embalmic.

.mobile rules.

[embalmic]

embalmic; independent && private LAURA MOON from american gods. an exploration of a woman too stubborn for her own good and everyone else's. stitched back together, stuffed with leprechaun magic and barely any fucks left to give. canon divergent. mixed media influences. verses in the boys, supernatural and others! just ask! for 21+ audiences. fuck ne.il ga.iman! preserved by dixon.

you're a fucking asshole, dead wife!!!

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expanding on pinned later. just putting this up for revamp.

[blindsite]

she was right. he was fucking stupid. funny how he could kill when he didn't know someone, but her staying dead due to his choice to keep the coin? not something he was able to do. sweeney hears the gratitude in her words. ❝ don't thank me, it's yer foul mouth that gives as good as it gets that made me care for yer ass in the first place. ❞ their banter took on a new twist. one somehow even more fun than before as the added dimension of fucking each other in some weird ritual furthered their tension.

leaving his lap empty, laura reeks of mischief and he understands why once she is stood beside him. ❝ fuck off. i fuckin' hate america. ❞ eyes roll deeply and he turns just enough within her arms to look at her, mock annoyance on his face. ❝ nothin' could turn me off less than if ya sang that shit. ❞ now that she had broken the spell that locked them into their close conversation, he appears to grow restless.

❝ what's the move then, dead wife? ❞ the nickname is still true even after their feelings have been revealed. likely, he'd make a stink out of her being married until she divorced shadow ( even if not done in a real court or with real paperwork ). he takes a short sniff in the air between them both and large nose wrinkles. ❝ maybe steal us both some fresh clothes and hit the road. ❞ the agenda was clear, though the means were less so. the baron's ritual has begun to sort out the rot and heal her, but it wasn't complete. it would take time. in that time, they could sort out their other main issue.... ❝ we have to go kill that fucker wednesday. ❞

[embalmic]

fingers tap, tap, tap along the surface of the bar--her gaze follows her fingertips seeing the color, thought still pale, underneath her nails? it brings a smile to her face. is this permanent? maybe. maybe not. but there's so much of her that yeans just to breathe again (and breathe him in because he's so fucking intoxicating that she wants to swallow him whole and has to make some space before she tries to.. cause what a fucking job that'd be.. fucking giant.) take every inhale and savor the flavor of the air. the smell. magnolias and magic. whiskey and old wood. not rot, rot, rot.. not that she could smell much anyway. her senses were dulled. still there but muffled. and now? christ. they're all over the place.

pivoting on her heel, she props her elbows against the bar and studies him as if trying to figure out how to answer his question. yeah they gotta go kill that one-eyed son of a cocksucking fuckwad. sweeney's plan's solid. for once. hers are usually better but he's got a point. sooner they steal some clothes and get on the road? the better--just--rolling her lips in, she squints and mulls her answer over..

..visibly weighing the pros and cons of what she's about to say.

"we'll get to that. trust me. i want nothing more than to shove my hand down his throat and rip his insides out," that's a pretty picture, eh??, "i just.. want this to settle first." this meaning, you know. coming back to the current state of living. "see if it lasts.." and there it is. the insecurity that has her lingering near the source of power that recreated the spark of life that ignited her resurrection.

"cause.." her shoulders hitch. hates admitting she's anything but confident and gives no fucks but, reality? she's kinda terrified she's gonna end up fucked. "m'sure we can find other things to do.." oh is that a loaded sentence. so says the tilt of her head and the way she eyes his mouth before meeting his eyes again. hmmm. just what exactly???

[blindsite]

they are in tune with one another. he knows this because as soon as he answers, he damn near regrets it. but, she deserves the truth. ❝ do y'remember when ya crashed that ice cream truck? ❞ sweeney waits only a moment for her to think of that whole fucked up scenario : her lying dead on the pavement, staples pulled and chest cavity open. the coin a few feet away. he tasted freedom for just a moment before something else took over. guilt? he wasn't sure then. now, he realizes he had some fondness for her then. ❝ i found it tossed a couple 'a yards away and gave ya the coin back then. placed it right on yer ribs and watched it melt back into ya. ❞ he doesn't need to say what it means, it's implied. implied that since then, he knew there was no getting his coin back through traditional means. his hand would never plunge into her abdomen and yank it out like he threatened.

upon her back straightening, his does the same. on guard, but only because he is anticipating things that he wishes would happen. he wants to kiss her again .... without spells or whatever magic the baron cast. hands come up beside his shoulders in mock surrender. ❝ ya don't have t' threaten me, gremlin. i'll behave now. ❞ their liquor warm breaths were blending together in the small space between them. his chin had just begun to dip enough that their lips would touch before laura pulled back. maybe she hadn't noticed. his ears tinged pink. embarrassment was nearly a foreign concept to him so a momentary flicker of irritation ( at himself ) fluttered his lashes closed. it passed as quick as it came upon sight of her smile.

laura's admission is a whisper shared between only the two of them. ❝ i agree, i mean, i want the same things y'do. i think the only way we will accomplish anything is together. at least, i need to be with ya and only hope i will be permitted. ❞ his hands have come down from their raised position, one settling on the nape of her neck. fingers winding into her curls. the other on her right hip, small and bony beneath his grip. ❝ be careful, ❞ he hummed as a warning to her lips at his ear. the tiny hairs on his back raised until they met the ginger strands of mullet at his neck. they'd managed a whole conversation without straying into the danger zone and she risked him wanting her again. in a real way. not the way that was theoretically on his mind since their tryst ended last night. ❝ my freedom is already a turn on enough without ya whispering it t' my ear. ❞

[embalmic]

the scene of the ice cream truck comes right back into her brain. hard to forget about that whole fucking mess. brows lift. a silent yes. cause she knows he's about to tell her something that's weighing on his mind. something that takes a good solid guess on how she's gonna react and that fucking makes her nervous. LAURA HATES BEING NERVOUS. she's supposed to be above that. a dead woman still cursed with anxiety? now that's straight up bullshit. figures that even in death, her mental bullshit would come along for the ride. oops.

truth revealed. she sits there. staring. blinking. but then she couldn't help herself to move forward, whisper sweet nothings of freedom and the promise of death towards their biggest tormentor. still doesn't help her to forget.. he gave up everything to put that coin back in her chest. make it that she could open her eyes again and drag that corpse of a body of hers back to the land of the living.

thin fingers reach up, push through thick strands of crimson before dragging down and cupping his cheek. "you're fucking stupid for doing that, you know? shoving all your freedom right back inside me when you could've taken that and run. dumbass." not a bit of her sounds like she means those words. there's an underlying gratitude that weighs heavy on her sad smile. one that twists into a little smirk as she nudges them past the sentimental trap both could fall into easily if they let.

slithers herself right upon his lap. legs dangling off the side of his impossibly long ones. the tips of her converse barely meet the floor. christ. they couldn't be any more disproportionate from each other. yet it words. arm wraps around broad shoulders and she rests her chin right upon the one closest to her side. blinks and bats her lashes like she's half-picking on him, half-enjoying the shit out of that confession.

cause she's about to do both.

"so... sprouting freedom gives you a boner? christ. if i knew that? i would've opened this conversation up by singing the star spangled banner wearing a bald eagle t-shirt." GOD BLESS AMERICA! YAY FOR FUCKING FREEDOM!!!

[chewbacca]

AMERICAN GODS • S01E06 “A Murder of Gods”

[embalmic]

@liftededits || a meme continuation || you know you love her.

WHACK! blow delivered! (it's a greeting! some might even say FOND!) slender arms cross over her chest and she waits while the vision of his eyeroll and how he must be working so damn hard not to crawl out of his skin plays out across a face she can't see but knows in vivid detail. enough that what's in her head is pretty fucking spot on. three, two, one! there it is! his head drops back and as she swings into view, her left hand rises up and she flicks a fingers only wave in greeting. smirk ever present upon her lips. one brow cocked. someone's feeling snarky today. when isn't she is the proper question!

staring down at him--she grins about to toss a silver-tongued hello but her head tilts as she watches him stand and realizes for the billionth time that his full height is nothing but bullshit. lips form around a few words that don't see the light of day. twist and turn into, "quarter past dead cunt and now gearing towards whiny bitch o'clock's more like it. get your shit. we're about to be kicked out of this place. told the guy at the desk to suck my dick when he asked if my husband was gonna come down and pay for another night. or if he was gonna," here we go.. air quotes, "let me take care of it. turns out? he's got a stick so far up his ass, he got offended and is on his way here to kick us out." voice drops to a dull, pissed off murmur. "as if i'd let him suck my dick anyway. guy's still got last night's dinner stuck to his nasty ass white beater."

[jackalsraised]

Emily Browning as Laura Moon

[quotemadness]

“The conversation between your fingers and someone else’s skin. This is the most important discussion you can ever have.”

— Iain Thomas

[blindsite-a]

it wasn't often that he had to travel through the horde in inclement weather and perhaps, that's why he spun out into the middle of the small town instead of closer to her doorstep. the allfather, as he was called, sent him to see who the person was that was projected to fall for shadow moon. unless it was disrupted by anything major, the two should meet in the coming months and become seriously engaged to one another within that next year.

after walking for nearly 45 minutes in the pouring rain, the only thing that wasn't wet was the outside of his boots. . . and they were waterproof. he was soaked entirely to the bone. sweeney was only supposed to be observing her as an outsider, but now? he was pissed. fucking right angry. so, he would be inserting himself into her life. fuck wednesday and his grand scheme. the leprechaun had no clue as to the end game of this plan. he was left in the dark and used as hired muscle — or the person to do tasks that wednesday deemed lesser than.

on her doorstep, fist rose and hesitated. he wondered, for only a moment, how terrible the repercussions of this interference would be. the chill running through his bones was the only reason he decided to throw care to the wind. knuckles rapped once. allowed a few moments between before they landed upon the door another time. the thunder and lightning would make it hard to hear so he decided it wouldn't hurt.

when the door opened a fraction, he was greeted with a door chain in the gap. eyes had to trail down to actually meet her face. god damn, she should be the fucking leprechaun, not him. ginger hair was plastered to his head and a hand raised to slick it back off of his forehead. ❝ i don't have the wrong house because i wasn't lookin' for anyone in particular. ❞ he paused and took a small step back from the door. it wouldn't make him take up any less of her entire door as he was, but he could try. ❝ mostly just wanted to get out of the rain. my car broke down and yours was the first house with enough light comin' from it that i knew someone was here. ❞ hand reached now to smooth over his damp beard and then land at his side. ❝ do you know the nearest place to stay? i need to dry off before i fuckin' freeze. ❞

[embalmic]

small fingers tap against the dangling chain. like they're on their own fucking brain and debating opening it with or without her consent. green eyes scan back and forth across his face. there's a feeling in her gut. that she should open the door and let him in. something she'd never do to anyone should the circumstances plop someone else on her door. anyone else. they'd be told to hang out there on one of the weather beaten wooden adirondack chairs and she wouldn't feel a shred of guilt about looking out for herself in that situation.

..he just.. (a god damn tornado's gonna come and then she's gonna end up with him twisted around her fucking flag pole..that's her luck.)

her gaze narrows. not maliciously. she's thinking. listening to how he speaks. watching how he moves. every bit about her says she's judging him from head to toe. taking him in. and wondering.. why the hell they're crossing paths on a night like this. yeah his car broke down. the most classic excuse for anyone that'd want to get in her house. she has a thousand times confidence in herself and her means of keeping herself safe. reality says, however, that he's fucking three times her size (or more) and if he wanted to hurt her.. he could.

could but won't. there goes that gut feeling again. and the chain's dangling loose before she realizes it. bottom lip is pulled between her teeth. they chew on plump flesh as her other hand shoves into the pocket of a pair of loose red and black flannel lounge pants she's pulled on. cozy socked feet curl toes against the floor and she releases her lip with a puff of air bursting out in the heaviest sigh.

"listen. if i let you in and you murder me? that's pretty fucked up. cause i could've let you stand out there in the rain and freeze your ass off. remember that. there's better people out there that deserve to be six feet under. got it? don't make me regret this. fuck knows i don't need another one added to the list i have already." and with that, she steps back and swings her arm towards the hallway. an invitation.

"kick those boots off by the door? kitchen's in there.." her brows arch and her chin ticks past the living room towards the darkened kitchen lit with several dancing candles as the bulk of them are where they stand and where she was. "i'm laura. laura mccabe. why are you out on such a crazy night?"

[carissaobsessed]

[blindsite-a]

he did hear the smile in her voice. it was subtle, and for a moment he was amazed. they knew each other far too well from their time together and that fact did warm his heart. fuck. he was in with large boot heels over his head now. ❝ glad ya are one. that way ya know where my fuckin' head is at all the time. ❞ sweeney meant half-way in the dark gutters. sometimes his physical body would start there and only his head would be left floating out among parade beads and empty beer bottles. she could likely see that in his gaze. it was always appraising, heavy upon those he found himself attracted to. heavy upon laura.

❝ life would be borin' as fuck any other way. drinkin', fuckin', mischief, and what? eatin' good food? ❞ tongue clicked in approval. a wider smile now bared white teeth. if not in amusement at his statement, one could have found it predatory. like a wolf. he was speaking about the primal things in life anyway. laura's lips brushed against the 'borrowed' western denim shirt. with anyone else, he wouldn't have felt that small of contact, but they were connected and he very much felt it. chest rose and fell in a shuddered breath because of it.

her pointing out the obvious made him roll his eyes a bit. playfully so. ❝ i'm not talkin' about the literal. i'm talkin' about the metaphor for death. ❞ the thought chilled his bones. but he could feel it. there were hands curled around a corner somewhere in the distance. eyes would soon peer around and follow, watching him. the banshees. that was what would take him into the darkness, though it wasn't what would kill him. sweeney was sure on that. a guess could be hazard without much thought given : wednesday. her hand graze upon his cheek does do something to calm him. face tilts into the touch. olive gaze nearly crosses as he watches her small thumb on his nose. he gives up on that and settles for her face instead. his own fingers moved over her spine slowly. they followed each peak and trough of the vertebrae. while he was capable of feather touch like hers, he didn't do that. instead, his was more sure and stronger felt. ❝ no, love, i don't think it does suck to me be right about now. ❞

lips twitch under her touch and in response to her question, but it is fleeting. they pass and find his beard. tongue wets his bottom lip as it is pulled into his mouth for a brief second. their eyes were still locked. the outside world nothing but a blur around them while bartender is likely wishing they would just leave. he won't dare to kick them out. sweeney spent far too much gold to be disrespected like that. ❝ if ya wanted it to be weird, then i can say it's weird. ❞ he'd do anything to please her. thoughtfulness overtakes laura's features. in the silence, his thumbs find her sides and now skim her ribs. counting each one. ❝ the answer would've been yes, if ya asked me months ago. ❞ voice was soft once more. ❝ but, fuck, i'm afraid i can't leave ya even if it meant gettin' my luck back fully or ten-fold. at this point, i don't just want ya alive. ❞ i want ya not with that undeserving bastard, shadow. that was what remained unspoken for the moment.

[embalmic]

the poor bartender just outright ignores them for the most part. doesn't matter anyway. far as she's concerned? she's not moving. they haven't ever been this close without her putting some kind of hurting on him. not chest to chest. not with her fingers touching his beard the way they are. their tips dragging lightly over the fuzz like she's afraid this moment might disappear and they could go back to being pissed at each other and not talking. or glaring from across the bar at one another when their thoughts were so obviously written across their faces. and both of them were pretending to not know how to fucking read. attention flicks back and forth over his features. gauging his emotions like she's taking a warm up shot before she goes balls to the wall on some sorta "truth you fucking asked for" bender. as she waits for his answer to a deeper question than, maybe, she should've asked. if she wants this peace to continue.

but.

just like the smell of bourbon soaked wood behind her. she's not going anywhere. not even if you aim a hose at her in a desperation to wash her away. she's gonna stick there like glue. good or bad. bottom lip snagged by her front row of teeth, she bobs her head in a nod when he reveals that a few months ago he would have left. to be honest? she would have expected that. though..there's something somewhere deep inside of her that pangs a little with that knowledge. maybe because hearing it? she might inwardly ONLY confess to herself? that him and salim? are all she's got. they're the only ones who put up with her. the only ones who have stuck by her side. sure, one was more willing than the other at first. their mutual friend being ever understanding. ever patient and ever the poor middle ground that had to listen to both of them want to murder each other.

even then. even when she wanted to smear him against the nearest paved surface just so he knew how it felt. she wouldn't. because she would've wanted him to come back. she doesn't say that. laura only listens. dirty bare feet dangle in the air behind the chair start to bob to the tune of a far away saxophone playing on the street corner outside the bar.

he wouldn't now. and that's what matters. her features relax and then soften. at once, she straightens her back. suddenly? they are nose to nose. hers brushing against his as her eyes close. "good. because i'd hunt you down and whoop your ass." lips form into a teasing smile that's revealed when she leans back. her thumb finds it's way to the edge of his nose, other fingers curled in against his cheek as she strokes the bridge. "i don't know what i'm doing. i know i want wednesday dead. but it goes deeper than the reasons why in the beginning. it's not fair. that one person gets to get away with all the shit he's done. to you. to me. to everyone else," she whispers now. sharing the secret between them. even leaning in and moving to breathe the words against his ear. "and you deserve to be free..."

[embalmic]

@blindsite || a meme from up in here! || accepting!

[ stormy ] sender arrives at receiver's doorstep soaking wet / from the giant perhaps in the au he meets her before canon events happen? before shadow and all

the storm that rolled is one of those early fall bangers. the kind where summer's fighting like hell to hang on and losing the battle. thunder hits so hard that it makes the wooden framed windows of her house rattle each time it claps. and the rain? the rain pummels the glass on the east side of her house. and the roof? it beats against it in an unending downpour of an orchestral delight. laura loves nights like this. where the power's gone out and she's got dozens of candles lit all around the place. but especially the living room and hallway.

cause she's curled up there with a blanket and a book. mostly reading the novel but more or less simply enjoying watching the lightning dance across the sky and listening to the thunder roar. a battery powered radio says that there's a tornado warning in the county over. best to keep it on and make sure it doesn't spread her way. but she's got a basement and isn't too nervous. devil may care that a tornado warning's gonna put her on edge anyway.

not during her favorite weather.

she barely hears the first knock on the door. chalking it up to the thunder until her cat reacts and goes dashing down the hallway towards it like the dog it thinks it is. a frown of a glance towards the empty hallway and she tugs her blanket up over her shoulders. feet hit the floor. laura goes to the door after the second round. on her tip toes, she looks through the peephole. she's got no idea who the guy is but he's fucking huge. a bang of thunder ends her cat's convictions and sends it skittering back towards the living room. but she fastens the chain lock in place and opens the door..

something in her just has her hand moving. like that chain's gonna keep a guy his size outside if he wants to come in. guess we know she's not surviving the horror movie, after all. fuck. not a smart idea, laura. mentally, she rolls her eyes at herself. outwardly? she moves her gaze up at him. does she know him? a crease forms between her brows. he's soaking wet. there's no huge butcher knife or anything in his hand. that's a plus. "hi...? uhm.. i think you're at the wrong house.." least he's out of the rain for now? her porch might be the first dry spot he's had by the looks of it.

[eggogorgon]

[blindsite-a]

gaze tracks the bottle between them where to comes to her lips. there's almost a moment that he knows what she's thinking. as if he has an inkling to what passes between green eyes. they might have spoken very cruelly to and about one another throughout their time traveling together, he knew it came from a place of denial on either of their ends. the moment she flicked him across the room, while it had pissed him off at the time, also ignited something within him. perhaps it was inappropriate, but that's the truth. even without the preternatural strength she could handle herself which was something he could tell without knowing her much before her death.

the bottle is taken from her and set on the bar top. he didn't need that anymore. he was already tipsy from it and the essence of her so close. head of curly hair lands on his chest and he finds himself glancing down at the top of it. it swept there, down what he could see of the side of her face and over the curve of her spine in the weird floral patterned funeral dress she'd been given. small arms wrap him in a tight embrace. shock still running through his veins for a moment before he's able to respond. hands sweep up, fingers graze against her calves lazily once on the way up to wrap around her. sweeney's breath leaves his lips in a shuddered breath. he was nervous.

❝ ya don't have to apologize, but it's much appreciated, ❞ a pause. ❝ this whole situation is fucked up. ya were tricked by all the voodoo magic and shit. besides, ya did get one thing right, ❞ when laura glances up at him, his head tilts to the side with a bit ruefulness in the corner of his eyes and mischief in the corner of his mouth. ❝ i am a whore, i'm not just his fuckin' whore. ❞ her forehead drops to his chin and he can't help but offer a little laugh in response. ❝ i'm sorry too. sorry that the baron was the one that, ah, brought these things to light.❞ things. feelings.

one of his hands itch to move as it lays upon her back, so he lets it. smoothing over the rougher cotton of the dress with comfort in mind. ❝ she sounds like should could be a real shitty person to have to look up to. ❞ sweeney tries not to move his jaw much as he speaks so that her head isn't disturbed on the place she has now made a pillow of sorts. ❝ the sad thing is that most parents don't get past bein' a kid themselves. they aren't ready to grow up. means they probably shouldn't have had kids, but then ya wouldn't be here. ❞

a sigh blows at the top of her head, little hairs shifting under the breath. he knew exactly what she meant. ❝ the coin does have somethin' to do with it. i mean, the farther i get from ya, the worse my luck gets. i'll be lucky if i don't end up in a ditch. but, it's not only the coin. ❞ the implications were clear between them. ❝ nothin' is weird, love. ❞ sweeney reassures her easily even though things might be weird, it wasn't because of what she was saying. it was new for either of them to care deeply about another and actually admit it . . . or get remotely close to admitting it.

[embalmic]

her arms squeeze his middle tight when he mentions she doesn't have to apologize. listen. she didn't apologize for much in her life. one of those live life with little to no regrets sort've people. until she had so many she didn't know what to do to fix them. when there was nothing at all she could do. because the people she owed those apologies to made it fucking damn clear they weren't going to accept them even if she came back from the dead and had the chance to give them in fucking person. so... she means the apology and she hopes he knows that it runs pretty deep. it's not a surface set of words to smooth things over. it's a real i'm sorry and it means everything to her that he accepts it and thanks her for it. "you're welcome," she murders and he might be able to hear the slight smile written on her mouth. the relief in her voice. that she was heard and accepted.

"we're both whores. i'm fine with that. kinda put me on the road to where i am now. didn't it?" she's joking. self-deprecation at it's finest. but does she regret where she ended up now? "if you think about it. if i was a good girl and did everything right. not only would i have been boring as fuck. but.. would i be here? maybe not." even if it was a fucking wild, hellish ride to get here? it's fucking weird to think about. sitting here, spider style with him. if she didn't do the fucked up shit she did. if she didn't end up dying for it. or dying because of it. maybe she never would've taken shadow home to begin with. good girls don't fuck thieves. good girls don't deal cards in casinos either. or maybe her and shadow would've met regardless and they would've found another way to kill her (there's something to think about...). she wouldn't have this. fucked up that in death, she ends up finding someone who's... who's...him.

these things to light. sweeney means their feelings. how much they want each other. how much they'd like to break the fingers of someone else touching the other person. how her chest and her skull itched seeing him hitting up someone else to take to bed. until he did and then it was a crack in her that filled it up with someone else. until she was filling it up with him. only it wasn't. it warms her heart and snaps her out of that train of thought when he makes reasons for her mother to be her mother and earns him a turn of her head against her resting spot where she brushes the edge of her lips over his chest.

a kiss? barely.. but maybe the start of one.

green eyes find his once fine, little hairs settle. "you kinda did end up in a ditch. a sidewalk ditch but it was close enough to a ditch with all that garbage in it to count," now she smirks. one hand moves up from his side to cup his face. the touch is feather light and barely there. her thumb moves along the edge of a prominent nose. "yeah, i know. maybe i got more of your luck than just a coin. maybe i stole it all.." words are soft but their implications run just as deep. "guess that means you really are stuck with me. must suck to be you."

"not weird?" her head tilts as her finger curls against the tip of his nose. it drops down, skipping past his lips to graze over the hairs of his beard. she doesn't break eye contact. "guess i'll have to work harder. thought i did my best work when i made shit weird." her fingers uncurl, stroking along his chin and she appears to be deep in thought measuring her words before she dares to let the next question slip. "would you take it and leave now.. if you could? if nothing would happen to me. if there'd be no price to pay. would you take it and go?"

[gotpalahniukquotes]

“Just for the record, she still loves you. She wouldn’t bother to torture you if she didn’t. You fucker. Can you feel this?”

— Chuck Palahniuk, Diary

[blindsite-a]

sweeney would have sworn that he could feel her as she crossed into the room. feel her gaze upon his bare upper body only half draped with a sheet. he bristles a little, shoulders rising and falling as he fights the urge to tense. though, the second she enters the bed behind him, he's immediately both comforted and made further anxious. what the fuck was wrong with him? he jumped headlong into so many situations without a moment of forethought, apprehension, or nervousness and yet —

a pause as he feels the warmth of what he discerned to be her nose pressing against his back. sweeney focused on steadying his breathing. the greeting in response to his came as a murmur drifting over the patch of skin she had chosen to make home for the moment. goosebumps radiated out from that epicenter. . down his spine and over the hairs of his arms. they weren't likely to go away for some time. not while laura was in such close proximity.

when her eyes widen, there's a look of soft amusement in return. it made her all the more endearing to him that her reaction to his face being so close was something like that. small hand wriggled free from his own, and he was only momentarily disappointed, because index finger found the bridge of his rather large nose. olive eyes had tracked the whole movement and then flickered back to her face once she tapped it. the smirk on her lips made one of his own twitch inside the soft thicket of facial hair. ❝ that i am, ❞ came response.

he was tired of this half-facing, neck turn requiring position. so instead he rotated fully now to face her. the sheets made a crinkling and shuffling noise in the silence of the room. the movement hadn't broken their contact entirely as his chest was now brushed just so against her own now instead of his back. ❝ how does it feel for ya to be back within yer own non-dead, non-spirit world, fully healthy skin? ❞ the question serves as a bridge between them now - breaking the gap that was created by silence and change in position. his hand did the rest in finding a semi-neutral place upon the curve of her side to lay and then urge her slender frame closer to him by sliding around to the small of her back.

from where his head was on a pillow directly across from hers, this was one of the only times that their eye contact had a nearly horizontal path between them. olive green to her brighter green. laura could likely see the way his gaze flickered over her whole face as if trying to memorize it within this state because once they were summoned back to the underworld, they were more like spirits. noncorporeal. only able to feel so much . . see so much. which is partially why, his hand travels up to between her shoulder blades so that fingers can reach the hair that is splayed about in wet bunches of curls. they very carefully sift through them.

he loved her. that's what the fuck was wrong with him. as that realization washed over him, no matter how many times he had felt it before... it was always new. and something they hadn't yet spoken of. adam's apple bobs as he thinks to speak again and tongue darts over to wet his lips. sweeney wants to beg permission to kiss her because god knows he didn't want to piss her off and be sent flying partially across the room ( not completely sailed into the wall because she'd lost the majority of that undead strength ). a split second decision is made to just accept that consequence if it comes and leans down in the much smaller gap to press his lips to hers.

[embalmic]

observant gaze watches him watching the track of her finger. such a simple action. anyone would do it. stare at someone who's got their finger on your damn nose and is tracing it's outline. but it feels, somehow, so special that she gets to be the one to do this to him. that she's sharing this moment with him. and it's theirs and they've fought for every second to be in this place. every moment feels like a victory lap between death and living again and she doesn't regret letting herself bathe in drinking every minute of it up.

pulled close, she damn near melts. bad for him. laura's got it bad for him. she knows it. knew it. even if she never said it outloud. least not in conventional ways. nothing about her has ever been conventional. her eyes crinkle at their eyes from a smile that's so damn wide, she can't hold it in. practically comes bursting from some place deep inside that she thought long dead the second she lost him. for good. no takebacks. with poison dripping between them on her last words. it wasn't fair. it was bullshit. and it wasn't going to be their end. she made sure of that.

lips part as his fingers move up between her shoulders. the sensation causes a ripple effect through her entire frame. touch feels wild. insanely tripled from the lack of contact and lack of any intimacy in what feels like her own version of forever. none that mattered. none as much as that slip of a hand between her shoulders and fingers now touching her hair. sweeney touches her like she might dissipate into a cloud of smoke. blaming him for that would be wrong. laura's stuck between being swept up in the moment and damn near terrified that it's too damn good to be true herself. that something's gotta give because their luck's always been shit. whether it was his or hers or somewhere in locked inside her ribcage.

"feels good. fucking good, actually. did it feel this good before? i have no idea but," her shoulders shift underneath the weight of his forearm and she feels goosebumps rise underneath his skin. warm as it is. they crawl and spread from that point of contact all over her in one big wave. "it didn't.. everything was muted compared to this. buffered, i guess." her brows burrow and she feels her whole throat clench around the whisper of a noise that escapes her watching sweeney wet his lips. that shouldn't illicit a physical reaction out of her, but it sure fucking does.

laura hears herself. it's a fucking groan of a sound. pitched but low. her toes curl against the cheap sheets. calves tighten as she digs her heel against the cotton. warmth pools in her belly and she's mirroring the action without realizing she is. oh, this is trouble. nothing's even happened and she's sunk this far? her free hand twitches up, curling slender fingers against a broad, freckled shoulder.

all eyes on his mouth, she's practically dazed when she semi-forces herself to glance back up to meet an olive stare. one that barely has any space between them because as their mouths touch, lashes dip down to partially veil her own green ones and she watches him for a blink before she lets her gaze drift shut. fingers sweep over to curl against his beard, then spread out to hold him there and desperately pull him in. deeper. a need to taste him deeper overrides her brain. lips are nudged apart and she does. just a little. tongue slips past the edge of his bottom lip and her mind short circuits. laura.exe has stopped functioning as she falls in deeper, lifting her head for more.

fuck. it's better than she thought. and sure as beats the shit out of any illusion.

[blindsite-a]

permission had been granted for them to leave the underworld . . . given their earthly bodies once more to search for something to fix their current situation. perhaps some fool to pass his job onto. laura was devout in her following him around this time and fully separate from her connection to shadow. a hotel room was rented, one not much unlike the one they properly first met in. weird carpet, huge and somehow still outdated bathtub, a large bed with a scratchy quilt. it likely smelled of stale cigarette smoke even though the place was rated as non-smoking for years. sweeney had showered first so that he could do so quickly and allow her much longer time under the water. stale blanket was pushed to the edge of the bed and he laid under the sheet clad in his boxers.

large body shifted and rolled a few times to find what was comfortable to him. it ended with his broad back facing where she came from the shower. they had spent a lot of time together while in the underworld, but nothing upon the earth since his death. since new orleans. heart beat wildly within his chest. a miraculous feeling on its own. one that he knew she could share. the water has turned off and sweeney finds himself wishing she'd let him book two beds. this wasn't because he didn't want to share one with her, no. it was purely that their one and only circumstance of physical intimacy had all been a trick placed upon them by the baron.

olive gaze flickered over his shoulder to glance at her and ultimately returned to staring at the wall whenever he realized she was wearing his white tank like a night dress. fuck. laura's lithe body barely made a dent in the soft mattress as she climbed in behind him. maybe - she would think him asleep. and whether or not she did, her slender arm came up around his waist and the rest of her sidled against his back.

the hotel soap didn't do any wonders for them other than cleanliness and yet, her scent still somehow fought through. entirely her. no rot or decay. a large breath of air cleared from his lungs and she would know then that he hadn't been asleep. ❝ hey, ❞ lilt to his voice was quiet as his hand grasped at hers where it landed on his chest. head turns enough that he can just see her eyes peering over his shoulder and then the rest of him follows suit. laura was still mostly spooning him.

❝ i wasn't sure if — ❞ he cuts himself off and starts over, ❝ i hope yer not uncomfortable with this situation. ❞ they still hadn't exactly hashed out anything in great detail. she didn't seem to be uncomfortable considering she was the one that initiated their current contact. one that he graciously accepted. another feeling that he hadn't experienced since new orleans was heat swirling within his abdomen. its flames lashing up around his heart and downwards to places he couldn't yet admit. / @embalmic sent : [ HELD ]  for the shorter muse to be the big spoon. 

[embalmic]

her shower took longer than normal. just the opportunity to stand underneath warm water and let it cascade down her whole body was beyond a treat. it was a fucking delicacy to be savored. something akin to a river of water to a woman dying of thirst. she just stood there for a while. watching the water drip from chestnut hair that was slowly turning into tighter curls. it fell into the liquid swirling around the drain with a loud sucking noise. god damn. it felt like a miracle made real.

eventually, though. she managed to lather up and actually take a bath then brush her teeth. often glancing at the door in the middle of her tasks knowing that sweeney was out there. doing whatever. but he was really here with her. waiting. and her heart felt like it was going to explode right out of her chest... simultaneously? float right down to her feet like a feather. with the slightest wind, it might waft right up through the ceiling to parts unknown.

it was silly. to feel like that after dying. coming back. dying again. coming back. rinse repeat. like the label on the fucking shampoo and conditioner bottles. only this time? she wants to stay. because they got each other. things are right this time. far as she knows? imminent death isn't a threat.

the bed's, surprisingly, not bad as she crawls onto it deciding she's gonna be the big spoon. her cheeks are too rose tinted from staring at his back, his neck, that ginger hair of his from behind as she made her way over. why let him see? they haven't been like this since new orleans. and even then.. that wasn't real. the idea hit her soon as she hit the shower. it's been coming and going from her mind since. his hand's on hers and she smiles. her nose presses against his back and he smells like cheap soap but under that? there's the sun and forest and air.. home. alive. he smiles like life and home.. "hey back," she whispers against his skin.

lifting up to peek over at him just as he turns to glance at her, she goes round eyed and blinks. god his freckles really do stand out at this closeness. one day, she'll count them. she's just glad they're still there. her smile's endearing at his question. soft and reserved only for him. her head slightly dips into a nod as wet curls spill over a shoulder. "yeah. i'm okay with this situation," a brow arches and she frees her hand to lift it up and run her pointer down the length of his nose tapping the tip with a little smirk, "are you okay with this situation?" her stomach tightens, is that nerves? what the fuck? she doesn't get those...

[tolyasword]

It was [Sweeney’s] blood that brought you back, wasn’t it? There’s no other explanation.