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pepsinister · 1 year

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tw: broken frontal bone tw: broken left parietal bone tw: broken right parietal bone tw: broken left temporal bone tw: broken right temporal bone tw: broken occipital bone tw: broken sphenoid bone tw: broken ethmoid bone tw: broken mandible tw: broken left maxilla tw: broken right maxilla tw: broken left palantine bone tw: broken right palantine bone tw: broken left zygomatic bone tw: broken right zygomatic bone tw: broken left nasal bone tw: broken right nasal bone tw: broken left lacrimal bone tw: broken right lacrimal bone tw: broken vomer tw: broken left nasal conchae tw: broken right nasal conchae tw: broken left malleus tw: broken right malleus tw: broken left incus tw: broken right incus tw: broken left stapes tw: broken right stapes tw: broken hyoid tw: broken left scapula tw: broken right scapula tw: broken left clavicle tw: broken right clavicle tw: broken sternum tw: broken left rib 1 tw: broken left rib 2 tw: broken left rib 3 tw: broken left rib 4 tw: broken left rib 5 tw: broken left rib 6 tw: broken left rib 7 tw: broken left rib 8 tw: broken left rib 9 tw: broken left rib 10 tw: broken left rib 11 tw: broken left rib 12 tw: broken right rib 1 tw: broken right rib 2 tw: broken right rib 3 tw: broken right rib 4

tw: broken right rib 5 tw: broken right rib 6 tw: broken right rib 7 tw: broken right rib 8 tw: broken right rib 9 tw: broken right rib 10 tw: broken right rib 11 tw: broken right rib 12 tw: broken cervical vertebra 1 tw: broken cervical vertebra 2 tw: broken cervical vertebra 3 tw: broken cervical vertebra 4 tw: broken cervical vertebra 5 tw: broken cervical vertebra 6 tw: broken cervical vertebra 7 tw: broken thoracic vertebra 1 tw: broken thoracic vertebra 2 tw: broken thoracic vertebra 3 tw: broken thoracic vertebra 4 tw: broken thoracic vertebra 5 tw: broken thoracic vertebra 6 tw: broken thoracic vertebra 7 tw: broken thoracic vertebra 8 tw: broken thoracic vertebra 9 tw: broken thoracic vertebra 10 tw: broken thoracic vertebra 11 tw: broken thoracic vertebra 12 tw: broken lumbar vertebra 1 tw: broken lumbar vertebra 2 tw: broken lumbar vertebra 3 tw: broken lumbar vertebra 4 tw: broken lumbar vertebra 5 tw: broken sacrum tw: broken coccyx tw: broken left humerus tw: broken right humerus tw: broken left radius tw: broken right radius tw: broken left ulna tw: broken right ulna tw: broken left scaphoid bone tw: broken right scaphoid bone tw: broken left lunate bone tw: broken right lunate bone tw: broken left triquetral bone tw: broken right triquetral bone tw: broken left pisiform bone

tw: broken right pisiform bone tw: broken left trapezium tw: broken right trapezium tw: broken left trapezoid bone tw: broken right trapezoid bone tw: broken left capitate bone tw: broken right capitate bone tw: broken left hamate bone tw: broken right hamate bone tw: broken left metacarpal 1 bone tw: broken left metacarpal 2 bone tw: broken left metacarpal 3 bone tw: broken left metacarpal 4 bone tw: broken left metacarpal 5 bone tw: broken right metacarpal 1 bone tw: broken right metacarpal 2 bone tw: broken right metacarpal 3 bone tw: broken right metacarpal 4 bone tw: broken right metacarpal 5 bone tw: broken left proximal phalanx 1 tw: broken left proximal phalanx 2 tw: broken left proximal phalanx 3 tw: broken left proximal phalanx 4 tw: broken left proximal phalanx 5 tw: broken right proximal phalanx 1 tw: broken right proximal phalanx 2 tw: broken right proximal phalanx 3 tw: broken right proximal phalanx 4 tw: broken right proximal phalanx 5 tw: broken left intermediate phalanx 5 tw: broken left intermediate phalanx 2 tw: broken left intermediate phalanx 3 tw: broken left intermediate phalanx 4 tw: broken right intermediate phalanx 5 tw: broken right intermediate phalanx 2 tw: broken right intermediate phalanx 3 tw: broken right intermediate phalanx 4 tw: broken left distal phalanx 1 tw: broken left distal phalanx 2 tw: broken left distal phalanx 3 tw: broken left distal phalanx 4 tw: broken left distal phalanx 5 tw: broken right distal phalanx 1 tw: broken right distal phalanx 2 tw: broken right distal phalanx 3 tw: broken right distal phalanx 4 tw: broken right distal phalanx 5 tw: broken left innominate bone tw: broken right innominate bone tw: broken left femur tw: broken right femur

tw: broken left patella tw: broken right patella tw: broken left tibia tw: broken right tibia tw: broken left fibula tw: broken right fibula tw: broken left calcaneus tw: broken right calcaneus tw: broken left talus tw: broken right talus tw: broken left navicular bone tw: broken right navicular bone tw: broken left medial cuneiform bone tw: broken right medial cuneiform bone tw: broken left intermediate cuneiform bone tw: broken right intermediate cuneiform bone tw: broken left lateral cuneiform bone tw: broken right lateral cuneiform bone tw: broken left cuboid bone tw: broken right cuboid bone tw: broken left metatarsal 1 bone tw: broken left metatarsal 2 bone tw: broken left metatarsal 3 bone tw: broken left metatarsal 4 bone tw: broken left metatarsal 5 bone tw: broken right metatarsal 1 bone tw: broken right metatarsal 2 bone tw: broken right metatarsal 3 bone tw: broken right metatarsal 4 bone tw: broken right metatarsal 5 bone tw: broken left proximal phalanx 1 tw: broken left proximal phalanx 2 tw: broken left proximal phalanx 3 tw: broken left proximal phalanx 4 tw: broken left proximal phalanx 5 tw: broken right proximal phalanx 1 tw: broken right proximal phalanx 2 tw: broken right proximal phalanx 3 tw: broken right proximal phalanx 4 tw: broken right proximal phalanx 5 tw: broken left intermediate phalanx 1 tw: broken left intermediate phalanx 2 tw: broken left intermediate phalanx 3 tw: broken left intermediate phalanx 4 tw: broken right intermediate phalanx 1 tw: broken right intermediate phalanx 2 tw: broken right intermediate phalanx 3 tw: broken right intermediate phalanx 4 tw: broken left distal phalanx 1 tw: broken left distal phalanx 2 tw: broken left distal phalanx 3 tw: broken left distal phalanx 4 tw: broken left distal phalanx 5 tw: broken right distal phalanx 1 tw: broken right distal phalanx 2 tw: broken right distal phalanx 3 tw: broken right distal phalanx 4 tw: broken right distal phalanx 5

tw: bruising

just had a bad accident

#this would be funnier if tumblr didn't make me break it up into paragraphs

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hatutannews · 4 months

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Dezastre Naturál Hamate Ema Na’in-rua, Ualu Kanek no Estraga Uma 410 iha Territóriu Nasionál

Hatutan.com, (15 Janeiru 2024), Díli—Sekretária Estadu Protesaun Sivíl (SEPS), liuhosi Autoridade Protesaun Sivíl (APC-Sigla Portugés), rejísta komunidade nia uma hamutuk 410 mak hetan estragus hosi inundasaun iha territóriu nasionál, inklui hamate ema na’in-rua no ema na’in-ualu kanek. Continue reading Untitled

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#Dezastre Naturál Hamate Ema Na’in-rua #Na’in-Ualu Kanek no Estraga Uma 410 iha Territóriu Nasionál

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rgdgo9f6o · 1 year

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Amazing hot Blonde Nudist Milfs Spied At beach Voyeur Cam Bedroom Eyes Pristine Edge Angelo Bertoli Hentai Girl Plays With Pussy Sexy teen fingers herself to orgasm while watching porn hot amateur Reality Kings - Euro Sex Parties - Tits And Ass - Lucia Nieto , Angie White Dark couple meets and greets swingers before partying in the red room LANA RHOADES TRIBUTE Tucker gets caught emptying used condom in her cunt by horny stepson AMA DE CASA NALGONA ESPIADA

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bettertwin1 · 4 months

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Happyy mew year guyss

@bettertwin9000 ☆ @mystic-mikey ☆ @hamatored

#artstyle plummet #rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt leo #rise leo #unpause rise of the tmnt #rise of the tmnt #rottmnt donnie #rise donnie #disaster twins #leo rottmnt #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt michelangelo #rottmnt raph #rottmnt raphael

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tmntseparatedaucompetition · 8 months

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CONGRATULATIONS ON GETTING THE SOUP NOW EVERYONE EAT UP AND ENJOY

@somerandomdudelmao @rottmnt-background-screenshots @tapakah0 @zeriphi @i-restuff @intotheelliwoods @phykoha @pinetreevillain @abbeyofcyn @goobygnarp @jynxy-kitty @kathaynesart @hamatored @just-another-tired-gay-artist @kyymie @lackablazeical @zeriphi @cokowiii @butterfilledpockets @bettertwin1 @bettertwin9000 @beannary @nosleep83 @notm1keyy @madmutts

-🦤

WE GET SOUP YESSSSSSSSSS

thank you everyone we got the soup now

dodo anon will forever remain a mystery

#dodo anon

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dimeadoesnt · 7 months

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listen, while I don’t like the idea of Nick getting hurt, it is the funniest thing to me when he’s in an unarmed fight and someone tries to throw a punch at him because like.

this man is made of metal. If you go full force on him you are going to shatter your hand. You will get hurt worse than he will. At worst he’ll get a little stunned, meanwhile you’re stuck with five broken metacarpals, and a cracked hamate in a time where casts are hard to come by. Worst person to get into a fistfight with, idc how strong you are, you’re gonna get fucked up by a robot sleuth.

#nick valentine #ramblings #i saw a video of a ghoul going ham on him and this came to mind #fallout 4 #fallout

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bettertwin9000 · 2 years

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👾 ） # INTRO ﹕ Hamato Donatello

(Artist:@dying-marshmallo)

↳ ❝ You Never Let Me Shine! ❞

[ WELCOME TO THE BLOG. ]

— File Entry 🌙

ᶻz My name is Hamato Donatello (He/She/They), The world’s most brilliant scientist and biggest botany enthusiast. Generally speaking, even if I am a walking prodigy, I am here to have fun rather than be a personal Wiki How search bar. Send me questions or tell me about anything interesting, and I’m sure we shall get along just fine.

Oh, and Be aware that I am an Introject.

› 💜 . . BOUNDARIES ﹠ [ EXTRA ]

— Familia (as Leo puts it)

❤️ → @hamatored

🧡 → @mystic-mikey

💙 → @bettertwin1

🤍 → @ratjitsu

If you wish to read through our boundaries (which you should.) Go ahead and click Keep Reading to do so..

→ Boundaries

■ Tcest , Prosh▪︎p and NSFW DNI

■ Do not flirt with me; I will never be interested.

■ Do not sexualize me or say weird things about my body.

■ Do not infantilize me.

■ I KNOW I HAVE AUTISM. It is NOT the most defining thing about me.

→ Art Boundaries

□ Do NOT repost our art without proper credits ANYWHERE.

□ Do not reclaim our art as your own.

→ System Boundaries

■ Do not try to use information about me that you know from my source against me.

This is likely to be updated over time. Ciao.

(Also, thank you to Leo for creating this format for me.)

#ooc #mun post #rottmnt #rise donnie #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt donnie #unpause rise of the tmnt #rise of the tmnt #save rise of the tmnt #rise leo #disaster twins #rottmnt leo

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 2 years

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daisy, chapter three

A/N: dude... I am unwell after writing this... I am lightheaded. I am screaming. holy fucking shit. I have no words, no words, this is just uunghhhhhh 😵‍💫

summary: the one with the diary incident

warnings: private school!reader, perv!steve, smut, kissing, stealing underwear, male masturbation, fingering, dirty talk, mentions of improvised sex toy

word count: 2529

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist

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“…hamate, triquetrum, pisiform, lunate and this last one is called scaphoid,” you said as your finger nervously danced over the root of Steve’s palm, recalling the names of all the bones there because apparently, that had been the most logical thing for your brain to distract you with when handholding turned into a butterfly inducing comparison of yours and his hands, but mostly just you drooling over his, clenching your thighs together every time he tried to aid your inspection by wiggling his fingers or something that would make the prominent veins pop and dance.

“Good to know,” Steve ducked his head down, waiting for you to meet his eyes again. Your sudden waterfall of an anatomy lesson came out of the blue, but he didn’t seem to mind, especially not when you blushed like that. “You are gonna be such a good doctor. Like, I don’t wanna get sick or hurt, but I would give my right arm for you to be my doctor.”

“Oh yeah?” your eyes finally flickered up to meet his, “your right arm?”

His infectious grin almost immediately rubbed off on you, “yeah.”

“That’s quite a sacrifice.”

“What can I say, I love you,” he leaned in and gave your lips a soft peck, “and it would also be super hot,” gently resting his palm on one of your crisscrossed knees, the tips of his fingers played lightly with the bottom of your pastel dress.

The giggle that bubbled out of you didn’t stop him from kissing you. He simply kept it up till your amusement died down and you melted into him completely.

When the phone suddenly started ringing from down the hallway, it took the two of you a surprising amount of time to detach long enough for you to go answer it.

“Hello?” you glanced over your shoulder to where you could still see Steve exactly where you’d abandoned him. Previously just sitting comfortably on the bed, he now fell back dramatically and melted into the mattress.

“Hi honey,” your mother’s voice rang loud and clear in your ear,

“Oh, hey mom!” you fiddle with curly cord, wrapping it around your finger, “what’s up?”

“So, I’m gonna be home a little later than I thought, and you know how the Robinsons asked us to water their plants while they’re away on vacation?”

“Yeah,” you recalled how your mom had been running over to your neighbour's house every day for nearly a week now.

“Well, I forgot to do it this morning, so do you think you could do it for me?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Oh, wonderful! Thank you so much,” she cheered, “the key is under the mat, and they’ve hung a pretty specific guide on the fridge.”

“Okay, I’ll see you tonight.”

“See you tonight, bye.”

Hanging up, you called out before you reached your room again, “hey Steve, I gotta go for a second, okay?”

“What?” he sat up, “why?”

“I just gotta go water the neighbour's plants.”

“Seriously?” his fingers reached for you as soon as you were close enough, “can’t you just do it later?”

“No,” you tried to pry him off of you, “I wanna do it before you and your big, brown, sparkling eyes make me forget.”

Letting go, he leaned back and smirked, “my big sparkling eyes?”

“Just, shut up. I’ll be right back.”

Earlier today, Steve had managed to sneak up and scare you. Tickled your sides till you begged for mercy. Now, it would just be plain dumb if you didn’t take this as an excuse for a little payback.

Sneaking back into the house, you crept your way down the hallway, weary of the creaky floorboards you knew all too well.

You couldn’t wait to see his face. Oh, it had been way too long since you’d given him a good scare, you always had a way of giving your presence away before you could manage to actually scare him. But not this time. This time he wouldn’t see you coming.

Your bedroom door was still ajar, a sliver of light painted the hallway as you snuck up and carefully pushed it open just a tad more to get an inkling of where in the room he was.

There he stood, leaning over your vanity, and completely enthralled in a book that laid there. But there was something else, something that made it impossible for you to move any further. His right arm was moving and, in the reflection, you caught sight of just how far it was jammed down the front of his jeans.

Taking a seat on the small stool, you heard the sound of him tugging down his zipper. Skimming a long finger over the pages, it was now that you recognised what book it was. The bright pink cover was noticeable even from across the room. That was your diary. He was reading your diary. Or, it was pretty clear that he wasn’t just reading it…

A moan filled the room and your felt your nails dig into the wooden door frame. You could still see his face in the mirror. Heavy lids and his mouth hung agape as he reread the same entry over and over again.

Pausing for a moment, he reached over into the hamper to the side and snatched up a pair of dirty panties from the very top of the pile. Weaving his fingers through the cotton, he raised the floral material up to his face and inhaled deeply, letting his eye flutter shut, just for a moment.

“Fuck,” he groaned, lowering the fabric down towards his obscured length and no doubt enveloping his cock in your pretty little underwear, wrapping himself up in your musk and fucking into the closest thing he could find to your cunt.

Within a short amount of time, his vulgar noises became louder, and his face contorted.

And there you still stood, just frozen in place. Throbbing, but frozen. Just watching him regain his breath as you tried to regain your own.

Finally looking up, he discovered you in the reflection, staring back at him.

“Ace, I-… how long have you been standing there?”

Watching as he quickly tugged himself away, you also noticed the attempt at being subtle, hiding the cum covered underwear in his pocket.

You didn’t know what to ask first. Are you reading my diary or did you just cum reading it?

“Is that my diary?” you forced your jelly-like legs to move, stepping into the room.

Turning around in the chair, he faced you, looking like he was ready for you to slap him at any moment, “yes…”

“Did you just-”

“Yeah…”

“Oh…” not trusting your legs, you sat down on the bed, face surely completely crimson by now, “w-why? did me writing about how much I hate my teacher really do it for you?”

“That wasn’t the part I was reading… it, um… it was something about a dream…” his tone sounded searching, hoping that you’d remember, “I was apparently in it.”

“Which one?” you wrote most of your vivid dreams down in that book, “I’ve known you forever, it’s not that unusual for you to pop into one of my dreams…”

“It was dated sometime last month?” he then added as if he was trying to lighten the news, “it was a very nice dream…”

Last month… what dream did you have last month that could possibly have prompted him to do that?

“Oh my god,” it suddenly hit you and your hands shot up to cover your face, “oh my god!” it felt like you had a fever from the way your face was burning up, “I can’t believe you read that!”

“I did,” how could he sound so calm in all of this? Was he smiling? It sounded like he was smiling, “and I really liked it. Obviously.”

“God, I’m so embarrassed…”

The idea of just covering yourself up underneath all of your blankets till he eventually left was sadly crushed when you felt the mattress dip beside you, “If it makes you feel better,” he scooted in a little closer, “need I remind you what you just walked in on me doing? You actually saw me getting off and I just read about you doing it.”

That entry hadn’t just been a description of the relatively tame wet dream you’d had, but also how you hadn’t been able to cum fast enough after waking up from it.

“Yeah, no, that doesn’t really help me right now.”

Feeling his fingers wrap around your wrists, he gently dragged them down. All you could see was him. Just him and his gentle smile.

Relaxing slightly under his gaze, some of the flustered nature still didn’t seem to wanna disappear just yet. Your breathing hadn’t returned to normal yet, and Steve’s fingers tickled slightly against your thighs that were, unbeknownst to you, rubbing together in search of release.

Tugging a stray piece of hair behind your ear, his bold words hit you like a truck, “could you show me?”

“What?”

“Show me how you make yourself cum?” you felt his fingers lightly play with your hair.

“What,” you swallowed hard, “l-like right now?”

“Right here, right now.”

“Really?”

“You saw mine, I wanna see yours.”

“But you read about it,” you bit down on your bottom lip, trying to hinder the growing smirk.

“I know,” he smiled, obviously thinking back to what he had just read about, “but I wanna see it.” It then clicked what it actually was that he was asking you to do and averted his gaze, “I’m sorry… it’s okay if you don’t want to. We don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to.”

Taking a moment to truly think about it without his hypnotising gaze fixed upon you, you spoke up softly, “… I want to…”

Looking up at you in slight surprise, “yeah?”

“Yeah…” his lips quickly found yours in a heated kiss. Feeling slightly lightheaded, you twisted your face just enough to squeak out, “but, I don’t know,” fearing that the teaspoon-sized amount of courage you possessed wasn’t enough to get you over the finish line, “it’s just weird with you here…”

“Well,” placing a few more soft pecks upon your blushing skin, slowly making their way down your neck, “maybe I could help you… would you like that?”

“Yes,” you shuttered, practically feeling yourself drip at his offer.

Climbing back behind you, he encouraged your body to lean back against his chest. Letting your eyes flutter closed, you nearly felt drunk in his warm embrace. Running his palms down your arms, he left millions of goosebumps in his wake, till he reached your hands, lacing his fingers with yours.

“Tell me about the dream, ace,” his voice in your ear made you instinctually raise a shoulder up, rubbing the shiver away.

“But you just read about it…” your hips rolled down into the mattress as he started to move your interlocked hands over your skin, quickly locating your boobs.

“Please?” he nipped your neck, “for me?”

“We, um,” your breath was heavy as he set to decorate your neck with lavender marks, “were laying on a couch…”

“Mhm,” his voice vibrated against your skin.

“And we were kissing…”

“Yeah?” he closed his own and therefore making your own hands squeeze your tingly tits.

“And that’s kinda it… we just made out…” you couldn’t help but feel foolish that such a comparatively mild dream had had such great power over you.

“And that was all you needed, huh?” he redirected your right hand down further south, “just a little dream of us kissing and you cream your pretty little panties?” you saw him hook a long finger over yours to hike up your dress.

“I, um…” you watched as both of your hands disappeared under the waistband of your underwear. Your left hand flexed under his own, catching your hard nipple between your fingers.

His hands were glued to yours. He was controlling every single move, but it was still your hands that touched you, not his.

Circling the tips of your fingers over your clit, he pressed down hard. “You just couldn’t stop yourself, could you? If the thought of me simply kissing you makes you do that, then just imagine what you’d do if something more had happened…”

Dipping down to catch some of the abundant arousal that leaked out of you, you almost felt embarrassed about how soaked you were. That show had clearly done more than you’d thought.

“Fuck ace,” you could feel his hard on poking your lower back, “is what you wrote really what happened?” you nodded your head under his chin, “did you really fuck yourself with the handle of your hairbrush?”

It hadn’t been the first time… some days, your mind just wouldn’t quit till you had something remotely phallic in your present and that smooth end often did the trick.

“Y-yeah…”

Practically puppeteering your hand, he made you dip your middle finger down to tickle your buzzing entrance.

“You dirty little girl… fucking yourself with a hairbrush just because you were so desperate for my cock, huh? Is that why you did it? You wanted your best friend to come and fill you up?” he pushed your finger inside, little by little.

Throwing your head back into his chest, your eye caught sight of your reflection in the vanity mirror. Steve’s eyes were transfixed, watching closely over your shoulder at exactly what he did to you. Ogling the way both of your hands moved, entangled underneath your underwear, making the cotton bulge out.

“Yeah, does this feel good? You want more?” you moaned in response, “do you want me to go get your precious little brush?”

“N-no.”

“No? Then what do you want, huh?” he was practically drooling on your neck, “Is it me? Do you want me? You want this?” he slipped his own long finger in beside yours. “Is that what you want, huh?” the way he moved it beside yours produced the lewdest of squelching noises, “does our fingers feel good? Together in your sweet little pussy, baby? Do they feel better than that hairbrush?”

“Yes! Fuck, Steve-” your thighs quivered, and you writhed to try and bury your face.

“That’s it,” he took over most of the movements when the pleasure that his gave you made you forsake your own. Wrenching your left hand free, you clutched onto his forearm, feeling the muscles tense and flex at just how insistent his movements now were. “Good girl, cum on my fingers just like you came on the brush that you tame your hair with every goddamn day.”

Your toes were curling, your whole body was writhing, and he didn’t quit till you were practically screaming.

As he withdrew his hand, he gave your puffy clit one last rub on the way out, making your hips buckle aggressively at the overstimulation.

Kissing your cheek, you saw him look into the mirror, watching your twitching and heaving body closely as he hugged you closer to his own.

“Thank you for the show, ace…”

“No,” you met his eyes in the reflection, “thank you.”

next chapter

#lea’s writing #daisy #steve harrington #perv!steve #perv!steve harrington #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington hc #steve harrington series #steve harrington headcanon #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x y/n smut #steve harrington x female reader smut #steve harrington drabble #perv!steve harrington x reader

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deadboyfriendd · 26 days

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Sovereign Creatures: The Triumph Of Death

Summary: You plan on reanimating your lover piece by piece, today, you are in search of his eyes.

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Mermaid reader, Plague Doctor!Steve Harrington, based off of The Salt Grows Heavy by Cassandra Khaw, period appropriate violence, gore, blood, self mutilation, surgical instruments

My content is 18+ Minors DNI

The bezoar sits encased in a glass cloche, its ruminating pulse the only thing to remind you that he was once alive, too– and that he may be alive again one day.

The bezoar of your dead lover– a bolus of broken-off teeth and snarled hairs, fingernails, caked dirt, curds of mummified gray, colored glass. Over it all, a lettering of fine blue veins, like an alphabet that only muscle can decode – incubated his dwindling consciousness. You dreamed of the day this organ would pulsate behind flesh once more.

You knew nothing of his pilot existence, where he learned his kindness. You did not know of the life he lived with a mother and father, where he learned to speak and run, where he felt the weight of the earth in all of its glory. Where the warmth of the sunburn overcomes the sting and the weight of existence is a beautiful one to bear.

Instead you knew of his last existence. This one stunk with the morosity of being reanimated but never fully alive again. You’d wondered if his first death had been as painful as his last, even though you knew it would be foolish to assume that it hadn’t. Creatures of his nature rarely harbored peace in death. The weight of this existence was bruising– crushing, even.

You knew this existence would be beautiful– almost as beautiful as he had been.

Your boy would be beautiful again, made in the image of your own ideal of it.

Your finger traced over his notes, scared to smudge to ink despite its age. You felt the embossing against the parchment and tried to feel his hands against your fingers like reeds, blood flowing under his skin in its inky black beauty and pulsating through the ruminants of his inkwell heart.

The study felt more like yours than his own now, though he had inhabited it for years before your existence. You were merely a vessel for his findings. A piece plucked and carved from this rib of his essence. A slave to the bezoar behind a glass cloche.

It still pulsated its erratic song in a fleshy waltz. You looked for the hum of his voice beneath it, not quite able to remember its exact pitch. You listen to it again and again, the mellow drone of it a backing that fills your studies. Sometimes you listened for a whisper, sometimes you listened for permission to continue.

There were more pieces of you covering this place than there were pieces of him, it felt like. You could no longer differentiate your books interwoven with his on the shelves– the lines between your handwriting and his becoming one blurred entity, the line where your being ended and the pieced-together formations of where his new being began intertwined as one desolate, threadbare creature.

The human hands can be differentiated by the presence of an opposable thumb, made different from the other phalanges marked by the absence of the middle phalanx… the metacarpal is the connecting factor to the smaller subset of carpals within the wrist.

This you knew was his writing, and you were thankful in the beginning for how thorough he had been in his studies. You allowed yourself the pleasure of feeling the ridges of his writing:

Trapezoid, trapezium, capitate, hamate, scaphoid, lunate, triquetrum, pisiform.

You try to feel them in your own wrists, try to feel the sutures in bone and the roll of ligament over them. You tried to feel the feeling of being alive once more, differentiating it from what– you weren’t quite certain. You tried to remember a time in which he had been alive.

“That’s it.” He would have whispered to you, through a velveteen smile, his own gentle fingers wrapped delicately around your wrists– feeling the roll of ligament over bone the way you tried to feel now, “So Long To Pinkie, Here Comes The Thumb.”

Scaphoid, lunate, triquetrum, pisiform, hamate, capitate, trapezoid, trapezium. You jotted down alongside his writing.

His hands were one of the few things remaining after the day of the saints– your body seethed like the embers that remained of him. You watched them settle low against the glass in their formaldehyde home and wished desperately that you could pull one out to cradle your face just once– the way he had.

You wished that you could trail your fingers over the hills and valleys of the soft plush of his hands in search of the canyons between his fingers in which yours would seek solace just once more. You wished to feel his thumb run rivers across the crest of your lip, pilling downward over the plush and settle in the crevice between there and your chin. Just once do you wish to feel warmth behind flesh.

It had been years, now. More than you could remember.

His existence, the way he was before the only remnants of him you had were his studies, seemed blurry now– a far off memory in which you could not quite soft through. But you remembered the warmth that radiated from him like the sun. You do not remember who he was, yet the remnants of his previous existence consumed your entirety.

The violence in which he gave his life for you no longer stings, but fills you with a hot, blinding anger.

His existence was violent and painful, manufactured to be that way, yet nonetheless beautiful. Sometimes you believe he does not want to live again, but you are selfish. You will show him that there is existence without pain.

You press tender fingers, cold and aching against the glass cloche. A promise to him that you will return in due time. That you will come bearing gifts. That you will hold each other once more.

The air is clammy this time of year, salty on your tongue when you inhale and chilled from the sea air. The cobblestone is right beneath your feet, and you walk with more caution than you typically would during the day. A fire burns in the distance, woolen-cloaked bodies stand around it in a horde in silence, staring into its molten nucleus. Humans were like that, you found, drawn to warmth. Maybe you had lost your edge. Maybe the frailty of humanity was contagious.

Maybe a part of him had stayed human.

He had been drawn to it as a moth to a gas lamp, quick to release his body to her thrashing, ravenous hands. Had the fire been the cause? Or, perhaps, the warmth in which death held him delicately between her fingers. He had held you the same way. You would hold him that way again.

The first doctor was one that he was close to in his reanimated life; they had been brothers in death, harvested and reanimated at the hands of The Saints. They had passed years of orphaned childhood by playing kill the pig– a sickening game it was, even to you. Swine to slaughter, children for sacrificial youth. The saints plucked pieces from their bodies like ripened fruit, replaced them with other displaced pieces, ugly shows in sick theaters under the guise of ritualism for the other children to watch– until there were no remnants of them to be left. A quilt of leftover parts and shells of children that once were and would never be again.

The woods that congregate like hooded men at the mouth of where river meets ocean are deep. His house is hidden deeper within them, not unlike your own, a dry thatched roof and stone walls. Solitary, with sea salt tears brimming cobblestone eyes. Yet, somehow warmer than yours. It felt like the depths of the ocean in which you resided. The part of you that human-adjacent held it close to you.

His name is Edward. It was one of the few things he kept for himself in his old life, along with his eyes. When you would ask why, he would say:

“The Saints preferred colored eyes, my dear.”

You’d figured that was why you were searching for your own pair now. Green, like the moss that covers the dirt in a spongy expanse in the spring.

You knock on the door and he is warm in greeting– almost as warm as it is within his house.

“Ah, you’re here for them.”

There is a code in the way the plague doctors speak, they are warm to each other, but speak around the visceral topics of what they are actually doing. The world still feared them. In your bluntness, you had still not mastered the art.

“The eyes, yes.”

His back is to you. Even with his figure cloaked, you can see the misshapenness flex and roll beneath a linen sea. There is a tincture clinking as the jars bounce off of another in a song as he picks each one up and examines it– contents dancing formaldehyde dances. He is a creature in his own respect. You feel a solidarity to him despite the sovereigness to your creation.

Your hands were not warm, not like his were. Skin rubbery and catching along itself in a tacky half-dryness as you reach to your back. Scales lay there, green and blue like the refraction of abalone. Sharp against any flesh that dare come close. The skin there is raised where you had done this before.

It stings less for this time, but the dull ache pulsates beneath the skin where the pockets still remain. Your fingers bleed from the grip, and a deep blood seeps from the wounds like outstretched arms that reach for the scale.

There is an infatuation that resides within the plague doctors with your existence. These pieces of you had proven incredibly valuable to them in the past.

A book on the shelf calls to you– bound in leather and charred to an inky blackness around the edges. Necromantia.

An old magic. Older than your lifetime.

“What will that cost me?” You asked, Edward, who, in turn, pulls the book from the shelf.

“We will settle that in time.”

You aren’t quite sure what it means, regardless, you tuck the book into your cloak– near your chest. It ruminates its own pulse, respires its own breaths– much like the bezoar.

“You know,” he begins, eyes somber and black against the golden glow of the fire light, “the saints had a way of resurrecting us, of sorts… bringing us to life without actually killing us–”

“Rebirth without death.”

“Yes, so it was.” His eyes have become pits, swirling blackness of eternal oblivion. A rift in the seams of this world that points you toward his damnation.

They had only been children.

“I know this may be difficult to hear,” He says, voice low– you cannot tell if it for preservation of your emotions or for caution of violence, “but it may be best to let the dead be dead.”

You assumed his resentment towards the saints was a mirror reflection of Steven’s. A fiery hatred that burned like embers deep within his chest– the lifeblood in which kept him alive for so long. He fed off of this hatred, he burned his own body to ash in search of it. He wanted The Saints dead– so much that he would offer himself to this hatred, too.

This resentment burned in your throat tonight. It burned in choking sobs and hot tears that rolled down your rubbery flesh. It clouded your vision as you splayed ocular nerves. It burned your nose in tandem with preserving fluids. It burned in your chest as you took a step back, admiring his beauty in anatomical pieces.

He isn’t dead. Just incomplete.

You should let him be dead, but the pulsating of the bezoar pleads to stay alive.

When he opens borrowed eyes again, would he resent you too?

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