the damihux pill. you can take up to one billion a day
short notes
now i have their “”final”” designs down
drawing huxley’s locs was difficult but very quickly became my new favourite subject
damien has an anti-eyebrow piercing. he would
he also has ear piercings because he’s a gay dude from a homophobic single mother ofc his ears are pierced don’t ask me stupid questions
dames is average height hux is just giant
hux’s hands are huge and calloused by the way
second photo’s a reference to the lasko date bonus audio iykyk but it’s one of my fav moments of these two ever i had to include it
requested by @grillbro kalen dude it’s been approximately three decades due to external forces at play against me but alas damihux will prevail. i hope u enjoy these as much as i enjoyed drawing them
I was gonna tell you a gravity joke, but you probably wouldn’t fall for it
Chronic migraine survivor probably. Thrifting legend probably. Cuts his own hair probably. Rings upon rings upon rings probably.
Edit: thoughts are thoughting; my Lincoln is a fellow Native American and I think it’d be real sweet if he could make Dreamer a lil dreamcatcher. That is all.
lasko and dear LOVE invading each other personal space OHMYGOD.
I do agree that Huxley and Damien are a velcro couple in the sense that Huxley always has some form of physical contact with Damien and Damien always reciprocates, but LASKO AND DEAR WILL NOT GET OFF OF EACH OTHER.
They are always cuddling. Playing games with the crew? Dear is laying their head on Lasko's lap. Watching a movie? Lasko is little spoon and Dear is big spoon. Running errands? The other is always tagging along. Breaks at work? You know they're spending it together. ONE OF THEM HAS TO USE THE BATHROOM? THEY WILL USUALLY ASK THE OTHER TO GO WITH. Those two will not let go of each other and they love it. Even when they're doing separate things, they are in the same room 95% of the time. ofc this closeness increased over time but they've always been very physically close.
tw because they are toxic, stupid, they swear and they are emotionally repressed mules that unfortunately, do not kiss, but also can be taken as suggestive (barely), they fight and beat the shit out of each other because they are both smug and spiteful little bastards (especially Porter but we all know it already)
William's words after everything were more than clear.
"You need to blow off some steam, boy. Pack your bag."
He didn't yell and maybe that was what scared Porter the most, the stoic look in his rid of any emotions silver eyes, the absolute lack of anger in his sharp lines, the almost bored stance when he finally glanced at him, one look being enough to make him freeze on the spot. Nothing betrayed the absolute madness his tone held, not his always composed demeanor, not the jaw that didn't clench despite the mess he became a witness of. He didn't hold Vincent tighter, he didn't curse Porter out, he just said it, as malicious as possible despite being stoic as always.
The whelp he took in, the one who should be thanking him on his knees for saving his miserable life from begging for scraps on the streets dared to raise a hand on one of his own, a Prince himself out of all the possible people, shivered.
Excuses died in his throat, not like he could defend himself anyway. There was no point when the verdict was already set in stone, words so painfully similar to what he heard a whole lifetime ago.
Pack your bag and get the fuck out of my house.
The irony. Second house he was already kicked out of.
Teasing Vincent was easy. Whenever he saw him, whether they were passing each other or just sitting across, a safe distance put between them, the tension only rose, words sometimes slipping his mind before he could even think twice about them and about how they sounded. Pointing out his messy hair or more pale than usual face, the snarls he offered instead of a bite back was what Porter relished in, eager to get the attention from Prince himself, especially when it was dripping with so much disdain. He would take anything but apathy.
Seeing him scurry and get out of his way did some things to him, ego rising and going straight to his head. There he was, graciously offered a brand new life, still wrapped in plastic foil of empty promises and safety he hadn't felt in ages, with a position he never would have earned on his own, ambitions being not enough to secure a place within the most influential clan in the region. Going to America may have not been the worst idea, unlike what he thought at first when he was finally set free, air smelling of possibilities and wrists aching from the chains that tore the skin raw not too long ago. The scars still haven't healed despite being no longer seen, all buried and piled in an endless well he kept on digging further and further to accommodate everything.
Vincent never sought out or paid attention to his jabs, ignoring them to his best abilities with a cold gaze that broke as soon as it started, and beneath the satisfaction from making him feel less superior bubbled a frustration Porter couldn't contain for long enough, every night bearing the witness of him acting up on what ruined his days over and over. The walls may have been thin but few wards were enough to keep whatever he deemed deranged enough to mask the annoyance out of the other's knowledge.
Repairing the holes in the walls he meticulously kept doing was his speciality at this point, knuckles healing up faster than he could blink, the addicting and almost delicious pain of broken skin and warm blood trailing down always disappeared too quickly to his liking. He never tried to think of himself as a masochist but truth had this finicky vice of stinging the most when it wasn't welcomed. SkySide could use some renovations anyway, he was just trying to speed up the process, merciful as he could be.
He finally had enough.
"Another day, another frown I see." Porter hummed in a tone way too friendly for him, a surprise even for himself.
"Leave me alone." apparently, still not enough to not be shut down immediately after opening his mouth.
"Oh come on now, don't ruin it before it even has a chance to start properly. Give it a shot, maybe something good can happen.” no response.
He just brushed him off, sitting by the long table in the living area of SkySide, his laptop humming back to life, teeth gritted judging by how taut his jaw was, bones practically crushing themselves out of frustration of just seeing him in the vicinity he found of being way too close to his liking. He very much preferred him on the other side of the building whenever possible.
That, Porter wouldn't have. He always got what he wanted, one way or another, and he was feeling extra spiteful that day. Making it someone's problem, especially when said someone was so easily irritable, was his favourite indulgence, one of the rare pleasantries he still had left in his life.
"What are you doing?"
"Working." The virtue of short answers to get him to back down was not lost on him.
"What a surprise. I thought William lets you go freely as the favoured one."
Vincent gripped the mouse tighter in his hand, plastic cracking slightly at the seams.
"I'm not favoured."
"Are you really not? You're a Prince, a Golden Child, I've been told. Change of William's heart, apparently." the bait was thrown and he just turned around to look through the window, the garden looking extra magnificent in the silver moonlight, the big weeping willow heavily leaning over a small pond, it's branches dipping into the cold water, unable to hold their own weight, bending underneath it, forever disfigured.
"I'm not going to entertain you."
Oh darling, you are already doing that.
"Whatever you say, Princeling. Just don't overwork your dainty royal fingers."
He heard the scoff. Bait was taken fully alongside a good amount of the fishing rod too.
"You're an asshole, you know it?"
"Come on, come up with something better with that skillful tongue of yours. I know you can dish out just as much as you can take." His eyebrow arched in a tease that made the other vampire gag.
The chair scraped against the hardwood floor when he stood up, abruptly enough to shake the table. He was fuming and Porter was enjoying every single bit of the poisonous anger that brewed in the silver eyes that casted death wishes at him. He hated looking at them, knowing what he was missing, knowing what couldn't be his no matter how hard he tried to fit in and mask with the Solaire attached by his name, a grand offer that meant nothing but another pair of shackles around his weary limbs. Just a farce because he would never belong and he would never get what he wished for, no real place to accommodate him.
Those eyes would never be his. And it made his fists clench, fingernails digging into his palms hard enough to almost break the skin, when they stared into his soul, or at least the last few remnants of it, piercing right through. He was not an open book to read, no matter how sweetly Vincent stared at him, flames of rage dancing in the steely irises.
The Prince was shorter than him, not by much but the difference was there, annoying on his part, head needing to be tilted so high it strained at his neck, vein popping on the left side, throbbing with every weak beat of his heart. He could hear the hum of blood coursing through his body and the hitched breath he took when Porter didn't step back. Intimidation was his domain and he wouldn't lose to the pompous and ungrateful brat in front of him.
A crown would even out the difference. And a crown would look so good on him, choking under the weight he had no strength to handle nor want to accept. Shame. It would add to his already tempting allurance.
"What is your problem? Can't you take a simple fucking hint to leave me alone? Do I have to spell it out for you?"
"Maybe I don't want to leave you alone, Princeling. It's so amusing to see you writhe and squirm under every single word I offer.”
He took a step closer, his mouh inching towards what seemed forbidden, warm breath fanning over his cheek, goosebumps littering the skin like stars litter the sky, an involuntary shiver wrecking his back. A cornered animal despite being wide in the open, ways of escape plenty.
Yet he stayed rooted in the spot, daring to take part in the staring contest, the atmosphere crashing against their stiff shoulders, drowning them both in an ocean of unspoken words and uncontrolled, shallow breaths. One wrong move and the cover would be blown on both parts, pride ruined beyond repair. The only reward was a satisfaction none of them actually needed.
"Maybe I've got you right where I want. Maybe that pissed look on your face makes up for the lack of gratitude you have for your own King, you privileged bastard."
His fingers trailed up the hem of Vincent's shirt, stopping right where the last button was undone, his Adam's apple bobbing upon a swallow. The air felt damp, sickly sweet and nauseating for some reason, and he tried his best to not let his hand shake when he felt the faint pulse under his fingertip, the thrilling buzz feeding into his delusions.
"William's little treasure, kept in a golden cage because he cannot stand his own reflection, with everything served on a platter." he mused, tongue tutting when Vincent tried to open his mouth and protest.
"Yet, you still cannot muster even a hunch of appreciation." he whispered, mouth brushing past the shell of his ear. the heat of his body turning unbearable.
"You have no idea what you are talking about."
"How does it feel to live a fantasy many of us dream of, Princeling? Are the pillows too soft? Is the steak too juicy to your liking? Or maybe you just like to whine and complain?”
Porter was crossing a line, quite a few to be frank. But the rouse he was getting out of him made up for every restless night he spent pondering and suppressing the screams that tore his lungs open, body aching for relief he would never be granted.
He looked devilish, with the way his lips were licked by the silver tongue, sharp fangs flashing for a brief moment. A snake before a feast he kept putting off for later, until he couldn't stop salivating at the mere thought.
Vincent pushed him, hands against his chest earning a laugh out of the older man. He was towering over him, not only by height but also by the years of experience. Compared to him, Vincent was just a little kid, forever stuck in a time in which he was not allowed to even drink, presented with power and status that not many could get and he seemed to waste.
"You are so fucking out of your mind."
"So I've been told. Doesn't change the fact that what I said is true, isn't it?" the poison on Porter's tongue burned even him, flame teasing the back of his throat. Or maybe it was the bile that kept lumping, realisation of how truly close they were slowly wrapping itself like a root of a tree against the core of his being, forbidden fruit slowly blooming, signaling his demise.
Vincent chuckled at that. He just started laughing, grabbing his wrist and pulling it closer, the sudden edge to his tone making Porter stutter, step wobbly as he lost his footing, taken by surprise.
"What are you trying to do, huh? Are you really so insecure that you are trying to make yourself feel better by insulting me? Is this the newest low you are trying to reach?"
Hot. The room was turning hot and he was being held by his own shirt, fist so close to the jugular, touch molten like a pot of liquid gold, burning where it brushed against him.
"Because it's working, isn't it? You feel better when you do this. You feel superior even if you are nothing but a worm under William's shoe and you amount to even less."
Now it was the other vampire who had the upper hand and he wasn't sure whether he hated it or not. What he knew of Vincent was only told by others, mostly by Alexis and the woman was more than generous with adjectives which didn't praise anyone.
"He may have accepted you, an absolutely idiotic decision. Why, I have no fucking idea and I do not want to have it but one thing is crystal clear to me, Porter. Bark and growel all you want, you're just a mutt picked from a street and that's what you'll ever be. No matter how much you will try to pretend."
"You are no one to us."
It was a moment after Vincent's lips curled up in the mocking smile when his fist landed itself against his face, familiar crunch of bone underneath his knuckles.
Teasing turned physical, much to a shock for both of them, the way his arm trembled and fingers flexed, he didn't see it coming. An instinct, one he was born with. Fight. Always and forever, all he was taught and expected from was to fight, for whatever cause, good or bad. Fight or die.
"It's suddenly us, huh? I thought you didn't want this life." he spat, saliva pooling on his tongue when Vincent sniffled, fingers prodding at the broken nose, red already dripping down against his pristine pale skin.
"You know nothing about me."
"And your lack of knowledge gives you the priviledge to insult me. Rich of you, Princeling."
"You started it first, you fucker!" another punch, this time coming from Prince himself, landing right in Porter's stomach, making him bend in half with a choked gasp.
"You think you can creep your way and act so high and almighty?! You think this is some priviledge to me?!"
"Clearly, one that you're using on pitying yourself."
"Shut the fuck up!"
Reaching the breaking point, he just threw himself at him, punches swinging right and left, desperate to reach anything. He had no training unlike Porter, he knew nothing of being a vicious beast, a monster for hire and kill. He was just William's progeny, a son he vowed to never have. But it happened, against his own words and against Vincent's conscience.
"I'll let you in on a little secret, Princeling. I'd trade everything to be in your place right now. You have everything anybody could ever want and you still act like a bastard, complaining about things others only can dream of!" he snarled, face right in front of his once more faint trickle of blood trailing down his nose from where he struck him at first.
Porter yanked the shirt again to fix the grip, earning a hiss from the smaller man.
"Is that what you want? The title? The crown? William's affection? Tell me Porter, what do you want from me?"
He couldn't say it, not when he looked at him, eyes blown out both from panic and anger at the man who held them like a ragdoll. Out of them two, it was Vincent who technically was stronger, turned by old blood, treated with care that was out of his reach. Porter shouldn't have been able to manhandle him so easily, yet no matter how much he tried to wiggle from under his grip, no matter how much he tried to kick him away, it didn't work. Immovable force, one he slowly started to fear.
Especially with how it made his heart beat, blood pounding in his ears like a tide that would crush against a shore of something he never wanted to feel. Not with him, not with anybody else for that matter. But especially not with him.
"What do you want?" the question fell again, echoing in both of their minds. A trap, old and rusted, hinges creaking under the growing weight, threatening to snap its maw right around his mind and keep it stuck forever in the limbo of his true desires, ones he hated with a passion.
He was no better than what Vincent said. A worm, easily replaced if necessary, a dirty little thing no one dared to touch because of all the grime and mud that stuck to him like a vice. But it wasn't Vincent's to tell him that, to scratch at the scars, claws digging deep enough to draw blood.
The question of what he wanted opened up a box of what he considered a crime to admit. He wasn't one to beg and plea, what he wanted he could achieve himself because himself was all he had, always. No pity, no mercy and certainly nothing from the prince he still was holding up with shaking hand and realisation he feared just as he feared him.
Touch me. Clean what's dirty, soak me up in all the insults you have for me so I can feel something beside the disgust of deeds already done. Dry me up and mold into something you deem worthy of being near.
Kiss me.
Kiss me just once.
Kiss me as hard as you hate me.
"Shut up" and kiss me.
"Come on. Tell me what you want. Or are you truly the coward others paint you as, Porter?" His name spoken in that raspy hiss made him snarl, mouth opening in a scream that rattled the glass panes in the window.
"SHUT UP!"
He hit him again. At some point, they both fell to the floor and Vincent found himself between his thighs as Porter looked at him, panting and hand hovering right over his face, ready to blow. He wanted to do it, he was so close for so long, the edge of the blunt knife turning in circles, scraping at the nerves till they ached, raw unfiltered pain making him dizzy. There he was, right where he wanted him, under his gaze, blood splattered against his face smelling so sweet and tempting.
Just an inch closer and he could lick it off, spilling apologies and empty promises of trying to be better, of pledging his loyalty not only to William but to him too. A mutt turned into the loyal dog if he wished, he would learn to keep his mouth shut and claws hidden.
Just one chance was all he needed. But he wouldn't ask.
"You're such a lovely coward Porter. Always will be." This time it was Vincent's turn to spit, saliva mixed with blood landing right at his cheek.
They were so caught up in themselves they didn't hear the others barging into the room. Alexis had to pull him off of Vincent, dragging him by the collar of his shirt, breath escaping his lungs when it dug deep into his throat, head tilted backwards. Sam was already crouching by the other vampire, checking his nose and muttering something to him, he didn't care.
He was a coward, Vincent was right. All of this just for nothing again. All of this just to prove that truly, all he ever knew was how to fight, war as his best friend, the only company he was allowed.
Pack your bag and leave, boy. There is no place for you among us. There is no place for you with him.
The first time Vincent and Lovely reunite, it's always the same thing. You will not find them apart from each other for at least 4 days. Vincent needs to grab a pencil from another room, and Lovely goes by his side to do so. If Lovely needs water, Vincent comes along too, despite it being just a few steps away. Hand in hand, they refuse to let go of each other. Day and night, they are always attached. Even when they eventually have to let go, Lovely needs to work, or Vincent has to go meet up with Sam, they message each other and count the hours until they can exist together again. They've gone through so much, Vincent's thoughts heading to places they haven't gone since his turning. Lovely's mind racing, wondering if something like the inversion will happen again while they're apart. The darkness of distance seeps in fast, the light of their connection feels incredible, and not the forces of the earth could tear them apart now.
