#she dug up a bulb

[bethestaryouareradio]

[gwenhysteria]

nerd!abby x reader

cw: cunnilingus (aa!recieving) , smut DUH , some plot idk , established relationship , lowk shit writing , pet names (baby)

you were watching abby read her book. her arm was slightly draped over your body, and your leg was atop of hers. you were running your fingers tips up and down her toned stomach.

"when will you be done?" you whined, getting impatient and desperately wanting her attention. "i'm not even close to being done, baby." she whispered, focused on her book with an annoyed tone hidden deeply in her voice. you rolled your eyes, eventually learning that no matter what she wasn't just gonna stop reading.

you pressed your palm straight down onto her stomach and rubbed instead of just dragging your fingers. you felt how toned her abs were, how her arm locked you into place close to her.. you took all of her in and your hand slowly dragged down to the top of her pants.

you smirked to yourself and it was like a light bulb popped up in your head. you threw her arm off you, and she looked at you weirdly, but decided to not say anything. you sat up, not even trying to be subtle about it, and sat yourself between her legs.

the dropped her book onto her chest and cocked an eyebrow at you. "just keep reading your book, abs." you told her, and she, for some reason, listened. you smiled slyly and fiddled with the waistband of her sweatpants, getting your fingers under. you pulled them off her, and she bucked her hips to make it easier for you.

you leaned down, faced with her cunt, and licked a little kitten lick up her folds. she spread her legs wider to give you more access, and she sucked in a breath. “shit, you drive me insane..” she spoke under her breath.

you put your hands steady on her big hips and went all in. you flicked your tongue on her clit and she groaned. her big hand found its way to the back of your head and shoved you farther into her cunt. you fingernails dug into her flesh while you repeatedly lick her pussy like it’s your last meal.

“fuck, make me feel so good, baby.” she managed to moan out, bucking her hips into your face. your tongue swirled against her entrance. your saliva and her juices ran down your face and made your lips and chin wet.

her thick thighs tightened around your head as she sensed her high coming. and before she even knew it she was releasing all over your face. you moan into her cunt and lap up every drop of her cum.

her thighs release you from her grip, and you sit back up. “gosh, you couldn’t wait til i was done with one chapter?” she asked, laughing. you shook your head and grinned. “no.”

you crawled up on top of her, face-to-face and caught her mouth into a kiss. her lips were soft, and you moved you hands to caress her cheeks.

sorry this is saur bad and the shortest thing to ever be written ever… can you tell this is my first time writing smut?? i bet u can, anyways request puhlease <33

[astralnymphh]

why is it always about ellie pleasuring us and never about us pleasuring her??? like I wanna edge then and then overstimulate her till she cries 👉👈

right?? like.. ugh especially with a vibrator !! mdni. mama petname used. sub!ellie. bratty behaviour. blah kind of a lazier drabble focused more on dialogue im just practicing for pccb (pretty cunt central, baby: a fic) 1.5k+ wc.

⤹ edging ellie with a vibrator ⋆ . ☣

Hung like a vignette upon her lain body, Ellie was vulnerable. Accelerated in the pump of her blood. Cold of her sweat, beading clammy condensation on her cheeks, a single bang strews itself across that muggy biome of skin— somehow looking darker as it soaks up her wet frustration. The bedspread, however, drank up a lethal amount of her crying sweat. A dull radiograph beneath her, turning lilac hue of her blanket—mauve, marking her body with a vignette of her own.

Ellie on her back, thighs broadened on each side of you, and you fully kneeling with cold toes wedged into the chub of your ass, is your position. Skimpy end of her pubic bush tickled your belly button whenever she scoots closer, eagerly trying to rub her greedy pussy on you— fuck, you cherish those little antsy movements.

"Fuckin'— unhhh— nuhnonono babe, baby.. fuck, c'mon!" her words drove on a groan, snapping into an upset whine when a certain toy was drifted from her beaming cherry clit.

Fun. Fun is what you gain from this, and it fed you with hormones to perceive it in that light. Your thumb planes plumb on a flat button, the surrounding indentation kissing your print as you let it sit softly, no vibrations to numb it.

Ellie chases your detach with her hips bucking and legs arisen, sticking out her cunt for that damn toys' bulbous head, "Mama— please, fuck.." the whine leavens, straining in her clench of stress.

She is so fucking handsome, cute— alurring with that glassy daisy nose. Buttony and speckled like a daisys lemony pistil, but glossy as a pearl washed upon a rocky cove, orb of luster on the tip to prove it. Fairest terra of her skin, has gone scarlet against the pale sand of her cupids bow, which she rolls inward to her bottom lip in even more neglect of her edging. Too fucking cute.

"Yeah, you fucking like that?" you flipped the toy on and jabbed it into her clit, provoking her hips to jerk in regret and her legs to clamp in on you— to which you dug your free hand into the plush hind of her thigh, stretching the web of your thumb and pointer, and craning that shit 'till her knee nearly kissed the mattress. Sprawled like a bitch in heat.

"Fuck fuck fuck! N— ohhh my guuh, haah—" Els bolted her eyelids to a creasing shut, scrunching up to her nose as you sunk that vibrator head in vertical drags, watching her pretty pussy lips swallow the ridge of it, "uhhhnn t'can't, cuuhh— uh!" blabbered she.

Your blabbering mess. Jolting up her pussy for you, the bulge of its aroused state really catching your eyes.

"Can't what, baby?" you coo belittleingly.

A nubby mass pushes your nude hips into her butt, thereafter you realize her heel was nudging you close, because she longs for your closeness, to be near when she cums.

Strias of breath warble from her throat, panting in dainty breaks, "Huhh— ha, uhh babe, m'wanna cum for you, cum with my pussy all over y—you, y—yeah.." her tune turns squeaky, enticing you with that weak coo, only to grow pouty and sassy, "stop be— uhhn, being a dick.."

A brow arches in amusement, "What was that?" you curl in feigned curiosity, lifting the whirring bulb with a webbing of her slick gluing from the verge of her hole to the plastic tip.

"Fuck—" a dramatic pulling of pants rise again, chest aswell, vocal chords calming, "you're just getting me back for teasing you, hmm?"

"Yes.." you spur from lying, sounding proud.

Rose buds of her lips curl in as she chugs air, gazing so doey—eyed at you through lashes sodden in faint tears. Those fucking brows curved in at the base of her nose, making her look so— dizzied, like she was about to pass.

She hikes up onto her elbows, pressing her hot buttcheeks harsh into your thighs until they splat. Ellie just knew, by the twist of your words and the crescent carving below your nose, you enjoy this. "God, you.." a sigh leaves her, cheeks inflating, "you fucking like this."

You frill, "Mhm."

"Fuck you."

Faking offense, you dusk your lids to a slit, glaring, "Scuse me?" stern with a smile, you winch a hand behind you— wrapping around another toys girth, "wanna talk t'me like that?" you press the vibrator back to her clit, swerving your other hand 'round and dipping the spade of a purple dildo into her hole— fast, stretching her lips open and bottoming 'till the small silicone balls squished her perineum.

"Shit!" yelped she, sudden lunge of her large mitt now grappling the hand on her thigh and burrowing bowed nail marks deep in your wrist, second hand clawing the cotton sleeve of her pillow.

You smack the balls hard on her wet skin, draining every bit of precum from her filthy gaping pussy— which landslides in between her ass. Drawing strings and strings from her cervix, the squelch arouses your ears, flushing them in heat.

"Yeah?" you silken a muse at her choked and elongated moans, dazzling the front of your knuckles in slick with your speed, "slutty fucking pussy, lookit' her— clenching that cock in."

It hadn't even washed over you that she was already cumming, bubbly sounds of her piped squirt swelling into your ears— thenn the little spurts come and the pooling of white cream licking up the pumping veins spatters your belly, riling you the fuck up. You didn't let up, nuh—uh, not when her raised brows, banshee—wailing mouth and ghastly eyes made you feel hot inside your own cunt, striving for overstimulation.

"Ohhh my god— huhhnn.." Ellie groaned, tatted arm flexing it's veins and yielding pigment from her fingertips.

You slipped the dick out like butter— her labia kissing closed, and slap it down on her swollen folds, noise coiling, getting her to jerk and push out more slicky finish, "There you go— good girl, cummin' for mama?" you steady the vibrator, letting it torture her convulsing clit for an.. untold range of time, whatever floats your boat.

"Uh'huh.."

Nimble as ever, you glissade the dick up her torso, crushing her slobber webbed lips with the pussy—reeked tip, "Mhm, that's right, open up babe.." asking of her with a satiny softness taking over that cold voice.

Spit drools down her chin as she caves her gob over, pupils colliding as she crosses her eyes in, "Ghh— uhhhahnn.."

"Don't talk.." you enlist a ruder tug on her clit with the vibe, forcing all that sweet syrupy cum down that throat of hers in droplets off the dick, "suck that fucking cock.."

Obeying, she rumples the plump coral skin around the thickness and drags them over the texture, pulling them out slightly. Cream white began to build at her pie—hole, cherry pie lips, a la her scarfing gags spitting everything that wanted to travel down. Little 'guh, guh, guhhs' bounced off her larynx, a fucking angel soprano to your ears.

However, she just couldn't stop thrashing. Past her point of please, were her non—verbal pleads of relief. Relief from that whirring device, rolling her butt deeper into the mattress now opposing the chase.

Ellie's quivering right arm fleets up and grabs your wrist, shanking the hell—sworn cock out of her mouth with spit connecting, messy girl, "Nonono, fhck— too much t'much 'tmuhh— ahh~" she gabbles, locking her butt up and humping up into the air void of intention.

Too much.

Too much..

Not enough.

"You know this baby," a bastion of even more pride instills your craving cunt, winding your knees smushed into the bed and crawling over her, body casting dark in your vignette, chastising "Ellie doesn't get a break 'till I cum too, 'kay?" you whisk the toy away, just for a second.

The bitter burn of tears piggyback over her bottom lids, squeezed out like orange juice and glossing like her wet and mucky slit did, both squinting at your actions. A snotty sniffle flows into her woozed words, "C—can I at least tou—uhh, touch you.. babe?" red puffy eyes gazing into yours with such want, skipping momentarily to search for any expressive sign of a reply.

"Sure baby, sit up— but don't close those fucking legs." you accept her ask, watching that ruffly—haired girl scoot up with such excitement.

Ellie sits vanward still, slouching with widely spread legs and a timid hand reaching for your cunt, the contrary paw dropping and fondling the cushion of your butt cause she just couldn't help the urge, tucking her head in the warm hearth of your neck— latching a bite so she may distract herself from what you're about to do.

You take her hand and invite it in, feeling her fingertips divide and tease your folds and her teeth nipping tiny spots of flesh into her dried chuckling mouth like a goat grazing, giving you the green light to creep the toy on her bloated bud, once more.

"I fucking love playing with you."

[inthedarktrees]

Gloria Graves is dug up from her steel tomb, Los Angeles, 1935

19-year-old Gloria Graves has been arrested for violating the city's Marathon ordinance outlawing contests and entertainments involving endurance that might affect participants' health due to locking herself in a steel tomb for the past week at Fifth Street and Vermont Avenue. Gloria's open coffin rests on solid ground with her still inside of it. The inside of her coffin is white with a speaker attached to the inside so she could communicate with outsiders and a light bulb so she could see.

"Tomb Girl's Bail Fixed," Los Angeles Times, 17 Nov 1935

[snowvies]

𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐝

jonathan byers x fem!reader

summary: things get heated while developing pictures with jonathan

cw: smut, p in v, whiny jonathan.

"now we just wait for them to..um..develop" jonathan whispers, placing the picture in the pool of chemicals

you nod even though you're standing behind him, out of sight. the blood red bulb dangling above your head buzzes as jonathan stands from his hunched position and sighs.

"it'll take 10-15 minutes. give or take" he gives a crooked smile before turning around and dipping more photos in

"so...how long have you been into photography?" you purse your lips slowly

"uh, a while...I've always liked to observe people" he answers before shaking his head and turning to you, embarrassment engulfing his frame

"sorry that sounds really weird" he rubs his hair to keep his hands busy as you smile softly up at him

"no, I completely get it...you're good ya'know" you grin, nodding to his developed work clipped on the wall

he stares at his feet while his face breaks up into a smile, maybe its because this rooms literally bright red but you could have sworn you saw blush creep up from his neck. he mutters a quick 'thank you' before moving back to his work

you and jonathan have been going out for a few weeks. shy girl meets shy boy when she had to bring his little brother home after he got a flat tire on his bike when having a playdate with her little brother. you saw him at school before but you were way too nervous to go say hi ever...turns out he felt the same way.

"I didn't know our school even had this" you mumbled, looking around the little closet, he shrugged and absentmindedly waved his hand over his shoulder

"no one really uses it..."

you nodded, fingers traced the drawers before jonathan called you over to show you a few of the photos that were ready

"so this is some random pond near my house..." he spoke while clipping the dripping photo onto the string

"aaaand...this is you" he mumbled sheepishly while clipping a photo of you smiling, he insisted on taking one on your first date.

you quickly turned jonathan toward you as you kissed him softly

"thank you...they're amazing!" you grinned, his pupils filling out his iris as he traced his sight over your features. you felt hot once you realized how close you really were with him

"jonathan?" you whispered

"mhm"

"you said no one really comes in here...right?" you spoke carefully and he nodded, understanding your undertones and you both softly swayed into one and other

his lips caught yours and he backed you to the wall, you gasped at his sudden eagerness as a loose hand locked the door

"you sure? like really sure?" he slurred between kisses and you just said yes yes yes

you tore your top off as his was already missing, tugging his belt off while you unclasped your bra

now just left in both your underwear you panted into each others mouths, his hands traced down your back and hooked your panties before ripping them down. you felt exposed but so safe with him as his dick slapped against his stomach and rubbed on your pussy

he sank into you, kissing you slowly with each inch before being fully connected. you felt the burn of the stretch, but once he started moving, it was just pleasure.

his hips slapped against yours as he dug his face into your shoulder, whining softly while peppering kissing on your neck

your hands wrapped around his back as you clung to him with each whimper that came from him the wetter you felt, squeezing around him tighter as he sped his motions up

he moved up to grab your cheeks and smush a kiss while his thrusts fastened. you shook as you came around him, squeezing him incredibly tight as he cried out before coming in you.

you both stood there, shaky. panting slowly as you both came down from your highs when he looked over to the bowls and equipment

"...they're developed...now"

[jo-harrington]

You don't have time for Christmas.

Work and home and this friend in a crisis.

Work and home and, let's be honest, probably work again.

And before you know it, it's December 20th and you don't even have any decorations up. Barely anyone does. The neighborhoods that are usually lit up with lights and figurines enough to rival the Griswolds are noticably dark this year.

What holiday? What festivity? It's wake up and hustle and lay in bed in a dreamless sleep. Then wake up to do it all again.

You are a cog in a machine.

You don't know how to voice these things, your displeasure, the secret yearning for the pomp and circumstance and childhood whimsy for the holiday season that's tucked somewhere deep inside your weary body. You can't bring yourself to indulge in it.

You're tired.

You glance down the card aisle at the grocery store but don't stop to grab any for friends. You pick up a bag of peanut butter bells for your candy jar at work but then second guess it at the checkout. Gifts are bought with as much care as you could, but you can't even bother to wrap them as prettily as you usually would.

You can try again for Valentine's. Chocolate hearts with the crispy rice inside and roses for your coworkers. Something.

But this year, you don't have time for Christmas.

And he notices.

It starts with cookies.

He likes to bake--started with boxed cake mix and then you bought him a handheld torch one year so he could try his hand at creme brûlée after he watched a little too much Jacques Pepin on PBS--so it's not anything suspicious. No ulterior motives detected.

Only he's dug up the little handwritten notebook full of your grandma's favorite recipes. Grandpa's handwriting because he wrote it while she dictated. Cookies he's never tasted before himself but seemed to have nailed exactly the way she made them. The love he poured into the treats matched hers exactly.

He brings you a plate and a cup of cocoa when you come home and collapse on the couch.

You cry when you eat them. And he lets you.

Then he digs out the tree from the garage.

The one-car garage that you pay extra for doesn't fit either of your vehicles but fits all your crap. You both vow to clean up at some point and never do. He slogs through the boxes of old band tees that don't fit him and kitchen crap that you don't miss or really need, to get to the plastic 6 ft tree that used to have stickers to note which bough went in what slot but those are long gone.

He spends hours figuring it out and decorating it, and imagine your surprise when you come home to an otherwise-dark apartment illuminated by the fat, colorful incandescent bulbs that you're sure he spent a significant amount of time untangling. You'd both given up last year and went without lights. But there they are.

"What?" you drop your bag by the door. "What is this?"

"I dunno," he grins proudly. "Thought it would be nice. Get in the Christmas spirit. Saved the star for you to put on top if you want."

And you did. You wanted it so bad. Ever since you were a kid, you were the one to put the star on top of the tree.

After it's up, you marvel at the special care he's taken with the important ornaments. Fragile little wooden ones from your grandma, popsicle stick frames with baby pictures of both of you, a macaroni snowman that he gave his mom once-upon-a-time that his uncle had stashed away, and then a fancy hallmark one you got the year you moved in together.

They all have special places on the tree and tell a story of your lives, separate and then together.

You both lay under the tree that night, staring up at the glittering lights as you hold hands.

Finally it's Christmas Eve. Which to him really meant nothing, but to you meant the world. Christmas Days were spent with individual families but Christmas Eves of old meant a big dinner and time spent with your cousins and It's a Wonderful Life on the TV.

It's a tradition that got put to the wayside as everyone got too old and too tired. As you started getting scheduled to work, like this year. And it's almost worse this year, as you've done a stretch of you-can't-remember-how-many days, that you even turned down an invitation for the two of you from your mom for a small dinner with her.

You're exhausted by the time you get home and, more than anything, you're looking forward to the day off tomorrow.

Not the holiday. The day off.

Still, you remember to bring in the handful of gifts from their hiding place in your trunk. You don't really do gifts between the two of you anymore. Nothing big at least. Just a cheesy little thing. Something fun, not something serious. But you did a little more this year than you usually would--all of the OT you'd clocked for one, and too many things you saw that you knew would make him smile for another.

You try to tip toe into the house as quietly as possible so you can throw the boxes under the tree and shower but he's vigilant. He's been at the stove cooking for a while, and he greets you at the door as you shut it behind you.

"I thought we said no big gifts," he admonishes you and snatches the boxes from your hands. The wrapping paper isn't festive--just brown craft paper you stole borrowed from work since you wrapped on your lunch--but you managed to slap on some red and green bows from the drugstore that you grabbed the other day.

"They're not big," you explained. "I promise."

"Well neither are mine," he winked.

You slap a hand against his chest and then give him a kiss in greeting and thanks.

"One better be the RC racer I wanted when I was nine," he mutters against your lips.

"Hmmm, you're just gonna have to wait," you tell him. "And no shaking the boxes.

You're almost a little ticked off'; one of them is the RC racer.

You kick off your shoes as the smell finally hits you.

Dinner.

Thick and savory and fragrant.

Some kind of fish and roasted potatoes and the starchiness of a pasta and the tang of its sauce.

Recipes, again, taken from your grandma's little notebook. They stir something deep inside of you. That yearning you never voiced.

The weariness that's been slowly building within you finally comes to a head when you make it to the kitchen and see the pots and pans and two plates already portioned out.

An ice cold beer for him, and a Shirley temple, extra cherries, for you.

"Remember when you told me," he comes up behind you and his arms snake around your midsection, "that you and your cousins would sneak extra maraschino cherries from the fridge when your gram wasn't looking. And then she went to go get them for the pistachio salad and they were gone."

Your knees shake and you practically collapse against him.

"Speaking of which, there is a pistachio salad in the fridge for dessert."

"Why?" you sniff.

"Because that's actually my favorite, so sorry to your grandma's tiramisu." He pecks a kiss to the side of your head and rocks you back and forth. "But if you want to make that for New Year's Eve, I won't say no."

"No," you let out a watery laugh. "Why are you so good to me, why did you do all of this?"

"Because I know it's been a hard few weeks. Few months." You can feel him shrug. "Fuck, it's been hard for me too but...I know this is one of your favorite parts of the year and you just...haven't been in the spirit for it. So whatever I could do to make it happen for you..."

You turn in his arms and bury your face in his shoulder, in his neck, so he doesn't see your tears. Again. Worse this time as you begin to shake from your sobs. He shushes you, runs a hand over your back, and leaves kiss after kiss against your head.

"Baby, I'll do anything for you," he tells you, voice thick with emotion. "I just want you to be happy."

"I am happy," you whine against his skin. "I'm so...so happy."

"Good."

"Thank you," you repeat it over and over again until it feels like you're empty of all the void and indifference that have filled you for the past few months are gone. In their place just...love and gratitude for him.

"Merry Christmas baby. I love you."

"I love you too, Merry Christmas."

[necroromantics]

🌙 — Late Nights

midnight laundry run

- the melodic jingle of a bell flowed through the atmosphere of the empty laundromat as the glass front door swung open.

- a tall, slim woman made her way into the world of detergent and garment as she squinted up at the buzzing fluorescent lights upon entry. a stark contrast from the darkness of the midnight streets outside. the bright blue-green hues from the bulbs reflected off her clock eye, and the deep red that soaked her clothes.

- she dug her hands into her forest green jacket, accessorized by dirty fur on the hood, and pulled out the contents in her pockets. lint, a switchblade, pack of cigarettes, lighter, and various coins.

- the change clattered onto the metal washing machine as she emptied the items and began to remove her blood-stained, mud-crusted coat.

- silently, the hum of the lights overhead buzzed through her cold ears red with frost. as she sniffled back snot, clockwork caught a scent of warmth and cleanliness. her long, calloused hands made their way to her white tank top as pulled it off over her head, revealing black bra and defined scarred abdomen.

- her long, messy caramel brown hair fell recklessly on her slender shoulders freckled with sun and stars. clockwork wiped her dirty, red painted hands off on her black skinny jeans torn with age and adventure, and began to slide those off as well.

- as the girl stripped down to nothing but underwear, she was utterly indifferent to shame or curtesy. slipping a cigarette out of her pack, she placed one in her mouth, deeply inhaling the rough tobacco smoke as though she were breathing in life.

- with the cigarette held between her lips, she placed her soiled clothing into the washing machine and inserted the coins into the slot. as time ticked on, she leaned against the rumbling appliance and hugged her arm around her waist, bringing her other up to grip the smoke loosely between her two fingers.

- for a moment, all was calm. the warm air of the laundromat danced on her bare skin, opposite to the cold tingle of the washing machine on her back. clockwork allowed the atmosphere around her to take hold, closing her one good eye for a moment.

- she felt as though everything around her crumbled away, only listening to the buzz of the lights creating a symphony of errand with the thundering clatter of her clothes being tossed and turned. it was quiet, and peacefully alone.

- in that moment, it was if the girl wasn’t feral with blood splattered onto her coarse body ripe with war. in that moment, she was as clean as she could be with mud on her sneakers ripped to shreds and victim flesh under her chewed nails.

- that is, until the sound of the bell on the front door made her eye shoot open. a ruthless glare dug daggers at the intruder of her peaceful night as she stared at the entrance.

- to her dismay, it was a familiar face.

- shaggy, messy tuft of chestnut hair and obnoxious orange goggles hiding the boys desensitized dark eyes. it appears he had been on a job. his clothes were even more tattered with red soaked stains and earth grime than the girls.

- “oh clocky have you no shame?” the boy joked, inviting himself to stride over to her side.

- “not one bit. got nothing to lose anyways.” clockwork replied, staring past the annoyance who she knew as toby.

- without second word or warning, the other began to pull off his sweater, and unbuttoned his jeans mudded with graveyard dirt. his hands were rough, but quick, as he removed every article but his boxers.

- toby was smaller by a couple of inches in comparison to the tall girl when she straightened her posture to reveal her full height. like the girls, his body was littered with scars. some old, some new.

- he slid some of clockwork’s coins off the top of an unoccupied machine and roughly shoved his bundle of wardrobe into it, easing the change into the slot.

- still leaning against her appliance, facing forward, clockwork glanced over to the side with aloofness plastered on her time-kissed face, to watch the boy fight with the cleaning instrument.

- “you’re an idiot,” she muttered as she tried to fight off an amused smile creeping on to the corners of her mouth.

- toby huffed and turned away from the sputtering laundry, now looking at clockwork in her brutal entirety. the undressed woman was certainly tough to swallow, she wasn’t exactly easy on any casual eyes.

- “you’re hot” the boy blurted out, rivalling her disregard for shame or consequence.

- clockworks head quickly turned to match her gaze, now staring directly at toby with furrowed brow and wide eye. she froze for a moment at the unexpected comment before shaking her head and smiling into her glare, huffing a confused chuckle in response.

- she couldn’t say she was surprised. toby was as loud-mouthed and crude as she was.

- “yeah, well, wish i could say the same about you” the girl teased back, taking another long drag of her cigarette.

- for the next endless two hours until the laundry had completed its cycle, the pair continued their banter and casual chatter. the occasional passerby on the street glancing in to the laundromat from the large window, to see two blood-splattered youths in nothing but underwear and crooked smile, sharing a smoke with sparks in their eyes.

- everyone could see it but them. the fire between them could burn that town down.

[justjams2003]

The Desire to be Loved: 2

Summary: Love is Desire's first creation. As Cupid she shoots her arrows of love and rips them from people's hearts too. Occasionally, shooting a soulmate arrow. What does she do when her first Soulmate arrow in 100 years is between Cupid and Dream?

Pairing: Dream of the Endless x OFC Love/Cupid/Venus (you know how these beings have millions of names) (Also technically it could be an x reader because love is sort of anthropomorphic but in this story a she)

Warnings: Manipulation, threats, crying, cliffhanger, unedited, kind of like enemies to lovers, soulmate au, cursing, tell me if I miss any

Word count: 1,8k+

Dividers by: @hyelita

Tags: intothesoul

Masterlist

(I've moved the next part to the bottom)

What a cruel but beautiful creature. To look at me with such entrancing brown eyes that makes something warm flutter in my gut but leave me here. Her aura is that of a setting sun, but her hair is like that of the sun itself. A dear shocked by the presence of a different creature in her woods. Or perhaps shock that I could see her?  

But with the beauty she carries is also something vicious. Another immortal creature who seems to have some recognition behind those doe eyes. And yet knowing who I am and what importance I hold for the mortal world she leaves me here. Without a single second thought she disappeared into a different realm.  

I do not know who she is. Or rather what it is. The human’s son who captured me could not see her. He looked at me with utter confusion, but that is saying so little since they always look at me with fear of the unknown. As they should.  

Clearly something supernatural, but not something powerful enough for me to have known of them before. But in my 50 more years of confinement in this my glass prison I couldn’t help but keep myself busy with the thought of her.  

One of these days, almost on cue, that perfect pink aura suddenly appears in front of the glass bulb. She looks dishevelled. Her braid is messy, several front pieces have fallen out and covers her face. Where last time she wore shoes that made her quite a bit taller than the human Alex. Now, just a few inches.  

But more than that there’s blood all over her hands. Her eyes look glassy with tears but are wide with fear and shock. She’s down on her knees on front of this cage. A shudder pours through her body. Air doesn’t seem to making it into her lungs. Does she have to breathe or is the shock shaking her soul?  

She looks up at me and this seems to make it worse. The dam breaks and tears roll off her cheek. Her chest heaves as she tries to breathe. “I-I-” She mutters trying to comprehend and it seems as if she knows even less than I do now. “I don’t know what I did.” Her voice is just barely above a whisper.  

“He-he said I had to.” She mutters over and over, who is this he? What did she have to do? I wish this damn barrier wasn’t here so that I could see what is this situation. “And-and- I was so mad at him for making me-” another bout of tears overcomes her.  

She then stops and looks at her hands again. “Look at what I’ve done.” I can see how her mind is starting to break.  

That can’t be good. She must play some role in this the human world. Even if only slightly important, it could very well be the beginning or end of this earth. Should I care? Of course I should care. I was made by the first humans subconscious to help the humans. I can’t let all that effort go to waist now...  

But how could I help now? Stripped from all power, locked up and unable to be heard in this glass bubble of mine. I do all that I can think of. My hand slowly slides over the glass to where she sits kneeling in front of me.  

My movement catches her eye almost instantly. Her head snaps up, her ragged breathing stops. Her eyes seem to twinkle like gold dug up from deep in the core of the earth. Time seems to stop and I just can’t seem to understand what is going on. Is she a siren or witch of some sort? Putting a spell on me?  

Her hand, smaller than mine, reaches up and touches the glass where mine is. The blood smears against the glass into a red aura around her hand. The glass makes her fuzzy. Like a halo of red surrounding her as if she’s one of the angles.  

“What the fuck?!” One of the guards exclaim, interrupting this stopped moment in time. This moment, a red haze of ardency. From the human’s point of view, Dream of the Endless somehow just spawned a bloody handprint on the outside of his glass cage.  

The guard stands up from his seat, pistol in hand. “What the fuck did you just do? How the fuck did you just do that?” He says, his pistol raised at the cage. To the humans this seems entirely impossible. Some sort of witchcraft that they fear with their soul.  

The creature who has taken all wisdom from me’s head snaps in a neck-aching turn. Her breathing becomes rapid again after just having calmed her down. She sees the way he approaches my cage and then she turns to me again. “I have to go again. I don’t want him to find out about this this time.”  

With that, she’s gone again.  

For the next 14600 days I could not be there when sun would set and the dreamers were supposed to enter my realm. My dreamers would instead be either stuck awake forever or asleep forever. 40 years of restless, dreamless sleep all because of the Burgess’s. 

I had seen with my own eyes how Alex killed his father by accident or not after a fight about my confinement. He had begged just as his father had. Not for the same thing, but in the same breath for fear of Death. My sister shouldn’t be feared but perhaps he worries about how I might inact my revenge.  

He grows old now, I’m sure, but he has not come to beg again. Humans become frail with age. All entertainment I have is my mind and my plots. Vengeance swirls around in my mind. That and guilt. Guilt of Lucien having to run the Dreaming in my absence. And all of those Dreamers doomed.  

My days and nights are one. I only know the difference from the change of guards. I can’t help but watch their lazy lives. Having to sit and watch me all day. They chit chat of their lives all while the years pass by in front of me. No interruption. No difference.  

And then, there she is again. One second an empty space covered in sand and the next, a dishevelled creature. No heels this time. A pair of these “sweatpants” as I’ve heard the mortals call it. Her hair is no longer in a braid. Golden silk in long mixed wavy and straight hangs on the floor.  

Her eyes are red and look dry and irritated. She appeared standing, but not for long. Her legs seem to give in on her. She sits down on the floor. She pulls her legs up to her chest and just hides her head. I move closer to the edge of my cage. I can see it puts the guards on edge.  

She slowly lifts her head again and rest her chin on her knees. Then suddenly a quiver, assumingly her quiver, appears strapped to her back. She pulls out a single arrow, the only arrow in this quiver. It has a red heart at the very tip. She seems to be inspecting it carefully.  

The creature seems to give a dry scoff. “This is the only soulmate arrow I’ve received in over 100 years.” She twirls it in her fingers and then suddenly it all begins to make sense. A soulmate arrow? And she has them ready to shoot? The humans have so many names for her. Cupid, Venus, Aphrodite, Freya. But I do remember Desire naming her Love.  

Her head falls back on her knees. “I feel so tired...” Her eyes seem to droop. The pink aura she had before is completely gone. The golden sparkle in her eyes is dead. She closes her eyes for a second and lets out a heavy hearted sigh. All soul seems to have left her.  

Then her eyes open again. Again her dead eyes drag over the arrow. “I fear the day I found you here because it has only caused my demise. If I didn't let my own mind wander into the realms of desire and curiosity I would not be weak as I am now. He calls himself Desire but he and his twin are one in the same because now Despair is all I know.” The words begin spilling out of her from a speed unparalled.  

“Something above him, maybe even you, is punishing me for doing as I am told and I cannot take it any longer. All I've done this last century is rip the love from people's hearts. I fear I might have lost the ability to knock an arrow in my bow because I can't even remember how to grant love. Only how to take it.” 

“My soul is kind, I promise.” Her eyes look up at me, her brows pulling together in the middle as if she’s pleading for me to believe her. “If I was not kind I would not be in the state I am in, right?” Again she begs. What for I’m not sure? I do not know of any sins. Could Love ever even be able of causing harm? Is she able of concocting the concept of harming others?  

“There's no love left on this earth. Only this shell Desire has made me and therefore I don't want to live with myself anymore. Him unmaking me would be easier to stand than the hurt I have caused.” It looks painful when she starts to stand up.  

The way she walks, it looks almost deliberate when the salt under her shoes breaks the several circles surrounding my cage. It’s confirmed when she looks back at the now broken salt circles and looks satisfied by this. Then her eyes look back at me.  

The world looks so heavy on her shoulders. Like her head weighs too much for her neck. Her hand comes up on my glass confinement. She steadies herself and then she tells me what sounds like final words: “I will not beg for your forgiveness for not freeing you sooner.”

Her eyes land once more on the arrow glowing in her hand. She takes a big gulp, then she seems to make time stop again. “If you must kill me, I will beg you do it before Desire punishes me.” With what seems like her last bit of energy, life force, she raises her arrow and stabs the glass.  

A large crack breaks through this glass bubble. But she stops before she can repeat the action. Her eyes raise as if she’s listening to something from above. “It seems he was watching me.” Her dried body takes a step back but I catch her before she leaves me once more.  

“Thank you, Cupid. I will find you.”  

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Part 1~Part 3

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

tagged by @mkdecimation to share a little something this week and considering i've done nothing but share the absolute worst of my ship or smut as of late I figured I'd go with something a little more chill. So here's a bit from the last chapter of Evening of Score:

Seabirds strained against the wind blowing at them as dark clouds amassed in the sky, stormy seas crashed against the shore and waves broke with white crests of foam. Late autumn was rolling into winter and the ocean’s angry tides stood in fierce opposition to the Christmas lights strung up along the pier twinkling brightly. In the distance, over the cry of gulls, the tinny sound of Paul McCartney’s “Wonderful Christmastime” traveled over the briny air. 

Two lone figures stood out at the end of the wooden slats, silhouettes against a backdrop of somber gray on gray broken by the subdued glimmer of colored bulbs rustling in the marine breeze, resting against the railing of the pier.

Rory’s hair blew around her face as rain pelted down against her, matting it with the deluge; her long coat flapping in the wind as she dug her hands into the pockets, collecting her cigarettes and lighter. Cupping her hand around the flame as she lit her fag, the inhale of coiling smoke filled her lungs before all being blown back up towards the sky. “What are we doing out here, John?”

Leaning forward, shoulders hunched, bristling against the torrent, his blue eyes reflected the stormy scenery around them while puffing away on his cigar like a smokestack. “Wanted to have a chat.”

She hummed, “And you chose a soggy fucking pier over your apartment?” Her sideways glance cut into him, already determining the meaning behind his course of action. 

This was another classic from the Captain Price playbook. He was going to ask her something that needed a quick answer, doing so in a situation where she couldn’t take the time to think in comfort. Making her act, think on her toes. Immediacy.

“Starting a Task Force,” he said, shifting his weight between his feet. “I want you on it.”

“Me?” Her brows knit together with incredulity. “Why?”

“You are kidding, yeah?” His voice was gruff as he took another pull from his cigar, brow furrowing at her reply. 

“Is it so you get to keep an eye on me?” Her gaze slid sideways to meet his, her brow lifting.

Meeting her look in kind, he returned the same lifted brow at her accusatory tone. “You’re a good soldier, have skills I want and need.”

Endless ocean blurred into the horizon, and as Rory stared out, lost in thought, her jaw clenched. “People are going to claim favoritism.”

“Let ‘em claim what they bloody like,” he husked, bouncing on his heels.

The pungent scent of salt and decaying seaweed on the beach scoured her throat more than any whiskey could as Rory breathed in the sea air. “So, now not only will I be in a secret relationship with a superior officer, but my commanding one as well?” She scoffed and shook her head before taking another drag. “Just digging the hole deeper for us, eh?”

“Not under British military rules anymore, love. It’s my rules now,” he said, full of conviction.

The cigarette dangled from the corner of her mouth, clinging by her lipstick as it hung off her lip. Staring at him skeptically, she grimaced. “Don’t know whether that worries me more or not, quite frankly. Considering you’re the man who ignores rules on a good day and outright breaks them on a bad one.”

“Rules were made to be broken, my girl.” A sly grin pulled at his lips as his thumb and finger wrapped around the stub of the cigar in his mouth.

She brushed her hand through her wet locks, sighing briefly. There were variables in this equation that she worried John wasn't focused on in his bid to get what he wanted. Despite being the tactical type, planning and preparing, thinking steps ahead, a part of her wondered if he wasn't rushing into things with this decision.

“And what of my work with the SRR?”

“You were focused on AQ. Not much is changing,” he said with a shrug.

Resting her elbows on the railing, Rory brought her hands to her face, fingers steepling in front of her. “What about my plans to become an officer?” She pointed a finger toward him judgmentally. “You were the one who bloody convinced me to go for it.”

“I did, yeah.” He flexed his shoulders, fixing his collar against the rain. “You still can.”

“My rank is going to freeze,” she said, continuing to debate.

“You’re telling me what I want to hear.” Her smile grew as she laughed and her dimples became more prominent. “Fucking Satan could be out of a job with you about.”

“Yeah, it can freeze at Lieutenant after you finish your training.” He turned to face her, leaning his elbow against the pier, needing to make his point known and have it sink in. “I’m not gonna deny you your career, love. But I do want you by my side, fighting together. It’s what we do best… well – one of the things we do best together.” His self-assured smirk lit up his eyes as they crinkled at the corners. “Come on, darlin’,'' speaking in a low, conspiratorial rasp in her ear as he bumped his shoulder against hers, “You know you want this. No more restrictions. The action. Boots on the ground, weapon in hand. Going where the real threats are, dealing with them the way only we know how to.”

Shaking her head as she snickered to herself, the wet strands of her hair slapped against her cheeks. “Christ, you know if you weren’t a soldier, you’d make a very good businessman. Certainly know how to sell something and make a deal, don’t you?”

“I’m just telling you what you already know.”

John laughed loudly, the barking sound traveling across the seaside. “I’d at least give ‘im a run for his money.”

Rory rubbed her hands down her face. “Fine,” she conceded, with an overt heavy sigh. “Fine. I can hardly argue with you, now can I? I’ll finish my officer’s training at Sandhurst and then I’ll join your task force.”

“Atta girl,” his proud grin overwhelming his face as his hand cupped the back of her neck and squeezed it tightly, kissing the side of her head. “Gonna make this worth your while, you know that, yeah?” He purred into her ear, lips pressing to her wet strands of hair.

“Is that right?”

He circled behind her, his hands resting on the pier’s railing, caging her in between his arms and body with no escape. His mouth lowered to whisper in her ear, “You. Me. Wherever this war takes us.” Pressing a kiss to the side of her neck, his breath hot on her compared to the ocean air, he wrapped an arm around her waist and held her tight against him. “We’re gonna stir up a lot of trouble.”

She hummed, “I bet.”

Rolling her eyes, Rory took another drag of her cigarette. “Are we sure I didn’t just make a deal with the devil?”

“Gonna take care of you too,” he promised, nuzzling up against her, his whiskers rasping her skin. “No more time apart. Missions together. You’re gonna get sick o’me.”

Her giggle was soft, hidden by the roar of the ocean. “I don’t doubt that.”

“Either way, you’re stuck with me now, love.”

He tipped his head to the side slightly as if pondering the rhetorical question. “I’m better looking.”

“Sometimes,” she said with a soft purr.

Her body shook in his arms with laughter, the rumble of his own vibrating through her back. “Jesus, you’re an arrogant bastard sometimes.You know that, yeah?”

Price’s lips pursed, seemingly unfazed by her remark. “You love it.”

[COD taglist opt in/out here]

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[fishhuo]

⚠️ pet whump, amputee whump, transfem Majima

A mostly smutty drabble

“Want your toy?” Sagawa waved the silicone massager above her.

Majima whimpered. She did.

“Beg for it.”

She made a low noise full of need and turned around until her puckered hole faced her owner, forgetting the guests until one of them spoke.

“It really has no shame, huh?”

Majima closed her thighs just a bit. Sagawa scolded her. “Don’t pay attention to them. Show me how much you want this in your ass.” She squeezed her remaining eye shut and dug her face and wrist stumps into the ground, arching her back. Her hole clenched open and closed and she keened pathetically. One guest chuckled and told her to shake it, encouraging more laughter.

“Turn around,” her owner commanded. She got up on her elbows and came face to face with the toy. Without his guidance, Majima started lapping at the bulb meant to go in her ass. Sagawa didn’t always let her have lube, so she was grateful. She sucked the whole thing into her mouth, getting some drool on her owner’s fingers. “Good girl… that’s enough,” he took it away and made a motion for her to turn back around. She turned and presented her ass as high in the air as she could, quivering in anticipation.

Sagawa pressed the toy in without much resistance, pulling it out and pushing it back in to accommodate its girth. Majima groaned, arching her back and letting drool trail out of the corner of her mouth. Finally, he stuffed it into her cavity all the way where it fit nice and snugly. He passed the remote to one of his guests.

Majima moaned out a breath. It started to vibrate right against her prostate. “Mmmngh…” She clenched her thighs together to stimulate her cock, hoping it’d go unnoticed.

“Get those thighs back apart, naughty girl,” Sagawa chuckled. Majima whimpered and did as she was told.

[mollymauk-teafleak]

how lucky are we (we're home somehow)

Look, you can't put a character like Evan Buckley in front of me and not expect me to add him to my List of Dads, it would be like asking a fish not to swim. Huge thanks to the lovely @hangsters for all the support and beta reading!

please reblog and comment over on Ao3!

tw: trans Evan Buckley, injury detail, male presenting pregnancy

--------

It isn't the first time Eddie Diaz has sat in the waiting room of a hospital, not knowing if his husband is going to make it through. And it isn't getting any easier.

He just has to hope it ends just like every other time before, with some miracle. Except this time, something is very different.

But maybe it's just a different kind of miracle.

-------

How many times are we going to have to do this?

That was the only thought in Eddie Diaz’s mind. He didn’t want it to be there, in fact he was trying his best to think of absolutely nothing. 

He knew that was the only way to survive this. 

Eddie knew he needed to focus on the simple, the factual, things he could touch and see and hear. The buzz of the overhead lights, the same stark white fluorescent bulbs they seemed to save for hospital waiting rooms. The pale carpet under foot, trodden into two dimensions by who knew how many hurried or anxious steps. The hard plastic chair under him, the one that had his legs numb up to the knee but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t. 

Eddie had to stay in the room, he had to stay still. If he moved, he would realize he was made of glass and the cracks would appear, thoughts rushing in through those hairline fractures. 

Thoughts like how many times are we going to have to do this?

Eddie took a deep breath and counted the snacks in the vending machine again. Then he counted the tiles on the ceiling, the chairs in the waiting room, the pencils in that pot on the nurse’s desk. He had to stick to what he could know for certain.

Because that question didn’t have an answer. It just spiraled down, around and around, circling the same black hole of anxiety until Eddie was left in agony, an itch scratched until blood was drawn. 

He didn’t know. He couldn’t know. So he wouldn’t ask. 

He wouldn’t ask how many hospital waiting rooms he’d sit frozen in, all different but all looking just similar enough to blur together maddeningly. He wouldn’t ask how many times he’d feel his husband’s blood drying stiffly on his clothing and tacky on his hands. He wouldn’t wonder how Buck could be in the same building as him but feel so far away, like he was already on a plane of existence Eddie couldn’t follow him to. He wouldn’t wonder how many hours of their lives together would be spent like this, not knowing if the other was alive or dead. 

He wouldn’t ask how many times are we going to have to do this?

Eddie dug his fingernails into his palms until it hurt. That dangerous train of thought screeched to a stop with that bite of pain, giving him a second’s chance to notice that his lungs were burning and his leg was bouncing so hard the chair rattled underneath him. Eddie sucked in a breath, sounding like a man held underwater finally breaking the surface, clinging to his control by the tips of his fingers. There was only one way to survive this, he’d learned that a long time ago. 

And he had to survive. He’d promised Buck. 

“Eddie?” he could feel Hen’s eyes on him, though he was busy counting all the chair legs in the waiting room, trying to anchor himself enough for a second breath, “There’s a set of sweats in the back of the ambulance?”

He appreciated that she didn’t ask if he was okay. She didn’t imply that he should change out of his bloodstained uniform, that he should clean up, she knew better than that. She just let him know he could and accepted it when he shook his head. 

Hen knew part of him, a part he was trying to strangle into silence with the relentless counting, was wondering if the blood on his hands would be the last time he’d get to hold a part of Buck.

Because of course she’d taken her turn in his place. They all had, like some strange theater troupe rotating their roles, Chim leaning against the wall, Hen pacing, they’d all seen the terribly thin, fragile wires that held their loved ones on this planet. Even Buck had been on this side of the double doors after Eddie had been shot or after the tunnel collapse, he would still have nightmares about it every so often, thrashing in their bed, calling his name. Once Eddie managed to get him calm, he’d just cling to him hard enough to bruise, forehead pressed to his chest like he needed to reassure himself Eddie’s heart was still beating. 

It was strange to be sitting here, hoping he’d be the one having nightmares in the future, replaying a version of tonight that would at least end when he opened his eyes. It was the better option, the one where the pain shrank and became small enough to fit inside his head and carry around. That or it would grow, spill over, drown him, make it so he’d never want to close his eyes again. It all depended on whether Buck came back through those doors. 

Until Eddie knew for sure, he would hold himself together. He would count, he would breathe, just like he promised Buck. He’d tell himself it would all be just another nightmare some day, going on the grim roulette wheel with Buck getting crushed by the ladder truck, Buck being struck by lightning, Buck and Chris lost in the tsunami or oh god, how many times are we going to have to do this?

As it often did, rescue came in the form of Bobby, walking back through the doors they’d swept Buck through an hour ago. The part of Eddie’s mind that was trained and rational knew the doctors would only have taken a pint of Bobby’s blood at the most, a bucket to replace the tide that had washed out of Buck, but from the look on the captain’s face, it was as if they’d taken every drop in his veins. He looked pale, hollow eyed, bent under a great weight across his shoulders. 

Though only for a moment. That was how long it took for Bobby to straighten, set his jaw firmly, find that face that promised them all he was in control and they’d all be back at the firehouse in no time, safe and together. A second longer than it usually took him but it helped all the same. 

He had his hands out ready to catch Eddie as he lurched to his feet, two firm anchors landing on his shoulders. 

“He’s still in surgery, Eddie, I don’t know anything yet,” Bobby spoke slowly, clearly, the way they’d all heard him speak to so many terrified people who’d just watched their loved ones loaded into the back of the ambulance. 

“For god’s sake, how long does it take to fix an arterial bleed?” Eddie could hear how thin his own voice was, barely hiding the terror running through it. 

“When it’s a carotid artery, quite a while,” Bobby didn’t so much as blink at his tone, steady as a rock jutting out from the surging waves trying to drag Eddie down, “But they said the blood transfusion would help, I’ll go back and give more as soon as they’ll let me. They’ll go in, patch it up, stitch the wound and help him replace what he’s lost. And then we’ll see where we’re at.”

Eddie swallowed hard, his fear a hard, spiked thing lodged in his throat, “See if the patch holds. See he has brain damage. See if he’s going to wake up at all.”

Bobby squeezed his shoulders, a kinder, softer version of the nails digging into his palm, “Eddie. We did everything right, you kept up that pressure the whole way here, Hen got him on the oxygen, Chim got us here in record time. We’ve stacked the deck for him, all he needs to do now is fight. And you know Buck is one hell of a fighter.”

Eddie knew he was right. He’d felt it the whole way here, straddling Buck as he lay on the gurney, the two of them riding the storm together as the ambulance tore through the streets. He’d had the trauma bandage pressed to that awful tear the shrapnel opened up in Buck’s throat, so much pressure that his arms were still shaking now. But he hadn’t let up, he hadn’t let go even a little, knowing he was physically holding Buck on this earth. He could still feel that pulse against his palm if he let himself, like an injured bird fluttering within his cupped hands. 

And the whole time, from the moment the metal fragment struck him and he hit the ground to the moment he slipped into unconsciousness two minutes out from the hospital, Buck had just looked up at Eddie and mouthed the same thing over and over. Even with no voice, he promised with those deep blue eyes and the steadily weakening movement of his lips. It’ll be okay. 

“I know he is, I know he will, I just…” Eddie’s voice snagged, nearly shattered completely, would have it not for the grip on his arms and the feeling of Hen and Chim at his sides, “I just wish he didn’t have to be. I wish we didn’t have to keep doing this.”

Some of that exhaustion rusted Bobby’s firm, determined gaze, showing just how many times he’d asked himself that question despite trying to fight it off, “I know, Eddie. I know. But for now, I’m afraid it’s all we’ve got.” 

It was the only way to survive, Eddie reminded himself with a resigned slump of the shoulders. The only way to keep his promise to Buck, the only power he had to make those words he’d weakly mouthed a reality.

At least it was a fraction easier with his family around him. Eddie just hoped Buck could feel them there too.

—

The rest was waiting, slow, painful seconds ticking past, marked by the clock on the wall in a voice louder than it had any right to be. 

Eddie only felt brave enough to call Chris with Bobby sitting beside him. He tried to keep his voice steady, calm, knowing there was no point in dancing around it, the poor kid had been through this almost as many times as he had. All he could do was try and imitate Bobby, to sound like it was all under control when it felt like there was a riot contained inside his skull. 

He almost made it through, promising Buck was in good hands, that he’d call him as soon as he had more information, that Carla would pick Chris up from school and stay with him until Eddie could come and bring him to visit Buck. He managed to map out that near future in a way that almost made it sound real, like all they had to do was put one foot in front of the other and it would happen just like that. 

He almost made it. Until Chris asked what happened, sounding so young on the other end of the phone even though all Eddie had been able to think since he came back from Texas was how grown up he was now. 

Eddie opened his mouth, a simple, sanitized walk through of the call that had gone so badly wrong poised on his tongue. But that wasn’t what came out. 

“It was my fault,” the words burned on his tongue, the way the air in the factory had burned when he’d tried to breathe it, “It was my job to check those rooms for hazards, I should have seen the pressurized gas tanks in the corner, the label wasn’t showing, I don’t even know if they had labels but I should have known. I called it clear and Buck walked in and then the heat, they…they exploded…”

The sound had been so loud it wasn’t even a sound anymore, it had just been a force, a wall that had knocked Eddie off his feet. The room had become a blur of black and red, spinning wildly until the floor smacked into his back, hot like he was lying in the sun. In the ringing silence he’d only been able to think of Buck, his frantic praying the only sound in his mind, the irrational and fumbling need for Buck to just please, please, please be okay.

When Eddie had rolled enough to see him standing there, he’d been so relieved, enough that he didn’t feel the bruised ribs they’d find later. He’d looked pale, his turnout covered in nicks and small rips, dizzied after the explosion had slammed him against the back wall but he’d been upright, breathing. He’d even smiled, some joke Eddie would never get to hear ready on his lips because only Evan Buckley could crack wise when they were in the middle of a burning factory. 

They’d both realized at the same terrible moment. That tear wasn’t just in the collar of Buck’s turnout. It was a tear in his flesh. 

And then everything that made him Buck began to drain out of him in a bright red rush.

Eddie would piece the rest together in his nightmares, exactly how he’d bridal carried Buck out of the gutted, smoking ruin of the building, how his friend’s faces had shifted from relief to panic to masks of determination, how they’d loaded Buck into the ambulance, Eddie’s hand never shifting from his neck, holding on as tight as he’d ever held his husband’s hand. The details weren’t there right now but they’d find him the moment he closed his eyes, adding to his tally of seconds he’d had to live on this planet without Buck, clean and precise as a butcher cutting a pound of flesh. 

All he knew right now was that it was his fault. 

Bobby shifted beside him, reaching out to clasp his free hand, eyes sad and pleading. And on the other end of the phone, Chris’ voice. 

“Dad, no. It isn’t your fault,” his son still sounded scared but it was tucked away, set aside, his voice steady, “You said it yourself, they didn’t have labels, you didn’t see.”

Eddie swallowed hard, “But I-“

“Dad,” there he was again, sounding so grown up, showing Eddie just how much time had passed in between all these moments of fear and tragedy, “Come on. Buck’s gonna be so mad when he wakes up and hears you’re beating yourself up over this.” 

Sometimes it was so hard for Eddie to remember there were no Buckley genes in his son.

“I know,” he took a shaky breath, wanting to hug him so badly it was a physical ache, having to settle for gripping the phone so tight there would be marks on his palm when he finally let go, “I know, you’re right, Chris. Thanks.”

He could hear the smile in his son’s voice, tired but so recklessly brave, reminding him of someone he knew, “It’s gonna be okay, dad.”

Between the two of them, it was getting hard to argue. 

—

Eddie tried to find some of that bravery when he saw someone come through the doors, someone who looked just harried and important enough to be a surgeon. The waiting had been hell, a pressure on the chest that made it hard to breathe but now it was about to be lifted, Eddie recoiled. Suddenly uncertainty was safer, shadows he felt some animalistic instinct to hide in, a place there was still a chance for things to work out. Or, hell, that he might open his eyes and realize it had all been some awful mistake. 

“Mr Diaz?”

Eddie forced that fear back and jerked to his feet, trying not to recognise this feeling from all the times he’d stepped into an active battlefield, “Yes. Yes, I’m here.”

“I’m Dr Melissa Barber,” she didn’t even glance at the blood spattering his smoke stained uniform, speaking as if they were two people chatting at a park bench, “Your husband is responding well to the patch, his heart is already beating independently and that’s all holding steady. He might need another transfusion, we’ll watch his blood pressure to see. Another hour to make sure the patch really is holding and it’ll be safe to try and bring him round from the anesthetics.”

Eddie swallowed hard, his voice shaky, terrified to see where the words would lead them, “And do we know…do we know if he has any brain damage or…”

She didn’t hesitate, putting him out of his misery with a few mercifully clean, delicate cuts, “We won’t know until he’s conscious, I’m afraid. That’s why I came to ask if you’d like to be there when we bring him round? I find patients respond better to the voice of someone they love, it…helps them find their way back, if you want to see it that way.”

Eddie didn’t hesitate, “Yes. Of course, I’ll be there.” 

Dr Barber smiled a little, glancing down at the chart in her hand, “You’ll have some good news to tell him. We ran an ultrasound and everything is perfectly fine. Nice, strong heartbeat, lots of movement. They’re completely unscathed.” 

Sharp intakes of breath from behind him, a sudden, deafening silence. Eddie’s brain was stalling, trying to figure out how lines from the script of someone else’s life had been jumbled up with his own. But the seconds stretched on and no one corrected it, in fact they all seemed to be staring at him, waiting for him to respond. No, she had said that, he hadn’t imagined it. 

“The…what? Who’s fine?”

Dr Barber blinked, her professionalism cracking a little in her confusion, “The baby? Your husband is nearly four months pregnant, did you not…” the mask shattered completely, horror underneath it, “Of course you didn’t know. Because he wouldn’t have been on active duty if you did. Oh god, Mr Diaz, I’m sorry…”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Bobby hurried to reassure her, seeing that all Eddie could manage was a vague head shake, “Medical mix up, we see a lot of them in our line of work, you wouldn’t believe…take a seat, kid, that’s it, there you go…”

Bobby was talking to him like he might faint but Eddie didn’t think he was capable of even that much. That would require his muscles moving and they were locked in place, nerve endings in a total black out, feeling like they might snap as he sat back down in the chair. He understood now how rabbits got turned into jelly on the freeway, pinned under the headlights of a car when all they had to do was take one step to the left. 

“Should I go get the defib? I really feel like I should go get the defib,” Chimney sounded anxious. 

“No, he’s fine,” Bobby said patiently, that steadying hand never relaxing on his shoulder, “Eddie. We’re here for you, kid, just tell us, what do you need right now?” 

Once again, Eddie didn’t hesitate. 

“I need Buck.”

—

“So you really never talked about this? Not once?” 

Eddie didn’t look up, his voice raw at the edges, “No, Hen. To be honest, I don’t think either of us even remembered this was something that could happen.”

Hen looked mildly horrified, the way only someone whose wife planned out every second of their lives on an Excel spreadsheet could, “So you don’t use condoms? Buck isn’t on birth control?”

Eddie was having flashbacks to being nineteen, cringing at his mother’s kitchen table while she berated him for not knowing something he’d never been allowed to talk about, let alone been taught. He’d felt the eyes of the Mary portrait on the wall boring into the back of his head for that whole conversation.

Not that he begrudged Hen her ranting, he probably deserved to be feeling like a scolded teenager. She’d been doing the concerned older sister bit since he’d come back from the bathroom, hands finally clean, wearing the sweats from the back of the ambulance, feeling like he’d left something behind with that bloodstained, smoking uniform.

“Of course we don’t use condoms, Hen, we’re married,” Eddie sighed, only one foot in the conversation. 

“Yes you’re married, to a man with a uterus,” Hen stopped herself, realizing she was getting loud, going back to pacing anxiously, “Sorry. Sorry, I didn’t…just all the shit he’s been doing the last three months, all the danger he’s put himself in without knowing. I’ve been a goddamn medical professional for years, I should have noticed, I should have been able to tell him.”

“Hen. None of us noticed, Buck didn’t even know. No one needs to feel guilty for that,” Bobby cut off her spiraling, even though they all knew him too well to believe he was taking his own advice, “We need to look forward now.”

Eddie felt like he already was. He had been since a still frantically apologetic Dr Barber had handed him this small, square photograph, this glimpse into a possible future. It didn’t look like much right now, a fuzzy haze of light and dark and in between but neither had Chris when he was this small.

He knew all he held right now was a maybe but still, he couldn’t look away. He didn’t count, he didn’t distract himself, he didn’t give in to the fear and chase thoughts down dark, endless corridors. He stayed in the moment, holding that possibility in his hands and remembering how Buck’s pulse- their pulse, he supposed- had felt against his palm, willing it to keep going. He was still scared as hell, of course, but he stayed. 

He had a new way to survive now. Hope, pure and simple. 

“Mr Diaz, we’re ready if you are?”

Eddie stood, taking a deep breath. He didn’t know if he was ready but he knew Buck needed him and, right now, nothing else could matter. 

“We’ll be right out here, Eddie. You call, we come running, that’s a promise,” Bobby took a moment to let go of his shoulder, but there was nothing but trust in his eyes, the same look he gave them all before they ran into a burning building or climbed a ladder seven stories high. Complete and total faith from a man who meant that word with his whole heart.

“I didn’t say thank you,” Eddie’s voice came out raw, shaky, like it might collapse under the weight of everything he was feeling, “For giving him blood, for giving them blood, I never said thank you, I just snapped at you-”

“Eddie,” Bobby shook his head, his smile holding everything Eddie had wanted to see in the faces of his own parents, everything he didn’t know he’d been looking for until he found it in the 118, “Just bring him back to us.”

—

How many times are we going to have to do this? The thought crept up on Eddie again as Dr Barber led him into the room where Buck was recovering, as he tried to brace himself for what he’d see.  

Whatever the answer to that question was, it was never going to get any easier. 

Buck looked so pale, so shaken, like someone had rattled the core of him. Without the energy and life that usually animated him, he looked like he was only barely sketched onto reality. His face was tense, like he was trapped in some bad dream, his skin was pale and waxy, his chest barely rising.

Eddie knew the oxygen mask on his face, the wires in his wrists, the thick swathe of bandages at his neck, they were keeping him alive but he couldn’t deny the irrational urge to rip them away, to put himself between Buck and the staff buzzing around them, to growl at them to get away and leave him alone. In a hot, terrible rush, Eddie just needed to destroy something, to make something else hurt as if that would balance the scales of the universe and take the hurt away from his Buck. The anger didn’t make sense but nothing made sense, not when the man he loved was lying there, barely hanging on to life. 

“Mr Diaz? Are you alright? If this is too much…”

Eddie forced himself to take a breath, long and shaky, letting the senseless anger dissolve like a cloud of acrid smoke. 

“I’m fine,” he murmured, realizing how unconvincing he sounded, taking a seat in the chair next to Buck’s bedside and pulling as close as he possibly could. 

He slid his fingers in between Buck’s limp ones, hating how cold his skin felt when Buck was supposed to be so warm, like the sun shone from inside him. The silicone rings they wore on the job in place of their wedding bands fit so perfectly against each other, like puzzle pieces, no interruption to the smoothly interlocking pattern of their fingers. Eddie had never really noticed that before, how it felt like his hand had been made to hold Buck’s and vice versa. Even as things changed, they still fit. 

“I’m cutting off the anesthesia now,” Dr Barder’s voice sounded far away, like Eddie and Buck had broken away from the rest of reality, floating out to sea, “Talk to him, Mr Diaz. Let him know you’re there.”

Part of Eddie’s brain still bristled with panic as he reached inside himself, ready to pull out everything he’d been holding back since he saw Buck collapse. Fear prickled bitterly at the back of his tongue, reminding him of all the times he’d broken under the weight of it all, all the times he’d lost himself and had to wonder if he’d ever make it back. 

But the hand Eddie held so tightly in his own had been the one that pulled him back into the light. And he’d return the favor every chance he got. 

“Buck? It’s me, it’s Eddie, I’m right here,” his voice shook but he let it, only caring that the grip on Buck’s hand didn’t waver, thumb pressing where he could feel his pulse, “I’m not going anywhere. I know it hurts, I know how scared you must be but I’m here. We’re all here, your whole family, we’re waiting for you.”

He was vaguely aware of Dr Barber removing an IV, a nurse gently taking out the breathing tube, the moment of truth creeping closer. Buck’s chest stopped moving. Eddie just kept talking.

“I need you to wake up, Buck,” he couldn’t keep it from sounding like a plea, feeling the first of many tears wash down his cheeks, “Because I have something so important to tell you and I don’t know what’s going to happen when I do, I don’t care what happens, as long as I get the chance to tell you. We’ve got so much life left, you and me. And I don’t care how much of it I spend sitting in waiting rooms, as long as you keep coming back. Because I know you do it to help other people, you wouldn’t be my Buck if you didn’t. Just please wake up, Buck, please come back to us. Please.”

Eddie knew, as all first responders did, how seconds were made of elastic. They could squash down into nothing at all or they could stretch on into something you could mistake for infinity. And the seconds Eddie counted in his head were stretched to breaking point. 

But finally, god finally, Buck’s chest shuddered and rose. His pupils darted frantically behind half closed eyes, a twitch in his jaw. The fingers Eddie held slowly, jerkily curled around his own. 

“Oh thank god,” the words were a sob, as sincere a prayer as he’d ever said in any church, “You did it, Buck, you did it.”

Dr Barber leaned over, a pen light in her hand, “Easy, Mr Diaz, I just need to check your pupil response…good, that's very good. Now, can you raise your limbs one at a time for me?”

Buck’s jaw worked as he obeyed the instruction, trying to force words through a throat still raw and stiff with smoke, only managing a guttural groan. 

“It’s okay,” Eddie was still crying, the tears not knowing the difference between fear and relief, “You got to give yourself time, baby, nice and easy.”

But of course Buck didn’t listen, managing to gasp out, “Eddie…”

Eddie knew what he was asking, he knew his Buck, “I’m all good, Buck, no injuries. More than good now you’re okay too.”

Dr Barber pulled back, smiling in relief, “Already talking, excellent response to stimulus. He’ll need an MRI to make absolutely sure but there’s no signs of brain damage. In fact, I’ll go get that prepped…press the call button if there’s any nausea or pain…”

Eddie’s mouth twitched in amusement at how they were so suddenly alone, something he knew was very rare in a hospital. He raised their joined hands to his lip and kissed the place where Buck’s pulse thrummed, so desperately grateful it was a physical ache, like there wasn’t enough room in his body for all of it. 

“There isn’t any nausea,” Buck croaked, voice getting stronger with every word, though still a little singed at the edges, “In case you were wondering.”

Eddie dragged the sleeve of his sweatshirt across his eyes, “Yeah? What about pain?”

“Not as long as the morphine holds.”

His smile was weak, thin, but it was there. Eddie couldn’t hold back a breathless sob at the sight of it, realizing how close he came to never seeing it again. 

“Hey,” Buck’s thumb stroked across Eddie’s knuckles, “Why did you say us?”

Eddie didn’t know what he meant at first, he hadn’t been paying attention to the words that had spilled from his lips, it didn’t even feel like he’d chosen to say them, more that he’d just let them free, “You…you heard me?”

Buck frowned suddenly, like he’d asked the question but now wasn’t entirely sure why, “Huh. I guess I did. But you did say us, right?”

Eddie realized he hadn’t thought this far ahead. He hadn’t dared to think beyond the moment when Buck’s eyes would open or they wouldn’t, when his brain would work or it wouldn’t, he hadn’t let that maybe become anything more solid. So now he was sitting here with no clue what to say. 

So he just said it.

“When they came out to tell me how the surgery went,” he found Buck’s gaze, held it like something precious, “They told me…they told me not to worry. Because the baby was perfectly fine.”

Eddie wondered if his face had looked like Buck’s right now, the look of a character in an old cartoon who’d just realized there was no ground underneath him, “The…what?”

“Buck, listen,” Eddie rushed to comfort him, “We do not need to do anything you don’t want to do. I know we haven’t really talked about this before and I promise I’ll support whatever choice you make, the only thing I care about is you being happy. But yeah, right now…right now, you’re pregnant.”

He reached into the pocket of his sweatpants, hands closing around the sonogram picture. Buck’s hand trembled as he took it, having to give his eyes a moment to focus. Eddie waited, again pressing his thumb against Buck’s wrist, feeling that pulse there. As long as he could feel that, the uncertainty wasn’t something to be feared. Whatever happened, it would be okay.

Buck’s smile was like the sun breaking from behind clouds, his voice cracking under the weight of the joy in it, “Oh my god…oh my god, Eddie, we’re going to have a baby…”

And just like that, it was true. Their future clicked into place with the sound of a sob, fresh tears running down Eddie’s face as Buck pulled him up onto the hospital bed, clutching him with a grip tight enough to hurt with the sweetest pain Eddie had ever felt. As they kissed, it became impossible to tell whose tears were whose, whose laughter was whose, it didn’t matter as their joy and relief and no small amount of fear ran into each other like ink in water. 

Eddie didn’t know how many times he would be left in a hospital waiting room, not knowing if Buck would come back to him. He didn’t know how many times Buck would wait for him, how many times they’d change positions in this terrifying dance. He didn’t know when the music would finally stop, which one of them would finally be left alone, whose luck would finally run out first. Those questions would never stop snapping at Eddie’s heels, though never enough to make him wish things were different. 

Eddie didn’t care about the answer, not anymore. Because however many times they had to do this, he knew that it was worth it. 

[b000mbayah]

heyy, can I request a blackpink reaction where female reader kisses their (BP) neck please?

Blackpinks reaction to the reader kissing their neck

•❃°•°❀°•°❃°•°❀°•°❃°•°❀°•°❃°•°❀°•°❃•

: Sorry if this took a while to make, I hope you like it though anon! 🫠

(I went for a softer/fluffier approach)

•❃°•°❀°•°❃°•°❀°•°❃°•°❀°•°❃°•°❀°•°❃•

Jisoo

She mumbled incoherent words, calmingly stroking and carding her fingers through your hair.

It has been a while since you both had the opportunity to simply just rejoice in each other's presence, let alone actually snuggle up the way you are now.

Jisoo held you under her hold, your head resting on her shoulder and arms hung loosely around her waist. The air was branded with Jisoos' predictable perfume, and your hands were somewhere between a fist and a flattened palm against her back as you nuzzled your head closer and closer to her neck.

The tender skin greets the tip of your nose, almost tickling the blackpink member as she goes through emails and schedules about her upcoming solo debut.

And despite the overwhelming feeling of adoration and respect for her dedication, even now, you wanted nothing more than her attention.

You wanted to kiss her.

It wasn't your first intention when you first started cuddling, but now it was all you could think about. And with the raw neck exposed to you, it made Jisoo involuntarily vulnerable, allowing you to intervene yourself into her every thought as you infiltrated her mind and heart.

You had left a soft kiss on the finer muscle of the left side on her neck, causing a small hum to vibrate throughout her throat.

You could only smile at her half minded response, but you still wanted more of her attention than just a hum. So, with a small smile, you kissed the muscle again, leaving a more lingering touch to it than the previous.

"What's wrong, baby?" Jisoo had inquired, stealing a quick glance at you without much regard. "Why are you kissing me?"

"Because I want to," you said, placing a third kiss upon her skin as she inched her head away to look at you.

She had no wide-eyed expression, nor a confused one. Instead, she looked more captivated than anything else. "If you kiss me like that again, I'll make sure it'll be the last one"

"Then I guess I'll just have to kiss your lips"

Jennie

Jennie had been practising all day. She'd been a hopping, flopping mess since practice started a few hours back, and a break was the only thing evidently on their minds.

Eventually, however, after extensive sweating and breathless pauses, a break was rightfully awarded to the hardworking girls.

Jennie had quickly found her way to you, a wearied smile playing upon her licked over lips. Setting herself down on your lap, she instantly dug herself into you- pulling you as close as possible to ensure she felt that familiar barrier of comfort and safety.

You are her safe haven, after all. You're always encouraging the group. You're always there for her practices, and you're always the loudest in the crowd. And for what reason?

For Jennie.

However, she whined when your hand pulled her chin up and away from your shoulder as you instead tucked your head between her shoulder and jaw.

At this point, it was just you, Jennie, and Lisa. Everyone else had left for drinks or a small snack to restore some energy before the next few agonising hours were to come. So you had to tread lightly upon the property of Kim Jennie.

You had gently traced your lips along her neck to her jaw, feeling the girl on you tremble with every affectionate kiss. "Y/n, what are you doing?"

"Showing you my love and support," you smiled up at her as she started down through half lidded eyes.

"But, Lisa's in here, and I don't have anything to cover my neck!" She whispered, feeling unsure of your intentions.

"I won't leave a mark, but you'll have to be quiet for me"

Rosé

You were both sitting on your shared bed, books in hand as a single lamp, powered by a calming 50-watt bulb, which dimmed the room perfectly.

The silence was almost as content as you were, if it weren't for your burning desire to just snuggle up and sleep already. Usually, you and Rosé would read for half an hour before going to sleep, but not even ten minutes in, and you already wanted to put the book down and just enjoy your time together.

Especially since Rosé looked so cute with her hair pinned into a messy bun to keep her silky hair away from her bubbly glasses that seemed to only keep falling down the bridge of her nose every few seconds.

Slowly, but surely, you shuffled over a tad closer to put your head on her shoulder, looking up at the beauty you've become fond of. Her breathing was regulated, and her eyes were focused on the text as she read it carefully.

She was stunning.

But was she real? You often ask yourself this question, sometimes questioning if she's just the ideal partner you've made up in your head to feel better about yourself.

So, with an inquiring mind, you had tilted your head, allowing your lips to connect briefly with Rosés slim neck.

However, when you pulled away to look at Rosé, you had already found her staring back down at you with her cheeks flared up with a variation of pinks and reds as it skipped across her cheeks and spread to her ears.

Rosé had let out a simple gasp at the time, too - feeling surprised by the sudden affection you shared upon her neck. "What was that baby?" Rosé had asked, almost stuttering on her hushed words.

"A reminder," Rosés eyebrows had furrowed together in confusion. She needed more than just that.

"A reminder of what?" You smiled, placing a gentle kiss upon her plush lips this time, increasing her blush tenfold.

"To remind me of how lucky I am to have found someone like you.

Lisa

You were slow dancing in your living room with each other. You don't know how the conversation started, or what it stemmed off from, but you know that the beautiful woman in front of you was more than enough to tell you that you didn't need such questions or answers. You only needed her right now.

The music was slow and somewhat sensual as you rocked side to side, slowly looping around in an eventual circle for the nth time to the rhythm. Your musicality was on point, and your movements were smooth and slow. It was all perfect.

Except for the fact that you wanted nothing more than to just nuzzle your head into the crook of her neck and smother her in loving kisses- so that's what you went for.

You had pulled her closer, chest to chest as you found your head placed flat upon her shoulder. Lisa had let out a small laugh when you had done that, finding it cute at the sudden want for closeness- until she found out the real reason.

When a pair of lips kissed the supple skin of her neck, she had felt a shiver run along her spine before dissipating entirely.

Lisa had only laughed, patting your hips lightly as her chest quickly heaved with each short breath. "You're cute," Lisa had gotten put, feeling your smile against her skin as you pampered her neck with some more light kisses.

"Thanks," you had simply mumbled into her skin.

Your dancing had all but stopped by now as you just stood with your head on her shoulder, and her body pressed flush against yours. Lisa's face was tinted with a twinge of pinks, but nothing too much for the time being.

Eventually, however, you had begun to get tired of kissing just her neck, so you trailed your kisses up her jaw and to her lips, where you net in a mutual understanding of pure connection.

"I love you Y/n" Lisa managed between kisses.

"I love you too"

[erajoie07]

Daemon's Nightmare: Daemon Targaryen x fem reader

˙˚ଘo(∗ ❛ั ᵕ ❛ั )੭່˙Writer's note: I thought of this last night, if I had written Daemon with the entity, I'm sure it becomes a shared experience because he does hallucinate in the show. So now I have written an imagined fic of a personal experience I had that I can't tell if it's really a dream or a reality because it is so vivid, minus the wine of course. I hope you enjoy it. Search up kapre.

꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ ♡‧₊˚ ♡ Warning: horror, mythical creatures

૮₍ ´• ˕ •` ₎ა

At the back of the house, there is a tall large, but aged tree, its roots dug since the last finishing purposes of the house. One could view the tree from the window of the dining room. Many generations of the family has seen and lived with the tree. Several times its branches had to be cut off when there was an incoming typhoon. It could not be an imagine if there were creatures that dwell on and within the tree besides the Eurasian tree sparrows, something far less than what the naked eye could see. Well others just think it's a tree part of life to provide oxygen and receive carbon dioxide, continuing the cycle of life. Nothing special worth taking note since it has become an ugly tree.

As Daemon's wife looks at the height of the tree, she grows increasingly fascinated and drawn to the tree. She has long, black and thick hair, untied. She balances on her hip, a basket of herbs, bulbs, and leafy plants she picked from the garden and the surroundings.

“There you are, I thought when you were gonna come.” Daemon speaks, his lips pursed when she stands still, hand pressed on the bark. “It is an old tree that have been here many years ago I can't remember.”

She turns to him, “It is a one of a kind tree.”

He becomes stunned, sometimes he wonder about his wife. “Just come when you are ready.”

Walking to the dining room where they are, she hears Daemon's voice complaining once more. He ha become detached lately that he doesn't eat his meals enough and walks corridors with a knife when he hears something.

“There will be a typhoon coming, so we have to chop it down.”

“Chop what down?” Her cold voice silences the rest except Daemon.

“That tree, it has become so tall and will certainly create more casulties while we sleep.”

“No one is chopping down the tree. Have the tree as it is.”

Daemon becomes irritable and surprised.

“It may be scary-looking but it won't do any harm.” She leaves for the kitchen where she starts pounding the bulbs into paste.

Later that afternoon as Daemon went to go have a drink, preferably a wine. He looks to his side through the window to the tree. A rather humongous of not one, but three figures curled up with each other locks eyes with him. There is one which is dark, large, burly, and fat, and eyes staring at him with an angry lip, smoke seemed to be rising from him. Daemon's feet planted on the floor, shelled in shock, he hasn't been able to utter his wife's name for help. Then with a chance, he springs out the dining room, never looking back, and dropping some of the wine on the floor.

Years later, he still can't say if it was a real thing or a dream set in reality. He could picture the entity from the core and described where he was so vividly, but he cannot for sure know if that was a vivid dream or an event that actually happened.

What was that? He doesn't know, but he knows that it's not just a tree but a one of a kind tree that Eurasian tree sparrows not only dwell, but also those the naked eye cannot see.

[knowiloveyoubabe]

Kiss of Life

Word Count: 2.8K

Warnings: Mentions of terminal illness

Summary: AU Demon!rry

MASTERLIST

The full moon hung over her head, illuminating the otherwise pitch black night. There was just enough light for Y/N to see what she was doing, on her knees in the dirt, hunched over. She pants as she desperately dug a small hole at the center of the crossroads, dirt making its way under her fingernails and mucking up her clothing. Her eyes flicked back and forth between the small shoe box that sat by her side and the dirt that she was clawing at. 

“The photo of the mortal wishing to make the deal, a handful of graveyard dirt, and a bone from a black cat.” The shrill voice of the old psychic rang in her head, sending a shiver down her spine. 

Y/N had never sought out a psychic before this, she would’ve never thought about it had it not been for the news she got just last night. 

The fluorescent bulbs buzzed on the ceiling, the harsh pale light beamed at them. It was nearly blinding as it bounced off of the white walls and bedding of the hospital room. The buzzing was all they heard as their bodies sat stiff, hearts pounding against their ribs. 

“I’m so sorry,” The doctor repeated sincerely, “I’ll give you some time alone.” The doctor bowed her head slightly, excusing herself quietly. 

Y/N stared right ahead, her eyes focusing on a piece of lint on the otherwise pristine white floor. Thoughts raced through her head as she tried to process the news they’d just heard. She hadn’t noticed that her breathing had gone shallow until her beloved called out her name. 

“Yes, my love.” She breathes out shakily, looking up to meet the eyes of the man she loved so deeply. His cracked lips were downturned, his hand extended on the bed, as though he were reaching out. She rushed over to the bed, taking his hand in hers. He sighed deeply and pushed her hand away, avoiding her eyes. 

“I need some time.” His voice rasped. Y/N felt her chest tightening, tears streaming down her face. She nods, sniffling. 

“I love you.” She whispers, her voice faltering. She stands there for a beat, waiting for him to look at her, if even for a fleeting moment, but he never does. Y/N inhales shakily, turning around and exiting the room, trying to convince herself that there’s nothing she could’ve done to prevent this. But if that was the case, why did she feel so guilty?

She shook her head slightly, trying to stop those thoughts from progressing even further. She’s doing the only thing left to do, she’d do anything for him.

Please, please work. Please. She thought to herself as she sat back on her heels, breathing out a heavy sigh. She closed her eyes, remaining stagnant for a moment as she took in what would be the last handful of minutes that she’d have as a full, whole human being. 

“Okay,” She whispered to herself, opening her eyes and grabbing the box, the items she’d spent all day hunting down shifted inside. “I can do this.”

She hesitantly lowered the box into the shallow hole and started packing the loose dirt over it, her eyes straining to scan her dark, wooded surroundings. Once the box was properly buried, she pushed herself off of the ground, attempting to shake some of the dirt off of her person. The world around her remained suspiciously still, the gentle breeze and swaying trees had slowed to a stop, the crickets had ceased their incessant chirps. Her heart pounded in her chest, the sound resonating in her ears and nearly vibrating the rest of her body.

“My, my. Look what we have here.” A gravelly voice broke the silence from behind her, sending her heart into more of a frenzy. She whipped around to face the stranger attached to the voice, her breath getting caught in her chest as her eyes locked with his. The stranger chuckled, taking one of his hands out of his suit pocket to run it through his slightly coiffed hair. He towered over Y/N, his lean form awfully close as he looked down at her. His sharp features were accentuated by the black suit that donned his body, contrasting with the soft curves of his plump pink lips. There was a small beauty mark below the corner of his lips. He was beautiful. His green eyes seemed to glow, cutting through the darkness surrounding them. 

“What’s a girl like you doing summoning me?” He spoke slowly, staring her down. Y/N squirmed a bit under his gaze but attempted to keep her composure by crossing her arms, the tension thickening the air. 

“It’ll lead you once you summon it. Don’t let it intimidate you, child.” Her mind replayed what the psychic had insisted over and over. She swallows the lump in the back of her throat and inhales a sharp breath. 

“So how does this work?” Y/N asks firmly, silently begging her voice not to betray her. The beautiful stranger tilts his head to the side, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“How does what work?” He asks inquisitively, eyes narrowing slightly. Y/N’s breath stutters as her brows furrow.

Did I do it wrong? She thought, recounting the steps in her head. 

“You know,” She says hesitantly, maintaining eye contact with the gorgeous demon in front of her. “Selling my soul or whatever.” 

A beat of silence passed between them before the man snorted, suddenly doubling over in laughter, clutching his abdomen. Y/N is almost taken aback by the man’s reaction, the sheer shift in his attitude. 

“You can’t be serious!” He laughs, his sharp features suddenly softened by the pink tint in his dimpled cheek. Y/N gawks at him in confusion, causing him to straighten up his posture. 

“Wait, you’re serious?” He purses his lips, attempting to stop himself from laughing again. Y/N’s annoyance was clear as she huffs out a breath, crossing her arms. 

“I mean, I summoned you right?” She rolls her eyes, her patience wearing thin. 

“What could a good girl like you possibly want to sell her soul for?” The demon scoffs, his arms crossing over his own chest, mirroring Y/N. 

“‘Good girl’? How could you possibly know that?” She nearly stomps her foot at his baseless assumption. His eyes take in her body from bottom to top, settling at the cross around her neck. 

“You’re joking.” He says flatly, giving her a bored expression. She sees his eyes on the cross her grandmother had given her and brushes her fingers over it, releasing a sharp breath from her nose. 

“Listen, I get that you’re a demon and all, but this arrogant shtick is getting boring.” She snaps. A crooked smirk tugs at his lips. 

“Pretty and snappy,” He growls lightly, stepping closer to her. His ringed fingers traced the outline of her jawline from under her ear, all the way to her chin, softly nudging her face up. “Delicious.” 

She felt his breath on her face, their noses mere inches apart. His eyes lingered on her lips for a moment before flicking up to meet hers. 

“Tell me - what is it that you want, darling?” He spoke softly, as his thumb hovered over her lips, touching them ever so lightly. 

“First tell me your name.” She whispered, delicately moving her lips under the soft pad of his thumb causing him to lick his lips.

“Harry.” He smirks, using his other hand to brush a couple of loose strands of hair from her face. Y/N gasps lightly at the gesture, her body betraying everything the psychic warned her about. 

“I’m-” 

“I know who you are, Y/N.'' He drawls out, his dimple deepening as he watches her mesmerized expression twist into one of confusion. 

“How do you know my name?” She steps back, Harry’s hands falling from her face. He chuckles, he could practically see the anxiety radiating off of her. “This is a contract, love. The moment you buried that box, your name was documented. Now, what is so important that you’d sell your soul for it?” He spoke slowly, carefully. She watched his lips, noticing how they seemed to wrap around the words.

“My boyfriend, he’s terminally ill. I want to save him.” Y/N released a shaky breath, feeling a lump grow in the back of her throat at the mention of her boyfriend. Harry’s eyebrows furrow as he nods his head slowly.

“I see. Boyfriend.” He mumbles, his index and middle fingers hover over his lips as though he is deep in thought.

“Yes, boyfriend.” She nods.

“Mhm, dying boyfriend.” He mumbles again. Y/N tilts her head, placing her hands on her hips.

“Yes, dying boyfriend. I'm sorry, was I not clear?” She huffs out, watching him pace back and forth. 

“Yeah, I don’t think you want to sell your soul for him.” He says matter-of-factly. Y/N scoffs, shaking her head. 

“Listen, asshole-” 

“Woah!”

 “-It’s my soul and I get to choose what I want to do with it!” She clenches her fists, annoyed with the absolute gall of this man. Harry’s hand laid on his chest, over his heart, feigning offense.

“That’s quite rude for someone who’s asking for my help!” He laughs arrogantly and Y/N lets out a groan of frustration.

“You’re such a dick!” She turns around, approaching the spot that she buried the box in, preparing to dig it up.

“What are you doing?” Harry follows behind her, she rolls her eyes.

“Getting rid of you, I’m sure there are other demons who would be more than happy to take my soul.” She starts to kneel down in front of the buried box.

“That’s not how that works, you know.” He says condescendingly, his arms crossed over his chest. 

“Then I’ll make it work! I’ll find another crossroads, I’ll summon the devil himself! I don’t need some pretty boy demon telling me what to do!” She nearly shouts in frustration, turning her head to look at him. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he extended his hand, offering to help her off the ground. 

“I’ll give you whatever you want, you won’t hear a peep out of me.” Harry pretends to zip his lips shut, throwing away the key. She narrows her eyes in suspicion before rolling them. She took his hand, standing up, expecting him to let go but he didn’t. Instead, he moved closer, using his thumb to brush some dirt off of her cheek. His pupils dilated, nearly overtaking the green of his irises as he took in every small detail of her face. Y/N struggled to control her breathing, almost hypnotized by his beauty.

“Pretty boy demon?” A smug smile broke through his serious expression, causing Y/N to groan once again, slapping his hands away. She clenches her fists at her sides, looking up at the sky. 

“Harry, please. I need to save him,” She pleads, closing her eyes. “I love him.” 

Tears begin falling from her eyes, down the sides of her face. An ache pierced at Harry’s chest, confusing him. 

What is this? He thought, pausing for a moment, his hand laying on his chest lightly, perplexed at the sudden awakening of emotions he had not felt in centuries.

“You know,” Harry clears his throat, “I’m becoming quite fond of you, Y/N.” He smiles, fiddling with his rings. She sighs, trying to avoid the dirt on her sleeves as she wipes her tears on them. 

“Does that mean you’ll save him?” She sniffles, her lips trembling. Harry nods, taking her hand in his. Y/N doesn’t question the gesture, feeling strangely comfortable with the demon.

“Yeah, I’ll save him,” Harry’s thumb traced over her knuckles softly, “Now we just have to seal the deal.” She releases a sigh of relief, smiling at the beautiful man. 

“Okay, how do we do that? Do we have to shake hands or do I have to sign something?” She asks, causing Harry to chuckle at her naivety. She tilts her head to the side, confusion clear on her face.

“No, darling. A kiss must be shared to seal any deal.”

Y/N squawks, his words catching her completely off guard.

“A kiss?!” She squeaks, her eyes as wide as the full moon illuminating both of them. Harry nods, giggling. 

“The eyes aren’t the only gateway to the soul.” He teases, Y/N throwing her head back slightly, groaning at the corny line.

“You’re ridiculous,” She crosses her arms, a slight smile tugging at her lips, “But seriously, why a kiss?” 

Harry paused, his small smile mirroring hers. He had never allowed a human to ask as many questions as he’d allowed the stunning person standing before him. It was quite clear that she hadn’t done any real research, not truly knowing what she was getting herself into. 

How endearing. He thought, watching as she awaited his answer.

“Ever heard of ‘the kiss of life’?” Her brows furrowed at his question, shaking her head. 

“When we seal the deal, we seal it with the kiss of life. Usually there would be an exchange of life force that happens between the two people, the life force being your souls. But since I don’t have one, I’ll be taking yours.” Harry explained casually, the last sentence sending a shiver through Y/N’s body. 

“I see,” She breathes out, attempting to absorb everything he said. “But doesn’t that mean that I can kiss him and give him some of my ‘life force’?” She questions. Harry shakes his head, smiling.

“Full of questions, are we?” He chuckles, stepping closer to her, causing her breathing to hitch ever so slightly.

“No, darling. Humans all have the same amount of life force from birth until death. You may exchange life force but you're both left with the same amount as before. Never more, never less.” He clarified. 

Y/N nibbled on her lower lip, nodding her head. This was it, the only thing standing between her and saving her boyfriend's life was a kiss. She felt this strange excitement in the pit of her stomach at the thought of kissing the charming demon, bringing about a wave of guilt. She silently tried to convince herself that the feeling was actually just the excitement of saving her boyfriend's life.

“Anymore questions, lovely?” He brushes his fingers down her arm lightly and she shakes her head. 

“No, I think I’m ready.” She takes a deep breath, stepping slightly closer to Harry. He nods his head, trying to ignore the confusing flutter in his abdomen. 

What is happening? I’ve done this more times than I can count. Harry thought, his eyebrows furrowing.

Her hand rested on his bicep, their bodies nearly pressed against one another. Their eyes met for what felt like an eternity, both caught in some sort of trance. He ducks his head, their lips brushing against each other softly, both of their eyes fluttering shut. His hands settled on her waist, pulling her firmly against his body as he breathed her in for a moment. He felt her heart pound against his own chest and her breath on his lips, he almost couldn’t take the tension anymore. 

He pressed his lips fervently against hers, electricity replacing the anxiety in their bodies. His lips melded with hers almost desperately, as though they’d been waiting forever to find hers. Y/N gripped his suit jacket in an attempt to pull him closer, the distance between their bodies already nonexistent. She’d never experienced such a closeness, the hunger for more of him overtaking her senses. 

Y/N pulls away first as an image of her boyfriend flashes behind her closed eyes, her forehead remaining on Harry’s. His eyes stayed shut, his fingers slightly tightening on her waist. His breathing was elevated, her warmth almost beckoning him to stay right there and burn in it for the rest of eternity. She shut her eyes again, her fingers running through the short hairs on the nape of his neck.

“Harry,” Y/N whispers breathily, “I-”

“Good luck.” He clears his throat, cutting her off. A gust of wind stripped her of his warmth, her eyes opened and found no trace of him. 

The demon’s disappearance left an emptiness she couldn’t quite shake off as her fingers hovered over her lips, the electricity lingering on her skin. She released a staggered breath, shaking her head slightly as though she were physically pushing the thought to the back of her mind. 

She pulls her car key from her pocket, rushing to see the person she just sold her soul for.

[ask-obt]

So what are the caps on your drinks from Spinda's cafe made of? Magi Glass?

Guildmaster: It's crazy, because somehow pokemon know what glass is here! The first time I saw a cup I asked my Wigglytuff mama if it was made with magic or something from a dungeon, and she explained that it's sand that gets heat up until it melts, and then talented pokemon can make them into different shapes! Some things also use metal lids, and they'll even imprint logos and other crazy things on them! I have nooo idea how they came up with that kinda thing. They probably dug up a bunch of old human artifacts and studied them!!

Keaton: Well. You've heard the phrase "history repeats itself", haven't you sir?

Guildmaster: Yeah!! ... What's that got to do with it?

// one thing that I always think is interesting about how pmd is interpreted is the level of technology folks seem to think the pokemon have accessible to them. somehow it's easy to imagine that they have an organized postal system (implying the existence of addresses, which implies the existence of property borders and surveying, and also implies a printing press or at least reliable access to writing materials- and not just for scholarly purposes, but to write newsletters and junk mail on a wide scale), an economy (implies the development from a trade and barter system, as well as the ability to smelt and manufacture a currency), and complex architecture involving steel I beams (something I'm pulling from gurdurr's shop in gates which i'm sure is just meant to be visual shorthand, but it's something developed in the mid-1800s which is around when light bulbs came into the scene)... but they somehow don't know what glass-blowing or threaded fasteners are despite being a technique developed almost 2,000 years before a lot of those other things lmao. not to mention even older methods of craft like clay which date all the way back to over 20,000 years ago. I think a lot of it has to do with how pmd itself isn't quite consistent with what technology exists, trying to go for a medieval but whimsical feel with a few comforts from modern day thrown in. but playing around with those expectations with characters like the guildmaster and julius is fun B) I'm of the thought that if a society has developed language, culture, and economy, it's not really far-fetched to think they'd have basic comforts

[transman-badass]

Betrayal

Whump + Cthulhu Mythos - 2.8k words

CW: mild (period typical) transphobia and misogyny, graphic descriptions of violence, blood and gore, eye horror (not gore), major character death

The men were gaining on them.

Outside thunder roared, but over it, Lazarus Core still heard the footsteps behind them, pounding louder than the rain. His pulse beat against the skin of his throat. Sweat slicked the hand holding his gun. It’d just take one mistake, one little mistake, and he’d be dead, dead, dead. And it wouldn’t be the end of the world, if he died, but the last thing he wanted was to leave Sadie all alone.

He gripped her hand and did not look back.

A sharp turn, a shout from behind. The men pursuing them seemed to have no trouble in the darkness. Lazarus did not look back, he kept running, and Sadie’s fingernails dug into his hands. If they could make it back outside, back to where they’d hidden the car, he could hide Sadie within it, and go back around to find Niel. And if he didn’t come back, well, maybe Niel did. And if Niel didn’t come back either…

Sadie twisted in his grip, grabbed him by the shoulder, jerked him free from his thoughts. Her hand slammed over his mouth, Lazarus blinking, the stack of wooden crates sturdy against his back. He followed her lead, crouching down, holding his breath.

The footsteps grew closer. Closer still. Away, away, mumbling voices silenced by the rain.

Lazarus looked around, squinting in the darkness. There, that door, still cracked open - He tapped her on the shoulder. She jerked her curly haired head towards him. In the darkness, she nodded.

Without a sound, the door opened. Lazarus looked behind them once more before stepping into that new darkness.

Not quite dark for long. A light flashed, Lazarus threw up an arm against it.

“Niel!” Sadie whispered.

Lazarus lowered his arm, the light lowered to the floor. Niel hugged Sadie back, the electric torch almost falling from his hand from the force of it. His smile soothed something in the private eye’s heart, tension falling from Lazarus’ shoulders.

“You sly dog,” Lazarus whispered, stepping up to clasp his friend’s hand. “And here I thought I’d have to track you down.”

Niel grinned, but the tension didn’t fade from around his eyes. He drew in a breath, and then another. Lazarus opened his mouth to speak, but did not have a chance to.

The other man carried a faraway scent of spices and flowers on his clothes. Lazarus breathed in as Niel’s arms wrapped around him in a tight, burdensome hug. Memories, faded like paper in the sun, drifted. Memories of home.

“Niel-” Lazarus pulled away.

“I’m sorry about all this, my friend,” Niel said, gripping Lazarus’s shoulders. “I know you won’t believe it, but I am. I’m so sorry.”

“What do you mean?” Lazarus said. Niel’s grip tightened. “Niel, none of this was your fault. You couldn’t have known O’Tipp would be here.”

Niel looked down, towards the golden pendant around his neck.

“Niel?” Lazarus repeated.

“That’s not it,” Niel said. “Not the thing I know you’ll hate me for.”

“Niel,” Sadie cut in. “What did you do?”

The door swung open. Lazarus turned, and raised a gun he no longer held. Something cold brushed against the back of his head, pressing through his dark red hair against his skull. His heart sank.

A dim lightbulb clicked on, illuminating the empty room. Nathan O’Tipp stood beneath the bare bulb, his smile stretched wide over his handsome face.

“Evening, gentlemen! And you as well, Miss Goode.” He tipped his hat to Sadie.

Sadie backed away, glaring behind her glasses. O’Tipp didn’t seem to notice, stepping towards her. The men behind him, three in all, followed into the room, staring at Lazarus, and his empty hands. They were all at least a head taller than him, maybe more, shoulders broader than his own, bigger, stronger, crueler. And O’Tipp just kept smiling as he took another step towards Sadie. But his eyes, they never looked away from Lazarus.

“Don’t hurt her,” Lazarus said.

O’Tipp laughed.

“Why, who do you think I am?” O’Tipp said. “Wouldn’t that be such a waste of a woman?” His men traded glances. “No, sir, I’m not going to lay a hand on her. I have better things in mind than that.”

Sadie swallowed. O’Tipp’s gloved hand wrapped around her upper arm, and held on tight.

The men said nothing. Lazarus closed his eyes.

“Niel,” Lazarus whispered, “Why?”

Behind him, Niel sighed.

“He’s got Mother,” Niel said.

“And even if I didn’t,” O’Tipp said, “I paid him quite handsomely for his help.”

Lazarus breathed in.

“You were spying on us,” he said at last.

“Don’t know what you expected to happen,” O’Tipp said. “You lead a man desperate for work to my speakeasy, and think he’ll stay on the straight and narrow? In Arkham, of all places?” His voice lowered. “You and I both know who really runs this town, Core. They put whoever they want into that mayor’s seat, but I’m the one who calls the shots around here.”

Niel said nothing.

“And Chambers, he did a damn good job, didn’t he?” O’Tipp said. “Made a best friend out of you, and your lady friend here. Didn’t make you think twice, did he, even though he worked for me, you idiot!” O’Tipp shook his head. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. Of course, you’d miss that. You were stupid enough to challenge me, weren’t you?”

With one hand, he gestured to the men. The one in the middle stepped forward. The other two hesitated.

“Mr. O’Tipp-” one of them started.

“It’s fine,” O’Tipp said.

“But you’re sure…” the man said. “I mean. He doesn’t look that much like a man.”

“It’s fine,” O’Tipp said. “It needs to be done. There’s no shoving this one into a brothel, and pretending it’ll all go away. Besides,” he looked into Lazarus’ eyes now. “He hasn’t been a woman for a long time now, has he?”

Lazarus clenched his fists.

There wasn’t anything to say, as the men circled him. Niel stepped back, closer to the far wall, clutching Lazarus’ gun in one hand and the pendant around his neck with the other. His lips moved, mumbling something Lazarus could scarcely catch over the thunder and the rain. Between the moving bodies Sadie stared at him, tears in her eyes.

There was so much to say, and no time at all. Lazarus could only hope she’d understand.

“Hope it doesn’t offend you much to say this,” O’Tipp said, “But you weren’t even the worst of the pests I’ve had to crush. You’re not even the most annoying. Insects like you come and go like the bugs you are. You’re just the latest in a very, very long line.”

Two brutal hands grasped Lazarus by the arms and yanked him back. He grunted, instinct kicking in, but all the struggling in the world wouldn’t get him out of this.

“Rest peacefully, Core - your lady friend is gonna be in better hands than yours ever were.”

One of the men stretched his fingers. Nathan looked towards the man by the wall.

“How about taking the first blow, Chambers?”

Lazarus looked towards the man he called a friend. Niel shook his head. He didn’t meet Lazarus’ eyes. Nathan shrugged.

“Suit yourself, kid.”

The fist burrowed into his cheek. Blood smeared on Lazarus’s tongue. His hat knocked to the ground, exposing his blood red hair. Another fist, the other cheek. His teeth rattled, his mind reeled. Another punch in the same spot, blood bursting from the bruise birthing on his skin.

Fist to the stomach, Lazarus gagged, choked on air. The tears flowed down against his will. One of the men hesitated. The other’s fist kissed his nose. Blood drooled over his lips, his chin. Lazarus gasped for air through his lips, before another blow landed on his mouth.

Sadie screamed his name.

Through the smack of fists on flesh and cartilage, the agony of another punch to the gut, a boot to the foot, a kick to the leg, a slam to the womb, Lazarus heard Niel pray.

Maybe it was his imagination, a hallucination drawn from the depths of his subconscious by pain and the acceptance of approaching death. How would Niel know those prayers from his homeland? But where else Lazarus could have dreamed them from, he couldn’t imagine - he’d only heard them spoken once, back then, as a child. His mind spun through pain, and the prayer, it was all he could focus on.

Sadie wept.

Nathan laughed.

Lazarus took every blow.

His blood coated the men’s hands, smearing on his cheeks, on the dark fabric of his suit. Every punch to the gut sent stars flashing over his vision. Something broke, Lazarus was sure something had broken, the stabbing pain shooting through his body as familiar as the prayers he swore fumbled out around him in Niel’s voice. One of the men spoke, taunting him, but Lazarus couldn’t focus on it. He didn’t hear anything but the blood in his ears, and over it, Niel.

Why Niel? Why not his mother? Why not the woman who actually taught him those prayers?

Was their god still listening?

A kick to the stomach, and the strength in his legs gave out. The man holding him released his arms. Lazarus dropped to the floor, blood and grit digging into his skin. A foot slammed into his back. If he’d had any more air in his lungs, he would’ve screamed. Something kicked his side, someone laughed above him. Shoe polish scent on his nose, residue on his tongue. His vision blurred with blood, tears, pain, acceptance.

Lazarus accepted it. Death did not come as a friend, but like a blanket, warm and soft on his pain-filled body. Every breath hurt, hurt his sides, hurt his chest, hurt his lungs, hurt his nose and mouth and eyes. His fingers twitched, nerves on fire. His body wanted to live. Shit, he did too. But it was all over now. Nothing would save him now.

“I’m going to kill you!” Sadie shouted.

“Course you are, sweetheart,” O’Tipp said. “Chambers, give me the gun.”

Sadie sobbed. Niel said nothing. Footsteps walked away from Lazarus’ fallen body. He set his aching jaw, shifted his arms to push him upright. Death approached, O’Tipp’s familiar steps coming closer, and closer, and closer.

Gloved fingers buried into Lazarus’ hair and pulled. Lazarus didn’t feel the pain this time. His wet eyes met O’Tipp’s. Lazarus exhaled through his broken, bloodsoaked lips.

The cold metal of the gun - Lazarus’ own gun - pressed against the soft underside of his chin. O’Tipp smiled, satisfaction playing on his lips, those eyes.

“Any last words, Lazarus?” O’Tipp said.

Lazarus blinked, swirled his tongue around in his mouth. His eyes narrowed.

The bloody spit hit the mark. Landed right in the bastard’s right eye. O’Tipp reeled, a hideous noise coming from his throat as he gripped his face. His hand covered his eye.

Lazarus smiled.

The fingers of O’Tipp’s hand spread open wide. Veins throbbed within the bloodstained white of O’Tipp’s eye. The iris, so close to Lazarus’s own color, trembled. From within the pinprick pupil, purple tendrils shot out, stretching out, coating the iris as O’Tipp shook. The iris split, another purple iris folding out from the first. And then another. Two more. In a breath the eye was full of them, purple irises, the faded red-white darkening to black. Black like a hollow within the skull, black like the void of space that lingered over the city. Black like something Lazarus had seen before.

O’Tipp blinked, he struggled to breathe. His eye, now solid gold.

O’Tipp blinked, panting slowing down. His eye, returned to gray.

O’Tipp blinked. O’Tipp breathed.

The syndicate’s leader stood, the gun held loose in his hand. He did not look away from Lazarus, not for a moment, his eyes, so human, so perfectly human, locked onto the fallen man. Lazarus met his gaze, his own eyes wide. He’d seen that, and they both knew it.

O’Tipp snapped his arm out, finger on the trigger.

The gunshot echoed. Sadie screamed.

Niel’s body dropped, dead before he ever hit the floor. Sightless eyes met Lazarus’s, blood and worse dragging down from the bullet hole in his forehead.

“You-” O’Tipp said. He trembled, the blood and spit dripped down his handsome face, that handsome face contorting with rage. “I’ll do something special for you after all, Lazarus Core. You think you know what it’s like to suffer now? You think you’re gonna die the hero? I won’t give you that satisfaction. I’ll drag you to somewhere worse than hell, you son of a bitch.”

O’Tipp’s shoulders shook. A laugh broke free from his body.

“I’ll show you the real reason you were born. And you’ll wish every last day of your life, you never crossed paths with me.”

His head snapped towards the men. “Get out. We’re leaving.”

Without looking at either of his enemies, O’Tipp turned on his heel and marched out of the room. The men looked between each other, clothes soaked with blood and fumbled over themselves to follow him.

As the footsteps vanished into the raging storm overhead, Lazarus stared at Niel. His body twitched, nerves still fighting against death, even though it’d long won. He closed his eyes, he breathed through his mouth.

He saw it so clearly. O’Tipp’s eye dividing, folding out into a thousand copies of itself, transforming into something impossible. Something horrible. Something Lazarus knew on sight, just like he’d been told.

You will know the enemy when you see him, someone once said. You will know them because they are not of the King.

“Lazarus!”

He opened his eyes, raised his head.

“Sadie,” he said, and reached his broken hand towards her. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

Sadie collapsed by his side, and wept.

The strength came back to his body eventually. With Sadie’s help, Lazarus guided his body back to his feet. O’Tipp should’ve let his men finish the job, but he’d been too eager to do it himself. The beating hurt, would hurt for weeks, but he was alive. Somehow, he was still alive.

“What happened?” Sadie said, as Lazarus limped forward. “Why did he - oh Niel… That piece of-” Her fists clenched so hard, they shook.

Lazarus sighed.

“My own fault,” he said, stepping towards the corpse. “He wasn’t wrong, about me being stupid. Stupidly kind.”

“What are you doing?” Sadie said.

“Saying goodbye,” Lazarus said.

Niel’s body, still warm, the breath still clinging to his lips as Lazarus slid his eyes closed. In the warm spring night, soon the body would be unbearable. Someone would report that gunshot, call the police, send them on the way. By then, he and Sadie would need to be gone. Niel would go to whoever wanted to claim him.

But there was something Lazarus needed to do first.

“Flesh is feeble, soul eternal… Rings of life, they ever circle…”

He’d seen the back of the pendant before, with the lesser Yellow Sign. Maybe, Niel had gone back there, back home, even before tonight. Had to get something like that somewhere, after all.

“Fair is the land where the cloud waves break, the twin suns sinking beneath the lake… Fairer still, our soul’s true fate… ”

It seemed only fair, to mumble the prayer he’d heard in what should’ve been his last moments. He needed to improvise a bit. It’d been a very long time, after all, since he’d learned these words. Since he and his mother walked the streets of their true home.

“No heaven awaits, all screams unheard… to die unheard, your last breath, here with me. Fate returns you, the lost now found… to live forever, called back by the shepard, there with him, in sweetest Carcosa.”

Lazarus breathed. Niel didn’t. And it hurt to acknowledge it, that old longing he’d never chased away. Why couldn’t he go home, too, as Niel did? When he died, he would not return to Carcosa, he knew this. But it ached, to know it. That some things were lost, and would never be found… and some lost things, were lost for a reason.

“Lazarus,” Sadie began, but he shook his head.

“Later,” Lazarus said.

He reached into the inner pocket of Niel’s jacket. Against the fading warmth of Niel’s body, he found the item, and slipped it free. Lazarus smiled, and it hurt. Niel’s little book of friends, all the contacts he had in the city, written down in Niel’s familiar handwriting. This would help them a lot more than it’d help Niel now.

With effort, Lazarus stood. The ground swayed. Sadie’s hand wrapped around his shoulder, and he breathed normal again.

“Let’s go,” Lazarus said. He looked down at the body, one last time. “Goodbye, Niel.”

“Goodbye,” Sadie said. “And good riddance.”

Outside, the rain fell and did not stop until morning.

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