[ his voice still soft and cautious, barely above a whisper, as if this were a real funeral and not a desperate grasping at whatever scraps of humanity this place can still allow them. ]
Fire powers, from the Temp V.
[ Tim pulls two candles from his bag, and moves the flame from the lantern to the wicks with a flick of his finger, two tiny balls of warm light breaking off from the larger one. A demonstration. He could melt the snow into drinking water, warm up just enough of the ground to call it a proper burial. It would be muddy, and whatever grass is left under the storm would be scorched to nothing, but it would be better than this. A slow decay in a cold room for however long this continues, provided the ghouls don’t make their way inside. Which is not a given. ]
The staff that usually take people away are... [ trying to eat them. ] If we do it ourselves, it’ll happen quicker.
[ It doesn’t bother him, to touch him. Not any more than it bothers him to see him, at least, to know that he’s dead, that in this specific, nightmarish circumstance, it was probably the right thing to do. God never said a word about exceptions for when the alternative is eating your loved ones alive, but there must be. So there was a point to this, some noble rationale to avoid more violence, which bothers him marginally less than scrubbing Embry’s blood out of the chapel floor, and the bottled up hurt that came with it. What he wouldn’t give now, for the sear of blood and bleach across his senses, instead of this never-ending rot.
What bothers him is witnessing Embry’s love for Ash, rather than hearing about it, for the first time now, while he lays dead. The tenderness he shows him, while he’s not truly there to be soothed by it. It wears at his resolve, makes the brave face he’s put on for the sake of all those relying on him – for warmth, for comfort, for firepower in the fights against these monsters – crack. ]
Take this. [ Putting a candle in Embry’s hand, and Tim’s own in his other, as much self-soothing as it is solidarity. ] Ready?
[ the mention of temp v makes his stomach roil. he’d taken it. ash had taken it, too, and then used it to leave him. he watches the flames move to the candles, the soft glow illuminating the shroud of despair coating the room. he should give that to ash. a proper burial, or at least the closest thing he can get to it. if tim can thaw the ground, embry can dig no matter how cold it is, no matter if he has to deal with revenants at the same time. he can break up his own former gravesite, because it’s fucking weird to keep seeing it.
his fingers curl in the fabric of ash’s shirt, tensing with the knowledge that he’d have to let him out of this room first. he’d have to stop sitting at his side, stop talking to his corpse, stop sleeping with his head nestled against a dead man. ]
Not yet. [ his expression is almost pleading. ] I will. But I need more time.
[ he brings the candle close to ash’s side, the warm shadows dancing across the planes of his still face, playing at the mockery of life. there’s never a time when ash doesn’t look handsome to him, not even in death, which probably makes him demented as fuck. tim’s hand curling firmly around his is nearly the thing that undoes him, his breath tightening, as if none of these moments become real except in the rare instances that living human contact grounds him. pain returns to him, and he almost pulls away. ]
You better fucking appreciate this. [ muttered down to ash’s face. then, louder — ] Yeah, I’m ready.
[ He nods, his lips a tight line. Tim can leave it without pushing for a day or two. He knows Embry to be far more sensitive than he wants people to believe, to imagine slights where there are none, to act selfishly out of love. Ash will forgive him, even if God won’t. Whether he’ll forgive Tim for enabling this madness, he doesn’t know. Maybe not. It’s a risk he’s willing to take, because Embry is alive no matter how cold he feels in Tim’s hand, and he needs support right now, not eventually, when this is over.
If this will ever be over.
Tim makes the sign of the cross over himself and lets out a final, shaky breath, before he begins. ]
Lord Jesus Christ, with your three days in the tomb, you hallowed the graves of all who believe in you, and made the grave a sign of hope, even as it takes our mortal bodies. Grant that our brother Ash sleeps in peace until you awaken him to glory, for you are the resurrection and the life. Then he, ah... he’ll know the light and the splendor of God. For you live, and reign, forever. And ever.
[ Paraphrased, partially forgotten, and made perverse with the knowledge that when Ash does awaken, it will be right back here in Saltburnt instead of the eternal paradise that they were promised. It doesn’t feel like enough. But what could? Biting his lip, Tim blinks away tears before looking at Embry. ]
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2025-02-21 10:51 pm (UTC)[ his voice still soft and cautious, barely above a whisper, as if this were a real funeral and not a desperate grasping at whatever scraps of humanity this place can still allow them. ]
Fire powers, from the Temp V.
[ Tim pulls two candles from his bag, and moves the flame from the lantern to the wicks with a flick of his finger, two tiny balls of warm light breaking off from the larger one. A demonstration. He could melt the snow into drinking water, warm up just enough of the ground to call it a proper burial. It would be muddy, and whatever grass is left under the storm would be scorched to nothing, but it would be better than this. A slow decay in a cold room for however long this continues, provided the ghouls don’t make their way inside. Which is not a given. ]
The staff that usually take people away are... [ trying to eat them. ] If we do it ourselves, it’ll happen quicker.
[ It doesn’t bother him, to touch him. Not any more than it bothers him to see him, at least, to know that he’s dead, that in this specific, nightmarish circumstance, it was probably the right thing to do. God never said a word about exceptions for when the alternative is eating your loved ones alive, but there must be. So there was a point to this, some noble rationale to avoid more violence, which bothers him marginally less than scrubbing Embry’s blood out of the chapel floor, and the bottled up hurt that came with it. What he wouldn’t give now, for the sear of blood and bleach across his senses, instead of this never-ending rot.
What bothers him is witnessing Embry’s love for Ash, rather than hearing about it, for the first time now, while he lays dead. The tenderness he shows him, while he’s not truly there to be soothed by it. It wears at his resolve, makes the brave face he’s put on for the sake of all those relying on him – for warmth, for comfort, for firepower in the fights against these monsters – crack. ]
Take this. [ Putting a candle in Embry’s hand, and Tim’s own in his other, as much self-soothing as it is solidarity. ] Ready?
no subject
Date: 2025-02-22 06:31 pm (UTC)his fingers curl in the fabric of ash’s shirt, tensing with the knowledge that he’d have to let him out of this room first. he’d have to stop sitting at his side, stop talking to his corpse, stop sleeping with his head nestled against a dead man. ]
Not yet. [ his expression is almost pleading. ] I will. But I need more time.
[ he brings the candle close to ash’s side, the warm shadows dancing across the planes of his still face, playing at the mockery of life. there’s never a time when ash doesn’t look handsome to him, not even in death, which probably makes him demented as fuck. tim’s hand curling firmly around his is nearly the thing that undoes him, his breath tightening, as if none of these moments become real except in the rare instances that living human contact grounds him. pain returns to him, and he almost pulls away. ]
You better fucking appreciate this. [ muttered down to ash’s face. then, louder — ] Yeah, I’m ready.
no subject
Date: 2025-02-24 06:46 pm (UTC)If this will ever be over.
Tim makes the sign of the cross over himself and lets out a final, shaky breath, before he begins. ]
Lord Jesus Christ, with your three days in the tomb, you hallowed the graves of all who believe in you, and made the grave a sign of hope, even as it takes our mortal bodies. Grant that our brother Ash sleeps in peace until you awaken him to glory, for you are the resurrection and the life. Then he, ah... he’ll know the light and the splendor of God. For you live, and reign, forever. And ever.
[ Paraphrased, partially forgotten, and made perverse with the knowledge that when Ash does awaken, it will be right back here in Saltburnt instead of the eternal paradise that they were promised. It doesn’t feel like enough. But what could? Biting his lip, Tim blinks away tears before looking at Embry. ]
Do you want to say anything?