[ text; Fel ] yeah bro

[ text; Fel ] juts like. Lyin there.

[ text; Fel ] wild shit

RIAN FEELS LIKE HE JUST MIGHT be on fire. Every part of him that’s touching, even accidentally to Fel, is like a live wire of electricity running through a water current. Any second he might lose his mind, any moment and he just might fall over into an abyss off a cliff. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

There was something so INTIMATE about moments like these, quiet and careful and just on the edge of something else. His mind flickers back to that night…

❝ Hey now… A hand slaps to his chest, like he’s wounded, except the cowboy is grinning that way that sometimes has Fel’s cheeks heating, and he has no plan on stopping.

This time is different. Val isn't sure why - his injuries are severe, but no more than usual. His wounds have stopped bleeding, but he's sure that's more due to the unique nature of Fel's abilities than his own healing factor. He can still feel his body struggling to compensate for the damage, feels organs begin to fail.

He should be exhausted by now. He isn't. He's just weak. His body should be rebuilding itself from the inside out, cell by cell, molecule by molecule. He's not healing. Fuck. Fuuuuuckkkkk.

He attempts to climb to his feet, stumbles once, twice, eventually managing to drag himself onto the couch. He coughs. Blood splatters. Huh. Maybe he is still bleeding.

<Wanna stay? We can nap together. My bed's huge. I gotta switch to one of my demon forms, though. I'll find pants that'll fit my tail somewhere.>

" all i said was that your intent seems questionable, you're the only one jumping to nefarious. " the leap made sense of course, because her intent WAS nefarious. exactly which type of nefariousness was yet to be seen but if trace was sure of just one thing ( and, in fact, he was sure of many things ) it was that mommy's newest seat-warmer was up to no good.

not that he was complaining. dangerous and interesting was better than safe and boring ; at least in theory.

AUTOPILOT.  the  slightest  change  in  usual  tone  noted  in  an  instant,  familiar  unease  just  the  trigger  needed  for  rogue  to  put  up  wall  upon  wall  upon  wall,  a  fortress  of  safety  disguised  as  jovial  nonchalance.  first  and  foremost  she  needed  details,  a  more  thorough  understanding  of  just  what  was  going  on  -  ankha  didn't  seem  angry,  option  one  could  be  checked  off  of  her  list.  was  she  upset  in  some  other  way?  stressed,  scared,  on  the  precipice  of  memories  that  re-scar  if  a  distraction  wasn't  provided?  .  .  .  no,  and  there  went  option  two.

OPTION  THREE  IT  IS  THEN,  rogue  thought,  body  language  switching  to  match  the  decision  which  had  just  been  made  in  her  mind.  cranky  was  one  way  to  put  it,  but  rogue  was  far  too  chummy  with  option  three  to  see  it  as  anything  other  than  what  it  really  was  ───  the  start  of  disinterest,  the  first  crack  in  the  glass  of  whatever  it  was  that  they'd  been  doing  together.  and  while  [  past  panic  ]  it  could  be  said  that  a  feeling  of  disappointment  was  starting  to  surface,  more  than  anything  else  rogue  was  just  happy  that  ankha  had  done  such  a  piss  poor  job  of  hiding  how  she  felt.  the  sooner  they  could  get  to  the  end,  the  better  ───  but  before  the  end?  before  the  end  came  the  worst  of  it,  the  middle  of  an  dying  relationship  where  ugliness  was  on  full  display  and  no  punches  were  pulled.  it  was,  in  truth,  where  rogue  really  shined.

memes, accepting

damn it. the curse floats through his skull. (unsaid. unspoken.) but, thought onto himself, all the same. could she catch his internal mind thinks. had she known that an anxious kid was plotting his escape. but derailed by a game of hide-and-seek?