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I posted last night in the hollanov community about trying to finish off my MCD/big whumpapalooza fic so it can finally be exorcised out of my brain and made everyone else's problem.
I feel like with every sentence I'm head-butting a brick next to my laptop.
Why are they so sad? Why am I doing this to them? I'm normally writing about how they're texting each other dumb things. Where are the novelty t-shirts or the silly stories about Ilya being chased by a bear?
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: 9-1-1 (TV)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Tommy Kinard, Maddie Buckley/Howie "Chimney" Han, Evan "Buck" Buckley & Bobby Nash, Evan "Buck" Buckley & Maddie Buckley, Sal Deluca & Tommy Kinard
Characters: Henrietta "Hen" Wilson, Karen Wilson, Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Athena Grant, Evan "Buck" Buckley, Tommy Kinard, Maddie Buckley, Sal Deluca (9-1-1 TV), Gina Deluca
Additional Tags: Slice of Life, Hurt No Comfort, Angst and Feels, Cancer, Inspired by The Fault in Our Stars, You Have Been Warned, they both die, Author Is Sleep Deprived, The Author Regrets Nothing, they die like Bobby did that one time, but we get a glimpse of the afterlife, because I'm cool like that, Medical Inaccuracies, Inaccuraces in general, Fluff and Angst, and a little smut, just to soften the edges a little
Summary:
When they finally part, he opens his eyes first, a little dazed. Tommy's open a little slower, and he looks almost apprehensive.
"Was that okay?"
Evan surges up, cupping the older man's face and kissing him again. It takes Tommy a second to react, and when he does, Evan feels the breath on his face and the way Tommy smiles into the kiss.
It lasts longer than Evan expects it to, for two people with comprimised lungs. Still, when they separate, there's a giddiness in his chest that he can't fully quantify. Like something has just slotted into place, that he's always known but never fully understood.
-
Bucktommy, but make it TFIOS. (don’t judge me for this one please)
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Kinda angst, just pretty sad. Heavily implied Garrance
↳ Laurance Zvahl
𝐀𝐎𝟑
Laurance much preffered cold.
After all those days and nights in the Nether, the first time it had actually felt cold again, he had burst out into tears.
It was always colder by the shore.
He liked that.
He absentmindedly played with the water in front of him. He was exhausted, it had been so long.
He couldn't even imagine what Dante must have felt like all those years.
It was barely any time for him. It must be barely any time for..
He shook his head, he promised himself he'd come to rest, not to overthink anything.
Laurance sighed, the shadow knight needed to rest. But the only thing he could manage to think about was everything going on around him, everything that must be going on elsewhere.
What if when they get him back, he's..
Laurance couldn't think like that. He'd be a hypocrite. Not after telling Aphmau not to worry so many times.
His head hurt. Did Zoey have any medicine?
Was she even awake?
When they had come back, The moment he'd seen his old armor in the treehouse, his heart had skipped a beat.
They kept those things, for all those years? Just in case?
Was he even thinking about his own outfit?
Laurance tugged at his shirt.
Why'd it feel so tight?
He could barely breath.
Laurance stayed quiet for a while. Holding his aching head.
Some nights, he wishes he could switch places with him.
Ok, so, I’m back on my character study MCD stuff, this one is Simon’s and gonna be honest it really hurt to write. I love my little dragon boy. Anyway you can find the fic here!
wrote a mcd fic! you can read it on ao3 or through the read more :> hope ya like it!
“Are you cold?” Laurance asked, raising an eyebrow at Garroth, who was currently hugging his arms to his chest.
“...No,” Garroth said slowly, hugging his arms a bit tighter. “Just… didn’t expect all this… snow.”
He nodded. “Well, as you should know, a good knight is always prepared,” he said with a grin, gesturing towards his own, warmer garb. Garroth scowled, thankful that Laurance couldn’t see it through his helmet.
“Whatever. If the Alpha was correct, we should be there soon anyways.”
They continued on for a bit, the only sound being the crunching of snow under their boots. Garroth was really beginning to wish he had brought warmer clothes. He squinted at the horizon.
“...Hey Laurance,” he started, “Am I going crazy, or is that a castle?”
Laurance looked up, blinking in surprise. “....Huh. I don’t think the Alpha mentioned a castle…”
“Let’s check it out, just to be safe,” Garroth said, walking a bit quicker now. He couldn’t help the anxiousness that laced through his tone like cyanide in a lord’s meal. He just hoped Laurance didn’t notice.
The pair peeked through the door, Garroth’s shoulders slumping as he saw the two tethered horses.
“Lady Aphmau must be here. Thank Irene…”
Laurance sighed with relief. Garroth grinned to himself, feeling a bit better about the fact that he wasn’t alone in his worry. His happiness was cut off soon, however, by the sound of stairs creaking.
Their heads shot up, both exclaiming in unison when they saw Aphmau… and when they saw who was with her.
“Hey! Get your hands off our lady!” Laurance shouted, gripping the hilt of his sword with white knuckles.
Garroth was beginning to think he’d never get rid of the feeling of dread that was setting over him as the two leaned in closer. He shut his eyes, only to hear a clash and a cry of pain sounding like it came from a child.
Garroth walked forward to meet next to Laurance, who was glaring (albeit a bit confusedly) at a small spectre on the floor.
“It’s… it’s just a kid. Where’d Aphmau go?” He asked nobody in particular, sheathing his sword.
As if on queue, a familiar voice sounded out from behind them. The pair whipped their heads around to see Aphmau on the ground, steadying herself and trying to get to her feet.
Before either of them could rush over to help her up, she was walking past them and towards the child spirit.
“Aphmau! Get away from him! That’s a spectre, it’ll hurt you!” Called a new voice, rushing to her side.
“Hey, Aphmau can take care of herself,” Laurance half-growled, stepping forward. “Don’t touch her again.”
“...Again?” The new man said, raising an eyebrow. “I would do no such thing.”
“Don’t act like we didn’t see you,” Garroth said warily, glancing at Aphmau, who looked just as confused. “I… uh…”
“That was just an illusion, Garroth,” Aphmau said, gesturing towards the spirit. “Malachi over here specializes in that kind of thing, apparently.”
“O-oh,” Garroth said, “So… you didn’t…?”
“No, of course not,” Aphmau said fiercely, in near perfect unison with the man. She glanced at him, chuckling awkwardly before turning back to Garroth and Laurance. “Uh, I guess an introduction is in order. This is Dante. Dante, this is Garroth and Laurance, two of my guards.”
“Nice to meet you,” Dante said politely, hands clasped in front of him.
“Are you a guard, Dante?” Laurance asked.
“Yes sir, I finished my training recently, in fact.” Garroth nodded in acknowledgement. He looked new, with his bright eyes and unscarred face. There was that fresh glimmer of hope and chivalry that comes with every knight, the new glow of a trainee, excited for the fight. It almost reminded him of…
Garroth clenched his fists. No time to think about that now.
“We should set up camp,” Aphmau said, “We can talk more then.”
---
“I don’t trust him,” Laurance whispered, narrowing his eyes in the direction of Dante. He was currently setting up a fire, Malachi watching in wonder.
“You’re only saying that because of the illusion Malachi set up,” Garroth pointed out.
“Yeah, and you don’t feel the same?” Garroth clamped his mouth shut. “I thought so. Anyway, he seems… weird. I don’t like how close he and Aphmau are…”
“All that matters is that she’s safe,” Garroth said, shutting his eyes. This entire trip was feeling like a headache.
Laurance looked at him with a raised eyebrow.
“Stop looking at me like that.”
“Garroth. Come on.”
“I’m not dealing with… this today. We came to make sure that Lady Aphmau was safe and she is. Now, we can go along with her to the wolf tribe. She… she’s allowed to have other guards, you know.”
Laurance rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say, dude. I’m gonna go talk to her, make sure she’s alright after all of that.”
Garroth sighed quietly, leaning against the wall. The woodgrain was slowly becoming the most interesting thing in the room, his eyes tracing it intently to keep himself from thinking about the events that had just occurred.
He knew it wasn’t real. Now he just needed to convince the twisting jealousy in his gut that it wasn’t.
“Hey, Garroth, was it?” Dante asked, suddenly standing next to him.
“Oh, uh, yeah, that’s me. Dante, right?”
Dante nodded, a smile on his face. “Great to meet you. I know our first introduction was a bit… awkward, to say the least, so I thought I’d come by and actually talk to you.”
As they spoke, Dante remained impossibly polite and friendly. He was curious about Garroth’s position as head guard, and fawned over his abilities even though he tried to put out a cool persona. He was quite charming, if Garroth were being honest.
“Well, it was wonderful to meet you,” Dante finally said, smiling. “We should probably be getting to bed, there’s a long day ahead of us.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. See you in the morning.”
---
Garroth sipped his tea, quirking up an eyebrow at Dante, who was currently struggling with a bow. He was already fitting in as a guard of Phoenix Drop, it seemed. Laurance was out on a morning patrol and Brian was busy, so it was just the two of them in the guard tower.
“Need some help?” He asked finally, getting to his feet and walking over.
“Ah, maybe just a little,” Dante said sheepishly. “I’m not used to a bow… sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. Here, you have to hold it like this,” Garroth demonstrated, taking the bow and drawing it, “And--here’s a little tip--you have to aim a little bit up. Then, you let go, and…” The arrow went straight into the middle of the target. “Bullseye.”
“Woah,” Dante murmured. “You’re really good at that.”
Garroth chuckled, handing the bow back. “Yeah, I’ve got practice. You’re not the first I’ve had to-” he stopped abruptly, biting his tongue so that he wouldn’t say any more.
There was always something about thinking about Zenix that made Garroth feel like he had just been drenched with ice water. There was an ache in his chest, that old scar opening up as if another arrow had been shot through. He couldn’t forget it, not really. No matter how many memories faded away, his face was still there, always in the back of his mind.
“...Garroth?”
Garroth blinked, slowly coming back to reality. His hand ghosted over his chest, right above the old scar. “I… I’m sorry, what?”
“You… you cut yourself off there. Everything alright?”
“Yeah. Yes. I… zoned out a little there, heh. Sorry.” Garroth rubbed his eyes, scrubbing away the image of Zenix’s face. He always looked so happy when he hit the target…
Dante frowned. “...Okay, if you say so. Maybe you should sit down, you’re looking kind of pale.”
He nodded, running a hand through his hair. “Uh, yeah. That… that’s the basic idea of it, just keep practicing and you’ll get it. Good luck.” He stiffly walked back to his seat, tracing the chip in his mug and averting his eyes from Dante’s worried look.
The awkward silence thankfully didn’t last long, Laurance soon bursted in, complaining loudly about a muddy patch he encountered in his patrol that stained his boots.
“Wow, Laurance. A real guard would be always watching for any sign of danger,” Garroth said, shaking his head in mock disappointment.
“Fuck off, Garroth,” Laurance said with no real bite behind it, sitting down next to him after kicking off his boots.
Garroth gasped. “Laurance, language! There are children in the room,” he said, gesturing towards Dante.
“Hey!”
Laurance cackled. “You’re right, you’re right. Wouldn’t want to taint the youth of today with my dirty mouth.”
“Guys, I’m 24!” Dante protested.
Just like that, the situation was diffused. The tightness in Garroth’s chest was unwinding, the grief and panic leaving his system in peals of laughter. There was something almost akin to guilt wrapped in his relief, though, that creeping feeling that he was letting go of Zenix too easily. The feeling that he should be more sad over losing him.
That familiar dread was beginning to make its way up his arms, sending a chill through his veins. It quickly dissipated as a familiar, comforting hand was placed on his shoulder.
Laurance shot him a concerned look. Garroth tried his best to give a reassuring smile in return, but it obviously wasn’t very convincing based on how he grimaced back.
He’d deal with it later. It didn’t matter, anyways.
---
“Morning Laurance, Dante,” Garroth greeted, flipping another pancake as the two other guards wandered into their little kitchen area.
“Oh, thank Irene,” Laurance said, snatching a pancake from the growing mountain on the counter.
“Wow, I didn’t know you cooked,” Dante marveled, taking a pancake for himself and sitting down.
“You’re about to have the best pancakes you’ve ever had, Dante, trust me,” Laurance said, mouth already half full. “Garroth is an amazing cook. I don’t know why we don’t make him make breakfast more often.”
“You couldn’t make me if you tried,” Garroth said dryly, “And, I thought we deserved a bit of a celebratory treat because of the new guard tower. Don’t get used to it, though, I had to beg Logan to give me the chocolate chips.”
“There’s chocolate chips in these?” Dante asked, smiling in pleasant surprise. “I haven’t had chocolate chip pancakes since I was a kid. Thanks, Garroth.”
Garroth grinned, dusting off his flour-caked hands on his apron. He glanced out the window only to see Raven perched on a fencepost, preening his scales casually, a letter secured in his claws with a familiar, blue seal. It was a letter from Azura, Garroth realized. They often kept in touch through Raven, but it was only every month or so. Had time really passed that quickly?
“I’ll be right back,” he said, draping his apron over an empty chair and walking over to Raven with a spare pancake.
“Morning, Raven.” Garroth traded the pancake for the letter, which Raven took gratefully.
“Pancakes today, huh? I didn’t know you still baked,” He said. “I think I’ll be out here for a bit. Your guard tower gets a lot of sun.”
Garroth grinned. “It’s a great morning for a sunbathe. Enjoy it.”
“Is… is that a wyvern?” Dante asked when Garroth had sat back down.
Garroth nodded. “Raven. He sends messages for me. Have you not met him yet?”
“I didn’t even know there were still wyverns in the Overworld! Oh, and he’s golden too, he must be pretty powerful…” Dante marveled, leaning forward to get a better look. “Wow, he’s gorgeous!”
“You can go say hi, you know,” Garroth said, hiding his amused grin behind his cup of tea. “He’s a little shy, but wouldn’t mind too much.”
“Really??” Dante asked, eyes widened. “I… I wouldn’t want to disturb him…”
“Come on, he’s just sunbathing. I’m sure he’d love to meet you.”
Dante nodded, getting to his feet quickly. “I.. I think I’m going to do that, then.” He walked so quickly that it was more of a run than anything, and as soon as the door closed behind him, Garroth and Laurance burst out laughing.
“He looked like a puppy,” Laurance said. “Raven’s gonna be in hell for the next ten minutes.”
“He got pancakes this morning, I’m sure he can deal with a little bit of attention. He secretly loves it, anyways.”
“It probably isn’t the first time someone’s fawned over him. If being with Ungrth taught me anything, it’s that wyverns are quite the conversation piece,” Laurance chuckled, a sad smile covering his features as he reminisced on the wyvern.
Garroth looked through the window to see Dante nervously standing near Raven, saying something. Raven was barely giving him any attention in return, eyes shut and head turned away, but the slight ruffle of his wings let Garroth know that he was actually quite content.
Dante, eyes widened in what he would probably never admit to being fear, hesitantly ran a hand along the ridges on Raven’s spine. He seemed to laugh breathlessly, admiring the beautiful shimmer in Raven’s golden scales.
Garroth was used to the shock and dread that came with thinking of Zenix. He had grown as accustomed as he was going to get to the tightness in his chest, the pricking in his eyes, the suffocating guilt. It was all just another part of his day at this point.
It was a bit of a shock when the thought of Zenix now didn’t come with a poison arrow, shot square in his chest, leaving branches of venom in its wake. There was no sharp pain just below his heart, no sudden lost breath. It was just… sad. He had been drowning before, clawing his way back to land, lungs filling up with water, but now? Now he had sunk to the bottom, accepted his icy, wet prison and let the saltwater and briney sand overtake him.
If previous instances had been the shock of a wound, he was rather certain that this was his bleeding out.
Garroth could see his face clearly, clearer than ever before. He was smiling, hair ruffled from being trapped in a helmet all day, poking out in all directions. He was muttering something about how beautiful Raven was, how wonderful his scales shone in the afternoon sun. He had never seen a wyvern before, and Garroth was struck with a strange sense of pride at being the instigator for his first experience with one.
Garroth could remember him looking back at him, that soft, boyish smile he rarely wore donning his features like a crown upon a king’s forehead, all golden and precious. He asked so many questions after that, hungry for more knowledge of the things, and Garroth was happy to indulge him.
What happened? What took those peaceful, happy moments and laced them with acid? Who took that smile and turned it into a grimace? What led Zenix from a beaming new recruit to a shadow knight, bow in hand, malice and anger aimed straight at Garroth?
Shit.
It was so bitter in Garroth’s mouth, that acrid bile that Zenix left behind. Even if he was still alive, it wasn’t the Zenix he remembered. It wasn’t that dumb recruit who barely knew how to use a sword. It wasn’t that apprentice who got excited over wyverns and hitting the edges of targets during archery practice. It wasn’t him. It never was going to be again.
And still, Garroth couldn’t help but miss him. There was something so bittersweet in the grief that clouded his mind; of course he was happy to have the bastard gone, but nothing would ever replace the bond they had. Zenix was like a son to him. Then, he--literally--shot Garroth in the back.
“Garroth?” Laurance asked gently.
Garroth looked up blinking away the stinging in his eyes. “Yeah?”
“You’ve been staring at your plate for like, five minutes. Everything alright?”
He nodded quickly, wincing inwardly at how casually he was starting to lie about his mental state. “Zoned out, sorry.”
Laurance looked at him, raising an eyebrow in doubt. “You can talk to me, y’know. Pride is a big part of being a knight, but if something’s up-”
“I’m fine, Laurance,” Garroth interrupted. “Just… tired, I guess. Thank you, but I’m alright.”
“...Alright, whatever you say.”
---
“Wow, breakfast? For me?”
“Uh, yeah,” Garroth said, suddenly feeling a bit self conscious. “Since it’s your first day in Phoenix Drop, I thought you deserved a little… something extra.”
Zenix beamed. “Thanks, sir.”
“You can call me Garroth, you know,” Garroth said, laughing a little. “Uh, but… how are you? Are you healing up alright?”
Zenix nodded. “My arms still hurt a lot, but I’ll heal.” He paused, shuffling his feet embarrassedly. “Uh, thank you, Garroth. For everything.”
There was a twinge of something in Garroth’s chest when he said that. Guilt? Sadness? Anger? He wasn’t sure, everything felt… muddy.
The scene had shifted after he blinked. He was standing in front of an iron door built into a wall, inspecting the little splatters of blood dressing the cold metal.
“I don’t think we’ll be able to get in…” He mused to nobody in particular. Zenix was searching around the back, hopefully to come back with news of another entrance. He had been gone a while, though, Garroth was beginning to realize.
He ran his gloved fingers over the old wood that framed the door, feeling the bumps and ridges that textured its surface.
He tore his eyes away from the door, realizing that it would be no use to continue examining it as he had already been doing so for the past ten minutes. He stepped out into the field, gazing upon the setting sun and the colors that painted the surrounding clouds and skyline. There were horses grazing off in the distance, wind combing through the grass.
It was so peaceful.
Garroth closed his eyes for a moment, listening to the wind and the rushing water of the nearby river, letting himself relax to the sound of birdsong.
Then came the sound of a bow being drawn. Then came the pain.
Garroth had been hurt before. It came with the job, really, but the sting of this arrow piercing through his chest felt like millions of lightning bolts from millions of storms congregating in his nerves. His blood was hot, that sticky, lava-like substance pooling around him in the grass he had fallen face-first into.
He was falling, falling, falling. The shimmer of the sunset grew dark, a wine red tone that stained the sky like netherrack.
He was going to die, wasn’t he? That icy dread paired so well with the hot, blinding pain in his chest. It was so ironic. His last moments just so happened to be the ones he wasn’t on his guard.
Garroth awoke with a gasp, eyes shooting open to see the stone ceiling of the guard housing space instead of the open, red sky. The pain in his chest was quickly dissipating, leaving behind an icy cold ache where it once festered.
He slowly got to his feet, quietly shuffling out to the balcony. Damn sleep, he had decided. It didn’t do anything good for him anyway.
There was a hot pricking at his eyes. Garroth hated crying, he really did, but there was nobody there except for him and his thoughts, and the ache in his chest felt worse than usual.
He was so tired of it. He was so tired of feeling bad about someone that couldn’t feel remorse for his actions, so tired of seeing him in Dante. He carried it like a chunk of lead in his lungs, weighing him down and making it hard to breathe, but impossible to remove.
Garroth registered the creak of the door behind him, sure, but didn’t quite realize someone was with him until Dante sat down next to him.
“What’re you doing up?” Dante asked quietly.
Garroth lifted his head out of his hands, glancing back at him with bloodshot, tearstained eyes. He could try to lie, but it didn’t seem like much use.
“...Nightmare?”
He nodded.
“Yeah. Me too.”
It was quiet for a bit, the two leaning against the stone brick wall in a casual, drowsy silence.
“Y’know,” Dante started, a bit of hesitance lingering in his voice, “when I was young, my mom always said that talking about a nightmare would make it go away.”
“I don’t think talking about it is going to take away bad memories,” Garroth responded softly.
Dante sighed. “Alright. Can I talk about mine, then?”
“Go for it.”
Dante began to talk. He spoke of a man named Gene and the glint in his eye, the anger in his words, the malice dripping from his tongue. He spoke of his family, their confused faces after forgetting him etched in his brain. He spoke of shadow knights and of curses, of vengeance and heartbreak.
“The worst thing is,” Dante finally said, smiling bitterly at the cracked stone beneath them, “Is that I still miss him. He was horrible to me and my family, but I can’t help but feeling-”
“-Guilty?” Garroth finished, Dante mirroring the surprised face Garroth had been wearing all night. “I… I never knew. I’m sorry.” He paused, shifting uncomfortably. “I… could I talk about my dream too?”
Dante smiled a little, nodding. “Of course.”
Garroth spoke of his dream. He talked of Zenix, the betrayal, the red-hot pain that still hovered around in his chest, and (albeit reluctantly) of the way Dante reminded Garroth of him. He rambled about the conflicted pain, the way his brain was caught between grief of losing Zenix and celebrating at the bastard’s disappearance. By the end, they both had watery eyes, sitting in the shared grief.
“I didn’t know we were so similar in that matter,” Dante said, laughing tearfully. “Oh, Irene, help me…”
Garroth nodded, scrubbing at his eyes. “It feels good to talk about it, actually. Thanks for this.”
“Told ya.” Dante paused, sighing quietly. “I… I’m really sorry I remind you of him.”
“It’s not your fault. I’m just-- heh, I’m just being ridiculous, honestly.”
“There’s nothing ridiculous about grief, Garroth.”
Garroth pursed his lips, running a hand through his hair. “...Yeah. You’re right.” He sighed. “This… this really is shitty, huh?”
“Language,” Dante said, placing a scandalized hand on his chest. “In the presence of a young, impressionable guard as well! I cannot believe.”
Garroth snorted. “Oh, shut up. I deserve it.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” Dante chuckled, staring up at the sky. “...Hey, Garroth?”
“Hm?”
“Thanks for telling me.”
Garroth smiled. “No problem. We should probably get to bed, it’s late.”
The pair got to their feet and gave their respective goodnight wishes, shuffling off to their rooms with smiles on their faces.
The ache in Garroth’s chest had finally dissipated. The rest of the night was nightmare-free.
Garroth wasn’t over it, and he wouldn’t be for a long time, but there wasn’t as great a weight on his back.
He had spent a long time drowning, and a long time thinking that it was always going to be like that.
