#TW: mentions of blood

[buddie-buddie]

let me go home (i'm just too far from where you are)

9.5k - T - established bucktommy

Tonight is going to be perfect.

The dinner, the wine, and then, when the moment’s right, he’ll ask Evan to move in. It isn’t the grand proposal Tommy’s saving for later on down the line, but it’s the first step. And it’s one he can hardly wait to take. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t have to wait much longer. He’s washing the last of the dishes when he hears Evan’s car door closing in the driveway. Tommy wipes his hands on a towel, excitement bubbling in his chest as he heads to the front door, ready to greet his boyfriend. 

When he swings the door open, his words die in his throat. 

Evan stands on the porch in front of him, pale and hollowed out, his eyes distant and unfocused. His hands tremble where they hang at his sides, covered in blood. Blood stains streak across his t-shirt, every inch of him radiating exhaustion and something deeper, something raw. 

“Evan," Tommy breathes, his heart lurching. “Are you okay?”

Evan doesn’t say anything. He just stands there, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. Concern washes over Tommy in waves. His mind races with possibilities, each one more horrifying than the last.

“Evan,” he tries again, more insistent this time.

read on ao3

[allieslittlewritings]

*not my gif <3

Rain, Periods, and Pizza

Summary: Reader gets her period on a bad day

Warnings: Menstruation, a singular swear word

Word Count: ~1.1k

You sat in class, not paying much attention to your teacher's words.

Most of the things he talked about were things Spencer had already taught you. If there was something you'd missed, Spencer would help you with it.

Rain lightly hit the classroom window, you hoped it would stop soon so you wouldn't have to walk in the rain.

Every now and then your eyes flicked over to the clock on the wall, the minutes weren't passing fast enough.

The bell finally rung, signaling the end of the school day. You quickly stood up, anxious to get out of the stuffy classroom.

And then you felt it, that specific feeling you get in your stomach. A mix of pain and unease, of something not being right.

Irritated and tired, you walked to the bathroom and entered a stall.

Your shoulders deflated when you realized you had in fact gotten your period.

After some mental math your realized it was more or less on time. That knowledge did not make the increasing discomfort any more pleasant, though.

You sighed in annoyance and reached for your backpack to retrieve a pad from it. You always kept at least one in your bag, just in case.

Searching desperately through your bag led you nowhere. Frustrated tears started blurring your eyes when you couldn't find what you needed.

You remembered then that you'd offered your last one to a classmate a few weeks ago, and apparently forgot to replace it.

You wiped your tears away with the sleeve of your jacket and started to craft a make-shift pad out of toilet paper. You would just have to walk home with more urgency than usual, it would be fine.

Hurriedly, you picked your bag up and washed your hands before exiting the bathroom.

You froze for a second when you heard the sound of rain on the roof, louder than it was before.

With a sharp inhale, you zipped up your jacket, put your hood on, and left school.

The walk from your school to your home was not far, if it were your dad wouldn't let walking be your method of transportation.

But as you walked in the rain and felt it wet your clothes, while also feeling blood seep out of you, it felt like the longest walk you had ever taken in your life.

Your walking speed increased when you finally saw your apartment building come into sight.

The urge to rush up the stairs was strong, however the thought of slipping on your wet shoes was frightening enough to stop you from doing so.

Hands cold and shivering, you reached for your house key in your pocket. Your hand paused when the sound of familiar footsteps met your ears. Dad.

Spencer nearly stumbled into you, not expecting you to be standing in front of the door.

He took in your appearance. Your clothes and a few strands of your hair sopping wet, your eyes downcast. Face pale from the cold and your lips turning a light shade of blue.

"Sweetie, what happened?" Spencer asked worriedly, quickly unlocking the door and letting you enter first. "Did you not take an umbrella with you?"

"It wasn't raining this morning, I didn't think of it," You grumbled, putting your bag down on the floor.

"Why didn't you let me know? I could've picked you up on my way home."

"I didn't know you were back yet." You bent down to take your shoes off.

Guilt started eating at him. He had just figured you would already be home, he should have asked you if you were still at school. You could get sick if you were in the cold for too long.

You sniffled quietly as you continued trying to untie your shoelaces. It was suddenly a difficult task because your hands felt like icicles.

"Can I help you?" Spencer asked softly, already bending down to do so.

He quickly undid your laces, cringing internally at how wet they were.

"Why don't you go take a shower and then we can watch something or do something fun?" He suggested.

You nodded slowly before shuffling to your room to grab clean clothes.

This could've been prevented, Spencer thought.

He felt even worse when he spotted the small stain of blood on your jeans.

‎

While you showered and got dressed, Spencer got changed into slightly more comfortable clothing before ordering your favorite flavor of pizza.

He also grabbed a few blankets and threw them on the couch. Lastly, he made you a hot water bottle and got you some painkillers and a glass of water, in case your cramps were bad.

He situated himself comfortably on the couch and read a few chapters of his current book while he waited for you.

Eventually you made your way to the living room and crashed onto the couch next to your dad, curling up under a blanket and burying your face in his arm.

"Periods fucking suck," you said, voice muffled.

Spencer put his book down and shifted so his arm was loosely wrapped around, gently scratching your back. "I know."

Your breathing was heavier than normal because of the pain, Spencer noticed. He reached forward and grabbed the glass of water and painkillers from the coffee table.

He lightly nudged you so you'd look up and then handed the pill to you.

You drank it and mumbled a quiet "Thank you" before also accepting the hot water bottle from him. You went back to lying how you were, trying to keep your breathing even.

He looked at you with concern, seeing your face scrunch up in pain as another particularly bad cramp hit you.

"Do you want to watch something, sweetheart?"

"No."

Spencer nodded, although he knew you couldn't see. "Okay, that's okay. We could also do something else like play chess, or read. I actually got you a new book from this little bookstore I went to before the team flew back, I think you'll really like it, it's about-" Spencer stopped himself and looked at you for a second.

Your eyes were tightly shut and you held your legs to your chest.

"Do you just want to stay here and not do anything for a while?" He asked instead, quieter.

"Yes, please." You mumbled.

"Okay," Spencer said softly, reaching for his book and flipping back to the page he was on.

He felt bad for making you move when he got up to get your pizza.

The pain in your stomach had eased a little so you decided to go get some plates from the kitchen.

"Wanna watch something now?" He asked when you came back.

You thought for a second before tiredly nodding your head.

Spencer turned on the show you two were currently watching and then handed you your plate.

Your gratefully took the plate and started munching on a slice of pizza as you happily watched your show with your dad.

‎

[gaylittlemans]

I am so inexplicably tired and vessel!Dazai has been haunting me so I will info dump about this dumb little AU because I can

This probably will not make sense, will make it seem like I don’t understand his character (who actually does? Besides his creator, obviously. Probably), or won’t have proper grammar but in the world of this shit, he will become a part of my personality if I do not write him down. So!

First, little stuffs about this AU because I can:

Dazai is trans here (FtM) because I kin him inexplicably and so am I, but he doesn’t experience that much gender dysphoria (mostly because he feels just a little disconnected from his body) and honestly what is the point of worrying about what body you have when the embodiment of the allure of death is currently using your body as her host? Exactly. There isn’t one. Also because I want to give this man a break on hating himself.

Basically everything about this AU is the exact same as the original, but Dazai is the vessel of a god, similarly to Chuuya. Some people do know about the whole kinda being a god thing, but not everyone. When he was Demon Prodigy, Mori kept and convinced Dazai to keep the vessel thing mostly a secret because it was better to keep as much information about him shrouded in mystery and basically make speaking his title mean the invitation of death, rather than let Dazai go and murder everyone as a vessel. I will sort of expand on this later. Probably.

Chuuya still has Arahabaki. He gets called ‘Baki’ in the rare times his name is mentioned in their world because I refuse to respect the god of destruction (Dazai started calling Arahabaki ‘Baki’ and Chuuya eventually found himself calling him that too). Dazai’s possessor’s ‘Machiko’, but might sometimes be called ‘Chiko’ or some other nickname instead.

Dazai is just slightly cannibalistic.

I ship Soukoku, which will probably be obvious by the way I write them. Neither revolves around the other, but they are both permanently drawn to one another.

Dazai struggles with skin picking in this au because he kinda craves the taste of blood thanks to Chiko so he does care a little bit more about his hygiene in this au so he doesn’t have anything to pick. His hands are very soft in his world. My man is moisturized 😚

So, Dazai.

He’s around seven years old. His life has been nothing but dehumanizing and cruel and cold. He’s being raised in a neighborhood of rich assholes who think they’re all better than one another because of meaningless, materialistic means. (Death will claim all of them in the end, so it doesn’t matter what they do, anyhow. He won’t say anything about them, though. If they need to hide from Her gaze, he won’t judge.) His parents are controlling and overbearing and want him to grow up to be some rich asshole’s trophy wife. He doesn’t want that to happen, but his body will not let him say anything to disappoint them. He can’t afford their ire; he’s seen what they do to people who think they can and the least he can say is that it looks painful.

He’s been raised by nannies and caretakers his entire life thus far and some of them were nice, but most of them just followed his parents orders to make him behave.

Modest, pretty, demure.

Modest, pretty, demure.

Those were the most important things for a little girl his age to learn. Of course. He is nothing, he is not human, if he doesn’t behave. If he doesn’t act modestly and polite. If the boys in the neighborhood tug on his skirt, he is to hold it still so they cannot expose him. If the girls in his private school pick on him for his doe eyes and thousand yard stare, he is to be reserved and accept their insults graciously and not respond to their taunts.

He is a monster if he raises his voice, or disobeys his parents or caretakers or teachers, or acts out of line—acts like a child. His purpose of being brought into the world is to grow up to serve his future husband and children and be pretty.

So he kills them.

The voice of death herself whispers in his ears at night, when the moon is full and bright, that they do not deserve their gifts, they do not deserve their gifts of breath and life.

So he takes them away like she says to.

He stands in the woods beyond the gated mansions in a white, blood splattered nightgown and a pair of what are probably Mary Jane’s, but he’s not for certain and white, just as blood splattered, socks. He doesn’t remember much of what he did, but he does not mind. The cool night, late summer breeze reaches his skin through the minuscule layers he wears. He has always run cold, kind of like what you would expect a corpse to feel like (they’re actually room temperature), and has yet to build the habit of halfway mummifying himself. Bad circulation, doctors had told him. How fun.

Here is where he sees her for the first time, the woman—the God—who changes his life forever, with the handle of one of his father’s expensive kitchen knives grasped in his right hand as the left toys with the seam of his dress. She’s beautiful. She speaks to him, but he does not remember all of what she says. He remembers “Machiko”. It must be her name. He also remembers her permitting him to call her a nickname, as he’s young and he deserves to choose what he calls his friend.

Chiko offers him her hand and Dazai’s left hand goes numb. As if puppeteered, he moves to take her hand and she smiles at him. For only the second or so time in his life, he feels warm.

Dazai learns a lot from her. He would kill without her influence, but she tells him to embrace death and its endless, inescapable dance and he does.

Perhaps too much.

Mori Ougai was a man, a doctor, whom was highly praised by rich folks he’d grown up around (and consequently been raised by after the murder of his parents). He had met the man before, who had said he was interesting and reminded him of himself. In his adulthood, Dazai was ashamed to have felt pride at the fact Mori found him intriguing, or that the man saw himself reflected in the shattered, blank soul of his.

At fourteen, his adoptive parents rushed him to the doctor another attempt at death. He woke up, hazy and exhausted, and strapped to a bed with an oxygen mask, IV in his arm, and a heart monitor. Machiko screamed at him, for his safety and his body, to not listen to the man in the white coat who offered him a reason to live, a purpose to life outside of being a vessel. Just like he’d subconsciously been searching for.

He did not listen to her.

Dazai would say he was built to be a mafioso. And it was easy enough to sever ties with his adoptive family—they weren’t too attached, anyways—and old life.

When he was fifteen years old, he met the most annoying person on earth; Chuuya Nakahara.

Every move the boy makes is so completely full of life and energy. Dazai would say he was envious, but he was not. Machiko was drawn to the boy, though, or—as he truly found out—she was drawn to Arahabaki. Death and destruction go hand in hand, he supposed. And it seems Dazai wasn’t the only one who felt that pull towards the other.

Boo. Feelings sucked. He wouldn’t say he had a crush on Chuuya, no, never, but he was drawn to the redhead like the pull of gravity said redhead controlled.

But the first time he had seen Corruption, seen the final form of Upon The Tainted Sorrow, Dazai had been mesmerized. For all his wit and bravado, he still had no explanation as to why he found this redheaded slug so enchanting, even seven years later.

Machiko still hailed over him, but she was not his puppeteer. She guided him and attempted to help him through inexplicably human issues, but she did not attempt to forcibly take control of him. If she was in charge of his body, it was entirely because he had allowed her too. He spoke with her on the regular—she was a mentor who hadn’t forced herself into that roll exactly as Mori had.

Machiko was the god of death, yet also the god of allure, of temptation, of beauty, and of yearning. Some called her the moon. Others simply didn’t know of her existence. It didn’t matter to Dazai. His mentor knew how to be merciful, despite the blood and desolation she craved.

Chuuya clearly remembered the day he’d discovered Dazai was also a vessel.

Things had been dangerous and he had still been injured from a mission Mori had sent them out on previously. He had been occupied by a horde of enemies when he’d lost track of Dazai amongst the commotion. Grunts were incapacitated or dead at his feet before he knew it.

Now, he would never admit it, but looking around and not finding the dark, sullen eye of his partner watching him from a safe distance had scared him. Made him anxious.

He pushed his way into a corridor that had been blocked by debris during the fight that he could almost sense Dazai’s shenanigans coming from and walked—maybe just a bit quicker than normal—until he saw bodies scattered and crimson pooling. In the center of this crop circle of cadaver was his partner, small, white, star-like marks twinkling across what very little skin was exposed to the open air, ripping out the throat of one of their enemies with his teeth. Blood soaked his clothes and his bandages.

Chuuya felt unreasonably calm, and oddly awestruck, at the sight.

And that’s all I can write 😚 ‘cause I am so tired. I dunno what else to say, ‘cause this is just about all my smooth little brain has let me know about the blorbos of today, but yeah. Thank you if you actually read all of this. :3333

Have a good day/night/morning/afternoon/evening!! Remember to drink water, eat, take your meds, all that.

Byeeeeee <3333

[sudriantraveler]

Traintober 2024 Day 30: Oncoming Storm

1943

Storm clouds swirled and darkened the sky, as an engine and its train puffed slowly through the English countryside.

The engine was a strange, boxy sort. One of Oliver Bulleid’s Q1 goods engines built with austerity in mind.

Despite being barely a year old, wartime service had taken a toll on him. His matte black paint, hardly a handsome look even when new, was covered in soot and grime, and a hoarse, tired panting sound emerged from his funnel.

The rain pelted down, and a distant roar of thunder shook the air.

The engine shuddered, and glanced nervously up at the angry sky.

Air-raids were an ever-present danger, which might loom behind every cloud.

"But surely..." the engine thought, "No aircraft, friend or enemy, would dare to fly in this stuff".

So despite the weather, he almost allowed himself to feel relieved.

At least there would be nothing more than rain.

That relief was soon gone however.

A chill ran through the engine's boiler, as through the storm the unmistakable drone of an aircraft rumbled overhead.

Its yellow nose emerged from the clouds, followed by a sinister gray body.

The black crosses on its wings boldly marked it an agent of death.

The engine saw it circle overhead, buffeted by wind and rain as it did so.

Slowly, painfully slowly, like a predator stalking its prey, it turned.

Then, it dipped its wings and dived towards the train.

The engine roared in fright, smoke poured from his funnel as he dragged the heavy train faster and faster.

He wanted to break the couplings all together, drop the train and run. But the couplings held, the rails curved up a steep hill, and his escape was painfully slow.

The aircraft's guns pointed out from its yellow nose, its sights aimed directly at the fleeing engine.

With great relief the engine crested the top of the hill.

The trucks, equally terrified at the prospect of being left behind, pushed forward, and with their surging weight the train rocketed down the hill, just as the aircraft guns flashed into life.

The crew ducked for cover as tracers blazed past their engine's boiler, burying into the ground and ricocheting off the rails.

Too close, Too Close, TOO CLOSE!

The engine whistled in terror as the winged beast zoomed overhead.

He could only watch, horrified, as it pulled up into a climbing turn, readying itself for another shot.

It was like it was toying with him.

Whistling fit to bust, the train raced down the line. Green fields gave way to houses, and air-raid sirens blared as the nearby town awoke to the ongoing attack.

The engine screamed through the station, feeling little relief even as searchlights and flak burst pierced the stormy sky.

The plane flew doggedly on, dodging ground-fire with almost unnatural swiftness and ease.

Diving in for another pass, it fired again. Metal punctured and tore, and the engine yelped as red hot pain reverberated through his side.

Cold wind blew through the newly opened gaps in his boiler cladding, and steam hissed from the bullet holes piercing his cylinder block.

He desperately tried to fight the pain and keep going. But his vision blurred, and his speed grew slower and slower.

He was a sitting duck.

Again the aircraft rose up, climbing and turning into position for what would surely be the final time.

The engine watched as the plane flew in towards him again, head on.

Its yellow nose grew larger and larger, the cannon mounted in its center bloomed as a black flower of death.

For both machines, the world narrowed into that single weapon.

The aircraft had just put its sights on target, when a searchlight beamed directly onto it.

It fired blindly, only barely missing its mark, as the dazzling light was followed by a flak burst striking clean into its cockpit.

The aircraft shook violently from the impact. Blood and oil sprayed out into its prop-wash, trailing behind in a fine mist which fell down over its would-be victim as it roared mere feet overhead.

Out of control, its dead pilot's hands limp on the stick, the wounded bird slowly pulled away into an unsteady climb.

Searchlights and ground-fire pursued it all the while, until it disappeared back into the storm clouds, and in a flash of lightning it vanished from the world of the living.

The rain continued to pour down, as back on the ground the engine and its train wheezed slowly to a halt.

His crew jumped down from the cab to inspect the damage, as he groaned and cried through escaping steam.

As the engine faded in and out of consciousness, fighting exhaustion and pain, he could only barely register that he was somehow still alive.

[punkfloweranarchy]

Hobie and Miles on a mission/fighting a baddie together. Shit goes wrong. Really, really wrong. Like, building collapses on top of them and there’s no way out kind of wrong.

And, of course, Miles is impaled on some rebarb or something; bleeding out slowly but also way too fast, with Hobie pinned on top of him (with a few cracked ribs and other various injuries of his own, of course) and very little wiggle room to work with.

They think they’re going to die there, trapped and bruised and bleeding, but hey — at least they’re together.

And, of course, Miles thinks this is the best time to confess all the feelings he’s been bottling up for the past couple years and Hobie has to lay there and listen to Miles wax poetry about him in the round about way he’s so good at, avoiding the three words Hobie most desperately wants needs hopes to hear; all the while coughing up blood and wheezing for breath and Hobie is sure that his heart tearing itself to shreds is going to kill him before his injuries or the lack of oxygen will because this can’t be happening. They’ve wasted so much time waiting for the right moment and pushing down their feelings when they could have been happy and together the whole damn time and it’s too much for Hobie to comprehend.

So he almost refuses to confess himself. He almost convinces himself that, yet again, now is not the time. That as soon as they get out, when they’re healed up and away from this nightmare, then he’ll tell Miles how much he’s loved him for the past two years and they’ll get their time to be happy and in love and together.

But Miles is fading, his breaths becoming more shallow with every passing moment and Hobie knows they’re out of time. There will be no ‘later’. He only has now. And he refuses to spend their last moments with the words lingering heavy at the back of his throat, choking him. So he lets them out, finally. And finally, he can breathe for the first time in two years.

“I love you, Miles.” His voice is wrecked and his throat is so so tight with the repressed ache to sob or scream or choke or or or…

Miles smiles: beautiful, brilliant, heart-wrenchingly happy. It fills Hobie up with such a violent vortex of emotions he feels like the one who’s bleeding out, guts and heart so raw and exposed he can barely breathe.

“I love you too, Hobie. Thank you.”

Hobie sputters out a laugh because of course Miles would be the type to say ‘thank you’ after a love confession. The laugh turns into a breaking sob when he realizes again where they are and what Miles is really thanking him for: not waiting, not letting him go without saying it. For making his last moments ones filled with love and tenderness. Hobie wants to scream at the unfairness of it all. He wants something tangible to fight, to blame, to make feel all the pain that he’s feeling right now.

But all he can do is hold Miles and tell him over and over again how much he loves him so Miles doesn’t have to spend a second longer wondering.

[oneoftheeggs]

Lucifer bridal carrying Adam. Y/N?

Lucifer bridal carrying Adam, coming up!

[I do know what Y/N stands for, but I am not sure what it means in this context 😅 or, are you just referring to me?]

Anyway! Here we go (I hope this is at least decent - I wrote this after the third day at a con with way too little sleep - truth be told, I don't know if you wanted me to write something in the first place, but I was inspired! Also... oops, it got a little sad)

Lucifer didn’t know what had compelled him to take another look at Adam’s body. Maybe it had been simple curiosity. Maybe he had wanted to see if in his final moments Adam had been the man he had been in live or the monster he had become in death. Maybe he had just wanted to take a little break from rebuilding the hotel, to try and collect his thoughts and taking a step away, to look at the corpse, had been a welcome excuse. Either way, he had made his way to Adam and decided to look at him for but a moment. Sooner or later, they would need to get rid of the body. At least that’s what Lucifer was thinking, as he knelt on one knee, to take a closer look. Adam’s face, covered in blood and bruises, seemed almost peaceful. His eyes were closed, his hands still resting on the ground next to him, where they had fallen to, when his lieutenant had turned his body around to try and reach him in his final moments.

His chest, punctured by multiple small stab wounds, rose, and sank slowly with labored, shallow, breaths. His-

Wait what?

Lucifer did a double take, but even that changed nothing. Adam’s chest was indeed rising and sinking. Even as golden blood seeped out of him, drop by drop, the first man stubbornly refused to die. Lucifer blinked in confusion. He had been sure that Adam had died, when Niffty had stabbed him. And even if not, surely the time, between receiving the injury and now, must have been enough to have him bleed out.

And still, despite everything, despite all logic, Adam was still clinging to life. Still holding on to, well, something. Even though Lucifer couldn’t tell what exactly that something was.

“You’re still here.” It wasn’t a question. Hell, Lucifer hadn’t meant to say those words at all, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself. That was why he was even more confused when Adam blinked his eyes open. They were unfocused, staring blindly towards the sky. Towards heaven that seemed unreachable, far away. And unreachable it was. Even if Adam wasn’t dead, he had lost his halo. Lucifer wasn’t sure if Adam could return to Heaven, even if he was able to fly. Adam blinked again, and his eyes didn’t turn to Lucifer, but he answered his words, still.

“Ironic, isn’t it?” He grumbled wetly. Lucifer was sure he could hear the blood in his chest. He couldn’t help but agree. It was ironic. Adam, who had come here to rain death upon them, was now, as it seemed, himself unable to die. Why exactly Lucifer couldn’t tell. But he was quite sure, that a certain powerful being, that had created them all, had his fingers in the mix. And if that was the case, then Lucifer could not let Adam lie out here on the pavement. That was certain. Or, at least, it was, what Lucifer told himself. Dammit all, he hadn’t wanted Adam to die in the first place. Sure, he had lost his temper, when Adam had the audacity to attack his daughter, but that would have been any father’s reaction. Still, Charlie had given him hope that maybe, just maybe, Heaven could be reasoned with. Hope, that maybe, what had been lost, could be regained.

He had loved Adam once, half an eternity ago. And a part of him loved Adam still. Hell, they, Lilith, Adam, even Eve, had been created to be loved. And something like that could not vanish entirely. His love for the man had withered away, year after year, but it had never fully stopped. And seeing Adam, lying there, more man than monster, had reawoken something in Lucifer that he had believed to have died a long time ago.

Lucifer sighed softly, before deciding what to do next. With arms, stronger than humanly possible for a man of his stature – he wasn’t a human after all – Lucifer swiftly cradled Adam to his chest. At least as much, as his height would allow it. He could feel the Angel grow rigid in his touch. But he wouldn’t let that deter him. One arm supporting Adam’s back, the other lifting him from beneath his knees, Lucifer tried not to jostle the injured man too much. It didn’t work perfectly, and Adam emitted a pained gasp, followed by a few coughs that brought new speckles of golden blood to his lips.

“What?” he started asking, before being interrupted by another coughing fit.

Lucifer shook his head, silently commanding Adam to safe his energy.  “You’ll be fine,” he said, instead of answering Adam’s question. The man didn’t seem to believe him. He shook his head, as good as he could.

“Are you fucking serious.” He hissed. Lucifer didn’t say anything. He just opened a portal to one of his chambers in the palace and started walking.

“Fucking stop that shit!” Adam hissed. “Put me down. Just let me lie here.”

Lucifer shook his head. “No,” he answered stubbornly. As he stepped through the portal. “There’s another way.”

Adam emitted an ugly sound. Something that might have been a laugh had it not sounded, so much, like he was biting back a sob.

“You’re a fucking liar,” Adam accused. “You never cared before!”

Lucifer said nothing. He knew that disagreeing would not make Adam see reason. His silence was answered by more labored words from the injured man in his arms. “Why now?” he hissed. “Why do you pretend to care now? Still haven’t got everything you wanted, is that it?”

A fist came to connect with Lucifer’s shoulder, but the punch was weak. All energy having seeped from Adam’s body with his blood.

“This is your fault!” Adam accused, and Lucifer hummed in agreement. Maybe it was his fault after all. Maybe nothing of this would have happened if he had stayed one of God's obedient little playthings. Or maybe another angel would have simply taken his place. Another hit connected with his shoulder.

“I hate you!” Adam’s words were full of poison, despite his weakened state. Lucifer sighed, as he carried him towards the room, he saw fit to house the man for the near future.

“I know,” he said, a sad smile playing around his lips. “Trust me. I know.”

[shylighthi]

Whumptober Day 2: Delirium

Wild focuses on keeping his breathing steady as he stirs the pot. He's not sure when but members of the chain started to look odd from the corner of his eye. Gray patches of color, he tried to ignore it, thinking about sleeping once he was done.

Wild did everything in his power to not show them that he knew there was something wrong.

They weren't his brothers.

This wasn't the chain.

Ao3 Link here

This is based on @kikker-oma 's comic that is linked here

[farfromstrange]

Today, I randomly decided to donate blood because we have a new pop up in my city, and I haven’t donated in a while. Plus, I have a blood type that blood banks always like to see because it’s almost entirely universal (I think the only blood type that can’t accept blood from me is 0 negative—the actual universal donor).

Giving blood is always an experience for me because I take antidepressants and I’m known to have low iron, so it’s always a surprise to find out whether or not I can actually donate after they check my hemoglobin and the doctor checks my medical history. Today I passed, so I got to donate. Thankfully. Otherwise, I would have been embarrassed to walk back out.

I sat there, and since I bleed very easily, it went by quickly, so I grab my snacky snack and then I was already good to leave again. No problem.

Anyway! To get to the point:

A few hours later, all I can think about is Matt coming with you to the blood bank because you’ve decided you want to donate (he’s well aware of your medical history) and he’s worried about your health. The entire experience would probably be a lot for his heightened senses because of the smells and the noise and all the elevated heartbeats, but he would tag along for your sake. In my head, he would just hover and be a concerned as fuck boyfriend because he’s so attuned to the changes in your body, he would notice everything.

He would probably check in on you every five seconds and pamper you after, but you’d be so chill about it because once you have your snack and get your blood sugar back up, you’re fine; your arm just hurts a little, but that’s normal. That sort of thing.

I can’t stop thinking about it, so now I kind of want to write a One Shot about this particular scenario…

[pastafossa]

Ok so I accidentally stabbed myself while wood carving, just like I did a few years ago. The scenario was damn near identical: my knife hit a knot in the wood, and skipped from the wood to the meaty bit of my hand. Last time this happened I needed 7 stitches at the ER, and it cut deep then because, no surprise, a knife sharp enough to cut wood has no problem with skin and muscle. But I'm not in the ER this time, because there was one VERY important difference.

I had my no cut gloves on.

6 bucks was literally the difference between an ER trip and being able to stay home.

I have two bloody punctures on my hand, one quite painful admittedly, where the knife tip got through the kevlar fibers. That still sucks and I'm grumbling about it because it hurts like a motherfucker even now that the bleeding stopped. But honestly? I'll take it compared to the alternative, the reminder of which sits right next to my bandaids.

Never underestimate what a few bucks for safety can do for you.

[contrivedchaos]

How do you think Carmilla would react to Valentino approaching her girls like he did Charlie when she went to interfere?

“Valentino? Never heard of him. That pile of blood and entrails on the floor? That’s always been there .”

[dvpendable]

› growing together with @fataldcse . . . 🌱

(tw: mentions of blood and minor injuries such as cuts and scrapes)

the remnants of a terracotta flower pot are strewn all over the outside of the apartment building - broken into both big and small, chunky pieces, all scattered around the ground alongside some fresh produce. at the center of the mess sits danbi, looking a little worse for wear and bewildered at how the scene had unfolded. it all happened so fast - one second, she was holding the flower pot she had picked up from glaazed alongside her groceries, heading into the building, and in the next, she had ended up on the concreate right before getting through the doors with everything squished and torn and broken thrown about. she blinks, trying to piece everything together. for some reason, the last two minutes or so seem a little clouded, and she can't quite put her finger on what transpired - maybe she was just on autopilot and had caught her foot on something when she had turned to come inside, causing her to take such a spill. or maybe she'd just tripped over her own two feet or missed a stair leading up to the doors, having not been paying much attention with everything in her arms.

"ouch," she hisses softly, moving her legs once she finally regains her bearings, noticing that both her pant legs are torn at the knees, the ripped material revealing her skin, scratched and reddening. she raises her hands up to see her palms are in the same condition, most likely having instinctively put them in front of her to brace herself. danbi wasn't one to consider herself to be a clumsy person - she's not the most agile, sure, but she isn't completely uncoordinated. but it seems that once in a while these days, she's a little more ungraceful than usual and will maybe drop something or lose her footing and bump into the wall.

danbi exhales gently, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead. she wonders if maybe she's been taking on too much lately, having been picking up more shifts since a lot of her colleagues wanted to get out and enjoy the carnival, not to mention working longer hours at fresh fields with the holidays approaching. but she doesn't have much time to linger on the idea, as she realizes someone is coming up behind her - no doubt another resident arriving home and wanting to get inside. she reaches out to try and clear some of the broken pieces in a hurry, only to slice her finger on a jagged edge.

"o-ouch," she says again, wincing a little before she tries to ignore the bright red beginning to pool at her digits. the blood drips down her fingers, but she simply glances over her shoulder and quickly apologizes to the other standing nearby, wanting to be quick about getting out of his way. "i'm sorry, i'll get this cleaned up in a second. just be careful heading inside, it wouldn't be good to step on any of the broken pieces."

[the-void-via]

Thinking about Astra when angry

Thinking about how they hold their partner close if they're injured, careful not to touch the wounds or move too much

Thinking about the utter rage that builds up in them at the prospect of someone harming one of their partners, burning away the soft, shy personality to make way for blinding anger

Thinking about them holding their partners face in their hands, their gentle touch a stark contrast to the look on their face and the words that hiss out of their mouth

"Who did this?" They whisper, cupping his cheek in their palm. "Who did this to you?"

Thinking about them pacing their room, coming up with a plan to put the attacker to justice if they hadn't been already.

Thinking about them talking with General Feixiao about their next moves, and getting lightly scolded for wanting to go off by themselves.

"At least take reinforcements," She chided. "And no, I don't just mean General Jing Yuan."

Thinking about them staying with their partner, waiting for them to fall asleep before heading out to punish the poor soul who dared to lay hands on them.

"Sleep well," They whisper, placing a soft kiss on his forehead. "I'll be back later."

Thinking about them coming back the next morning, the faint scent of blood and sweat still sticking to them, even after they showered.

Thinking about them wrapping their arms around their partner, cuddling into their chest like nothing was wrong, like they'd done nothing at all

"...you smell like blood," He whispered after a moment of silence, hand running through their hair. "Did something happen?"

They shake their head, "Nothing you need to worry about. Everything’s been taken care of."

Thinking about the boiling rage that threatens to bubble over when they see anyone being treated like how they had been, a whirlwind of emotions mixing with their rage

Thinking about the side of them that stays hidden, dormant, until they need it

Thinking about angry Astra

[ficmesideways]

Request for Anonymous Gif Source: Bucky

Imagine being an Avenger with healing powers and Bucky only going to you and no other doctors or healers whenever he's injured.

------- Imagine -------

He brushed by the doctors and healers that had run out to meet the tame when they had first arrived. He bypassed all their offers of help every time inseatd heading straight to where he knew you would be. He gripped his injured side tightly as he made his way past the hangar, med bay, and continued the long walk to the living quarters that some of the avengers and staff chose to use. He pushed open the door and you immediately sighed in relief at his safe return before you noticed how he held himself. Blood had just started the slow trickle between his fingered as you stood quickly and reached toward him, chastising even as you guided him to a chair to sit. “Bucky, next time call me in advance and I’ll meet you with the others. I don’t want you to be in pain or hurt any longer than you have to just because you refuse the help of the other healers and doctors here.”

“But then who would have to scold me doc?” He asked smiling playfully at you despite the flinch of pain when you first touched his side.

You rolled your eye at his antics and took his other hand in your free one as you let your healing energy flow to him. “Ever the charmer.” You said sarcastically as you both just watched each other as his skin slowly knit back together.

[ulquiorrapleasecallmetrash]

My f/o's reaction to my rotting tooth that had to be pulled out.

Me: *looks at my broken, decayed tooth that got pulled out* f/o! Look at how it rotted! it's so weird how it rotted because it is completely hollow on the inside. Look at the cracks and how it formed!*hands him the tooth so they can examined it*

Ulquiorra: Why would you keep something like this? *stares at the tooth*

Me: Because it looks creepy and cool.

Ulquiorra: *Stares at it with mild interest he secretly thinks it looks cool but won't admit it*

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dia Akedia: *looks at the tooth with a concern face* ....why would you keep something like this?

Me: Because it looks creepy and cool.

Dia Akedia: I know but why keep something that reminds you of your pain?

Me: Because it looks creepy and cool.

Dia: *looks at the tooth with morbid curiosity he also thinks it looks really cool too but the blood catches him off guard* *chuckles and smiles* Of course, you always have interest in these kinds of things.

Me: Your niche is mushrooms while my niche is cool weird dead stuff.

Dia Akedia: *chuckles and pats my head* Can't argue with that.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Grayson Hotz: *Looks really concerned he doesn't like seeing things that remind him the pain his s/o has gone through* Do you...really think you should keep it?

Me: Yes. It looks creepy and cool.

Grayson: *chuckles, he is use to my weird collection and isn't surprised in the slightest* Of course it does. *He is still uncomfortable with the bloody tooth but once it gets cleaned up it will look less creepy he will be okay*

[comment-exchange]

346. A botherly kind of love (Ace Attorney)

Title: A botherly kind of love

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49762588/chapters/125608792

Platform: AO3

Creator:  Teenager Forever, Gotapenname

Work Type: Fan Fiction

Fandom: Ace Attorney

Rating: G

Pairing: Garyuu Kyouya | Klavier Gavin/Odoroki Housuke | Apollo Justice

Word count: 12,068

Warnings: kidnapping, minor mentions of blood

Number of comments: 3 

Completion Status: completed

Short summary/description: On trip to Khura'in Klavier and Winston get kidnapped. Apollo , Nahyuta and Mr.s work to rescue them.

“Thanks for coming with me even if your reasons are less than 

[whaleiumsharkspeare]

I’m going to a 3-day church conference tomorrow but I’m kind of nervous because the last time I went on one the following things all happened during the same week:

I got food poisoning on the first day but didn’t realize that’s what it was so I kept it to myself and just suffered all week

My ear had been hurting all week and the one day it didn’t I touched my ear and it started bleeding

Somebody stole my wristband I needed to get into the sessions and I had to sing a Bible verse in order to get a new one

The girl I was paired with for the buddy system almost drowned in the choppy waters of Lake Michigan because she ignored me pointing out the rip current signs. Luckily she was okay because she was rescued by my stalker

Which oh yeah by the way I was stalked by some boy who followed me everywhere I went and tried to ask me out after knowing me for a day. I said no

All of this is happening while I’m suffering from the aforementioned food poisoning

So yeah I’m kind of nervous so praying friends of tumblr, please pray for a good and far less eventful conference 💕