#im still here fic

[sashaisready]

I'm Still Here - Chapter Five

Lee Bodecker (The Devil All The Time) x Femme Reader

In late 60s Meade, you’re married to Sheriff Bodecker, pregnant with your first child. On paper you’re the perfect couple – the respectable Sheriff and his homemaker wife. This should be one of the happiest times of your life…so why are the two of you living like ghosts? And is it too late to bridge that gap? Especially when your husband is playing a dangerous game.

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Strong violence, mild violence/threat towards pregnant woman, gun violence, knife violence.

This is the final chapter, I hope you've enjoyed! As always I appreciate reblogs and comments. This was a bit different for me and I enjoyed exploring it.

Wordcount: 3.5k

You could hear the men downstairs, roaming around and picking things up, calling out your name. Lee let you use your real first name after you married him. After all, nobody would find you with Bodecker as your last name, and nobody knew who Honeybee really was, so there was no risk. It was Lee’s idea; he was very clear that you shouldn’t lose all of your previous self in order to make room for the new you. He still liked to call you Honey, a little nod to how you met.

You felt rage brimming within as they used your first name, as they moved around your house and pawed at your things. How dare they? Your name wasn’t for their mouths, your belongings not for their eyes. The audacity to come into your home, the first real home you’d ever had, shared with the man you loved (and soon shared with your child), and sullying it with their voices, their presence, their grubby hands. Your heart pinched as you briefly wondered what they’d done to Lee…if they had hurt him…if he was even still al-

…But you couldn’t think about him right now. You needed to concentrate on you and baby. There would be time for him later.

Your finger squeezed the trigger of the shotgun.

These men were not going to take away what you’d fought your entire life for. Yes, it wasn’t all smooth sailing right now, but it could be fixed. It could all be fixed. You could see that now, finally it was clear. This wasn’t their call to make. You didn’t know yet what they’d taken from you…but if it was Lee? Well. If you couldn’t save him, you would avenge him.

“You take upstairs, I’ll do the kitchen and the garage” you heard one of them say as they hovered at the foot of the staircase.

This was it. You had been flitting between strategies since you had pulled out the gun. You had considered fleeing, but you weren’t exactly agile in your current condition. Plus, most of the neighbours weren’t around, so where would you go? Even if you called the station, which wasn’t likely as the men would hear you first and corner you by the phone, the police wouldn’t get here in time anyway. Your only choice was to go on the offensive.

Them separating was good, much easier to take on one armed man than two. The question was whether you went in guns blazing (literally) and took out goon number one, knowing the sound would send goon number two straight up the stairs right to you. Or maybe you needed to dispatch goon number one more quietly, as not to alert suspicion of goon number two and retain the element of surprise. But a shotgun wasn’t exactly a subtle shot, even with a silencer. And there was more of a guarantee you’d take him out quickly if loudly, rather than with a quieter, more discreet method. The last thing you needed was two of them coming for you at once, especially if one is wounded and pissed about it. Lord knows you’d dealt with that enough times in the past to know it was best to avoid.

The careful footsteps up the stairs and then along the hallway meant the decision was made for you. You stayed perfectly still as he drew closer; he called out your name and you gave your stomach a final cursory rub as you watched the doorknob slowly rotate…

The door gently rolled open, and you could pinpoint the moment he saw you, his features pinging across his face in a look of surprise as his fist tightened around the pistol in his right hand.

“Mrs-”

But it was too late. You fired, your feet squatting apart to keep your balance from the inevitable recoil. It was much louder than you remembered it being, but maybe it just sounded that way in the cosy enclave of the spare bedroom. The noise thundered in your ears and the stench of gunpowder and heat hit your nose as you bounced backwards slightly.

You watched his expression change for a split second as he realised what was happening, but it was over quickly as the blood and tissue enveloped his fear. His heavy frame slumped to the floor with a sickening thud and just as quickly as he’d arrived, he was face down on the plush cream carpet. You were grateful not to see the full grisly aftermath of your handiwork.

“I promised I’d never do this again, but you left me no choice” you whispered regretfully to him as you pumped the weapon once more. But of course, he couldn’t hear you.

You toed the pistol out of his closed fist and kicked it under the dresser. It wasn’t like he was going to suddenly get up and start firing – but you could never be too careful.

You held the shotgun back up and tensed your ears through the slight ringing to try and make out the sounds in the rest of the house. The fact that his buddy hadn’t run up the stairs, or even called out to check on his friend, worried you. He was either a big rookie at this and was somewhere in the house cowering, or worst-case scenario – he was more experienced than that and was being more cautious than his departed pal as he waited to make his move.

You stayed where you were for a moment, listening to the sounds of the house. Nothing stood out. You could hear the low hum of the refrigerator downstairs and the distant song of a bird outside, but little else. The optimist in you hoped he had fled, but you would’ve heard the front door. After some time had passed, you took a couple of steps backwards while keeping your eyes on the door. You quickly glanced out of the window. Their van was still parked up out front. No sign of anyone outside.

You moved forward again, back to your post in front of the fallen man. If you glanced quickly you might think he was praying at your feet. The adrenaline was pumping hard as you steadied your breathing and kept the gun raised. You looked out into the hallway once more, seeing only the wedding photo of you and Lee affixed to the wall across from the doorway. You smiled. You both looked so happy.

And you had been happy. It had been difficult to transition to this new life, to give up thieving and fighting for pot roasts and furniture polish. To play your new role, to be a ‘normal’ wife, smile in the right places and pretend your mother had taught you to cook and clean and sew like everyone else’s had. There was an unspoken code all the other wives seemed to know that you could barely scratch the surface of. Every fibre of your being screamed that you didn’t belong.

However, falling for Lee had not been difficult. No. It was the easiest thing in the world. You supposed you were already halfway there long before his strange proposal in the woodshed that day. Part of you had always known. You imagined you would’ve found each other no matter which path you took. It was easy and effortless. It was the one thing you didn’t have to fake. There was no artifice in that wedding day smile. You’re not sure why he took a chance on you, but you were glad he did. You had cherished every moment with him. Every late-night conversation. Every handhold as you strolled in public. Every reassuring hand pressed onto your lower back when he knew you were feeling overwhelmed. Every groan in your ear as he slipped inside of you, every caress, every hungry kiss, every sweet embrace. The safest place in the world was in his arms when the two of you drifted off to sleep. He has saved you and given you a new start, and while it wasn’t always sunshine and rainbows, you were grateful. You wanted to make him proud.

And this was no exception.

Time passed and there was still no movement from the missing man. You were both in a stand-off, waiting the other out. It continued. The silence almost mocking.

After more time had passed (it felt like hours) you decided to take the bull by the horns and finish this. You would no longer be cornered in your home; you would tackle this how the Cypress gang used to. Finish it. For baby. For Lee. For you.

You took a deep breath and stepped carefully over the man’s body and out into the hallway, the shotgun raised, and your muscles clenched. You peered out tentatively. Nobody either side. Feeling emboldened you took another step forward.

Before you had time to plan your next move, the shotgun was unceremoniously yanked from behind, leaving your hands and tumbling you to the floor. Fuck. You looked up to a dark-haired man standing over you, the gun barrel pointing between your eyes. He was clenching his teeth in anger.

“You fucking bitch…” he growled.

He must’ve been hiding out in another room and waited until your guard was down. You should’ve caught that. Clearly, you were a little rusty.

“You’re gonna pay for that you whore” he snarled at you as he squinted over at the other man.

He sighed. “I’m sorry Bobo…” he muttered as he shook his head at the crumpled figure.

“Please…I-”

“Shut up” he barked, crashing the gun against your forehead. “You got lucky with your husband’s gun, but it won’t happen again”.

“Lee…Where…where is he?” you asked, your voice hoarse with fear.

“He’s alive” the man muttered. “Unfortunately.”

You thought you might throw up with the relief that flooded you. He was okay. Probably roughed up but okay. All the more reason to keep going.

“Please sir…I’m pregn-” you began to plead but he held up his hand and signalled for you to stop.

“I know. I’m not blind, sweetheart” he sighed, almost a hint of regret in his tone. “This isn’t personal, all right? Your fatass husband got you into this mess. I’m sorry”.

“You don’t have to do this…” you said quietly.

“I do” he sighed again. “I need to show Sheriff Bodecker who is in charge here”.

“What…what are you going to do to me? To us…?” you rubbed your stomach.

“Just get downstairs” he snapped. “Do what I say, and I’ll go as easy as I can”.

You nodded, your mind going a million miles an hour. Could you run? Try grab the gun off him? Scream?

“I’m going to stand up, alright?” you offered coyly, raising your hands to show you weren’t a threat.

He nodded and you slowly got to your feet. The little fall fortunately hadn’t been too rough. You were okay. Baby was okay.

All this man knew about you was that you were Lee’s little wife. He thought you got lucky with ‘Bobo’ or whoever that was. Don’t give him any reason to doubt that. Back in the gang, you used a similar routine all the time, all doe-eyed and flustered. Men always underestimated you. They simply could not fathom that you were anything less than meek and scared.

“P-please sir…” you mumbled tearfully, shaking a little.

Underestimating your enemy was the worst mistake you could make. He would soon learn that lesson.

He gestured you to go down the stairs and you cautiously descended, moving slowly. He followed close behind, the shotgun looming between your shoulder blades. He was muttering and cursing, clearly improvising all of this after unexpectedly losing his employee.

He led you to the living room when he told you to stop. Keeping the gun pointed on you, he rested it on his shoulder briefly as he used his free hand to dig around in a knapsack on the floor that he must’ve stashed when they came in earlier. You saw rope and duct tape spill out from the opening. You stood there, trembling.

Or he thought you were trembling, at least.

He pulled out a polaroid camera.

“First…I need to take a few ‘before’ pictures for the good Sheriff…” he murmured. “Really tell the story, y’know”.

Fumbling with the camera meant he lost his hold on the gun for a second. Knowing you might not get another chance; you seized the opportunity.

It all happened in slow motion.

You leapt over towards him and grabbed the shotgun barrel with one hand, punching his head away with the other. He was stronger than you, but the shock had thrown him. He managed to yank the handle and the trigger and fired, but your grappling with the barrel meant the bullet fired into the ceiling. You screamed into his face as he tried to pump the gun and reload, but you continued to wrestle the barrel away. He grunted with surprise but quickly regained his composure as he went to his pocket, and you knew he must’ve had a handgun there, just like his friend did.

In the ensuing tussle the two of you fell to the ground. He was on top of you as he cursed at you and went purple with rage, but you screamed right back at him. He pulled the handgun from his pocket with his free hand, and you grabbed at his wrist, trying to push it away.

“I’m going to enjoy this, bitch” he hissed between a clenched jaw as he raised the gun.

You slammed your hand down as hard as you could into his windpipe and as he choked and spluttered you retrieved Lee’s knife from your brassiere. You pulled it from its sheath and plunged it deep into his neck, twisting it to ensure it took. With your free hand you smacked the gun from his grasp as he moved his fingers to the knife handle. His eyes went wide as he fell forward, and you used the opportunity to roll away from underneath him as he hit the living room carpet, then pulled the gun away and unloaded it. He watched you in disbelief as he bled, stunned at what had just unfolded. You’d seen that look on men before.

“Yeah. Not what you expected, huh?” you taunted.

Panting and rubbing your belly you wiped the sweat from your brow as you took a second to recover. Baby kicked back in silent reciprocation. You noticed the blood on your hands and ruined dress. Just then, the man began to groan. He slowly moved himself up to his knees and began to crawl slowly towards the door.

You were overcome with rage as you sat up and sped towards him. Before you knew it you had pulled the knife from his neck, causing him to collapse as the blood poured.

“Motherfucker…coming into MY HOME. Hurting MY BABY. MY HUSBAND…” you screamed, punctuating your words with vicious strikes into his back.

He groaned and wheezed and begged as you continued to stab him, your anger a red cloud whipping you into a frenzy you couldn’t control. All your pent-up rage about what they’d tried to do, how they’d threatened you and baby, and Lee. Nearly losing Lee. And every bit of anger you had held onto – the injustice of the world, the unfair start you’d had in it, everything you’d either lost or never had as your own in the first place. How hard it was to slip into the shoes of a normal person because you’d never truly had the opportunity to try. Honeybee wasn’t dead after all, she was right here, and she would never fully leave.

Finally, exhausted, you dropped the knife and slid onto your back, panting. You cringed at the sight of the living room, crimson and stained with death, worlds away from the classically curated yet cosy space it was just a few minutes before. You panted, and just laid there.

*

Lee pulled the cruiser into the driveway so fast he knocked the mailbox over, crumpling it beneath his front tyre. Neighbours peeked through the curtains in horror as the Sheriff jumped from his car and high-tailed it across his front yard, shouting his wife’s name. He kicked through the front door, his voice booming with both anger and panic.

“Lee?” you called out from the living room, snapped out of your haze.

“Honey…” he yelled as he soared towards you. His eyes bulged at the sight of Leroy’s back torn to ribbons.

You reached for him, and he grabbed you and pulled you close, holding you so tight it almost hurt. You gasped at his black eye and the bruises on his face as you traced them carefully with your finger.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry” he repeated in your ear like a prayer as he kissed your temple and kissed your face and tenderly held you.

“Are you alright? Is baby alright?” he asked desperately.

“It’s okay baby, it’s okay. We’re okay” you cooed against his forehead as you kissed him back.

You told him it was okay, and that you’d taken care of it. You told him he needed to stop the shady shit and he promised he would, and he swore on the baby’s life between peppering desperate kisses all over your face.

He took a second to go and tell the peering neighbours it was okay, to stay outside and asked them to call the station as his wife had been the victim of a home invasion. Then he came back and pulled you away from Leroy and into the kitchen where he kissed you long and he kissed you hard, feeling every inch of your body as if he couldn’t believe you were here.

“I’ve missed you Lee” you finally said.

“I’ve missed you too, Honey” he sighed. “I know I’ve been distant…I guess I’m scared”.

“I’m scared too, Lee” you sniffed. “I know I haven’t exactly been present either…this is a lot for me too. But don’t shut me out, okay? We need to do this together”.

He nodded.

“I’m gonna be better…I promise”.

He held a tentative hand out to your stomach, moving it slowly towards you. You took it and gently placed it on your belly. He gasped as his fingers made contact with the swell.

“Our little baby…in there” he smiled.

You smiled back. “Sure is”.

As if on cue, the baby kicked back against his hand, causing Lee to chuckle in disbelief. His eyes brimmed with tears as your heart sang, this was what you wanted. Finally.

“Strong little thing…just like mama” he laughed.

You grinned back. “And daddy”.

His expression darkened. “I’m sorry…you had to do that. Like this. And alone. It must’ve brought back some tough memories…”

You sighed. “It’s okay. They were bad guys. They were going to hurt me and baby. They’d hurt you. I did what I had to do. I know I said I’d never do it again…but I had to”.

He nodded again, his fingers stroking at the blood soaked into your dress. “I’ll fix it for ya Honey. Alright? Home invasion. Pregnant woman. Leroy and Bobo were known to be involved in organised crime, they put a hit out on the Sheriff’s wife. It’s open and shut. Don’t worry about none of it. I’ll clean it up good and you shouldn’t even need to go to court”.

He pondered for a second. “Gonna be tricky to explain the multiple stab wounds in the back though...”

“Pregnancy hormones” you giggled.

Lee rolled his eyes and laughed with you. “I told them they’d die in this house…They just didn’t expect it would be because of you”.

“Yeah…that was unlucky for them” you snorted.

You both just stood there for a little while, both grateful to have the privilege of being together in this moment in time.

“I’m sorry Lee…another mess of mine for you to clean up…”

“Oh Hell, I like cleaning up your messes. Keeps me busy, outta trouble…” he smiled.

He tenderly held your chin between his fingers and looked into your eyes.

“I can’t believe I nearly lost you” he said gravely, shaking his head.

“Well, you didn’”t.

“I know…but I coulda”.

“Lee…” you said softly. “It’s gonna take more than two thugs with guns to get rid of me, you know that…You’re stuck with me.”

You smiled at your joke, trying to lighten the mood, but he just looked sullen.

“Sometimes I worry…that I’ve put a bird in a cage, here” he told you, his eyes wide and vulnerable. “Maybe you’re stuck with me”.

“No…no. You saved me, Lee” you whispered. “I’m not a prisoner here. I’m your wife”.

He smiled. And you smiled. And you knew it would all be okay, now. You both found your way back to each other once more. You weren’t a caged bird at all, you were free. Truly free for the first time in your life.

“I love you, Honeybee”.

“I love you too, Sheriff Bodecker”.

THE END

[proxycrit]

More caitvi for the soul (art tag if you wanna see more arcane!)

Check out my patreon for my sketchbook!

[collophora]

Do yourself a favor and go read the entire fanfic work of @fanfoolishness

(In order: Under sun and shade, Blind Side, and Breathless (patching up is one of my fav too, I just had no cool sketch idea for it)

[oh-no-its-bird]

Fic where the unjust death of the Uchiha and the subsequent horrific abuse to their bodies via blatant and indiscriminant eye theft results in Konoha being haunted by the spirits of several very angry Uchiha.

"You know... They say that so long as an Uchiha's eyes do not rest in their body, their spirit will never find peace."

When the husk of a woman who used to be Mikoto smiles, there is blood in her teeth.

"What do you think, Elder Danzo?"

Ft.

- Sasuke being repeatedly lured into the woods by the ghosts of his family (and notably, his parents) both bc some want to protect him and some, not powerful enough to retain their sanity in death, wish for him to die so they might take their eyes as their own

- Nara Shikaku, among others in the Hokage's tower, being repeatedly faced with the unsettlingly eyeless ghost of Fugaku as he appears sporadically and attempting to act as if nothing is wrong— always dissapearing when someone questions how he is there (whether he truly seems to keep forgetting that he has died is unclear, but no methods to purge the offices seems able to keep him away for long)

- the spirit of Mikoto taking on a spokesperson role for the dead, as she seems to have been the one to retain the most of herself in death while plagued with the corruptive everything that comes with being a spirit tied to the earth through nefarious means (with Fugaku being a potential second— if he wasn't so busy w convincing himself he hadn't died at all)

- Danzo being haunted by the more mindlessly violent Uchiha ghosts, driven mad in the afterlife at seeing their eyes in his unworthy flesh

- A surprisingly sane Kagami who has Thoughts and Feelings ab Danzo taking his eye— and the mystery of how exactly he had died

- A suddenly the most qualified person to deal with ghosts Kakashi, who's unfortunatley doomed both attract and to be able to see the Uchiha ghosts with his sharingan, and has them breathing down the back of his neck with talk of watching after Sasuke and GETTING REVENGE !!!!!!!!!!!!! which he is legally obligated to do now as the elder ghosts deem his service as their conduit to be his duty, since they gave him a pass on the eye thing. There's a lot of "see I TOLD you it was a good idea to let him keep the eye!! Clearly Amaterasu has left him here for us to use in our darkest of hours"

Aka forcefully adopted by Uchiha ghosts Kakashi who's "adoption" reads a little more like "indentured servitude to the afterlife"

(And he can't help but wonder why he hasn't seen Obito's ghost, after so many years with his eye in his head...

- Itachi being absoloutley hounded by the guilt of what hes done and the spirits of those hes killed, whove left the haunting of Konoha specifically to haunt him (He is not having fun) (The ghost of Shisui is doing his best to ward away the more volatile ones)

And more !!! Potentially, idk. This would be a fun one if I wrote it but I will not. Someone totally should tho , just, not me.

[clickety-clacker]

Been seeing so many cool Clickies on my dashboard since getting into GGG, I just had to take the time to draw a few of them- plus, it was a bit of a challenge to try new styles. A lot of these guys were also super influential to how I draw and even think about Click Clack on my own time, so you should definitely check them out! Names below the cut cus it got long heehoo

Top left: @malartsorte

Top middle (holding papers): @scribblelimbo

Top right: @wishgraanted

Leftmost middle: @beastwhimsy

Middle (peace sign!): @sootnuki

Rightmost middle: @molabuddy

Bottom left: @pespillo

Bottom middle: @artuurle

Bottom right: @modmad

I know I said it already, but all of yall are super cool and I had a lot of fun challenging myself to make this! Keep on being awesome 👍

[nebuladreamz]

A little different than last year's, but here we are again. To say that this past year hasn't been absolutely wild would be a lie, cause HOLY SHIT MAN

This year's birthday is. A little different for me, but you already have the silly comic to show that so I won't make like a broken record oops

But, despite the changes and hills that life's decided I should climb or throw at, it hasn't changed the fact that I'm so genuinely fucking thankful to the people that I've known since joining this fandom. I'm not even kidding when I say that being here has actually changed my life for the better. I know I said something similar last year, but this time, hoo boy it sure turned up the AMP and test how far I could go.

So, to everyone, both new and old; thank you for being here :D

@garbagechocolate @darkxsoulzyx @smoljeanius @bunmuffin @skizabaa

@tuzesdays @sleepykas @fernzwing @kandidandi @starsketchez

@just-a-drawing-bean @notdysfunk @ilsole @amberluvsbugs @cloudyvoid

@nomsthecat @alfinefalf @nosleepygay @theblog-with-thestuff

@cacaocheri

(Edit: ty kibbits for informing me of the. Fuck ass tagging system)

AND TAGGING OTHERS BECAUSE. POINTS. BONKS WITH HEAD. GETTING TO EITHER INTERACT OR TALK OR WHATEVER IS ALWAYS A DELIGHT

@ohno-the-sun @kibbits @ink-yy @saltyfryz @kaprisvn

@hierba-picante @sunny-sophies-garden @cookiiemancer @sneeblbop @justaduckarts

@pepethehumanz @crystalmagpie447 @woolysstuff @mocha-illustrates @duhsty1

@sanchensky @pillowspace @victarin @witherfide

[I DEFINITELY GOT SONAS WRONG AND THESE AREN'T ALL THE SILLY PEOPLE I KNOW BUT IM SITTING HERE AT 2:30 IN THE MORNING JUST KNOW YOU'RE THERE IN SPIRIT HANDING YOU ALL POPTARTS WAUGH]

[drenched-in-sunlight]

saying this as respectfully as possible but. Do not put fandom content creators on a pedestal. We are also just fans contributing to a community just as you are. We have boundary on our own work and that’s it. What I say is not and should not be considered sth the whole fandom should listen to. I’m just a normal ass person ranting about things on my blog. If it does not have a fandom tag for others to engage in, do not make it out to be me trying to start fights or addressing the whole community. Because it’s not.

I’ve said it before and I will say it again, my art, my lore talk, is biased. I’ve never tried to hide that I view Marika a certain way and will always develop my theory following that base assumption.

Aside from translation stuffs and pointing out in-game items, everything else I say you can look at it, agree or disagree, and move on to form your own opinions. Just because I draw stuffs doesn’t mean you get to saddle me with responsibilities about managing fandom expectations. What the hell? I’m a fan artist, I’m the last person who you should look at for “leaderism” (?) WHAT?

I can and will be a hater in my own space, like I know sometimes other artists will just post their stuffs and not engage too heavily with fandom, and for a while I did try to do that here (because I’m already a dramatic ass on twitter), that’s just not me though.

You will get art and you will get my opinions as well.

[aurieeeeeenyx]

oh yeah also jayvik are extremely orpheus and eurydice coded i don't make the rules

[shadebloopnik]

Unrequited/One-sided Radioapple but it isn't treated like an angsty end of the world thing.

Imagine they slowly get closer after all the banters, and eventually becoming close friends. Lucifer ends up catching feelings for him, and after a long while, decides to confess and ask Alastor if he felt the same.

Alastor admittedly does not feel the same.

He's getting uncomfortable, struggling to keep his composure because he's DONE this before. He KNOWS how this ends. He remembers Vox and all his insistent declarations of affection and desperate pleas for Alastor to reciprocate; the possessive entitlement. He remembers how all those sickly sweet words morphed into something venomous when he didn't give the lowlife what he wanted. He remembers the anger, the ridiculous notion that it was Alastor's fault why he was so mad, that Alastor led him on and that he obviously deserved something in payment for it all-

So yes, Alastor knows how this ends.

It doesn't mean he isn't disappointed though, because he actually LIKES Lucifer, far more than he ever did Vox. Perhaps not in the way the king might have wanted, but he did. He treasured their little talks, their drinking sessions, their shared love for their instruments, Lucifers singing, their little duets, the banter, the playful jabs, the sparring.

He'd even slowly grown accustomed to the other's touches, not feeling the same surge of disgust and discomfort whenever the shorter man would grab at his arm in excitement, forgetting his usual thoughtfulness of Alastor's touch aversion for the short moment of whatever distracted him. Alastor even enjoyed it at times, relaxing at the feel of soft feathers beneath his claws, or the sensation of gentle scratches against his ears.

Difficult as it was to admit, Alastor had grown to care for the angel, the same way he had for Rosie orv Mimzy.

But no matter how fond Alastor was of Lucifer, it didn't change the fact that he didn't feel the same way romantically, or even sexually. No way in the 7 rings of Hell was he going to lie to Lucifer about either, not going to even entertain the idea of pretending he reciprocated for Lucifer's sake. He respected his friend too much for that.

So a clear, direct rejection it is. It was a shame, but nothing could be done. He said his piece concisely, and waited, shoulders set, back straight, smile and eyes a careful blank canvas as he prepared for the inevitable.

Lucifer nodded, a normal soft smile still in place, "Thank you for your answer, it means a lot."

Which......what? Alastor expected an outburst, or at the very least sharp words.

What he did NOT expect was....acceptance? And not just that but, a happy one? Contentment?????

"You're....alright with that?", he had to ask, he had to. Lucifer was clearly just very good at masking his upset.

But the damn angel just smiled?? And it didn't even look fake, just as bright and soft as his normal smiles, albeit a little confused?? Lucifer smiled at him, his brows furrowing in a bit of confused disbelief, as though Alastor is being the weird one here.

"Uhh, yeah??? Why wouldn't I be??? Yeah I may have some feelings for you but its not like you're obligated to feel the same. Above anything else, we're friends first and foremost and i'm alright with that..."

Then he seemed to have reached his own little conclusion as his words trailed off, because suddenly Lucifer's eyes widened in realization of something, and his words picking up with a sense of panicked urgency.

Alastor would really like to know what Lucifer's supposed realization was about himself because he had absolutely no clue.

"I mean, we ARE still friends right?? I don't- I- I hope this doesn't like- change your opinion of me. You're not- oh gosh I'm not making you uncomfortable am I? I- I won't mention it! You can even forget this whole confession ever happened! We can just go on as before! I don't feel any different or would act any different! Honest! I mean, I don't regret confessing because you deserve to know and I'm not ashamed of my feelings, but I don't want you to be uncomfortable! It doesn't change the way i'll treat you! Or change any aspect of our relationship! I don't even think I like you more as a lover than as a friend! I really, really do love our friendship, it matters more to me than any thoughts of being in a romantic relationship with you! So please just forget it all-"

Alastor let the word vomit wash over him, every word leaving him more confused by the minute.

Because yes, there's the desperation he expected, but...it was more about, convincing Alastor to remain friends?? Reassuring Alastor that nothing has to change?? That their friendship is the most important thing here??

(If anyone asks, no Alastor's heart didn't swell. Only lesser beings would have had the urge to cry, and Alastor is anything but.)

Lucifer is unknowingly reassuring Alastor of every single one of his insecurities about the situation. Because Alastor DID want to remain friends, he cared too much about the man to let it go so easily. It was rare to find people who treasure friendships above romantic relationships.

"I don't tend to forget easily, nor will I forget this one in particular.", he spoke, finally finding his voice. At Lucifer's defeated, pained expression( is their friendship really that important to him?), he continued. "But....yes. I'd like that.. To remain...friends."

He didn't often say the word out loud, being comfortable enough with each other that it need not be reassured with the label. But with Lucifer brightening up like his namesake, relief and happiness palpable, Alastor felt no qualms at declaring their friendship out loud.

So life went on as usual. True to his word, Lucifer remained basically the same. The following weeks were a bit stilted for Alastor, as he put some rather painful distance between him and the angel; limiting their interactions, their usual touches.

Anytime now, Lucifer would break and show his true colors, Alastor would think, waiting for the boot to drop. Lucifer would end up angry, and dissatisfied, and that was that.

But it never happened. Lucifer never expressed discomfort when Alastor avoided him, seeming to be understanding of the others need for space. He was just as affectionate as before, though initially a bit held back, as though gauging Alastor's comfort.

Months would pass, and the king never faltered. Their friendship remained strong, if not growing ever closer than before. Alastor found himself even growing more comfortable with the man. Affectionate touches were becoming common, hugs and head pats and cuddles being a welcome thing, with the reassurance that the shorter king would never disrespect his boundaries.

Lucifer seemed genuinely happy about it, despite being clearly told that none of Alastor's actions hinted at anything romantic. In fact, he seemed ecstatic that Alastor was getting more affectionate towards him as a friend. The embarrassment the radio demon felt at having Lucifer basically tear up (no really, he was crying so hard, full on drama sobbing) with joy in front of him was intertwined with the sheer incredulous fondness he felt for the man at that moment.

They were sitting at a couch one night, more than a year passing since that confession. Lucifer was leaning back, resting against the cushions, while Alastor had his head on the smaller one's shoulder, nuzzling at the crook of his neck, legs tucked close to his body. Both had a book in hand, two nearly empty cups of tea on the table in front of them. Every so often, Lucifer would flex his fingers that rested on Alastor's head, running a digit against the other's ear, often prompting the demon to lean into the touch. White wings enveloped the two, blanketing them against the chill of the night.

As Alastor turned the page of his own book, relaxing into the touch of his dearest friend, he wondered how he ever got so lucky in hell.

[courfee]

“Regulus would be proud of us,” James whispered quietly to no one in particular, still gripping onto the painting like a life raft. 

— Tender Curiosities, Baby!  @otrtbs

[scruncheduppaper]

GABRIEL: JUDGE OF HELL

(A practice sketch that accidentally turned into a whole thing)

[sashaisready]

I'm Still Here (completed)

Lee Bodecker (The Devil All The Time) x Femme Reader

In late 60s Meade, you’re married to Sheriff Bodecker, pregnant with your first child. On paper you’re the perfect couple – the respectable Sheriff and his homemaker wife. This should be one of the happiest times of your life…so why are the two of you living like ghosts? And is it too late to bridge that gap? Especially when your husband is playing a dangerous game.

Warnings for: Sexual content, violence, pregnancy, drinking, violence against female character, marital issues, mentions of sexual assault.

Excited to share new Lee fic, something a bit different! I'm expecting this to be a mini series.

And to be clear, this is a new Lee/Reader, not a continuation of any of my other fics or in those same universes. Please check the warnings as there are some dark turns planned.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

[erinwantstowrite]

what are your thoughts abot how Damian and Tim's relationship is portrayed in most fanfics?

personally, although I like the angst part of their relationship I wish there was more fanfics where they're closer and have real siblings dynamic (like u know they 'hate' eachother but they would destroy anyone who would want to hurt their brother)

oh, boy, do i have a lot to say about this one. buckle in, folks.

i feel like a lot of the time, if they're in a fic together and the fic author doesn't like one of them, the other is going to be mischaracterized to hell and back. sometimes... both are mischaracterized.

i'm all for a fanon interpretation of a character- obviously, because i have fanon interpretations in my fic too at least a wee bit- but sometimes it goes too far and it no longer feels like we're reading about the same character

let's talk about Tim.

Tim doesn't have a good view of himself or his standing in any emotional aspect. which is often misconstrued about him believing that he was Jason's replacement (neither he nor Bruce thought this, but it was Bruce's fear), or that his worth as Robin wasn't enough. that's not true at all. i'll say it again here: Jason didn't nearly kill Tim at Titan's Tower, nor did he go there to kill Tim. and Tim fought him back. he even told Jason to his face:

"you can't be that good" "I am."

he knows he's a damn good Robin! he trained with the best, he helps lead the YJ! he doesn't doubt that he was the best person for the job. but when it comes to the emotional aspect of Robin, i think this is where Tim stutters

this is because of how Tim's parents showed their affection.

i think canon neglects that aspect of his trauma, which is why so many people hang onto it. in the comics, Tim is shown to have a lot of friends both in and out of suit. he's abrasive and isn't afraid to ask the hard questions. but he is riddled with self worth issues. his parents were barely around him, they didn't know him well at all. and they loved him, but from a distance.

Tim now sees himself as someone that can receive love from a distance. he is incredibly self reliant, and has been from a young age. he sees all of his accomplishments as obligations. he does well at school because he had to. he takes care of himself because he had to. and in his mind, taking up Robin was partly another obligation. he does his job well because he has to, and he might doubt this sometimes like anyone else, but at the end of the day he is confident in his ability to get shit done.

now, the emotional part of Batman and Robin is where i believe i enjoy a fanon interpretation more. he actually does have a good relationship with Dick, but I'm not too sure about Bruce at this point. this topic is nuanced because Batman writers make him so diabolical at times to the point that i would consider it ooc. but other times they're very close and Bruce admits this. so i replace it in my head with a more stable and realistic version that i've seen written by fic authors very well.

Tim views himself as someone who is there for a job: help Batman. but there is a lot of wonder and awe there. his favorite Robin was Dick. (I'll say this again so everyone hears me: his favorite Robin was Dick. yes you are allowed to have nuance and put Jason in there as someone he looked up to as well, please do. but put some respect on Dick's name!) now that he's working with Dick Grayson, someone he admires so much, as well as getting the honor to wear the Robin suit, he feels more like himself than he has in years. he's good at this, and it's also fun. he meets so many people and he gets to make a difference in the world. yes, it's a job, but it's also very freeing

he never did this be Bruce's son, or to replace Jason. his relationship with Bruce started off extremely rocky, with Tim forcing himself into his life in some way because he believed that Batman was going to get himself killed or get someone else killed, or Batman would cross the line. and Gotham would lose the only person who had such unwavering optimism for them. he and Bruce come to an understanding of being partners but not father and son. Bruce doesn't want to open himself up to that hurt again. but we all know Bruce, and that's not what ended up happening. Bruce would never be the same person he was before, but he is not incapable of love.

Tim would not understand that change. I'd get more into this but i don't want this post too long and i wanna save it for when i'm not supposed to be sleeping and when i'm writing one of my Tim fics for once. all we really need to know is that Tim's emotional intelligence is dogshit, and him coming to see Bruce as a father, and Bruce seeing him as a son, would baffle him. because his parents love him... at a distance. and Bruce sees him every day. that's not how it's supposed to work, right?

so.

sometimes, Tim is treated like a porcelain doll who can do no wrong. many aspects of his canon has been altered by fanon to be "worse" than it is. his neglect by his parents did, indeed, happen, and it affects him deeply. but his parents weren't like. beating him, or leaving him without food or shelter or supervision. Tim was clever enough to get around that supervision all on his own. which is why they should have been there in the first place. (they should have been there regardless). and emotional neglect is still a very real issue??? no one has to make it "worse" by making the Drakes out to be monsters. i think Jack often emotionally manipulated Tim when he was around, and I don't know if Jack was even aware that he did so. (which is why i can see some people delving into that nonexistent relationship that DC gave us, and finally giving those implications more depth. there are a lot of good fics that go over this)

often it's hard to read a fic for Tim because they go too hard into making Tim an anxious shy ball of sunshine. Tim is weird, and he stalked the Bats, he stalked Nightwing, he broke into Titan's Tower before he even became Robin. he's a weirdo. he fits right in with the Bats for that reason. some people make him out to be the victim or some kind of damsel in distress, and sometimes we get to see a phenomena where other characters talk like a book about emotional intelligence that their therapist gave them. which is... fine, if you're just writing to write it, maybe helping yourself. but let's take a step back and see Tim is not like that. he is a very capable person, and his not some "uwu, woe is me, i'm so shitty at everything and if you even look at me wrong i'll cry." i honestly believe that Tim is the type of character to hate crying in front of someone and even if he was actively dying he'd be holding back those tears.

whereas Damian? gets the opposite treatment??

granted, i don't actually know too much about Damian, but i at least try to understand him and his background

he's the youngest of them, and i think many people forget that Damian isn't a reader of the comics like we are. he wasn't going into that family with the emotional connections to these characters and their backstories like we did. he was taught about these people, the idea of them. like how we could be taught in class about people from a long time ago. and i can ensure you that Damian was not taught proper emotional intelligence, nor would he have the best grasp of it himself when he was younger than 9 years old. imagine all of your teachers and also your mother told you about these people and their accomplishments, and then told you that the person all of them look up to is your father. the person that you want nothing more than to know, to see, because the people around you talk about him so highly. someone you haven't gotten to meet yet, because you aren't "worthy." can you imagine being told all your life that you are not worthy to see your father yet? and not knowing if he believes that too?

but one day, you are going to be by his side as his son. i don't want to get too into the culture of the Al Ghul family because i don't actually know that much (i'm sure someone would know more about this, feel free to add on if you want to), but this is important to Damian. it's important to his mom. it's important to his grandfather, the leader of an extensive organization that stretches hundreds of years.

then he gets dropped off in a different country, culture, language, and family and he finds that things are not as he had been told his entire life. his father has many flaws, they do not believe the same importance of a blood tie as his family back home does. they question his entire upbringing to his face many times, they question his mother who he loves deeply. he's nine years old. imagine yourself in that position. you don't know yet what role you're playing in an adult's life, but you want to. desperately. you want to know where you stand. you want a hug. not to mention that Damian actually is a very emotional kid. he was taught to shove that deep, deep down, and not let that out.

too many people write Damian as if he was a "feral" kid which is kind of not something to put on him? i don't like it both because he wasn't feral, he was an asshole. there's a difference. and because it feels like a microaggression?? at times?? because once again... the culture that he is from... is important.

they have been racially profiled for many many years... and yes, everything that you read is political whether you want it to be or not. the act of reading is political. you should definitely be aware of what a writer's goal is when they were giving something to you. you should be reading deeper. again, i'm not from his culture and i can't say if it is an insult/insensitive joke or not, nor am i saying everyone who's made the joke before is a bad person. i have made jokes about Tim being a feral kid before and whatnot. i'm saying that no matter who you are, it is your responsibility to think critically about your media and kindly about other people. it feels uncomfortable to me because i know how wrongly the Al Ghuls (specifically Talia) have been treated by writers in the past. and Damian is an extension of that bias. just look at how many times they try to push Ian Wayne on us. or how they'll pull back on Damian's character development when talking about the Al Ghul family.

this probably isn't my topic to write about, at least not before i learn more about it. but since i get a fair amount of viewership, maybe someone will listen to me that won't listen to someone of color that has already pointed this out many times. with the comics fandom, and Batman fandom specifically sometimes, people don't care to think further about why the characters of color are so often and conveniently left out or forced into an archetype. take that as you will

so! he has spent his entire life believing he had to live up to two great legacies, both of which are VERY different. the intricacies of the Al Ghul family are often boiled down to pure evil by both fanon and canon writers, which dulls Damian's resolve and reasoning for what he had done, or makes it hard to connect to him. he has since learned more about who he wants to be and has come to respect his family in many ways. excuse me if i'm wrong, but i think part of why Damian came so hard for Tim was because Tim had everything Damian wanted. he had a place by Batman's side as both his son and his partner, and was very well respected by Batman and Nightwing both. he's older, more mature, he has stature in both this society Damian now has to fit into and within the family dynamic. considering Damian grew up in an assassin cult that solved threats to their dynamics or positions in power by murder, it wasn't a far leap for a child from that environment to make. he was modelling what he had been taught his entire life.

think about the mistakes that you made as a kid. and i don't mean something silly or funny now, i'm talking something that makes you feel ashamed. embarrassed. hurt. something that perhaps now as an adult, you reflect on as being totally uncool. and i want you to think about if maybe your environment had a role to play in that. maybe you made an insensitive joke that your mom or dad would have found funny, and someone pointed it out and reasonably made you feel like a jerk. shit happens. but you hopefully grew from that.

now imagine that mistake was you hurting someone.

yes, he was annoying. he was bratty, at times. he could be a little calculating shit. he hurt people with both his words and his weapons. Tim obviously had many many many reasons to be upset about his treatment- but I fear that most of his anger ended up directed at the older people in their lives that were supposed to be the ones to do something about it!

and though i hate that Tim went back to being Robin (it feels redundant), i have seen panels that show that the two of them working side by side after Damian and Tim both went through some life and perspective altering events both together and alone, has made Tim see Damian as his little brother, and vice versa. Damian has grown so much and many people just... don't care. no matter their reasoning for hating Damian, it's unfair to not look further than those cutting words written decades ago, or to bring up his mistakes every time you want to be mad at him. and i think it does a disservice to Tim to make him a bleeding heart about this when he has clearly forgiven Damian and cares about him. he rags on Damian like any older brother would, and Damian makes remarks like a younger brother would. personally, i think the two of them are doing pretty good right now

the development of their characters is actually so interesting within the canon aspect, even if they can fumble the ball every now and then. and the mischaracterization takes away the value that their canon relationship has. i personally love reading fics that have Damian and Tim teaming up. in aus where one thing changes and Tim and Damian become brothers later, i think it's actually so silly and fun when Damian respects Tim or thinks he's cool. or even without the au aspect! just like, a fic where the two of them are working together and it's either silly or serious, Damian having a begrudging respect for Tim and Tim being protective over Damian, etc etc, is sooooo much fun

[chronologically-challenged]

I think that the party's communication issues can be summed up as "man, is it awkward to tell someone that you want to spend the rest of your life with them if you've only know them for a few months? Probably."

[radiantmists]

Haven't finished my day one fic but here's my entry for @charles-rowland-week Day 2: Chorb!

I see a lot of cute orb-ghost content and love it, but for some reason when I sat down to write my brain went: that experience must be terrifying on both ends. Especially if it happens when they're pushed to the brink, a circumstance that otherwise leads to ghosts just... dissolving. Especially the first time.

So here's the first time!

***

Charles can't remember how he got here; he hasn't really got any idea where here is, except that the ground he's lying on is too hard and the light is so bright it burns his eyes whenever he opens them.

Though that might actually be something wrong with his eyes, judging by how much the rest of him hurts. He must have pissed someone off real bad, to be in this much pain, but he can't remember who or why. He hopes it was worth it.

"Charles," says a voice, a voice he knows. Edwin's here, and he sounds upset, and like he's trying to hide it. Charles manages to pry his eyes open for half a moment before the searing pain forces them shut again, but in that brief second he gets a glimpse of Edwin-- just his neck and the bottom of his face, the harsh press of his mouth.

Charles has seen that expression before, knows it comes along with wide eyes that give away what might look like frustration otherwise; this is the face Edwin makes when he's terrified.

Edwin shouldn't be terrified. Charles tries to reach for where he thinks he was, to comfort him, but just the idea of moving his arm reminds him of how much his shoulders hurt, and he half-screams before he can swallow the sound.

"Charles, just-- just lie still a moment," Edwin says beyond the roaring of his ears, and it shouldn't be a hard request with how much moving hurts, but Charles doesn't think he can bear to lie here like this much longer, the ground digging into him and the pain burning through his bones.

There's something wrong about that. Charles shouldn't be able to feel the ground, however hard it is; he doesn't actually have bones to burn.

He's dead, but he's still hurting, somehow, and that doesn't seem fair, does it? He'd sort of thought he'd escaped it, for a while. Maybe a little pain was the cost of being alive, but now-- unable to feel any good thing-- it just feels cruel.

He's so tired of hurting.

"Charles," Edwin's voice breaks through again, only this time the tone is different, somewhere beyond fear. "Charles, please, don't-- please just stay--"

His voice breaks on the plea. Because he is pleading, which is all kinds of wrong. Edwin doesn't beg when he's terrified; he goes silent and still like a hunted rabbit, which Charles hates with all his being but he hates this too. Edwin shouldn't beg. He shouldn't have to, not with Charles, who has embarked on the afterlife-long project of making him as happy as possible.

Not going anywhere, he tries to say, but his mouth doesn't want to obey him and instead he just sort of groans. He can't move his fingers-- he's not sure he has fingers, right now. They don't hurt anymore, but he can't really feel them either.

He remembers that: losing his fingers first, then his toes, then more and more. Edwin had been there then, too, strange and funny and unbelievably kind, and Charles hadn't had the chance to worry about his toes. Edwin had given him that gift, the gift of not being scared, and then he'd tried to run off like it was nothing, like after all that he'd thought Charles would just leave Edwin to the lingering terror in his eyes when he spoke of Hell.

That terror has never left completely, despite Charles' best efforts. He's started to think it never will, and the thought hurts, but at least he'd thought it was getting better; except now Edwin is terrified, and he's the one begging Charles to stay. He's still talking, somewhere beyond the pain, and though Charles can't make out the words, that heartbreaking tone is still there.

Charles isn't leaving him. He refuses. But he can't bear this either, the pain making it so hard to think, to remember. Edwin's voice is a lifeline, but it's getting more and more difficult to hear it, and he's not sure it's just the ringing anymore.

He's a ghost. He doesn't have ears to ring, not really, or bones to ache or eyes to burn when he opens them. Piece by piece, half on purpose and half unable to hold on, he lets it all slip away, until all that's left is the conviction: whatever happens, he wants to stay.

It feels a little like changing his hair, the way Edwin had taught him, just holding on to what he wants until that's what he is.

Mostly, though, it feels like dying.

***

He knows less and more, like this. He doesn't know where he is, and there's no feeling to help him guess, no pain or light or voice in the ears he doesn't have anymore. He doesn't know how he got here, doesn't know how long he's been here, doesn't even know who he is, really.

But he's not confused, because what he knows is this: he's dead, and it's not fucking fair, because he had so much left to do. He knows he was going to do better, that he was going to fix things, and now he'll never have the chance. Part of him seethes at that, and part of him just wants to take the hint and stop trying.

Except he also knows, somehow, that he does have another chance. That he's still here, even if he can't feel or taste or smell-- or even see or hear. That he can move things, somehow, change them, sometimes even fix them. He can solve crimes and save lives and on very good days he can make Edwin laugh.

He remembers that, the last time he'd made Edwin laugh-- just a little chuckle, really, but helplessly sincere, and the smile had stayed on his lips when he'd said, really, Charles--

The world unfolds around that voice speaking his name, first just memory into sound and then the awareness of ears to hear it, of a head to turn toward it and arms to push himself up, of something soft and forgiving under his palms, and of eyes he can open to see Edwin's face, remarkably close and blinking with surprise that, as Charles watches, collapses into relief.

"You came back," Edwin breathes. From this close, Charles can see the tears well in his eyes. Edwin, who he's seen burn half his hand off without even noticing, is crying over Charles.

It's not really a choice, to reach out with hands that still look a little misty and pull Edwin close. Edwin clutches him back, curling his hands in the back of Charles' shirt and tucking his chin over Charles's shoulder like if he just holds Charles close enough, he can hold him together.

Maybe he can. Charles curls his own fingers into Edwin's coat, breathes deep just to feel his ribs expand into Edwin's grip, ghost-cool but firm and real, real, real.

"I was afraid you were gone," Edwin says.

I was too, Charles doesn't say.

"Told you," he murmurs instead, "you're stuck with me."

[try-set-me-on-fire]

Ok well i had the brief thought “what about an ER nurse Eddie au?” and then this popped fully formed into existence so fuck it Friday pt 2.. warnings for smoking and vague references to critically injured kids

“That doesn’t seem very healthy.”

Smoke curls up from the cigarette held loosely in Eddie’s hand. “It’s not, particularly.”

Buck’s hands are in his pockets as he strolls away from the glass doors out into the ambulance bay where Eddie is doing the mature, professional equivalent of playing hide and seek. He comes to a stop barely a foot or two away from where Eddie leans against grimy concrete. “Didn’t know you were a smoker.”

“I’m not,” Eddie sighs, “Particularly.” He looks over Buck’s face as he takes a drag, cataloging bruises and cuts. He hadn’t been the one to look him over before he was discharged, probably because he was out here avoiding having to do so. “Only when it’s- only after the bad shifts.” And only once a month, even if the bad shifts come again and again. He bought this pack in January, it’s stale as shit.

Buck’s eyes follow the smoke as it drifts skyward. “Rough one today?”

Eddie thinks he probably doesn’t have to explain to Buck that it’s sometimes better when a kid is dead on arrival so he doesn’t have to try his best to administer care he knows will be useless. He doesn’t have to explain a day where nothing goes right and he loses more people than he can save and he still has to walk away from someone’s parent or wife or sister, left behind forever in a waiting room on the worst day of their life, and go on to lose the next person too. Doesn’t have to explain why he’s out here, and not in there. “Mm. We’ve got this repeat customer, always hate to have him back.”

Buck’s eyes flick to his face before they settle somewhere around his elbow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. He seems like a nice guy. I worry about him. He’s here too often.”

Buck doesn’t look up. “What was he in for this time?”

“Minor concussion. Bruising. Lacerations.” Eddie sucks cancer into his lungs. “Heard a house fell on him.” Exhales it into the night.

Buck does look up this time, eyes a darker blue out here in the shadows. “Part of a house. Just a staircase and the- like, the balcony, really.”

“Maybe he should stay away from those.”

“From houses?” Buck asks, half his mouth twitching into a smile.

Eddie rests his head on the wall behind him. “Guess that’s not really practical.”

“No.” Buck is quiet for a moment, one hand slipping out of his pocket and running through his hair. Eddie wonders what he looks like, when he’s not here. He’s more styled, sometimes, when things aren’t very bad. He wonders if he’s usually all gelled up and neat. Eddie kind of likes the loose curls. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Making your day worse.” Buck looks genuinely apologetic, and Eddie shakes his head.

“The guy made it out okay this time.” Buck is just close enough that Eddie can kick at his boot with his sensible orthopedic sneaker. “You didn’t even need stitches.”

“That’s good.” Eddie’s left foot is pressed along the inside of Buck’s right, and Buck is staring down at them. “His favorite nurse was on break. I would have missed you if someone else had to do them.”

Eddie laughs, just a few bursts of soundless oxygen. “You gotta find new ways to see me before something happens that I can’t fix.”

Buck moves, taking the few steps necessary to lean against the wall beside him. Carefully, he takes the cigarette from Eddie’s hand, holds it between two of his own fingers, and takes a drag. Eddie watches it happen like he’s monitoring somebody’s pulse ox, and when Buck coughs he laughs again, louder this time. “Fuck,” Buck says, laughing too. “Thought that would be cooler than it was.”

“Smoking isn’t cool, firefighter Buckley,” Eddie says, taking the cigarette back and pulling from it again between smiling lips.

“Hm,” Buck says, grinning out into the night. Then he sighs, and rolls his head along the concrete to look at Eddie. “I think there’s nothing you can’t fix.”

They’re very close. “There’s lots I can’t fix.”

Buck shrugs like he disagrees. “I also think I’d like to find other ways to see you.”

Buck’s eyes are even more in shadow at this angle, and they’re the color of the lake back in El Paso that he and a bunch of kids went to after graduation, drunk off beer somebody’s cousin got for them, skinny dipping with breathless terrified delight under bright constellations. “Then ask me.”

Buck inhales as Eddie exhales. “What time’s your shift end?”

“5:30 AM. So, probably 6:15.”

Buck traces the two fingers he’d used to hold the cigarette down Eddie’s arm. “You wanna get breakfast with me?”

“Yes. I would.”

Buck smiles, and Eddie snubs out the cigarette on the wall between them. “I’ll meet you here?”

“Alright.” He takes a step forward, then a step to the right so he’s standing in front of Buck. “Two hours.”

“Uh huh.”

He should really get back inside. They’re understaffed, as always, and there are too many patients, as always, and not enough beds, as always. “See you then.” He doesn’t make any move to leave.

“See you then,” Buck almost whispers. He leans forward, and Eddie still doesn’t move, so he presses a tiny kiss to the corner of his mouth for just a moment. His lips are warm. Eddie hadn’t noticed it was cold outside.

Buck pulls back and leans against the wall again. Eddie smiles, puts a hand in his pocket, and walks back toward the doors.