#hellbloom

[soulcarved]

" condom? condom??? oh hell to th' fuckin' naaaaaaaaaah! if my man thinks he's doin' anythin' other than raw doggin' it on th' fuckin' daily then i got news for him! "

@hellbloom

[nihiliszm]

"Sei, do these smell clean t' ye?" With a frown, Loux tossed a pair of his underwear at Seikin, trying to separate out all their laundry so it could be washed properly. Sometimes, clean clothes got mixed in with the dirty, and vice verse; It drove him crazy! "I cain't tell. Maybe I'm nose blind or whatever, so I need a second opinion."

src: @hellbloom　　　dst: Takahashi, Seikin

» 「 光の後継者 」 «

» 「 I thought your sense of smell is better than mine? 」 «

Or perhaps that is exactly why? Well... that underwear is in his hands now, Seikin had Loux's underwear in his hands before but not like this! Hmm, what to do? The older brother is definitely cleaner than his younger brother and would not wear underwear again after wearing it once the whole day so... if it smells like that time they were horny then it makes sense to deem it as dirty laundry, right? So... it shouldn't...

Oh, of course it smells like Loux's musk. Not clean at all for sure, is Seikin being tested?

» 「 It smells great... 'N by that I mean chuck it to the washer wontcha? 」 «

» 「 敬具　―　晴 」 «

[kisumitenderly]

loux is very gently setting a ♡ down

Send 🤍 to see what my muse thinks about yours: @hellbloom

Attraction: 🩷🩷🩷🩷🤍

Affection: 🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

Interest: 🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷 (always thinking where this man at)

Loyalty: 🩷🩷🩷🤍🤍

Trust: 🩷🩷🩷🤍🤍

Bottom Line: you know the drill, if you weren’t blonde you’d score higher. But Kisumi truly adores Loux. He finds him fascinating and very interesting. Kisumi loves that he’s being the one chased for a change. He worries about each time he leaves might be the last unknowing when he’ll return. He finds that he questions whether or not he’s worth returning to. Regardless of how things may shake out Kisumi will always keep Loux of high regard.

[saintsinstatic]

"Nastka!" Loux laughed, caught half between hysterics and some strange measure of drunkenness. Cradling flesh and bone in his hands as if a boy playing in a sandbox, shaping the squelching mass into what vaguely resembled a person - a most dangerous thing for someone like him to craft; Was Nastka familiar with the concept of golems? A toothy grin spread across his face, speckled with blood and sinew. Wobbling slightly, chuckling to himself - ever so pleased with his use of magic to play with his food, weaving chaos and order together like finest silk. Too bad Loux liked a grand finish, something that really popped. "Yer always late to th' party, ma cherie... 'm beginnin' to think ye don' like watchin' th' fireworks wit me."

Taunting the only man that frightened him was more dangerous a move than he could rightly know - titillating all the same. Though it hadn't been merely Nastka's most inconveniently placed men strewn about the pavement, but others too, of every stripe and faction; Would that have mattered? A sleight was a sleight. How many more buttons could Loux press before the pain gifted to him broke him? Why was he so hellbent on testing that boundary? One day, there'd be no coming back from it.

"Sorry yer boys got caught in th' mix. Didn't mean t' get 'em this time - was aimin' fer th' sorciers an' Deadeye's goons, but I cain't always control th' ricochet. 'm good, better 'an most anybody, but e'en I'm not tha' good." Sobering, calm, tilting his head. Two truths and a lie. He was sure Nastka could figure out which. He gave a sharp nod of his head, a bits of blood dropping from his chin. "Make it up t' ye, though."

The laugh reached him before the words did.

Bright.

Wrong.

It echoed through the ruined street like broken glass scattering across marble. The name was thrown into the night with all the reckless delight of a man setting fire to his own house just to watch the flames dance.

Nastka stopped. Around them, the aftermath breathed its final breaths. Blood ran in thin rivers through cracks in the pavement. Smoke curled upward from shattered stone and twisted metal. Bodies lay where gravity and violence had left them, their shadows stretching long beneath the sick amber glow of the streetlights.

And in the center of it all stood Loux.

Covered in blood. Smiling. Playing. As though death itself had become a toy placed lovingly into his hands. Nastka watched him shape ruined flesh into something vaguely human. Watched the concentration behind the grin. The delight. The childish satisfaction. For a moment, an old exhaustion settled over him. Not anger. Something worse.

Recognition.

Because for all the horror before him, Nastka did not see a monster. He saw Loux. That was the problem. That had always been the problem. Anyone else and the decision would have been simple. Anyone else would already be dead.

Instead, he found himself staring at the same creature who had spent years tearing holes through the world and then looking surprised by the blood on his hands.

A fox caught in a trap of his own making. A starving animal chewing through its own leg because it had forgotten freedom existed.

Nastka felt something dark twist beneath his ribs. Not because of the taunt. Because Loux genuinely sounded pleased to see him. As though his arrival completed something. As though disaster felt lonelier without an audience. His gaze moved slowly over the carnage. Then returned to Loux.

"Fireworks," Nastka repeated quietly. The word drifted from his mouth like smoke.

He stepped forward. A boot crushed bone beneath its heel. The sound disappeared into the night. "You think that's what this is, moje kochanie." Not a question. A realization.

His eyes lingered on the grotesque thing Loux had assembled from flesh and arrogance. Then rose again. The look he gave him then was impossible to mistake. Disappointed.

Not in the bodies.

Not in the blood.

In him.

And somehow that was always worse.

"You kill half a street." Another step. "Turn corpses into art projects." Another. "And still manage to convince yourself you're merely entertaining company." The smile never touched his eyes.

Loux began explaining.

Sorciers.

Deadeye.

Ricochets.

Accidents.

Excuses carefully wrapped around truths. Nastka listened.

Every word.

Every pause.

Every calculated omission.

By the time Loux finished speaking, Nastka already knew exactly which part had been the lie.

A small silence followed. Heavy. Dense. The kind that made the air difficult to breathe. "You know what's fascinating?" His voice dropped. "I never asked." Another step. "I never asked who you were aiming for." Closer. "I never asked whether it was intentional." Closer still. "I never asked for an explanation."

Nastka tilted his head. Almost curious. Like a scientist studying a wounded animal that continued biting despite being too exhausted to stand.

"You walked into the conversation defending yourself." His eyes narrowed slightly. "That's guilt." A pause. "Not remorse." The distinction landed with surgical precision.

Because Nastka knew Loux. Better than most. Perhaps better than Loux knew himself. He knew remorse lived in him. Buried somewhere deep beneath arrogance and self destruction and violence. He knew Loux carried ghosts. The problem was that Loux wore guilt like jewelry.

Displayed it.

Fed it.

Nurtured it.

Turned it into another excuse to bleed. "You don't regret what happened." The words emerged softly. Almost sadly. "You regret that I witnessed it." For the first time, something flickered behind Nastka's composure.

A crack. Tiny. Invisible to anyone who did not know him. But Loux would know.

Because beneath the disappointment sat something infinitely more dangerous.

Affection.

The kind that survived long after reason had abandoned ship. The kind that became ugly because it refused to die. Nastka looked at him the way one looked at an old hunting dog that had gone half feral.

Still beloved.

Still trusted in strange irrational ways.

Still capable of tearing someone's throat out.

Still capable of turning around and biting its owner.

And somehow none of that changed anything.

That was the tragedy.

That was always the tragedy.

When Loux offered to make it up to him, a laugh escaped Nastka. Low. Brief. Devoid of amusement. His eyes closed for a second. Just one. As though he were tired. As though he suddenly felt every year of this exhausting dance. Then he approached.

Close enough now to smell blood and smoke and magic clinging to Loux's skin.

Close enough to reach out.

His hand rose.

Not to strike.

Not to threaten.

His fingers brushed a streak of blood from Loux's cheek.

The gesture should have been gentle. Instead, it felt devastating. Because it was instinctive. Unthinking. The sort of motion that betrayed years of familiarity. Years of knowing exactly where to touch. Years of noticing. His thumb lingered there for only a moment. Then withdrew.

"Make it up to me?" The words came quietly. Almost fond. Which somehow made them hurt more. "You still think this is a debt."

His gaze held Loux's.

Steady.

Patient.

Terribly sad.

"You still think everything has a price." A long silence stretched between them. Then Nastka smiled.

Small.

Crooked.

Broken around the edges.

"No, lisek."

His voice softened.

Not with mercy.

With truth.

"The things that worry me about you cannot be repaid."

The street seemed suddenly very empty. Very cold. Nastka looked at him for a long moment. At the blood. The grin. The chaos. The loneliness hidden underneath all of it.

And for just a second, beneath all the disappointment and anger and exhaustion, there was something painfully human in his expression. Something dangerously close to grief.

"You keep treating yourself like something that needs destroying."

His voice dropped lower.

Quieter.

"And every time I see it, I wonder whether one day you'll finally succeed."

// @hellbloom

[oathstruck-archived]

"So, what, y'need someone taken out?"

Tomoko leans against the wall, arms crossed over her chest, it's not uncommon for her to be hired for random jobs. A lot of them are more or less just delivering things, but sometimes, she got jobs from people where she was asked to send a message to them or to anyone who might threaten the general peace of Kabukicho itself. She's always up for a good scrap, that much she knows for sure.

"If y'make it worth m'while, I'll see what I can do. Jus' make sure whoever's got it comin', actually deserves it. I charge extra fer gettin' rid of bodies."

@hellbloom

[gloryundimmed]

@hellbloom

As Loux sat at his cluttered desk, writing something down, Kai decided he wanted some attention. Mid-word, the hitman plucked the blond's pen from his hand, a shit-eating grin on his face. "So... I know you've got your ways with magic and shit, but I wonder if ya could get this pen back from me without it?" Kai asked, a clear challenge for Loux to take it back from him in a physical manner. His golden eyes glimmered with mischief as he stepped away, hiding the pen behind his back. "C'mon, babe. Show me what ya got."

[mamoritxi]

"Stop moving or I cannot help you." Dahlia was getting frustrated. OR rather... entirely pissed off. Wound-tending was difficult enough with everyone else. The least Enjin could do was sit still while he bandaged him up, stop bouncing his leg as Dahlia wasnt in his lap to get a better angle-- A particularly strong bounce brought him closer, hands grasping at Enjin's shoulders for stability, incidentally pressing against him. "You-- Enjin!"

dahlia  was  such  a  cute  little  creature  and  yeah,  he  was  wondering  why  this  one  tended  to  him  instead  of  their  usual  healers,  but  he  seemed  awfully  dedicated  to  dressing  his  wounds  but  enjin  wouldn't  be  enjin,  if  he  didn't  play  around  a  little  or  pretended  that  his  wounds  weren't  the  smallest  bit  serious.  still,  having  dahlia  sit  on  his  lap  and  fall  against  him  was  quite  amusing,  acting  so  pissed  off  but  still  not  throwing  everything  aside.  so  hands  grabbed  his  hips,  pulling  him  impossibly  closer,  both  hands  very  very  thoroughly  squeezing  his  ass  before  he  leaned  back  to  let  the  boy  do  his  thing.

"sorry,  wrap  it  up."  he  took  another  drag  off  his  cigarette,  tilting  his  head  away  in  order  to  exhale.  "suppose  you'll  give  me  a  ride  afterwards?"

[yakxsoku]

continued from here / @hellbloom

now  he  knew  why  alaric  told  him  to  stay  away  from  vharyn.  he  could  probably  smell  it  on  noah,  his  rut.  his  brother  went  through  ruts  quite  often,  but  always  kept  himself  far  away  from  humans.  at  least,  until  a  certain  person  became  involved  with  him.  noah  didn't  know  very  well,  but  perhaps  alaric  felt  fine  sharing  his  ruts  with  his  boyfriend,  but  noah  wasn't  sure  if  vharyn  would  like  to  be  touched.  it  wouldn't  end  that  easily.  noah's  ruts  were  a  lot  more  forceful  and  violent,  often  even  lasted  days  and  not  just  hours.  the  intensity  might  be  the  same,  but  to  put  a  human  through  hours  and  hours  of  ruthless  sex  didn't  seem  very  appealing.  the  blond  should  have  listened  to  his  brother,  but  he  just  couldn't  take  his  hands  off  of  vharyn.  he  liked  him  so  much.  he  was  so  sweet  and  kind  and  beautiful  and  he  would  like  to  bend  him  in  two,  to  fuck  his  tiny  hole  until  he  screamed  in  pleasure,  until  he  completely  drowned  in  it.

but  he  couldn't,  there  was  always  the  risk  of  losing  himself,  of  becoming  the  demon  everyone  feared.  he'd  grow  horns,  scales  would  cover  his  skin  on  his  upper  body  and  there  was  always  the  possibility  he'd  turn  into  a  complete  demon,  7-8  times  the  size  he  was  right  now.  he'd  tear  vharyn  apart,  trying  to  make  himself  fit  inside  of  him.

noah  whined,  feeling  the  other  male  so  close  to  him.  "i...  i  have  condition,  vharyn.  need  to...  fuck.  for  days.  hard.  grow  hot,  unbearable  pain.  but...  i  don't  wanna  hurt  you.  leave  me,  vharyn?  i  deal  with  myself."