FALLOUT.

war... war NEVER changes. — est 2026 —

[fadedradio]

୭　　˚　 fadedradio .ᐟ  " from  where  you’re  kneeling  it  must  look  like  an  18  karat  tun  of  bad  luck.  truth  is  ...  the  game  was  rigged  from  the  start. " a friends-only multimuse featuring original & canon characters, lovingly pulled from the mind of one depressed boy. featuring muses from the universes of vampire: the masquerade bloodlines, fallout, marvel, & more.

　 　  ☢ surviving with @carriedyourburden and @atomicblues ☣

[carriedyourburden]

✘ ✘ ✘

She stepped toward him, riding the line between free will and obeying a command; that was part of the thrill. Minnow wanted to feel the sensation of her atoms tugging towards the opposing end of his magnetic pull, to feel the uncontrollable desire to please him, to feel what he did to her. A storm otherwise unexplainable was palpable once they’d gravitated to one another. Her shoulder blades adjusted, his hand across her neck like a serpent, and she gave into his hand as if presenting herself for his assessment.

She soaked in the look in Damien’s eyes. She’d done well, exactly as he asked, and hung at the edge of his eye to hear him say it. “Mhm,” the blonde purred before using her mouth to catch his runaway thumb and lick it clean of her mess. “I did it just the way you told me to.” A beat. His heart still went on; she’d done good. “Just how you wanted.” Minnie fought the animalistic instinct within her chest. The want for more, more, more. He kept the beast at bay, as the lion within still sat at his knee waiting for instruction.

Her life was handed to him like it was no more than a wad of singles, trading one performance for another. From the club to his bed, it wasn’t all that different; she wanted to make her highest bidder happy, but this was a feeling no price amounted to. She’d paid the toll and stood in front of her prize, painted in his colors. "Exactly what I am, what you made me," the blonde replied simply, though a growl clawed up by the end of her sentence.

The sensation had taken over, a dampened hand coming to engulf the hair on the back of his neck. "I did it for you," she purred, the words like gravel falling off her tongue, her lips nearly knicking his as she spoke. "I want to do good." If only Minnow had become anything but. Whoever she was before didn't matter; all that did was the air that hung heavily between them, even the wind fearing what they could devour. "What do you want me to do with him?"

[fadedradio]

what you made me. damien went still – not because he disliked it… that was the problem. something dark and delighted unfurled in his chest, warmed by fresh blood and the sight of her standing in front of him exactly as he’d asked – fed, obedient, painted crimson. for once, the old revulsion didn’t come quickly enough to smother it. instead, his mouth curled into a slow grin. “yeah?” his hand tightened around the back of her neck. “say that again.” there was something almost lazy about the command, but his eyes were anything but. damien stared down at her like he was discovering something about himself he should’ve been horrified by and finding, instead, that he wanted to sink his teeth into it. “exactly what i made you,” he repeated, tasting the words. “pretty fucking thing, too.” then she told him she’d done it for him, and damien laughed. soft and pleased and so, so wrong. “i know you did.” his fingers slid into her hair, keeping her close while his gaze finally dropped toward the man crumpled at their feet. he could still hear the heartbeat. slower now. vulnerable. his smile widened. “wake him up. let him see what almost killed him.” a beat. “then let him go.” not mercy – not really, because he wanted the fear to follow the man home. his thumb brushed along minnow’s cheek, smearing what remained of the blood there. “you did exactly what i told you to do. you stopped when i told you. you came back when i called.” his voice dropped when he said, “good girl.” the praise sounded almost possessive now. damien leaned closer, mouth hovering beside hers. “next time,” he murmured, “maybe i won’t tell you to stop so soon.”

[atomicblues]

selfish isn't the word taylor would've chosen.

he doesn't think there's anything selfish about wanting to be happy. if anything, it makes something ache beneath his ribs that damien had been quietly arranging himself around taylor's happiness this whole time. protecting him from things taylor hadn't even known he needed protection from. trying to give him abandoned houses and stupid jokes instead of five hundred years worth of reason to hate what he'd become.

"that's not selfish." taylor says it immediately, because there are some accusations he won't let damien make against himself. "you wanted me to be happy." and he had been. he still is. some of the only moments since he'd died that hadn't felt like something had been violently ripped away from him had been because damien was standing beside him. taylor had spent those first nights terrified that death had taken everything good with it, only for damien to keep handing pieces back. laughter. affection. somewhere to go when the sun came up.

someone who wanted him around.

his grip softens around damien's wrists. "you did make it better." the words are quiet, but certain. whatever damien thinks he failed to do, taylor won't let him have that either.

taylors brows pull together when damien says he was made to hurt people. he listens without interrupting, which might be proof enough that something has shifted. damien talks about hunters and legacy and violence like they're things written into him so deeply that nothing could ever pull them out, even five hundred years later. he talks about wanting to be soft like softness and violence can't possibly belong to the same person. but taylor doesn't understand that. he'd spent most of his life being soft with other people and violent with himself.

sometimes that violence had been obvious, hidden behind sleeves and locked doors. other times, he'd found pretties ways to hurt himself. another drink when he'd already had too much, someone else's hands leaving bruises, going home with somebody he didn't really want because being wanted badly enough to be used felt close enough to being love if you didn't look too closely.

taylor had never been good at protecting himself from pain. only making sure nobody else had to carry it. so he can't make damien's violence mean what damien thinks it means. he'd seen it, watched damien tear through hunters, watched him become something terrifying enough that taylor should have been afraid, and somehow the memory had rooted itself somewhere warm beneath his ribs. because damien had been violent and taylor had still known, with absolute certainty, that his hands would never hurt him.

"but you're still nice." it sounds stupid after everything damien has confessed, but taylor means it. "you're nice to me. you keep saying things like they're supposed to make me think you're bad." his voice goes quieter. "and i don't." maybe he couldn't.

taylor had already placed damien somewhere too high to reach. every confession damien offered didn't drag him down from there; taylor only found a way to make room for it beside everything else he worshipped.

taylor's gaze drops at the mention of god. he knows that kind of bargaining. wondering how much suffering might finally balance the scale. whether denying yourself enough could make wanting the wrong things matter less. whether god might look down and see how fucking miserable you were trying to be good and decide that counted for something. apparently death hadn't cured either of them of it.

damien peels one of taylor's hands away and presses it against his cheek, and taylor's fingers move instinctively, thumb brushing half dried blood over his face.

"oh." the realization is quiet and unpleasant. because he's done this before. not the blood, obviously, but the shape of it. taylor had spent years finding new ways to make himself hurt whenever something inside him felt wrong. sometimes he'd known exactly what he was doing. something he'd dressed it up until it looked enough like fun that even he could pretend. this time he'd called it discipline. control. he'd let himself ache for five days and every time his body beggd him to fix it, he'd thought refusal was getting better.

"i didn't think i was doing that." his voice is smaller now. "hurting myself, i mean." the admission leaves him feeling strangely exposed. more than the bodies do, almost. " i thought i was being good." the same stupid fucking word that had followed him through churches and bedrooms and locked bathroom doors had apparently followed him into death too.

damien tells him its okay to be hungry, okay to want living blood, and taylor looks up at him like he's just rewritten scripture. "you mean that?" his gaze searches damien's face, open and painfully trusting. "because i don't want the bags. i don't wanna feel sick all the time. i don't wanna be hungry."

his eyes flick briefly toward the room around them before returning obediently to damien. there's guilt waiting for him. he knows that. but there's something else beginning beneath it now too, something quieter and far more dangerous. damien doesn't think wanting blood makes him bad, and taylor believed damien before he believes himself. "teach me different." his eyes go wide, pleading with him. "whatever you think i should do, i'll listen. please?"

[fadedradio]

he was sitting there, covered in blood, telling damien he was still a nice person, and something in damien’s chest cracked open. his shoulders dropped as he listened, guilt and tenderness tangling together until he almost couldn’t tell one from the other. taylor thought he’d been good by starving himself. thought denying the hunger meant he was better, kinder, safer. the animal in damien’s chest whined at the thought of it – taylor hollowing himself out, making himself sick, trying to follow rules damien had never properly explained. rules damien barely understood how to live with himself. but then something shifted in taylor. his gaze dragged back up to damien, blood still wet on his mouth, and damien felt the change like fingers trailing up his spine. the beast inside him stretched awake, clawing its way toward the surface with a low, pleased shudder. it recognized the look in taylor’s eyes. wanted to answer it. wanted to give him anything he asked for, anything that would keep him looking at damien like that. and maybe damien was more than a little willing to let it. his nails sharpened into claws, the world narrowing into scent and sound and taylor’s face. everything felt sharper. more intense. the blood cooling around them, the bodies still warm enough to tempt, the little tremble of taylor’s breath. damien’s pupils thinned into cat-like slits as he stared at him, silent for half a beat, before reaching out to brush stray hair away from his face. the gesture was gentle. impossibly gentle, considering the blood on both of them. “i can see it,” damien murmured, thumb dragging softly along taylor’s cheekbone. “the way you want to be good for me.” maybe it should’ve scared him, how easy it was to lean into this side of himself. how naturally the words came, dark and warm and coaxing. but taylor wanted something from him, and damien had never been good at denying him anything. not when they looked so soft. not when he looked so ashamed of wanting. “you’re so good,” he whispered. “you don’t even know it.” without looking away from taylor, damien reached down and caught the arm of someone who no longer mattered. still warm. warm enough. he pulled it close and pressed the offered flesh against taylor’s mouth, his other hand remaining tenderly against their face, holding them there like they were something precious instead of something monstrous. “i want to see you eat,” damien said quietly. his voice softened, but the command beneath it didn’t disappear. “no starving. no punishing yourself for being hungry.” his thumb brushed beneath taylor’s lower lip, smearing blood there. “just eat.”

[atomicblues]

taylor shouldn't believe damien would never hate him. maybe there was some part of him capable of recognizing how dangerous a promise like that could become in the wrong hands, but damien's hands never felt wrong to him. taylor had spent so much of his life anticipating the exact moment someone's affection reached its limit that being offered something without one felt like being told gravity didn't apply to him anymore. impossible, probably, but damien said it and taylor wanted to badly to live in a world where it was true.

his expression softens despite everything, right up until damien calls him two apples tall. "fuck you." the laugh that escapes him is wet and startled, but real. his nose wrinkles beneath the pad of damien's thumb. "i'm almost as tall as you!" its stupid. there's blood drying on his mouth and people dead around them, and damien still manages to make him laugh. maybe that should feel wrong too. everything tonight probably should.

instead, taylor holds onto the sound for as long as he can.

his smile disappears when damien asked why he didn't tell him. "because you don't." the answer comes almost immediately. taylor looks down at where his fingers are still curled around damien's wrist. "complain, i mean. you never act like its hard."

maybe that had been the problem. damien had made five hundred years of suffering look graceful enough that taylor mistook it for something he was supposed to aspire to. he'd never seen fear when damien drank from a bag - he'd seen discipline. he'd never looked at damien denying himself something he wanted thought he's scared.

he'd thought that's what i'm supposed to be. damien dismantles that image himself and taylor goes still. "you're scared?" there's almost something disbelieving in his voice, not because taylor thinks damien is lying, but because fear had never fit into the shape he'd made for him. damien was the person he went to when he was afraid. damien was supposed to know what lived in the dark because he'd already lived it.

but maybe gods only looked like gods from far enough below them.

taylor's gaze drops to damien's hand when it curls against his own chest. he thinks about it seriously. past the shame and the bodies and the fact that he still hasn't let himself look anywhere damien told him not to. there is something there. hunger had never felt entirely like hunger after he died. something it felt closer to having another set of instincts laid over his own, something that noticed heartbeats before faces.

"maybe." his brows pull together. "i don't know. i thought that was just... being a vampire." his eyes return to damien. "when i got hungry, it got louder." taylor hesitates. "or i did. i don't fucking know, dude."

the distinction feels less important now than it would've an hour ago. whatever part of him had done this, it belonged to him. taylor remembers wanting it to clearly to pretend otherwise. it should horrify him, and it does, but not as completely as it did before damien walked through the door.

he thinks back to the night the hunters found them, how quickly damien had changed when taylor's blood his the air. taylor had seen it then - the thing damien was describing now had looked out through his eyes, had torn through the room with a violence taylor still didn't have the words for. he remembers being afraid. just never of damien.

damien had stepped between him and a threat taylor didn't even understand. taylor remembered the black blood and bodies, remembered the hunter begging before damien sunk his teeth into his neck. he'd watched something ancient and vicious tear its way to the surface and after, taylor hadn't thought monster.

he'd thought safe.

"with the hunters...?" he asked. "that was this?"

his eyes move over damien's face, trying to reconcile the creature he'd seen that night with the fear damien is admitting to now. taylor had spent so much time turning that memory over in his head, but he'd always remembered it with something dangerously close to awe. damien had been terrifying. beautiful. completely beyond anything taylor could imagine becoming.

and he'd done it for him. "i didn't know you were scared of that." damien could tear the whole world apart and taylor might still forgive him as long as his hands stayed gentle when they reached for him. "you came back. you were still you after." taylor's fingers loosen around damien's wrist, sliding down until their hands meet instead. damien had spent centuries terrified that wanting blood made him something terrible. taylor had spent months desperately trying to imitate that fear because he thought it was control.

and now, he's wondering whether either of them has to be quite so afraid.

[fadedradio]

the corners of damien’s mouth lifted at the joke, but the smile disappeared almost as quickly as it came. he bit the inside of his cheek hard enough that borrowed blood spilled into his mouth, sharp and useless, and shook his head. “i don’t complain because – ” if taylor hadn’t still been holding his wrists, damien would’ve shoved a hand through his hair. “i don’t – ” he stopped, swallowing around the knot in his throat. maybe the kinder thing would’ve been to be honest from the beginning. “i don’t complain because i was being selfish,” he admitted. “i think.” his thumb brushed over taylor’s skin, soft and restless. “i didn’t want you to think about the harder parts of being a vampire. i wanted you to laugh, and explore stupid abandoned houses, and be happy.” his gaze fell to taylor’s hands around his wrists. “you mean so much to me. i’ve spent a long time being alone, and then you were here, and i just…” his voice thinned. “i wanted this to be better for you than it was for me.” when taylor looked at him like he couldn’t believe damien was scared, damien laughed. it came out watery and sad, barely a laugh at all. “i’m scared all the time.” his thumbs moved over the tops of taylor’s hands. “and it’s not a bad thing to be hungry. it’s not a bad thing to want good food.” a beat passed, and his nose wrinkled slightly when taylor asked if the hunters had been what drew the animal out. “i don’t want to hurt people, but…” he sighed. “it’s what i was born to do, isn’t it? every part of me was made to hurt someone. or something.” his gaze dropped, shame tightening his expression. “i grew up in a family of hunters. i was a legacy. i was supposed to be good at violence, and i was. then someone embraced me because i was the best at what i did, and after that, he made me hurt my friends.” his mouth trembled before he pressed it shut. he still couldn’t remember that night cleanly. it came back in pieces, blood and screaming and praise, the horrible certainty that he’d wanted it. “it’s an animal,” he whispered. “it makes me feel like an animal. every impulse i have gets amplified until it’s the only thing i can hear. it’s still me, and that’s what scares me. because i don’t know how to live with it instead of being afraid of it.” he knew people who could. vampires who lived beside the beast instead of trying to starve it quiet. damien had never learned how to do that. he’d been born into violence, remade by violence, and all he’d ever wanted was to be soft. “i’m scared of it because i want to be nice,” he said, voice breaking around the confession. “i want to be good.” his eyes flicked away from taylor’s face. “i spent a long time wondering if god could forgive me. for what i did. for what i still have to do to keep existing.” a beat passed before he gently peeled one of taylor’s hands away from his wrist and brought it to his cheek. “i should’ve been honest with you.” damien leaned into taylor’s touch, eyes shining with something fragile. “i don’t want you to feel sick. i don’t want you starving yourself because you think suffering means you’re doing it right.” his hand settled carefully against taylor’s cheek. “i want you to feel good. it’s okay to be hungry. it’s okay to want living blood.” his thumb brushed beneath taylor’s eye, smearing the last of the drying blood there. “i’m really, really sorry i made you think it wasn’t.”

[fadedradio]

𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍… 𝙳𝙴𝙲𝙻𝙰𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙾𝚁𝙽𝙴.

“and i’m gonna fucking eat you if i want to,” wren growled, his expression sharpening as he looked back at declan. there was something horribly satisfying about the sight of declan’s magic spilling into every corner of the room, warm gold pressing softly against all the darkness wren had collected around himself. it looked like it belonged there. like declan belonged there. the thought made him hum with quiet delight, his gaze dragging slowly over him.

when declan spoke again, wren tilted his head and stared up at him, his expression going deliberately flat. god, he *loved *that soft little voice. loved the way it caught when declan apologized, like he was already trying to make himself smaller beneath wren’s attention. “you didn’t mean to?” he repeated, and then laughed, dark and mean. heat coiled tightly in his stomach as he took in the sight of him. he wanted to make declan wait for it. wanted to drag the moment out until he was squirming and breathless, until that pretty apology turned into begging. wren wanted to be cruel about it, wanted to punish him for teasing and pretending he hadn’t known exactly what he was doing. but, as much as he’d deny it, wren had spent the entire night waiting for declan to be free enough to give him his attention. and that stupid little animal inside his head was fucking obsessed with him. wren pressed his nose against declan’s skin again, dragging it slowly along the inside of his thigh. his teeth followed, grazing lightly before sinking down hard enough to make the muscle tense beneath his mouth. not deep enough to break the skin, not enough to feed, but enough to leave something dark and unmistakable behind. wren hummed against the forming bruise, pleased with himself, then soothed the spot with slow, kitten-soft licks. “didn’t mean to,” he mocked quietly against his skin. “sure, baby.” he stood then, metal clinking together as he unzipped his jeans, pulling the fabric away from him, freeing his cock. inked fingers wrapped around the base of his cock, hard enough to kill the throb, as he stared down at the fae on the bed. his face remained a mask of absolute, devastating boredom. he held the silence, letting it stretch until it became a physical weight in the room, heavy and suffocating. "do you think you deserve to come tonight?" his voice was flat. conversational. he might have been asking about the weather. he gave his cock a slow, deliberate stroke, base to tip, watching the way the fae’s eyes tracked the movement. "do you think you deserve to get fucked tonight? "because from where i'm standing," he continued, tone dropping half an octave, rougher now, "you look like you haven't earned a single thing. you look like you're exactly where you belong – on my bed, begging with your eyes, dripping for something i haven't even decided to fucking give you yet." "so tell me," he said, towering over declan with a sneer. "why should i? why should i let you feel good when you haven't done a single fucking thing to deserve it?"

📡 attn: @atomicblues.

[atomicblues]

dante kept archer caged in against the bar with his body, chest pressed to his back, one arm braced on the sticky wood beside him so it looked like he was just leaning in close to talk over the music. keaton was pressed closed on the other side of archer, the three of them taking up just enough space that no one could easily squeeze past.

archer was kissing keaton like he couldn't help himself once he started; soft, messy, a little desperate. dante could feel every shift of it against his chest - the way archer's body leaned forward into the kiss and then leaned back like he needed the contact on both sides to stay grounded. the sight of it made something dark and warm settle low in dante's gut.

he let his free hand rest heavy on archer's hip, thumb stroking slow circles over the fabric of his jeans, holding him in place while he watched the way archer's mouth moved against keaton's. "look at you." dante murmured against his ear. "you like having an audience, baby?"

there was not jealousy in it. watching archer melt into keaton's mouth only made the heat in dante's chest pull tighter, warmer. he liked the way archer looked when he was being kissed. soft and a little ruined, body caught between them like he didn't know which way to lean. it did something to him, seeing the two of them together, knowing he was the one who got to keep archer pressed close while it happened.

he tipped his head, mouth brushing the hinge of archer's jaw as he spoke again, low and rough. "deeper, baby. let me see you get stupid." his fingers tightened on archer's hip, guiding him forward another inch into keaton's space. "that's it, baby. let him have you. you're so fucking pretty when you're like this."

dante's free hand stayed braced on the bar, but his body pressed closer, letting archer feel exactly how affected he was by the whole thing. the crowded bar and the sticky wood, the bass thumping through the floor all faded away a little. all he could focus on was the soft, desperate sounds archer kept trying to swallow and the way keaton's hand slipped between them to rest on archer's back.

"we should get out of here." dante murmured after another long moment, lips still on archer's skin. "my rooms close."

[fadedradio]

"you like having an audience, baby?" the question should have embarrassed him. should have made him pull away, stammer an excuse, pretend he didn't know what dante was talking about. but archer had never been good at lying to dante – couldn't lie to dante, actually, because dante had this way of looking at him that stripped every layer of pretense away until there was nothing left but the raw, trembling truth – and the truth was: yeah. he liked it. he really, really liked it. the realization sat in his chest and the heat of it spread outward until his fingertips tingled and his vision blurred at the edges. he could feel everything simultaneously, every point of contact like a live wire: dante's chest pressed against his spine, rising and falling with each breath in a rhythm that archer's own body had started to mirror without his permission. dante's arm around his waist, heavy and possessive, the weight of it a brand against his hip bone. and, god, dante's cock, hard against the curve of his ass through two layers of denim, and every word he whispered against his jaw made him feel the way dante wanted to see him – stupid. absolutely stupid. reduced to nothing but sensation and the desperate, animal need to be touched. "that's it, baby," dante murmured against his ear. "let him have you." archer whined. the sound escaped him before he could catch it – thin, desperate, punched out of his lungs like dante had reached inside his chest and squeezed. "you're so fucking pretty when you're like this." oh christ. the praise broke all his resolve at once. it hit him like a physical blow and the wall crumbled. his mouth fell open against keaton's, a moan spilling out of him. part of him hoped the music was loud enough to hide it. but the other part – the part that dante had been carefully, excavating all night – was okay if it wasn’t – especially if dante liked it. and – he couldn’t help it. he liked waiting for dante to tell him what to do. loved it, actually – the anticipation of it, the way dante's voice bypassed his brain and went straight to his spine, the way his body responded before his mind could catch up. but there was something in him that was greedy – something that wanted more than permission, wanted to show dante how much he needed this; and his hips rolled backward, just slightly, just enough to grind his ass against dante's cock through their jeans.  dante's lips pressed against his skin. not his neck this time; the hinge of his jaw, the curve beneath his ear, the sensitive spot just above his collarbone that made his knees go weak. and archer felt the words before he heard them – "my room's close." the words hung in the air like a match held over gasoline. archer nodded, fast and frantic. the motion made his head spin, and he gripped keaton's shirt to steady himself. "please?" the word came out smaller than he intended. broken. desperate. "now?"

[atomicblues]

taylor's face crumples a little more when damien insists thats what he is, like its the most obvious thing in the world. like my love isn't something taylor can earn his way out of the second he becomes too difficult to love - and taylor believed him.

he'd stopped believing in a god years ago, or at least he'd gotten good at pretending he had. god had always been something watching from very far away, tallying every way taylor failed to become the person he was supposed to be. somewhere along the way, taylor had started treating damien keeping him like the salvation he had been searching for. maybe that should have scared him.

whoever made taylor hadn't stayed long enough to teach him anything. no rules, no explanation, no hand reaching down to pull him out of the grave they'd made for him. damien had found him afterward and filled in every empty space they left behind. when taylor was hungry, damien fed him. when he was scared, damien explained. when something new and horrible happened to his body, damien was there to tell him what it meant. taylor didn't have a sire to look toward, but he had damien.

if damien told him there was nothing wrong with him, some part of taylor wanted desperately to accept it as gospel. "you don't know that." there isn't any real fight behind it. his fingers stay wrapped around damien's wrist, thumb pressed into the place a pulse should have been. "you can't just say there's nothing wrong with me. that's, like, objectively fuckin' insane right now."

he tries to laugh, but it catches in his throat, but his eyes never leave damien's face. he's searching for something. disgust. disappointment. taylor knows what that looks like. he'd spent most of his life learning the tiny shifts in someone's expression that meant he'd finally become too much, and damien had become the one person whose disappointment he couldn't stand the thought of earning.

damien tells him he understands instead and something in taylor goes quiet. of course he does. there hadn't been a single awful thing about this that taylor had brought to damien and found him incapable of understanding. hunger, blood, strange new instincts that scared the shit out of him - damien always had an answer. sometime staylor thought damien could reach inside him and name things before taylor knew what they were.

"you don't hate me for it?" the question slips out before pride can stop it. embarrassingly small for someone sitting in the middle of so much violence. taylor's gaze drops for barely a second before finding damien again, because he needs to see his face when he answers. needs to know damien isn't just being gentle because taylor looks like he might fall apart.

damien's approval had become close to necessity. taylor wanted him to think he was learning. wanted damien to look at him and see something worth keeping. every time damien praised him, something warm opened beneath his ribs that taylor chased with a devotion he didn't examine too closely.

"i know." his gaze drops immediately, no irritation in his voice, only shame creeping in around the edges. "i thought i could do it. you did." his eyes lift again. five hundred years. taylor could barely comprehend that amount of time, but he could look at what it had made damien into. controlled where taylor was impulsive, certain where taylor was constantly scrambling for something solid beneath his feet. damien could have blood dripping from his mouth and taylor would still look at him and see something beautiful. something better.

"you figured out how to control it." his fingers tighten around damien's wrist. maybe that wasn't true. taylor was beginning to understand there were pieces of damien's history he'd never touched, wounds old enough that taylor couldn't even imagine carrying them. but worship had never required knowing everything about a god.

only believing.

"i thought if i did what you did, maybe i'd get good at it too." the admission is painfully earnest. damien survived on cold blood, so taylor decided he should be able to. it made his stomach turn, but damien had enough control so taylor treated every growl of his own hunger like another failure to become more like him.

"the bags make me feel like shit." he admits." they make it quieter, but it never actually goes away. and like, they taste like shit. i thought i'd just get used to it." his eyes threaten to wander toward the bodies again and he hears damien's words repeated in his head. don't look at them right now. so he doesn't. taylor turns his head to damien instead and doesn't even notice how instinctive the choice has become.

[fadedradio]

“i don’t hate you,” damien said softly, thumb brushing over taylor’s skin. his head shook once. “you couldn’t do anything that would make me hate you.” and that was true, wasn’t it? taylor could’ve killed a hundred more people and damien wouldn’t have loved him any less. he might’ve been afraid for him, afraid of what it would do to his heart, but not of him. never of him. hearing taylor admit that he thought he could hold himself back because damien did made something terrible twist in his chest. oh. his expression softened all at once, guilt cutting through it. “taylor, i’m so much older than you,” he said quietly. “you’re so young. you’re…” he searched for something light, something that might keep his voice from breaking under the weight of everything he should’ve explained sooner. “you’re two apples tall. you’re not supposed to be able to do things i can.” but then taylor kept talking, and damien realized exactly how dangerous his own restraint had looked from the outside. had he really made it seem easy? had he really painted himself as some perfectly controlled thing, surviving on cold blood because he was good and disciplined and not because he was terrified of what fresh blood woke inside him? his gaze dropped to the blood drying on taylor’s clothes, and he swallowed hard. “why didn’t you tell me?” his voice came out so, so sad. not angry. not disappointed. just heartbroken that taylor had been carrying that hunger alone. “i wouldn’t have been upset. i understand.” his thumb moved gently along taylor’s cheek. “nothing helps it like warm blood.” the admission settled heavily between them, too honest to soften. “i know that. i should’ve told you that.” his eyes searched taylor’s face again, careful and worried and guilty. “how do you feel now? are you still hungry?” a beat passed, and then something occurred to him, sharp enough to make his brows pull together. “do you feel an animal in your chest?” he asked suddenly. “something that’s always with you? like it’s part of you, but not… not all of you?” damien’s hand lowered from taylor’s face, fingers curling briefly at his own chest like he could touch the thing living beneath his ribs. “my sire was embraced by someone who came from caine’s bloodline. the first vampire. that’s what i am.” his voice went quieter. “i feel like i’m always fighting to be me. like there’s something in me that wants blood and obedience and violence, and it’s always waiting for me to get tired enough to let it take over.” his eyes closed for a second. “cold blood helps keep it away. that’s why i drink it.” a humorless little laugh left him. “not because it tastes good. it doesn’t. believe me, i know. it’s awful. it’s dead and thin and never enough.” when he opened his eyes again, there was something raw in them. “but it keeps me from wanting too much.” damien looked back at the bodies around them, then forced himself to look only at taylor. “but you can’t starve yourself because you’re trying to be like me.” his voice trembled, barely. “i’m not the standard.. i’m scared. that’s all.” a beat, softer. “and i don’t want you hurting yourself because i made fear look like control.”

[carriedyourburden]

𝖎𝖓𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖘𝖒𝖎𝖘𝖘𝖎𝖔𝖓 ;; RIVER.

Lotte pulled back from the kiss, unsure what had come over her that made her sever the distance she'd been keeping with her ex-boyfriend. After having been so strong by not texting back or "accidentally" bumping into him at one of their favorite spots, it all came to an abrupt halt when the blonde's lips reintroduced themselves. What was she thinking? That was the problem: she wasn't. As soon as Lotte saw his expression, something started to split inside of her. The monsoon in her chest welled with concern. Spiraling further and further into the abyss of thoughts that had been consuming her in silence. "I'm sorry," the blonde breathed, voice cracking as it went up in pitch. "I fucked up, didn't I? Did I mess everything up? I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to ruin everything. Did I ruin everything?" Lotte's eyes stayed locked with the boy she'd been unable to get out of her mind. "I just missed you. I missed kissing you."

🌙 — ATTN: @faderadio

[fadedradio]

his brows lifted, surprise flickering across his face before he could hide it. it wasn’t that he didn’t like it. that wasn’t the problem at all. if anything, the kiss had been too easy to like, warm and familiar in a way that made his stomach twist painfully. lotte had meant everything to him once – until she hadn’t. until they’d both stepped back, careful and sad and trying to be mature about something that still hurt. the breakup had been amicable enough, all things considered. archer had still given him a fucking earful for making his sister cry, because of course he had, but no one had thrown anything. no doors slammed. no ugly words they couldn’t take back. just two people who loved each other and somehow still couldn’t make it work. so when lotte asked to meet up again, he’d expected coffee. maybe awkward small talk. maybe the strange, aching comfort of seeing someone who used to know him better than anyone. he hadn’t expected this. “lotte, hey,” he said quietly, reaching for her before she could pull too far away. his hands settled gently against her arms, thumbs brushing over her skin in a slow, reassuring motion. “no, stop. you didn’t ruin anything, it’s okay.” and it was. confusing, maybe. terrifying in the way familiar things could be when they came back changed. but not ruined. a beat passed, and his expression softened into a small, helpless smile. “i really…” he glanced down for half a second, like admitting it out loud made him feel too exposed. then he looked at her again. “i missed kissing you too.”

[atomicblues]

continued for @fadedradio

taylor always thought losing control would feel like losing himself. something dramatic. a switch flipping, the person he had been disappearing beneath whatever monster had crawled into his body the night he died. that would've been easier, maybe. easier to wake up surrounded by bodies and tell himself that something else had done it. that the thing with its teeth buried in somebody's throat hadn't really been taylor at all.

except he remembered everything. he remembered the first heartbeat catching his attention. remembered trying not to listen to it, because damien had taught him better than that. because he had gotten better at this. bagge blood tasted like shit and left him feeling like someone had taken everything good about eating and replaced it with drinking lukewarm pennies, but he could survive on it. he had been surviving on it.

but three days turned into four because he'd gotten busy, and four had turned into five because admitting he was hungry meant admitting that he needed something. taylor had spent his entire life being too much of everything already. too loud, too needy, too impulsive. being turned had only given him another appetite to apologize for.

the first person had been an accident. after that, taylor didn't know what counted. he was still sitting there when damien found him, knees drawn up loosely, staring at his own hands. blood had dried darker in the lines of his palms, beneath his fingernails, smeared over the stupid rings he'd forgotten to take off. there was so much of it that eventually it had stopped looking like blood at all.

taylor flinched when damien said his name. not away from him. somehow, even now, never away from him. his gaze lifted slowly, red eyes finding damien's face only after his hands were already against taylor's cheeks. my love. something inside him cracked so quickly that an ache tore through his chest. "don't." the word came out small. embarrassed. taylor's face twisted, because damien shouldn't be looking at him like that. shouldn't be touching him like he wasn't covered in evidence of exactly what he was. "don't call me that right now." he really wanted him to anyway.

his eyes tried to slip past damien when he asked how long it had been, dragged helplessly toward the bodies before damien caught his attention again. don't look at them right now. taylor swallowed hard. there was still blood in his mouth, he could taste it when his tongue moved against his teeth.

"i don't know." a lie. damien would know it was a lie too. taylor was fucking terrible at them even before somebody could probably smell dishonesty on him. "like -" his voice broke. he laughed instead, one sharp, miserable sound. "five days." saying it out loud made it sound worse. five days of deciding he could deal with it later. five days of ignoring the ache in his jaw and the way every heartbeat followed him through a room. five days because some stupid, stubborn part of him had decided needing blood was something he could opt out of.

damien asked if they hurt him, and taylor started at him. for a second, he genuinely couldn't understand the question. then his expression crumpled. "no." taylor's hands finally moved, catching around damien's wrists. his grip tightened until bloody fingers were wrapped securely around him, anchoring himself to the only person in the room who could possibly understand what he'd done without taylor having to explain it.

"no, damien, they didn't fucking hurt me." his voice grows more frantic, hollow laughter building in the back of his throat. "i hurt them." taylor's mouth trembled, and he pressed his lips together hard like he could physically keep everything else from spilling out. he'd cried over feeding before. apologized to people who couldn't hear him. spent nights staring at the ceiling wondering if whatever god he spent his childhood terrified of could still see him now that he was dead.

but this wasn't feeding. "i couldn't stop." his voice dropped into something frightened, eyes wide and frazzled. "i knew i should stop and i just -" he shook his head, crazed laughter falling out of his mouth. "i didn't want to." his fingers tightend around damien's wrists again. "that's fucked up, right? like, that's - you can't tell me that's just hunger. i fucking liked it."

that was the part he didn't think he could survive. giving up the relief that he felt after. the awful, perfect silnce that had settled inside him when warm blood finally hit his tongue and for the first time in days, nothing hurt. nothing ached. nothing begged. he'd felt good. taylor finally looked at damien again, eyes wet and terrified. "what the fuck is wrong with me?"

[fadedradio]

damien remembered it, too. the first time he’d lost control, he hadn’t been himself in any real sense of the word. blackthorne had still held him in that iron grip, dragging obedience out of him like it was love, like devotion and hunger were the same thing. damien remembered being on his hands and knees, smiling through the blood on his mouth, practically shaking at the thought of being praised. that was the worst part of vampiric compulsion – at least, for whatever species of vampire damien had become. he remembered all of it. every second. every scream. every friend whose face had twisted in horror when they realized he was the thing killing them. but he also remembered wanting it. until blackthorne died, damien had wanted to do everything he asked. he’d wanted to be good for him. he’d wanted the blood, wanted the violence, wanted the approving hand in his hair afterward. he remembered the wet slide of blood and sinew dripping from his mouth as he looked up at his sire, eyes full of stars, waiting to be told he’d done well. and he did it again and again and again, until someone finally killed blackthorne and the fog lifted, leaving damien staring down at his hands in horror. because, for as much as he knew he’d had no control over his body, he had wanted it. the want had been real. manufactured, twisted, forced into him by someone else’s will, but real enough to remember. real enough to hate himself for. five hundred years of cold, dead blood had made him forget what warmth felt like. or maybe he’d made himself forget. then the abandoned house happened. the hunters. the rush of fresh life against his tongue, the way his beast had stretched awake and purred like it had only been waiting for permission. damien had remembered all at once, and it terrified him almost as much as it thrilled him. his expression softened when taylor whispered, “don’t.” he let taylor’s hands wrap around his wrist, let him hold on like damien might disappear if he didn’t. damien shook his head, voice quiet but firm. “but you are,” he said. “you are my love, and there’s nothing wrong with you.” i fucking liked it. i didn’t want to. the words settled heavily in damien’s chest, somewhere tender and bruised. he reached for taylor again, slower this time, his touch careful against his blood-wet skin. “i know,” he whispered. “i know what that feels like.” his thumb brushed over taylor’s cheek, smearing red beneath his eye. “that’s the part nobody tells you how to deal with. not just what you did, but the fact that some part of you enjoyed it.” his gaze flicked around the room despite himself. the bodies were still warm. he could smell it, thick and sweet in the air, warm blood calling to the worst parts of him with an intimacy that made his hands twitch. damien swallowed hard and forced his eyes back to taylor. “five days is too long,” he said softly. “you can’t do that to yourself.” and it was horrible, he knew, that the dark little thing in his chest wanted it – wanted to reach out again and lick the blood off taylor’s fingers – and it was by a miracle that he didn’t.

[fadedradio]

𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍… 𝚁𝙸𝙲𝙷𝙸𝙴 𝚆𝙰𝙻𝚂𝙷.

“uh, hi.” he was no stranger to showing up unannounced at richie’s, but this was the first time he’d shown up so late. arch just… really needed to see him. it felt like something was tugging him toward richie – richie, richie, richie – and he couldn’t ignore it. “i know it’s late. i’m sorry.” his expression was apologetic, even if he felt a sick sense of satisfaction at the sight of his best friend. after a beat, he stepped forward and threw his arms around him. his eyes slipped shut, and – oh. this was what he needed.

📡 attn: @carriedyourburden.

[fadedradio]

he giggled when dante started walking over, the sound bright and nervous and already a little ruined. then he squeaked when dante settled behind him, heat creeping slowly up his neck as he hummed in delight and wriggled between the two of them. keaton, apparently, was very on board with whatever dante was doing, because the second archer shifted too much, his hands found archer’s hips and held him there. archer swallowed hard at dante’s words. i already told you what to do. should i start telling keaton what to do with you instead? oh. jesus christ. his hazel eyes went hazy almost immediately, lust and attention fixing him in place as dante kept talking. archer nodded, breathless and already too warm, only for dante’s voice to curl around him again. i asked you a question. can you be good for me? or do i need to start asking keaton? archer nodded faster this time. “no, no, i can be good,” he whined, even though some horrible, thrilling part of him thought the idea of dante telling keaton what to do was so – god. his heart raced in his chest, breathing shaky as heat spread through him all over again. “i can be good, baby,” he promised, voice tiny and breathless. he didn’t want to tear his eyes away from dante, didn’t want to stop looking at him for even a second, but if he was going to kiss keaton properly, he kind of had to. so his gaze lingered on dante’s for half a second longer, soft and desperate and so totally gone, before he turned back. his arms wriggled upward, bruised fingers tangling into keaton’s dark hair, and another giggle slipped out of him as he looked up at him. then their mouths met again, messier this time, archer melting into it with a soft little sound as he let himself get lost in the kiss. and he did like kissing keaton. he did. it was fun and warm and familiar in a way that made his chest feel light. but dante was behind him, watching them, and that changed everything. the thought of those dark eyes on him, taking in every little reaction, every sound… archer tried so hard to listen, and that sent heat straight through his stomach. he whimpered at the thought of it, unable to help himself. when he finally pulled back from keaton, his cheeks were flushed, lips parted, chest rising too quickly as he twisted enough to look back at dante. his eyes were bright and pleading now, all that bratty confidence softened into something needy. “baby,” he whispered, voice nearly breaking around the word. “i wanna kiss you too.” a beat, and then the whine slipped out, completely shameless. “please?”

🕯️attn: @atomicblues.

[fadedradio]

“freaks can be fun,” he laughed, tapping against the glass. tap. tap. tap. hemlock shifted, head tilted as he stared at her. dragons were notorious for liking pretty things – and she was beautiful. “i’m hemlock.” a beat. “now you know me. and i know you – ingrid.”

🕯️attn: @atomicblues.

[fadedradio]

something in his chest shifted when declan said he should still have her. a thousand years of being lonely, of trying not to let himself want too much from anyone, and yet sitting here with him made wren feel like maybe he’d been meant to find him anyway. like all that time hadn’t just been empty. like it had been leading somewhere. he missed her. of course he did. he’d always love her, some part of him always turned toward the life he’d lost, the woman he’d buried in himself because there was nowhere else to put the grief. but he really, really loved declan, too. that didn’t erase her. it didn’t make either love smaller. wren shrugged, like the motion could keep his voice steady. “it’s okay. it’s been a long time.” he listened as declan explained who hunted him, and wren laughed before he could help it, running a hand back through his hair. “god. we’re all a fucking mess.” the laugh turned bitter almost immediately. “it’s not enough that humans hate us all, we gotta kill each other, too.” he shook his head, jaw tight. “vampires kill vampires, wolves kill wolves – this is fucking stupid.” another laugh slipped out, smaller and meaner, because nothing was funny. not really. if he didn’t laugh, he was probably going to start thinking too hard about how many ways the world could still take declan from him. “so you’re telling me you’re not just cute and funny, you’re some kind of royalty too, huh?” he waved a hand before declan could argue with him. “i don’t care if you’re not. i’m gonna joke about it.” mostly because the alternative was letting the panic crawl up his throat and make a home there. wren looked away for a second, thumb rubbing against his own knuckles. “do you…” he almost didn’t want to ask, because the answer mattered more than he wanted it to. “do you feel safer with them?” his gaze flicked back to declan, softer despite himself. “with your family?”

🕯️attn: @atomicblues.

[fadedradio]

if there was anyone he felt compelled to believe, it was dante. and he knew that. underneath all the fear and panic and distrust, archer knew he felt safe with dante  – and that meant something to him. it meant a lot. the feeling of calloused fingers pulling him closer had him closing his eyes with a sigh. he knew his vision would blur if he opened them, so he kept them shut. squeezed them shut – but then dante said that. i’ll always come back to you. and archer felt something soft and fragile crack open in his chest. his eyes opened despite the tears spilling from them, his gaze locking onto dante’s. he stayed silent. didn’t move, didn’t even try to kiss him. instead, he settled his head against dante’s chest and listened to his heartbeat, trying to calm himself. “i think – ” he shook his head. “i’ll come back to you, too.”

🕯️attn: @atomicblues.

[fadedradio]

"...dude, it's been, like, weeks since i've seen you. are you okay??" archer pouted, turning to look at taylor once the door opened. and, yeah, maybe he... sort of let himself in. but what was he supposed to do?? the space between them was closed quickly as archer rushed over, throwing his arms around their neck and tugging him closer.

🕯️attn: @atomicblues.

[carriedyourburden]

Whatever molecular composition bound them together made it easy for her to want to please him. Aside from being in her nature, Minnow felt especially drawn to obey his every command. He’d tightened her collar to where it wouldn’t move, but she’d given over the lock willingly: she wanted him to have her. The blonde bent to his hand, melting into his touch, while her eyes stayed distracted by their target. “Mhm,” she nodded, chewing at the inside of her lip for just a taste, something to tide her own from the hunger ripping at her intestines. “I want to do what you tell me.”

Her pace picked up to meet his as the supple skin of her neck twisted to be grazed by his lingering lips. There would be time for carnal desires later, right now, Minnow needed to feed. “Yes sir,” the blonde exhaled, her head pulling back into place and gaze honing in on the male standing outside for a cigarette. Didn’t he know it was dangerous to be out alone this late? A sentence she’d heard a hundred times walking back from the club, but tonight, it was her they should be running from.

The click of her heels intentional as she approached him, her smile sticking to her teeth while her gaze went soft. “Excuse me, I’m real lost, I was hoping you might be able to help me.” It was almost too easy. A damsel in distress? They just couldn’t help themselves. Especially not when she was in a dress that left little to the imagination, she wanted them to look. She drew him from the street, from any unwanted glances, and that’s when she made her move. What started as his assumption turned into her fury, teeth inserting into his neck and the pulsing of his heart fed her desire. Each pump made her groan in pleasure, but she couldn’t drain him, Damien had told her to stop.

The thought of him watching her, assessing how she’d done, made her skin turn to spiderwebs and only then could Minnow release her prey. Cloaked in his crimson she stepped back, letting him fall at her feet, and the feeling of his heartbeat still thumping against her lips. The color of her fed nearly matched that of her lipstick, but stood out against the dress that had slipped from her shoulder and hung just above her breast. With a wicked smile and bloodlust still coating her gaze, she turned around to see what Damien had thought of her work. “Did I do good?” Minnow waited for his response like permission, craving his praise after having curbed her appetite, now all she wanted was him.

[fadedradio]

damien watched the whole thing. every step. every little turn of her head. the way she softened herself into something harmless before she struck. warm blood still burned through him, leaving his senses sharpened and his restraint somewhere several feet behind him. he could hear the stranger’s heartbeat from where he stood, could hear it stutter beneath minnow’s mouth, and fuck – the sight of her feeding because he’d told her to dragged something ugly and possessive out of him. then she stopped – just like he’d asked. the man crumpled at her feet, alive, and minnow turned toward him painted in red. did i do good? damien’s mouth curled. “come here.” there was no hesitation in it. no room for pretending he wasn’t affected. he met her halfway, one hand settling around the back of her neck as his eyes dragged over her face. blood stained her mouth, her chin, the pale line of her throat, and he looked at her like she’d hung the fucking moon. “you did so good.” the praise came low and rough, almost a growl. his thumb swept carefully beneath her mouth, catching a smear of blood before he glanced down at it, something delighted and dangerous flashing across his expression. “you listened.” a quiet laugh escaped him. “even when you were starving.” damien’s gaze flicked briefly toward the body on the ground. heartbeat. breathing. alive. then straight back to her. “fuck, minnow.” he pulled her closer, forehead nearly touching hers. “you have no idea what you look like right now.” for a second, his grip tightened. mine. mine. mine. mine. “yes, pretty girl.” a beat. “you did very, very good.”

[atomicblues]

closed for @atomflower

the hand closing around him steals the last of taylor's breath.

it wasn't just touch. it was claim. damien's fingers drag a broken, high sound from taylor's throat that he can't swallow. his head drops back, resting on damien's shoulder, the cold of the older vampire's skin a sharp contrast against the fever that has begun to burn under his own. every stroke feels like being rewritten, every careful drag feels like a brand.

taylor's free hand finds damien's hip and holds on like he might otherwise fall. he grinds back into the hard length pressed against him, slow and desperate, the layers of fabric between them steadily growing more and more intolerable. he wants them gone. he wants the ancient, possessive thing that has been watching him all night to stop holding itself in check and take what it has already decided belongs to it.

another stroke, firmer, and a wrecked little moan slips out of him. taylor turns his face into the cool column of damien's throat, fangs brushing against cool skin, aching as badly as they did before he knew he needed to feed.

you're ever going to want anyone else.

damien says it like a promise, like there isn't any room in the universe for taylor to be discarded once damien has decided to keep him and every tender part of taylor folds beneath the weight of it. the words sink deeper then the venom, deeper than the hand still working him with devastating care. his hips stutter, pressing back harder. how could he begin to explain to damien that there could never be anyone else?

[fadedradio]

each time taylor pressed into him, the friction sending heat radiating through his pelvis, it became harder and harder to pretend that he wasn't losing his mind. the black veins dragged down his face like water droplets on a canvas – thinning, branching, painting his skin in a map of his own undoing – and the feeling of taylor's fangs brushing against the smooth column of his throat did something terrible to his chest.

"look how much you want me." his hands scrabbled for purchase on taylor's shoulders, fingers digging into the muscle there. "you were made for this. made for me." damien would apologize later, hiding his face behind his fingertips at the way he spoke to taylor – possessive, raw, stripped of every layer of civility he'd accumulated over six centuries. but the animal in his chest couldn't take it. the beast had won, had torn through the cage of his ribs and was now pacing behind his eyes, demanding, hungry, mine. he needed taylor. needed him in a way that transcended physical touch, in a way that made his ancient bones ache with the loneliness of the centuries before taylor had stumbled into his life smelling like rain and warmth. his own top wasn't so much taken off as it was ripped – clean off, the fabric tearing down the middle with a sharp sound that echoed in the room. buttons an chains scattered, pinging against the floor, and damien didn't care. couldn't wait another second.  "tell me what you want," he asked, his voice a wreck. the inked hand that had been wrapped around taylor's cock pulled away, reaching instead for the hem of taylor's top. he pulled it away, dragging it up and over his head in one fluid motion. damien brushed kisses alongside his neck, soft and deliberate, while his fingers pushed against the fabric of his pants. the button gave way, the zipper following, and he pushed them down over taylor's hips, letting them pool at his thighs. his palm pressed against the bare skin of taylor's ass, squeezing, feeling the muscle flex beneath his hand. "i'll fuck you right now, if you want me to," another thrust, his cock grinding against the curve of taylor's ass through the thin fabric of his boxers. "in front of them." his teeth grazed the shell of taylor's ear. "you can eat while i'm fucking you, if you want. or i can take you away." his hand slid between taylor's cheeks, fingers trailing down the cleft, pressing against the tight ring of muscle there, and he felt taylor shudder against him. "tell me," he breathed, the word vibrating against taylor's skin. "tell me what you want and i'll give it to you. whatever it is. whatever you need."