fic/art: Filled with faces dead and gone
Title: Filled with faces dead and gone
Author: ohmydarlingdear
Artist: paperstains
Team: ANGST!!!
Prompt: chocolate
Word count: approx. 1,000
Rating: PG
Warnings: canon character death
Summary: comfort eating.
A/N: basically, this happened when I was sitting around at like 3am telling myself that there's no way the prompt chocolate could ever be made angsty and then going CHALLENGE_ACCEPTED.JPG
endless, endless love to paperstains for making such gorgeous art to accompany this fic and generally being wonderful and helpful and amazing.
enjoy~
(title borrowed from The Great Gatsby)
art preview:
Arthur has never been a fan of chocolate. Of course, there had always been chocolate in the house when he was young, but it was never for him. Growing up, chocolate had always been for his mother, who hoarded it during her time of the month, or for his sister every time she broke up with her on-again off-again boyfriend and needed some comfort food. Over the years, Arthur supposes that he’s come to associate chocolate with some sort of misery, so he avoids it on principle. Besides, he’s never really liked the way it tastes, too sweet and sugary and the way it sticks to his mouth - which is why it makes it so odd that Arthur’s currently sitting in the middle of the living room of the apartment that he and Eames share (a quiet, cozy little place just outside of New York), stuffing his face with chocolate.
They’re round chocolate truffles, a whole box of them, from the large red box Mal had gotten Arthur a couple weeks earlier. He’d furrowed his eyebrows in confusion when she’d handed the heart shaped box to him that day in the warehouse, partway through the day, interrupting his work.
“I don’t like chocolate,” he’d said, even though surely, she must know this because they’d known each other since their college years, ever since she’d found him that warm autumn day all those years ago (or, well, much less found than walked into and dropped books all over, not that it makes much difference in retrospect).
Mal had just laughed and said, “Arthur, how many times do I have to tell you? I’m allowed to get you chocolate if I feel like it on Valentine’s Day.”
And he’d frowned at her and told her she was being ridiculous, but he’d kept the chocolates anyways, because Eames has a sweet tooth and Arthur wasn’t about to let a whole box of chocolate go to waste. But Eames hadn’t eaten the chocolates, though Arthur doesn’t know why, and they’ve been sitting on the coffee table ever since Mal gave them to him. Arthur had thought it’d been silly to just let them sit there, untouched, but he’s suddenly thankful now, even though he still really doesn’t like chocolate.
“Arthur,” Eames sighs, coming over to where Arthur is, situated on the couch with tears streaming down his face, eating chocolate like his life depends on it. Eames sets his mug of tea down on the coffee table and kneels on the ground between Arthur’s legs so he can meet Arthur’s downcast eyes. He reaches up to brush his fingers along Arthur’s jaw. “Arthur, darling, I know you’re upset but-”
“Shut up,” Arthur snaps roughly. His voice breaks as fresh tears spill over the rim of his eyes to race down his cheeks. “Just shut up, Eames.”
Eames sighs and drops his hands, sits and watches helplessly as Arthur shoves another truffle in his mouth. Arthur’s fingers are trembling. His whole body is shaking, and it feels like there’s a huge chunk of himself missing, nothing left but a big, gaping hole, and it’s like he’s trying to fill it with chocolate, Mal’s chocolate, the chocolate that she gave to him just a handful of days ago.
“You’re not the only one who’s lost someone, you know,” Eames tries again, voice soft and quiet and gentle, like he’s afraid if he speaks too loudly, Arthur will shatter into a million pieces right before his very eyes. Given the circumstances, that might not actually be that unlikely.
Arthur doesn’t snap at Eames this time. He’s shaking a little too much to do much but stare blankly ahead of him, silent tears rolling down his cheeks. Eames gently eases the chocolates out of Arthur’s hands and cups Arthur’s face with his hands, running his fingertips along Arthur’s jaw.
“She was my friend too,” Eames murmurs, and Arthur starts crying in earnest, shoulders shaking, chest heaving with sobs.
Eames pulls himself up to sit on the couch with Arthur, holding Arthur close as he cries into the fabric of Eames’ shirt. Arthur clutches desperately at Eames as if he’s the only thing keeping Arthur grounded (which, again, given the current circumstances, he very well might be). Eames rubs soothing circles into Arthur’s back, not bothering to murmur those sweet, meaningless reassurances that everything will be alright, because they both know it’s not.
Tonight, this one night, has changed everything. They’re not safe anymore. It’s quite possible that they’ll wake up tomorrow morning to a frantic phone call from Dom, telling them that he’s run because the authorities are coming after him, and then Arthur will rush off to follow him, because Dom is liable to do something stupid any day now and needs someone to keep tabs on him at all times and Arthur will feel obligated because he’s Dom, Mal’s Dom, and Arthur might not hold many loyalties at this point, but he’ll feel like he owes it to her. It’s quite possible that they’ll have to split up, the two of them, even though they’ve safely managed to live together for more than a year now. It’s quite possible that any day now, something will come and tear them apart and they won’t be able to see each other for a very, very long time.
But this is now, here, and Arthur is crying like he’s never let Eames see before, crying like he did when he was ten and his pet dog Ruffles died, like he did when he was thirteen his grandmother passed away, only this is worse, worse because it shouldn’t have happened, it could have been prevented. Worse because it wasn’t old age or infirmity that killed Mal Cobb, it was Mal herself.
Author: ohmydarlingdear
Artist: paperstains
Team: ANGST!!!
Prompt: chocolate
Word count: approx. 1,000
Rating: PG
Warnings: canon character death
Summary: comfort eating.
A/N: basically, this happened when I was sitting around at like 3am telling myself that there's no way the prompt chocolate could ever be made angsty and then going CHALLENGE_ACCEPTED.JPG
endless, endless love to paperstains for making such gorgeous art to accompany this fic and generally being wonderful and helpful and amazing.
enjoy~
(title borrowed from The Great Gatsby)
art preview:
Arthur has never been a fan of chocolate. Of course, there had always been chocolate in the house when he was young, but it was never for him. Growing up, chocolate had always been for his mother, who hoarded it during her time of the month, or for his sister every time she broke up with her on-again off-again boyfriend and needed some comfort food. Over the years, Arthur supposes that he’s come to associate chocolate with some sort of misery, so he avoids it on principle. Besides, he’s never really liked the way it tastes, too sweet and sugary and the way it sticks to his mouth - which is why it makes it so odd that Arthur’s currently sitting in the middle of the living room of the apartment that he and Eames share (a quiet, cozy little place just outside of New York), stuffing his face with chocolate.
They’re round chocolate truffles, a whole box of them, from the large red box Mal had gotten Arthur a couple weeks earlier. He’d furrowed his eyebrows in confusion when she’d handed the heart shaped box to him that day in the warehouse, partway through the day, interrupting his work.
“I don’t like chocolate,” he’d said, even though surely, she must know this because they’d known each other since their college years, ever since she’d found him that warm autumn day all those years ago (or, well, much less found than walked into and dropped books all over, not that it makes much difference in retrospect).
Mal had just laughed and said, “Arthur, how many times do I have to tell you? I’m allowed to get you chocolate if I feel like it on Valentine’s Day.”
And he’d frowned at her and told her she was being ridiculous, but he’d kept the chocolates anyways, because Eames has a sweet tooth and Arthur wasn’t about to let a whole box of chocolate go to waste. But Eames hadn’t eaten the chocolates, though Arthur doesn’t know why, and they’ve been sitting on the coffee table ever since Mal gave them to him. Arthur had thought it’d been silly to just let them sit there, untouched, but he’s suddenly thankful now, even though he still really doesn’t like chocolate.
“Arthur,” Eames sighs, coming over to where Arthur is, situated on the couch with tears streaming down his face, eating chocolate like his life depends on it. Eames sets his mug of tea down on the coffee table and kneels on the ground between Arthur’s legs so he can meet Arthur’s downcast eyes. He reaches up to brush his fingers along Arthur’s jaw. “Arthur, darling, I know you’re upset but-”
“Shut up,” Arthur snaps roughly. His voice breaks as fresh tears spill over the rim of his eyes to race down his cheeks. “Just shut up, Eames.”
Eames sighs and drops his hands, sits and watches helplessly as Arthur shoves another truffle in his mouth. Arthur’s fingers are trembling. His whole body is shaking, and it feels like there’s a huge chunk of himself missing, nothing left but a big, gaping hole, and it’s like he’s trying to fill it with chocolate, Mal’s chocolate, the chocolate that she gave to him just a handful of days ago.
“You’re not the only one who’s lost someone, you know,” Eames tries again, voice soft and quiet and gentle, like he’s afraid if he speaks too loudly, Arthur will shatter into a million pieces right before his very eyes. Given the circumstances, that might not actually be that unlikely.
Arthur doesn’t snap at Eames this time. He’s shaking a little too much to do much but stare blankly ahead of him, silent tears rolling down his cheeks. Eames gently eases the chocolates out of Arthur’s hands and cups Arthur’s face with his hands, running his fingertips along Arthur’s jaw.
“She was my friend too,” Eames murmurs, and Arthur starts crying in earnest, shoulders shaking, chest heaving with sobs.
Eames pulls himself up to sit on the couch with Arthur, holding Arthur close as he cries into the fabric of Eames’ shirt. Arthur clutches desperately at Eames as if he’s the only thing keeping Arthur grounded (which, again, given the current circumstances, he very well might be). Eames rubs soothing circles into Arthur’s back, not bothering to murmur those sweet, meaningless reassurances that everything will be alright, because they both know it’s not.
Tonight, this one night, has changed everything. They’re not safe anymore. It’s quite possible that they’ll wake up tomorrow morning to a frantic phone call from Dom, telling them that he’s run because the authorities are coming after him, and then Arthur will rush off to follow him, because Dom is liable to do something stupid any day now and needs someone to keep tabs on him at all times and Arthur will feel obligated because he’s Dom, Mal’s Dom, and Arthur might not hold many loyalties at this point, but he’ll feel like he owes it to her. It’s quite possible that they’ll have to split up, the two of them, even though they’ve safely managed to live together for more than a year now. It’s quite possible that any day now, something will come and tear them apart and they won’t be able to see each other for a very, very long time.
But this is now, here, and Arthur is crying like he’s never let Eames see before, crying like he did when he was ten and his pet dog Ruffles died, like he did when he was thirteen his grandmother passed away, only this is worse, worse because it shouldn’t have happened, it could have been prevented. Worse because it wasn’t old age or infirmity that killed Mal Cobb, it was Mal herself.