#implied alcohol use

[awetfrog]

respite

[moddedmoor]

kkiii have clme home laaaage :)))))

it was sooooo good to see Scraych againnn.

went to yhe losy hotel ahainm

hadd a partyu

gottt in fiiights

i collapsede now :))))

{° This Looks Hard To Read. I'll Provide A Correction Below °}

I Have Come Home Late

It Was So Good To See Scratch Again

Went To The Lost Hotel Again

Had A Party

Got In Fights

I Collapse Now

{° Bonus Tags °}

I Hope I Didn't Wake Papa

He Can't See Me Like This

[ivymarquis]

The Neighbor

Hello friends I fucked off for a month but I’m back and I bring Price smut as an apology for my absence. @sky-is-the-limit’s “Im here to do what your boyfriend cant” prompt has lived in my brain rent free ecer since I read it and while I didn’t follow it verbatim, I did keep in spirit with the theme :)

Also womp I was gone for the Price challenge by @glitterypirateduck but this actually checks off a couple of the prompt options (first time being intimate, a confession/secret is discovered/revealed) so I’m submitting it.

There are a lot of tags. Make sure you read them.

Pairing| John Price x Reader Rating| M Word Count| 4.8k Kinks/Content/Warnings| Accidental voyuerism by virtue of living in an apartment, the reader has a dogshit boyfriend at the beginning of the fic (there is no cheating), slut shaming (from the dogshit boyfriend), these two idiots are down bad for each other, sex toys, oral (F!receiving), unprotected PiV, gratuitous squirting because I’m me, not really heavy on BDSM elements but mentions of the following: bondage/restraints (John uses his hands, nothing crazy), something akin to subspace from how good the nut is, aftercare, John is a prick to the now-ex, very brief angst due to a quick misunderstanding, very vaguely implied somnophilia, rampant abuse of italics. Lemme know if I missed anything.

His neighbor is clearly used to Price being deployed.

She’s a sweet thing, really, and on the whole isn’t that disagreeable of a neighbor.

He just has one problem with her (not even her, really) that is a thorn in his fucking side- her boyfriend.

The boyfriend was not an issue when they first met- wasn’t in the picture at all.

And no John most assuredly hasn’t had it out for the guy since Day 1. The fact that John had gathered himself up to ask his pretty neighbor out when he came back from his latest mission, only to find out about the new boyfriend, does not color his impression of the other man. He’s grown and this is not the first time his advances have been turned away for whatever reason.

But there are, to his knowledge, no true redeeming qualities about the man and he is about as useful as a screen door on a submarine.

He catches bits and pieces through the walls. The boyfriend is not attentive, caring, or sweet to her. She is treated as a guest in her own home, and twice he’s heard bellowing shouts that had Price at the door with his fist banging against it- both to shut him up and make it exceptionally well known that if the boyfriend thinks intimidating a woman is going to fly, that Price will not hesitate to kick the door in.

The most appalling part of it all is that John has a front row seat to just how atrocious he is in bed.

For the life of him John does not understand. It’s not even like the lad’s a good lay.

He’s heard many stories of women tolerating absolutely atrocious behavior from the muppets they were with because he knew how to make them see stars.

That is exceptionally not the case here. And John is rapidly finding his patience wearing thin at continually being subjugated to his pathetic performance.

So what the hell is it about the boyfriend that keeps his neighbor so enamored with him?

John stares at the ceiling, watching the blades of the fan turn as he tries to tune out the thumping of the headboard against the wall.

He thinks that if the man was just a bad lay and completely incapable of getting her anywhere, that would be one thing and John would continue to be frustrated but ultimately understand. But it’s the way he seems to actively ruin it anytime she has the audacity to enjoy having sex with him that truly grates on John’s nerves.

It’s not often, but even a blind squirrel finds a nut every now and then. The thumping of the headboard is accompanied by her sweet voice moaning lowly in short staccato notes as the boyfriend appears to finally be doing something right.

The thumping comes to a halt, and John groans in frustration.

“Why’d you stop?” He can hear his pretty neighbor lament through the thin walls.

“Why the fuck are you being so loud? Trying to give the neighbor a show?”

John squints his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose in annoyance. The fucking muppet can’t do anything right.

If the neighbor was his, John wouldn’t give a fuck who heard. Let all the neighbors know that he could fuck the sense clear out of her pretty little head. John could show the muppet what loud is.

“No! I’m not trying to do anything- it just felt good,” she defends herself.

“Well, be quieter about it, no one needs to hear that. You sound like a whore,” the muppet snaps at her irritably, and John is nearly at his fucking limit when the god damn headboard starts to thump against the wall again.

“Get out.”

Oh.

John is impressed- pleasure and pride coursing through him as his sweet neighbor stands up for herself rather than letting that ungrateful swine continue to berate her.

Good fucking girl.

“What did you just say?” The thumping stops.

“You don’t get to call me names. Get off of me and get out.”

For all his sins, it seems even the muppet has a line he’s not willing to cross.

There’s a shifting as he presumably pulls out and gets off the bed- the words are muffled but the tone is clear. The muppet isn’t above laying into her verbally though consent is (smartly) a line he won’t toe.

And good thinking on his part- John would probably tear through the drywall and turn him into a chew toy had that conversation gone in any other direction.

The door slams loudly, announcing the boyfriend’s departure.

John can’t help but keep his attention on his neighbor to see what her reaction is going to be. It is taking every ounce of self control he has to not follow the boyfriend and wring his neck in the parking lot.

There’s no conventional guide for how to address this situation with your neighbor. ‘Hello, I’ve fancied you for quite some time and that ungrateful prick somehow swept you up before I got the nerve to ask you out. I've had to hear you have the most lackluster sex ever for the past several months, and equal parts want to check in on how you’re doing emotionally after his latest stunt, and also want to bend you over and pin you to the mattress until you’re squealing. May I come in?’

He can’t say he is too surprised to hear things slamming about in the apartment- his pretty neighbor sounding more pissed off than upset, catching snippets of “Who the fuck does he think he is, talking to me like that” and “Motherfucker couldn’t find my clit with a map and a headlamp but can find the audacity to call me names-”

Okay, John has to fight back the urge to laugh at that last one lest she hear him. She’s quite the viper when (finally) provoked, and it just endears her more to him.

She doesn’t appear particularly distraught, the slamming and huffing and muttering concluding with her tossing herself on the bed.

It’s a very common occurrence that after the neighbor’s rendezvous with her lazy boyfriend, John is treated to a show where she finishes herself off with her toys.

The boyfriend, like many inadequate men, is threatened by them and John has heard the snide remarks.

Hilarious, he finds it, that a man incapable of getting her off is so adamant that she gets rid of them.

She hasn’t listened, clearly, as the low sound of her vibrator can be heard through the wall.

John is soon graced with the sound of her panting moans. His cock stiffens in interest at her voice, which is a frequent occurrence. She makes such pretty noises, mewling and whimpering as she works herself up.

Tonight is a whirlwind of emotions for his pretty neighbor, and at the end of the day her no-good boyfriend left her high and dry.

John will gladly enjoy the consequences of the boyfriend’s actions, one hand wrapping around his cock and beginning to stroke in time with her whines.

What he wouldn’t give for a chance to make her see stars. He’d be so good to her.

The reality of his job makes dating a logistical nightmare, part of what stayed his hand for so long.

He’s not blind. His neighbor is kind and sweet with a killer smile and wandering eyes. He’s caught her more than once ogling him when he’s returned home in uniform, or more nondescript tactical clothing.

Feeling her gaze on him always makes him puff up with pride, enjoying holding her attention no matter how fleeting. If he takes his time after a run and makes a point to pull the hem of his shirt up to wipe at his brow where she can see it, that’s his business.

So John thinks he’s dreaming when he hears that lovely voice whimper his name from the other side of the wall.

He stiffens, quietly waiting to see if he hears it again.

“John- Oh, fuck- please,” is all he needs to hear before he’s well and truly lost any semblance of patience.

Only having the presence of mind to dress himself enough to not warrant any errant looks from the other neighbors, he is at her door in a second.

It’s only after he knocks that he realizes he may well have killed whatever momentum she’s built for herself- given her muttering as she approaches the door- but he fully intends to make up for the stolen release.

She opens the door without looking through the peephole, obviously expecting it to be the ex based on the vitriol poised to spill at John’s chest, approximately eye level with where the (hopefully ex) boyfriend would be.

Once again he has to stifle a laugh, finding her a comical vision when the anger on her face melts away as her eyes flick up to his face with the realization that it is him at the door and not the object of her ire.

“What are you doing here, John?” Christ, he’s always been a sucker for pretty doe eyes. If he held even an ounce less of restraint he’d be mounting her right here for everyone to see.

“I’m here to do what your sorry excuse of a boyfriend can’t.”

Even as he reaches out to pull her in for a kiss, he’s watching her body language- gauging if she stiffens or shifts away.

She doesn’t.

In fact, her arms loop behind him and pull him closer, tugging on his hair and his shirt.

John’s not wasting any more time than he already has, walking her backwards into the apartment and shutting the door with his foot before reaching back to lock it- he’s got no desire for any interruptions from wayward former boyfriends.

They separate for a moment as she paws at the hem of his shirt, clearly wanting it off of him. John is all too happy to oblige, preening under her attention. He’s always had the stockier build of a man who’s fitness came from utility in the field, opposed to the hard defined abs of someone who spends most of their time in the gym.

It’s cute, the way she has to pry her eyes up to his face- clearly liking what she sees and flustered by the fact that John can see her staring.

“I broke up with him,” she clarifies.

“Good,” is his simplistic response, although if John’s being honest with himself he doesn’t really care about the finer details. The little prick never deserved to have her and John finally has his chance to prove himself worthy.

“The bedroom’s this way,” she prompts between kisses.

Their clothes are peeled off in turns as they stumble towards the room. The layout is inverted to John’s own flat nextdoor, so despite having never stepped foot inside before he guides her to keep her from crashing into something behind her.

By the time they are collapsing against her bed, they’re stripped of everything except a scant thong on her and his own boxers.

She’s just so delightfully soft in his grip, John can’t keep his hands or his mouth off of her.

The feeling is reciprocated as she pushes up off the bed to grind against him. As much as he’s relishing in them dry humping and making out like teenagers, he’s wanted her for so long and now that she’s finally willing and pliant underneath him, he’s itching for a taste of her.

Kissing his way down her body- starting at her jaw, the column of her neck, across her collar bone, down her sternum; latching onto each nipple and teasing them to hardened peaks before continuing his path down.

He’s compelled by the urge to turn her into a chew toy as he reaches her belly, although he stifles that urge and keeps his teeth to himself.

He can’t quite resist giving a small nip as she squirms, clearly excited by the implication of where he’s heading.

There’s a damp spot on her underwear already as he kisses along the waistband while his hands tease with the elastic on either side of her hips.

The sound of her breath hitching in anticipation makes him smirk, attention drifting further south.

The fabric is in his way as he presses a kiss against her clothed cunt, gripping handfuls of her hips to keep her still as she bucks in his grasp.

“Easy, sweetheart- we’ve got all night,” he soothes before moving his attention up one thigh to the backside of her knee.

Those sweet thighs are splayed open for him, giving John unfettered access as he continues to tease.

“When’s this sweet cunt been eaten last, hm?”

He knows he’s heard her give that undeserving muppet head, but can’t recall any reciprocation occuring. There’s not much that can shock John at this point in his life, and he’s willing to roll the dice by dragging up her now-ex because he knows this poor thing hasn’t been eaten until she’s begging him off in ages.

“I couldn’t even begin to tell you,” she answers breathlessly, anticipating having her thighs twitching in his hold.

Out of the corner of his eye, John spies a torn condom wrapper that didn’t quite make it into the bin. Well that keeps him from having to ask two questions, then. Smart girl.

“What a shame,” he tsks lightly, peppering kisses back up and down her thigh.

Deciding that she’s waited long enough and he’s had his fun being a tease, John is quick to remove the scant lace and pull it off of her legs before tossing it to who-knows-where.

The sounds she makes as he makes a meal out of her is music to his ears. Each hitched moan and breathy whimper makes him stiffen in interest.

His attention shifts to focus on her clit, tongue circling the sensitive nub as his hands hold her hips in place.

As focused as he is on what’s right in front of him, it takes a moment for John to realize that she’s stifling her noises. One hand is fisting the sheets beneath her while the other is clamped across her lips.

Well. That simply won’t do.

The ex may have trained and shamed her into silence, but John didn’t make it as a military captain without learning how to break someone else’s bad habits.

He ignores her whimper of protest as he stops, one hand abandoning the softness of her hip in favor of grabbing her wrist and pulling her hand away from her mouth.

“None of that,” he admonishes gently, pressing a kiss to one thigh. “Let me hear you.”

“I-I’m too loud,” she protests and for a split second John sees red.

To his credit, he does not leave her wet and leaking on the bed to go bludgeon her ex to death with a blunt object.

“No such thing, sweetheart,” he soothes before having a thought to tease her. “Who are you worried is going to hear you?” He asks kindly, a shit eating grin as he speaks again, “the neighbor?”

Her wide eyed expression is thoroughly scandalized and John can’t fight the chuckle that escapes him.

He hasn’t released her wrist yet, deciding that it’s time to get back to his meal. If she abandons gripping the sheet with her free hand to cover her mouth again, he simply plans to hold both of her wrists.

It’s tentative at first, still not entirely trusting John at his word that he wants to hear her.

But John is all for positive reinforcement as a motivator, crooking his fingers to stroke that one spot that makes her see stars to encourage more from her.

She’s a quick study, although when she releases the sheet John is watching her like a hawk.

Rather than clasping over her mouth again, John is pleased when her fingers end up burying in his hair.

More than happy to let her guide him, John takes his cues from how she pulls at his hair. The feel of her thighs twitching as she breathes in staccato breaths is all the reward he needs.

“You’re getting close,” he says against her cunt, pointing out the obvious before getting back to work. She’s anxious, he thinks, the closer she gets to her climax. Poor girl doesn’t know what to do with herself with an orgasm she hasn’t had to put all the work into.

“D-don’t stop,” she stammers, rewarded immediately with John redoubling his efforts.

He’s not going to stop. Pretty thing like her deserves nothing less than laying on her back and enjoying getting her cunt eaten out.

“O-oh fuck,” is his only warning before she’s gushing on his face and John is like a kid on Christmas morning.

He doesn’t even know if she realizes she’s squirted, too caught up in the pleasure of her high.

He’s always thought it was hot- now that he knows his pretty neighbor is a squirter he is more than willing to get on his knees and pray to whoever is listening that this isn’t a one time event. He’ll do anything to get her to keep him.

Even as her high fades he doesn’t let up on her, continuing to work his middle and ring finger inside of her. All he wants is to see her cum- wants to see those eyes roll as she squeezes them shut in anticipation.

Despite pulling his face away from her wet pussy, he doesn’t leave her clit unattended for long before his thumb is gently circling in time with the thrusts of his fingers.

Kissing his way back up her body, John can’t help but be pleased as she pulls him in to make out with him. Snatched gasps and bucks of her hips grace his ears as he works her from orgasm to the next, the wet sound of his palm slapping against her.

“John Im gonna cum again,” she whimpers in warning.

He feels like a god with the way she stares up at him reverently, eyes wide and desperate for another climax.

“Come on,” he goads, “Show me- let me see your face when you cum.”

Christ if her leg twitches any harder it’s going to start vibrating, serving to only encourage him.

“O-oh,” she mewls, “God- don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t-“ she’s pleading with him like he wouldn’t sit at her feet if she asked him to.

The bewildered look on her face is darling, and John nearly finishes untouched; he's so wound up it’s not going to take much.

A few choice thoughts keep his own eminent climax at bay and buys him enough breathing room. She bucks and trembles in his hold, a high pitched squeal escaping her as he proves not only can he make her cum twice, but he can make her squirt like a faucet twice.

As soon as she’s starting to come down from her high she’s pulling at him, drawing up her knees to spread her legs in invitation.

“Greedy girl,” he teases as he kisses her- wet fingers abandoning her cunt in favor of manhandling her, wrapping her legs around his waist as he positions himself.

“Please, please, please-“ she begs so prettily for him, pleading for him to do exactly what he’s been fantasizing about for months.

He’s not a small man and mindful of that fact, but she’s well prepped and takes him easily. The desperate whimper that escapes her sears into John’s memory.

The buildup of everything finally gets to him as he wastes no time setting a steady pace.

“That’s it, sweetheart, just like that. Let me hear you,” he encourages as she cants her hips in time with his, whines of pleasure escaping her on each thrust.

“John, please,” she begs, eyebrows furrowing in pleasure as she watches where they’re joined.

“Eyes up here,” he instructs and Christ he almost loses it when her gaze flicks from between their bodies up to his face.

His hands find hers, fingers lacing together as he lowers his torso in order to kiss the ethereal creature underneath him.

She whimpers into his mouth, her sounds only encouraging John.

Everything about her is warm and inviting, from her soft skin to her warm cunt and the way she sings for him at every thrust.

Maneuvering them so he can grip both her wrists with one of his hands, the other immediately dives between their bodies to find her clit again.

His pretty neighbor has spent months not having an orgasm she didn’t give herself, and John is determined to prove to her that he can give her as many as she can handle.

“John I can’t cum again,” she pleads even as her thighs shake on either side of him.

“Yes you can,” he assures her. “One more time for me, yeah?”

Now, should she insist she’s done and satisfied then John would leave her clit alone and finish up their fun. As it is, though, she nods in acquiescence before the trembling in her thighs increases.

“Good girl,” he praises, fingers continuing their steady pace around her clit as she creeps closer to the edge.

She’s babbling in his ear as he presses a kiss to her temple and he knows she’s almost there.

“Good girl,” he praises again, a cocksure grin pulling at the corners of his lips at her immediate response.

“My good girl,” he ups the ante, testing her response to John staking a claim on her. And God did it ever work. That last little bit is all it takes to finally tip her over.

She clenches down on him like a vice and John immediately loses it, groaning low as the haze of his orgasm washes over him.

It’s everything he wants- she’s everything he wants as he recovers enough from his climax to finally notice that the bed is an utter mess beneath them.

It’s not his immediate concern however, more interested in soothing her through the come down of her high. She’s shivering underneath him, eyes glossy from the intensity of her last orgasm.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he murmurs reassuringly. “Just breathe for me.”

He gathers her up in his arms, listening as her heartbeat relaxes in time with his own.

Eventually when enough time passes she’s more alert and happily snuggling against his chest. After giving her a chance to rest he herds her along to the bathroom so she doesn’t give herself a UTI. She tries to brush him off but her legs are taking their sweet time cooperating again.

Of course, she’s not exactly a recruit taking a piss test so he gives her her privacy and she’s able to return on her own albeit on shaky legs.

John pets at her head idly, attention drifting in post coital bliss as his hand strokes down along her back.

“I can’t believe you’re actually in my bed,” she giggles deliriously after a stretch of quiet.

“Only reason I wasn’t here sooner was because of that muppet,” he assures her. He doesn’t want her thinking that this is a one time thing for him. He’s wanted her for so long he can’t possibly be expected to turn her loose at the end of the night.

“I only dated him because I didn’t think you liked me,” she scoffs at herself.

“Oh, it was nearly the first moment I laid eyes on you. But with my work I kept talking myself out of doing anything,” he tells her. “Kept telling myself you deserve better. And then you brought the muppet home and kept him around,” John grouses good naturedly at her. “Think they say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.”

“I plead temporary insanity,” she jokes, snuggling closer against his chest. “But I got rid of him. And you finally made your move.”

He hums in agreement, sleep pulling at him now that he has her tucked up against his side.

John doesn’t remember falling asleep but he wakes with a jolt to the sound of pounding on her door.

He’s only been out for an hour or so when he checks the clock on the nightstand, his neighbor sprawled out next to him.

Well, now he knows she snores. The sound is light enough to have never heard it through the wall, but curled up next to him she’s like a cat purring loudly in his ear.

And he’s exceptionally pissed right off at the fact someone has woken him up. Especially considering he has one guess who it is.

He fully debates answering the door buck ass naked to teach the prick a lesson about banging on doors after midnight but settles on tossing his joggers on.

Much like when she opened the door for John, the ex is automatically trained at where her head would be rather than looking at John’s face.

“My eyes are here,” he quips sarcastically. “Why the fuck are you banging on the door this late.”

“Why th-“ the ex starts to parrot back before cutting himself off. “Why the fuck are you in her apartment? Why isn’t she answering?”

“She’s asleep,” John answers simply. There’s no obligation to explain the why and how he ended up in her apartment.

“What the fuck do you mean she’s asleep? How is she asleep after she just dumped me? And why the fuck are you here?”

The boyfriend (the ex boyfriend, he thinks with glee) is either oblivious or…

Well. The ex boyfriend is oblivious. Let’s just keep it at that.

“I’m here because you can’t do your job right. She’s asleep because I can. What part of that is confusing?”

“That stupid slag’s been fucking you behind my back-“

“No.” John is somewhat mindful of not giving a full on “screaming at recruits” bellow, but his voice booms into the corridor outside the apartment anyway. “You watch your fucking mouth. This” John gestures vaguely at his own presence in her flat, “just happened after she dumped you. You don’t get to hurl insults.”

“She hopped off of my cock and straight to yours- what the fuck else is it?”

“You couldn’t get her off,” John hisses in annoyance. “I’ve had front row seats to your shitty little performance more than once. Not 5 minutes after you leave and she’s having to handle it herself.”

“I can’t be expected to compete with a fucking vibrator!”

“Well I sure as shit didn’t need one to get the job done. Poor girl could barely get her legs to work to go to the loo and not give herself a UTI. Your skill issues are what started all of this.”

“You know what? Fucking have her. I don’t need this shit.”

Ah yes, because John needs the ex’s permission to date a newly single woman. Absolutely. That’s entirely how that works.

“Never needed your blessing. Now fuck off. I’m trying to sleep.”

The ex responds with a two finger salute as he spins on his heel and storms off.

John is almost tempted to grab him by the back of his neck and turn him into a chew toy. Given his military career, his patience for muppets giving him attitude is virtually nonexistent.

But the siren call of his pretty neighbor is a stronger pull than the muppet can ever hope to achieve. John’s succeeded in his mission to run the prick off, and he’s going to try to get a few more hours of sleep before seeing if she’s interested in another romp in the morning when she wakes up.

The bedroom is dark and poorly lit but John immediately picks up on the silence.

Rather than being sprawled out and snoring like when he left her, she’s quiet and curled into a ball.

She’s awake.

“Sweetheart?” He calls softly.

She jolts, fabric rustling from the sheets falling off her as she sits up.

“You’re still here,” the surprise in her tone cuts, although he knows she didn’t mean for it to.

She seems to realize how that comes across and clarifies further, “I- I heard the door shut.”

It falls into place for him then- she woke up to the sound of the door and John nowhere to be found. She thought he’d left.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he consoles, making his way back to the bed. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” he assures her while gathering her back into his arms.

Sleep comes back readily once the two of them are situated back in the bed.

Come morning, John’s got the patience and the presence of mind to throw a towel on the bed. He finds out for himself that his neighbor makes the prettiest noises with her arse propped up in the air and her face still buried in her pillow.

He can’t help but laugh later when she texts him that one of the neighbors made a noise complaint.

Age in bio/pinned or I will block you ♡

[thehammerhorse]

I had this idea that Toki would force Magnus to hang out with him and Rockso.

This is my first time drawing Rockso so be nice about it lmao

Line art wip under the cut

[wistfullywaiting2]

Odasaku, Sasaki, and the orphanage headmaster are all buried in the same cemetery.

So Kunikida, Atsushi, and Dazai all run into each other grave visiting regularly and politely pretend they don’t. They never acknowledge the meaning behind the bouquets brought, even if all of them know the others know flower language. They never acknowledge the tear streaks down Atsushi’s face, or the solemn look on Kunikida’s. Atsushi never points out how the scent of whiskey is always a bit stronger on Dazai’s coat. They never acknowledge the location of their accidental meetings.

Sometimes Kunikida might offer to take them to get food, or Atsushi will offer a random hard candy from his pocket, on colder days Dazai might lend his coat. None of them are really themselves when faced with grief, and none of them will to hold it against each other.

[theshadowrealmitself]

It just got pointed out to me that Merlin should be a lightweight

And Arthur wouldn’t be expecting him to be one

Some thoughts on that so far (maybe more later now that I have something new to ruminate on):

• Arthur watching Merlin closely to make sure he doesn’t get absolutely sloshed, is satisfied when Merlin only has one drink, is completely unprepared for drunk Merlin

• Arthur watching Merlin only have one drink and getting drunk/tipsy, obviously Merlin who practically lives at the tavern wouldn’t be affected by one drink, he must’ve been poisoned!! Arthur proceeds to be on a warpath

• Arthur almost accidentally giving Merlin liver failure cause he gets him a really strong drink(s) and Merlin feels pressured to drink it

• Arthur seeing Merlin accidentally get shitfaced and Merlin does not know how to take care of himself while drunk, so Arthur ends up deciding that Merlin spends so much at the tavern because he’s bad at getting home while drunk, so Arthur makes it his new mission to escort Merlin from the tavern every time he’s there

[bugsinshoes]

WHAT'S THIS ??? NEW OC ALERT !!

OKAY. OKAY SO I CAVED. I CAVED AND I MADE A NEW GRAVITY FALLS OC.

his name is Aysel Themis Del Mar !! a fellow dimension hopper who stumbles upon ford during his travels !!! aughhh idk how to properly introduce her so AH. JUST ENJOY !!!

i really wanna post more aysel stuff since i REALLY like him. my fav space cowboy ❤️

uhhhh but yeah. that's it. if you want to know more about her just send an ask :3 (i always love receiving them !!)

[st1mmywimmy]

davesport but they’re getting wasted in the safe room together stimboard

🍊absolutely WASTED davesport stimboard🍆

starts barking

art by mintedfish (instagram)

x x x - x x - x x x

[helluvabossrewrite45]

Hazbin Hotel Rewrite; Opening up at the Bar

From what I seen from hh with how it handles sa topics, it's very...questionable. Now the show hasn't still come out yet so I won't go into detail about it, but with how they use the song 'poison' and behind the scenes of it (viv making a sex joke as marketing the song and the lead storyboard shipping val x angel despite what it's meant to portray in canon) makes it understandable for people to critque the show's portrayal of it. So for here, I want to approach Angel's truama as respectfully as I can with Angel opening up to Husk as it seems to be the same episode where both of them improve their relationship. I hope I'm able to address sa well because I know it's a very delicate topic that shouldn't be written lightly (especially for truama responses like hypersexuality) so if you have any problems with how I written it and how I should change it, please let me know. I will rewrite it until I portray this topic properly and credit you for your critque/help (unless you don't want to)

Content Warning; SA and mention of drug/alcohol addiction

A bar full of bottles and boozes sitting there in windless silence, aching for their next customer. Its emptiness is numbing, the stranded desert of this hotel. Husk, tapping his fingers in rhythm, halts it as though the ticking of a clock stops and sighs in relief, grateful that his work is now done. He takes a bottle of booze, fulfilling its fate as he opens the lid to drain it all down, until he hears the door creaking. 

He groans “Oh it’s you,” as Angel Dust drags himself towards the bar, collapsing his face to the poseur table. “What do you want now? Bar’s gonna close soon. So hurry up.” 

Angel’s face tilts up. “A drink, please.” His voice is soft yet hoarse.

Husk rolls his eyes, wishing for that sweet graveness to enter this bar once again. He goes through his bottles. “Which one?” He asks with a hostile glare.

“Any.”

Angel Dust slowly lifts himself up from the table, staring in discomfort at Husk grabbing a random bottle from his shelf, a sense of dread lingers onto him. 

“Husk…” His voice grows quiet.

“What?”

“I’m…sorry.” His eyes not meeting Husk’s gaze. 

“For what?” He responds snappily, placing one hand to his hip.

“For earlier…” Angel answers, his eyes still refusing to see Husks. “For saying and doing all those weird things to you, I'm sorry.”

His grouchy face still remains. “Whatever,” firmly placing the bottle to the table and swishing it towards Angel. “Don’t do that again.”

“Yeah,” his body tenses, “I hope so…”

Husk brows raised. “Hope so? What do you mean?”

The question hangs on as Angel Dust fiddles their hands, looking down at the wooden dry floor. The room has been fogged in silence as Husk finds himself repeatedly tapping his fingers, wondering when the clock will finally end its grating tick. 

“Well…” His voice quivers, tracing his eyes back to Husks. “I don’t know…”

Husk’s face turned puzzled. “The hell you mean you don't know?!” 

“I-” Angel pauses himself for a moment, “I don't know. I just don’t know.” His face bangs on the table as his arms come to cover.

“Ah well, might just be a you problem then.” He cackles at his own joke, with hollow applause. 

Angel huffs, “That’s what you all think.” His voice became more irritated. 

Husk’s laughter abrupt into cold stillness, his voice freezes with the rest of his body. 

Angel continues, “All of you think i’m just some dirty sex pest, huh? A running sex joke?” Anger starts to rise through his voice, “Even Charlie thinks what I do is just who I am- like I chose this!” He cuts himself off, facing down to the lifeless floor again. “Like I chose this…”

Husk words vanished, his voice having trouble coming out of his mouth. All he could do is stand there, watching Angel Dust ponder through his thoughts. 

“You know I don’t actually like being sexual twenty-four seven? Crazy right?” He formed a smile, though not by sweetness, but by bitterness. “I don’t actually like making endless sex jokes or dirty talk, I don’t actually like to constantly fantasise or masturbate or sleep around with a bunch of nobodies,” bitterness starts to spread through his voice, “and I especially don’t like working in that place!” He holds his breath, exhaling to serene air. “But I do it anyway, no matter how hard I try.” His finger scratched the table harshly with a melancholic frown. “I don’t know what is wrong with me, I didn’t used to be like this, it was only after-” Angel cuts himself off as his body starts trembling. He places a heart on his hand, feeling the rapid sounds of his heartbeat. “After…” He slows himself, unable to muster anything else to speak of. 

His eyes lift to Husk, seeing the statue that he became, his widened pupils not even taking one blink. Angel’s face rose with worry, “Oh uh…sorry.” He murmurs. “Sorry, I’ll just take the booze or-”

“Go on.” Husk's voice comes back again.

“W-what?” He quivers, taken aback by what he heard.

“Go on…” Husk's voice trails off, still a statue of himself.

Angel Dust pursed his lips, facing down once more. “There was a time back then, when I sneaked into a bar for some alcohol, the thing that helped me most when I was alive. There was a really fancy bottle, porcelain white shimmering with bubbles, I couldn’t help myself. I had to have it. Then he caught me, I thought he would kill me. Instead, he made a deal; that if I work in his business, I won’t need to steal anything or even need a place to stay…” He breaks off, his fingers scraping themselves to a shell. “So I worked as one of his sex workers; a stripper for his bars, an actor for his films, anything to do with sex, really. It wasn’t what I was always interested in, but it felt…better? Being more open and honest about myself that I never got to do on earth. That is, until I came back to his home…He told me he wanted to show me something, my ‘reward’...” He holds back on his words, wrapping his arms around in a warm embrace. “After that, I…I don't know, I guess that’s where I started becoming more sexual. It’s like a switch where my mind now constantly thinks about sex, even if it’s not what I want. It’s my poison.” He holds onto his words again, reflecting his thoughts. “Maybe it’s a way of control, to take back what he did to me, not letting him hurt me…but is it any good if you can’t control it yourself?” He finds himself eyeing at the bottle of toxicated liquid. “That’s why I came here, I couldn’t find any drugs. So alcohol will just have to do.”

Husk exhales a quiet breath, with Angel’s words stalling through his mind. He saw Angel reaching for the bottle. “Wait!” He alerts, taking the bottle before Angel could have the chance. Angel looks at him, confound. “Why?” Husk fell silent, wavering on his memory like a lightning struck in a bottle. He places the bottle back to its fateless place and starts rummaging through the tea bags until one reads ‘Black Caravan Tea’. He places the tea bag in a muggy cup and clicks the kettle to brew. Minutes go by as the kettle finally makes its thump, breaking Husks trance as he pours the steamy water onto the cup and gently pushes it over to Angel. “Here” He says softly. “Careful, it’s hot.” Angel slowly directs his eyes to the hot tea, then back to Husk, his mouth making a quiet gasp. “I know it’s not much,” He adds. “But for you, I hope it can be enough.”

Angel dust calmly blows the steam off his tea and takes a sip, warm smoky sweetness filling his mouth in peaceful bliss. He continues sipping it at a slow pace, enjoying each moment with him and his magical tea, transforming his mind to ocean waves, hearing its soothing whooshes and the pleasant echoes of bird’s chirping. After taking one last sip, he notices Husk with his own muggy cup, cooling off the steam before slurping down the whole tea to an empty cup. His grouchy face disappeared, replacing it with a genial smile; friendly and relaxed. Like warming his face with radiant golden sunlight. 

“What’s this?” Angel asks as soon as Husk tastes his last drop.

“Black Caravan.” Husk replies, licking his lips. “My Babushka always makes this tea, saying ‘If you get upset, don’t waste your mouth with vodka, relish it with Caravan.’” He glimpses away from Angel dust, shining a little star in his eyes before glaring at the shelves of bottles and boozes. “Heh, no wonder I hadn’t remembered…” 

Angel snickers. “My Nonno says something similar. He said; ‘You don’t stuff your mouth with alcohol, you stuff it with Frittelie!’” They both chuckle with each other, reminiscing of their old lives before the room went to silence. Both eyes looking away from each other as Angel proceeds to fiddle with his hands and Husk tapping his table, now only slow and with no rhythm. A clock’s final strikes till midnight. “You know,” He spoke solemnly. “After you're done with work and all, instead of finding drugs, you can come straight here to talk or have some tea. Either one or both to get off some steam.” 

Angel glances back to Husk’s sentimental gaze, his eyes lit up. “You’ll…You’ll do that?”

“Yeah.” He responds, keeping his gaze to Angel Dusts. “I’d do. For you…”

Their eyes locked in their gazes, their beating hearts twined to one another. Angel’s eyes turn away from the burning faint shades of pink of his face, looking steadily at the cup. “Yeah,” a small line shaped to a tender smile, “I’d like that.”

[fffanii]

06.13.24

[radioactive-circus]

Saw this on Pinterest and it inspired me

[giallogigan]

each time i look at you i need someone to wake me up your dark eyes moving closer to a plane beyond🥀

[tildeathiwillwrite]

My time has come!

A writing request! Could be OCs or generic whump, whichever you're more comfortable with!

Whumpee and Caretaker got into a bad argument, and Whumpee leaves. Caretaker left them alone for a few days until they learned that Whumpee has been kidnapped and being held as bait for them. Despite the fight and the fact it was a trap, they rescued Whumpee from their kidnappers. Cue apologies and hurt/comfort ❤️

Thank you so much for the request! (Rules here)

It took me about two weeks but I managed to get 3600 words out of this prompt, and I chose to go with the Gunblade Duo (Draven and Octavian). I had a lot of fun with this, enjoy! :D

CW: swearing, blood, guns, concussion, passing out, tied up, knife wounds, implied mauling, abduction, referenced abduction, arguing, death, alcohol

A/N: This takes place during The Hunter, the Myth and the Cure and is not canon to the story. There is some reference to the events leading up to this one-shot, and implied reference to the events of The Watcher and the Thief. None of that is relevant for reading and enjoying the story :)

Tag List: @fourwingedsnake @pigeonwhumps

The trek back through Zariya was even more tense than the initial trip. Octavian must’ve sensed Draven’s displeasure. He was silent for much of the journey, only speaking to point out notable sounds and scents. Draven should’ve offered thanks. It was what a decent person would have done, considering any of the people they avoided due to Octavian’s warnings could have had ill intentions.

Draven, however, wasn’t in the mood to be a decent person.

“I apologize that the party was a bust,” Octavian finally said. They were drawing close to the safe house where the devar and Reese were staying until Draven felt it was safe for them. Octavian was, for some reason, even more paranoid than Draven about keeping the kid safe, so even if Draven decided the search for her had subsided, they might still be stuck with her for a while yet.

“You don’t sound very sorry,” Draven muttered as they rounded a corner, dodging around the pool of light illuminated by a nearby street lamp. The party had been his idea; to draw out some of the higher-profile targets the evening before a full moon. The smart ones would decline. The foolish ones would accept and try to depart early.

Unfortunately, only one of them was clever enough to avoid the party. Of the ones who attended, only one tried to leave early. And that was because she hated staying around the crowd of partygoers for too long.

“Personally, I don’t see it as a total loss.”

Draven exhaled sharply. “Really? How so?” When they’d returned to the party, he’d been pissed to discover that two of the attending targets had slipped out while they were distracted with the noblewoman. This little piece of information had turned one confirmed suspect into three.  Three more lycanthropes they had to track down. Draven was beginning to get sick of the whole thing. But money was money, and he was getting paid a lot of money.

Octavian indicated a pair of figures ahead of them on the street, and they ducked into an adjoining alley. “I spoke with a former Draigo contact. Most of the human confidants were never made public, we’re lucky I recognized him from a previous mission.”

Yeah. We. “And?”

“He all but confirmed what I already suspected. The stronghold in the south burned down before the plague claimed its first victims. It was unrelated.”

“And this is relevant because…?” They emerged from the alley. Draven quickly glanced around before turning south. Almost there.

Octavian hesitated. “I… it means that I can trust my memories from right before… you know….”

Draven rolled his eyes. “Sure.”

“Are you still annoyed that those targets got away from us?”

“Of course I’m annoyed!” Draven snapped, stopping in his tracks. “More than annoyed, I’m fucking furious! The plan was to eliminate four difficult targets from my list, not one!” He folded his arms, glaring at Octavian. “And your ‘relevant’ information was all but useless. It was a complete dead-end, and the cost is definitely coming out of my pay, and—”

Octavian hissed through his teeth sharply. “Of course it all comes down to money for you. Typical.”

Draven folded his arms, hands clenched into fists. “At least I’m not the one in denial about the greatest tragedy in the last decade!”

Octavian’s mouth snapped shut, and his expression changed from mild annoyance to barely concealed rage. If looks could kill, Draven would be six feet under and decomposing. “I can see myself to the safe house.” He finally spit out through gritted teeth, “Good night, Cozenson.”

He turned on his heel and stalked away, quickly melting into the shadows between the buildings. Draven gritted his teeth and walked in the opposite direction. He needed a drink.

- - - - -

Of course it all comes down to money for you.

Typical.

Draven knocked back the remnants of his drink. The alcohol did little to numb the shame that curled around his mind, threatening to pull him under. He slammed the shot glass on the counter, causing the other empty glasses to rattle. Since when did he care about what de Silv thought... of all people! 

A few feet away, the bartender of the random tavern Draven had stormed into eyed him with a questioning look. Draven waved him off. “I’m done for the night, I’ll settle my tab now.”

He fumbled with the strings on his coin purse with numb fingers, growing more annoyed by the second. Drinking away his frustrations had never worked in the past. Why would it this time? And now he was guaranteed a hangover in the morning. 

This was all de Silv’s fault.

The door to the tavern opened, and several pairs of feet stomped on the wooden floor. A bit late for a party. Draven finished paying for the drinks, frowning as the bartender grabbed the money with a fearful expression on his face and quickly ducked into the kitchen. As he turned to leave, he found a group of five well-armed men, all wearing identical black metal masks, standing behind him. “I was just leaving,” he said, moving to walk around them.

The group moved with him, keeping between him and the door. “Look,” Draven snapped, words slurred from the alcohol, “As much as I’d love to settle whatever score you got with me, I’m surprisingly not in the mood. So if you could just get out of my way and we could go on with our merry lives….”

No response. All five men stared at him in silence. Well, he assumed they were staring at him. He couldn’t tell, what with the masks completely obscuring their faces.

“‘Kay,” Draven muttered, reaching for his pistol, “I did warn you.”

His attackers sprang into action, surrounding him on all sides. But Draven only focused on the one directly in front of him.

Crack! Cra—!

He only got to aim one shot before he was tackled from the side. Even with unsteady hands, his aim was true, and he earned a cry of pain and a spray of blood for his efforts. The second shot went wide, the bullet embedding itself in the far wall. Draven stumbled sideways as his assailant tried to wrestle the gun away from him, the other three advancing.

Temporarily freeing his gun arm, Draven slammed the butt of the pistol against the side of his attacker’s head and pressed the business end against the bare skin of his neck. The other man stumbled back, one hand clutching his head, the other pressed against the burn caused by the hot metal.

Draven whirled around and almost fell over as the world continued to spin. He swore and drew his other pistol, blindly firing with his non-dominant hand as he stumbled backward towards the door. He didn’t notice the movement behind him until it was too late.

Thud.

Pain exploded in Draven’s head. The force of whatever had hit him sent him to the floor, his weapons falling from numb fingers and clattering out of reach. What…?

What… in the depths…?

Strong hands seized him and began to drag him away. Draven watched through half-open eyes as one of the remaining masked men picked up his pistols. Darkness bled into the edges of his vision.

They… they don’t want me dead…?

That… that’s not…

…not good…

…fuck…

…

- - - - -

Octavian dealt with his anger in the only way he knew how: sharpening his knives. He’d been doing that a lot lately, he realized, especially since he officially started working with Draven. It wasn’t just anger that prompted him to do something repetitive like knife sharpening, it was also worry, and stress. Both were also incredibly prominent in his life.

As a result, they had become incredibly sharp over the last couple of years. So sharp Octavian didn’t notice he had cut his hand until Reese pointed it out. “You’re, uh, bleeding.”

His jaw clenched as he carefully set the offending weapon aside and accepted the handkerchief she handed him. “I must’ve been more distracted than I thought,” he muttered, wiping away the pale red liquid from the cut. It wasn’t deep, thankfully, but it was long, cutting along the side of his left pointer finger.

Octavian stared at the cut, watching the blood drip down his hand in morbid fascination. At least I’m not the one in denial about the greatest tragedy in the last decade! Even if the words had come from a place of emotion, intending to hurt, he couldn’t deny the truth behind them. Call it optimism, call it hope, it was all the same.

Denial.

He pressed the cloth against the cut as Reese returned—when had she left?—with one of Draven’s spare bags. She handed Octavian the augri and bandages before sitting down next to him. She picked up the knife, still wet with his blood.

“…It’s been three days.”

Octavian hissed out through his teeth. The clear liquid was cold against his skin but searing hot like fire on the wound. Three days since the party, yes. Three days since we last parted, yes. “And?”

Reese carefully cleaned the blood off the edge of the weapon. The edges of the bandages on her forearms peeked out from underneath her sleeves. Her own wounds were healing, but they still needed to be covered. In a couple more days, she wouldn’t need the bandages. “I just… three days… is kind of a long time… to be left alone…?”

“You’re worried about Cozenson.”

She nodded.

Octavian sighed through his nose as he wrapped a thin strip of cloth around his finger. “He can handle himself.”

Her jaw tightened, and she hesitated before speaking. “You’re still angry with him.”

Octavian made a noise of indifference.

“So… so you don’t think any one of his enemies might have gotten him? You’re not worried at all?”

He opened his mouth to argue that no, he wasn’t worried, and if the hunter had gotten himself into some sort of mess he could very well get himself out of it, but the look on Reese’s face made him reconsider his words. He exhaled slowly and held out his hand. She handed over the knife, and he slid it into his sheath.

The truth? Octavian was concerned, now that Reese had brought it up, that Cozenson had left him alone for so long. Granted, Octavian hadn’t gone out to meet him at the guild over the past three days, but even so, Draven barely went a day without checking up on Reese. He pretended otherwise, but he was as interested in the girl’s safety as Octavian was.

“If it’ll make you feel better,” he began, rising to his feet, “I’ll go check up on him.”

Reese jumped up and thrust the bag at him. “Here. You might need it.”

Octavian nodded and slung it over his shoulder. “I’ll be back soon. You know the rules.”

She all but shoved him towards the door, bolting it behind him as soon as it was closed. Octavian wasted no time setting off northeast, towards the Hunter’s Guild. He would ask around there first. And if nobody knew where Cozenson was, the next step would be breaking into his apartment.

And if the apartment offered no clues? Octavian brushed the thought aside as he turned up his hood to hide the tell-tale silver of his hair. It was early morning, and few people were nearby, but he didn’t want to risk running into Reese’s abductors, who were no doubt on the lookout for him. He still received odd looks from passersby, but it was better than nothing.

He wasn’t a skilled tracker for nothing. But he’d rather not have to go that far. A trail three days cold was going to be a nightmare to follow.

Octavian had only just gotten into the northern district of Zariya when he was approached by a familiar face. Thaddeus Kaneson? Octavian had worked with him briefly back when he first joined the Hunter’s Guild. As far as he was aware, Thaddeus would have no reason to know about his and Draven’s current job. Their partnership, maybe. Why is he here?

“De Silv,” the hunter greeted softly, joining him.

“Kaneson,” Octavian replied, not slowing his pace, “I thought you were in Caenum.”

Thaddeus shrugged. “I was. Got called back.”

“That’s not why you’re here.”

“No, it’s not.” Thaddeus stopped and pulled out a sealed envelope from a hidden pocket on his duster. “This was dropped off late last night. Nobody saw who did it.” He held it out. “It’s for you. I got the short straw of trying to deliver it. Glad I found you quickly.”

Octavian hesitantly took it. His name was scrawled on the front with thick, dark letters. Thaddeus turned to leave, but Octavian touched his arm, stopping him. “Have you seen Cozenson? Within the last couple of days?”

The hunter paused, thinking. “Can’t say I have,” he said, cracking a grin. “Why, did you lose your partner?”

Octavian sighed. “I’m concerned that he might have gotten himself into a situation that I will need to rescue him from before he gets himself killed.”

Thaddeus’ grin grew wider. “Celestials, you did lose him! Well, if I find him before you do, you’ll owe me drinks at the Laughing Bear.”

“I highly doubt that will happen, Kaneson.”

Thaddeus turned away, chuckling. “We’ll see about that, de Silv.”

Octavian let him go, fiddling with the envelope until the hunter was out of sight. Shaking his head, he ducked into the shelter of a nearby alley and turned it over. He ran a finger over the wax seal. Unbroken, but he knew there were ways to open it without damaging the seal. No design was imprinted on the dark red wax, the color oddly similar to human blood. Either no signet or the person who’d sent the letter did not want to be known.

Octavian’s suspicions grew as he broke the seal and pulled out the letter. One page, same messy lettering.

We have your partner. If you do not turn over Reese Takari, we will kill him. You have one week.

The paper crinkled under the force of Octavian’s grip, but he didn’t care. It was dated the night of the last full moon, three days before, with an address scrawled below the note. No signature, but he didn’t need it to guess who had sent it.

And he’d rather be damned to the depths than give Reese’s abductors what they wanted.

- - - - -

“I think I finally figured out what your mask reminds me of.”

The guard who had been assigned to watch Draven did not obviously react, but Draven noted the way his jaw visibly tightened under the stupid metal face mask.

Draven smirked despite the pounding in his head and the aching in his joints from being tied to the chair for so long. “Your mask specifically looks like a little obedient watchdog. One who only knows how to follow the orders of someone who’s done nothing but bitch at you.”

The guard, celestials bless his patience, remained motionless, holding his handgun, as he stood about as far as he could get from his charge without leaving the small, windowless room where Draven was kept. He had originally been in the main area of the random warehouse in the merchant district, but with the front door right there, he couldn’t help but almost escape twice. Now, he was about as far away from the door as he could get, though there were plenty of windows just outside the room.

“Personally,” Draven continued, “I don’t see why your boss—whoever the depths that might be—makes you wear those stupid masks. It’s not like I couldn’t identify you by the way you stand or anything.”

The guard’s knuckles turned white as he resisted the temptation to strike Draven across the face. Or at least that’s why Draven assumed he was gripping his weapon with such strength. Any more force and the gun would probably snap in half.

“So… when did your boss say the time limit was again? Three days left, now? I have a job to get back to.”

No response.

Dammit. Worth a shot.

Draven sighed and ran his fingers along the ropes tied around his wrists for the hundredth time since he’d been bound there after the second escape. Both of the knives hidden in his sleeves had gotten confiscated, all he had left was the one in his boot. Which was currently out of reach.

Not that it would do him much good at this point. With the one guard between him and the only exit, and at least two more standing outside between the door and the nearest windows, he wasn’t getting very far. They might actually shoot him this time if only to keep him from attempting escape with a more permanent solution.

Draven opened his mouth to ask another question, but before the words left his lips, the sound of shattering glass pierced the air. The guard jumped, startled, and darted out the door. Draven cocked his head, listening as chaos reigned. Screaming, shouting, gunshots, and running footsteps as his captors tried to contain whatever had gotten inside.

The person in charge, who wore an identical black metal mask with a single gold stripe across where the forehead would be, had claimed they could handle Draven’s partner if he chose to fight his way through. “De Silv would have no choice but to accept,” he’d gloated, “I have thirty men armed to the teeth. What does a single hunter have against that?”

Besides, Octavian had no reason to risk the kid for Draven. 

Why would he, after what Draven had said to him? 

If Draven were in his position, he would have just left him and gotten himself and Reese out of Zariya days ago while her abductors waited in vain.

Just as the thought crossed Draven’s mind, a familiar face appeared in the doorway. “Cozenson,” Octavian said in greeting. He was covered in human blood, the dark red liquid dripping from his knives and smeared on his face and clothing.

“De Silv,” Draven returned slowly.

“Surprised to see me?”

He sighed. “A little bit, yeah.”

Octavian casually tossed one of his knives into the air and caught it deftly. “I couldn’t just leave you to die at the hands of these masked imbeciles. I’m not you.”

The last sentence was unspoken, but the look on Octavian’s face implied it well enough. Draven opened his mouth to argue, to deny, but he hesitated. Octavian would know it was a lie. “Look,” he said, after a moment of thought, “I’m sorry. For what I said to you. I wasn’t being fair.”

The look of pure shock on Octavian’s face was priceless. “I….”

“I know, I’m apologizing. Big shocker.” Draven jerked his head to the side, indicating the ropes binding him to the chair. “Could you let me out? My hands are getting numb.”

Octavian blinked and slowly nodded. He crossed the small room in two strides and quickly sliced through the ropes. Draven jumped to his feet and staggered, vision tunneling. “Shit,” he muttered as Octavian steadied him. “Don’t get a concussion while drunk.”

“Noted.” Octavian considered the blood on his knives, lips pressed into a thin line, before wiping the blood off and sheathing them. “I also apologize. For leaving you alone. However much I detested your company at that point, we are partners.”

Draven sighed. “Yeah, couldn’t agree more.” He slowly stepped out of the room, noting the copious amount of blood and broken glass littering the warehouse floor. The bodies of the dead lay scattered about haphazardly. Most had died by Octavian’s blades. Two appeared to have been mauled. “So… thirty men?”

“Some of them fled,” Octavian said softly. “They assumed they were dealing with an elven hunter. They were half-right.”

Draven’s eyes landed on his guns, which rested on a table across the vast room. They appeared undamaged, thank the celestials. He could always get new guns, of course, but those were his guns. They’d seen him through many a hunt and duel and scuffle. He began to pick his way over, avoiding the corpses and the worst of the blood. “You seem conflicted.”

Octavian trailed after him “I think anyone would, in my position.”

“Has everything gotta be a damned riddle with you?” Draven reached the table and picked up one of his guns. Empty. The boss must’ve unloaded it. Pretty clever for someone working with limited knowledge. He gave the room another glance. From what he could see, none of the masks on the dead guards possessed the golden stripe. “Octavian, did you happen to kill a guy with a stupid-looking gold streak across his mask? ‘Cause that guy was a particular brand of asshole. And also the one in charge.”

He glanced back to find his partner staring into space, eyes moving back and forth. “No,” Octavian finally said, refocusing his attention on Draven. “He was one of the first to flee.”

“Damned coward.”

“‘Damned coward’, indeed.”

Draven returned his guns to their rightful places on his belt and gave the warehouse one last cursory look. “Guess I’m rooming with you and the kid for a little while.”

Octavian nodded. “Her abductors are surprisingly resourceful. She must’ve been a valuable prisoner.”

“Still hasn’t told you anything?”

“No.”

Draven sighed. “I don’t know what they did with the knives I kept up my sleeve, but I’m tired, my head hurts, and I want nothing more than to go home.”

“Shall we depart then?”

“Celestials, stop being so formal. Let’s get out of here.”

Meme Summary

[hollowfaith]

bottoms up

he can drink if he wants to

[hitachiincest]

shoutout to the ships that are slightly too problematic or controversial to be shipped w/o being labelled as 'bad' but also seem too tame to rb on a proship blog or arent RLY problematic, by non-loser standards. Schrodingers Problematic Ship........

[batemanofficial]

.