#fleshfruits

[undeific]

Her persistent disinterest is getting on his nerves. Especially since he can’t tell whether or not it’s genuine. 

She’s been awfully quiet lately all around. He keeps an eye on California and its unsavory inhabitants, and she’s all but disappeared from the scene—so much so, in fact, that he felt the need to double-check Alabama. Further research has turned up little, but only because there’s little to find. She’s settled into domestic bliss with that thing and has been pursuing an education.

It hits him harder than he thought it would. 

The Úlfhéðnar have made lots of enemies. He sends members of a rival gang to go get her for him, giving them free reign to throw a good scare into her about it—jump her, tie her up, the whole nine, whatever your pleasure!—just as long as she’s unharmed. 

Luckily, they practice the expected restraint. Or perhaps unluckily, because now he actually has to pay them.

He takes the gag out of @fleshfruits' mouth, but elects to leave her tied up for now. She’s likely to catch an attitude and he doesn’t intend on getting his eyes gouged out.

          “This is an intervention.” 

[med1c1nal]

He finds @fleshfruits in the most remote corner of his wilderness, kneeling in the blackened maw of a hollow redwood. She’s doing something there, though he can’t quite see what from where he stands several paces behind her. 

Hyuntae watches her with blank curiosity. It’s several minutes before he bothers to announce himself. He isn’t sure whether or not she’s aware of him already.

          “This is private property,”          he finally says. His voice is even and unaggressive. A statement of fact.          “What are you doing?”

People don’t often come this far out. Nobody has ever wandered so close before. He prefers it that way. 

Somewhere beneath their feet, a boy is screaming for help, voice swallowed up by soundproofing and dense earth. 

[wickdcreatures]

@fleshfruits sent in a 🎁 for a spotify wrapped sentence starter!

something  looks  fiery  in  her  eyes,  he  can  smell  anger  bubble  up  in  her.  the  night  air  is  cold  and  damp  but  all  she  has  on  is  a  sheer  night  gown,  barrel  of  the  gun  pointed  directly  at  him.  somewhere  deeper  within  the  house  addy  must  still  be  sulking.  he  can  smell  it  from  out  here.

“  oh  god,  can  you  make  my  heart  stop?  ”      he  looks  down  the  barrel  of  the  gun,  hands  in  the  air  playfully.  does  she  really  plan  on  shooting  him?  would  he  mind  if  she  did?  are  they  silver  bullets?       “  hit  me  with  your  killshot,  baby.  ”

it  was  a  stretch  coming  here  searching  for  comfort.  they  barely  knew  each  other,  and  he  thought  that  would  be  enough  to  salvage  what  little  relationship  they  had  —  the  interconnectedness  of  all  of  these  people  is  really  a  thorn  in  his  side.  he's  losing  everyone,  or  so  he  likes  to  tell  himself.  feels  better  to  nail  himself  to  the  cross  and  make  himself  a  victim  then  to  take  accountability. 

“  i  mean  it  so  serious.  ”

[unpossession]

@fleshfruits has taken absences before. Willow is guilty of this, too, and so there should be no reason to worry. This is what Delilah thought, of course, when Willow spent over a month in Hell, and the weeks of silence since her resurrection. Naturally, no cause to worry does not mean that Willow does not worry. That she doesn't search.

Without the muscle memory for searching for Delilah in the dark the way their mutual friends do, she fumbles blindly through spaces she imagines she would be. The woods, building altars; the Huntington Botanical Gardens where they visited together early on in their friendship... Willow even skirted around Donovan's property, never quite stepping through, but listening for her laugh in the wind.

It's another blistering Los Angeles day, the third or fourth since Delilah's absence had begun to nag at her. Willow is in the bathtub, cubes of ice floating overhead as she submerges her whole body below the waterline. She can hear the muffled sound of the fan overhead, the faint tinkle of fast-melting ice cubes clinking against one another.

Willow. Delilah is on fire. Rotting somewhere with the sand and scarabs in the heat. Skin blistering. Eyes puffy and pinned closed, only half aware of her existence because of the pain she's in. The faint call from soul to soul creates a link. Willow clings to it as she sits up, heaving through a breath of inhaled icewater.

Del? I'm coming. I'm coming.

She throws on some clothes without taking time to dry off, throws a water bottle into her backseat and beelines to the desert. Willow knows where.

[ohfiendangelical]

i do bitch re: that tag

no matter how full his house or his bed gets in his heart he will always be a lonely little homeless demonboy nuzzling into the side of his latest kill to simulate the affection he's been denied. or whatever

[skullfck]

It’s fucking cold in LA. The sunshine is pale and lifeless, only chilling the air further with its unyielding brightness. He misses the lively, perfumey heat of the summer, the dreamy pink haze of smog, nights as black and sleek as a leather jacket.

So he drinks. He drinks and misses the summer and thinks of Del, who stole summer from him. And then he pours some shit out of a baggie onto the table and takes all of it, because that’s what happens when he starts thinking of Del too much. He doesn’t even know why, and it’s so fucking stupid, because it isn’t like she has to feel like this. She’s probably not thinking of him at all, and even if she was, it would be much different. She’s too dreamy and detached to care.

And she would never understand what it’s like to know her, anyway.

He comes to consciousness on her doorstep, too fucked up to know how he got there. Feels right, though. He pounds on her door, thinking he might smash it in if she doesn’t answer.

@fleshfruits

[faebold]

         A PORTAL OPENS IN THIN AIR, and out comes tumbling a bloodied figure, comically falling over himself before laying crumpled on the floor. A disembodied hand holding a once-grand, now fire-ruined wizard’s hat reaches from the other side of the portal, the rest of the attached body nothing but a blur behind the magic swirl. There’s sounds of a battle on the other side, loud and cacophonous, filling the new room to the brim with noise.

          “ Fuck you, Taako — try to get yourself outta this one! ”     The hat is tossed, landing unceremoniously on top of the wizard, the offending arm pulled back within the portal that closes just as fast as it opened. 

Everything goes quiet and still, the once crumpled wizard peeling himself up off the floor, bleary eyes scanning the room.

[ ROLL PERCEPTION WITH DISADVANTAGE. 🎲  11+5= 16  9+5= 14 ]

          “ UGH, ”      Taako stands, tucking dirty, bloodsoaked hair behind an ear. Despite the obviousness of his previous ass-kicking, he holds himself with as much poise as he can. It takes him an embarrassingly long time to notice @fleshfruits in the room. He grimaces, embarrassed,     “ U-uh, yeah. Hail and well met and junk — mind telling me where the Hell this is? I've got an orc I need to make into blood sausage. ”

Taako, I've got a feeling we're not in Faerûn anymore...

[castelleve]

@fleshfruits​ del vc: i call bullshit bc 33 is my angel number, so, actually, this is good

“Want a summer fling, babe?”