#so there's no time to fuss over it anyway

[dwaekkicidal]

free use with a frustrated minho <3

wc» 1k

cw» fem!reader, free use, rough sex, slightly mean dom min?, some dirty talk, p in v, multiple creampies, oral (both f and m receiving), 1 mention of shower sex, 1 mention of somno

an» take this minho hard thought that i forgot to post earlier this week as a double post bc the chan.in x reader is fucking 2k words and im still not done yet lol... ><

“This literally never happens. Why did this have to happen?? I practiced this dance for fucking HOURS.” You surprisingly miss your boyfriend's indecipherable mumbles and continue to watch your TV.

Minho walked through the front door less than 5 minutes ago and is still sporting his stage outfit and makeup. He plays the part of some sort of lunatic all too well when he’s pacing back and forth and mumbling incoherent curses to himself. And you already tried asking him what was wrong- all you got in return was ignored as he slammed his keys on the kitchen counter and began this weird manic spell.

But all of this is in the past now. You eventually came to learn that he slipped up on stage today; you learned that all that fuss was because he kept making minor blunders during the recording of their MNET performance. And although it was a recorded thing, something videoed multiple times anyways and not seen live, and he wasn’t the center during these mistakes, he was still pissed.

Minho does not make mistakes very often, so he was upset that he even made one today. But the fact that he managed multiple across the many hours they spent in that god-awful building made his blood boil. But! Luckily for him, he has this very convenient agreement with his beautiful, lovely girlfriend who just so happens to be you.

And this agreement is exactly how he stopped dead in his tracks as he came to this “revelation” an hour after he had arrived at home. It’s also how the oversized shirt of his you were wearing got lifted up to your chest. He didn’t even blink towards the food you were cooking on the stove before he shoved your panties down your legs and slid himself along your already wet folds.

“Dirty girl. Wet when I’ve not even touched you.” He landed a playful smack to your ass and gave you no time to react before he slid into your walls, stretching you out almost painfully. You were thankful that you fingered yourself just before he got home, so the stretch was more tolerable than it would have been if he went in dry.

Minho ignored your pleas of “The food!! It’s gonna burn!” and “Give me one second, babe!” Instead, he wrapped one of those veiny hands around your throat and squeezed as he started moving his hips. He started off nicely, giving you slow, deep strokes. But he quickly found a different pace, one more to his liking.

And that pace included fucking your brains out, pounding you into the cold kitchen counter. If it wasn’t for the refreshing cold of the ceramic, you think your cheek would get some sort of “rug” burn. Well… you can’t really think anything, not when his hips slam into yours so intensely that you can feel your ass stinging from each thrust.

Although he holds you in place, one hand on your head and the other on your hip, he still gives you more than enough chances to actually stop him if it’s what you want. It comes out in the form of dirty talk as he goes on about how good of a hole you’re being for him and how he should “freely use” you more often.

It’s more of a hint to the recent kink you’ve been discussing, but it doesn’t go over your head, so you nod as best as you can. And, even though he’s pissed off and needs to fuck you into every surfance he sees, he’s not mean enough to leave you high and dry. So he lets you cum right as he does.

You’re barely catching your breath after the fact before he’s pulling out and admiring your messy form; your cheek still firmly against the kitchen counter even though his hand is gone. He manages to pull out and watch his cum leak from you before another revelation hits him. One that encourages him to help you step out of your panties before pocketing them and shoving himself back into his shorts.

One that also encourages his next comments along with the pat on the ass he gives you after the words have sunk into your mushy brain. “You don’t need these anymore. Keep cooking, I’ll be back.”

But don’t worry your pretty little head about it!! He won’t be gone for very long. In fact, you’re in the middle of setting the table with dinner when his hands return to your body, folding you in half and grabbing a handful of your hair as he immediately slides himself back into your walls.

The only “reward” you get is his groans of happiness as he fucks your brains out again, making sure not to leave out the comments here and there about how, “You’re such a good fucktoy. Letting me fuck you whenever and wherever I want.”

And he’s not done there, oh nooo. He’s still fuming about those slip ups from earlier. Now, at this point can he remember exactly what mistakes he made? No. Will that stop him from using you as his personal stress reliever? Absolutely not. So you should expect to be fucked into every and any surface.

So when he disappears to clean up after dinner and you’re returned to your TV for entertainment, he’s gonna walk up nonverbal and drop to his knees. Then, your legs will be lifted from the floor and he’s gonna shove his head between your bare legs, eating you out and even fighting back when you push his head away from you in overstimulation.

Oh and when you’re showering later that night and you let your guard down for a split second to wash yourself off, he’s slipping into the shower and forcing you down to your knees. He’ll get his fill from using your mouth, his favorite fleshlight, and walk out completely soaked like nothing happened.

You may or may not be overstimulated and sensitive to touch by the time you’re laying in bed, and you’ll be lucky if that stops him from taking you one final time. You’re also lucky if he’s mad enough to let it sink into the next day. If he is, he’ll go as far as to repeat positions/situations from the previous day.

Oh but don’t be mistaken! All of that isn’t happening until after he’s waking you up with a nice, warm, homemade filling.

[therealcocoshady]

Prank gone wrong

A/N : I recently saw this reel in which someone gives a baby a fake knife and family members freak out and I thought to myself « OMG that would have been such a great idea for that Knife Play Kinktober prompt » 👀. Anyway… I couldn’t resist using it for some Marshall and Lily cute moment 😅. I hope you like it ! ✨💕

It was one of those rare, quiet mornings when Marshall had the house to himself with Lily while you were out with some friends, trying on wedding dresses. The wedding was fast approaching but you had yet to find the gown of your dreams. You had been overwhelmed with the wedding preparations, work and Lily. Your fiancé had offered to look after Lily so that she’d be out of your hair and you could enjoy a relaxing day to yourself. The air was filled with that kind of calm that came with slow sips of coffee, the distant sound of cartoons playing, and Lily’s soft babbling as she toddled around the living room.

Stevie, however, had other plans. When Marshall had introduced you and Lily to her, she had been quite wary but, recently, she had been warming up to Lily a little more. She seemed to find her new little sister’s endless curiosity both annoying and adorable. And, being a typical teenager with a bit of a mischievous streak, she saw a golden opportunity for a prank that would be, as she put it, “hilarious.” So, while Marshall was engrossed in his coffee and a half-hearted attempt to read the morning news, Stevie slipped into the living room, handing Lily something she’d picked up from a novelty shop for some artistic project—a realistic-looking toy knife with a shiny, dull plastic blade that looked disturbingly real at first glance.

With a wide grin, Stevie watched as Lily took the “knife” with both hands, her little eyes lighting up as if she’d just been given the most interesting toy in the world. She toddled into the kitchen, clutching it, her innocent little face beaming as she approached Marshall. When he looked up and saw her holding what looked like a real knife, his heart stopped. “Lily!” he yelped, practically leaping out of his chair, his coffee spilling all over the table as he scrambled to reach her. His face went pale, his mind racing through all the worst possibilities as he lunged forward, carefully taking the “knife” from her tiny hands. Lily blinked up at him, her face full of confusion as she tilted her head, clearly not understanding what all the fuss was about. “Daddy?” she mumbled, her small voice soft and questioning.

Marshall took a deep breath, clutching the toy knife in his hand as he turned and saw Stevie standing in the doorway, grinning from ear to ear. His face tightened, and a flash of anger crossed his eyes. “Stevie,” he said, his voice low and controlled but unmistakably stern, “what on earth were you thinking?” Stevie’s grin faltered slightly, but she shrugged, trying to play it off. “Relax, Dad. It’s just a toy. I thought it’d be funny.” Marshall clenched his jaw, his gaze fixed on her. “Funny? You think it’s funny to give your little sister something that looks like a real knife? Do you have any idea how dangerous that could be, or how it could have freaked her out?” Stevie rolled her eyes, crossing her arms defensively. “It’s not like she was really in danger! I was right here the whole time.”

Marshall took a deep breath, fighting to keep his cool, but his voice was still firm. “Stevie, she’s two. She doesn’t understand the difference between a toy and something that could hurt her. And you know better than to mess around like that.” As his voice rose, Lily’s lip began to tremble, her big eyes filling with tears as she looked up at him, clearly distressed by the sudden tension. She toddled over to Stevie, clutching her sister’s leg and looking up at Marshall with pleading eyes. “Daddy, no!” she whimpered, her voice breaking as she tried to shield her sister.

Marshall’s anger softened instantly as he saw the look on Lily’s face. Her small hands were gripping Stevie’s pants tightly, her little face scrunched up as if she was about to burst into tears. She didn’t understand what was happening, only that her dad was upset with her sister, and that was something she couldn’t bear. Marshall took a deep breath, letting the anger slip away as he knelt down, reaching out to gently pull Lily into his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her small body shaking as she let out a heart-wrenching sob, clinging to him as if to make him stop yelling. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, Lil,” he whispered, his voice full of regret as he rubbed her back gently. “I’m not mad at you, sweetheart. I’m sorry if I scared you. Daddy just got a little worried, that’s all.” Lily sniffled, her head resting against his shoulder as she peeked over at Stevie, her small face still damp with tears. “Daddy… not mat at Stevie,” she mumbled, her voice muffled but full of sincerity.

Marshall felt his heart soften, his frustration melting away as he looked at both of them. Here was his little girl, protecting her big sister, even when she didn’t understand why he’d been upset. He glanced over at Stevie, who looked down, clearly a bit guilty but trying to mask it behind a casual shrug. “Alright,” Marshall said, sighing as he reached out and gently ruffled Stevie’s hair. “I’m not mad anymore. But, Stevie, just… be careful with the jokes, okay? I get it—it was meant to be funny. But let’s keep the pranks a little less, uh, heart-stopping?” Stevie nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips as she reached out, giving Lily’s hand a little squeeze. “Got it, Dad. Sorry about that,” she said, her tone softened with genuine regret.

Lily, sensing the tension was gone, brightened up immediately. She looked up at Stevie, her tears already forgotten as she gave her sister a big, toothy smile, as if nothing had happened at all. Marshall held her close, feeling a mixture of gratitude and affection. Watching Lily defend her sister, even in her tiny way, reminded him of just how much she adored Stevie, even if their bond had been a bit rocky at first. Stevie hadn’t been Lily’s biggest fan in the beginning, but now, it was clear that they’d formed something special, something that only siblings could share. As he sat down on the couch with Lily still snuggled in his arms, Stevie plopped down next to them, giving her dad a small, teasing smile. “You’ve gotta admit, though, Dad, your face was priceless.” Marshall chuckled, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. But don’t think I’m letting you off the hook that easy.”

[pandapetals]

Pampering

You take care of Logan.

professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - established relationship (y'all married), cute, fluff, teasing, no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor - imagine days of future past logan with the white streaks in his hair

read on ao3 or find more parts for the series: here

Logan didn’t get sick. His healing factor made sure of that. In fact, he was practically immune to just about everything. Which was why it was nearly impossible for you to fuss over him. He’d been the one to take care of you plenty of times—carrying you to bed when you were too exhausted to move or making you soup when you were under the weather. But when he staggered in after his latest mission, blood staining his suit and a limp in his step, you decided it was your turn to play nurse.

"I’m fine," Logan grumbled, his hand pressed to his lower back as he tried to shake off the obvious discomfort. "Just need to lie down."

You crossed your arms, fixing him with a stern look. "You don’t look fine," you replied, glancing pointedly at the gash on his shoulder and the streak of dried blood running down his leg. "You look like you tried to fight a lawnmower and lost."

Logan huffed, a hint of his usual stubbornness flashing in his eyes. "It’s just a scratch, darlin’," he said, attempting to brush past you. But the wince that escaped his lips betrayed him, and he immediately regretted it when he saw the determined look on your face.

"Oh no, you don’t," you shot back, stepping in front of him and placing a hand on his chest to halt his progress. "You’re going straight to the bathroom, or so help me, I’ll drag you in there myself."

Logan raised an eyebrow at your tone—more serious than he was used to. "I don’t think you could, sweetheart," he said, trying to add a bit of his usual gruffness to soften the moment. "But I’d like to see you try."

You narrowed your eyes at him, your hands planted on your hips. "Don’t test me, Logan," you warned, your voice firm but gentle. "Get your stubborn butt in the bathroom. Now."

Logan let out a defeated sigh, but there was a flicker of amusement in his gaze as he finally relented. "Alright, alright," he grunted. "Guess I’m not in the mood to be dragged, anyway."

As you guided him into the bathroom, Logan grumbled under his breath, but you could see the exhaustion in his eyes, the way his shoulders slumped just a bit now that he wasn’t putting on a show. You turned on the tap, letting the warm water fill the tub, steam rising up to fog the mirror.

"Get in," you ordered softly, turning back to face him. "You need to soak. It'll help with the soreness."

Logan gave you a skeptical look but started to strip off his tattered suit anyway, his movements stiff and slow. He climbed into the tub, the hot water hitting his skin and making him flinch before he sank down with a low, relieved groan. The tension in his shoulders seemed to melt almost immediately, his head leaning back against the edge.

You knelt beside the tub, grabbed a washcloth, and dipped it into the water. "You know, I don’t get to take care of you very often," you said, your tone softening as you gently ran the cloth over his chest, washing away the dried blood and grime. "It’s kind of nice… me being the one to fuss over you for a change."

Logan grunted, his eyes half-lidded as he watched you through the steam. "I ain’t used to all this pamperin’," he mumbled, though his voice lacked its usual gruffness. "Not sure how I feel about it."

You dabbed at a cut on his shoulder, your touch tender and slow. "Well, get used to it," you said, a smile tugging at your lips. "Because I’m not stopping until I’m sure you’re in one piece again."

He huffed softly, but there was a warmth in his gaze that hadn’t been there a moment ago. "You’re wastin’ your time," he murmured, though he leaned into your touch as you wiped away another streak of dried blood. "You know I’ll be patched up in no time."

"I know," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper as you worked your way down his arm, tracing the muscles there with the cloth. "But until then, I’m going to make sure you feel as good as new." You dipped the cloth in the water again and brushed it over his face, smoothing the tension lines from his brow. "Besides," you added with a smirk, "you look kind of cute when you’re not scowling."

Logan’s lips twitched into a faint smile, his eyes softening as they met yours. "Cute, huh?" he muttered, his voice low and rumbling. "Ain’t exactly what I’m goin’ for."

You chuckled, leaning in a little closer as you squeezed the water out of the washcloth over his shoulder. "Well, you’re just going to have to live with it," you teased, "because I’m calling the shots tonight."

He closed his eyes for a moment, his hand reaching out of the water to find yours. "Guess I could let you win this one," he said, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. "But don’t get used to it."

"Oh, believe me, I won’t," you replied with a grin, leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead. "This is a rare occurrence, and I’m going to enjoy every minute of it."

You continued to wash him as Logan’s grumbles softened into contented silence. He sank deeper into the tub, his body relaxing under your care, and the hint of a smile never left his lips. It wasn’t often that he let his guard down like this, and you couldn’t help but feel a quiet satisfaction at the sight of him—finally letting someone take care of him, if only for a little while.

As you traced the washcloth gently over his arm again, you felt his hand tighten around yours just slightly, like a silent thank you. It was enough to tell you that even if Logan wasn’t good at admitting he needed this, he was grateful to have you there—looking after him in the way that only you could.

[mika-no-sekai-blog]

Unforgivable (sins)

Word count: +3500

Warnings: torturing, fighting, mentions of blood and wounds, cursing

@azrielappreciationweek Day 1: Cool Quiet It's quite dark story about few aspects of Azriel's job and it's impact on him Dividers by @tsunami-of-tears

In the blink of an eye, a day turned into a night, heavy dark clouds swallowed all the sun rays of early afternoon. Warm southern breeze carried smell of rain and a thunder rumbled in the distance. All vendors as one man began packing their stalls with precious goods before sudden summer downpour would start. The market was over anyway, as all potential customers ran away looking for a shelter.

Azriel hovered in the shadows of a narrow alley, watching the fuss before him. Wings tugged in tightly, face an emotionless mask. He was tense. His hazel eyes were scanning over the faces, recognizing the familiar ones that showed up daily here. It seemed that today he wouldn't have any luck again.

The last week he spent standing on a guard at this market, looking for a group of bandits who kidnapped dozens of lesser faeries, humans and children, selling them to the continent. After weeks of searching and spying he got here, to the main square in the main city of Day Court. It seemed that a significant number of victims disappeared at this location.

Helion gladly shared with him all information he had about missing ones. His best guards were also actively helping with investigation - currently on guard like Azriel, hidden all around the enormous space of the marketplace.

Azriel was about to call it off for today when he noticed something suspicious. A lesser faerie male was eyeing people around him as if he was estimating them, deciding who could be an easy target.

Azriel straightened up, his chest heaving with adrenalin. Could it be what he was looking for for so long?

The shadows swirled up his arms, gathering around his ear, whispering their secrets. Azriel nodded. "Follow him," he ordered quietly.

All of a sudden the male's gaze moved to the other side of the market where one of Helion's guards was checking the leaving wagon. A muscle ticked along his jaw and he pivoted, heading in the opposite direction. He was so preoccupied with getting out of there as quickly as possible, that he didn't even notice the tentacles of shadows, a pinch darker and thicker than the rest, floating like a cloak of fog behind him.

Azriel didn't waste time and followed after him, sneaking in the shadows. Now he was really grateful for coming storm. The Day Court was too bright for him and his special powers.

He followed the male for a good half of hour, hoping he would lead him to their nest or at least to his accomplices. Azriel was a patient male, he wasn't in a hurry.

The male turned around, making sure nobody was tailing him. In last second Azriel pushed his body against the wall, completely blending in with the shadows. He watched the male disappear around the corner and rushed to the place, treading quietly like a cat. Carefully, he peeked around the corner, finding the narrow street completely empty. He cursed under his breath and stepped out of his hiding place. He quietly paced down the street, looking for another exit.

It was a dead end with no other turnings. He didn't find any doors nor windows, no ladders or sewer covers, only a trash container. He lifted the lid and looked inside. The guff of unpleasant smell stung in his nose and he again closed it with disgust. It was full of rotting vegetables and fish from the restaurant at the other end of the street.

Azriel examined the walls, randomly touching bricks, looking for a secret entrance to no avail. He sighed with disappointment. He was so close.

The shadows brushed his shoulder with their cold touch, whispering their reassurance. They were right. Now he knew the face to look for and the rest of shadows was still tracing the male. They would report back to him sooner or later.

With another heavy sigh he dashed to the sky, heading to the inn he was staying in. At the same moment, the heaven tore up and it started to pour.

Later that night, the rest of his shadows returned.

"We followed him. There's a secret entrance on that street. It seems to open only to selected ones. They have a hideaway under the city. They hold there victims until they transport them to another place."

The shadows whispered in their quiet hissing voices what they found out. Azriel listened them closely, memorising new information. He had a slight headache and was tired and cold which was most likely caused by the storm he flew through on his way back. A few shadows pushed their way under the door.

"The bath is ready, lonely boy. You need to warm up."

They always took a good care of him ever since he lived locked away at that dark place as a child. Azriel shook his head, shaking off the unpleasant memory. He didn't want to think about that right now. He needed to focus.

He walked into the bathroom and sighed heavily at the sight of a small bathtub that definitely wasn't designed to accommodate Illyrian wings. He wished he was already back home where he could stretch out his wings and wash them properly. He peeled off still wet leathers and hissing he slipped into the hot water. His body warmed up in no time and as his muscles relaxed, the headache eased a bit too.

Azriel dipped his scarred hands in the water. They hurt like hell most of the day. Because of that he knew about the coming storm long before anyone else even noticed the first dark clouds. When the subtle muscle twitching stopped, he curled fingers into a fist and then stretched them out. He repeated the movement until the stiffness disappeared. It was something that Madja, the Night Court's healer, taught him when she noticed the troubles and pain he tried to hid from others.

Meanwhile, shadows hung the leathers to dry out and brought in comfy clothes for night.

"You should drink a tea, lonely boy. The one for headache that friends gave you."

"I don't need it," he mumbled back. "It just makes me sleepy."

"Good night rest isn't bad idea."

He narrowed eyes at swirling shadows.

"Tomorrow is going to be a hard day. You will need a lot of energy."

"Why? What's going to happen tomorrow?"

"You will see."

With that they flew back to the bedroom.

Azriel groaned. Those little things were very useful and loved to talk. Sometimes too much and mostly about unimportant stuff. Thanks to them there were no secrets he wouldn't know about. However, for some reason they knew more than they willed to tell and in situations like this, they only threw him a bone and ran away, leaving him to figure things out on his own when the right time came. He hated it. He preferred to be prepared, so nothing could surprise him.

After the bath they made him to drink the tea and he immediately fell asleep. After the five hours of good sleep he woke up at sunrise. The headache was completely gone and he was ready and full of energy.

The plan for the day was simple. Since he saw the face he needed, he knew who to look for. He planned to hide at the market again and wait. As soon as the bastard would appear, he would capture him and take him to the cells under the Hewn city.

Dressed in dried leathers, Azriel ate small breakfast of bread with butter and headed out for a flight. He still had a couple of hours before the market would open, so he decided to use the time to stretch out his wings and to enjoy himself. He made several laps above the slowly waking up city, watching mostly empty streets. At this hour, the already hot air was filled with the smell of freshly baked baker's ware and freshly caught fish.

He was flying above the river that flowed through the city, when on one of the many bridges he noticed him, the male from the other day. He casually crossed the river with hands in the pockets and headed deeper into the city. Azriel didn't waste a time and followed him, flying high above the streets, unnoticed.

The male seemed to be on a morning stroll, aimlessly passing street after street. Then Azriel noticed young female few meters ahead. She seemed to be in hurry, probably on her way to work. The male followed her for a while, keeping the distance until they got to the empty side street. That's where he closed the distance between them.

He reached out to catch female's arm, handkerchief with a sleeping drug already prepared in the other hand. Before he could touch the female, a strong arm wrapped around his neck. Azriel immediately pulled him into the alley before anyone could notice them. The male was trying to fight him off, but he didn't make a single sound, not wanting to draw attention to them.

The male was clawing on his forearm, but he couldn't get through the leathers. He lifted a leg and kicked Azriel into a knee, taking him by surprise. Azriel loosened his grip for a second, but it was enough for the male to slip under his arm. He didn't run away though, instead he took out a dagger.

"Who are you?" he hissed, pointing the dagger at Azriel's chest.

"Your nightmare," Azriel bared his teeth. He felt the weight of his favourite dagger at his thigh, but he didn't reach for it. He didn't need it. He was able to take such bastard down with bare hands.

The male's eyes widened and he started forward. Azriel easily avoided the blade and his fist met with the male's side. The male groaned and turned around, again attacking. Azriel easily dodged every lunge, but he couldn't get any closer to him to punch him. They danced around each other like this for a while, without wounding the opponent.

Now Azriel understood why shadows insisted that he needed good rest. The sun was slowly climbing the sky and the temperature rose sharply. Soon both of them were heaving, covered in sweat.

Azriel needed to finish this before they would attract unwanted attention. He noticed the handkerchief that the male dropped and during one of the lunges he picked it up unnoticed. He caught male's hand with dagger and smashed it to the wall with such force that he felt bones breaking. The male shrieked in pain and dropped the dagger. Azriel took advantage of the situation, pushed him against the wall with his body and put a handkerchief to his nose. The male fought back, but his movements were getting slower and weaker with every second. At last, he went limp.

Azriel took a step back, letting the body fall down to the dirt. Heaving heavily he wiped the sweat from his forehead. Now he could tick off the morning training from the list. The shadows crept up the wall with a rope in their grasp.

"We told you that you will need a lot of energy, didn't we."

"You could also have told me why. It wouldn't hurt to know," he mumbled. Azriel took the rope and tied up the unconscious male.

"That would kill all the fun."

"Take him to the cell," he ordered them. Shadows gathered around the body and disappeared with it.

Azriel dusted off his clothes and headed to the Palace to let Helion know that he got what he needed. Then he returned to the inn, packed his things and winnowed to his room in the Hewn city. The sleeping drug seemed to be quite strong, so he used the time to take a proper bath and eat.

Refreshed, he descended into the dungeon below the city, his chest growing heavier with every step he took. That dark place that reeked of fear, blood, sweat, rot and piss, was his kingdom where he ruled. Without his permission nobody could get in and definitely nobody could get out. Only he knew what was hidden down there, he was the only one who knew every dark corner and tunnel there.

He couldn't count how many hours he spent down there, but he exactly knew the number of people who never returned from those places. He remembered every single face and every wound he inflicted on them until they exhaled for the last time. He couldn't forget that even if he wanted to. No matter how many times he washed, the blood of his victims stained his hands permanently. However, no one seemed to see it, only he.

He checked the Truth-Teller at his thigh before he entered the cell, making sure his face was as expressionless as usual.

The cell was quite cold regardless of the season, puffs of steam came from his mouth as he closed door. The male sat tied in the chair in the middle of the room, still unconscious. The hand that Azriel crushed, was swollen and black, small fragments of bones penetrating the tissue. There was no doubt that when untreated, soon an infection would spread from it to the rest of the body and kill the male. Not even their healing could fix such damage. He already had fever as shadows informed him. Azriel needed to keep him alive as long as possible to obtain all information he wanted though.

The shadows held male's head up and Azriel punched him. It worked at the first try and groaning male opened eyes. He looked around, drowsy.

"Where am I?"

"I'm the one asking the questions here," Azriel answered coldly. "What's your name?"

"Go to hell," male spat.

"You probably don't understand the situation you are in," Azriel nonchalantly leaned against the table with different torture devices spread on it, all polished and ready to use. A small favour of the shadows.

"If I ask you something, you will answer. If you don't, I'll punish you. If you lie and you can be sure I know when you lie, I'll punish you." Azriel eyed the devices, his long fingers caressing them. "You can resist as long as you want, I have a plenty of time. But by the time I'm done with you, I'll have all the answers I want. Is that clear enough?"

"Fuck you!"

If only they made it a bit easier for him and cooperated for once. He would see to it that their death was quick and painless. Azriel turned his back to the male before he could notice anything, his insides twisting. He clenched teeth, locking the remains of his soul out of his body. Becoming an empty shell, he got to work.

"Very well then," Azriel sighed and picked up device for cutting off fingers. "Should we start with this?" Then he picked up pliers. "Or with this?"

"W-what do you want to do with that?" male stuttered, visibly paler.

"Well," Azriel turned to him. "This one is for pulling out nails. And this one for cutting off joints of fingers. One by one."

"Y-you can't do that!"

"But I can and I will, if you don't start singing." Azriel held up the pliers so the male could see the device and put the other one back on the table. "I think, I'll start with this one first."

The shadows swirled up his arm, wrapping around the pliers and took them from him. "Look! They'd like to try it out."

Male started to shook head, trying to get as far from the device as possible.

"Your name!"

Shrieking bounced from stone walls. Azriel forced himself to stay calm, to watch it. But internally he was wincing and screaming, his stomach was turning up side down. This was his job, protecting his court and faeries who lived there was his responsibility. This creature was kidnapping the innocent faeries, selling them as slaves, as toys. He deserved much worse than this, yet Azriel couldn't help it and felt bad for doing it.

Several hours later, Azriel was dragging himself up the stairs to his room. He was so exhausted, physically as well as mentally, and so disgusted with himself that he needed to stick to the walls to stay upright. His shadows stayed behind, cleaning up the mess and remains of body. At last, he got all answers he needed, but at what price? His hands were once again coated in blood, scarlet stains covering also his clothes and boots. On his way, Azriel was leaving bloody tracks.

He pushed the door of his room open, big print of his hand staining the wood. He immediately headed to the bathroom, emptied his stomach and wiping his mouth on the sleeve, he turned on the hot water in the shower. The steam filled the room. Without taking his clothes off, he stepped into the stream, hissing when too hot water burnt his skin. From the shelf he took brush and started to clean his hands. There was blood everywhere, even under his nails. The water cleared up and again turned red. Azriel scrubbed his hands so hard that he drew his own blood and he continued until he couldn't hold the brush anymore. The wet brush slipped from between his fingers and with a loud bang fell on the tiles. Azriel followed it. Falling to his knees, he sobbed while watching his trembling bleeding hands.

That's how the shadows found him. They stopped the water and wrapped around the drenched and still quietly sobbing Azriel, caressing his back and arms.

It took him some time to calm down enough to take off the wet clothes. The shadows wrapped him in soft towel and pushed him toward the bed where cup of tea was waiting for him. He climbed to the bed and curled up under the blanket.

Behind the windows cold wind was dancing, carrying snow from the mountain peak. Azriel was watching it, shivering from the cold while all the wounds gradually healed, but he wouldn't put on any clothes nor take another blanket. He had done another unforgivable thing and that was his punishment.

At this point he was already calm, slowly breathing in and out. Despite of being tired he couldn't sleep. As soon as he closed eyes, he heard cries of pain and saw pieces of body on the floor. And blood. So much blood that he felt again sick.

After several hours he dragged himself from the bed and got dressed. He felt like an empty shell, utterly spent, but he had to go. Rhysand and his wife expected him for the family dinner and he needed to put it together before facing them.

The shadows followed him, worried.

Azriel winnowed to Velaris, straight to the busiest street full of shops and market stalls. He strolled through the crowd, half hidden in the darkness that followed him on every step. He felt like ghost, like he was there but wasn't. All the happy voices and laughter around him sounded so distant to his ears. He watched lovers whispering sweet words to each other, families with bright smiles returning home, vendors chatting merrily with customers. Everyone passed him without the second glance. Azriel sighed, wishing he could be like them - walking through his life with ease and without affecting the lives of others.

When he couldn't take it anymore, he headed to less busy side street and stepped into his favourite bookstore. The smell of books and ink enveloped him like a warm blanket, the silence caressed his tortured soul and he could finally relax. Tugging his wings closer, he slowly moved down the aisle, scanning titles of books. He was so immersed into his thoughts that he didn't notice small female who was passing by. His wing collided with her arm and the books she carried flew from her hands.

"My apologies," he mumbled and started to pick them up.

"No, I am sorry. I should have looked where I'm going," she smiled nervously, helping him. He handed her books and helped her stand up.

"Are you alright?"

"Perfectly fine," she tugged books to her chest.

He finally noticed the titles in her arms and small smile twisted corners of his mouth. "It's interesting choice."

"Have you read them?"

"Just some of them," he shrugged, not sure what else to say.

The female tucked a lock of hair behind her pointy ear, shyly looking to the side.

"So... uhm.. I'm sorry. I'd love to chat with you, but I have to go. I'm already late for the dinner I'm invited to. I always loose track of time here."

Azriel chuckled. "It's understandable. I feel the same way."

Female smiled amused, waved him goodbye and headed to cashier, checking the time on the big clock behind the counter. Azriel watched her until she left, running down the street. She must have been in a real hurry.

He strolled through the store for few more minutes. He picked out one book he hadn't read yet, paid for it and took to the sky, heading to Rhysand's house and the dinner he was supposed to be at.

[pixeldistractions]

warnings: a buxom bathing suit and some saucy banter, spice level 2/5 🌶️🌶️ additional spice linked elsewhere

They came home late from the adventure park, all three of them well exercised and well fed. Johanna was so exhausted she fell asleep right away with no fuss.

“That was fun,” Maria said. “I like it there. I like your friends.”

“It was fun. But… I was so focused on the wall, I didn’t get to see you in your new bathing suit.”

“Oh, no! That’s tragic,” Maria teased. “It’s a really cute bathing suit.”

“Would you consider putting it back on?”

“Even if it’s wet?”

“Maybe that’s not a bad thing?”

“Hang on.”

Maria left the bedroom to retrieve the wet bathing suit from their beach bag. “Close your eyes,” she said at the door.

She crept into the room, padding softly to the bed on bare feet, trailing a soft hand over his shoulder, bringing her chest to eye-level and whispering, “Okay, now. Well? Is it everything you dreamed of?”

“Oh, you have no idea.”

She giggled. “I’m so cold. You better get your hands on me and warm me up.”

He did as she asked and pulled her body closer.

“They’re so—wow—the bathing suit, I mean.”

“Sure you do.”

“The tie—if I pulled it, would they fall right out?”

“Maybe you should try it and find out.”

She hoped this would never change. After three months together, he still made her feel so adored. Even if he’d seen her naked a hundred times by now, he was just as mindblown as the first time.

And he was absolutely still thinking about those boobies.

“I, um, kind of want to rub my face in them.”

“Just your face? Jordan, you can rub whatever you want on them.”

“Fuuuuck.”

“Wait, I’m sorry. You’re just so beautiful. So soft, so sexy. I always thought so.”

“Hey, you don’t have to charm me, mister. You already have me in bed.”

“I’m not just trying to charm you. I mean, I am also trying to charm you. But, I was remembering. That night I told you I was leaving. I hate that you thought I didn’t want to date you because you were plain-looking. You were never plain-looking. Not for a minute, not even close.”

“Oh… well, you did tell me it wasn’t that.”

“I tried to. I don’t think you believed me. Not entirely. But I meant it. I loved you then, too, but I didn’t know how to tell you that when I also didn’t know how it could work. You were always perfect, and I always wanted you. I’m so lucky you want to be with me, that you put up with me and all of this.”

“Okay.” She didn’t brush him off, recognizing that desperate panic he got in his eyes sometimes. He was doing the work of digging into his hurts and mistakes and regrets, and sharing them. That was what she asked him for, and she appreciated it. “Do you want to know a little secret? You were never very good at hiding how much you liked me.”

“But isn’t that worse? If I obviously loved you and I took off and broke your heart anyway?”

“Well, I forgive you for that. Now it’s your turn to forgive you.”

He shrugged.

“Yes?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “We’ll see.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

💋 [tiny nugget of additional spice] rated 🌶️🌶️🌶️

Now she was remembering all those months ago, too. Last summer, when she couldn’t deny she’d been sideswiped and heartbroken by his plans. But one thing was always clear—how much he hated to disappoint her. How much he cared. That was how she knew, even when things were so uncertain, that he would be worth all the trouble.

“Do you know you have the purest heart?”

“Hmm,” he mumbled with a soft laugh, probably already well on his way to dreamland on a pillow of her soft breasts, which he’d happily gotten his fill of tonight.

“I hope you believe that I’m so lucky, too,” she said.

— “boxes and squares #5.2: come down from the clouds” (9/10)

Next -> // 5.2 start // index

previously: the plain-looking plucky friend

[insomniac4000]

14 with mr wroetoshaw pretty pls x

maybe they’re drunk on a night out and someone gets jealous?

You're a Nightmare

Harry's alcohol consumption and tolerance was almost legendary; the boy could drink. Two main things happened when Harry was drunk, either he got reckless but somehow didn't seriously injure himself or he got very, very quiet. The latter usually happened when you were going to pick him up and you giggled and lightly teased him about his antics calling him a big kid, you liked it it wasn't immature as such it was charming in a boyish way.

Tonight was different though, tonight it was your birthday so you were all out together. There was a big group of you, a couple of your close friends from your life as well as Harry and his friends who had become an important part of your world too. You and Harry had been together for just over a year at this point, as your relationship was only new at your last birth you didn't make much of a fuss but this year it was a bigger affair. you were more outgoing than he was and loved a dance. That is what you were doing now, on the dance floor with one of your girl friends as you sang along to the lyrics smiling. Your hips moving in time with the rhythm to the song, you're hair flying around curls bouncing as you shook your head in time.

Harry stood watching, his hands curled over the glass he was gripping in that unique way he did. His blue eyes stayed on your frame as it moved, unfortunately he wasn't the only one who was staring. A tall man across the way was also fixated on you, he was bold and made his way to you trying to dance alongside you but you grabbed you friends hand and the pair of you walked away.

It often shocked people to learn that Harry was the jealous type but he was, especially when it came to you. He thought you were so out of his league and couldn't believe you were with him so when other people took an interest in you, it hurt. He sulked off to the bar, having lost sight of you and got another pint in.

It was another twenty minutes before you would see him again, trying and desperately failing to do some dance moves with George Clarke.

"There you are," you smiled and giggled watching your beloved almost fall over.

"Where have you been?" He asked, his voice sounding sharper than he meant it too, Harry wasn't one for confrontation, not outside of content creation anyway.

"Dancing, then a wee. Came to see if you wanted another drink?" You asked you couldn't help but smile on seeing Harry sway slightly.

"Always, surprised you haven't found another fancy man to buy one for you," he responded, almost tripping over the table next to him as he went to walk closer to you.

"Not interested."

"Good. You're mine." He muttered as he grabbed you're hand and pulled you in towards him causing you to giggle.

"You're a nightmare," you replied with a grin as you pushed some hair out of his face.

"You love it."

[supercantaloupe]

unclear whether i'm getting upgraded to principal on the KC concert or not...?

[umbrvx]

[ sword drawn over 3d model reference: unbreakable faith cc Osdias on sketchfab ]

⚪ 9158

[pigeonclaw]

I haven't felt very motivated to draw lately (what chronic fatigue does to a guy 😔) but I have cracked open my sketchbook a few times. Mostly to doodle TBC.

[wraithsoutlaws]

TITLE: Perfect Drug CHAPTER ONE: Jawbreaker WORD COUNT: 4,309 PAIRING: Dagger/Dum Dum CW: Light violence, gore mention The story of how two fucked up guys become one fucked up couple.

The sky changed colors in the city. The endless scroll of neon gave it an artificial glow, and from the first moment he crossed the desert line, Dagger had resented it. Nothing looked real. Nothing was–not the food, the music. Certainly not the people. He found himself looking up as he drove further into it’s clutches, searching for a sliver of sky that felt familiar, but the only thing he found was a thinly veiled layer of bullshit.  Northside was different, though no less oppressive. The smokestacks kept the air murky, and no matter how many times he blinked or re-calibrated his optics, he couldn’t quite clear his vision of the red haze that defined it. But unlike Night City, it took pride in it’s own ugly. And he liked that. 

The All Foods factory sat like an icon at the center of it all, more mythical to the locals than even the crumbs of Arasaka littering the district. Dagger stood outside with a cigarette, gazing into it’s shuttered maw. 

A week had passed since he found his way to the building for the first time, toting a severed head in one hand, and a duffel of recovered Militech cargo in the other. He had taken both from a smoldering warzone in Sierra Sonorra where two behemoths fought their last battle; a cadre of Maelstrom gangoons and a unit of corpo dogs. He could have taken the wreckage back for the Wraiths. The gear would have fetched a pretty enny, and the head of a Milietech sergeant would make a lovely hood ornamented for his Quadra–but Dagger never cared for money, and he had plenty of heads already. 

He brought the cargo home to Northside instead, head in hand like a peace offering, still bleeding fresh after decapitation. He wanted a deal, not a payday. Something worth more than a shiny new car, or a pair of genuine leather boots, and after one long blurry fucking night, he got one.  

The Wraiths would protect Maelstrom’s interests in the Badlands and the ‘borgs would give them leverage in the city, pushing to wipe Sixth Street from Santo Domingo. Dagger would move between them, lending his skills to one while extending his power in the other.

In the end, he'd puppet them both.

His mama always said to dream big.

He pressed at a dwindling bruise over his ribcage as he double checked for his smokes in his jacket pocket. Each breath came with a dull ache that hadn’t quite quelled from that night, even a week later. He’d paid his price for admission. He could still feel the wreckage in his bones as he stood at the entrance of the garage, cigarette half smoked already, waiting for an answer at the door. The security camera at the edge of the roof peered down at him, it’s blinking red light a mimic of the trademark optics that were watching him from inside. And they were watching him. Making him wait, though they were the very ones who had set the meet. When he glared up at the lens, he could feel them on the other side.

Another minute passed. He threw his cigarette down, banging a fist to the rusted metal with impatience. After a moment of waiting he considered going around to the intercom, but it felt too much like defeat. He knocked again instead, kicking with a steel tipped boot for good measure and flicking another glare up to the camera. 

The noise must have worked. The door swung open with a growl, sudden enough it nearly took an inch off his nose. Before he could blink, the front end of a revolver shoved itself against the scar on his cheek, forcing his back to the wall with its presence. Seven eyes peered over the muzzle, a shiny chrome scowl beneath them. Dagger’s fist moved on instinct, nestled now against the underside of Dum Dum’s chin where the skin still felt human. The steel claws in the chassis of his hand inched in the sheaths between his knuckles, hungry for a drop of blood. They stood still, entwined in each other’s violence, neither one ready to budge.

“Keep that gun in my face any longer and I’ll get real acquainted with your fleshy bits.” He wasn’t sure which lens he should look at, or which ones were looking at him. His icy gaze settled on the ones that looked most like eyes, though he couldn’t read them. The tip of his claws met skin, just slightly. Enough bite to prove he wasn’t lying.

Dum Dum didn’t sweat it.

“You think your trigger is quicker than mine?”

“Might be fun to find out.”

The sound that came from his throat could have been a laugh. A moment later, Dum Dum drew the gun back and slid it into the waistband of his pants. Slowly, Dagger followed suit, letting his hand fall away with a tinge of disappointment. A click of his tongue.

“Scared?”

“My bullet would rip through your meatpan before your chrome even touched me,” Dum Dum said. He sounded sure, the weight of his optics nearly prying Dagger apart, scanning his hardware in bemusement. He wouldn’t find much, except maybe that his assessment was correct. Which begged the question: why not pull the trigger?

Dagger grinned.

“You gonna invite me inside?” 

Dum Dum didn’t answer, turning a corner toward the street without looking back at him. “Nothing in there for you.”

“Is that right?” Dagger pulled his cigarettes from his jacket and lit one as he followed. A busted up Chevillon was parked on the corner, garish Maelstrom colors splattered across the rusted paint like a badge of honor. Ugly, like everything else around it. He smiled. “Taking me out to pasture then?”

Smoke slithered from his lips as they walked. 

“You wanna play with the big dogs you’re gonna have to work like a bitch.” Dum Dum stopped at the car, and spared him an indecipherable look. “That means you do what I say, when I say it, how I say it. If I tell you to lick the shit off my boots you better fucking get on your knees and do it, yeah? Piss me off and it’s bye bye with a bullet. We’ll sell your meat to the Scavs without a second thought.”

Dagger raised a brow, amusement flickering in his eyes as he took another drag from his smoke. “My god, I think I can see Royce’s hand up your ass using your mouth like a little puppet. Don’t you wanna be a real boy?”

Dum Dum looked tough, but Dagger had seen enough already to know that he folded for the big man as easy as paper. He half expected the gun again, but to his surprise, he only saw a smile on the other man’s face–teeth that looked too human to belong to him. The tension in his shoulders seemed to drop.

“You are one stupid motherfucker.”

He almost sounded impressed.

Dagger stared him down with the same grin, head tilting. Anyone else, he might skin them alive for the assertion but Dum Dum could be useful. No doubt more than any of the other rusted lugnuts lurking in the gang who’d still be more than happy to kill him. If he wanted this to work out, he’d need someone watching his back, and he’d already proved he wouldn’t pull the trigger.

Dum Dum slid into the driver’s seat and gestured for Dagger to go around. He wasn’t thrilled about playing passenger, his own car parked down the block, but he decided not to push it. He didn’t know his way around the city yet, let alone wherever the fuck they were headed. Or why.

He climbed into the Chevillon, choosing to play nice, a decision quickly waning as he waited for an explanation that never came. He blew smoke toward Dum Dum, a juvenile attempt to get his attention as the engine turned over.

“Got a problem, princess?” Dum Dum asked without looking. At least his head didn’t move.

Dagger leaned back in his seat. “Just wondering what the fuck I’m doing here.”

“You’re the one who knocked.”

“Funny.”

The car pulled onto the street. 

“Got a pick-up.” The flat drone of his voice gave away his own annoyance in the silence. “And I wasn’t bullshitting before. Do as you’re told and we won’t have a problem.”

Dagger rolled down his window to vent the smoke from his cigarette. “Pick-up? And here I was hoping for a little fun. Ain’t you lot known for your violence? No offense but thats a waste of my talent and I’m keen to believe it’s a waste of yours too.”

“Royce wants to know you can follow orders. You might be hot shit to those desert dogs but you’re a long way from the top out here.”

Something in the gravel of his tone indicated a warning, but Dagger flicked it off with the ash from his cig. He glanced at him from the corner of his eyes, watching the city blur past the tinted glass. Northside was less colorful than the rest of Night City, all smoke and concrete. In a way, it reminded him of home–the badlands, an endless sprawl of sun bleached dirt, harsh and rigid. Vibrant in its decay. They bore their similarities alright. He could smell fire in the air. A laugh lodged itself in his throat as he finally looked over.

“So that’d make you what, then? The babysitter?”

A grunt. There might have been humor in it. Or a threat.

“You should count yourself lucky. Anyone else prolly woulda shot you by now.”

Dagger didn’t doubt it for a second. Dum Dum was different from the rest, and somehow just the same. He followed orders, and crumbled like soggy paper for the top dog. Out of fear or loyalty, he couldn’t tell yet, but he lacked the self-respect to see that Royce would throw him out as soon as he wasn’t useful. He wondered what might happen if those strings pulled taut. If something sharp happened by to whittle them down. 

Dum Dum’s voice caught him by surprise.

“I’m actually impressed you’re still walking. Didn’t think you’d show up after that beating last week.”

“That right?” Dagger said, casually flipping down the visor ahead of him and examining his face in the two inch mirror. The bruise beneath his eye had faded from plum to a brown rot and for a moment he could feel the impact of the metal punch that knocked him on his ass again. It wasn’t the only one. His body was littered, like the canvas of an old painter–splashes of color hemorrhaging against his skin. He knew there was a cracked rib, probably a concussion, too. A few busted teeth, and more. Welcoming gifts from Maelstrom. It was his own suggestion, a last ditch effort to get close to the gang without having chrome shoved up his ass. An initiation plucked from his smuggling days. Each member got a single hit. If he was still alive by the end of it, he’d get in.

And Dagger always got in, smiling and spitting blood. He’d do it again just to prove that he could. 

“Hell, I thought that left hook from Lars might kill you.” Dum Dum laughed.

Dagger flipped the visor closed. “You kiddin’? My Daddy hit me harder for stealing a cigarette when I was eight years old.”

“You were prolly just a pussy back then.”

A grin cut across his lips as naturally as the sun cresting over the cityscape. “Well, he had a harder swing than you, at least.”

“Makes sense.” The car turned a tight corner and Dum Dum’s head tilted toward him for the first time. “Considerin’ I pulled my punch.”

Dagger met those empty red lenses with a raised brow. “The fuck you did.”

The crack of his own teeth rang out in his ears again, as if that chrome fist was crashing into his face all over. He could still remember his seven eyes watching him as he stumbled back, spitting blood and enamel in his face. He tongued the empty space on his bottom gum where the molar used to sit. Dum Dum had extracted it more seamlessly than the world’s best dentist ever could.

Pulled his punch. 

Dagger scoffed.

Dum Dum didn’t show any sign of humor. His silence said it all.

“And why the fuck would you do that?”

A pause. And then finally a smile.

“‘Cause the harder we hit you, the louder you laughed. Didn't wanna give you the satisfaction.”

Dagger’s face fell, as expressionless as the red lenses in front of him, which seemed now to burn holes through his chest in the silence. He should cut them from his skull, but the feeling passed at the sight of a smile on Dum Dum’s lips.

“Fuckin’ lunatic,” he said, somewhere between affection and dismay.

Dagger took it for a compliment. He grinned, and a bruise sang triumph beneath his skin. 

The car pulled off the street beside a painted wall that looked nearly identical to every other street corner in Northside. Dagger could find his way through every small vein of dusty road across the Badlands with his eyes closed but ask him to distinguish between one block or the next within the industrial sprawl of the district and he’d be lost. He pressed his forehead against the window and looked up. Not even the sky could help him. The shadow of the city all but smothered it. 

Dum Dum cut the engine. 

Wrecked cars littered the crowded alleyway where they sat now, nothing but skeletal remains, picked clean by the vultures. But there was one ahead of them, a black van that stuck out among the rest. The pick-up, if he had to wager.

“What are we waiting for?” he asked, his cigarette almost nothing but ash. He finally flicked it out the window. 

Dum Dum didn’t answer. He studied the van ahead of him in the quiet, and after a moment Dagger pushed his optics to scan it too. Standard. No heat signature inside, though there was something stored in the back, a chemical signature he couldn’t get a specific read on. Drugs, more than likely. Of course it was. He had heard the ‘strommers had their own brand of shit. The kind with enough kick to push past the thirty pounds of chrome in their head. 

“Something the matter with it?” On instinct, Dagger looked in the rearview, scanned the surrounding area. A flash of light flickered somewhere behind them and disappeared. He waited for it to happen again, but he saw nothing. 

“Gadge ain’t here,” Dum Dum said, tone flat. Once more unreadable.

“Taking a leak?”

A grunt. He leaned back in the seat, hand dropping down to the revolver wedged between his seat and the middle console. He flicked his head forward, toward the van. “Well, go on, bitch boy. Check it out.”

Dagger’s eyes narrowed, but he pushed back the urge to tell him to fuck off. He lit another cigarette on the way out. The street was quiet, though somewhere a few blocks down a siren echoed off the smokestacks. He paused when he reached the back of the van, head turning over his shoulder. There was nothing here. Nobody in sight beside those seven glowing eyes behind the glass, and still the hair rose on the back of his neck. 

No Gadge. No blood. No struggle. So why did he have a bad feeling? He focused his attention back to the van as Dum Dum waved a hand at him impatiently. Another quick scan told him the same information before he finally reached for the handle and pulled the bed open. A creak of metal cracked through his ears.

It almost deafened the gunshot.

Dagger ducked, dropping low without thought. His cigarette fell to the ground half burned, mocking him as another bullet riccochetted against the back of the van. His first thought was Dum Dum. Royce had changed his mind on the deal, ordered his execution. A quiet hit didn’t sound like his style, and Dagger was almost disappointed he wouldn’t get to see the ugly bastard one more time just to call him a fucking pussy to his face, but a moment later he could hear the ‘borg’s static voice yelling at him from the car to get the fuck up.

He stayed low, unable to pinpoint the direction of the gunshot, and made his way back to the passenger’s side of the Chevillon.

The engine sputtered to life at the same time as the van in front of him. He crawled inside just in time to witness the driverless van crash through a charred Mackinaw to the next street over.

“Fuck!” Dum Dum yelled, flooring the pedal before Dagger could get his foot pulled in all the way. “Shit’s hacked. Gonk’s don’t know who they’re messing with.” 

He rammed through the same debris as the van but caught a harsh edge of metal, and the Chevillon stalled for a moment before struggling through. The ringing in Dagger’s ears hadn’t stopped, and he only realized his hand was bleeding when he reached for his third smoke. 

“Hack means their close.”

Dagger rolled the window down and stuck his head out, catching the stale air of Northside in a suffocating wind. He could see the van ahead of them like a black smear, but it wasn’t the van he was interested in. Quickhack on a vehicle was useful, but it had drawbacks. One being proximity. Had to be close or you lost connection, even with boosted gear. 

A small Hatchback swung suddenly out from a sidestreet, narrowly missing their car as it sped past. Dum Dum swerved and lost a foot of paint on a fire hydrant in attempt to keep steady. Dagger scanned it as it followed track with the van, spitting chooh2 to catch up. Two signatures inside. A runner.

He ripped the gun from Dum Dum’s seat and pulled himself halfway out the window to take aim. He shot quickly and near blind, bullet lost in the wind as the chase veered left. 

“Fuckin’ shoot steady,” Dum Dum yelled over at him.

“Drive fuckin’ steady,” Dagger snapped, and this time he held his breath as he aimed for the speeding car. A shot came back at him in response and he ducked back into the window before firing again. The windshield spiderwebbed but the car stayed true, zipping through a line of traffic as they headed into a busier part of the district. A horn blared beside him. The hatchback disappeared between two trucks, and Dum Dum struggled on the wheel, crashing into the edge of a turning car and nearly throwing the gun from Dagger's slick, bloody grasp when he shot again.

He couldn’t track where the bullet hit, but he could tell that it missed.

With a growl, Dagger reached over for the wheel.

“Switch me places.” It was a command more than a question, but Dum Dum didn’t protest. He ripped the gun from Dagger’s hand as Dagger pushed his leg over to the gas pedal and shimmied across the seat in an awkward dance, climbing over him without slowing the vehicle until they both settled into their new positions.

Dum Dum took aim as naturally as Dagger did the wheel. He was no stranger to this, or to the electricity running through his chest as he gripped the wheel knuckle tight, grin spreading over his lips.

The tight streets were no match for an open road, but it got his blood pumping all the same. 

He could barely make out the back of the car up ahead, but he could see the rear light explode as Dum Dum fired beside him, leaving red glass sparkling on the pavement like blood. Another shot bellowed, and the hatchback veered wildly, nearly toppling sideways as it made a sharp turn. 

Dagger followed, cutting the same corner with the ease of sharpened steel. He couldn’t see the van further up, but he locked his optics onto the car. Blood splattered the window, and he knew that Dum Dum had hit one of them inside. The engine groaned as he pushed it further. The Chevillon didn’t have the same gumption as his Quadra. He could feel the waiver in her gait, but they were close now. Dum Dum felt it too. He braced his arm on the roof. One good shot is all they’d need.

Dagger seamlessly crossed over the center line, taking the opposite lane to blow past several cars that separated them from their goal. Traffic sped by, so close it rocked the car, but he didn’t flinch.

One. Good. Shot.

Dum Dum fired. 

Blood sprayed the windshield. 

The hatchback veered suddenly into a passing car, which came to a skidding stop, halting the traffic behind it and keeping Dagger from passing back over into the right lane. His mind raced, and on instinct he took a quick left to avoid collision, and then another.

Dum Dum screamed in his ear, but the words were deafened from wind, the ringing, the sirens. Neon lights burned together, flashing against his corneas. 

“Wrong fuckin’ way!” He heard finally.

The streets grew narrower, and then he understood. 

He could smell the ocean. 

 Northside’s warehouses were a shadow in the rearview as they headed toward the bay into Kabuki. Tyger territory. They had crossed the district line. 

Dum Dum reached for the wheel in a last ditch effort to change course. The momentum of the turn threw them upward, tires leaving the ground. The car spun uncontrollably, flipped, crashing through the barricade on the side of the road in a explosion of crunching metal. 

He could see the ocean.

A smear of open blue that could match the sky his heart yearned for. It was beautiful.

Almost.

And it hit like a fucking rock. 

His vision blacked for a moment before the water caved in around them. Slowly, then all at once. He barely had time to take in a lungful of air. Kicking at the door wildly, he swam away from the wreckage as the sea pulled them under. His gaze shot upward, searching once more for the sky to lead him. He followed the light up and up, chest starting to ache, until finally he found it.

Dagger gasped as he breached, shaking water from his eyes. He didn’t recognize the city around him, but he spotted a dock nearby. He swam toward it, then stopped. Looked back. The only remains of the Chevillon were petering bubbles at his back, and smooth water beside that. There wasn’t any sign of Dum Dum. By the look of him, he’d sink as quick as the car.

He glanced between the dock and the bubbles and back again. 

All that fucking chrome…

Walking back to All Foods without the drugs and their sergeant at arms might earn himself a spot in that industrial microwave that Maelstrom liked to boast. Dum Dum was the only one who didn’t want to kill him, after all.

“Fuck.”

He spit water then took another breath and dived.

The car left a trail like ink in the murky water. Dagger clawed toward it, dragging himself further down into the dark depths. Day turned to night. The city was different here, peaceful, and if not for the pounding in his ears, quiet. 

The distant red glare of those eyes shined like a beacon further down. He followed them like the north star, pushing himself to go faster. Dum Dum kicked despite himself, maybe instinct, maybe panic, but his weight worked against him, pulling him down quicker. Dagger pushed harder, reached further. Dum Dum finally noticed him, lenses fixed and unwavering, a calm coming over him as he finally got close enough to grab. Dagger heaved upward, working against the ocean’s cold grasp and the anchor like weight dragging him down. His chest began to burn, and the sky still looked so dark above them. 

He considered letting go, eyes squeezed tight, angry ‘ganic lungs ready to burst. 

And then he could breathe again.

He reached blindly for the dock ladder, trying hard not to heave. Dum Dum climbed up beside him, still as a corpse.

“Fucking gonk shit,” he muttered.

Dagger almost didn’t catch it over the sound of his panting. He laid flat on his back, taking in the welcome blue above him. He could finally see a break in the cityscape, clouds sneaking in at the edge of his vision. 

“Quite a fuckin’ thank you,” Dagger said without taking his eyes from above.

“Oxygen reserves. Could sit down there all day.”

He sat up slowly, running a hand through wet, matted hair. “All the good it’d do you. Be a pile of rust by the time they found you. If they found you.”

Dum Dum laughed. Short, quick static. Somehow it sounded genuine.

“And I’m sure you did that outta the kindness of your heart.”

“What fuckin’ heart?” He said flat, patting down his pockets for his cigarettes. He pulled the pack out, sopping wet. He didn’t bother trying to light one before he tossed them into the bay with a sigh. “Owe me some fucking smokes.”

Dum Dum opened his mouth to speak, but the words never made it. He lifted his head, and though he couldn’t see exactly, Dagger knew he was looking past him. A gun cocked at the back of his head. Cold barrel against his skull. He clenched his jaw, and turned to see a woman he didn’t recognize staring down at him behind glass eyes.

His automatic translator picked up her words better than his ears.

“Welcome to Kabuki, bitch.”

[waitineedaname]

i love the bingge extra because it's like

the horror of realizing you're the dark universe version of yourself. the injustice of seeing this other version of yourself be happy and loved, seeing him be treated with such gentle tenderness from a person who only ever treated you with cruelty

bad sex.

[bookwyrminspiration]

If I do not post this I will never stop fiddling with it and it’s already partially glitched my tumblr, so please enjoy some four horsegirls of the apocalypse for @an-ungraceful-swan’s dtiys <3

Original + taglist:

KotLC Art Taglist: @bronte-deserves-better @imaramennoodle @thisbluewind @we-have-no-bananas-today @theofficialkai517 @ruewen-and-rising @keefeinnit @thesandsofdawn @crumpledwitchfeet @ascendant-queen @tribblemakingalicorn @axels-corner @loverofallthingssmart @silveny-dreams @girlofmanyfandoms @enbies-and-felonies @impostertamsong @sofia-not-sophie @alabestrine @keefes-hairgel @fanartofthelostcities @three-bunnies-in-a-trenchcoat @a-lonely-tatertot @ketterdamkid @cosmogyral-cleo @meg-doodles @dragonwinnie-kotlc @anaccidentwaitingtohappen @maglorslostsilmaril @even-if-in-another-time @crazedfangirl14 @callas-pancake-tree @katniss-elizabeth-chase @wolfstar-being-ridikkulus @thefoxysnake @florida-preposterously

[suffarustuffaru]

hey guys u know how like reinhard can come back to life right after dying anyway what if u decapitate him and then his headless body casually gets back up and calmly puts his head back on like how fucked up would that be haha

[bunnyb34r]

Knock on wood, but I think this has been one of the most peaceful and pleasant birthdays I've had

Too hot to go to the outlet mall like usual and I don't feel like going anywhere really so we're just chilling at home and I gotta be honest, it's pretty great

[cupcakes-and-pain]

Rat: CYOA 7

Masterlist

You’re not about to miss what is probably your only chance at survival. You go to the address Jai gave you.

As you pull up, you have to admit, it’s wouldn’t have been your first choice as a meeting spot. An abandoned, falling-apart flower shop with a sign out front declaring trespassers will be stabbed on-sight. You hope that whoever put that warning is either not here right now or has been warned that you’re coming over.

Nevertheless, you approach the door and think it best to knock.

Jai opens the door, scowling.

“Come on, you should’ve been here awhile ago! Now we don’t have as much time.”

They don’t let you say anything before pulling you into the building.

Once inside, the first thing that hits you is the smell. It absolutely reeks in here, and you wrinkle your nose, earning a disapproving side-eye from Jai.

“Alright, then. I originally thought you were smart, being a college kid and whatnot, but since you aren’t, let me teach you how to survive. Step 1, if Virginia doesn’t approve of it, don’t fucking do it. Step 2, when in doubt, make a rude comment about Rat or whoever is tied up at the moment. Step 3, for the love of god, avoid eye contact! Avoid stepping close to Virginia. Avoid talking to her. The more attention you draw, the more she’s going to pick on you and put your limits to the test.”

That was a lot of information in one go, and you struggling to concentrate with the awful smell. What is that…?

“-ello? Hey, kid, are you even listening?! I’m not going to waste my time on you if you just stare off into space.”

“I’m sorry. I was just, um, thinking really hard about what you were saying. You know, forming a plan on what to do at tonight’s party and all that.”

“Really? Let’s hear it, then.”

Just to be clear, all three “lie, be worse” options means that you’ll hurt/drug him even if Virginia doesn’t pick on you.

Tag list: @kim-poce @scp-1296 @whumpsday

[sweetandglovelyart]

Now that I’ve finished the most recent comic page I think I should actually try and do some proper drawings of some of my OCs. Get ready to see Taranza’s mom Theraphoza, I’m working on drawing her first 🕷️