#soiiledblood

     there’s a moment where she yelps slightly and chucks her phone onto the floor. a hand flying over her eyes as Bella leans back against her bed. WHY —- WHY THIS ? why now ? Bella’s seen it before … of course she has, but it’s still a shock. especially when you weren’t … AREN’T a couple. she rolls her eyes and slides off her bed, planting her butt on the floor and picks up her phone.     [ text: damien ] please for the love of god tell me     [ text: damien ] these were a slip of the finger     [ text: damien ] and not actually meant for me, Rice.

the neighborhood meme || not accepting { @soiiledblood }

         he sounded rather confident, tone brooked no arguments not that any were to be forthcoming. simple matter of fact that had been and always would be, and never brought into question. but perhaps there was something behind the words - a subtle fish for confirmation that now they were so close, SO CLOSE, to their goal, whether or not things were and would remain the same. validation. and as hal looks over his shoulder, locks eyes with the blue of his brother’s, perhaps he hadn’t been so vocal in his affection quite so much lately, mind focused far more on the task at hand. in the face of it, hal thought it rather amusing. as if that could cover the breadth of his feelings for the man before him, such a simple phrase. in his opinion there never would be words that would do justice to how deeply he loves deimos, that at his core - perhaps he was BORN to love him. the bond between twins was always strong among their kind ( the unbreakable ties that bound the goddess of the hunt and the god of the sun together, a mirror image of themselves ), far stronger than parent and child given the long history of consuming their own young that ran in the family. 

             in one breath, deep and yet bordering on exasperation with the exhale, steps take him across the room. he has his hands a light press at the base of damien’s throat - thumbs brushing slow and loving against the softness of the skin there, fingers scraping the steady pulse beneath. he hopes his gaze conveys what he wants, muted adoration poured bare in the darkness of them. he’d do anything for his brother, he has - declared war against the very HEAVENS, drenched himself in the blood of innocents and sinners alike. all for deimos. it was agony, all those years apart, and guilt gnaws sharply under his ribs for failing him for so long.

                    ❝ not an entirely inaccurate observation. ❞

              and he tilts his face closer, resists the urge to raise himself onto his bared toes to close the height between them, buries his nose in the curve of damien’s jaw and simply breathes. inhales the familiar welcoming scent of him, the tang of blood and fire and TERROR beneath thin layer of skin. intoxicating power in veins. lips brush the pulse above his fingers, lingers there long enough to taste, before drawing away to simply rest his forehead against his twin’s collarbone. a quiet hum escapes him.

          oh there’s a quiet simmer of rage that lingered beneath his skin, righteous and victorious, to see that former god reduced to such a pitiful figure before them. crows in his blood as dark eyes took in the handy work of his brother, crimson staining the floor, the walls, their clothes - the very AIR around them thick with the sweet scent of it. it was beautiful work. intoxicating, to watch damien rip into the once powerful being with blissful abandon, rapt as he’d cut the other down bit by bit - reveled in the begging, the pleading, the CRYING for mercy. but there was no such thing, not anymore. not in the face of their crusade. and he’d been prepared to take the final blow, fingers itched and twirled with his own blade, that low buzz of excitement ever present at the thought of a fresh kill.

             but his warning is unheeded, jaw clenched painfully tight as the rage seared his blood, clawed at his chest in a bright flare of spiteful agony. for one, brief moment, hal wants nothing more than to sink the blade in his hand, into the turned back of his brother - injustice, for having his vengeance snatched from him. but it is gone within a moment. forgiven. they were in this together after all, could not be greedy or possessive with their goal. and he is merely resigned when his dark gaze meets his twin’s.

        and he is emboldened with those precious uttered words, like sweet relief dripping from the lips of his brother. for so long, too long, they’d sat in the shadows of their ‘betters’ - under appreciated, shunned, ridiculed and taunted. but no longer. no longer. with the death blow to hades taken with his own hands ( hands that didn’t shake, didn’t hesitate, bathed themselves in blood and TORE into the god at his feet ), with that, he’d sparked a war. a war their father would never forget. a crusade of revenge and malice that the king of them all himself would feel to his core. they will all pay, for taking deimos away from him, for making him watch year after year as his own flesh and blood, the twin of his soul, reduced to nothing but a MORTAL. ripped from his side. left him alone and forgotten. zeus would pay with the blood of his loved ones, that much phobos was sure of. and now, now with his brother finally at his side again ( truly at his side, recognition and adoration in those bright eyes once more ), they would bring the kingdom of the gods to its knees, kicking and screaming. 

          he’d been cautious and weary of the process of regaining deimos’ memories, anxious that perhaps his brother wouldn’t agree - would scorn him too after all this time, for being quite so bloodthirsty. and it was all unfounded. and pride burns hot in his chest, pride and affection as he reached towards his twin. hand gentle against the curve of deimos’ jaw, thumb caught on the sharp jut of it. and oh, there is that THRUM of belonging at his core once more.

                  his drink was a SILLY THING forgotten from him ; after all it was but the seventh of a long row of shots taken rather carelessly -- he fumbles for a moment, struggling to find PURCHASE on a floor that seemed to move out under shaking legs. when he finally TRIPS, he falls into the man and CLINGS, laughing a SWEETENED SOUND not many people heard out of him. his breath smells of the poison he had drank, fingers TREMBLING from such consumption, voice slurred yet no less soft spoken. 

FULLER HOUSE SENTENCE STARTERS