#title comes from a Song

[not-xpr-art]

you, you're such a big star to me...

(an artwork of george from the inside no 9 episode cold comfort because i'm kinda obsessed with him lol)

(08/2024)

[moralcandy]

fifteen things that don't come back, by charlie slimecicle:

number one. the paper airplane you and your daughter throw at your husband while his back is turned in the kitchen, the two of you hiding behind the counter as you snicker quietly when he stops humming and yelps a curse as he turns around with a faux angry expression and a poorly-hidden smile.

number two. the glass your daughter broke trying to grab it from the cabinet on her tippy-toes. you didn't look over until you heard the glass shatter against the kitchen floor, too preoccupied with grabbing the jug of cold orange juice from the fridge to notice until it was too late. golden, afternoon sunlight shone warmly on the both of you from the open window as you swept it up while she stood to the side with a sheepish expression.

number three. your husband's soft shirt he let you borrow when you said you couldn't find your own but really you just quickly shoved yours under the bed when he wasn't looking. you absently noted that it smelled like him. your lips curved into a slight smile without input. your foot shoved your shirt under the bed a little bit farther.

number four. the pictures you took of your daughter and niece, hugging eachother as they posed for the camera, the photo incinerated into ash when you blew up your house. you frantically dug through your daughter's chest afterwards, soot covering your hands as you searched for the photograph. you did not find it.

number five. your niece.

number six. the feeling of a cold glass of wine held tipsily in your hand, the waterdrop of condensation slipping down the glass at the same pace your tears did down your cheeks. you downed the alcohol until there was nothing left except a burning feeling and a lump in your throat. the bartender did not give you another drink.

number seven. your friend, the one who used to laugh hysterically with you as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders before he began to scream at you while he wrapped his hands around your neck. he pushed you into the dirt, the metallic taste of blood in your mouth and the feeling of wet dirt on your skin as you absently question whether the water dripping on your face was the rain or the tears slipping down your friend's face. you know that was the funeral of your children, but you think both of the real 'you's died that day, too.

number eight. the warm, rumbling feeling of laughter in your chest as a smile hurts your cheeks, the sensation long gone. your mouth, for a moment, twitches into a small smile at the memory of the feeling.

number nine. the feeling of hands on your own, your husband's warm hands intertwined with yours as your cold, golden rings clink against eachother. your daughter's tiny hand clasped around yours as she leads you to a butterfly she found, grass brushing your ankles as you walk.

ten. the sound of your daughter's amused laughter, snorts interrupting occasionally. her head leans back as she giggles, her eyes scrunched up in happiness.

eleven. the sound of your husband's soothing voice, lilting with fondness as he looks at you. a smile absently crosses his face as he speaks, audible in his voice. you always remember smiling back.

twelve. your golden wedding band your husband lovingly slipped onto your ring finger so long ago, the one you furiously tossed into a dusty corner with particularily bad aim. you blame the poor aim on the tears blurring your vision, but it could've been the alcohol, really.

thirteen. your husband. you try to go to sleep in the center of your bed now, knowing that he won't be there. when you wake up, you always find yourself on the left side of the bed, as if you've moved in your sleep to accommodate someone. you scowl and think that your asleep self should stop being so stupid. ..you make the bed just in case he really does decide to come back.

fourteen. your daughter. whenever you make yourself breakfast now, you keep accidentally making two bowls, the muscle memory automatic, familiar, and no longer needed. you sit down at the table and set the bowls and begin to eat, but you always end up just stirring the cereal with your spoon as you stare at the untouched bowl across from you. you always end up throwing them both away. without your input, a frown tugs slightly at your lips as your pour out the second bowl but you know that nobody else was even here to eat it anyway. your eyes burn.

fifteen. your daughter, the one you know isn't the real one. sometimes you walk down those train tracks where you found her, hoping she'll be here this time. she never is. ..you still keep checking, just in case.

[ramshacklerumble]

?ylsuoires esnesnon koot ew fi ffo retteb eb dlrow eht t’ndluow

twst fic | 2.1k words

With the moon the biggest Ace had ever seen and in such crisp alabaster, it struck him with its true presence as a celestial body rather than an afterthought of a pale disk in the sky. The sand along the island glowed under its light.

He didn’t bother with his flashlight, he immediately spotted the figure sitting on a rock jutting out a few meters below the lodge’s landing, beyond the railing.

“Psst!”

Gia jumped and turned to look up where the voice came from. They gave him a small wave when they saw him.

Ace turned his palms up. What are you doing?

Gia held something in their mouth. Ace thought they were sucking on a stone before they reached into the fanny pack on their side and pulled out a mango. Gia seriously loved mangoes. Gia loved mangoes so much, they’d been tearing through the group’s supply and eventually earned themself a two-mango-per-day limit. One they were currently on their way tripling over alongside the other two he’d helped them smuggle earlier that night.

Ace shook his head as Gia motioned him to come down and instead motioned for them to come up. He didn’t hear it, but he could plainly imagine the huff coming out of them when they waved him off and turned back towards the beach.

“Oh, c’mon.” Ace muttered. He glanced over his shoulder, half-expecting Riddle to be standing there in all his pipin’ teapot tyrant glory.

They were supposed to be in bed, safe in their little pseudo-getaway spot. While it didn’t make a lot of sense to Ace given it was the only man-made structure on the island and might as well be a flashing neon ‘ATTACK US’ sign for Gantu— Gantu never tried. It should have been a riskier move than just roughing it out in the open, but with how things had been turning out so far, Ace was on the same page in regards to it being better inside.

Also, the mosquitoes were driving him nuts.

He looked back out at Gia, still staring off into the ocean. Alright. Fine. If they wanted to get eaten alive out there, then that was their business. Ace wasn’t in love with the idea of having to scavenge tomorrow with a collar around his neck for being caught past curfew. If he slipped back inside now, he could just say he’d gone to the outhou—

“Hey!” The word left his mouth before he had the chance to choke it down. Ace clamped his hand over his mouth and spun into a crouch, trying to discern any sound of movement above his heartbeat. He waited. Ace took a glance at where Gia had stepped off the rock they’d been sitting on.

Now standing on the sand, Gia was looking back up at him. They’d started towards the beach.

Frantically, Ace motioned for them to come back, his other hand still fixed onto his mouth.

Gia only shook their head, pointed at him, then at the lodge. They continued on their way towards the beach just as the mango pit they’d been holding hit the sand.

Ace suppressed a groan.

With not even Grim at their side, there was no way Ace would be able to just crawl back into bed now. He ducked under the railing, climbed off the landing and onto the sand.

It didn’t take him long to catch up to Gia. Unlike their usual speed walk against the imaginary timer they took everywhere and anywhere, they strolled down the beach at their leisure. When he reached them, they greeted him like they’d just happened to cross each other at a mall, “Hey.”

“Don’t ‘Hey’ me.” Ace reached out to block their path, “Where are you going?”

“Beach.” Gia said. They placed their hand on his arm, but didn’t force it down. They simply held it. “Let’s go.”

Ace faltered, “What?”

“For a little bit.” Gia gave their hand a brief squeeze. They had this strange…non-smile. The corners of their lips didn’t curve upward, but Ace instinctively knew they were smiling at him. Something about how their expression seemed so light.

Refocusing, Ace said, “Are you kidding? If Riddle and the others find out we’re not there, we won’t hear the end of it.”

“I told you to stay,” Gia reminded him. It almost sounded coy. Tone variation? From Gia?

“Yeah? What about you?” Ace said, “You can’t be out here alone, Gantu or his bots could be anywhere.”

“Fine.” They shrugged, “Come with me.”

A sigh, born as much out of frustration as it was amazement, left Ace. He scanned the shoreline trying to figure out what about it called to Gia. It was a lost cause. Ace liked to think he was pretty quick on the uptake, but when it came to Gia sometimes he couldn’t begin to guess what went on inside that head of theirs.

“Okay, but only for a few minutes.” Ace said, “And we are not going into the water.”

Gia had the gall to look disappointed.

—

To be fair, it was really nice out.

Even in this late— possibly early— hour, it was still warm enough to justify their light clothing. The breeze was sea-salted, though not briny, and while Ace wasn’t much for stargazing— stars blanketed the island in an otherworldly surreal technicolor that made them hard to ignore.

Gia produced two more mangoes out of their fanny pack, which at this point Ace was sure had to be enchanted, and gave one to him as they walked along the shore.

They were sweet and refreshingly chilled. He couldn’t blame Gia for wanting to eat them by the ton. They told him about their craving for a sour syrup they called ‘chamoy’ and how just thinking about it made their mouth water. They laughed as they said so.

It didn’t surprise people to find out Gia didn’t laugh often, even when it was just them, Ace, Deuce and Grim— and when they did laugh, it was less a sound and more a subtle shaking of their shoulders. They always hid it behind a fist or turned away.

Maybe they thought Ace wouldn’t hear it over the roar of the waves, because tonight they didn’t bother to.

Much of their walk was silent, though.

Under most circumstances, Ace found silence unbearable. This time his usual urge to break the quiet was nowhere to be found. Even as Gia shot him a side-long glance before stomping into the edges of the waves.

He just rolled his eyes and followed them into ankle deep water. He expected it to be freezing, but found the water pleasantly cool.

“I love it here,” said Gia, throwing their mango pit far into the water.

Something about that came off as strange to Ace. When he thought about it, it was because he was sure he’d never heard them use that word before.

Love.

He was especially sure he’d never heard them use it in reference to themself. That was a whole personal preference they’d willingly voiced.

“I can make it work,” they said.

Ace had followed suit and thrown his own mango pit into the waves. It didn’t splash nearly as far as Gia’s. “You mean staying?”

“Yeah.”

“No way.” Ace said, “It’s nice here for a vacation or something, ignoring the whole ‘being hunted by robots’ thing. But there’s no way I’d stay just to live here.”

“I know.” They said, “You guys would be back in Night Raven.”

Ace studied them for a few seconds, “…And what? Leave you here?”

“Yeah.”

Though he smiled, Ace shook his head in disbelief.

Gia pointed down the path they’d been walking, at the lodge, “That’s built.” They pointed to the fire pit, “I cook. I can build my own fire and I can fish.”

Their hand gestured at the jungle, “There’s water. There’s fruit everywhere. Plus, I finished building a garden around back today.”

Ace remembered the square plot of land behind the lodge sectioned off by a log fence.

“Woah, wait.” he said. “You’re serious?”

Gia continued walking along the water’s edge.

Ace stayed behind, trying to puzzle out what the interaction meant— if it meant anything at all. Laughs were unsurprisingly rare from Gia, but what people often failed to predict was that it didn’t stop them from having a sense of humor.

That’s what Ace assumed it was at this point, anyway. He didn’t know what else to call it. Gia’s idea of comedy was throwing someone a curveball and seeing if they caught it or let it hit them in the face.

He jogged to join them again and said, “Okay, well. What about Gantu?”

“What about Gantu?” Gia notched back, “He won’t have a reason to be here once Stitch leaves the island. Then it’s all mine.”

“You’re just gonna sit here on your pile of mango seeds all alone on your island in the middle of nowhere.”

“I’ll name it: Ogy-Gia.”

Ace settled on his trump card, “And Grim? You know he can’t go back to Night Raven without you. You know Headmage will kick him out the second he knows you’re gone.”

Gia didn’t reply immediately. Their toes brushed over the sand, leaving overturned trails stretching out from their footprints as they walked. Finally, they looked at him with their weird little non-smile, “You do care about him.”

They spun around, walking backwards to face Ace as they spoke, “Grim can stay here with me. He won’t have to do anything. He’ll love that.”

Ace snorted.

“And since it’s just the two of us—” Gia continued, “—that automatically makes him the Greatest Mage.”

“Alright, fine. But then…” Ace trailed off, his hand circling as though he could magically conjure up a reason. A different one he could actually say.

The topic of Gia’s family always made them clam up and Ace learned not to broach the subject. It nipped at him sometimes, though. Even before coming onto the island where the occasional downer thought of never getting off it led to thinking of his own family. He hated the idea of his family worrying about him and he hated the idea of never seeing them again.

But there’d been one time Ace asked Gia about it directly back at Night Raven, when Gia told him outright they decided they weren’t going back home. Don’t you wanna see your family again?

Not as much as I should, Gia replied. He didn’t see them for the rest of the day.

It hit Ace that if they were capable of making a decision like that once, could they do it again? Was it really that easy for them? If family wasn’t enough for them to reconsider, then…

“Then what?” Gia prompted.

Ace shoved his hands in his pockets, “Then I’ll just never see you again, I guess.”

In a single quick step, Gia blocked his path, stopping him short. They nearly bumped into each other. Leaning in with a tilt of their head, trying to get a good look at his face, they asked, “That bothers you?”

Ace blinked at them, then with a dawning understanding he said, “You want me to say I’d miss you.”

Gia had a lopsided sort of grin. It made them look like a whole new person— but Ace knew better now. This Gia was always there. Looking for the next adventure, the next spark of excitement. The one who made things worth the trouble.

“And if I say I won’t?” Ace said.

“Try.”

Ace met their eye, “...You're just playing with me. You're not actually staying.”

Gia glanced at the sky– sharing a knowing look with the stars. This moron. But when they looked back at him, they said, “I'd miss you.” There, see? It’s not so hard.

That was the thing about Gia. When you were someone who didn’t speak more than a handful of sentences at a time, you knew how to make them count.

Gathering all the pride and puff in his chest as he could muster, Ace said, “You wouldn’t have to.”

It wasn’t a real silence that stretched between them. Waves continued crashing against the shore. Ace found himself wanting for something else to break it.

Gia dropped their gaze and huffed. Not a laugh. Not a grin. Not even their little non-smile.

When they lifted their face again, they motioned Ace back to the lodge with a subtle jut of their head.

Ace scanned the sand as they walked back together. Nothing popped out at him. Maybe for the best.

Better for it to stay there than risk him crushing it, too.

tag list:

@cyanide-latte @inmateofthemind @simons-twsted-children @tixdixl @blithesharem @thehollowwriter

@jovieinramshackle @theleechyskrunkly @skriblee-ksk @boopshoops @the-trinket-witch @twistedwonderlandshenanigans

@kimikitti @felix-cant-ski (dm to be added)

[destinywillowleaf]

one of a kind living in a world gone plastic

baby you're so classic

@most-tragic-character-tournament

(all my thoughts in the tags)

[necrotic-nephilim]

For the ask game: AU where during Tim's search for Bruce, Ra's agrees to help him on one condition: Tim will sleep with him. (It's probably some kind of scheme on Ra's part.) How their dynamic would change with more overt sexual undertone underlying their interactions...

for the ask game!

UGH i love this type of thing so much. in my heart, this is canon. to me. Ra'sTim my fucked up beloveds you two are so terrible for each other.

so what i think is fun and often misunderstood in fanon is that Tim didn't go to Ra's, Ra's went to Tim. so it's even more fun if Ra's goes to Tim, and has that condition he holds over Tim's head. offering all of Ra's' resources, full access to his computers, someone just genuinely believing Tim and working with him. i think, a lot of it would be a mind game for Ra's. sure he wants to fuck Tim, but more than that, he wants to see Tim's reaction. he expects an immediate no, in the way Tim is so hesitant to work with Ra's in the first place. he's pushing Tim's buttons and basically treating Tim like a rat in a maze. so when Tim says yes, and doesn't seem to hesitate too much. *that's* intriguing. because in a perfect world for Ra's, Tim says yes because of a genuine returned attraction. but Ra's isn't quite sure if that's the reason. it could just be because of Tim's search for Bruce. so Ra's would really push it, see how far he could take the sex. it's simple sex first, but Ra's gets more and more interesting each time. slowly working in kinks just to see where Tim draws the line in the sand, and if Ra's can convince Tim to cross that line.

on Tim's side, i think it's fun if you play with Tim being so deep in the closet he doesn't even realize he's bisexual, yet. so to him, sex with Ra's doesn't *really* count as sex. he knows Ra's is weirdly obsessed with him, and Tim wants to play that to his advantage. he likes the power that obsession gives him, within the League. so, if it takes some sex to satiate Ra's, Tim mentally views it as like, a training session. no worse than those unpleasant endurance trainings Bruce used to make them all do. and i like the accidental catch-22 of it. where at first, the sex does very little for Tim. but the more Ra's gets creative and kinky about it, the more Tim *actually* starts to enjoy it. Tim's bisexual crisis except it's over a centuries-old man showing him the joys of sadomasochism in an agreement that was supposed to be totally normal for Tim bc he just gets himself into these situations.

i think one of the biggest changes would be Tim's sheer amount of power and immunity in the League would be even higher. *everyone* can tell Ra's is fucking Tim, he's not really trying to hide it with the way he looks at Tim and touches him in front of everyone. Tim tries to stay clinical and professional, but you can only look so respected working when Ra's is basically stroking your chest as you work. there are whispers, people keep tellin Ra's not to trust this random son of the Bat, but no one will say it to Tim's face. it'd give Tim more power over Ra's' operation outside of the Bruce search. sure, Tim can't change the nature of the League of Assassins, but he can. tip the scales a bit. pull Ra's back from being lethal in certain situations, convince Ra's not to engage in other places. Tim is careful not to overextend this power so he doesn't lose it, but everyone else sees just how much power Tim has. he even start working on taking people out from under Ra's, when Tim goes nuclear and leaves. like how Tim basically steals Prudence, he steals some other younger Assassins he thinks he can convince to come to his side. because he's with Ra's, he starts to command a level of respect so it's not a difficult thing to do. sure, Tim's just the kid keeping Ra's' bed warm. but also, he's the kid *Ra's* deemed worthy enough to be involved with, so it's a double-edged sword of both disgust and respect held for Tim.

it's so funny to me if Tim starts to catch feelings. Ra's of course has feelings, but Tim has never noticed his feelings for a man before so he's fucking panicking internally. and worse, he's not doing a good job of hiding it. Ra's is perceptive and has centuries of experience on Tim. so he can tell. he sees the look on Tim's face when Ra's does a genuine romantic gesture with no strings attached. and that's when Ra's really leans into it. the sex is one thing, but now it's courting. gifts, pet names, kisses, praise, the whole nine yards. and Tim doesn't outwardly deny any of it because he just... doesn't know what to do with it. he could handle stupidly good sex. but this?? this is new territory. he's constantly reminding himself Ra's isn't a good person. which isn't hard to do but still, Tim's just a little torn internally. also. i think Ra's would at least try to kill Captain Boomerang, if not outright succeed, as a courting present for Tim. and Tim is *horrified*, but then again, in canon, he almost personally killed Boomerang. so maybe. there's something nice about having Boomerang dead, while escaping culpability. Ra's thinks his corruption crusade is working on Tim and is absolutely gloating about it. they even go on a proper date.

but, in the end, Tim still backstab Ra's. i think Ra's would still try to go for control of WI, but would be convinced Tim would be totally okay with it and offers to share control with Tim. that's how Tim betrays him, he's allowed to handle so much of the paperwork, Ra's has no idea until it all goes through that he actually has no control. it's The betrayal. because Tim will always betray his love for what he thinks is the right thing to do. the infamous scene, where Ra's kicks Tim out of a window would go a lot differently. instead of a dramatic fight, it's deeply wounded betrayal. in canon Ra's always knew Tim was never in his pocket, but in this AU, he was naive enough to fall for it. and he's angry. he's angry at Tim, angry at himself. i think he'd straight up try to kidnap Tim. less "kick Tim out a window" and more "intimately hold a knife to Tim's throat" vibes. they part ways, but there's still. something lingering. the bridge isn't fully burned and Ra's is still going to seek out Tim when he needs help, and Tim will seek out Ra's. they'll never trust each other again. but they also can't seem to stop loving each other. Tim hides it from the Batfamily and Ra's never gives Tim that level of control in the League again but. the "i didn't know who else to got to." moments are inevitable and there are whispers in the villain community about how you better be careful around Red Robin because if you're not, you'll piss off the Demon Head. unspoken, deadly protection while still sort of trying to kill each other.

[luck-of-the-drawings]

!!! FLASHING LIGHTS WARNING!!! [IM NOT FUCKIN AROUND!!]

REACHED THE CUSP OF 'THIS MAY NEVER BE ABSOLUTELY FINISHED N IF I DONT SHOW IT NOW, IT WILL NEVER SEE THE LIGHT OF DAY.' SO HERE, A PROJECT IVE BEEN ORBITING AROUND UHH SINCE 2021 OR SO.

[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.”

[zombie-bait]

I mean..... fighting in the car...... do I even have to say it?

[laundrybiscuits]

(Continued from Part 1)

Steve’s first thought is that he’s died and this is the afterlife, which makes no sense. But it makes a hell of a lot more sense than Eddie Munson, frozen in the doorway of the bar, staring at him.

Another patron pushes past Eddie, because he’s kind of blocking the entrance, and Eddie stumbles a little. It seems to shake him out of whatever stasis he’d been in, and he turns back towards the door.

Steve fucking vaults over the bar. Even lunging full speed, he barely manages to grab Eddie’s jacket in his fist.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he growls, dragging Eddie back inside. “I swear to god, Munson, I will track you down like it’s 1986 all over again.”

Eddie lets out a choked little laugh. “Okay, okay, Harrington. Cool your jets. I’m here, you got me.” 

His voice is a little different. Rougher, maybe. He still sounds like himself; he still looks like himself. 

Steve clamps a hand on the back of Eddie’s neck like he’s scruffing a cat, and hauls him stumbling along to the back room. “Taking my break, Laurie,” he calls on the way. It’s a slow night, and Laurie likes him. He’ll have as long as he needs to deal with the Eddie Munson Situation.

He lets go of Eddie once they’re in the back. He doesn’t want to. He can’t stop staring. The idea of Eddie has followed Steve around since he was 19. Having the flesh-and-blood guy in front of him is tripping him out. It’s like double vision, the way he sees Eddie and also all the Eddie-related thoughts he’s had over the years all at once, all crammed into one space. 

Eddie’s visibly uncomfortable, shifting his weight. His eyes are darting around like he’s scoping out exits. 

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out. 

“I don’t forgive you,” Steve says. It feels like the words are being scraped out of him with a butter knife.

“I…” Eddie hesitates. “Yeah, I get it. Okay, I’ll just. I’ll stay out of your way.”

Steve’s reaching out before he even realizes he’s moving, grasping tight at Eddie’s shirt like a child and crowding close. “No, no, I don’t want—you can’t do that again. You can’t leave again. You don’t get to fucking leave like that.” 

“Oh, Harrington,” says Eddie. He folds Steve into his arms, so carefully, and then Steve’s clinging to him, head tucked into his shoulder, shaking like a tornado. 

It’s fucked up, but this might actually be the first time they’ve ever touched in a deliberate kind of way, aside from the kind of shoulder-slaps and awkward jostling that teenage boys do when they don’t know how to be in each others’ space without it being some kind of fight. Steve doesn’t live like that anymore; he thinks nobody should have to live like that. Now, it’s so easy to curl into Eddie and soak up every little thing, the way his skin and hair smell a little bit like sweat and smoke, how all of him is here under Steve’s hands. 

Steve wants to crack open his own ribcage and stuff Eddie inside. 

The thought is so sudden and solid that it snaps him out of his little breakdown. He needs to stop thinking about Eddie as a defining moment of his youth and start thinking about him as someone who probably has plans for his life that don’t involve being clung to by Steve Harrington for all eternity. 

It’s just that he’s had his whole adult life to let the what-ifs and possibilities ferment in him, shaping who he is, and there’s just no way he can ever be even a little bit normal about Eddie.

He’s got to try, though. Steve pulls back and clears his throat. Eddie’s eyes flick down to where Steve can’t quite make himself let go of the grip he has on that stupid leather jacket, but Eddie doesn’t say a word. It might be a kindness, or Eddie might’ve just learned some tact in the last decade.

“So,” says Steve. “Explain.”

Eddie starts talking right away, no hesitation, like he’s been waiting to be asked.

“Okay, so, after everything went down, the feds took my body back and kept it for a couple years to run their creepy little tests on. Normal fucked-up government stuff. Got the shock of their lives when I started thrashing around all monster-y, very Night of the Living Dead. And then by the time they figured out I was, y’know, coming back, we figured it’d be kinder to just let you all get on with your lives. I wasn’t even talking like I was human for a few years, and by that time, the kids were practically done with high school, so. That was pretty much that.”

“How long,” says Steve. An awful image is starting to take shape behind his eyes.

“How long what?” Eddie tilts his head, looking confused.

“How long were you alone. How long were you locked up.”

“Oh. I dunno. Are we counting from, like, when my body first regained consciousness? Or when I first remembered who I was?”

“Either. Both.”

“A while, I guess. It really sucked, I’m not gonna lie. But…they didn’t even know I was me, so I can’t really blame them.” Eddie huffs out a croaky little laugh. “Harrington, you gotta understand. I didn’t know I was me. They basically had a wild animal of unknown demonic origin for their little menagerie, so they weren’t too psyched about me starting to be, like, a person who might possibly have rights again. I think I really messed up some of their research.” 

“I wish—they should’ve told us. They should’ve told—we would’ve helped. We would’ve done something.”

“It wasn’t so bad. Four walls and a roof, got my Fancy Feast twice a day.”

“Fucking hell, Eddie. How long have you been out? Wait, how long have you been in Chicago?”

“Not that long. They ran out of funding a few months ago, so now I’m kind of a tag-and-release deal. Wound up here a couple weeks ago, just trying to figure out what comes next.” 

So at least it's not like Eddie's been running around just existing in the world for years, and Steve missed it. He feels relieved, and then he fucking hates that he's relieved, because at least Eddie wouldn't have been a damn lab rat. 

He wants Eddie to be happy. he really does. He's just greedy, is all. He had all these scraps of Eddie that he hoarded jealously through the years, thinking there'd never be any more, and now it's overwhelming to be able to look and touch and breathe the same air. 

Steve just needs to keep remembering that Eddie's his own person. But maybe it's okay that he's going to be weird about Eddie, because Eddie is looking back, taking in whatever there is of Steve to take in. The glasses, maybe, or the earring. 

“What happened to you, Steve Harrington?” Eddie’s voice is quiet, like he’s talking to himself. Maybe he is.

“You did,” says Steve. 

Eddie looks up, almost cartoonishly surprised. His mouth actually drops open. 

“We weren’t friends or anything. You didn’t know me.” Even as he says it, Eddie’s wincing like he knows he’s wrong, or maybe just like he knows he's being cruel. He doesn’t take it back, though.

“Fuck you, Eddie. Christ. If you think it didn’t fucking kill me that you died, fuck you.” 

“You’re still kicking, ain’tcha?” But Eddie’s already jostling close. He’s like a cat, trying to comfort Steve by climbing all over him. 

It’s fucked up that Eddie is having to comfort Steve about his own death, when Steve’s had a whole life in the years when Eddie was lying alone on a government slab somewhere. He’s said yes and yes and yes to Robin, to chances, to the Eddie he’d carried around in his head like a song that won’t let you go. Steve went to London with Robin, and walked through Camden Market in the sunshine thinking Eddie would’ve loved this, all while Eddie was getting hooked up to monitors underground. Steve went dancing in Paris and kissed a beautiful man with dark, curly hair who spoke almost no English by the Seine, while Eddie was clawing his way back to humanity.

Steve’s had every good thing because of Eddie, because he wanted to live the kind of brave and colorful life that Eddie'd had stolen from him, and now Eddie’s rubbing his back gently and going, “Hey, it’s okay, it all worked out fine. You’re okay.”

“I grew my hair out for a while,” says Steve. 

Eddie audibly gasps, clutching at his heart and reeling dramatically. “Tell me there are photos, Harrington. You can’t just say that and not show me photos.”

“Yeah.” Steve finally lets go of Eddie’s jacket. “I can do that. Give me a second to talk to my boss and we’ll go see the photos.” 

He pauses before he opens the door. Eyes fixed firmly ahead, he says quietly: “Eddie. Um. You should know. If you pull another runner on me, I’m—I’m not gonna survive it, man. So just…promise you won’t leave without telling me first.”

“I won’t,” says Eddie. “Promise.”

(series tag)

[sazeracs]

Pentiment: “My new song must float like a feather on the breath of God”

A playlist featuring the original early modern pieces that inspired Alkemie's arrangements, compiled in order of appearance.

O virtus sapientiae - Hildegard von Bingen

Do fraig amors (arr. M. Lewon for vocal ensemble) - Oswald von Volkenstein

Ich stund an einem Morgen - Ludwig Senfl

Fortuna desperata - Ludwig Senfl

Victimae paschali laudes - attrib. Wipo of Burgundy

Quia ergo femina - Hildegard von Bingen

Tels rit au main - Guillaume de Machaut

Fortuna, Bruder Conrad - Heinrich Isaak

Fortuna desperata - Antoine Busnois

Karitas habundat - Hildegard von Bingen

Saltarello No. 2 - Anonymous

Pavane 'Mille Regretz' - Tylman Susato

L'homme armé - Anonymous

Herz, prich - Oswald von Wolkenstein

Nymphes des bois/La déploration de Johannes Ockeghem - Josquin des Prez

Ellend du hast umbfangen mich - Anonymous

In dulci jubilo (arr. Robert de Pearsall) - attrib. Heinrich Seuse

Quis dabit capiti meo aquam - Heinrich Isaak

Listen on Spotify

[batrachised]

i have virtually no patience for titles when I write, but it's one of the more tragical aspects of my life because DAMN does a good title make a difference. I've had The Life You Save May Be Your Own circling my head for a week, like how evocative is that???

[sufferboypizza]

I've been working on a byler fic for a couple months now off and on and I wanna start posting it... although I'm kinda scared because I am so afraid of getting unprompted criticism or hate for no reason😭

I'm very proud of it so far though, no spoilers but here's some of the stuff it has/its themes (using this post as a sort of interest check)

• established relationship byler

• mike centric/pov (third person limited) * EDIT: it actually switches pov a few times between mike and will depending on the chapter... I forgot

• protective/angry mike

• small fluffy moments throughout

• also angst (no character deaths)

• takes place after s5 events(?) everything is normal again at least

• repressed trauma surfacing

• troy...

and more because it's still a wip :] current working title is "Cry (Like You Knew)" — I hope some people may look forward to it!!!

[aceghosts]

Cyberpunk 2077 Masterpost

Hey Everyone! I wanted to put together a masterpost of my Cyberpunk 2077 fics, and I’ve finally gotten around to doing it. I’ve also included some relevant edits that shed more light on Rooney’s lore. As I write more fic and create more edits, I’ll update this post with them. Also, please mind the warnings on the specific fics.

Sending some tags to people I think might be interested: @bbrocklesnar, @chyrstis, @alexxmason, @sergeiravenov, @voidika,

@tommyarashikage, @imogenkol, @strangefable, @derelictheretic, @socially-awkward-skeleton,

@carlosoliveiraa, @theelderhazelnut, @direwombat, @cassietrn, @cloudofbutterflies92,

@confidentandgood

V: ALL I KNOW IS A PLACE WHERE I HAUNTED

This is Rooney’s main canon for Cyberpunk 2077. Most of Rooney’s fics are set in this universe, and take place during and before the events of Cyberpunk 2077. (Note: I am writing these fics out of order, and they may be moved around as I write.)

Relevant Edits: Moodboard | Character Card | Edit | FIA Profile | Playlist | General VP Tag

Pre-2077

Microprompt: In Dreams

Is This the End Or Is This the Beginning?

Tumblr | AO3 Rating: M Summary: Stuck in an Arasaka Facility, Rooney Shepard makes a new friend/ally, an unexpected one: Yorinobu Arasaka.

I Know You Feel Lost, But I'm Here To Wander With You

Tumblr | AO3 Rating: M Summary: The week that Rooney’s family died is always the worst week of the year. Rooney is having a bad week, the anniversary of their family death's looming over them. Luckily, they've got Yorinobu in their corner.

Forevermore the Apple of My Eye

Tumblr | AO3 Rating: T Summary: In the parking garage after a dinner date, Rooney Shepard and Yorinobu Arasaka are attacked. The event (and Yorinobu's actions) leave Rooney feeling shaken.

During Cyberpunk 2077

And I try to move on, but I just can't let go

Tumblr | AO3 Rating: M Summary: Rooney Shepard takes a missing person's case at the request of Rogue Amendiares; they do not expect the client to be their ex-boyfriend, Yorinobu Arasaka.

Baby, All I Want Is You

Tumblr | AO3 Rating: T Summary: “You have that look again.” “What look?” He asks, shooting them a charming smile. “The one where you’re planning something.” A short scene where Rooney and Yorinobu flirt with each other.

Microprompt: Trembling Hands

Cuddling In Bed After A Long Day

Tumblr Rating: T Summary: Rooney and Yorinobu cuddle in bed and chat after a long and tiring day, especially about dinner with some old friends.

Microprompt: One Chance

All Is Fair In Love

Tumblr | AO3 Rating: E (Minors do not interact) Summary: Rooney makes an off-handed comment about their boyfriend being a distraction. Yorinobu takes that as a personal challenge.

V: WILL YOU WELCOME YOUR EXTINCTION IN THE MORNING RAYS?

An AU where Rooney has the Relic in their head.

Relevant Edits: Edit

Microprompt: Total Control

All I Know is a Place Where I Haunted

Tumblr | AO3 Rating: M Summary: After saving President Rosalind Myers and delivering her to Reed, Rooney tries to deal with everything they've seen. But it's all too much to bear.

V: YOU'RE MY BROTHER AND I LOVE YOU

An AU where Rooney's younger brother, Jack Shepard, is still alive.

Relevant Edits: Jack Shepard Profile | Jack and Rooney Lore

No fics at this time, but I hope to write some in the future.

[accidentally-in-fictional-love]

📖⛵🐑 thank you <3

there’s not enough work for my my man wojchek out there.

In This Moment, We Could Crash Together - Wojchek/Reader

Warnings: Female reader, no use of Y/N, fluff.

Wordcount: 1540

Summary: He was only with you for a short while, but maybe you could keep him if he let himself keep you.

Notes: I was going to attempt sleep again but I cannot resist my jolly sailor bold 🥰 Wojchek was the first character I actually shipped with, back when I was slowly falling in love with DD and the few roles I'd seen, so I kinda waxed poetic with this one 🥰 thank you sosososo much for sending this one right before bed, I hope you enjoy 💗💗💗

You sometimes wondered what he was like when he was out at sea on the Demeter, when he was the captain of his own ship and everyone followed his every command. You could only guess as you watched him give orders from the windows of your dockside home or from the busy street down below, everyone bustling around like ants and keeping you from getting too close. You only truly knew what he was like in moments like this, when he made port for a day or two to rest and resupply, never back for longer than a week.

The two of you were currently on your bed, his long body draped between your skirt-trapped legs as he rested in your lap, your idle hands carding through his long hair as he slept.

He was always tired when he returned home, never showing it in the early days as he courted you with all the confidence of a man who knew the sea but not love, but now that you’d been together a few years he let you see this side of himself more often, not afraid to appear weak or vulnerable in front of you anymore. It made your heart soar every time he trusted you enough to close his eyes a moment, to relax on solid ground where it made him miss the ebb and flow of the waves, the unpredictability of the sea always bringing around the uncertainty of when he’d return to you next.

He didn’t have a home of his own other than the Demeter, and before he’d met you he used to sleep on board, not wanting to waste the money on a room when it could be used for better things, the promotion to captain giving him someplace more private for the first time in years. When you’d suggested he stay with you after a few months of meeting in the alleys along the docks he’d refused at first, for to spend one night would make this feel real, permanent, a temptation to stay. You promised him then that you’d never make him choose, you could never, knowing of his first love and how you could never compare to her, your eyes barely holding in your tears as he’d then lifted your hands to his lips and pressed soft kisses to your knuckles as he told you that the sea wasn’t his only love anymore.

He had no possessions to leave with you, nor any guarantees that he would return sooner than a month, if at all, most of the time, the two of you just needing to trust that he knew what he was doing and that his crew would help him finish the voyage. When he left and you were alone in your flat once more there were never any traces of him there to remind you of him, nothing but the memory of seeing him in all the places he no longer was. Over time it became painful to watch him walk out your door so you’d started standing on the docks just to be able to hold him for a few seconds longer, and each time you parted you felt like he was talking a part of you with him as you watched the Demeter sail away until it was nothing more than a speck on the horizon.

Neither of you spoke openly of love after that first time, but you knew deep in your heart that you were in love with him every time he returned back to you, arms open and waiting for you to rush back to him before time could tear you apart again.

He stirred but didn’t wake as you brushed the backs of your fingers tenderly over his cheek, feeling the rough stubble and wishing you could kiss him, but to attempt to do so would disturb him and that was the last thing you wanted. He usually dreamed so fitfully when he was on land but today he was calm, the two of you choosing this location since your old couch was too small for him to stretch out on even by himself, and as soon as you’d pulled him down to situate himself he’d almost instantly fallen asleep. It must’ve been a rough voyage for him to be this exhausted, chest rising and falling under his hands as they rested over his torso, the sight almost hypnotizingly rhythmic as you watched him.

Eventually you did have to wake him, though, your stomach grumbling against your will and rousing him from sleep before you could give him just a few more minutes. The sun had set a while ago now, the warm breeze carried from the water growing cold and making you shiver but he hadn’t noticed, used to it after so many years. He looked around before his eyes became adjusted to the dark, you weren’t able to light any candles with him laying on you after all, his head falling back against your stomach as he remembered where he was.

He mumbled something in his native language as he watched you, a small smile on your lips as you brushed your hair out of your eye in embarrassment. ‘I don’t understand,’ you admitted, his hand reaching up to caress you the same way you’d done to him.

‘I said, “you’re so beautiful,”’ he repeated in English, your cheeks flushing at the sudden sentimentality. It wouldn’t be proper to tell him how beautiful you thought he was in return, even though it was true, settling for handsome as you leaned forward until you could press a kiss to his forehead; you were stopped from sitting back up as his hand then found the back of your neck, keeping you close long enough to give you the kiss you’d been wanting, like he’d been able to hear your desires even in his sleep. ‘We make way for Barcelona tomorrow,’ he reminded you even more suddenly than his sentimentality, your faces still so close that you couldn’t even attempt to hide how you felt from him.

‘It’s so far…’ You hated the jobs that brought him away from you for more than a month, several weeks needed to get there, let alone return.

‘You promised to never make me choose,’ he reminded you, voice low but not upset, and you tucked your hair behind your ear as you sat back against your pillows.

‘I won’t,’ you reassured him, but still he pushed himself up to sit and look at you.

‘It won’t be as long as last time,’ he said, already knowing down to the day how long it would take, the markings of a great captain. It filled you with pride to think about it but still you wished you could go with him just once, just so the wait wouldn’t have to feel like an eternity. You could never share that secret desire though, it would be too much to ask for from him, so you can only look away, stay silent. He shifted himself over your leg so he could crawl up to the pillows, now laying beside you as you were the one to be lowered against his chest, his arms, toned and tanned from many years of rising in the ranks until he was where he was now, wrapping around you and reminding you that he was still there, he wasn’t leaving just yet.

His hands were rough from a lifetime of labour but they still touched your cheek so softly it felt like an ocean breeze, his breathing calm as you gave in, got comfortable against him, your hunger forgotten as you mesh together effortlessly. You played with one of the holes in his shirt as he brushed your hair out of your face, mirroring you without realizing in a way that only a lover can, and when you try to hold his hand he brings it up to his lips, kisses each knuckle before hesitating on your bare ring finger.

Your hands found a place on his lap, his thumb running over the space and drawing your attention to it, the topic of the future just as elusive as the one of love in the days you were able to spend together, that silence finally broken as he laced his fingers together with yours. ‘When we leave tomorrow, do not follow me to say goodbye,’ he whispered, your heart aching as your body started to tremble. ‘Do not say goodbye, but come with me, let me introduce you to my second love.’

‘I thought I was your second,’ you blurted out before you could stop yourself, and he smiled with the shine of the sun in his eyes as he tilted your head up towards his own. ‘What about the crew?’

‘If they have a problem with you, I’ll throw them over myself,’ he promised, his expression making you feel like you could believe in him, in this. ‘Kocham cię,’ he then told you gently, your eyes closing even though you didn’t understand.

‘What does that mean?’ you asked, his lips just a breath out of reach before he closed the final gap, the translation still on his tongue as he kissed you.

‘I love you.’

[ridiculouslly-ridiculous]

It’s Valentines like every day

Keith Howell x Fem!Reader (could also be read as MC/Emma)

TW/CW: porn no plot, oral (m! Receiving), cum (and I mean A LOT), cum swallowing, hand job, grinding, ball play, not beta read.

Word count: 460

I’ve been thinking about seeing how many times Keith can cum in one night — or just making him cum until he can’t cum no more.

The first one comes from giving him a hand job. You start off nice and slow, just really riling him up. And slowly start increasing the speed and pressure. His pre-cum leaking out and helping you to move your hand to really work at his sensitive spots, especially his tip where he’s the most sensitive. Even his first load is so messy — coming out in spurts, it gets all over your hands and his thighs, and stomach.

The second one comes from sucking him off. First you lick up all cum from the first load and just tease the hell out of him with your tongue before you start to suck his soul out of his body. And once you have him deep into your throat you can’t help but to tease his balls with your tongue. He shutters and his face is so red by how good you’re making him feel. He shoots his second load down your throat and he’s so turned on by watching you swallow it all.

The third one is just grinding your pussy against his cock. No penetration — just straight up grinding. The veins on his cock feel so good against your clit with each drag. His grip on your hips is so strong, he’s definitely holding back from plunging into your pussy and having you ride him, there’s definitely going to be some bruising in the morning. By now Keith is a whimpering mess and his moans are so breathy they’re verging on silent. You feel the grip on your hips loosen as he cums again, this time it splatters all over his abs. His breathing is labored and he feels so weak but so good.

You let him catch his breath for a moment, you watch as he breathes deeply how his adams apple moves. Deciding to tease him a bit more by scooping your fingers through the cum that just splattered across his abs and lick your fingers clean. You hear him let out a raspy moan and feel his cock twitch and harden underneath you as he watches you tantalizing lick up and savor every trace of his cum.

Then you proceed to make him cum again, again, and again. You don’t stop until you see Keith’s eyes beginning to droop and you see him close his eyes for just a moment. His long lashes fluttering and then his eyes slowly open. And he’s switched.

You now find yourself pinned underneath him, his golden eyes staring directly into yours. “You exhausted him so we switched,” he smirks, “Now, how about we return the favor, hm?”

Likes, replies, and reblogs are always welcome and appreciated <3

© ridiculouslly-ridiculous 2024; ᴅᴏ not ꜱᴛᴇᴀʟ, ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴏʀ repost ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ. All work posted is all original.

[starlight-nerd]

Hi I saw that you accept prompts and I have one in mind that has been stuck in my mind for days.. Can you write about Bedelia's parents visiting and Hannibal is her fake "husband"? HAHAHAHA I want him all playing the part too well and Bedelia being kind of awkward and grateful about it. Thank you! ❤️❤️❤️

Bedannibal Headcannons prt. 9

I LOVE this prompt, and tried so hard to make this one a drabble, but I couldn't make it flow in a way I felt made sense. So I took the base idea and turned it into this, hope thats okay!

Hannibal was not supposed to be there. Not at all. Bedelia remembers specifically telling him that his appointment was tomorrow, not today.

But here he was, minutes before her parents were set to arrive, letting himself into her home.

"You weren't answering my calls." "Do I have to answer all of your calls?" "Usually you do."

She had left her phone on silent and up in her bedroom so she didn't have to listen to every voice mail her mother would leave on the way over.

Bedelia tries to send him away, but he comments she's too tense, and her perfume is too sweet smelling, meaning she applied to much, and headed to the kitchen, following his nose to find out what in the world she was attempting to cook.

Of course, the harder she pushes for him to leave, the more he insists on fixing the chicken alfredo she was attempting.

When the doorbell inevitably rings, she doesn't go to answer it, at the second ring, Hannibal litterally pushes her towards the door and tells her not to be rude to her guests.

"Could you at least sneak out the back?" "Would you like me too?" "It would be preferable." "No."

After greeting her parents, taking their coats, pouring both a finger of whiskey; Hannibal makes his first apperance, interupting Bedelias mother from whatever comment was sitting on her tounge about her daughters home decor.

He has no hesitation introducing himself as her husband.

"Mr. and Mrs. Du Maurier. I've heard so much about you." "I'm afraid we can't say the same." "Ah, well, lets correct that then. I am Hannibal Lecter, Bedelia's husband."

Bedelias jaw is on the floor. She almost drops her glass from shock, and Hannibal is enjoying every minute of it.

"Husband? This is the first I'm hearing of any of this!" "Bedelia, how could you go and get married without telling your father an I?" "Now, now, It was a courthouse wedding, not all that long ago. The legal paperwork is still processing. I suppose our annoucement got lost in the mail."

Hannibal is masterminding the damage control while Bedelia is trying to understand what the actual hell, he just did.

Bedelia, knowing her mother, is prepared for her to pry and she has no idea what to say. Thankfully, nothing is said right away, both her mother and father were too caught up in getting to know their new 'Son-in-law'.

During dinner is when the questions finally start to come out.

"How did you two meet?" "A psychology confrence in Boston." "How long have you been seeing one another?" "A year and a half." "Is Bedelia as stubborn with you as she is us?" "Very, although I find it rather charming."

Hannibal does most of the brunt work, weaving together a convincing story that almost convinces Bedelia herself.

Once food was served, Bedelias father claims its one of the best dishes shes' ever made. Hannibal lets her take all the credit, and just comments that he's been giving her cooking lessons.

Despite being completely put off, and upset that Hannibal would distrupt her life with such a lie, Bedelia finds herself actually enjoying the night.

Usually, she is stuck listening to her mother going on and on about how she doesn't visit or call enough, how she needs to learn to decorate her home properly, how she should settle down and start a family before its too late.

And then shed listen to her father comment on her food choices, how her lawn care company has butchered her hedges, and once again tell her to call a plumber for the 'leaky' fauset in her first floor bathroom, even though its perfectly fine.

But with Hannibal taking on the conversation, she was able to eat in peace, to talk only when she wished too, despite most of the things coming from her being lies.

Once her parents finally leave, satisfied with their evening, Hannibal sticks around to help her clean up.

"You know, now I'll have to give them your phone number?" "I'm aware." "And that they'll expect us to send them a christmas card with a 'family' photo?" "I suspected such would be the case, as well as you signing 'Bedelia Lecter' instead of 'Bedelia Du Maurier' on anything your parents might see. Unless you plan to keep your maiden name?" "I'm not signing 'Bedelia Lecter' on anything."

"Why would you go through the trouble of doing all this?" "Doing what?" "Creating such a lie and feeding it to my parents as if its the truth?" Hannibal leans in close, his lips pressed to the shell of her ear. "Maybe next time you'll answer your phone."

When he leaves for the night as well, Bedelia cannot bring herself to be truley upset about anything that transpired.