#thank you for giving me the opportunity to showcase that my Drake has a potty mouth

[actingvigilante]

Send me 🔪 to stab my muse.

@tunnagan​ said: 🔪 (from bulba :D)

Pain was relative.

Drake had learned that a long time ago, at seventeen years old with a car door crushed into his ribs. That, he learned quickly, hurt much worse than a hairline fracture in his arm. And a car door crushed into the ribs also hurt more than a bull many times his size grabbing him by the throat and slamming him onto unforgiving metal, neck and shoulders first.

The car door, he realized, was what he measured many of his hurts against. It colored his recovery after surgery in college, made stunt work when acting gigs were lean more bearable.

There were things, however, that he was learning hurt far worse than that car door, digging into a young ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒’s side.

One of those things was the knife buried in his abdomen, held there by a hand almost as big as his torso, as he stood paralyzed by the shock, the other hand of his assailant having dragged him forward by the cape they still held firmly, keeping him pressed against the blade’s guard.

For lack of any action registering in his brain as the pain radiated out through the fresh wound, he grasped at Taurus Bulba’s sleeve, trying to get him to release him or move back, anything to alleviate the awful pressure and the pain like molten lead in his gut.

He needed help. And he wasn’t sure if he was going to get it.

“Son- son of a bitch-...”