#Commission Junction

[digitaltogrow]

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[gay-little-izzet]

Commission of Ryker for @tyranion! ♥️♦️

Excited to be doing comms again.

[takami-takami]

And If I Want It Soft?

includes— hawks x reader. smut. minors dni.

warnings— gn!reader. taking keigo's virginity.

If this is the corruption they warned him about, let it be sweet and let it be you.

It's hardly noticable; but Keigo gets nervous when you touch him like this. Like he's doing something wrong, something forbidden. His feathers twitch like they're prepared to detect his commission handlers stalking around the corner of his dim apartment hallway, forboding and scolding something shrill and calculated in his direction.

Instead, Keigo blanks at the way you touch him. Leans into your touch like a kitten, purring when you scratch his scalp. A blissed-out coo trills in Keigo's throat when your fingertips scritch at the feathery, baby blonde hairs where his skull meets his neck. A sweet sound. Innocent. Lovesick, those shut eyes and subtle smile.

But oh, the way Keigo stiffens when your hand follows the ridges of his spine down his neck like water over the rocks of a riverbank, splaying beneath the cotton of his shirt and flooding his senses there.

Keigo's body prepares for his handlers to scold him something fierce, now that he's got a pretty thing touching him all over— in ways the commission would surely balk at, too— but that doesn't happen. Instead, your sweet voice lulls him under the river's waves again, soothing that overworked mind of his. Quieting it with gooey safety.

Calling him words like pretty, and sweet boy, and mine.

Can you blame Keigo for stirring beneath the waist? Honestly, it's quite inappropriate of him to be thinking these sorts of things about you. Your bare hand is massaging the tender junction between his shoulderblades beneath his shirt. His face is smushed against your chest, arms strewn over your body in bed. It's not like he can help whining a little in his throat, nosing at your body like he's thirsty for something more to wet his appetite.

He's a virgin. At his age in his twenties, too. Seen all that life as a hero and the poor thing has never gotten his cock wet. A shame.

You won't let that stay for long, though. He's sure. He wouldn't give it to anyone but you. And lord, God, angels in heaven— he wants you to take him.

But that isn't appropriate to say. So instead, Keigo lets the tension simmer. Luxuriates in it, lets himself sink into it like a hot bath.

Until next time. He thinks he'll let you touch him wherever you want, next time.

---

Where should he put his hands?

Your tongue is pressing against his, but it doesn't feel strange. Foreign, sure. Welcome, absolutely; but nothing about this is unnatural.

Still not used to this, Keigo closes his eyes and allows himself to moan. Judging by the way your lips quirked against his, he's sure he did something you liked. His heart sings at the thought and he huffs against your mouth.

He did good.

Subtle praise makes a man bold, and he decides to try his hand at making more sounds for you with the intention of infecting you back with that imposing heat you impart unto him— only this time, Keigo allows his tongue to curl around words.

Words like you're so beautiful, and I want you so badly, and mine, too.

Your soft hand palms at his cock over his hero uniform and Keigo nearly chokes on a sob, eyes rolling back like he just touched God.

Would it come across as desperate to reach down and undo his pants, himself? A stern voice sharply barks the word greedy in the back of his mind for liking this. Keigo whimpers and turns his head away as if it will help him escape the thought, but then—

"Greedy boy," you whisper, and Keigo's breath hitches with arousal.

"You like this," you ask. Reverent, not judging.

He does. He likes you.

Keigo must have nodded at some point, because your warm laughter and sympathetic mmhm, good boy make his shoulders fall lax and comfortable.

"Can you," Keigo dares to ask, eyes wide. "You don't have to, it's just—"

He hears his buttons undone.

---

This time, you're both wearing much less clothing and Keigo is the one on top. He wonders if you're feeling as exposed as he is; but he doesn't have to wonder if you also feel this right— Keigo can hear your thoughts through your body, now. A honed skill, an acquired dialect.

You did that thing you usually do to him, stole his breath through his cock and sucked his thoughts down your throat as if his body were some kind of holy ambrosia; but tonight, as you both discussed prior, Keigo wouldn't be finding release in your mouth.

When did the most erotic thing ever done to him become simply foreplay? He used to lose his mind at the way you fit him into your mouth, begging garbled pleas for forgiveness from something or someone unreachable for feeling this good. Now, it simply makes him hungrier.

"Like this," he mutters the question to you for guidance, congratulating himself on not choking the moment his fat tip presses against you, prodding at your entrance.

"Mm," you moan and the sound is like lightning down his cock, causing it to twitch. "A little lower. Then press forward and—"

A gasp. Possibly two. Fuck if Keigo can tell, stars swimming in clockwise circles around his head.

The heat of your hands grounds him, palms squished against his cheeks as he presses his forehead to yours, sinking inside.

"Breathe, darling," you smile.

"God, I'm— I, I'm trying," Keigo laughs, boyish, pretty, and golden. "Fuck, you feel so good."

"Right?"

You clench and shift your hips just for show and Keigo's jaw drops in a silent scream.

"You can do that? Don't do that," he whines, nosing into your neck. You feel his bare skin against you and his breath comes panting. You smile triumphantly.

"Sorry, sorry," you say. "I'm nervous, too. You just looked so cute. Your nose got all scrunched up and—"

As quickly as they bubbled up, the words are snatched in your throat like air lifted from your lungs. Keigo's firm hands pin your hips softly in place, grinding his body boldly against yours. Dragging himself deeply in your guts, knocking the breath out of you with pleasure.

As much as Keigo adores the sound of your voice, pillowy and seraphic, he needs to satiate this feeling in his chest somehow.

"It feels good for me, too." A kiss against his shoulder. "You take care of me so good. You're real gentle with me."

Like a lover, Keigo's mind completes for you.

Finally soft. Finally seen. Keigo blinks back the tears and kisses you again instead.

---

Keigo would be hesitant to admit the amount of research he did prior to undressing you, but in the end, it blanked from his mind entirely once you both started melding together. That being said, he does particularly recall most of the advice detailing how unrealistic and difficult it is to finish at the same time as your partner.

Huh. He supposes not everything you read online has to be true.

Your soft, sleepy breaths rouse Keigo from his daydreams, recounting in meticulous detail your eyes, your movement, your voice in the throes of it. One elbow props his body up, the thin sheets revealing more of his torso when he shifts over you.

Keigo tucks a stray hair of yours and watches your dreamy breaths, the rise and fall of your bare chest that was just against his own.

He should probably feel guilty for calling you his spouse already, but he doesn't. He supposes he never will.

[sweetheartsaku]

(BLLK) 고엽 WITH THE AUTUMN LEAVES.

𝜗𝜚 SEISHIRO NAGI: LATTE PETUNIAS.

a/n: [fem!reader] SAKU ON HER BLLK WRITING STREAK ?! ( *｀ω´) how r we feelin blossom nation?!?! tysm for all the support i love all of yall so much! ^.^ 🤍

nagi seishiro’s handy guide most efficient ways to acquire the warmth of a lover.

number one, spam unbearable amounts of kisses.

especially in the morning, nagi gets extra clingy. when you turn the opposite direction to him, his body instinctively tries to find yours. all he wants is warmth, okay? no, not the blanket. you. he will literally pancake himself on top of you, cheek to cheek, pressing an insufferable number of kisses on your face.

you can feel him basically sinking into you! every bit of his 190 centimetres, basically enveloping you. you can feel his gentle lips gently and slowly trace every feature. he desperately wants to be under your skin, and the only way visible for him in his drowsy daze is by kissing you everywhere he can remember. when you try swat him away, it just makes him want to do it more. he just can't help it.

number two, nestle head in her thighs.

nagi loooves unwinding down after hassling hours of soccer training (he was practically forced to do) and resting his head on your lap. he loves to feel the plushness of your skin, especially if you're on the pudgier side. he just thinks it's more pillow for him.

he's so sleepy and he can practically pass out in that second, but he chooses to stay awake because somehow when he's with you, nothing feels like a hassle. he doesn't even realise it too, because it's all so natural and comforting to him. nagi loves to stroke and poke his fingertips along your thighs as his nose grazes near the top, feeling every bit of warmth on you.

number three, let her have the spot in between the couch and yourself. this also includes the spot closest to the wall when sleeping.

on saturday nights he always finds himself in his bed, playing doing his daily commissions on his phone. he looks so cute so focused like that, so you take it as a moment of vulnerability, crawling onto the mattress and discreetly fit yourself in between him and the wall his bed was pressed against. you dig your face into his chest as his arm circles behind you and holds you tight against him.

he swears you fit in his grasp perfectly. he can't help but lift the blanket up a little higher as your eyes find rest, legs tangle together and squeeze you a little tighter. when his arms get tired, he swivels to the side, and his heart races a little faster as he gets to see your pretty face and your hands clutching gently on his shirt. his one and only priceless view.

number four, rest head on her stomach. or butt, both is good.

is every part of your body this cozy all the time? he thinks to himself. he's basically smothered all over your skin and loves all the plush bits. nagi slowly rests his cheek on your tummy, tracing incoherent shapes and whatnot into the skin of your navel. it tickles when he lifts up your shirt (his) and runs his slender fingertips along your natural structure.

lying down on your stomach + on your phone, to him, visibly means you're doing nothing and entertained. this is nagi's perfect excuse to rest his face on your rear and cuddle close. he whips out his phone and loosens his body as he mindlessly reads.

number five, kiss from the collarbone to her jawline.

he's strict about collarbone and up, never the other way around. (he think everything a fuckin game) to him it's a like a reward, he gets to see your flustered face after trailing his lips on the skin most sensitive. he loves to have you on his lap as you soothe your hands along his spine, and loves peppering kisses adjacent to your jaw.

his lips are gentle, always brushing against your nape. his breath hitches as he realises you changed your shampoo, being so used to tucking his nose into the junction between your neck and shoulder. moments of intimacy like these remind him how effortlessly he gets you all hot and bothered, soul filled with love.

number six, let her run her hands through your hair, this will lead to head massages.

nagi's heart gets really fuzzy right when he's about to fall asleep, grip on his online bonobono manga loosening, head in between your thighs. you're watching tv, immersed in the series nagi promised you to marathon with till you look down at your boyfriend. his eyelids trying its hardest to stay open and lips slightly agape. he must be tired, you think.

you run your hands through his snow-like hair. it's soft and thick and your hands tangle through it effortlessly. your fingertips find its respective spot on his scalp, gently massaging it. it works. he thinks to himself.

number seven, bite her bottom lip whenever those rare lazy makeout sessions come along.

savours every moment of those subtle makeout sessions that occur as fleeting moments. the way her lips fit into mine is perfect, he thinks, as your gentle lips lock together. your delicate hand on his chin making its way to cradle his jaw makes his heart pound against his chest a little harder, your tender hums only make him keep going.

breathlessly, you both pull away with a little pop. he stares at your lips because he can't help but want to smash his on yours, again. all that he wants, all that's on his mind, is your velvety sweet kiss he'd die for. nagi gives you an earnest glance before lovingly intertwining his hands with yours, leaning back in to exchange love in this serene moment; that he'd never trade for the world.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: To Mark.

A Grab-Bag Commission For The Very Lovely @ohsotearful.

Pairing: Yandere!Wanderer x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 1.0k.

TW: Biting/Marking, Set Before Wanderer Regains His Memories, Unhealthy Relationships, and Slight Manipulation.

You’d almost gotten used to the feeling of your husband’s teeth sinking into your shoulder.

A sharp sting, a tight stretch, then finally, the burning relief of his dull canines drawing back and warm blood washing over your skin. His chest was pressed against yours, your legs tangled loosely around his waist, but the closeness brought little comfort when his skin seemed to sap the heat from your own and his hands were wrapped so tightly around your hips. There’d be bruises tomorrow – pinpricks of discolored skin that he’d want to strip bare and examine as soon as they were visible, but you tried not to think about that. His little fixation was one of the more unfortunate parts of your relationship, and you did your best to keep it out of your mind whenever you could.

This, unfortunately, was not one of those times. He found a new spot – the tender junction between your throat and your shoulder – and latched on. Rather than pierce, he chose to suckle, catching your skin between the flat edges of his teeth and sucking gently until his chosen patch was irritated and reddened, until he could be sure there’d be a mark to match the collection he’d already painted across your collarbones, up the curve of your throat, at each corner of your jaw. Most of them were fresh, others older, allowed to fade before your husband remembered to revisit them. None would be allowed to disappear completely, and if they managed the impossible, he’d be sure to lay you down and spend the better half of a day making up for his negligence. Your husband had always been attentive, like that.

His teeth sunk into your jugular and you shrunk into him, an airy whimper escaping your sealed lips. Immediately, he detached from you, raising his head and bringing his stare up to meet your own. You’d never been able to say ‘no’ to him, not when he looked at you with those big, pleading eyes. “Did I…” A slight pause, his tongue darting out to swipe a dot of your blood off his bottom lip. “Did I hurt you?”

Obviously. You had to remind yourself that he wasn’t like you, that pain wasn’t something he had experience with. His porcelain skin would never bruise, and in as much time as you’d spent together, you’d never seen him bleeding or burnt. You had to be empathetic. You had to be patient.

Unfortunately, patience wasn’t a skill both of you saw the value of. When you failed to answer immediately, he took your silence as affirmation and frowned, leaning towards you. “I’m sorry.” It was a familiar apology, but no less sincere than it’d been the first half-dozen times he’d used it. Hesitantly, he brought a hand up to your forehead before remembering that the gesture was meant for a different type of pain and letting it fall back to your waist. “Is it bad? I can get the bandages, if you need them. Or, there’s a pharmacy on the other side of the city—”

“I’m fine, I swear.” You forced out an airy laugh, letting your lips brush against his cheek, then the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t a lie. You’d be nearly too sore to move in the morning, but for now, you were fine. “But, I think it might be time to stop. I don’t want the innkeeper to think that you, I don’t know, mauled me in my sleep or something.”

Immediately, his expression turned from worried to panicky. “But we just started,” he whined, his tone childish, desperate. You hadn’t – you’d been in his lap of just over an hour, now – but he’d always been prone to losing track of time. “I’ll be gentle, and.. and I can move to your chest, if you don’t want anyone to see! I don’t have to—”

“My love,” you cut in, sighing as you cupped his face in your hands. Reflexively, he nuzzled into your palm, melting into your affection far easier than you’d ever be able to melt into his. “I hate having to stop as much as you do, but I’m tired. I might not be hurt now, but I will be if we keep going for any longer.” You smiled, bringing him close enough to kiss properly. It was shallow, fleeting, but you could taste metal on his lips. You tried not to feel sick. “I want to get some sleep. I promise, you can dig your teeth into whatever you—”

It was his turn to interrupt you, this time, his request more simple than yours. "Just a little more?" And then, when your smile wavered, “Please?”

You started to sigh, to shake your head, but against your better judgement, you met those awful, saccharine eyes and…

And, it was over in an instant.

“Fine,” you muttered, dread and self-loathing already welling up in the back of your throat. “Just a few more minutes, the—"

He didn’t wait for you to finish. Your body was wretched away from his in a moment, thrown onto the downy futon below you in another. He was buried between your legs and attacking the vulnerable flesh between your thighs before you could so much as think about asking him to try to hold himself back. His teeth sunk into your flesh, but you didn’t scream, didn’t whimper.

You just let your head roll back, shut your eyes, and tried to pretend you didn’t feel a thing.

[seoafin]

everything eats and is eaten

pairing: fushiguro toji x fem!reader warnings/tags: smut, extremely loose prior teacher x student relationship except toji was a bad teacher and nobody respected him that much, background stsg x reader (i guess), cucking (i guess) word count: ~5.7k title from ingydar by adrianne lenker

this is a fic that was commissioned by @stainedglassvariations if you enjoyed the fic please please please take a second to thank them for their generosity and kindness!

You’ll regret this, Toji thinks. Maybe tomorrow, or the next week. Maybe in the far future.

Or maybe you won’t. He never really knows with you.

It’s not like he knows you, really. Not like Ieiri, not like Gojo or Geto. He knows that you faced him with a blade and lost. He knows that you have lived a distinctly miserable life (he is intimately acquainted with misery). He knows that prying teeth is an easier job than getting you to talk about yourself (it is, admittedly, amusing, to see Gojo’s clenched jaw and Geto’s locked, displeased smile when you, once again, tell them that you don’t mind whatever movie they want to watch, as long as they want to, when you shoot down a question about your childhood that you’ve already marked as negligible) (he is half convinced, that everything the three closest to you know about you came from a particularly nosy foray into your personal file, stolen from Yaga’s office when Gojo’s intentions straddled the line between nosy and curiosity). 

It’s better like this. He doesn’t need to know you for this.

Your chest heaves, perspiration gathering in places he shouldn’t observe too closely (the junction where your neck meets shoulder, your temple, your thighs). Your expression is somewhat placid as you stare blankly at the ceiling. Who knows what you’re thinking at this moment, as you come down from the shock of your very first orgasm.

A lesser man would be offended. You had been mostly quiet while he had licked and sucked until you came with a keening, choked noise that had his cock swelling in his pants. He had seen teeth digging into your bottom lip as you struggled not to let anything more escape, the inky depths of your eyes before you closed them.

He meets your gaze from where he rests, in between your legs, and lets his tongue run over his lips, wet from your slick. He has half a mind to spend the rest of the night eating you out, to let him show you just how much he can do with his tongue.

You blink, lips pressing together, as you look at him discerningly, as if you’re not sure what to do next. It shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does, and he’s once more reminded of the hardness pressing against the confines of his pants. Shit, it’s been a while hasn’t it?

Toji clears his throat to speak, before you can do something ridiculous like thank him for the orgasm. 

“What are you into?”

You stare at him.

He figures now is as good a time as any to ask. It’s a conversation that probably should have come sooner, but you shrugged off your clothes before he could even say a word, and when his gaze had dropped to the mess of scar tissue at your side, you had stared at him blankly. 

Then you put your hand on his clothed thigh in an invitation. 

He’s never been that good of a man.

“What gets you all hot and bothered? Gets your rocks off?” His voice is husky. Have you ever touched yourself? He wants to ask. A finger idly runs down your inner thigh. You don’t seem to mind. 

“I’ve never thought about it,” you say slowly, composure returning. 

He quirks an eyebrow. He’s heard what the visiting Kyoto girls have to say about Gojo or Geto, or both. But you’re being truthful. He can feel the steady thrum of your pulse, the honesty telling. 

He’s sure there are devout Christian nuns less repressed than you.

“Everyone has something,” Toji replies easily, eyes never leaving yours. He’s long learned one truth of the world: there are some kinky motherfuckers out there. “Handcuffs, bondage—” he grins, the curve of it a little too sharp, “—teacher-student roleplay?”

You refuse to give into his goading, despite the slight curl of your lips. A grimace. “You’ll make me sick,” you reply tonelessly, slightly rising on your elbows. “Take off your shirt already.” You pause. “Please.”

Toji snorts. It’s not a nice sound. 

In a single, fluid movement, his shirt is off. Your gaze goes from his chest, his torso, the tent of his jeans. It settles on his chest.  

Appreciation, he thinks. This is new.

“I’m not blind,” you say plainly, lips verging on a frown, as if you can read his disbelief. “You’re very attractive.”

He raises an eyebrow, stifling a chortle. “You know how to get a man going, alright.”

And then he lowers himself down, and kisses you.

You’re not used to it, he gathers, but you try anyway. You meet his lips the best you can, let his tongue run over yours, and try not to be overwhelmed despite the fact that this is most likely the most human contact you’ve ever had in your life.

(He’s read your file too.)

Your legs tighten around his waist, the breaths leaving your mouth are a bit more heavier. He’s rewarded when a hand sneaks down to your wet hole and slowly presses a finger into you, and fuck you’re tight, clamping down on his finger like you want him to stay. He’s careful not to imagine too long how tight you’ll feel around his cock when he’s fucking you into your mattress.

Your breath catches as your lips tear apart, teeth making a reappearance in your bottom lip. His thumb circles the swollen nub between your legs, as he adds a second. You moan, body growing pliant, and Toji thinks, right now, as you look up at him, eyes wide eyed and misty, lips swollen, you’d do anything for him.

Instead, he unclips your bra.

It doesn’t take long. You’re almost embarrassingly easy. You come as soon as he finds your lips once more, and sucks on your tongue in a manner reminiscent of how he had you coming all over his mouth. Combined with the curl of his fingers stretching out your walls, and you’re done for, shuddering with a small whimper. Toji likes his women loud, likes his fucking crude and messy, likes it when he can feel the indent of nails pressing into flesh, raking down his biceps, shoulders, chest.

Toji likes—

Your eyes go unclear. For a second you look out of it, until the cognizance returns.

He doesn’t know what to say. You wouldn’t be interested in the usual false platitudes. He settles on: “You’ve got nice tits.”

You stare at him through heavy lidded eyes once more. It’s almost unsettling, the lack of emotion on your face, despite the rise and fall of your chest as you struggle to regain your breath. He’s too old to care, too unbothered to give you anything but a grin in return.

He’s never been with a woman who looks at him the way you do. He doesn’t know what those two loverboys see in you. You’re not exactly what every teenage boy dreams of but he doubts it matters. He’s seen the way they look at you, no matter how odd in the head you seem. No matter how much he tries to forget. Once, he had looked at someone else that same exact way.

You’ve got nice tits and an even nicer, tight pussy. Right. You’re a virgin. He hasn’t taken a virgin since he was fully moonlighting as a gigolo, and even then he preferred not to. Clingy, prone to tears and romanticization. They always wanted him to stay the night, and when he obliged (for the free bed more than anything), it became a day, and then a week. And then it was the constant pleas for updates, the jealousy, as if he cared for anything but the yen they had to spend on him.

Rich widows. That’s where the real fun was. 

Your cunt pulses around his fingers in the wake of your second orgasm. His dick is rock hard, too insistent in his pants to focus on anything else. He’s going to have you past tears by the time the night is over. You have no idea what you’ve given him permission to do to you.

Toji brings his fingers to his mouth, licks your wetness from his fingers. He’s not expecting you to ask him to eat your sweet little pussy out again, so he’ll force the words out of you. Make you say ‘please’ real sweetly. 

An arm is thrown over your eyes. You’re not sleeping. More like recovering.

“Done for already?”

You look at him blearily. “There’s more?”

“I didn’t do all that prep just to not fuck you,” he replies dryly, easily freeing his cock from his pants. You go still, eyeing his dripping cock with trepidation. “Help a guy out.”

“Right,” you breathe out, like you’re doing him a favor. “Okay.”

In Toji’s opinion you’re already taking the appearance of his dick better than some other girls he’s had. He knows he’s big. Probably not a virgin’s first choice. Not a virgin like you, who’d be more than fine with some fingers, a toy if you’re feeling brave. A good time for the more experienced girls he’s taken, but you look a minute away from the guillotine. He swipes a condom from the nightstand, rips it open, and rolls it down his cock in one smooth movement. You watch him, almost curiously.

“First time seeing a condom?” He can’t resist the urge to poke the hornet’s nest. He’s always been somewhat of an instigator. Just like you. 

You shrug. You’d probably never see one, if it were up to those two. Safe sex is never the first thing on a hormonal teenage boy’s mind. Especially when they’ve been blueballed to hell and back. “Pregnancy’s a bitch.”

You give him a look that clearly says: So is fatherhood, apparently.

He almost winces.

“I’m on birth control,” you reply. “You’re clean. Either way, I don’t really care.”

Of course you’re prepared. Gojo and Geto would have a field day with you. He nudges your thighs open, letting the long hard length of him slap against your stomach right above the thatch of hairs at the junction of your thighs. He likes an unwaxed woman. 

You stare at it leerily. His dick twitches at the attention, precum spreading everywhere. He’s always liked his women a little mean. “It won’t fit.” 

He laughs at that, deep and just as mean. “It’ll fit.”

His thumb roughly catches on your swollen clit, and he’s rewarded with a hitch of your breath, a reflexive roll of your hips at the pressure. The first sign of anxiety crosses your face, teeth biting at your lower lip.

He could reassure you with practiced words, but you wouldn’t appreciate any of it. He wonders what the Gojo brat would do. What words that ever-smiling Geto would reassuringly murmur in your ear if he was the one about to fuck you. They’d hold your hands at the very least. Those two prodigies, gifted at everything, given all they could ever want. Two boys, born to be at the pinnacle, in love with a girl about to be ruined by Zenin trash.

He likes the thought more than he should. Trash like him touching a girl he has no business descrating. Ruining her in ways they can only dream of. You’ll keep this part of him with you forever, despite your feelings towards him. Despite what’ll happen if they find out.

Let them, he thinks. The boy-god can do many things, but this, this is permanent. 

Things would be different. If he were a man that loved you.

But that’s something neither he nor you wants. If anything, it’s the one thing he can respect.

Toji lines himself up at your entrance, and without further fanfare, begins to stretch you open.

He almost winces at how tight you are. A virgin through and through. Your eyes are wide, almost comically frozen. Your teeth tears into your lip, drawing blood.

You make a noise in your throat. It sounds like a whimper. It’s muted, like you don’t want to make too much noise. He’ll have to rectify that. He likes noise. But right now your cunt is struggling to fit him, caught between pushing him out and squeezing him in, and all he can think about is how it’s been forever since a pussy felt this good.

“Shit,” he mutters. You’re warm, wet, and tight. He almost wishes he were bare just to feel you even closer. Almost. He could ruin you. Mess you up so well you wouldn’t be able to do anything but take him. It makes him think he hasn’t changed one bit. He’s always liked ruining things. “Gotta go easy on me sweetheart,” you slightly relax as he plays with the swollen bundle of nerves between your legs, “we’ve got all night.”

You make a choked noise, tears springing at your eyes. Fingernails dig into his forearms, and a rush of heat envelopes him. He keeps a steady hand on your scarred side. You don’t notice. 

He’s already marked you once. What’s a second time?

A full body shudder wracks you when he fully sheathes himself inside of you. Your eyes are unfocused, glossy, already a little empty headed, and he hasn’t even gotten to the good part yet. 

“You…”

“All me,” he says. “How’re you feeling?”

A slight frown. “It feels…weird. I feel…” you slightly raise your hips as if to gauge him inside of you, walls pressing tight. The pressure makes his cock ache. A lesser man would’ve blown his load already. He’s got the patience of a saint to be this still while he’s inside your pussy. Your eyebrows furrow. “Full. This is supposed to feel good?”

“That’s the idea,” he replies, looking down at you, the way your chest heaves up and down, swaying. You do have nice tits, for what it matters. Gojo and Geto really are missing out.

Your arms come to close around your chest, blocking his nice view.

So you do get embarrassed. It’s almost cute.

“You can move,” you say pointedly, despite your voice being a whisper. “I’m okay.”

“Wasn’t waiting,” he lies. Well, your funeral.

His hands grip your thighs, spreading you wider, moving his hips in a way that has you becoming increasingly flustered. You make a protesting noise, but he’s watching the way his cock sinks into you as he tests you with a shallow roll of his hips. 

He’ll have you bouncing on his cock next. Or squirming on his face. So many possibilities.

He begins to thrust in earnest. You cry out as he fucks you, one hand encircling your thigh, the other on your hip, bringing you down on him. The room swells with heat, and every single thrust is accompanied by the sound of his balls slapping into your cunt. You can’t help the noises now. You grow louder and louder with the growing mess forming on the sheets underneath you.

Your hips are struggling to match his thrusts, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of every movement. He’s never known anybody so bad at taking cock. It’d almost be funny if his balls weren’t about to burst. He decides he’ll turn you over on your knees, mount you like a mutt next, as soon as you finish. 

“I—” your bottom lip trembles, and Toji wants to bite it. Hard. You almost look like you’re in pain.“It’s—” 

You don’t need to say a thing, Toji can feel you squeezing around him. He lifts your leg up, higher, hikes them up on his shoulders. A hand encircles your left ankle, brushing his lips over skin, right before his teeth sink into the fleshy part. You yelp. 

“‘Atta girl,” he murmurs as you squirm underneath him, single minded rhythm keeping you pinned underneath him. “Gonna cum on my cock sweetheart?”

Without really thinking about it, he leans down and kisses you. He feels the weak push of your tongue against his. Toji licks the blood from your mouth, and swallows.

You’re gushing around his dick, crying out for anybody and nobody, as your body arches high with the force of it all, the violence of it. A milestone, he thinks. You barely have time to come down from the high before he’s flipping you. 

On your knees, a choked squeal tears from your throat as he continues. Hands on your waist, there’s that heat in his abdomen, that tightness. He feels electric. You’re crying now, he can hear you, unsteady breathing peppered with short strangled sobs. Toji should know better. You’re a virgin. You’ve never taken cock before. You used to be his student despite the fact that it didn’t really mean anything. You knew what you were getting into. If anything, he’s going easy on you. This is nothing compared to what Gojo and Geto will do to you when they find out Toji’s cock was anywhere near your cunt.

They’ll tie you up, have their way with you while ingraining the dangers of fucking dangerous men that aren’t them into your body. No condom. Geto looks like he’d be into that kind of freaky shit and more behind that smile of his. Toji almost feels bad for you. 

Might as well build up your stamina while you can. He’s practically doing you a favor.

He slightly lifts your hips, pushing into you at an angle that his cock pressing into you, in a spot that makes your toes curl.

“Oh,” you whimper into the pillow. “Again?”

A grin cracks his face despite himself. You always were a funny one. He wishes he could see your face. 

Hips pistoning into you at a rhythm far too fast for you to keep up with, it’s not long until you’re trembling again, walls growing tight around him. But all he can think of is how warm and wet your pussy is, how long it’s been since he’s come in something other than his hand. A thought nudges at his head, about how you’re not some fuckin’ fleshlight to be used for his pleasure, he’s supposed to be making you feel good, but he’s too lost, reaching for his release with a vengeance that’ll have you sore for weeks.

Your arms are barely holding on. Toji takes your wrists behind your back, and you nearly fall face first into the bed with nothing but a hiccup. He doesn’t stop. Instead he drives into you at a punishing pace, using your arms to bring you back into him like a ragdoll. Your face barely hovers above the sheets.

“Look at you,” he whistles through his teeth, focused on the small of your back, the sheen of sweat covering your body, “milkin’ my cock like a champ.” Your thighs are wet, slick dropping onto the sheets with every thrust, and he can almost see the frothy white of the rings around his dick had he not been practicing safe sex. 

He almost feels at home with the sound and scent of sex in the air. You cum again, and cry out, in alarm or panic, as your body tenses. 

“Toji,” you say weakly. It almost sounds like you’re pleading. “Toji.”

It tips him over the edge. After a few more thrusts, he buries himself deep inside you, and his cock twitches with his release. White hot pleasure behind the darkness of his vision. He exhales roughly, shifting his hips to nudge himself deeper inside of your walls. If he had came inside, you would be dripping white. A shame. A good creampie always hits the spot.

He drops your wrists, and you topple on top of the bed, face first, uncaring of the way the pillow smothers you. 

Ah, shit. 

He’d think you were dead if you weren’t still twitching from the aftershocks of your orgasms. It’s not a bad sight. Your pussy is swollen and glistening, thighs trembling, and a part of him can’t help but think the sight would look better painted white.  

“You alright?” He asks gruffly, reluctantly turning you over. You look disheveled, bruises marking your neck, chest, thighs. Ring of teeth marks around your ankle. Your bruised hips darken with every passing second, turning that scar that runs up your side a dark ugly color. 

Now that you’ve been fucked to oblivion, trying to wrangle your thoughts back into something coherent, he can properly observe the mark he left on you years ago without your side eye. You had shrugged at it before, but Toji knows the significance of scars. There’s little that separates a scar from a brand.

Unconsciously, he rubs at the cut at his lips. It burns.

Trash, trash, trash a voice cloaked in venom spits out. 

“I’m fine,” your voice is hoarse as you limply observe the ceiling. “I’m fine.” Your gaze slides to him. You tilt your head at him, but your eyes are curious. You know something’s wrong. “Toji?”

First name basis now, he supposes. No more Fushiguro-sensei this, Fushiguro-sensei that. He’ll probably miss it when he’s fisting his cock a week later. 

He looks away, picking himself up to the bathroom to rid himself of his uncomfortably full condom.

“So tell me,” he says as he reclines on your bed, tossing you a towel dampened with warm water. You had been lying down, curled into a near fetal position, blankly gazing at the wall. You straighten as you accept it. “Honest. How was it?”

You think about it seriously. “Are you always that rough with virgins?” 

Ouch.

“It’s fine.” A ghost of a smile touches your lips. Almost teasing. “I don’t mind rough.” He thinks you don’t quite remember what it means for someone to be gentle either. The thought makes him unsettled.

Your fingers flit to your wrist absently, brushing over where he had been gripping you. Something in his mouth turns bitter. He doesn’t remember what it means to be gentle, but maybe he should’ve tried.

“Thank you for your help,” you add unhelpfully. Unhelpful in the way that you sound sincere in a way that you shouldn’t be. 

The two of you go silent. He’s usually somewhat of a decent conversationalist when push comes to shove. He’s also been with enough women to know that a good orgasm can make a woman everything from weepy to sleepy to talkative. 

Like always, you throw everything he knows out the window. 

“It was good. Better than I thought it’d be.” Very seriously, you tell him, “You’re very good at sex. Are you sure you don’t want me to pay you?”

He scoffs, despite the fact that there was once a time he would’ve taken advantage of your offer. His lips curl. “You callin’ me broke?”

“I think you could use the money,” you say without missing a beat, looking him square in the face.

He could always use some money, but no way in hell is he admitting that.

Toji narrows his eyes, swallowing his retort of occupying your mouth with something else than snarky replies. Then he briefly contemplates laying you flat out and making you squeal for that comment. It’s a pretty picture, but he decides against it. If he gets going now, there’s no knowing when he’ll finish. 

“Are you going to spend the night?”

He imperceptibly freezes. He hadn’t thought that far into it. The original plan was to give you a couple of O’s and slink out after, but then you started talking. And for what it’s worth, he’s always somewhat enjoyed talking to you. You make an interesting conversation partner. When he can follow along, anyway. (Sometimes, he can’t). Hours have passed. The night is dark outside your windows. Shadows blanket your body. He thinks about it.

Your bed is pretty comfortable. Some expensive ass luxury mattress Gojo bought for you when he found out you were originally sleeping with a blanket on the floor, according to you. In your words (and defense), it was just until you bought a mattress. But then you had gotten rather complacent with the floor. Gojo, offended, had bought you a dog bed in some sort of crass gesture to convey his dismay. (Toji bets he had wanted to get a rise out of you). You took no offense to it, and left it in the corner. Geto intervened. A bed was bought.

A fine, expensive ass, luxury mattress that you would’ve never bought for yourself. 

A sharp smile cuts across his face in dry amusement. To think, he’d be the one christening your bed. 

Besides, he’ll be gone for a couple of months at the very least when Gojo and Geto find out what he’s done. Before they find out. Maybe it’ll be Okinawa for the year. Yaga is going to bitch a fit when he finds out Toji up and left again. The man’ll have to understand. Toji’s always played fast and loose with death, but you are something he should’ve left alone for his own good. He’s always wanted more than he’s deserved.

Trash, he thinks. He touched something he shouldn’t have. He put his filthy fingers all over you, and you enjoyed it.

They deity-fied the Gojo brat when he was younger. Put him in the finest silks like a doll and obeyed his every whim and pleasure. Gojo had seen him once, when the two of them were child and adult. There was something in his gaze, even back then, that peeved Toji, the beaten dog he used to be. It was a gaze that promised mutual destruction.

He sees it now, more or less. Geto’s done the impossible: civilized the godboy. Despite painting his own pretty picture of respect and deference, Toji knows Geto couldn’t care less about it all. 

Once, the two of them would have disgusted him.

He’s never seen any man want anything as much as the two of them want you. They’ll have you, but Toji had you first.

Toji stretches, putting on airs by settling yourself into your bed as if it’s his own. He’ll leave if you want him to. If even the slightest indication of discomfort mars your face. “Gotta problem?” 

The kids will be fine. Megumi’s always liked you more than the sperm donor who only came back because he had to. And it’s not like he’s leaving permanently. Probably, anyway.

“Not really,” you say, meaning it. “It’s just…” you glance at him, unsure. “I thought you’d leave. Sleeping together is…”

He raises an eyebrow. “I just emptied my balls in ya sweetheart, that’s about as intimate as it gets.”

You blink, as if you had forgotten just where his cock had been an hour prior. If anything, you know how to bruise a man’s ego. No wonder Gojo and Geto are desperate to get your full undivided attention before you flit off to some space in your head reserved for something purely nonsensical. 

“Then…I suppose they wouldn’t…want to stay the night either…right?”

How you managed to twist his words like that is simply beyond him. He doesn’t think he could survive one miserable day with the mental gymnastics it takes for you to contextualize yourself as desirable. He doesn’t have the brains for it.

You look a little embarrassed, as if berating yourself for having even thought about it. It strikes him once again that the only reason you had even asked him to fuck you in the first place was because of some misplaced insecurity. And you were lonely. The lonely ones always seek comfort and you are the loneliest person he’s ever met.

Geto and Gojo thought you’d wait for them, even if they didn’t. It’s a mistake that will haunt them for the rest of your lives.

Now you look like a kicked dog, even more than you usually do.

“You could ask,” he says lamely. He doesn’t really know what else to say. 

You look vaguely sick at that, for reasons he cannot, once again, fathom. You are a being of endless possibilities. So instead he decides to be amused.

You quickly change the topic. “Do you think I can make them happy?” Your voice is touched by an unusual smallness. You fidget with the sheets, not looking at him.

Toji thinks you could kick Gojo in the balls, and he’d be just as enamored with you, if not more. (He knows a masochist when he sees one.) As for Geto, he’s never seen anyone who could be so effortlessly charming one second, and utterly exasperating the next. (He’s seen the chilling tightlipped smiles given to interlopers who encroach on his time together with you.)   

“Men are easy,” he says lazily, “especially when they’re thinking with their cocks. Keep your legs open and they’ll do the rest.”

Instead of shying away from his words, you look relieved. “I can do that.” 

He snorts. 

You fall silent once more, comforter pulled up to your neck. 

“Sometimes,” you say quietly, forlornly, “I think Suguru and Satoru forget I’m not like them.”

He doesn’t know if you think he’s asleep. He doesn’t know if you expect a response. He doesn’t move, doesn’t make a noise. It’s the first time you’ve breathed their names into existence since the evening started.

It doesn’t matter, because after a few minutes you curl, making yourself smaller. Your breathing slows, and in the dark of the night you almost look like a corpse. It would terrify anyone who has held your hand, searching for a heartbeat in the pulse of your wrist. 

He closes his eyes.

——

You wake up much earlier than you usually do. Morning has only begun to peek through your curtains. You stare at your ceiling for a couple of minutes, gauging every part of your body, from your shoulders to your toes. There’s a throbbing in your thighs and side, a persistent ache that flares even stronger when you try to move.

You aren’t quite sure what you expected. There’s a weight next to you. You look at the ceiling some more, before sliding your gaze next to you.

A lazy eye cracks open. The two of you stare at each other. You aren’t sure if you’re breathing, in the seconds it takes for you to blink. You had always thought the resemblance between him and Megumi was uncanny. Megumi has Toji’s eyes, both the shade of green and the slightly down tilted shape that lends severity to a glare.

Then he rises, without bothering to put on his clothes. You watch him retreat to the bathroom, and then hear the start of water. He comes back, towel low on his hips, water trailing down his neck.

“I’m going to take a shower,” you tell him. It’s the first words you’ve spoken to each other since last night. It might be an invitation, in the way the set of his eyes narrow. Just like that, things are back to normal.

Heat unfurls in your stomach.

You trudge to the bathroom and turn on the water. It doesn’t take long for the water to get hot, or for Toji to come. He fucks you over the counter, and when you step into the water, it’s a near boil. You leave the bathroom, legs still trembling.

You’re drying your hair with a towel when your phone rings.

Your phone is about to die, but it’s Satoru, and by extension, Suguru, calling, so you answer it anyway.

“Morning,” you say lightly, settling back on the bed, next to a reclining Toji. The two of you keep a respectable space between yourselves. Your thighs ache.

“I wasn’t expecting you to be up,” Suguru says through your phone. His voice is soft, so close to your ear, that you almost close your eyes.

“—SPEAKER!” Satoru’s voice. You wince, spell broken, as you are, presumably, put on speaker as Suguru sighs and mutters something about broken eardrums.

Rustling. Movement. And then a loud grunt. Your lips twitch into a grin. You can almost see them rolling around on the bed, fighting over the phone.

“How’s Hokkaido?” You ask.

“Cold,” comes Satoru’s voice. 

“We’ll be back in the evening.” You can hear the smile in Suguru’s voice.

Satoru’s voice is fainter, evident of distance. He must have gotten up. “Bakery first!”

Suguru’s answering silence is an eye roll.

“Should we get dinner all together then?” You ask, eager. “Shoko’s finishing up early today.”

There's another silence. A pause. You blink, wondering if you’ve accidentally overstepped somehow. You quickly rescind your offer. “Unless you two already have plans. In that case—”

“No,” Suguru’s voice drops an octave. “I was thinking we could order in tonight.”

The implication in his sentence isn’t lost on you. Your face warms. “Oh,” you say, suddenly overcome by a restlessness. Next to you, Toji raises an eyebrow. You ignore him, forcing yourself to swallow, chest tightening. “Okay.” Then. “Tonight?”

You had been planning on asking Toji if he could teach you how to give a blowjob first, but you suppose that’s out of the question now.

“If that’s what you want,” Suguru murmurs.

The panic on your face must be alarming, because Toji snorts.

“Yeah,” you say quickly. “That’s fine. Tonight…works.”

“...Is someone there?”

You blink. “Yeah,” you reply, without really thinking about it. “Fushiguro-sensei.”

Toji’s head is cocked to the side, silent, in a way that tells you he must have overheard everything. It’s not as if you have anything to hide.

Suguru’s voice is measured. The tone he takes on when his face goes eerily blank, perfunctorily pleasant. Something in your chest tugs. “And what, is Toji doing there so early in the morning?”

It’s your turn to go silent. Maybe tonight isn’t the best night after all. You’re a bit tired, and sore all over. They won’t want you, not like this, and the fear or rejection is a sobering thought. You aren’t confident in yourself enough yet.

The phone is snatched out of your hands. Toji gives you a look, meeting your gaze. There’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes, and it gives you the vaguest sense of a ticking time bomb.

He speaks into the phone, eyes never once leaving yours. “What do you think?”

The phone clicks off as he tosses it to the floor.

He meets your confusion with an easy shrug of his shoulders. “Turns out you’ll be seeing them sooner than you thought.”

[scotianostra]

On January 14th 1872 Edinburgh’s world famous dog, Greyfriars Bobby died.

For many visitors to Edinburgh, a must-see is the statue of Greyfriar's Bobby on George IV Bridge and, although it's officially frowned upon, rubbing Bobby's nose for luck. The true story of Greyfriar's Bobby is so enchanting that even Walt Disney decided to make a movie about him.

Greyfriars Bobby was a Skye Terrier who became famous in the 19th century for his unwavering loyalty to his owner. In 1850 John Gray, his wife, Jess and their son John arrived in Edinburgh. John was a gardener but could not find employment in his new hometown, so he worked as a night watchman for the Edinburgh Police Force.

It was a lonely job, so to keep him company, he bought a wee Skye Terrier, who he called Bobby. Soon John and Bobby became inseparable through the long winter nights they maintained a watch over their charges.

Edinburgh's damp and murky weather eventually took its toll on John, who was diagnosed with tuberculosis. Despite treatment from the Police Surgeon, John died on 15th February 1858 and was buried in Greyfriar's Kirkyard.

Bobby, who had never been apart from John, refused to leave the cemetery and stayed by his owner's grave. Despite the efforts of the graveyard staff to evict Bobby, he always returned and eventually, they gave up and provided little Bobby with shelter beside John's Grave.

Word of Bobby's loyalty quickly spread, and he became a local sensation. It is said that crowds would gather outside the graveyard at one o'clock each day. When Edinburgh's famous one o'clock gun was fired, Bobby would leave the grave and join local joiner William Dow for a walk to a local coffee shop.

John and Bobby visited Traill’s Temperance Coffee House on their rounds, and Bobby was always given something to eat by the owner John  Traill. This tradition continued after John's passing, thanks to the generosity of the owner.

A new by-law was passed by the Edinburgh Council in 1867, making it mandatory that all dogs had a licence and a collar. The Lord Provost of Edinburgh, Sir William Chalmers, undertook to pay for Bobby's licence, and he received a collar with the inscription "Greyfriar's Bobby from the Lord Provost 1867 Licensed".

If you visit the Museum of Edinburgh on the Royal Mile, you can see Bobby's collar and drinking bowl. as seen in the pics, that I took in 2016/.

Bobby stayed by John's grave for 14 years until he passed in 1872. He was buried in the same cemetery, just a few feet away from his beloved owner.

Greyfriars Bobby's story is one of the most enduring tales of loyalty and devotion. It serves as a reminder of the special bond between humans and animals.

In 1981 a new headstone at Bobby's Grave was unveiled by the Duke of Gloucester. The inscription reads, "Greyfriars Bobby – Died 14 January 1872 – Aged 16 years – Let his loyalty and devotion be a lesson to us all".

The legend of Bobby touched the heart of Baroness Angelia Georgina Burdett-Coutts. She was the daughter of the banker Thomas Coutts (of Coutts Bank fame) and inherited £1.8 million on her grandfather's death, making her one of the wealthiest women in England.

Burdett-Coutts spent most of her wealth on philanthropic causes. She co-founded the Urania Cottage for "fallen young women" with Charles Dickens and became a social housing pioneer.

The Baroness got permission from Edinburgh Council to erect a statue of Bobby at the junction of Candlemakers Row and George IV Bridge, just outside Greyfriars Kirkyard. The artist William Brodie was commissioned to create the statue in 1872.

Since its unveiling, the statue of Bobby has become an important Edinburgh landmark.

[lexsssu]

Family (Matsuno Ichimatsu)

TAGS: Ichimatsu/F!reader, yandere, possessive behavior, breeding, impregnation, smut, drabble Ao3 ver. | Ko-fi | Commissions (OPEN)

Sweat dripped down in rivulets from Ichimatsu’s temple down to his chin as he fucked into you with speed and ferocity so unlike him, but this wasn’t unexpected considering what you were both aiming for.

“ Thank you for giving my boy a chance, dearie. You’ve made one of this old lady’s greatest wishes come true. Now, if I could only have a precious grandchild to hold before these brittle bones wither away… ” said Matsuyo as she embraced you during the wedding reception, just before you and Ichimatsu left for your honeymoon .

“Mom’s counting on us, you know? She’s been dreaming about this for ages now and the fact that it’s now within her reach...I don’t think we can afford to disappoint her, right kitten?” His sharper than average teeth glint against the soft lighting as he smiles predatorily, emphasizing his words with a rough thrust that smacks noisily and wetly against your soft ass, ramming his cock straight inside which has you keening.

You could only clutch the silky sheets of the bed as your darling mounted you from behind, face down ass up like he preferred. Now that you both had a mission to fulfill, it is only imperative that you take the proper mating position like the filthy animals that you were.

“Did you see how envious my brothers were when you were walking down the aisle? How they were basically eye-fucking you every second their disgusting gazes roamed across your body?”

Rough hands clutch at the soft meat of your hips, loving the way the plush flesh felt against his own thin and bony digits. The tall length of dick parted your pussy lips so cutely, the sweet cunt secreting out lewd fluid with every move he made and even every word he said as if to say that you found everything he did to you is arousing.

That you found him as irresistible as he found you.

“I’d sooner kill all of them than let them have you. Hell, if it wasn’t our wedding I’d have gouged their eyes out right then and there…” He mutters darkly, scowling as dark feelings fester within him at the thought of not just his brothers but so many other men assaulting your beautiful body with their unworthy eyes.

“Ichi…! D-Don’t think about them anymore…’kay? Think about m-me and...our f-family…!” Despite the constant assault on your senses, you somehow manage to look back at him with a smile as if to remind what was more important.

That seemed to snap him out of his dark thoughts.

“You’re right, kitten. None of them will ever see this beautiful body like I do. They’ll never get to taste the sweetness of your skin. They’ll never hear the beauty of your voice. They’ll never feel how heavenly this cunt is…” A lazy, cat-like smile replaces his earlier scowl as he proceeds to fold his upper body over yours in order to nibble at the junction between your shoulder and your neck as he continues to drive his cock inside your lower lips.

One of his hands snake downwards to press onto the area of your skin where your womb ought to be, rubbing and stroking it in soft circles. “...And they’ll never get to knock you up too…”

Reassured for now, the gloomy Matsuno sextuplet doubles his efforts.

Thanks to your combined efforts, Matsuyo happily holds her first grandchild nine months later.

[9vvo]

Hey all, first post I'm going to do here.

I'm going to talk about the USS Indianola (pictured above), mainly because the story surrounding this could honestly be an idea for a potential sam o'nella video.

The USS Indianola was a casemate ironclad which served under the Union during the civil war. The ship was built by Joseph Brown of Cincinnati, OH for the US Government for $128,000 dollars at the time or about $4,000,000 adjusted for inflation.

By September 1, 1862 construction was nearly complete, however this would be halted when Union Forces under General Lew Wallace seized the unfinished ship the day after and would be launched on the fourth that month in order to defend Cincinnati from Confederate Forces. When the Threat ended on the 12th that month, the ship was returned for completion and would be officially commissioned later that month.

The thing would finally be completed on December of 1862, but the Ohio River's water levels were too low to cross the Falls of the Ohio. Eventually on January of 1863, she would join the Mississippi Squadron at Cairo, IL.

During the Vicksburg Campaign, Union Navy Rear Admiral David Dixon Porter would order the USS Queen of the West (pictured below) down the Mississippi in order to intercept Confederate Shipping between Vicksburg, MS and Port Hudson, LA and would operate there until the 5th of February, 1863. Remember the Queen of the West as she becomes relevant later on.

The Queen of the West would later make a second trip and entered the Red River on February 14. Indianola would now be under the command of Union Navy Lieutenant Commander George Brown. Indianola would leave her moorings at the Yazoo the night before with two barges loaded with coal strapped onto her sides and steamed south under fire from the Vicksburg defenses. She would link up with Queen of the West in her operations down the river. After passing Confederate positions, she would anchor for the night and resumed sailing toward the south.

Indianola had been specifically chosen for this operation because her engines would allow her to reach a speed of 2 Knots (or 2.3mph/3.7kph) upstream against the current making it a lot faster than other ships under Porter's Command making her a better fit for escaping upriver if there were an emergency.

Queen of the West would disabled in a fight against Confederate Shore Defenses along the Red River and had to be abandoned. Her crew would make it to the Indianola on a captured packet steamer while being chased down by the Confederate Steamer CSS William H. Web.

Indianola would move against William H. Webb and would eventually spot her that afternoon. Indianola fired it's guns but William H. Webb was out of range and managed to escape into the fog. She would eventually hold a blockade of the junction of the Red and Mississippi, but withdrew on the 21st after learning William H. Webb, the captured and Repaired Queen of the West, and two steamers filled with Confederate soldiers were moving to attack her.

Indianola would be slowed by the two coal barges she was bringing and would be caught on the night of the 24th by Wiliam H. Webb and Queen of the West. Brown would face the Indianola toward the Confederate Ships and prepared for the inevitable fight by positioning the ship so that one of the coal barges were inbetween Indianola and the Confederate Ships.

She would fire her guns at the Confederate Ships, missing her shots. Queen of the West would ram Indianola on her left side and nearly smashed one of the barges in half. The William H. Webb would ram the Indianola Head-On immediately after with the William H. Webb also being damaged in the Collision.

Queen of the West would move upstream to build momentum and rammed the Starboard Side of Indianola, destroying one of the rudders and the Wheelhouse. The William H. Webb would perform a similar manuever, damaging the Indianola's Stern. Brown ordered the ship to fire, some say that the Indianola only scored a single hit on the Queen of the West which caused casualties but did basically no structural damage. Others say the Indianola scored two hits on the Queen of the West which one disabled cannons and also hit William H. Webb once.

At this point, the Indianola was barely functional and was sinking rapidly and Brown had the ship run aground to the Western Bank of the River and lowered the ship's flag. The Confederates were able to pull the ship over to the Eastern Bank which they held. Indianola would sink in 3 meters of water. During the fight, Indianola would be rammed seven times. All but one sailor onboard would survive the battle, but only three escaped the ship's capture to bring word to Porter. Brown and most of the Crew had been taken Prisoner.

The Confederates would dispatch a salvage crew to raise Indianola. The Union High-Ups knew if the Ship was repaired and added to the Confederate Navy like Queen of the West was, it would be disastrous for the Union Fleet on the Misssissippi and considerably harm the war effort.

Now, this is where it gets funny:

Porter did NOT have any ships available to send on the mission to destroy the Indianola before it fell into Confederate Hands, so he ordered the construction of an "Ironclad" in order to scare the Salvage Crew into abandoning the Wreck. This "Ironclad" would be made by lengthening an old Coal Barge with logs and adding a Casemate, Fake Cannons made out of Logs, and two smokestacks made out of Pork Barrels. The "Ironclad" would be given the name "Black Terror" and would be sent downstream on the 26th.

The Black Terror would pass the Vicksburg Defenses without any major damage and scared the Queen of the West into leaving the area of the wreck. The Salvage Crew (who were allegedly drunk at the time) threw the Indianola's 9-Inch Guns into the Missisippi and pointed the 11-Inch Guns at eachother muzzle-to-muzzle and fired them at eachother before burning what remained down to the Waterline.

On the 27th, the Confederates would realize the Black Terror wasn't an actual Ironclad Warship. Vicksburg would fall to Union Forces on July 4th and the Remains of Indianola's wreck were raised on January 5th of 1865 which were sold in Illinois on January 17th.

[azzie-beastbinder]

Maintenance

Satoru flexed his hands. Well, they weren’t his hands. He hadn’t had hands since he was a child. But the prosthetics that he built and upgraded somewhat regularly had been adequate replacements for years now. This pair of hands were on their way out – the metal had become jagged, there was a slight delay in responsiveness, and there was a disconnect between his magic and him being able to use it. As the Hyozan boss, no one would look the other way if he had sleeker prosthetics commissioned from the ridiculous amount of money he managed as a loan shark, but he didn’t trust anyone else to make them without including weird tracking chips or hidden cameras.

And if Vasro’s disregard for people’s privacy was anything to go by, he was right to be worried about it.

Satoru didn’t carry much on him, but a little multitool to re-tighten screws and adjust the tension on his own fingers and his right “elbow” was something he knew better than to leave home without. Especially after Thunder Junction.

Fuck Oko.

He felt Koda shift slightly against his left side and went still for a moment, letting Koda curl up more against him. He smiled a little and shifted a bit so Koda could be more comfortable. It was the least he could do for his little brother, after all. They were both broken.

Satoru just looked the part more.

[valiantstarlights]

[Urban Fantasy Spy AU] Try to Hide Your Hand

Agent Hob Gadling and Tech Officer Dream Endless go on a mission together to extract Agent Ethel Cripps from Fawney Rig.

This is a @dreamlingforukraine fic commission for @seiya-starsniper. ✨️ Thank you for your generosity and your patience 🙇‍♀️ Sorry I went kinda crazy with this. But I had a lot of fun worldbuilding, so 😂

The title is from the song, "You Know My Name" by Chris Cornell, which is the theme song for the James Bond (Craig) film, Casino Royale.

CW: Dark themes because the Burgesses and their goons are the scum of the earth. There will be murder and noncon pet play, but the noncon is only on Burgess and Co.'s part. Dream and Hob are communicating with each other all the time and everything is consensual between the two of them. I promise there's gonna be fluffy fluff in the end. 🙏

Hob sits with his legs spread open, Dream kneeling between them, his dark head of hair resting against the junction of Hob's pelvis and thigh, and he hates it.

To be clear, he doesn't hate Dream. Not right now, anyway.

No, it's the situation they're in that he hates in particular right now.

Agent Ethel Cripps, The Agency's undercover spy assigned to monitor and report on the Burgesses, reached out to Head Office less than a month ago and said she wanted out. She has requested that she be extracted ASAP.

'I'm pregnant,' she said in her encrypted voice mail. She sounded so near to tears that it moved Hob's heart when he first heard her message. 'I want to get out of here.'

According to her file, Agent Cripps has demon blood. It's weak enough that she doesn't have the same strengths and weaknesses as her ancestors, but she still retained the classic half-demon appearance. Her file included a photo of her: a young blonde woman with delicate curving white horns complementing her short bob. She had been smiling in her picture.

Hob hasn't gone on to a mission with her yet since she's only been with The Agency for less than a century, but he heard that she was good at her job, feeding The Agency rare but important information about the Burgesses' human and creature trafficking schedules, resulting in many successful rescue operations.

Thus, her case was deemed urgent and important enough for The Agency to send in two of their best to extract her: a field agent to be the face and the muscle, and a tech officer to make sure the three of them get in and out safely without setting off any alarms, potentially leave listening bugs behind or retrieve important documents, and arrange for transportation, accommodations, and other essential minutiae.

Unfortunately, the two people assigned to take on the mission are Hob Gadling and Dream Endless, and everyone who has been in The Agency for more than a couple of years know that the two of them do not exactly get along.

More unfortunately, they have to pose as a human master and their half-other pet, because it's the standard within the Burgess family. Roderick has his own pet, and so does his remaining son. And so does everyone who is anyone within their ranks.

All half-other pets have either been trafficked from somewhere or were born in captivity. They're effectively modern day slaves.

Hob (a full human with an immortality mutation) has been working for The Agency for around 600 years now. But he remembers the day that certain bombshell was dropped on him and Dream.

Dream (a half-eldritch being along with his siblings, and who has been working for The Agency for longer than Hob has been alive) had sat so still on his side of the table that he could have been mistaken for a statue.

Hob had immediately protested. Slavery of all kinds repulses him, and though he dislikes Dream's guts, he would not have him act as someone lesser than him. Having had to go undercover as a slaver in the 1700s had been his worst mission, and he would rather not repeat the experience.

Death, Dream's older sister and their direct superior, listened to his tirade patiently, before telling him that other avenues have been considered; of course they have. But going undercover as a human master and his half-other pet is the one avenue that guarantees the highest chance of success.

All they had to do is show up at one of the Burgesses' casinos, have Hob win enough rounds with Dream as his 'companion,' commit enough violence where cameras are located, and they would soon be invited to Fawney Rig. Once there, Hob will be invited to play against the captains and the lieutenants. He'll have to win until they get into the same game as Agent Cripps and her human master.

Agent Cripps had not disclosed just who her human master is, which leads The Agency to believe that it might be either Roderick or Randall Burgess. Hob is going to have to win a bazillion games.

"If it's the games you are worried about," Dream said, speaking to him for the first time since they entered the room, "you need not worry. I can count cards, and have quite the skill for card games. We will, of course, have to devise a reliable method of nonverbal signals between the two of us so we can communicate with each other without saying a word; but it shouldn't be too difficult."

"Yeah," Hob spat at him. "Because that's the thing I'm most worried about."

Dream had frowned at him and said, quite stupidly, in Hob's opinion, "What else are you worried about, then?"

Hob had scoffed in disbelief, stood up, excused himself, and headed straight to The Agency's training salles to let out some steam. He imagined he was punching Roderick and Randall Burgess's faces, all the while cursing the day Dream was dropped on his head as a baby because that is the only reasonable explanation why he can be so fucking stupid.

He must have been at it for an hour when he realized that Dream was in the same room as him. He wondered how long the man had been standing there.

"What do you want?" he snapped. He didn't mean to. He's just so, so mad. At Lord Time and Lady Night. Who must have dropped Dream as a child for a minimum of fifty times. "You here to tell me the mission is important? Because yeah, I know."

"I'm here to remind you of your duty to The Agency," Dream told him. "I was under the impression that you didn't need any reminding, and yet, here we are."

Hob snorted and wiped the sweat out of his eyes. "Yeah, right." Like Dream would stoop so low as to take time out of his day to find where Hob is just to insult him. "What's the real reason you're here?"

Dream fidgeted minutely. Anyone else wouldn't have noticed, but Hob did. "I have agreed to go on this mission," he said, "and I would like for you to be my partner."

For a moment, it was so silent in the salles that a pin drop would have sounded like a gunshot.

"You fucking what?" Hob demanded. "Why the fuck would you agree? And why in god's name do you want me to be your partner?"

'You hate my guts,' he didn't say. 'You'd rather go down ten flights of stairs than share an elevator ride with me.'

Dream let out a laborious sigh, like Hob is being the stupid one here. "The mission will require my partner to be indifferent and occasionally cruel to me. I had thought that it would be an easy task for you."

Hob was actually getting a headache from this. "You thought it would be easy-- Dream. You know that kind of play has to be consensual, right? And maybe that's not how Burgess and his goons do it, but it's how it's done, normally. Please tell me you know that."

Dream pursed his lips, no doubt offended by Hob's perceived slight to his intelligence. Whatever. Hob was already so fucking tired. "Would you rather another tech officer accompany you on this mission, then?"

Hob immediately thought of Eleanor, but just as quickly dismissed it. He and Eleanor dated a while back in the 1500s, but she was married now, and going on this mission would be weird for them both. But he's not going to tell Dream all of that, so instead he asked a question of his own. "What about you? Wouldn't you rather go on this mission with another field agent you actually get along with?"

Specifically, Hob was thinking of Corinthian (who is a vampire? Hob isn't sure), who oozes sex appeal every second of his life, and was Dream's favorite field agent for always returning tech in repairable conditions, even if he has to lose an occasional eye for it.

Or heck, maybe even Shaxberd, that stuck-up, mousy-looking simp (who is definitely a were-sewer rat). Hob didn't think he'd do a good job playing as Dream's human master believably, though.

"No," Dream said to his shoes. "You are...adequately competent in what you do, and data shows that the two of us working on this mission together would result in a higher chance of success. It is why my sister called for us in the first place."

Hob mouthed 'adequately competent' to himself and incredulously shook his head. "That might be the nicest thing you ever said to me in 600 years, and I still feel insulted."

"Good," Dream quipped. "You should be grateful I didn't give you any more praise than that, else your head become too big to fit through The Agency's doors."

Christ. Hob could already see how many headache pills he's going to have to take if he goes on this mission with Dream.

Not that he has already decided to go.

"Fine," Hob said, and turned his back on Dream to face the training dummy again. Time to wallop Dream's parents for child abuse once more. "I'll think about it."

"Think quickly," Dream said, and also turned to leave. "That is, if you can manage to do so without hurting yourself."

Just to spite him, Hob immediately called Death and agreed to be Dream's partner as soon as Dream left the salles.

--

And now, a couple of weeks later, in the dungeon below Fawney Rig, Dream is on his knees between Hob's legs, wearing only a black diaphanous robe and bejewelled chains, both functional and decorative, breathing on Hob's (still) clothed dick (thank god), while Hob plays with Roderick and Randall Burgess, along with five of their most trusted advisors. Two have already lost, and they have gone up to their rooms to lick their wounds and perhaps take their anger out on their pets.

Everyone had laughed when Randall shared that thought, and Hob did too, even if he felt sick to his stomach while doing so.

Hob takes a deep breath as subtly as he can. Roderick Burgess is sitting on his immediate right, and he supposes it means that he's sitting in a place of honor, regardless of how dubious that honor is. Next to Roderick is his son Randall, next to Randall is an empty seat where one of the advisors who lost had been sitting, and next to the empty chair is the machine that serves as the croupier.

Hob is surprised the croupier is not a sentient being, but he supposes that even advisors cannot be trusted not to cheat. The game, really, is how best to cheat without seeming to, and so far, Hob thinks he's winning.

Because Hob, personally? He's not that good at cards.

But Dream? Dream is a goddamn shark, and it is only thanks to him that Hob even got this far.

On the other side of the croupier sits an elegant old East Asian woman named Mrs. Chu, to her right is an empty chair where another advisor who lost had been sitting, next to that is a large bruiser of a man named Mr. Melendez, next to him is a walrus-looking guy named Mr. Wallace, and on his right is Hob, who had been going by Mr. Rupert Gadlen for the past couple of weeks.

And of course, all the pets are either on their knees on the floor, or on their master's lap. Dream had signalled to Hob that he'd rather be kneeling on the floor, and Hob signalled an 'okay' back, even as he made a lewd comment to get Dream to drop on his knees.

The group had laughed warmly at him, thinking that he really is one of them. Hob had immediately signalled his apology to Dream right after he sat down.

Also, it turns out, Agent Cripps is posing as the pet of Roderick Burgess himself. So that's fun. She's sitting on his lap with her back towards them, and Hob doesn't know how they're going to signal each other what the plan is, but Dream signalled him to leave it up to him, and so Hob did.

He trusts Dream.

They might dislike each other for a multitude of reasons going back 600 years, but he trusts him when it comes down to it. And he has trusted Dream to win all his games for the past couple of weeks, so he'll trust him this final night.

And then they'll finally be able to go back home and put this entire mess of a mission behind them.

Hob almost shot an entire room full of Fawney Rig security personnel the moment one of the guards clapped a power suppressing shackle around Dream's neck, and he's been gritting his teeth for what seems like two entire weeks straight, thinking about Dream shivering and cold and being treated poorly since this mission has started, so yeah. He's so fucking ready to complete this mission.

Preferably by shooting everyone in sight as a parting gift and burning Fawney Rig to the ground.

But he will not shoot until Dream signals him to.

And Dream has been feeding him information about the other people in the room via Morse Code to his leg during lulls in the game, so Hob knows who the biggest threats are, who is doing poorly financially and can't afford to be reckless and lose, and in what order he should shoot when Dream gives the signal.

Hob replies to Dream with a pat on the head for 'I understand,' a gentle tug on Dream's ear for 'Repeat,' and a firm squeeze on his shoulder for 'Continue?'

The 'continue' sign is mostly for the games. Hob would caress Dream's cheek and press Morse Code on his skin telling him the cards on his hand as well as the cards in the middle of the table, and Dream would squeeze his ankle once for 'yes,' and twice for 'no.'

And then there's an entire separate system on just how much money Hob should bet and how he should come off as: cocky or unsure, neutral or reckless.

Hob may be a little in love with Dream's brain as he had Hob learn all these signals before the mission. Just his brain though. Because Dream as a teacher has a lot of room for improvement. Like, an entire ballroom's worth of room.

Hob places the blame, once again, at Lord and Lady Endless's feet.

"Mr. Gadlen?"

Hob's gaze snaps to Mr. Wallace, the walrus-looking guy to his left, as the man waits for his response.

A quick glance around the table shows that no one has folded yet.

'Yes,' Dream signs. 'Raise.'

"Raise," Hob says obediently, and slides a couple more stacks of chips to the middle of the table after Dream taps out how much he should raise.

"You're pretty ballsy for a newcomer," Randall Burgess says, and pinches his pet's nipple, making them cry out in pain.

His pet is a twenty-something brown-skinned man wearing the same kind of robes as Dream, but in green. He looks miserable and drugged out of his mind, arms chained behind him, his balance on Randall's lap precarious.

Hob bares his teeth in a facsimile of a smile. "Well, you know what they say: no guts, no glory."

"Indeed," Roderick Burgess says to Hob's right. For now, he seems content in ignoring Agent Cripps on his lap, and Hob hates that he's thankful for even that small mercy. "I built this family's fearsome reputation with my own two hands from the ground up, and doing so got me covered in guts."

The remaining advisors chuckles at that, and so Hob does as well.

"That sure would explain your vigor, sir," Hob dares to say. He knows beforehand that Roderick favored boldness and praise from his underlings, and Hob has met a lot of people like him in his previous missions to know just how to play him. Because Roderick might be old for a human, but Hob is many times his elder.

Roderick stares him down for a moment before laughing. Right on cue, his advisors laugh along. "I think you would do well within my ranks, Mr. Gadlen," Roderick says. "Lord knows I need more bold and competent people around me."

Hob has heard the rumors about Roderick killing his other son a couple of years prior for being 'too weak.' He doesn't wonder if it's true. He knows it is.

"I'm flattered," Hob says. "Truly, I am. But I hope you still think well of me after I steal everyone's money tonight."

This time, there were no laugh cues, because everyone genuinely laughed at his audacity.

"Oh, yeah, I like him," Randall tells his father. "I think he'd do well managing the casino in Vegas or our chop shops in Leipzig. Whip the guys into shape and possibly bring in new customers."

Roderick hums and studies Hob over Agent Cripps's shoulder. "What say you, Mr. Gadlen? Joining the Burgess family is one of the best decisions you will ever make in your life, and we don't often ask people to join."

"Why invite me, then, if you don't mind me asking?" Hob asks. "I only wanted to win some cash a couple of weeks ago, and now here I am."

"Talent," Roderick says simply. "I've learned to recognize it over the years, and you have it in spades. And other than that, we can see that your morals align with ours, and that is a rarer thing nowadays. Tell me, have you ever killed a man?"

"Yeah," Hob says. He puts a hand on Dream's shoulder, just as Dream puts one hand around his ankle. Hob ready to ask, and Dream ready to give the signal, if need be. "Brief boxing stint in my twenties. A couple of thugs tried to rob me on my way home. Showed them what they were looking for."

Randall, to Hob's disgust, had dragged his pet to sit over his crotch area and was grinding against the man's ass. "How did you kill them?" he asks breathlessly.

Hob looks straight into Randall's eyes as he says his next words. "One of them got his head bashed against a wall. The other's head I cut off using the door of a closet that someone had thrown away."

Randall moans and continues dry humping his pet. Hob does not look away or make a face, but he makes a note to make the fucker's death slow and painful. Have him bleed for hours, maybe.

"Creative," Mrs. Chu says. Her dress made her look like a glittering red insect. "And have you ever went to jail?"

Hob smiles at her. "No, ma'am. And I never sent anyone to jail either. Why let them live for years when you can take their lives away yourself? I'm not one to deprive myself of the thrill of killing."

"Good," Roderick says approvingly. "Very good. I think you're exactly what we're looking for, Mr. Gadlen." Then, unexpectedly, "All in favor of him joining us?"

As it turns out, not everyone was on board. Mr. Melendez, the bruiser type, sitting on Mr. Wallace's left and partially covered by the man's bulk, and who has mostly been keeping silent this whole time, is very much against Hob joining the Burgess family right this second.

He threw his cards on the table, slammed his fist against the table's surface, and made the chips rattle and neatly stacked chip columns fall.

Roderick looks impassively at the man, visibly angered by his previously perfectly arranged chips now a disorganized mess in front of him. "Is there a problem, Federico?"

"A problem?" Federico Melendez repeats. "The problem, Mr. Burgess, is you letting a whelp join the family out of the blue when I had to wait for years to be given an invitation. And have I not proven myself to be better than him? Am I to be replaced?"

"I remember your initiation," Randall sneers at him. "The fact that you took too long to finish only means that you are, deep down, just another weak-willed piece of trash."

This is new information, evidenced by how Dream frantically taps, 'Initiation?' against Hob's thigh.

'IDK,' Hob taps quickly. Hopefully Dream knows what that means.

"Why you snivelling brat--"

"Enough," Roderick says, and looks to Hob. "Mr. Gadlen. Kill this man and you will be considered for our initiation."

As Mr. Melendez rages at Roderick's words this time, Hob squeezes Dream's shoulder. 'Continue?'

Dream hesitates, then squeezes Hob's ankle once. 'Yes.'

Hob smiles grimly, but gamely stands up. "Sure," he says. "I don't know what initiation you're all talking about, but I'm always down to fight someone to the death." To Mr. Melendez, whose first name Hob just learned a minute ago, he says, "Sorry, man, but you heard the boss."

--

Hob makes quick work of it, and was nauseated to see that, upon turning away from the bloody pulp that had been Mr. Melendez, he is greeted with the sight of everyone at the table in various states of undress, all of them in compromising positions with their pets.

Thankfully, Dream is left to sit and wait for him. If anyone had tried to touch him, Hob knows he'd start shooting every sick bastard in the room regardless of Dream's lack of command.

"Excellent job, Mr. Gadlen," Roderick says from his seat, which has been pushed back to allow Agent Cripps to service him. Hob's trigger finger twitches, but he does not look away. "And what artistry. We've never seen a man so beautifully murdered."

"Never," Mr. Wallace agrees. His pet, an androgynous smoke being, is facing Hob enough that he can see their dark misty tears falling down their face.

"Now he has to go through the initiation, Father," Randall begs. His own pet is bent over, head low on the ground but fists clenched.

"Please, Roderick," Mrs. Chu says. "He will make a good replacement for Federico." Hob cannot see her pet, which he had noticed earlier was some type of dragonoid being, but that's probably for the better.

Mr. Melendez's pet, meanwhile, is currently cowering in the corner of the room. They look to be an anemone-like creature, and had curled in on themselves every time Hob landed a hit on their now deceased owner, implying that Mr. Melendez had been physically hurting them when he was still alive.

Hob bites the insides of his cheek to keep from screaming.

Soon, he tells himself. Soon, I'll rid the world of their slavers.

"Everyone in agreement?" Roderick asks the room at large.

A chorus of 'aye's were heard, and Roderick inclines his head like a benevolent god. "Then we shall commence the initiation."

"What about the game?" Hob asks as he sits back on his chair. What? He's really looking forward to stealing everyone's money (with Dream's help), and using it to fund the therapy bills of every half-other currently in Fawney Rig.

"We can continue after," Roderick assures him. "Now. The initiation."

Hob waits. He could feel Dream put his hands back on him again, ready to signal him. He places his own hand on Dream's shoulder.

"It's nothing nefarious," Roderick says, which just makes Hob certain that it absolutely is. "You need only to fornicate with your pet in front of us, orgasm, and you will be considered as one of us."

Hob stops breathing.

He's pretty sure Dream has stopped breathing as well.

But everyone was looking at him, and not at Dream at the moment, and he has to focus. "What's the catch?" he asks, feeling his heart beating against his throat. He cannot. He will not take Dream against his will.

"No catch," Mrs. Chu tells him. "But we do want a show."

"It's been a while since we've seen a good show," Mr. Wallace agrees. "Not since Randall, I believe?"

Randall laughs. "Yeah. Alex was so pathetic I had to take his pet from him." He shakes his pet's shoulder roughly. "Isn't that right, Paul?"

His pet, Paul, starts crying, and on the ground below him where his tears fell, flowers start to bloom.

Jesus Christ. Hob really is looking forward to killing every single one of them.

"Well, Mr. Gadlen?" Roderick says. "Will you give us a show?"

Hob is sure they'll kill him if he says no. He doesn't need Dream squeezing his ankle once for 'yes' to know that. But still.

'Continue?' he asks Dream.

A harder single squeeze, and he can almost hear the accompanying thought that goes with it. 'Yes, you bloody idiot!'

"Yeah, alright," Hob says. He sure fucking hope Dream knows what he's doing. "Up you get, baby."

--

Unbeknownst to Hob, Dream had secretly been communicating with Agent Cripps throughout the night. Ethel's long forked tail had been tapping Morse Code against Dream's foot under the table the entire time, and most of the information she gave him he had relayed to Hob.

Dream glances at Ethel now, and sees the fiery determination in her eyes. As Hob lifts him up on the table, Ethel gives him the tiniest of nods, and Dream immediately pinches Hob's arm hard.

The signal to wreak havoc.

A split second later, Dream has dived under the table as both Ethel and Hob draw their guns and kill the most important members of the Burgess family.

It barely lasted a minute.

--

"Thank you," Ethel says, as the three of them stand in front of the towering inferno that used to be Fawney Rig.

As soon as the last body hit the ground, Ethel had told the androgynous smoke being to teleport Hob into the remaining advisors' rooms, and Hob had done his duty and helped free those two advisors' pets as well.

And when every innocent party is safely outside, Mrs. Chu's half-dragon pet had set the mansion ablaze.

"Don't mention it," Hob tells her. Dream was a little off to the side, making phone calls to rescue personnel, while a group of a dozen or more half-other beings watch as Fawney Rig burns. Most of them were crying and holding on to each other. Hob was glad he managed to get a bunch of blankets so they could wrap themselves in it.

"No, seriously, thank you," Ethel insists. "I felt like I was going insane back there, and I hated every second that I exposed the two of you to their vile world."

"You can say that again," Hob mutters. "Christ. So Randall killed his own brother?"

Ethel looks around and steps closer to Hob. "No," she says in a low voice. "He made Paul do it. He used to be Alex's companion, but...well... It's one thing to dote on a pet and another to love them."

From within the group of half-others, Hob could see Paul with tear streaks on his face and flowers at his feet, holding onto Mrs. Chu's half-dragonoid who, Hob can see now, has a large acid burn on one side of his face.

Now, Hob never goes back to saying old curse words, but he feels like this is an appropriate time for one. "God's fucking wounds."

At this point, Dream joins them. For some reason, he steps closer to Hob than he normally would. When Hob steps back, Dream steps even closer, and gives Hob the stink-eye while doing it.

Hob doesn't know what the fuck his problem is, but he's too tired to think right now. Let Dream be weird. All he wants is to get back to headquarters and maybe eat some fries and drink a chocolate milkshake.

"Thank you for the rescue, Mr. Endless," Ethel tells Dream. For some reason, she has stepped back from Hob.

Great. Two half-others being weird.

"You are welcome," Dream says. Then, in a more gentle voice, "Will you be keeping the baby?"

"Oh, yes," Ethel says, determined. "I really want to have a baby, but I was told decades ago by The Agency doctors that I would have a hard time getting pregnant. Now that it happened, though..." She laughs, and it only sounds a little bit broken. "My child will know exactly what their father was, but I will teach them to be better. I might have hated everything I witnessed while being the elder Burgess's pet, but I'm proud of myself for managing to survive."

"Are you kidding?" Hob says incredulously. "Agent Cripps, you're a fucking badass. I was in there for six hours tops and I want to drink a gallon of brain bleach. And you lasted for years? Comic book superheroes have nothing on you. You're an actual goddess. I present thee pregnant people food at the foot of your temple."

"Stop flirting with a pregnant woman," Dream snipes beside him as Ethel laughs. It sounded lighter than her previous laugh, though, which had been Hob's goal all along.

"He wouldn't," Ethel tells Dream, her eyes twinkling. "Not when he has you."

"We're not together," Hob says, at the same time Dream says, "He does not have me."

Ethel just smiles at them. "Alright," she says, just as they spot The Agency's helicopters in the distance. "If you say so."

--

As soon as they drop Ethel and the rest of the half-others who had been kept as pets at Fawney Rig in Medical, Hob and Dream, without a single word, walk together towards Death's office.

Her half-phantasm secretary told them she was in, but that she is currently taking a conference call and would therefore be unavailable for at least another half hour. The secretary then told them that she was going to grab a quick midnight lunch from the cafeteria, and if they want, they could wait.

They nodded tiredly at her as she phased through a wall, and immediately slump on the long couch outside Death's office.

Or, to be more accurate, Dream goes to get a couple of hot bottled tea drinks from a nearby vending machine, bonks Hob's head with one of the bottles to make him take it, and drops gracefully beside him.

Hob, on the other hand, just straight up sits down, exhausted, and slouches like a drunk starfish, his head resting on the wall behind the couch.

As soon as he felt the warm bottle hit him gently on the forehead, he automatically grabs it, then turns his head a little to look at Dream sitting beside him.

He looks tired as well. It had been a draining, two-week long mission, and Hob doesn't think he looks any better himself.

"Do you need aftercare or something?" he asks, because they still may not like each other, but Hob has always been a caring person. And if Dream doesn't like it, then he can suck his dick. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

"Why, are you offering?" Dream asks. It's a testament to how tired he was that his words don't hold the usual sting in them.

Hob grins, unable to stop the fond feelings blooming in his gut and equally unable to stop the fondness from showing on his face. Fawney Rig must have truly driven him nuts. Did he really just think that Dream looks so cute when he's being bitchy?

"Maybe," he says, and Dream catches him with a smile on his face. Dammit. "Why, you wanna cuddle?"

Jesus, Gadling. Get a grip and stop running your mouth.

Dream wheezes. He sounds like a dying goat. "Perhaps," he says. His eyes are twinkling. Hob knows he shouldn't find his laugh endearing, but he does. He probably needs to go to Medical to get his head checked out. Dream gestures to Hob's lap. "May I?"

Hob knows, intellectually, that this is a very dangerous game of chicken they're playing. If they don't stop, Hob is gonna wake up one day with Dream Endless on his bed, lovely in his half-asleep state, Hob with two cups of coffee in his hands (and maybe even an entire breakfast tray heaped with food), and both of them will be wearing wedding rings.

"Sure, go ahead," Hob says, trying to look inviting and possibly only succeeding in looking like a beached jellyfish. "That is, if you're capable of not falling off on your ass."

"You will find," Dream says, as he stands up more elegantly than Hob will ever do in his life, "that I am capable of a great many things." He then plops down unceremoniously on Hob's lap and immediately cuddles up to him.

Despite his words, Hob's arms automatically hold Dream in place to prevent him from falling off. He knows he still smells like blood and gunpowder from earlier, but Dream doesn't seem to mind. "Don't fall asleep on me," he warns Dream.

"Zzzzz," Dream says, like a goddamn bee.

Hob barks out a laugh at that. He's so ridiculous, honestly. Why doesn't he know that? It has literally been centuries since they started working together. He feels like he should know that.

"I hate you," Hob tells him, but his tone is enamored and, strangely enough, having Dream on his lap like this is serving to be a great aftercare for him as well.

"You love me," Dream mumbles, already sounding half-asleep. His knees must be hurting from kneeling most of the night. Hob starts rubbing them gently, but scoffs at Dream's words.

His other hand cards gently through Dream's hair, the motion lulling them both to a deeper, more relaxed state. They're going to have to wake up before Death's secretary comes back, and then debrief with Death. But having Dream in his lap, warm and pliant, feels so good that Hob finds himself closing his eyes as well. "You wish."

--

'I do,' Dream thinks, before he falls asleep completely, feeling safer than he's ever felt in eons.

--

Death finds the two of them curled up together on the couch thirty minutes later, and discreetly takes a picture of the two before gently waking them up.

It's regrettable that they have to debrief when they are obviously exhausted, but the earlier it's done, the clearer their memory is.

Dream and Hob peaceably goes into her office and gives their report, but she does not fail to notice how Hob has yet to let go of Dream's hand upon waking. And more than that, Dream is holding Hob's hand with both of his in his own lap. Both of them seem unaware of this new development between them.

Death hides her smile behind her teacup as she sips some calming tea and allows them to continue giving their report.

--

Bonus:

"Agent Gadling! Do not-- oh, for goodness's sake. If you are incapacitated and captured, I will not hesitate to bench you for a century."

"A century, huh?" Hob's unfairly seductive voice says through the comms. Dream hates it. He always have. And now that Hob knows why he does, he's exploiting Dream's weakness. "You gonna tie me up in bed, too?"

A couple of other tech officers giggle at that. Dream sends a scathing glare towards them, and they quickly scurry away.

"I will tie you next to an anthill."

"Yikes," Hob says cheerfully and ducks behind a wall. "Still not sorry, though. I know you've been wanting to have a petrified pseudodragon egg, so I got you two."

Dream does not swoon. Because that would be undignified.

"You risked capture to get me a couple of petrified pseudodragon eggs," he says in his sternest voice. Not the sexy stern voice that Hob likes, but the I'm-gonna-beat-your-ass-and-send-your-soul-straight-to-Hell voice. He shakes his head. His boyfriend is just so fucking stupid sometimes. "You are aware I cannot simply sit on them to get them to hatch?"

A hail of gunfire interrupts Hob's laughter. Dream watches on the screen, heart in his throat, how Hob evades his pursuers, runs down a garbage-strewn alley, and hitches a ride on a passing delivery truck.

He lets out a breath he doesn't know he's been holding. "I hate you," Dream tells him, so he knows. He must always be reminded.

Hob, through the hidden camera pinned on his lapel, shows Dream the two jet black pseudodragon eggs he got from the villain of the week's evil lair. One of them is pure black, and the other has a line of white running down the middle of its shell. "You love me."

[girlactionfigure]

The victim of the terrorist attack at the Beit Kama junction in southern Israel, a non-commissioned officer in the IDF, succumbed to his wounds earlier today.

He is named as Chief Warrant Officer Uri Moyal, 51, a senior technology and maintenance NCO at the Nahal Brigade's training base, from Dimona.

[akumanoken]

Business post!

Bonjour my friends!! Things have updated so you know what that means!! I am throwing caution to the wind and doing these businesses full time now, but it is nothing without you guy's support. For everyone who has been with me and supported me through this whole ordeal thanks so much it means the world.

Designing Daffodils is now on ko-fi on an official basis!!

https://ko-fi.com/designingdaffodils

Commissions and digital products are available on the page, with more to come as time goes by. This is in junction with my Etsy store that I sell my stickers and bookmarks.

designingdaffodils.etsy.com

I'll say it again, having you guys cheer me on has meant the world. Please do me a favor and even if you can't buy or toss anything my way, to simply share this and get the word out would mean everything.

[gay-little-izzet]

I have a new banner image!

In honor of me opening up commissions again, I decided to make a piece of my phyrexian-sona running a shop on Thunder Junction offering whatever bodily modifications other wanderers might desire. At first glance, the helms on the wall might seem like trophies, but they’re actually just examples of my craft.

I never do stuff with this much of a background, so I’m really happy with how this came out. It was pretty time consuming though, so idk when I’ll do another piece like this. Let me know what y’all think!

A friend of mine made a custom card for me too! Feat. an obligatory reference, because I couldn’t pass it up (or think of anything funnier)

[corroded-void]

First run of a Metrovick Co-Bo on the rail network. This photograph was an official commission.

The date was 7th July 1958.

D5700 ran a controlled test of a 14-coach rake on the steeply graded Wetherby route on a journey from Stockton works to Leeds. It is photographed on its return journey at Wetherby junction.

Just over ten years later, the final few members of the 20-strong Metrovicks would be sidelined.