#Or maybe it'll be like a bone that gets spit out

[bonefall]

can fallenleaf die? if yes, does her spirit become the new god of autumn?

I'm honestly not sure yet, both because I like to keep my magical systems vague until I need them due to the "nature" of needing to fit canon's events, and also because Fallenleaf is doing something never seen before!

Right now though, I think it's working in the sense that the two of them are slowly merging. Come back in a few hundred years, and Fallenleaf and Sol are going to be essentially the same person, one personality just more dominant than the other. But it's also important to note that people change. Even gods.

Not only are they going to merge, but they're also going to grow into someone new. It'll call itself Fallenleaf, or perhaps have new titles, but it's not just going to just be one of its components. Kinda like Steven Universe, y'know? Only a lot slower, less "equal," and irreversible. Garnet isn't just Ruby + Sapphire. She is a person in and of herself.

If it's interrupted though, I think it would depend on where in that "process" it's halted. Likeeee... if you took the bone out of a stew before its marrow fully dissolved. You can't remove the broth that remains. Sol would be altered in some way, and so would Fallenleaf.

But eventually, if Fallenleaf's mortal vessel falters in several hundred years and she dies, there won't really be a Sol Soul to "trap" anymore. It's going to be part of her.

[yeyinde]

Ghost has a thing for fucking you when you're asleep—

(—and maybe one day he'll get around to telling you about it, too.)

noncon/dubcon somnophilia. spit kink. brief anal.

He likes you like this. When you're soft, pliant. A malleable little doll under his hands that he can shape to his will. Bend.

You're so small compared to him. Tiny. The difference unmoors the chains keeping his vile, nasty urges at bay, until they spool—horrific and depraved—around him. Unleashes the need in the back of his head that screams, howls, and tells him to own, possess. Claim.

Ruin you—

And you belong to him. Everything. Every part of you is his, down to your goddamn marrow. Your bones are marked with his name, false starts carved into milky bones.

he doesn't really see the problem with taking what is his.

—and so, he does.

His sweet, sweet girl who can barely take his cock when you're awake—too much, too fat—and so he makes do with slaking his hideous, bestial need on your body when you're asleep. When he can fold your knees up to your ears, and fuck you as deep, as hard, as he wants without worrying about you seeing the want rotting in his eyes, and run—

The stretch, you whine. He's too much for you. The biggest you've ever had. It isn't meant to stroke his ego, he knows this, but still. He preens when you add, liquid and pained, by a considerable margin, Simon—

Like this, asleep, you're relaxed. Liquid. 

And with the sleeping pills crushed into your bedtime tea you always (always) take an hour before bed, he can do whatever he wants to do. However he wants. 

Splits you open with his tongue, fucking into you until you're sloppy and wet. Spitting on your cunt and pushing the foamy glob into your tight hole at his own leisure without having a rain of indignant fists come down across his shoulders, disgusted by the degrading action. Don't spit on me, Simon, that's gross—

(but you swallow it like a good girl when he grabs you by the neck, thumb digging into the dent of your larynx until you open nice and wide for him, tongue sliding out like you're begging for it—)

His little hellion awake. But asleep? 

He gets your pussy messy with his spit, fucking it into you with two fingers—another benefit to fucking you asleep is that he doesn't have to bother with building up, can stretch you out on two fingers without those breathy little mewls spilling out, telling him it's too much. Then three with his mouth glued to your clit, feeling your cunt clench down on him as he bullies it with his tongue. The pressure is too much, too intense. You'd be howling if you were awake, but—

You're not. 

The only sound is the lews squelch of him fucking you open with three fingers, sucking noisily at your pebbled clit. 

Music to his ears. 

And if he's in a hurry. Well. Skipping foreplay all together is fine. Just has to spit on his palm, coat it over his shaft, and make you open up for him. Splitting you open on just his cock. All tight—agonizingly so—around him. 

You can take it. 

He knows you can. You take everything he throws at you—knees pushed to your ears, cock bulging out from your belly. Head buried in a pillow as he flattens his body over yours, and ruts into your cunt while he smothers you under his bulk. Indescribably tight like this with your thighs squeezed together between his own. On your side with your leg thrown over his hip, or held high in the air. 

He likes it best when you're on your back, though. Soft and sweet. Little hiccups leaving your slack lips as he forces you to take every inch he has to offer. Bullying his fat cock into your pussy. Over and over again—

Quenching his unbearable lust on you until it's slated on your flesh, cunt stuffed full of his cum.

Or your ass. 

You're wary about him burying his fat length into your ass. It'll hurt, is the biggest excuse you like to give, hands tucked against the swell of your bottom as if that would be enough to keep him away. You've never done that before and taking him in your pussy was already a lot, you couldn't imagine taking him there, too—

It's a problem. Too bad for you, he has always been task oriented. Someone who likes the squash issues under his thumb. 

And that's exactly what he does. 

Starts with his thumb shoved inside your hole when he's fucking your pussy. Then a finger. Two. Likes to lick at your cunt before shoving your knees to your chest, lifting your ass in the air, and devouring it with the same rapacious appetite. Tongue fucking into you, getting you all sloppy and wet, stretching you open so he can seat you down on his cock. All the way to the base. Stretching your rim wide around his girth. Pounding your tight little ass until he cums inside of you. Filling you over and over again until it leaks out, soaking into the sheets below. 

His pretty little doll. All fucked out and messy. 

With you asleep, Simon can take from you—as much as he needs to fill this greedy, gaping maw inside of himself—without burdening you. Scaring you away. 

And he'd rather not have to chase you down like a dog—

It's the perfect arrangement that lets him exorcise himself of the horrible, awful, things he wants to do to you. Quench the bloodlust, the violence, that drums up in the back of his head, ugly and noxious, that leaks poison into his blood. Makes him see you torn to pieces by his enemies, wrenched away by the people who think they know what's best for you. Taken. The urge to claim you is animalistic. Primal. 

This—

This is bloodletting. It's spilling the rot from inside himself so it doesn't fester. Turn septic. Gangrenous. Eating at his tissue until his hands no longer belong to himself, but to the mercy of his monstrous need. 

It lets him ruin you, tear into you like a beast, without worrying about you running from him. Fleeing from this rapacious green he holds deep in the fibrils of his chest. Hewed into his essence, subsumed into his marrow. 

Simply put: he needs this. Just like you need him. Simon. Need him like the air you breathe—

(And sometimes, sometimes, you get this peculiar look on your face before bed. A frisson. Unease, pensive. It splits over your brows, an evanescent tremor. He thinks you might be more aware than you let on. That you know about this hideousness inside him, this putrid greed that sloshes around the edges of his eyes sometimes, trying to bleed in, trickling down over his periphery before he can stop it. 

But it dissolves into complacency before he can chisel into it, leaving nothing behind but a faint stink of stale smoke. Acrid—like doused embers. Burning his nose, his lungs—)

And when he's had his fill—stuffed that chasm inside his belly with your flesh—he cleans you up, and pulls you tight to his chest. Satiated for the time being. Falling asleep with the taste of you on his tongue, locked tight in his embrace. Tenders to your aches the next morning, as soft and supple as he can ever allow himself to be. 

There’s a place for him, he’s sure, when he lies to you, and says that you must have slept the wrong way. That maybe he was a little too hard on you the night before. And maybe if he were a better person, a better man, he might have felt some sense of guilt for it. Shame.

But instead, he coos at you and says:

It’s his fault, pet, but don’t worry he’ll take such good care of you. Licking your sore cunt all day until you grab him by the scruff of his neck, and tell him no more, please, Simon, stop, stop—it doesn’t hurt anymore, please—

He relents an hour before bed and takes you to the kitchen where you sit and drink the tea he made without a word.

Like a good girl—

And then you slip into bed in nothing but his old shirt, curling up against his chest, and whispering—soft and sweet—into his ear, "good night, Simon."

(his sweet, sweet girl.

like you're fucking begging him for it—)

[vieoeil-riae]

maybe you're a bit of a crier (honestly who can blame you, getting pulled into a videogame set in ancient china but with gods and demon and etcetera tends to give you a nice constant emotional base of 'oh what the fuck') but you've managed to cope. well, cope enough, but at this point that's the best you could ask for.

but the destined one didn't seem to be one for tears though, the word neutrality might as well have been tattooed into his brow bone. sometimes an irritated frown, cheeky smile or confused quirk of his brow graced his face, but never tears.

that was until the two of you hit a rough patch in your journey. you got separated in a dense forest full of yaoguai, battle whisking the destined one away while you tried to stay out of the conflict - edging your way through the brush in an attempt to remain unseen.

unfortunately, this led you straight into the sights of a band of wolf guai. that went about as well as you'd expect. you managed to avoid being harmed, just barely, by talking like a madman - rambling and spouting enough nonsense that they decided it would be funnier to keep you around for a while before they made you into dinner.

you were on the brink of tears while they dragged you away, but through your blurring vision you had enough sense to start dropping small items and digging scars into the dirt with your heel to create a trail. fighter or not you weren't about to just give up.

an hour or so later, the destined one backtracked to where he last saw you. his nose twitched in building tension as he realised the extent of your absence. you weren't anywhere around here and it was very unlike you to stray far from him, a sinking feeling clawed its way down his throat.

the fight had gone poorly by his standards and he was sporting enough injuries to feel a constant aching as he moved through the trees with mounting unease. the thought of you being hurt made his lips twitch into a heavy frown, you were much too soft to deserve being hurt, too nice to be gone.

you were one of the few people who'd treated him like a true equal despite his muteness, you took the most time to understand him and the thought of you never talking to him again hurt more than he thought it would.

scrapes littered the path, obvious next to faint paw prints. wolves. his lips curled into a snarl and his eyes stung as he took off along the same path.

for you, it could've been worse. yeah sure you were tied up and sitting against a log in the middle of a yaoguai camp, but hey at least you weren't comedically tied to a spit over the fire pit! ...yet!

it'll be fine, you're sure of it, your monkey will find you before sunset and then you'll have dinner together. for now, you'll just keep retelling the stories of any wuxia novels you could remember with as much drama as you could manage.

"oh, Great Leader! I thought you'd never-!" you're cut off by a resounding howl from the other side of the camp. the wolves around you, recently enraptured in the climax of your story, locked onto the sound immediately, bounding towards the fray without a backwards glance.

god you hoped that was your monkey, because if that was something else you were probably so fucked. at least your toes were warm by the fire?

the destined one tore through bodies like sharp wind through the trees, his staff battering flesh until it dissipated into black ash. he was going to find you, and it was going to cost any wolf guai in his way their life.

you recognised the familiar battle cries the second you heard them, slumping against the log in unquestioning relief. your monkey was here and without a doubt going to make sure you were safe.

the chitters and howls and screeches drew nearer, your heart pounding just a little faster every time you heard his familiar cry. he was more vocal than usual, actually.

one lone wolf scampered into the small clearing with a limp and a nasty snarl, freshly bloodied teeth sickening against the encroaching dark of the evening. your heart leapt to your throat, it's not that you haven't seen a sinister grin like that before, but because your monkey had always been beside you when you'd seen bared teeth. suddenly, it sets in just how safe you felt with him around.

your lips wobble just a little as the wolf's eyes find yours, your eyes sting with tears as it stalks towards you. it's not death you're afraid of, but the brief thought you'd never see the destined one again.

but the wolf is felled in a single hard strike, hard enough to knock the thing across the clearing and into a tree trunk with a morbid crunch of bones before it fell apart into dust.

you looked up, relieved at the sight of the destined one quickly making his way towards you, slightly bloodied as he was. you let out a sigh of relief, letting your shoulders come down from around your ears.

"hey, I was just getting to the good part." you smiled.

he dropped to his knees beside you, staff falling to the floor with a thud. you opened your mouth, about to ask after him, but were pulled into his chest by strong arms before you could.

stunned for a brief moment, your eyes widened. it wasn't that he was touch averse, but he seemed to have manners that always put a bit of physical distance between you two.

now, you could feel the hair on your head move, caught in his fur as he buried his face into your temple - your own forehead tucked into the crook of his collarbone, feeling the warmth of his rushing blood. his arms tightened and surprisingly, you felt a minute shake rock his shoulders.

your eyebrows pinched and you, sadly, pushed him away. his arms resisted, but gave way for you - who just wanted to see if he was okay.

utter relief was splayed out on his face. your jaw dropped at the sight of the watery glisten streaked down his cheeks, trailing into his fur, but you composed yourself.

one hand slipping from the (actually pretty poorly tied) rope and finding his face, your thumb stroking away the fresh tears, you spoke softly, "hey, hey, I'm okay. you got me, I'm safe."

his hand, larger than your own, covered yours. you sat in front of him, unharmed, and the enormity of his want to never lose you again hit him like an avalanche. he grinned widely as he pressed your hand further into his face, another tear slipping from his eyes as he closed them to bask in your warmth.

you were stretched awkwardly, but you made no attempts to move. both too afraid to break the moment of near uncharacteristic vulnerability, and wanting to stay in his arms just a little longer.

"so," you nod your head to the still-roaring campfire, "waste not want not? how about we have dinner?"

his shoulders slumped as he opened his eyes, a warm smile settling on his lips as warmer eyes settled on your own. he huffed through his nose, amused by you. he looked more expressive than before, more relaxed too.

"are you gonna untie me or am I gonna have to figure out how to help with dinner one-handed?" you tease, and he straightens like a board. a bashful look overtaking his face when you tease further, "or maybe you like the look of it too much to take the rope off?"

you snicker as a very flustered monkey starts to untangle you.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

inspired by @s0rr3l 's art of pretty monkey crying (very cool, very expressive!!)

hope you like it! *drops this and runs*

[wonton4rang]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

pairing: bnd legal line x reader.

warnings: +18, smut, rough sex, spitting, and idk lmk if i missed something.

summary: bnd legal line mtl (most to least) to rough sex.

note: this had to be discussed and i can't go to sleep without doing so !!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

sungho; even though it wouldn't be his go to type of sex, he would do it more often than you'd think, taking you from behind while he held your neck with one hand and held your arms in your back with the other, he would moan in your ear, pressing his body more onto yours and making you feel so full while your cheek pressed against the cold wall. he would tell you how good you feel and his hips would be accelerating their pace before he came inside of you, showing some possessiveness he usually didn't have. i also strongly believe he would have a small/ recurrent strength kink.

riwoo; he's a wild card tbh, i can't seem to read him that well when it comes to sex or maybe i am not paying attention, but i do think he could have his days, switching from cowgirl to doggy style, his hand having a grip in your hair and you almost crying out on how hard he was fucking you. it felt good, specially because it was a weird thing to happen during sex w u two, it made you excited and it made him feel bigger when he handled you like that. pulling out to come in your ass is the ultimate thing he would do to show his "dominant" side. and btw, you know about dancer stamina right? cause if you always did two rounds, you'll do at least four of five before he lets you go today.

jaehyun; myungjae has such a whiny voice and a hyper and sweet personality that we all the time see him as a mere sub but oh, let me tell you that he can also be very rough when it comes to fucking you. i feel like he would be drinking with you or just very happy and horny when he tells you about this thing he wants to try, it was basically him overpowering you and yes please!! he would hold your legs open with his hands on your thighs, pressing them down and watching how his dick gets lost each time he pounds into your soaked pussy, i can definitely see him lowering one of his hands so he could play with your clit and maybe even insert his thumb with his cock in your pussy. telling you how dirty you looked taking his dick and finger into your pussy like a slut, dirty talk would be his thing 100%

taesan; i just know he is messy and i don't make the rules!!! he would grab your hair, spit in your mouth with a grin on his lips and fuck you so fast and rough you can barely think straight. he would fuck you in missionary because he needs to see your face, he needs to feel you close and he certainly needs to be able to spit in your mouth after slapping your face once or twice. he ain't much of a talker but he would let smalls "so pretty, so hot" that would give you a hint on how good he is feeling, as if his moans and the way his dick twitched inside of you were not enough. i don't think it'll be a reccurent thing tho, he is probably more into regular sex rather than rough but he has a HUGE size kink that takes over every once in a while.

leehan; and the prize to the messiest mf goes toooooo, hear me ouuuuut. every time he went up to you and told you he was horny and needed to fuck you, you just knew what was coming (asides from u two yk) you regularly got on top of him and ride his dick but when his hands gripped your hips and he dropped you on the bed just so he could straddle in the back of your thighs and fuck you in prone bone??? you were quite literally fucked, he wouldn't show mercy on you, fucking you fast and hard, so deep that it even made you shake each time the tip of his cock hit your cervix. that until he layed you on your back, slapping your pussy after spitting on it, he is so dirty and you can tell he is enjoying it way too much when he smiled at you before slamming his hips against yours once again.

overall, taking into consideration the frequency with the one i think it'd happen, for this one i think I'll go:

MOST.

leehan. not a surprise.

sungho. he is actually really close to leehan's place tbh. not because he would like rough sex itself but he just likes the dominant part of it, how strong he feels during it.

jaehyun. iykyk, he can be cute but he is a man after all, and he is also a very energetic person so he would fold you a thousand times and come back for more.

taesan. i personally think he would enjoy it A LOT but it's just that his personality doesn't show this eager desire of rough sex :') i've said it before but i don't think he is really into sex in general and he does gives off vibes of being more in a "calm" side so yeah.

riwoo. almost same as taesan's, but i also think it's because he is a submissive person so it wouldn't be something very reccurent.

LEAST.

what do y'all think?

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 28

part 1 | part 27 | bonus stobin scene | ao3

cw: anxiety attack, graphic thoughts of death

Chapter 7

Steve's mom leaves the week before Thanksgiving.

No preamble, no notice, no "so long and thanks for paying rent," just— poof. Gone. Ta-ta, kiddo. Have a great life!

(Or don't!

Who cares?

Not me, that's for sure!)

The worst part is Steve finds out from Ernie of all people. Ma couldn’t even tell him to his face that she’s abandoning him to the gaping maw of this hellish town because she’s a good-for-nothing coward. Some day this place is gonna swallow him whole, splinter the bones and cough up the pellet, and Florence Harrington will be somewhere far, far away, sighing empty condolences over a fresh glass of red. “Just dreadful, isn’t it? Such a pity; what a shame.”

Steve’s hanging towels on the clothes line the day after the party — after the ride to drop off Max and the hangover brunch with Robin; after drowning his headache in Tylenol and finally getting home, only to realize that he can’t shower yet because all the towels are soaking wet — when Ernie looks up from his yardwork and casually ruins his goddamn life.

“You're wastin' your time with that,” he says, propping his weight against a rake and squinting at Steve in the mid-afternoon sun.

“What?” Steve frowns; hangs another towel. It's not like they're going to dry themselves. "Why?"

"Too cold."

"It's not supposed to rain, though, is it?"

"No, but the humidity—"

Screw the humidity. "I'm sure it'll be fine."

Ernie shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

He turns his attention back to his yard, dragging the rake over a smattering of damp leaves; obsessed with keeping his little patch of lawn pristine; and Steve reaches into the hamper and sincerely hopes that Ernie’s wrong. He needs a shower, and if the towels don't dry fast enough they get that gross mildew smell to them, and then it gets in Steve's hair, and how is he supposed to flirt with Eddie if he smells like musty lake water?

"Where's your mom off to, anyway?" Ernie asks after a moment. "Saw her leave this morning with two big suitcases,” he explains when Steve throws him a questioning look. “Figured she was off somewhere nice.”

Steve blanches.

Two big suitcases?

He didn’t even notice that she wasn’t here. Feels like a stupid, selfish asshole now, because he’d called ‘ma, I’m home!’ when he got in earlier and had thought nothing of her complete lack of response, the peaceful silence of the house; had welcomed it at the time, even, and what if—

Oh, god, what if she’d died?

What if she’d been lying there dead in her room, and Steve didn’t bother to check because he was too busy thinking about himself and how nice it was not to hear reruns on the TV for once? How long would she have lain there, rotting and bloated, and— and how long would his dad have, if the gunshot hadn’t rung out? How long; how long? Bleeding out on the carpet gurgling fish sounds everything red and Steve can’t breathe—

“Did she—?” he pants. Brings a hand to his throat; tries again. “Did you- see who she left with?”

“Some woman. Relative of yours, maybe? I didn’t get a good look at her. Had a real fancy car, though. Mercedes, think it was.”

Steve chokes on his own spit. Feels his throat close up, his heart pound and his ears ring and the yellow-purple-black start creeping in like vines at the edge of his vision, like demogorgon claws; like death’s shark-toothed grin. Hungry, howling, happy as it takes a bite out of him.

“You alright?” Ernie asks.

Steve grinds his jaw so hard he feels something crack. "Excuse me," he grits out, stomping back into the house.

—

"Fuck!" Steve shouts to his empty house — to the sun-faded paneling, to the weird stain in the orange carpet. Fucking Cecelia; fucking hell.

He cleans the house in a rage, eyes hot with unshed tears, and there's a note on the breakfast table. Crisply folded on plain paper, prim cursive letters, almost comically estranged:

Steven,

Apologies for short notice. Gone to stay with Aunt Cece in Evanston. Call or visit if you like.

— Mom

P.S. Happy Thanksgiving

The words leave papercuts in his throat. Steve rips the note to tiny pieces, can hardly see for the tears swimming in his eyes, but he's not crying over this; he's not. He fucking refuses.

Somewhere along the way, the cleaning turns to blind destruction, demolition of the all the little scraps of life mom left behind: her creepy angel figurines, her vintage Pyrex dishes, an empty bottle of old perfume. Steve hurls them all against the living room wall, delights in the shimmering pile of broken glass at his bare feet. Wants to crawl over it on hands and knees. Wants to burn this place to the ground.

When the sun dips below the trees he goes back out to check the towels. The air is wet, bitterly cold; nips at his hands when the wind blows, and the towels hang heavy on the line, just as damp as before but now the slightest bit stiff with the first creep of frost.

"FUCK!" Steve roars, ripping a towel down off the line. Yanking each one down in turn, throwing them into the dirt, raging, "What! Is! The fucking! Point!"

His tears spill over then, hot and wet as he sinks to his knees with a wounded growl, and he chokes there in the dirt; the cold, wet mud, the patchy grass. Gravel digs into his shins, and sobs wrack his chest, capsize him like plunging waves, and he can't do anything but shake and cry where the whole neighborhood can see. Making a commotion; making a scene, as his mother would say, but his mother's not here. She fucking left. She left him here, and his dad did, too, and Steve is utterly, truly, hopelessly alone.

"Come on, son."

And there’s Wayne Munson, coaxing him up off the ground with a sure, strong grip. Steve makes animal sounds as Wayne lifts him under the arms — ruined hiccups, mangled wails. There's mud in his lungs. Ocean silt; sucking sludge.

His mother's gone.

"Easy now," Wayne shushes; hugs him hard against his side. "You're alright, kid. You're alright."

—

part 29

tag list under separate reblogs, comment if you’re over 21 and want to be added tomorrow

[jolalibrary]

PEEPAW JOEL THOTS???!

oh gosh, this one makes me a touch nervous ⬇️

joel miller x f!reader warnings: smut, p in v, roof sex, injured!joel, sneaking around bill and franks, female and male receiving head.

🔥 think he has sex with you on the rooftop of some old building, maybe it used to be a library or a hotel, it’s not romantic but it becomes it, because he takes a second to appreciate how vast everything is, and you keep rutting your ass into him as you stare off. maybe the sun is peered out from the clouds, after you asked if they could stop a second, and he doesn’t want to but he relents, and then he sorta sees a speckle of what you do. the world from here almost looks normal, and then his hands come to your hips, halting you from backing into him, grunting an “enough.” and you shoot him a smirk over your shoulder, and fuck, like this, it’s photograph worthy. which is why he suspects he doesn’t actually stop you from moving your hips, just tells you to lean over the brick/railing, peeling your jeans down as he wets his hand with his spit as he slides it between your thighs, murmuring close to your ear that it's a "good view."

🔥 he's hurt his arm after coming into contact with another person/group, and you fuss, trying to clean it and he stops you, tells you it’s fine, "m'not even hurt". but he can see you're chewing your lip, fingers holding your chin, "I’d do it all again to keep you safe" and you just stare (because the two of you don't talk like this, it's all under the surface, displayed in actions rather than words). so you just crash your lips to his, his good hand pulling you onto his lap. mouth sliding down your neck as you undo his jeans, tells him if he’s not even hurt, he can make you feel good. and the man is nothing but determined, “you think I can't fuck you right when I’m hurt, huh?” him teasing you before telling you to climb on top, you sinking down on him, breath punched from your lungs as you take him to the root, "you can take it" talking you through it even if he’s the one hissing if he moves his arm. and your breath is all ragged as you get closer and closer, clothes still coated in some fuckers blood, his knuckles split, teeth gritted. and your eyes meet his as his hand grips your hip, both sharing a similar thought: i'd do anything to keep you fucking alive

🔥 you winding him up one day about how he looks miserable (more than normal), tiredness likely a factor, his bones weary, needing rest. so you offer to take him in your mouth after a shower back in some river. your fingers wrapping around his length, telling him to lie back, make a pillow from your jacket, asking if you can look after him, beads of water falling down his gruff, frowning face. “maybe my mouth can put a smile on your face.” and he shakes his head, “what y'mouth magical?” and you smirk, because he doesn't remember that time early on when he'd taken a pill and mixed it with booze that he'd said something similar. so she just sighs, “actually, someone did once tell me it’s life changing.” and he just licks his lips, nodding at you to go on.

🔥 I think when you make it to Jackson, the first night you're both alone is so different than back in the QZ, than the woods, than rooftops and everything in between. it’s the kind of sex that he’d have given you if the world hadn’t gone to shit and he’d met you in a bar. he takes his time, spends so long working you up, earning each moan you will give him before he can even consider burying himself in you. he's on his knees for you, even if his body protests, even if tomorrow his entire body will ache from how good tonight will be. but he knows it'll be worth it. even more as you coat his cock, desperate, needy, leaving fingerprint bruises on his skin that develop when he collapses beside you.

🔥 so, imagine staying over at bill & frank’s after enjoying some food, and a storm is rolling in, and Frank insists, but Bill hates it—insists on two separate rooms. but before you can sneak into Joel’s he sneaks into yours. hand over your mouth as you giggle, telling you that you’re gonna have to be real quiet. “not like you to break the rules, miller.” But then you teasing him about it not being gentlemanly trying to sneak into a lady’s room. “stopped being a gentlemen a while ago.” his fingers snaking inside your underwear. “c’mon baby you know how to be quiet. good enough when we’re surrounded by clickers. how’s this any different?” your panting, hand on his wrist as you pull it down to whisper, “you’re not usually doing this when we’re surrounded by clickers.” and the two of you are already on the floor, pillows and blankets surrounding them as he kisses down your body, sliding his mouth over your pussy as your hand darts into his curls. his fingers pinching your inner thigh when you make too much noise, sucks on the pulse point on your neck asa you catch your breath. begins leaving marks under the space underneath your breasts, a reminder of him there, that he's had you like this when he catches you stripping and changing, before he sinks into you. THE ABOVE ONE CONT: 👉👈 because i think I want to write this... the surroundings are so normal, he’s able to trick himself that this is like olden times. I think when you sit on his lap, he’d lift your hand from his chest at one point, kiss your knuckles—all tender, soft. before he places your hand back and rests his hands on your hips, aiding her. and I think they’d remain on the floor for a while after. him just stroking your cheek, you just lay on his chest, the storm still heavy. both lost in some make believe land that this is their house, and that maybe it’s just a night where they can’t sleep, rather than it being a night where they just feel safe (whatever that even means) and there’s so much hanging in the air, so many words they never speak, but they're safe, and together, and for both of them that's all that matters.

i cannot believe i have thotted so much in the last 24 hours.

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

I may or may not be the same anon that requested the Deadpool x Wolverine au one shot- you did amazing by the way, pure food, absolutely delicious 👌👌

I hope I'm not over stepping by ramming this au down your throat, I just love it so much.

Could I get another one shot? 👉👈🥺

Maybe of the ab scene? Lucifer looking respectfully, them basking in the fact they won and bet the big bad (who I feel would be alastor in this au because I want him bald 😂), then luci just going to town on adams ass amongst the wreckage.

Only if you want to of course!

I love your work btw! Okay- bye!

*Slams fist into the table* YESSS ADAMS TITTIES!!

Sorry lmao Also, keep in mind I still haven't seen this movie so I'm sorry for any inaccuracies.

Alastor being bald is hilarious and cursed LMAO

Adam and Lucifer were standing on the platform between the glowing reactors that were going into overload. Lucifer had one hand on a reactor while the other held Adams hand.

Adam tried to reach for the other reactor, but because Lucifer was so fucking short he couldn't reach.

Adam: AHHHH!!!

Lucifer: YOU CAN DO IT!!

Adam made a fist and released his blades from his hands and they jammed into the reactor. Adam screamed as his body was overwhelmed with energy.

The top of his uniform exploded from the amount of energy that was coursing through his body, revealing his toned stomach.

Lucifer leaned back and looked, not hiding the fact he was staring at all. Fuck, when this was over they so needed to bone and he was SO licking that stomach and those lovely titties.

The power was very strong as it surged through their bodies. The reactors blew up from the over use of power.

Adam and Lucifer slumped over on the ground, panting but both were proud that they put an end to Alastor's plans for good.

Lucifer looked at Adam who was sweating. "You okay?"

"Suck my dick."

Yeah he's fine. Lucifer smirked, "Is that an invitation?" He purred.

Adam looked at Lucifer. "We nearly fucking died and you want to bone?"

"We just saved the world together, I think you deserve an orgasm. Or three."

Adams eyes went wide and his eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "Isn't three a little ambitious for you?"

Lucifer laughed. "No. Eight would be starting to get ambitious."

Starting?

Adam shook his head. "Unbelievable."

Lucifer tangled him to the ground and gave him a flirty grin. "How about I make you a believer?"

Adam blinked. Aw fuck it they saved the fucking world what's a few minutes for themselves? "Do your worst." He gasped when Lucifer leaned down and licked from his navel up to his chest and sucked on a nipple. "Fuck!"

"That's the plan handsome.~"

Lucifer licked, kissed and sucked his way from Adams chest to his neck while they both undid their pants.

Why waste time?

Adam moaned as he pushed his pants down, Lucifer palmed Adams dick. "As much as I love your front, I need you to turn over. It'll make this easier."

Adam groaned but did as he was told. He gasped when his ass was exposed to the air and Lucifer spread his cheeks started to eat him out there.

"Fuck!"

After a while Lucifer pulled back and spit into his hand to slick up his dick. They both moaned when Lucifer, ever slowly pushed his way inside.

He gave Adam a minute to get used to the feeling before he started to move and gripped Adam's hips as he thrusted forward.

"Ahhh!~"

"Aw, fuck!"

Lucifer started pounding into him the way they both liked, making sure to hit Adams prostate with each thrust.

Fuck he felt amazing as always.

Lucifer reached forward and pulled Adams hair, pulling a guttural moan deep from his throat. "AHHH!! FUCK!!~"

Lucifer smirked, "Who knew you were into hair pulling.~"

Adam shook with need. "F-fuck off- AHHH!!~"

"Nah, I think you liiike it.~" Lucifer teased as he pulled Adams hair one more time before placing his hand back on his hip and picking up the pace. He could feel his own end nearing and he wanted Adam to finish first.

Adams eyes rolled in the back of his head as pleasure over took him, his jaw went slack. Fuck this felt so fucking good.

Adam was so close, he gripped the grate of the platform. So close, so close, so close....

Instead of touching his dick, Lucifer reached up again and pulled on Adams hair again which made him cum with a shout.

"AHHH!! LUCI!!~"

Lucifer came from that inside of Adam, moaning out his pleasure as they rode out their euphoric state together. He pulled out and pulled Adam up, both panting. Adam turned his head to look at Lucifer and they shared a passionate kiss.

When they broke away, they rested their foreheads against each other.

Lucifer smiled, "So, want to go again handsome?"

"Give me a fucking minute."

[gingerbreadmonsters]

glass jaw

or: bruised, the apple of my black eye.

graphic blood, violence, and injury warnings, cutesy gory found vampire family shenanigans. i went to the haunted theme park in the middle of the woods at midnight, and all i got was this candy apple of temptation. what's up with that? alexis being the world’s best big sister in just over 8600 words.

warnings for gratuitous blood, violence and gore, graphic descriptions of injury and intent to grievously harm, and, like, one teeny tiny moment of cannibalism. i strongly encourage you to mind the warnings, and to stop reading at ANY point if you feel uncomfortable. reader discretion is advised. minors dni, 18+ only. please consider yourself warned. 

longtime readers may be aware of my sinophone!solaires hc, so ENGLISH SPEAKING READERS - for the love of GOD please check this pronunciation guide i made for the mandarin you're about to see. i PROMISE it'll help!! 💕💕💕

There’s blood everywhere.

It’s a shame. The room was quite tidy when they started – ugh, don’t say it’s got onto the upholstery again. Vampiric blood is impossible to get out of silk, and it costs a fortune to get it professionally cleaned. At least the wooden panelling in here is dark enough to hide most of the spatter.

(Thankfully, baba’s off entertaining the little ankle biters at the moment – and something about a meeting with an old friend, later on? He didn’t say when he was coming back, but it can’t be soon. Hopefully they’ll be able to deal with most of the mess before he gets back. Damned old man never wants them to have any fun.)

How long has it been? Seconds? Hours? It’s difficult to tell. She’d only come in here to sit down, feet hurting from her patrol at Wonderworld, wanting to just lie across the sofa and scroll mindlessly on her phone for an hour or two. She'd almost succeeded, too – until the furious pacing from the other side of the house had got closer and closer.

Vincent had spotted her through the doorway, carelessly cracked open, and… well. He must have had a pretty horrible day.

He’d surprised her, hurling the glass of water in his hands at her head with a sudden hiss. She’d only barely caught it in her peripheral vision, jerking back against the sofa just in time to let it whistle past her face and shatter against the far wall.

No words necessary. Vincent had snarled at her, slamming the door shut behind him, and she’d known exactly what he wanted.

It’s a habit of theirs. A bad one, maybe, but knowing it doesn’t make it any easier to break.

Heavy bodies hitting the floor, skin and spit and bone, this time it might be different. Her shin slamming into his ribs, his elbow smashing into her jaw. Blood clots underneath elegantly manicured nails, and the splinters of what used to be a wisdom tooth are spat onto the side table. It’ll grow back.

Gravity. The inescapable pull. Space bends and folds at the mercy of an impossibly strong grip, worlds and stars and planets collide, and the precious children of William Solaire once again destroy each other.

You might think that it’s madness. That it’s like some crazed, bloodthirsty, animal state that descends upon them, that it’s like they’re totally different people. You’d be wrong. Both of them are perfectly, boringly sane when it happens. There’s no madness here, no delusion – just a brother and a sister who hate and hate and hate.

She’s entirely rational when she tries to sever his spinal column with her teeth, he’s not confused about why he’s trying to rip her arm from its socket. It's never an accident. Tearing each other apart comes naturally.

Cruel spikes of broken glass glitter in Vincent's hair, the smashed mirror above the mantelpiece reflecting the thousand shallow cuts that now litter his scalp, leaking bright, scarlet blood down the back of his neck. Her forearm aches from the impact, the force of a vampiric skull smashing through the glass and into the bricks behind having radiating up through her hand, where her fingers were twisted into Vincent's hair – mostly for grip, but also to keep him from biting them off completely.

It hadn't quite worked, but whatever. She glances down at the ragged chunk of her wrist that isn't there any more, shredded fibres hanging loose, and glares at Vincent as he finishes chewing his mouthful of skin and veins and raw, twitching muscle.

He grins, wide and pretty, fangs slick and gums stained with her blood. “New perfume?”

Bastard. Like he didn't steal it off her vanity this morning, like she couldn’t fucking smell it on him when he came downstairs for breakfast.

“Depends,” she replies, and lets the fistful of dark, meticulously-conditioned and carefully-styled hair still in her hand fall to the floor. “New haircut?”

Vincent's eyes narrow, black and predatory, and, as always, she feels her mouth start to water. He's imagining what it’ll feel like to kick her through the picture window and watch her impact the paved surface of the driveway below, and she's imagining what it'll be like to dig her fingernails inside his stomach and claw out all of the softness she can find.

It’s so easy to get lost in it, the cleansing rage. Nothing but fury, white-hot and shameful as it roars alive under her skin, until she's scraped raw inside and out. The same manic look paints itself across their faces, the same sadistic glee that only comes with doing something you know you shouldn’t.

Well, they're both just as bad as each other. Perhaps it runs in the family.

She lunges, teeth bared, grabbing his shirt to try and slam him back into the brickwork – but like lightning, he lurches to the side and uses her momentum to grab her waist and hurl her bodily into the wall. Wood splinters and flecks of glass go flying as they claw at each other, blood spatter dripping down the window panes and soaking into the finely-patterned carpet.

Her ears ring when Vincent seizes the back of her head and slams her face-first into the doorframe, but she gets her own back as her broken nose puts itself back together, watching the side of Vincent’s chest collapse when she clubs him hard in the side with a metal candelabra. Sweet revenge.

Gasping for breath, he dodges out of the way of her fist and grabs her arm, pulling her painfully into the front of the heavy, wooden console table. She manages to catch his ankle with her foot as she goes, though, hooking it out from under him and shoving him down to the floor. His other hand is still locked around her wrist, so he yanks on her arm to twist himself around, landing heavily on his back instead of his front.

Luckily, she manages to keep her balance, but he can see it coming now – instead of the satisfying crunch she was hoping for, he barely manages to jerk his head out of the way so the sole of her slipper impacts the carpet instead of his eye socket. It sends a spike of pain up her shin, but she ignores it in favour of shielding her head, so the impact of him kicking her backwards into the bookcases doesn't stun her too much.

It’s kind of hilarious, when you think about it. Other families don’t cause thousands of dollars of property damage trying to violently maim and murder each other when they get bored, do they?

In hindsight, it seems almost inevitable they’d turn out like this. For a long time after Vincent’s turning, they’d fought almost constantly, and nobody had ever been able to quite understand why.

It used to be unbearable, having them in the same room together. Bitter glares and cutting remarks, sniping and biting at each other from across the table. Ba always complained about how they gave him headaches – the static whine of furious, mutual hatred, the pressure of all that blinding intensity in one place, with nowhere else to go but him.

He never took sides, and it stung every time. In her head, she knows he was right to. There aren’t the words to describe how much worse that would have made it. But deep inside, she couldn’t help the sick, dizzy feeling of her Maker abandoning her, leaving her – a necessary, instinctive fear of being cast out from the safety of his world and the shelter of his presence.

She’s his blood, she’s his, she’s his. They’re a family.

You can’t say that either of the two of them is entirely innocent. Alexis knows that there are parts of her that Vincent’s right to hate, and there are parts of him that she’s right to hate, too. They’ve both done terrible, awful things, too many to name, to other people and each other alike. Anyone else would say that one is just as awful as the other, and that with the way they’re carrying on, neither of them is making it any better whatsoever.

A boring answer, in short.

Because it’s not actually about that, is it? There’s something else too, something too tender and complicated for them to ever really unravel, the sugary decay of undeath that turns their spit to venom and their hunger to thirst. Vincent’s all the things she left behind, and she’s all the things he never had, and it’s all bundled up with the howling wasteland of the world that neither of them should ever have left.

Everyone regrets their Turning, whether they say so or not. Some regret it more than others, it’s true, but nobody gets away unscathed. The only reason it’s ever been a problem is because the House of Solaire tend to take their regrets out on each other.

(She rakes her nails across Vincent’s pretty face, deep, intentional gouges that would surely scar if he couldn’t sew himself back together so fast. He drives his foot into her knee in return, forcing the joint to fold in on itself the wrong way, and the world goes white with agony for the split second before it begins to heal.)

Sometimes, people wonder how they fixed it. How they get along so much better now, like a real brother and sister should. They never actually ask, and nobody will ever tell, but she isn’t stupid enough not to know what they’re thinking.

It shouldn’t be real. They bicker and pinch and steal each other’s clothes – she takes his keys from the drawer and drives his car instead of hers because it’s nicer, and she deliberately won’t leave him any money for petrol. He plays his music far too loudly in the room next door when he knows she’s got work to do, and eats her snacks out of the fridge without remorse, even if they’re labelled. Annoying, yes, but hardly the curse-yelling, death-threatening carnage their house used to be.

In fact, you could almost say they’re too well-behaved. They stay up late together in the living room, surrounded by every phone and laptop and tablet they can find, refreshing and refreshing the stupid ticket lottery website for the concert Vincent wants to go to of the band that she hates. They wear as many layers as they can stand and bring those UV umbrellas that block out the sunlight, so they can go out in the daytime and queue up for that pop-up event downtown that she’s been dying to go to.

Even the endless, complicated trappings of polite vampiric society are standard fare for them now. Vincent doesn’t complain when he has to stand by her vanity for twenty minutes passing her hairpin after hairpin, and Alexis waits by the front door to do his tie for him, because she’s better at doing the complicated knots that go in and out of fashion. They dress up nicely for every society ball, kissing each other on the cheek and fetching each other drinks and dancing the volta just like everybody else.

She lends him whatever jewellery he wants out of her jewellery box because it’s prettier than his. He pesters their father into letting them go to Disneyland in the evening when it’s dark and they won’t get sunburnt, three days in a row when they should be working because it’s her birthday and she wants to take pictures in front of the castle and eat the special coloured candyfloss they always have at this time of year. They proofread each other’s work documents and curl up under the same blanket on the sofa and leave their shoes next to each other by the door every day.

Shiny, red, and utterly forbidden – a devil’s deal is a wonderful thing. The apple seed of temptation took root in her sour, bloated stomach, and a shallow grave blossomed into a beautiful family tree.

It makes baba so happy that they get along now, and that makes them happy too. They’re never going to tell anyone how they do it. Isn’t there some saying about magic and secrets?

(Her arm isn’t quite back in its socket yet, shoulder screaming in pain, but it won’t stop her trying to choke Vincent unconscious against the bookcase. He spits a warm mouthful of blood and venom into her face in thanks, and knees her hard in the stomach.)

Vampiric houses are famously secretive, especially the older ones. It pretty much comes with the territory – the diet alone tends to be rather off-putting for outsiders, to say nothing of the other… well, the other habits that vampirism bestows. Generally, vampires prefer to keep the company of their own kind, and the intrinsic bond between maker and progeny is a rather powerful reason to stay.

Clans have always been compared to families in that way, and the House of Solaire takes it very seriously indeed. More so than most, although it’s not an uncommon thing. Turnings tend to isolate a person from their human friends and family. It would be remiss of their new clan, surely, not to step in and fill that void however they can?

As different as some things are, there’s no escaping human nature. If William’s taught them anything about surviving in this world, about protecting their family, it’s that nothing is off-limits. Whatever is necessary, they do without question. Knowledge, money, sex, power. Blood is blood, always. How else would the Solaire name have prospered for so long? How else will it continue?

Perhaps it’s cliche, but it’s true. Old blood means old money, and it doesn’t get much older than vampiric blood. Her world is a world of private invitations, expensive dresses, and strategic gossip – whatever you could imagine about the secretive lives of a shadowy vampiric aristocracy, it’s probably true. Champagne was made to be whispered over, after all. Long lives mean plenty of time to develop some rather particular tastes, and an instinctive thirst for blood does lend itself well to a certain nonchalance about the insides of a human body.

She’d been surprised at first, an uncomfortable revulsion that she’d had to unlearn, but she’d got used to it eventually. Vincent had too, and although it took him a little longer, he’s almost as good at playing this game as she is. Say what you will about the House of Solaire, but they are very, very good at what they do.

Nothing breeds rumours like success, and William Solaire is truly blessed. A golden name, a golden fortune, and two golden children to match.

There were always going to be rumours, certainly. Of what they might be doing behind closed doors, their ambitions for the future of their house, the secrets that lie at the heart of it. Of fresh scars in strange places, the truth of their allegiance to their father, of brothers and sisters doing things that brothers and sisters shouldn’t be doing.

You couldn’t prove any of it, obviously, and nobody ever says the words out loud. But she hears them all the same, ringing in her ears as she kisses her father on the cheek at breakfast, filling up her mind as she steals Vincent’s jacket out of his room to go shopping, and she smiles wider than ever before – because if they really knew what was happening behind the gates of Wonderworld, they’d have much more to talk about than wondering what William could possibly be holding over their heads to make them finally behave.

(In all honesty, it’s somehow more and less than you’d think. That’s not the point she’s trying to make right now, but it’s worth saying, all the same.)

They’re never, ever going to let it slip. Nobody’s ever going to know about the way she forces her brother back down onto the floor, driving her elbow into his face, feeling cartilage crack and splinter as he falls backwards in a spray of blood. He tries to scramble away, one hand reflexively covering his face, but he’s too slow - her foot comes down hard on his shin, and the scream he lets out isn’t quite loud enough to cover the sound of bone shattering under her slipper.

Vincent tries to drag himself away, fingernails tearing at the carpet, and she plants her foot on his chest to keep him in place. The break in his nose is almost fixed, crimson blood splattered all over his face, but it seems like his attention has… shifted.

That can’t be right.

He’s not that stupid, surely. What else could he be thinking of, when she could so easily crush his heart in a split second? He’s focusing on something else, but it doesn’t seem to be her – is it behind her? Is there something she can’t see? Why isn’t he paying attention?

And then, for some unknowable reason, apropos of apparently nothing… he smiles.

“What?” she spits, pressing down harder and feeling his ribs creak under the ball of her foot. “What is it?”

Infuriatingly, he chokes on a laugh, thick blood bubbling in his throat as it heals, and gestures weakly up at the wall behind her. His eyes are fixed on something there too – no, not the wall, it’s the—

“You little – fucking hell!”

She barely manages to dodge the chandelier as it comes crashing down on her head, feeling the room spin as Vincent yanks on the ceiling chain hard with a burst of psychokinesis. He manages to throw himself in the opposite direction, hand shielding his eyes as the metal hits the floor and the room fills with the deafening sound of shattering crystal.

Both of them hiss as they’re pelted with broken crystal, slicing tiny, stinging ribbons into their skin that seal up almost as soon as they appear. Shit, that hurts.

“Zhidi!”

She glares at her stupid little brother, half-crouched behind the arm of the sofa. “You’re fucking fixing that.”

“Why?” he snickers, pretending to pout, and she’s so tempted to just drag him out into the hallway by the hair and sling him down the stairs before he can finish the thought. “You’re so much better at magic than me, lili…”

“Yeah,” she grumbles, crossing her arms in the face of his unapologetic grin, “which means you need the practice more.”

Vincent groans, downcast. “But he’ll be so mad if I do it wrong!”

He huffs when she just sticks her tongue out at him in return, tossing his head to get his hair out of his eyes. “Can’t you just do half, and I’ll copy?”

Narrowing her eyes, she shakes the debris from her slippers and picks her way over to the window. It takes some concentration, but she runs a hand over the splintered mess of the frame, watching as it sews itself back together. “This is my half.”

“But it’s so hard!” he whines, little brat that he is, and she hates how the obvious manipulation still tugs at her heartstrings. He’s sitting cross-legged in front of the sofa now, hands extended over the sparkling rubble of the chandelier. “You make it look so easy, jiejie…”

Alexis sighs, and begrudgingly reaches down to ruffle his hair. Tiny flakes of mirrored glass fall onto the carpet around him as she does it, slicing little papercuts into the tips of her fingers.

“You do all the light fixtures and the mirror, and I’ll do the rest.”

He looks up at her, suspicious. “Half the mirror.”

“Two thirds.”

“Three fifths.”

“Two thirds, and I don’t tell ba you dropped the chandelier.”

“Deal,” he graciously concedes, and they pinkie promise.

She rolls her eyes and pretends she can’t see him grin, knowing full well she’s being far too soft on him. “If he blames it on me, I swear I’ll key your goddamn Volante and make you watch.”

“What? No!” Vincent gasps, looking betrayed. “Don’t you know how much that cost?”

“Yeah, I do,” she says sweetly, “which is why you’re not going to fuck it up, are you?”

He mutters something unflattering in French under his breath, and she snaps her fingers accusingly in his direction. “What was that, didi?”

“Nothing.”

She smiles winningly, before waving her hand and dragging all the books up off the floor and back into the bookcase. “That’s what I thought.”

They clean up in silence for a little while, their earlier animosity dissolving unnoticed into dust. It’s slow going – neither of them are especially gifted with magic, or have very much of it at their disposal, so they have to keep stopping every few minutes or so to recover.

Before long, they’re both out of breath and exhausted, smashed crystal still crunching beneath their feet and coughing up white plumes of plaster dust.

“When’s he even coming back, anyway?” Vincent asks, peering at the tall jade vase he’s trying to coax back together. “Tonight?”

She nods over her shoulder, trying to stitch the long gash in the sofa cushion closed and failing miserably at getting the complicated pattern to match up again. “He didn’t say when, but it can’t b—”

“Fuck.”

Vincent cuts her off, staring down at his phone as it buzzes, before looking up at her with a grimace and turning the screen to face her.

I’ll be home in ten minutes. I’m sure nothing will be broken or out of place when I get back.

Of course he’s coming home earlier than they thought. Of course. Why wouldn’t he?

“What should we do?”

Christ, he’ll be furious once he sees what they’ve done to this room. If they really, really hurry, they might be able to get away with at least a little bit of it, right?

With a huff of exertion, magic builds beneath her palms, and all the fragments of mirrored glass scattered across the room start to shiver as she prepares to sew them all back together. The mantelpiece needs to be fixed, and there’s a whole section of the doorframe that’s almost totally gone, and she doesn’t even want to think about the horrible, gaping wounds in the wooden panelling that need to be repaired and relacquered…

“Come here,” she mutters to Vincent, beckoning him over to her and pressing her palms flat to his chest. He closes his eyes and nods, resting the tips of his fingers at her temples, and they slowly, carefully, start to reach out to each other.

Her threads brush clumsily against his, once then twice then three times, the connection weak and fluttering as they try to concentrate. She stretches as far as she can, searching for that familiar feeling, anticipating the sickening lurch in her stomach that she knows is surely going to come any second, the momentary freefall as her core latches on to his.

When it happens, it takes her by surprise – her knees buckle for just a moment, and she sways slightly from side to side. Vincent rests his forehead against hers to try and keep upright, and she feels his wordless reassurance through the fledgling bond.

How does he do it? Vincent’s only a few inches taller than her, even less so when she’s in heels, and yet he always seems to tower over her – the looming shadow in the corner of her eye, the impossible weight of his gaze on her through the crowd.

The perfect height for dancing, their father had said, laughing gently as they stumbled through a clumsy waltz around the living room. She’d stepped on Vincent’s toes almost as many times as he’d tripped over the hem of her long dress, a poor stand-in for the real one she’d be wearing at the summer ball in a few months’ time. Elbows up, xiaozhi. They will not be so forgiving in Marseille as I am, you know.

Magic pools beneath her skin as she siphons it greedily through the bond, flooding her core with Vincent’s stolen power, and she luxuriates in the sensation for a long, languid moment. Then, she grits her teeth, and focuses.

With the extra rush of his magic, it’s almost laughable how fast she manages to race through most of the remaining cleanup – the blood dripping down the windowpane vanishes, the claw marks in the carpet disappear, and even the mirror above the mantelpiece clicks neatly back together as if it were never broken. The slashes across the back of Vincent’s shirt close up, and all the little chunks of bloody cartilage stuck in her hair vanish without a trace.

Her brother staggers in her arms as she keeps pulling on their bond, and she manages to ease them both down onto the sofa without too much fuss, still trying to get as much of the chandelier fixed as she can. About half of the crystal is back in place, but the chain just won’t – she can’t quite—

“Enough!”

Vincent breaks away from her with a sharp, sudden breath, slumping backwards onto the newly-repaired cushions and clutching weakly at his skull. “Too much, lijie, too much…”

He gestures vaguely towards the door with one hand in what she thinks might be thirst, and she runs out into the hallway and downstairs to the kitchen as fast as she can to get some blood out of the fridge. There’s already a glass on the counter that he must have got out earlier, so she fills it up with the half-empty bottle of O positive.

Sharing their magic always does this, but once he gets enough blood in him, he should be fine in about twenty minutes or so. It’s a lot like bridging, that way. Their cores will be synchronised for a little while, and they’ll be more keenly aware of each other’s magic, but that doesn’t really mean much when their senses are already so sharp.

A vampire’s core isn’t magically rich enough to do a huge amount all at once, so sharing magic like this is generally their best bet for doing things quickly. It lets them make the most of their limited reserves – rather than working individually, one of them can keep feeding the other magic as they concentrate on the whole picture.

Her steps are quiet but urgent as she runs back upstairs with the blood, slippered feet sliding a little on the kitchen tile. How much longer have they got until ba gets back, again?

When she pushes the door open, Vincent hasn’t moved, still sprawled across the sofa with a hand pressed over his eyes. Gently, she folds the fingers of his other hand around the glass, and he mumbles out a slurred thanks as he gulps the whole thing down in almost one swallow.

She’s just about to try the chandelier again, threads uncomfortably sore and stretched, when there’s a sudden sound from downstairs. The faintest jangling of keys, the scrape of tiny metal pins in the cylinder as the lock turns, and all of a sudden—

“Hui jia le.”

Downstairs in the foyer, he doesn’t have to shout. He already knows they can hear him.

Vincent curses silently, staggering up off the sofa and disappearing off to his room as she flings whatever magic she can at the chandelier chain. If she can just get it to stay together until he goes out again, they can probably recover enough magic between them to be able to fix it properly, right?

“Lili?” Ba’s voice is soft yet confused, the quiet sounds of him taking his shoes off and hanging up his overcoat, wondering why they’re not saying anything. “Xiaozhi, where are you?”

The question is entirely redundant – they all know that he can feel exactly where in the house they are. Vincent isn’t saying anything, so should she keep quiet as well…?

No, it’ll be too suspicious if neither of them goes and sees him, so she throws one last worried glance at the chandelier and hurries out of the room. When she gets to the top of the stairs, he’s just putting his slippers on, and she does her best to keep her heart slow and her smile easy when he looks up and notices her.

“There you are,” murmurs baba, and holds out his arms for her.

Is it embarrassing, how quickly she scrambles down the stairs and throws herself at him? He laughs, strong hands catching her waist and lifting her clear off the floor in a brief, joyful circle. “Ah, I have missed you, chérie.”

“Missed you too,” she says into his shirt, curling happily into his chest as he wraps his arms around her, fondly kissing the top of her head. The Maker’s bond between them sings at their closeness, warm and comforting as it bubbles in her chest, and she feels him smile even though she can’t see it.

“Vincent is upstairs?”

“He, um…”

The words freeze on her tongue as she tries to figure out a half-truth that she’ll actually be able to say – she can’t lie outright, but she can say something that’s technically true, even if it’s not the whole story.

“Headache,” she mumbles noncommittally, and crosses her fingers that he won’t push it.

Ba hums quietly in acknowledgement, seemingly in acceptance. “I see. Was the patrol alright?”

He smooths his hand over her back in wide, slow circles, just the right amount of pressure. “No trouble, I hope.”

She shakes her head, and tries her best to relax. “Just some unempowered kids, looking for somewhere to have a bonfire. It was easy.”

There’d been about six or seven of them piled into some beaten-up old thing, driving down the abandoned road that leads to the gates of Wonderworld, clearly not sure where they were going. Even if she hadn’t spotted the dim headlights through the trees, or heard that god-awful music from the speakers inside, she probably could have smelt them coming – whatever they were drinking, it seemed less like moonshine and more like rubbing alcohol. If they go blind, it’s not her fault.

They’d stopped just before the gates, about to get out when she’d suddenly appeared by the driver’s-side window. He’d been surprised to see her, tapping at the glass until he rolled it down, and she’d taken the opportunity to have a little fun with it before she’d have to trance them.

Mm, you boys are out late, she’d drawled, leaning forwards and resting her arms along the edge of the window. Can I… help you, with anything?

She’s not stupid – she knows exactly what she looks like, and she knows exactly what to do with it. There’s always college students from the nearby towns sneaking into the woods at night, and they fall for it every single time.

Ah, it really had been cute. She’d had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at the way all of their eyes suddenly couldn’t stay on her face, conspicuously flicking back up to her eyes whenever she moved.

Just, uh…

The one driving had really, really tried, shifting awkwardly in his seat as she tilted her head to look down at him. Just lookin’ around, ma’am, nothin’ serious…

Nothing serious? She’d smirked at that, careful not to let them see the sharp tips of her fangs as she reached out to gently brush a stray lock of blonde hair out of his face. Honey, you’ll break my heart, with talk like that.

His friend in the passenger seat still hadn’t stopped staring, slack-jawed, and she’d pushed herself up on her tiptoes to stretch her arm out towards him, pressing the tip of her fingernail under his chin to snap his mouth shut. Oh, it was like something out of a movie! She’d always wanted to do that in real life.

I can think of somewhere you’ll like.

Foolishly, they’d all been very liberal with their eye contact – trancing them had been as easy as anything.

As soon as I stop talking, you’re going to turn this car around and drive all the way back to the freeway, and you’re going to drive all the way to the next city before looking for somewhere to have your little party. You won’t remember this conversation at all, you won’t remember ever meeting anyone here, and you won’t remember anything about me.

She’d smiled nice and wide, scarlet eyes burning into each of them in turn, listening to their terrified hearts race at the monstrous sight of her. Isn’t that right, hm?

They’d nodded in unison, the driver’s hands already back to the wheel, and she’d blown them a kiss as they drove away and disappeared back into the trees. Ah, humans.

“Well, that’s good.”

Ba’s voice shakes her from the memory, slowly guiding her away from the door and towards the kitchen. “That reminds me – you should have heard the little ones tonight, my goodness…”

“Really?” She’s curious, not having met them before. “What did they say?”

Deft fingers pull the carafe of A positive out of the fridge door, and he blinks down at the bare countertop for a second before reaching up and taking a glass out of the cupboard.

“The Aguilars are… they are unchanged, shall we say.”

It makes sense. He’d been over at the Aguilar estate tonight to meet their new blood informally, before the Summit in a few months’ time when they’ll be properly introduced. The family is always very friendly, and she gets on very well with the aunties there.

Poor Vincent doesn’t like them as much as she does, but that’s mostly to do with that god-awful girl – a cousin from one of the branching bloodlines, she’s fairly sure – who’s had a crush on him ever since he was Turned, and who follows him around incessantly whenever they’re at the same parties. It’s hilarious to watch him try to shake her off, and the look of relief on his face when she finally steps in and makes up some lie about how he promised to dance with her is well worth the hour of complaining he’ll do later in the car on the way home.

The only thing is that it’s a big family. Much bigger than theirs, and it can be rather overwhelming when it gets loud. Obviously, ba doesn’t like to say anything about it, but she can feel his headaches building in the back of her own skull – his stronger senses mean he’s a lot more sensitive to the noise than she and Vincent are.

Still, they’re far more pleasant company than the House of Bennett. The only one who can make that family bearable to be around is cousin Porter, and that’s only because he likes to add a little of his own blood to the drinks so that they actually feel like they’re alcoholic.

She nods, leaning back against the sink. “Chatty, I take it.”

“Little… ah, what is it?” Sipping his glass of blood as he leans against the kitchen table, he gestures vaguely in the air with one hand. “Little pitchers that have big ears.”

It really shouldn’t be a surprise. Big houses mean more gossip, and freshly Turned vampires do love to put their shiny new senses to use.

She shrugs. “As long as they’re not spilling state secrets yet, it’ll be fine.”

“If the state tells its secrets to the House of Aguilar, we are already doomed, mon ange.”

They both laugh, washed in the pale light streaming through the windows, and baba closes his eyes as he reaches up to gently pull the fa zan from his hair.

He likes to tie it back when he goes out, partly to stop the wind from tangling it, and partly because it’s the way he says gentlemen used to be when he was young. Over the years, he’s amassed an almost staggering collection of little clips and ribbons and pins – a not insignificant number as gifts from her and Vincent – that he likes, but he generally just wears it down when he’s at home and there aren’t guests.

The moonlight turns the edges of his black hair to silver as he shakes his head with a relieved sigh, running his fingers through it quickly to smooth it out before flicking it back behind him. He likes to keep it long, at least several inches below his shoulder, and she’s always been so jealous of how he seems to make every hairstyle he tries seem so effortlessly elegant.

“Still,” he continues with a wicked smile, “you will see for yourself when we see them next. I think they will have many things to discuss with you, perhaps.”

He tips his head languidly to the side as he pushes his phone across the table, the screen lit up with a photo of Vincent from last summer. If she remembers correctly, it’s from when they were taking a break at the summer house down by the coast – he’s shirtless, knee deep in the water, turning back to the camera with a rakish grin, dark hair already wet from the splash fight they’d been having and fangs glittering in the moonlight from above.

In short, he looks painfully, achingly handsome. Scandalised, she smacks her father in the shoulder and gasps theatrically, like she can’t believe what he’s done.

“You didn’t!”

“I certainly did.”

“He’ll die!” she whisper-shouts, trying desperately not to laugh too hard. “He’s already having trouble outrunning marriage proposals from one of them, and you’re setting the new blood on him too?”

Ba just shakes his head, imperious, looking down his nose at her like he’s imparting some grave wisdom. “They asked to see a picture of my progenies.”

“So it had to be that picture?”

“I showed your picture as well.”

Resigned, she buries her face in her hands. “I dread to think.”

“Oh, you are so dramatic, chérie,” he laments, and he even has the gall to click his tongue in faux-disapproval when she narrows her eyes at him. “See? The picture is nice!”

It takes him a second to find it, but it’s just as bad as she feared – it’s from the same holiday as Vincent’s photo, probably taken later that night. She’s wearing that nice floaty sundress she bought in Singapore, barefoot in the sand as she blows a kiss to the camera, lips still stained with blood from whatever scarlet cocktail she’s holding in her other hand.

This was exactly his plan, in other words, and she’s going to fucking murder him in his sleep. If any of those upstart little ankle biters tries to chat her up, it won’t be pretty – the last one got a cake fork stabbed straight through his hand and several inches into the table beneath it, and the one before that still visibly trembles at the sound of her stilettos clicking softly against the floor.

“If I kill an Aguilar new blood at the summer ball, it’s your fault,” she mutters threateningly, hissing and baring her fangs at him when he reaches out to take her face in his hands and draw her closer. “I mean it!”

“Of course you do, xiao gong zhu,” he murmurs indulgently, and kisses her forehead. “You are telling me, so it must be true.”

Upstairs, the sound of floorboards creaking, fabric rustling. Vincent.

“I meant what I said, by the way,” ba adds nonchalantly, “about broken things.”

Shit. She blinks, innocent as anything as she beats back the guilty urge inside her that yearns to spill the truth. “What’s broken?”

“Lili.”

He raises an eyebrow, discreetly tapping the shell of his ear, and she strains to figure out what he’s hearing. “I am old, baobei. Not stupid.”

If she listens, really listens, she can just about make something out. Another noise, something much quieter – a sort of stiff, metallic creaking from upstairs, on the other side of the house to Vincent’s bedroom…

Her smile wavers as ba swans serenely past her, disappearing out into the hallway, deft fingers picking up his fa zan from the table as he goes past. “It is nothing, surely. Perhaps you will bring Vincent something for his head while I am changing?”

God fucking damn it – she might be able to fix the chandelier without him noticing, but what are the odds? He’s meeting that friend tonight, and if he’s going to change now then it probably won't be long until he goes out, but there’s no way of knowing if it’ll hold until then.

Scowling, she pours another glass of blood for Vincent, and one more for herself, before reluctantly trudging upstairs.

It's a fact of life, or at least a fact of vampirism: you can’t really have any secrets from your Maker, and that’s even without the whole truth-compulsion thing. No matter what you do, your Maker is always aware of what you’re feeling, when you’re feeling it.

The emotional bond never goes away, though the strength of its effects ebbs and flows. Sometimes it’s so faint as to be almost nonexistent, a tiny shiver down the spine – and sometimes it’s almost overwhelming in its intensity, foreign emotions bursting out of nowhere like fireworks, blindingly bright and terrifyingly loud.

For young vampires, it’s a lot to get used to. Some take years to become accustomed to the bond, while others are oddly comforted by it. New Makers are often surprised by the strength of as well – it goes both ways, but generally the Maker feels more of their progeny’s emotions than the other way around. Nobody's really sure why.

More complicated feelings don’t come through especially clearly, apparently a little bit difficult for the bond to transmit, or perhaps for the other body to decipher. But simpler, more basic emotions are very, very easy. You might even say they’re too easy, in fact. Things like fear, sadness, joy – and, well…

He must already know what they’ve been up to. That sort of anger, the instinctive viciousness that comes so easily to them. They all know from experience how quickly that can wash over the bond, twisting and curling as it spreads like dark ink through water. After a while, it stops being so intrusive – it’s just how it works, and it’s not as though they can stop it. It’s possible to tune it out, and before long it generally goes away.

But a Maker with two progenies, both of whom are busy winding each other up at the same time? Who never seem to know when to quit, chasing that addictive, acidic feedback loop of rage that only ever seems to push them higher?

Ba doesn’t mind what they get up to, per se, as long as they keep it discreet and clean up after themselves. But even so, it’s not difficult to see how it could be… distracting.

He definitely knows what they were doing, is the point. And he clearly knows that there’s something they broke that she hasn’t been able to fix yet. She just needs to make sure it’s all neat and tidy by the time he gets back later, and hopefully they can all pretend that it never happened.

“What.”

Vincent glares at her from under his duvet when she pushes the door open with her foot, crimson eyes staring out from the blackness as she gets closer and closer. The lights are off and the blackout curtains are closed, so it’s almost entirely dark, but she can make out the shape of the bed well enough.

“Blood.”

She holds out one of the glasses, not breaking eye contact until a single hand slithers out from under the duvet and takes it from her.

He doesn’t seem to have thought about how he’s going to drink it, lying flat on his stomach and sprawled sideways across the bed, and she snickers under her breath as he blinks stupidly at the glass. With a flourish, she takes the second straw out of her own glass and drops it into his, sticking her tongue out gleefully at him when he mumbles something unintelligible into the mattress beneath him.

She shrugs – it’s close enough. “You’re welcome.”

Perching herself on the edge of the bed, she watches in amusement as he drags himself forwards under the duvet so he can get the straw in his mouth without having to lift his head, occasionally poking the mound of blankets that claims to be her brother in the side to see if he can feel it or not.

(He can. She knows. It’s just funny.)

Because she’s very generous, she gets up to grab a few of the books off his desk, stacking them up by the side of the bed, level with where his face is. He complains when she takes the glass back out of his hand, but acquiesces as soon as she puts it back down on the books, army crawling towards the end of the straw that’s now level with the top of the mattress and haughtily sticking it in his mouth.

“Better?”

The Vincent-shaped duvet creature next to her slurps loudly at his glass of blood, and doesn’t say anything.

She’d use telepathy, but she needs to save all the magic she can get. Quickly, she pulls her phone out of her pocket, turning the brightness down all the way and typing a message in her notes app to show him.

He knows something’s broken, and the chandelier chain isn’t going to last long if I don’t go and fix it. Do you have enough magic to help yet?

“No,” Vincent grumbles, and coughs pointedly.

Great. How much longer?

He coughs again, baleful red eyes turning to look witheringly up at her from his blanket nest, and she doesn’t have to be able to see his hands to know the gesture he’s making at her.

Fine, she types, as sarcastically as it’s possible to be when you can’t say anything out loud, but if he hears, I’m blaming you. Distract him.

Obediently, he starts moving around again, making sure the sound of mattress springs and sheets rustling is loud enough for her to slip out of the door and towards the drawing room they ruined earlier. Luckily, it’s in the opposite direction to baba’s room, but she still holds her breath and tiptoes as quietly as she can in case he—

“Lili?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake!

She whips around, totally innocently, to see her father beckoning her down the stairs as several sets of cufflinks rattle in his palm. “Come and help me choose.”

Helpless to protest, she’s forced to follow him down into the foyer, umming and ahhing over which cufflinks she thinks will suit his outfit the best. In her head, though, she can’t stop worrying about that damned chandelier, the creaking sound from upstairs that she’s sure is getting louder, the increasing amount of magic she’ll need to fix it as it surely gets worse and worse…

“A good choice as always, mon ange.”

She startles slightly as baba nods approvingly, smoothly taking the silver pair she’d mindlessly chosen and putting them on, before leaving the rest in the dish on the low console table. “I won’t be back until the morning, so you will look after Vincent, won’t you?”

Hastily, she nods. “Yeah, I will, I will.”

“Alright.” He rests his hands gently on her upper arms as he kisses both her cheeks, before taking his car keys out of his pocket and heading out of the front door. “See you later, chérie. I love you very much.”

“Love you too!”

She waits the agonisingly long half-second it takes for the door to close behind him before racing back upstairs, and she hears Vincent, still clutching his half-empty glass, scrambling out of his room at the same time. They nearly crash face-first into each other in their haste, yanking the drawing room door open and tumbling through it as fast as they can.

“I thought your head still hurt?” she says quizzically to Vincent, watching his hands trembling faintly around his glass, but he just makes a face.

“The alternative’s worse,” he replies, and she nods. He’s right.

She reaches for her core, willing the magic to come – it’s slow and it’s weak, but she yanks on her threads as hard as she can to try and summon it to her fingertips. The chandelier sways ominously above them as she screws her eyes shut to concentrate, and she can feel Vincent’s aura flicker next to her as he does the same thing. Come on, come on…

She’s nearly there, power surging under her skin and ready to be channelled outwards, when there’s a sudden—

“Shit!”

The magic fizzles uselessly away as her eyes fly open to see Vincent, clutching his head in pain, cursing as the front of his shirt is drenched in blood. There’s shattered glass all over the floor from where he’s dropped his drink, and she chokes down the irritated vampiric growl that rises in her throat. “Fucking hell, xiaodi!”

“I’ll fix it, I’ll fix it!” he moans, slightly unsteady on his feet, throwing his hands in the air in frustration. “Look, at least it’s not the—”

Something moves, just at the very edge of her vision.

Above her head, the room plunges into blackout as something snaps.

“Move–!!”

She barely manages to shove Vincent away from her before the heavy metal body of the chandelier comes crashing down on her head. It’s not heavy enough to knock her out, but the surprise is enough that all she can do is stand there as 15 kilos of brass and crystal and electrics falls directly on top of her and shatters.

He skitters backwards, recoiling from the spray of tiny crystal shards that covers the floor for the second time today, nearly tripping over the leg of the side table as he goes. A thousand stinging papercuts split their skin, sealing themselves up and leaving tiny droplets of crimson blood dripping down their arms and faces.

Without even noticing, she instinctively catches one of the twisted metal arms of the chandelier that must have been sheared off when it impacted her skull, raw edge snagged painfully in her hair as it slides neatly down into her arms.

They’re so fucked.

They both freeze guiltily as a floorboard creaks outside in the hallway, far too close to be a coincidence, and she winces as there’s a polite knock, knock, knock at the door.

“We—” She chokes, breathing in a hacking lungful of debris, voice cracking slightly from her dry throat. “We’re in so much trouble.”

Vincent stares wide-eyed at her through the sudden dark, blood dripping slowly from his chin and soaking into the carpet..

“Yeah,” he mumbles distantly, “probably.”

The drawing room door swings open, and both their heads snap towards the open doorway so fast it would give a human whiplash. There, silhouetted against the light, car keys still jangling in his palm and running an exasperated hand through his long hair—

“What,” hisses William Solaire, raising an irate eyebrow at his children, covered in glittering crystal dust and leaking blood into a very expensive carpet, “did I say about breaking things again?”

The clan always sticks together. Family comes first – nothing and nobody could make them betray each other, and they’d rather die than leave one of their own behind. It’s the central tenet of their existence, the core fact of their messy, gory lives.

Some things are just… true. The earth is round, the sky is blue, and there is no power known to men or gods that could turn the House of Solaire against itself.

Baba shifts his weight slightly, eyes narrowing accusingly.

And very, very slowly, Alexis and Vincent both point at each other.

link to the glass jaw pronunciation guide

main masterlist

this is an original fanwork by @gingerbreadmonsters - please do not repost or misattribute

[sulky-valkyrie]

Prompt: "I want to be there when you get what's coming to you."

For Fenders if you are so inspired <3

hallooo beloved! have 700 words of pre-relationship something for @dadrunkwriting

"-what's coming to you."

The words were muffled and distant as Anders swam back to consciousness. "What?" he asked. Well, tried to. Instead it came out a low inarticulate grunt, followed by reflexively spitting blood from his mouth.

He made a second attempt. "What?" This time, the word actually made it past his split lips. He reached up to wipe his face, and found he couldn't. His hands had been tied to the armrests. What happened?

"I said I remembered telling you I wanted to be there when you got what's coming to you." Fenris sat to his left, and his voice was full of bitter amusement. "I confess, this wasn't what I had in mind." He was tied up as well, and with far more rope than Anders.

"Where's Hawke?" He asked thickly. Everything was blurry, and Justice was gone. No, not gone; just quiet, like a man asleep next door, only next door was still somewhere in his mind. Something both sweet and bitter clung to the back of his throat, a combination of magebane and… perhaps deepstalker venom? Whatever it was, it made him feel sluggish, even as his thoughts raced in a body he could barely control. Is this how it feels for Justice?

Fenris continued as if he hadn't heard him. "I thought it would be in the Gallows. I thought you'd lose yourself to… him. That I'd have to cut you down myself. Some nights, I dreamed about it." He shook himself. "Nothing like this, just a misstep and a price paid."

Anders looked around and tried to focus. They were in a basement. A Chantry basement. He could see the stylized sunburst pattern on the robes peeking from one of the crates. "Where's Hawke?" he asked again.

"The Keep, most likely, for all the good it'll do," Fenris answered, still sounding dazed, or maybe in shock. Blood trickled from bruised and broken skin on his cheekbone. Few things could leave mark like that, and gauntleted fist was the most likely source. "The Templars only obeyed the Viscount's orders because he never gave any that they saw a reason to ignore. Until now."

Panic was starting to rise in his chest, making his heart pound, sending whatever was left of the poison to his liver, where his Warden constitution would cleanse it from his body faster than their captors could possibly expect. The fabled Warden stamina of popular rumor was only one of the many side effects of the Joining, and, for once, he found himself glad of his order's secretive nature.

He scratched his cheek on the edge of his shoulder as the fog cleared. The magebane would still linger, of course; the taint had no effect on a mage's connection to the Fade, and therefore, couldn't undo any damage done to it. "What happened?" He asked.

Fenris glanced at him curiously. "You don't remember?"

Anders shook his head, then stopped as the bile rose in his throat. "Alrik. We - I almost… then I ran." He frowned as another chunk of memory slotted in place. "Then you followed me?"

"Right into the most ill-timed black market deal in all of Thedas," Fenris confirmed. "A dozen lyrium-drunk Templars and a dozen more Carta. I thought you would turn and slaughter all of them." Fenris paused, then added, "I was ready to let you, after what he said to that girl. Ready to mop up whatever was left of them, and you. But you didn't. You were… " he trailed off uncomfortably. "You asked me once if I ever thought about killing myself."

"What's that got to - oh." A fractured recollection kneeling in front of them, ready to pay for what they'd nearly become, what they'd nearly done. Weapons had been leveled at them in surprise, then the smites had rained down, battering them senseless, and accepting it for the just punishment they deserved, all before a streak of ghostly blue had cut through them, rending flesh and breaking bones.

His memories stopped there, and Fenris' voice dragged him back to the basement. "I watched you decide to die, and I couldn't allow it," he said softly. "I wanted to be there when you got what was coming to you. And I was." His markings flared, and he stood up as the ropes fell through him, then reached over to yank Anders' hands free. "And now, they will have it returned tenfold."

[massensterben]

plotted starter for @lausticzt

The dark drips down onto his head. Everything is wet. Everything is damp and cold. He imagines the mother's womb inverted. He is suspended by chains where nothing grows. His teeth have not met for weeks, blocked by a metal bit that erases the possibility of bite. His jaw aches so much, it has crept into his head as a skull-splitting migraine. Or maybe that is the starvation, the lack of drinking water.

All the water he gets is cold and black and kills him. They sometimes come with rattling instruments, with a metal basin full of water. And then they grab him by the neck and drown him. Like a litter of kittens. Over and over. The fear never stops. The pain never eases. His lungs rupture over and over and he can never get enough air afterwards. Then there is a pitiful hacking and spitting. Worse if they don't even ask him anything. He couldn't bargain his way out of the drowning. They want to be repaid for the fear he caused them. They want him to die for every death he caused. They don't want anything from him beyond his fear.

And they get it. His meat stinks with it, where it hasn't sloughed off his bones. The cell is a cramped, foul space. Low ceilings breed low minds. He is like an organism born in this crevice; he shies from the light. He wants to hide and flee into the recesses of his rimose mind. When the cell door clicks and shivers and squeals, the strung up shape of the prisoner flinches out of its stasis in horror.

Hollow eyes blink against the torch light to guess at the shape of a woman. Rare enough that it'll be a woman, but not unheard of. It doesn't make a difference. They're just just as angry, just as cruel, as the men. Bertholdt, what remains of Bertholdt, shifts back into the shadow as best as his atrophied legs allow him. A soft begging noise flays his throat.

Please, no more.

[mlmvoreconfessionals]

Omg I noticed you wrote a small blurb about will powers from ace attorney and wondered if you write some more about him as a pred this time? Something about a big guy like him being so shy yet having such a big appetite (and equally huge dumps) is just so hot

Yeah, he’s definitely my second favorite character for vore ideas so I’d love to get to him!

W.ill sweats a bit in the dingy bathroom stall, a nervous smile on his face as his guts groaned noisily. This really isn't good. This is the fifth time in a month he accidentally digested one of the stunt actors during the fight. And the only reason it's been stunt actors is because he's not allowed to fight the actual actor anymore...not since the recasting. W.ill grunts as another thick log of crap slides out of him, bits of bone and costume giving him a bit of a workout with this dump. The costume department is going to be very angry at another ruined suit--he ends up ruining those half as often as he does the stunt actors. And it's not like W.ill means to keep eating the actors! He just gets so into his role and hungry during the fighting sequences that...well...he can't really control himself. And before he knows it he has some poor guy putting up a fight in his gut. He's never really figured out how to spit people out, either. They all get out eventually but...W.ill winces as a deep fart echos in the bowl under him, followed by a few more logs of crap sliding out. No one really appreciates it when he lets people out like this. It's not as though getting more stunt performers has been much of an issue, at least. But they always have to stop filming while W.ill dumps out the last one and they work on getting another guy in the suit and ready for the sequence. W.ill's pretty sure the only reason he hasn't been fired yet is because the others are a little...scared of him. With how easily he digests those stunt workers on set, he could just as easily do that to anyone else. He's not quick to anger though, he'd never think of doing that, even if he was fired! But...well...the job security is nice at least. With a final push, W.ill gets the last of the shit out of his system. It takes a few flushes to make it all go down but thankfully these crummy toilets are capable of doing their jobs. It'll be a day or two before they're ready to film the scene again...maybe W.ill can snag some lunch then. Just one stunt actor doesn't always fill him up.

W.ill had to do all the fan meet-ups in costume. Something about his face scaring people too much. He didn't really mind though, it was always nice being able to get in character for the crowds. They always seemed to enjoy it a lot! But some fans got too curious about the guy under the mask and they'd follow after W.ill whenever he went to take a break and cool off. Most actors had security to prevent stuff like this, but everyone knew W.ill could handle it on his own just fine. So when three guys thought they'd have an easy chance of sneaking into the dressing room and getting a peek at the guy under the mask, W.ill already knew he'd be taking a bit longer of a break. They're all pulled into the room quickly, the door shutting behind them. "Sorry about this," W.ill says with a nervous smile. "But we have a really strict 'No trespassing' policy." The three men thrash some more in W.ill's arms as he drags the, further into the room. Being in that suit always makes him sweaty, so W.ill realizes this might be a bit cruel, but it's the easiest way to deal with the trespassers. He gets one of their heads wedged into his exposed pecs, letting it disappear right through his thick chest hairs as if they had swallowed him up. W.ill lets go of him, now leaving one arm around one guy as his chest begins to flex and suck its meal deeper. The other two are left stunned, giving W.ill enough time to shuffle off more of his outfit. Once their faces are shoved into his hairy pits, they start thrashing again, but they're being swallowed up just as easily as their pal. The thick musk the actor is terminating must be awful on top of how damp it likely is. W.ill isn't an especially cruel man, even to his meals, but he was told rather explicitly that he can't let any nosy guys see his face and they didn't have the cash for the addition security. He has an hour before he has to be back out there, so his arms and chest flex more and more, sucking the guys deeper. He should get them finished off just in time to get back out there this way. With a flex of his chest, a pair of twitching feet disappear under the hair, and two flexes of his biceps puts away the last two meals. W.ill sighs contently, leaning back on his couch as he continues to flex his arms and chest. His prey yell and wiggle around, bulging out his muscles with their forms. But over time, their bodies begin to break down, growing weaker as W.ill's tenderizes him. Bones begin to pop and crack and his muscles shrink down as he puts his meals away. They'll leave W.ill a bit bulkier but he should still fit in his costume. "I hope the look was worth it at least," W.ill says to prey that can't hear him anymore. He stinks even worse than before after reducing them to stink and muscle mass. Hopefully, the costume masks it...he doesn't want to have to eat a group of fans to stop the bad press of him smelling bad. Again.

W.ill wakes up feeling a bit woozy still. He yawns softly, rubbing his eyes as he comes to. Last night is a bit of a haze. He recalls...going out for some drinks last night to celebrate their season finale filming being done. He recalls a couple guys coming up to him...and he had a few drinks. Then they came back to his place and...W.ill frowns and sits up in bed. His gut sloshes and hangs down in his lap. It's bigger than it had been yesterday, but not big enough for it to be two men. The actor sighs softly and rubs his face a bit. "Not again..." He tries not to bring guys back to his room because this always happens. He has a sleep-eating problem, and it usually doesn't impact him too much. But when there are other guys in his bed, he always seems to go to sleep with them close by and wakes up with his belly mostly done with them. He never means to do it...but he can't stop himself when he's sleeping. And with so many drinks in him, he wasn't thinking straight. W.ill sighs as he gets out of bed, going to the bathroom to plant himself on his toilet. The deep fart he blasts into the toilet helps jolt him awake a bit, as does the pungent smell coming from it when he starts to drop off thick logs of shit. He didn't even remember the two men's faces. Must've been a couple looking to have a bit of fun. W.ill feels bad for digesting them like that...but at least he won't need breakfast. He flushes every so often, careful not to clog his toilet. He hates having those awkward conversations with the plumber over it. Five flushes later and the one-night stand is dumped, letting W.ill get up and go about the rest of his morning. As bad as he might feel, by lunchtime, he won't even be thinking about them anymore. Everyone eventually forgets about the food they ate, after all.

[iressails]

I rarely have this giant structure for story, well never actually. It's four interconnected ones, some more there than others. Crime (light) storyline in the background that runs through all of them, but it's romance.

I don't think the four are full length novels unless I put it all my current disconnected scenes together and it's bare bones and adding scenery and inner thoughts might ratchet it up. All of them same place so it's easy to draw it out over the four stories, might cut it down.

(I haven't written anything more than 30k before so... yikes. But I rarely have more than a sex scene or two held together bit a spit of a plot. This is weird af for me.)

It's smut stuck together with story, and a bonkers bit of the environment (research black hole there). The sex is absolute fire (so I say and it is for me lol) but it's not erotica. My usual style, I guess.

No.1 is m/m, scenes scattered, but characters fixed and romance sort of fixed

no 2 is f/f, whole deal dot pointed from beginning to end, including how they change over time, what the impediments are, the sex scenes plotted but nothing written. Harder to flog from the mm. (Age gap, diverse)

no.3 m/m/f here is hazy but it's more the crime thing. Characters mostly there, the start (second chance romance, you left us! or then we were 2), the plot is there. the crime progresses, led by what the characters are doing. investigator/undercover and potential criminal (mafia type), plus clueless idiot drugs and law enforcement plot that's familiar (diverse)

no.4 m/nb I've got to solve the crime. I know it's solved roughly but who is going to solve it? One character on the crime and also in the setting, one works in admin overseeing that environment (we've one of them in the first story), romance light, characters light. I'm hoping with a bit more progress on the previous three it sort of falls into place .

There's sort of a historical element that's super light, maybe family members, needs a fair bit of work but easy to ditch. low reward.

ANYWAY! Job and fatigue and health stuff and family stuff is in the way and I get the space to write maybe 5k a week (garbage, scattered scenes I'm inspired by that day) not when my usual approach is to get everything down fast before I lost motivation 10k a day. 10k a day.

The medical professionals were "hmm have you learnt nothing about pacing during this intensive program where it's about pacing? 4k a week is good, sustainable."

NOOOOO I am 0 or 100 I know this. I am afraid it'll go before I get it down and it will nag at me forever more like my homicide happy end amongst others.

[neopuff]

title: pollen word count: ~4200 characters/ships: six, rex, holiday, white, six/holiday summary: Six is reminded, once again, that he should listen to Dr. Holiday. ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49208005

He was still getting used to training Rex. It wasn’t easy. Rex didn’t like to listen - he played around, took nothing seriously, was easily distracted, and seemed to enjoy putting himself into unnecessarily dangerous situations. Six could feel his headaches grow stronger every day.

It’d only been a few weeks of training and Rex had managed to break several bones (which healed in less than a day’s time), get blood all over his clothes (Holiday eventually forced them all to the mall to get Rex more to wear), and almost kill the monkey half a dozen times. Bobo stopped joining them in the Petting Zoo after that, and Six hoped Rex would be less distracted because of his absence.

That turned out not to be the case. Bobo stayed present - observing Rex from the Tower and banging on the windows to get his attention. Rex thought it was funny and Six thought he might die before they managed to get the kid to figure out how to steer his little motorcycle.

Training was even worse when there were new additions to the Zoo. Every week or so, Holiday would bring in a new specimen to study - especially if it displayed particularly unique abilities compared to other EVOs. She’d let the two of them know the level of danger and then Six would teach Rex different ways to fight or contain or avoid it.

The newest EVO addition was one that supposedly used to be a pine tree, but was now stomping and growling and had to have several of its branches cut down or restrained to ensure it would get along with the other EVOs in the Zoo. Holiday didn’t note it as particularly dangerous nor particularly important, so Six thought it’d be a perfect EVO for Rex to practice using his sword on.

His…Big Fat Sword, as the kid liked to call it. Six had to hold back any insults towards Rex's creative names for his builds, knowing anything negative would reach the doctor's ears by the end of the day.

"Be careful, Rex," Six said cautiously. "There's always a chance it'll grow bigger after you cut it up."

"Really?" Rex gave his mentor a big smile. "That sounds so cool, though! What if cutting it up turns it into a bunch of smaller EVOs? Oooh, or what if it grows a bunch of tree-tentacles out of its trunk? Or what if-"

"Stop distracting yourself and focus." Six had his katana in-hand and kept his eyes peeled for dangerous behavior from the EVOs around them. He'd spent hours and hours in the Zoo with Rex, but still wasn't used to or comfortable with surrounding himself with so many potential threats. "Build the sword and see if you can use it properly."

Rex pouted, but relented and glared down at his hand. He formed a fist and his arm started shaking and glowing as he attempted to create his BFS. "I-I think I'm getting it…"

After another few moments, the sword appeared - big and orange as ever. Rex smiled a toothy smile and pumped his other fist, but in doing so he lost his balance and quickly fell over from the weight of the sword.

"Rex!" Six called, annoyed and unmoving.

"I'm okay, I'm okay!!" Rex stood back up and shrugged. "Let's try this. Okay, Tree Guy…I'd say this won't hurt, but I think we both know that's not true…"

The EVO growled and shook, but ultimately stayed put. It continued to stay put even as Rex's sword sliced through its trunk and the EVO split completely in half.

Neither Rex nor Six had a moment to celebrate the proper sword usage, however, because out of the sliced EVO trunk came a rainstorm of a pollen-like substance that quickly coated everything within a two-hundred foot radius of the EVO's corpse. Assuming it was dead, of course. Maybe it’d grow back to normal in a day or two.

Rex started spitting and sputtering and rubbing his eyes instantly, whining about a disgusting taste in his mouth and how he couldn't see. Six simply wiped the substance off of his mouth as soon as it landed on him and glared down at his hand to see hundreds of little specks of yellow pollen.

"What the heck is this stuff?! Tree blood??" Rex shouted, still spitting wildly.

"Some kind of pollen. We should consult Dr. Holiday immediately." Six didn't really want to do that, especially since he and Holiday had gotten into a bit of a fight earlier in the day. That was happening to them more often lately and he didn't know what to do about it, but he certainly wasn't going to apologize for training Rex as he saw fit.

As Six brushed some of the pollen off of his jacket, he suddenly felt a tingling along his skin. It was a strange, foreign, light burning sensation that was coating everywhere that the pollen had touched. All along his face, neck, and hands.

Suddenly, Rex had wrapped his arms around Six's middle and was squeezing him tightly. Six frowned and glared down at the kid, though he couldn't help but notice that the burning sensation had decreased significantly.

"Six, I feel weird," Rex said awkwardly. "It feels like. I don't know. Like I really, really need a hug?"

Six's arms were slightly lifted up to avoid hugging his ward back, but…Rex was right. That was a perfect way to describe the burning, tingling sensation he was feeling. It was some kind of extreme touch-starvation. Like he needed physical contact with another living being or he'd start scratching his skin raw.

Slowly, Six let one of his hands fall to lay on top of Rex's head. The tingling almost completely went away, and he sighed. This was a nightmare for him.

"We need to get to Holiday so she can fix this."

Rex grumbled into Six's side, clearly embarrassed that he was hugging his mentor, but unable to pull away. "Yeah, I'd much rather be hugging her," he said uncomfortably. "No offense, Six."

"None taken," he responded in awkward kind, one hand still flush against the top of Rex's head. He wasn't sure how they'd get to Holiday without dozens of grunts seeing them like this, but Six wasn't sure what else to do. A little embarrassment was worth fixing the very serious predicament they were stuck in.

-

Holiday had been having an off day. She woke up late, then there was no half n half by the coffee machine so she had to drink her morning coffee straight, then she and Six got into a stupid argument about his treatment of Rex (not unusual, but frustrating nonetheless) and then she found out he was planning to have Rex kill her newest addition to the Petting Zoo.

She understood that Rex needed to train and he needed to be ready for the possibility of killing an EVO that couldn't be contained or cured, but she also thought it was too soon. Rex was only thirteen or fourteen and taking a life was a big step, even if it was just a tree. Plus she wasn’t done studying it - it’d only been in the Zoo for four days.

Sighing, Holiday chose to focus on writing up her report on said EVO - analyzing the data she'd collected on it earlier in the week. Every EVO was so different and so interesting - she hoped that if Rex and Six successfully sliced it open, they'd collect samples from inside for her to study. She'd mentioned it to Six earlier, but that was towards the end of their argument and he tended to be a bad listener when they had those tense little moments.

It was only fifteen or twenty minutes after she'd last heard from Six that her lab door opened up again. Holiday turned around to find Six and Rex standing there, covered in something yellowish, and holding onto one another uncomfortably. Noticeably uncomfortably.

She raised a curious eyebrow at the sight. "What happened?"

Six took a few more steps into the lab and Rex followed suit. "The EVO spit out a ton of pollen after being cut in half."

"Oh, did it?" Holiday asked, trying not to sound as smug as she felt. "I guess that could've been anticipated if you'd given me more time to study it."

The ninja frowned and rolled his eyes, one hand still on Rex's head. That was, until Rex let go of him and rushed to Holiday's side - hugging her more tightly and comfortably than he'd hugged Six.

She was taken slightly aback and stared down at him. "W-what's wrong, Rex? Are you okay?"

"No! I feel weird!" Rex mumbled into her lab coat, squeezing her tighter. "My skin is all tingly and it hurts if I'm not hugging someone!"

"Huh?" Holiday stared at him. "And this started after you got hit with the pollen?"

Rex nodded.

Holiday now understood why the two of them were hugging when they came in, and turned around to look at Six. "You, too?"

The man in green was visibly twitching, hands in his pockets like he was trying to stop himself from moving or feeling or having any weaknesses at all. "I'm fine."

She raised an eyebrow at him and looked back down at Rex as the kid said, "Just get over here, Six! She is so soft!"

Holiday blushed at that and couldn't decide if she wanted Six to listen or not. She was still a little mad at him for their morning conversation, but she also didn't want him to feel like his skin was burning. Or whatever was happening to them.

He was glaring harshly at Rex and had a light pink blush on his cheeks - a blush that made Holiday's heart skip a beat.

"Six…it's fine. Don't torture yourself," she said quietly, unable to look at his face. "I won't be uncomfortable, I promise." As she spoke, she laid one hand on Rex's head just as Six had done before, and let her other hand rest on Rex's arm. "But I do need to keep working, so grab my scanner and bring it over here."

It took another ten seconds before Holiday heard his familiar footsteps, and before she could say anything, her scanner was placed gently on the desk in front of her. She gave Six a sideways glance and noticed that he wasn't making any movement towards her.

"I'm serious, Six. You can…hug me if you need to." She hoped her face wasn't as red as it felt. "I won't tell anyone."

He sighed - sounding very annoyed - with her or himself, she wasn't sure - and suddenly Holiday felt his presence behind her. Six wrapped both of his arms around her shoulders and leaned his forehead against her head.

His breath tickled the back of her neck and Holiday wondered what she could've done in a past life to deserve having Six's arms around her, but being too professional to say or do anything about it.

"I told you," Rex mumbled, and got a quiet grunt from Six in return.

Holiday reached her free hand up towards one of Six's hands in an attempt to give him more skin contact - which is what she assumed he and Rex were craving. Six grabbed her hand with his and held it against her clavicle, taking another deep breath.

Rebecca focused on the feelings of Six holding her hand and Rex squeezing her tight and her own hand gently patting down Rex's hair and she realized in that moment…how much she liked it. In the past few months, she'd grown to completely love the boys she worked with. Even with the inappropriate flirting and the insubordination and the repetitive arguments - she really, really loved them. Being held by them made her heart soar. She felt like a part of a family and she hadn't felt anything like that in a long time. Even before her sister mutated.

She closed her eyes and just enjoyed the feeling for a few moments, neither of the boys saying anything. They probably both felt too awkward, but she was happy and she was smiling. Blush on her cheeks, heart beating fast, sure. But still happy.

“Hey Doc?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you, um…” Rex mumbled, glancing up at her face. “Are you gonna use the scanner and fix us anytime soon?”

Holiday pouted. “In a second. You two may hate this, but it’s nice to feel appreciated once in a while,” she said playfully, hoping the joke would land.

Six grunted against her hair and squeezed her tighter while Rex chuckled and placed one of his hands on top of the one she had on his head.

Alright, alright. Holiday relented and pulled her hand out of Six’s grasp - which was surprisingly difficult to do and made her heart flutter again - grabbing the scanner and quickly holding it over Rex to get some preliminary results. She also realized belatedly that she shouldn’t have let them touch her when they still had the pollen all over them; chances are she’d also be affected. Though it was hard to know since they hadn’t let go of her since entering the lab.

She glanced at the information on her scanner and let out a brief hum. “I should be able to synthesize an antidote for this.”

“How long?” Six mumbled into her hair.

Holiday hoped he didn’t notice the shiver down her spine when he did that. “Um…ten or fifteen minutes, if you guys can let go of me long enough to let me work.”

The two of them made noises of acknowledgement, but didn’t move. Holiday rolled her eyes and patted Rex’s head and Six’s hand. “Now?”

They both pulled away pretty reluctantly - Six’s hand slid down her arm and brushed against hers for a moment before stepping away completely, and Rex quickly reached out and grabbed Six’s hand instead.

Holiday smiled at them and turned around to grab some things off of another desk. “Chemical shower is right over there, you both need to get the pollen off of you.” 

As they did that, she glanced down at the smattering of pollen that was transferred to her hands and shoulders. She wasn’t feeling any burning or itching or desperate need to touch another person. That was very interesting. Either she was somehow immune, or the effects were only potent on immediate dispersion from the EVO.

She heard the shower running behind her and Rex shouting that the water was freezing.

“Stop complaining and make sure to get all the pollen off,” Six said with a very grumpy expression.

“Don’t act like this is my fault, Six!” Rex said, sputtering on occasion as water got into his mouth. “You told me to slice it open!”

The ninja grunted in response and shoved Rex to the side so he could get himself under the water. Rex shook himself off - almost like a dog - and quickly rushed back to Holiday’s side.

“Do you have any towels?” he asked quietly, interrupting her attempts to very quickly pull together an antidote.

Holiday pointed to a shelf next to the shower and continued working. She needed to get this done before she or Six had a heart attack from all the affection. He definitely wasn’t used to it and as much as she was enjoying it, she wasn’t used to it, either.

Rex was drying off his hair while Six shut the water off and grabbed another towel from the shelf. He looked irritated, like he was fighting the burning, tingling sensations that still crawled all over his skin. Rex, on the other hand, looked fine, and Holiday noticed that he wasn’t reaching for Six’s hand anymore.

“Rex? How are you feeling?” she asked, lightly shaking the test tube in her hand.

“Huh? Oh…” Rex flexed his fingers and wiggled his arms. “I feel fine! Totally normal. I guess we just needed to get the stuff off, huh, Six?”

Six glared down at Rex, his hand twitching slightly. “Right.”

Holiday noticed the strained look on his face and continued what she was doing, pretty confident that Six was lying to make Rex more comfortable. She wasn’t surprised to see that Rex’s nanites had likely broken down the, for lack of a better word, poison, while Six was stuck with the same feelings as before.

“Why don’t you go change? You’ll catch a cold like this,” Six said curtly.

Rex stretched. “I wish I could build some kind of fan! Then I could’ve just blown off the pollen from the beginning.” He put a hand to his chin in thought. “Maybe like…some kind of jet pack or something.”

“Or something,” Six said. “Go work on that. But change your clothes first.”

The ninja received a sarcastic salute as a response, and Holiday turned around just in time to see Rex blow her a kiss as he headed out the door. She rolled her eyes and looked back at Six, who was staring at her so intensely that she felt a strong urge to cool herself off in that chemical shower.

“Six. It’s okay. Just come here,” she said softly, holding out one hand. So she’d get a little wet, it wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

He huffed and quickly walked over, grabbing her outstretched hand and wrapping his free arm around her shoulder again. Like before, Six laid his head on the back of hers and tried not to think about how foolish he felt or how he was getting water all over her hair and coat.

Holiday did her very best to not think about the intimate position they were in now that Rex was gone and focused entirely on the antidote - it needed to steep for a few minutes before she could test it on the pollen sample she’d pulled off herself, but if that worked out then she could get Six back to normal before anything else went wrong.

Just as those thoughts were running through her head, Rex barged back into the lab complaining that all of his clothes were dirty or covered in monkey fur. In that instant, Six squeezed Holiday's shoulder and hand tighter, and she looked up at Rex - who paused in his step and stared at the two of them with big, confused eyes.

Rex slowly grabbed his cell phone out of his pocket and took a picture of the two of them - entertained by the embarrassed glare on Holiday’s face.

“Rex,” she said sternly, hoping he’d delete that picture but also kind of hoping he’d keep it.

“What’s up, Doc?” he responded with a little smirk.

Holiday glared at the kid and felt Six’s grip on her shoulder loosen. She sighed. “Six can come help you with your laundry when we’re done.”

“Done snuggling?” Rex stuck his tongue out playfully. “Or did Six lie and pretend that he was better when he wasn’t?”

“He just didn’t want you to worry,” she said quickly, not waiting for Six to say something unnecessarily aggressive in response. She knew that he got especially annoyed with Rex when it came to questioning his authority, but she wasn’t in the mood to listen to him yell at the kid when it wasn’t that serious.

Rex pouted and put his phone away. “Yeah, I kno-”

Holiday raised a curious eyebrow at him as Rex suddenly stopped talking and had a look of genuine fear on his face. He was staring bug-eyed above Six and Holiday, shaking his head back and forth, and mouthing the word no.

It didn’t take a genius to realize that White Knight was on the screen and was now a witness to their situation. She stared at Rex for a few more seconds, trying to decide what to do or say, when the kid’s expression calmed down and she realized that Knight had probably just left without saying anything. She wondered if Six noticed. He probably did. She was going to pretend that she didn’t.

“Um…right. So…is Six gonna be okay…?” Rex asked, trying to ignore the minute of silence that just fell over them.

“I’m fine,” Six grunted.

“I’m testing the antidote now,” Holiday said softly, ignoring Six’s voice behind her. “If it works, Six’ll be back to normal in few minutes.”

“Cool.” Rex rocked back and forth on his heels. “And then laundry?”

“You should learn to do your own laundry,” Six muttered. “It’s not difficult.”

Rex pouted. “But it looks so boring!”

As Six was about to say something again, Holiday cut him off by aggressively squeezing his hand. “Rex, maybe Bobo can show you how to do it? I’m sure it won’t be boring with him.”

“Yeah, okay, okay.” Rex shuffled out the door again, but not before taking another quick photo with his phone. He had a feeling Bobo would find it hilarious.

“He’s just teasing you, you know.”

“I’m aware.” Six huffed again, continually attempting to pull his hand away from Holiday and each time feeling a burn that pushed him back. “Are you almost done?”

Holiday stared down at the test pollen, happy to see that it seemed to be reacting as she’d hoped. “Yup. Just need to make a big enough dose for you.”

They fell silent for a minute until Six spoke again. “Injection?”

“Yes. Make sure not to squirm around.” She was already placing the antidote liquid inside an empty syringe, stretching the plunger to make sure there were no air bubbles. She grabbed an alcohol pad and gently rubbed it against a spot on Six’s hand. “Ready?”

“Just get it done.”

A few seconds later and Six was pricked and injected. He refused a bandaid, as he often did, and Holiday stood there awkwardly while she waited for him to pull away. His first attempt at doing so was met with immediate failure and he held onto her even tighter than before.

“Doctor…”

“Just give it a minute, Six,” she muttered, annoyed at his impatience.

They stood there for a few more moments and Six started to pull away from her again when his comm beeped. He reached up and pressed a finger to it, immediately noticing the lack of burning or tingling on his skin. “Six here,” he said, taking two large steps away from the doctor.

“If you’re done with Dr. Holiday, I need you two in the Petting Zoo asap,” White Knight said with a not-so-subtle hint of judgment in his voice.

Six blinked slowly and turned away from Holiday’s inquiring eyes. “What’s going on?”

“The EVOs are acting erratically. Find out what’s wrong with them and fix it.”

The ninja glanced over at Holiday, then back at the lab door. “I’ll get it done.” He headed towards the door without saying anything, hands back in his sopping wet pockets. He needed to hurry to his room, change, and get to the Zoo before anything else went wrong.

“Do you need my help?”

“No. I can handle this,” Six answered sternly, halfway to the door.

“Six,” Holiday said, exasperated. “You’re still all wet. Don’t go back to work without changing.”

He almost rolled his eyes. “Of course, Doctor. Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She watched him leave and clasped her hands together in front of her. She couldn’t deny that she was already feeling kind of cold - twenty minutes of being held and she’d almost gotten used to it. That was…embarrassing. Holiday was glad no one else was around to see the definitely visible blush on her cheeks and she stepped to her computer. She needed to get back to the work she was doing before they’d interrupted her.

A random shiver crawled down her spine and Holiday was struck with the memory of how Six’s breath felt on the back of her neck. She felt her face get even hotter and pinched the bridge of her nose.

If only he’d listened to her from the beginning, her concentration wouldn’t have been shot for the rest of the day.

-

Six made it to the Petting Zoo with clean, dry clothes in record time, and immediately noticed the ‘erratic behavior’ that White had mentioned. The Zoo EVOs were definitely acting differently than usual. Many of them were rubbing up against each other, some were fighting (almost like wrestling), and others were…well. Doing what animals often did, he supposed.

He pressed a finger to his comm. “You could’ve been more specific.”

“I didn’t quite know how to describe it,” Knight responded. “Where’s Holiday?”

“She’s busy. Just have someone turn on the rain for ten minutes, the EVOs should be back to normal by the end of it,” Six said, his back straightening awkwardly at the mention of the doctor. He didn’t want to think about her right now. He wanted to think about anything other than how nice she smelled or how soft she was or how pleasant it felt to hold her. Anything else.

Knight made a small noise of affirmation and hung up, leaving Six standing there uncomfortably while two EVOs were going at it a hundred feet away from him. He could see that they were covered in the pollen, and pinched the bridge of his nose

Maybe he would consider listening to Dr. Holiday next time she told him to wait.

[faepunkprince]

Hi hi here's part two of @wraithsoutlaws ask

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◇------------------◇

"Mhm." A soft exhale, a nod of his head, perfectly styled hair framing his angelic face, curls swaying gently with the movement as he brings the flute of sparkling champagne to his lips, faking a sip, boredom practically drips from his tone, eye roll implied. "Really?"

None of this conversation fucking matters. There's no one at this entire goddamn function he'd care to spit on if it all went up in flames, and again he considers leaving. Contract explicitly states he only has to show with the client, and he had- already tired and growing increasingly irate the longer he spends in this room. Corporate fuckers with more money than brain cells, and this one can't shut his trap. Caine takes a particular pleasure in picturing himself flaying this man open, all while the perfectly pleasant, polite mask stays firmly in place. Looks like such the angel. Really, too bad about that nasty personality.

Still, it feels.. hard to focus even past the intense, visceral disinterest he feels for the man in front of him. Feels like.. 

Oh no. 

Shit. Shit, not here, not here, but he feels the distant nausea, the tentative squeezing in his chest, and its okay, its ok he has time. It's just.. the longer he stands here, pretending he isn't bored out of his skull, the further up his spine that awful feeling creeps. 

Like he's made of static, and ice. Freezing down to his bones and starting to shake, all he can manage is a quick, clipped "Excuse me." Pushing his glass off on someone almost frantically, he turns on his heel, hoping his legs aren't about to give out on him. Keeps his pace measured, panic starting to claw up in him at the tightness in his lungs. Just get away from them all! Get out. 

Caine Sharpe is rarely afraid– doesn't have it in him, has never, but the start of his coughing fit brings an icy cold terror crashing over him. Clutching a perfectly manicured hand to his chest, he glances around furtively, ducking into a (hopefully) empty room. His back thuds against the cool wall, and in a shaky, snarky tone he mutters, "Now's really not the time for this. Get the fuck ah-ahold of yourself, Caine. Br-breathe– oh, shit." 

Another dizzying wave threatens to topple him, the edges of his vision snowing out, and he can hear his blood rushing in his ears and squeezes his eyes shut against all of it, gasping for breath, a rough, sputtering cough leaving his throat raw. Feels like being crushed. Like drowning. Is this it? I can't die here. I can't die here. It's only a few more moments before it backs off enough for him to gulp down a desperate lungful of air, eyes stinging with tears. It's fine. 

His heartbeat is still screwy, and he's still so breathless, just needs another moment, just another moment and it'll pass, just a mild one, though his breath still hiccups. Caine shuffles to an empty couch, draping himself upon it like he owns it, arm draped over his face to keep out light and sound. Fuck, he hopes no one comes in here, he'd never hear the end of it and he doesn't intend to suffer any of their false concern or sorry excuse for sympathy, it's beneath him. 

Breathe slow, in and out, just like Mori says. Pain is already fading, already backing off, maybe it was.. silly to panic. God he feels miserable, weak and cold, shivering in the slinky fabric of his dress. Still feels…. 

Like he's faded. Like the snow of an antenna with no signal, complete with the horrible hissing, that grating white noise filling his skull. He needs to leave before he falls out. Slowly, so incredibly carefully Caine pushes himself first to sit up, and then to stand. Shaky at first–  like a leaf in a storm, he takes a few hesitant steps before shaking it all off, releasing a deep exhale, straightening his back, returning once again to the almost too-pretty, proud creature they all fawn over. As they goddamn well should. 

Out of courtesy alone--a repeat client, one who hasn't tried to argue or push his terms, no less, Caine's sharp blue eyes scan the room for his date. Across the room. For once, turning heads brings creeping anxiety instead of smugness, instead of pride. Yes, he looks perfect, but his body is trembling already, all energy totally leeched from him. There's a faint echo of the familiar tightness in his chest, another small coughing fit hidden with a hand over his mouth. 

Halfway there. Fuck, I can't breathe. Just a little bit more, but the coughing doesn't stop. Not now, not now. Breathe! Again he clutches his chest with his free hand, fragile frame– and he is fragile, like fine bone china, no matter how he'd like to project otherwise- trembling, Caine once more gasps for breath, horribly aware of the several pairs of eyes on him. The murmurs are already starting, furtive glances and pointing. It's infuriating, humiliating. Oh, all of a sudden he's too warm, yet still so freezing. Dizzy as a bird in a dust devil and with his heart racing, Caine manages just a few more steps before his vision whites out. All at once there's an uproar, several people panicked at the sight of someone collapsing, before the client shoos them off, rushing to his aid. Not out of any particular kindness, nor fondness, still he does feel a twinge of pity, seeing how pained he looks.

Caine's brows furrow, a breathless noise torn from his throat as pain rips through his chest– his body won't obey, too weak to lift his head. The party's chatter is dulled by the rapid pounding of his heart, the rush of blood once again in his ears. He thinks someone is asking him a question, and tries his best to focus on none other than his client. 

"-re you alright Caine, that was a nasty fall. Do you.. are you.. uh, are you hurt?" 

Aside from his pride? 

He's too out of it to string words together, answering with a pathetic, pained whimper. Caine's head lolls as he's picked up, still struggling to breathe, to come to, and its back to that very same empty room he's taken, door locked behind. 

"I'll have a car take you home."

"Didn't- didn't need- hah- didn't need your help. Or your fuckin pity." Caine retorts. Ah, how much of the bite in his voice is gone, replaced with exhaustion and a slight slur, a horrid wheezing leaving him sounding more pathetic than anything, and it shows on the man's face. 

"No, yet you'll take both right now. Look, I'll do what I can to keep this quiet. For both our sakes, fucking pathetic, that little stunt."

Caine doesnt remember leaving, or arriving home to Mori's worried face, doesn't remember being ushered to bed or fed his meds, hooked up to his machines, fading in and out of consciousness several times only to wake in agony, coughing til his throat is raw, till he's sure there will be blood. Only after an extra strong dose plus sedative does he fully calm, giving in to the exhaustion of it all. In the haze afterward, he can almost convince himself it was a bad dream, that he won't have to deal with the speculation and rumors. This little stain on his reputation will be short lived, he knows, and it makes resting easier. Plenty of time to deal with it later.

[invisiblegarters]

23.5 Episode 6

Halfway mark, here we come!

Last ep, Ongsa almost told Sun the truth about Earth but then bottled it like we all knew she would, and Sun was kinda dumb. Sorry not sorry but if someone just sent me a package to a random park I would have some questions.

Meanwhile Aylin was getting picked on for the crime of being herself and that did not sit well with Luna, who offered to be a safe space for her and then got very very bashful about it and it was the cutest. Aylin then wondered if she could feel human emotions and it was also the cutest.

Alpha is still a great big sis and cousin. Only "normal" one or not, that girl cares a lot about her family. If she also hooks up with a girl in this I might cry tears of joy.

Lol poor Aylin being pushed into interaction again. Or bribed. But Aylin veggies are delicious I don't know if I can get behind this part of you, lol.

Okay I think I might officially be over the Earth thing. I think it's because there's not enough conflict for Sun between her feelings for Earth and her feelings for Ongsa. I'm not getting enough of a Bruce Wayne v. Batman vibe and that was what I was most looking forward to.

Oh Ton. You were doing so well.

Lol my god did Ton just discover gay people exist? If he were less of a himbo I'd be madder about it. But as it is, he's just too dumb to be really mad at. Like a giant pretty puppy.

Oh Aylin no. But also it's sweet she trusts Luna that much. And she's lucky in that I don't think Luna has a mean bone in her entire body. Still. Not your secret, babe. That said, have more cute moments with Luna. Please.

Mawin's crush is adorable.

Open your mouth and use your words, Ongsa, that's how you tell her. Because when she finds out on her own it'll be worse.

Hahahaha oh man I don't mean to laugh but Sun, babe. They don't mean that he's not as attractive as you imagine. They mean that he's not even a he to begin with. Although in this case that's probably going to be a plus, lbr.

She's not gonna confess in front of people, Dear lord girls get it together.

Hahaha Aylin. Sun really is the most oblivious thing ever though, can she not see how strangely everyone else is acting?

Aw I knew Luna would find her way to sleeping in Aylin's room. Just accept she likes you, Aylin.

AAAAH THEY ARE SO CUTE.

Aw I think Luna finally won her over completely. I swear I want to have things to say besides aaaaaaaw but well. They're too cute, the cuteness kills me. I am only human here.

It is probably that I am watching The Eclipse with a friend but I swear, sometimes this show reminds me of that one. Like Ongsa very clearly thinking the idea of angry Sun is hot. If you know, you know.

Spit. It. Out. Ongsa.

Ugh it is so frustrating watching her bottle it and bottle it and bottle it. I am not like that as a person so I just want to grab her shoulders and give them a good shake.

Oh thank god. Not sorry, I'm ready for some fallout already.

I am not mad at Ongsa. I want to say that right up front. But also, girl. All Sun was asking for was an explanation. At least give her that before running off.

Well that was quick. But well. I think we all knew Sun would be like that. Genuinely I wish I could be more like her. Maybe not the total obliviousness to things around me, but she's so positive and lovely and I...am not. I felt the same way about Sand's ridiculous patience and gentleness in OF. I have no clue what it must be like to be able to do that.

You know I'm more like Ongsa lol. Except for the not facing things head on thing. Optimism is not my default state lol.

Sun girl. You might have not registered your friends' shock that you were into a guy, but I haven't. You and Ongsa will do just fine.

[ivant1ll]

"a star's confession and battle of feelings"★ ruikasa fluff

a/n: im back from unproductive hell with something i wrote mega sporadically!!! so heres a little semi-drabble (idk) thing!!

word count: 486

"when i thought.. i had feelings for you."

a pause, the word feelings seems like it has such a strange meaning now. everyone has feelings, why are these different? you're taught what feelings you could have before even entering school, so why now are feelings so alien? it seems the boy in question that hesitantly uttered these words had this very thought, the feeling that something he thought he knew had now become a foreign language he could never understand. "feelings" .. it's got a weird ring to it doesn't it?

"i thought something was wrong with me.. i thought it was something i shouldn't have, that i needed to fix." the cardigan hugging the short figure couldn't stop the bone chilling feeling of the words he was speaking. defeats the purpose of even wearing it, but a comfortable yellow cardigan looks good so, cardigan it is; and to hell with feelings.

"i'm sounding so serious aren't i? i thought i should rehearse this like any other one of our shows.. this doesn't feel like a performance though. i thought i could treat this like one and just.. spit it out. i know you prefer to listen, i just don't want you listening to.. i don't know.. stuff you don't want to hear? stuff you feel like is dragging things out." the boy now clings to the cuffs of his sleeves, syllables get harder to form and sentences get even harder to start. the boys lips quiver, not from holding back tears but holding back words he wouldn't want to slip off his tongue in fear it'll ruin the close friendship there. this singular interaction could dictate an entire future with the boy standing right in front of him, why would he even want to put that in jeopardy?

"rui i love you."

the words slip. they stumble and come out in a syncopated manner that almost makes it seem like a four letter sentence has seven words instead. the air goes stiff, rui; the boy receiving the confession takes a moment to process, but then warmly smiles.

"for a performer, i'd expect heartfelt words to be so much easier to say if you can do it so often on a stage~"

the whole sentence doesn't register to the lovestrucken boy other than the giggle after rui's response. did he find the confession humorous? was it bad? did he not feel the same? questions run through the boys head, it's obvious he's tuned everything out, that his brain is unable to hear anything else other than his own thoughts. rui steps forward and his hands (god he loved how warm rui's hands always were, today did not fail either) begin to meet his cheeks. the sudden contact snaps the boy back into reality, said reality only being cut off again by the next set of words.

"i love you too tsukasa"

maybe feelings weren't so alien afterall.

@ru1-png : please do not repost or claim my accounts as your own