritized each other on calls. We have remained professional at the job and left our private life at home, that’s not a crime. The people we work with every single day, didn’t pick up on anything weird about our conduct on the job, until I was hospitalized and Eddie had to make a medical decision for me.”

It’s quiet for a second, then Halleway clears her throat and asks: “Do you have anything to add to Mr. Buckley’s words, Mr. Diaz?”

“No, uh, I think he said all that needed to be said,” Eddie says.

“Thank you gentlemen,” Brandson nods.

“So what will happen now?” Buck asks.

“Well, after your public injury, we won’t cut you loose, Mr. Buckley. You’re put on paid medical leave for the time being, while we investigate your claims further. There likely will be a verdict on whether or not there will be any disciplinary actions, before you’re fit to return,” Brandson tells him and Buck doesn’t inform him that he might never return.

“And what about me?” Eddie asks.

“You’re being suspended without pay, Mr. Diaz. For the coming three weeks at least while we determine whether you can continue to finish your probationary year at the LAFD.”

With that, the two LAFD officers shake their hands and say their goodbyes, before leaving Buck and Eddie in the hospital room, shaken and with an unsure future hanging over their heads.

~~

A/N:

If I look like I know how the LAFD works, I regret to inform you that I do not. Here we live of fanfic vibes, so do not take this as anything but my plot convenient whimsy! :D

[royaltea000]

I call this Theseus’ character - how many visuals do I have to change on a character until it’s just an oc