#slime streak

[flojector]

work is suggesting everyone should go back into office but i’ve been remote since i started years ago. im trying out the different offices and started with the nyc one.

[canonkiller]

how about we make a deal?

Vegas :) his appearance shifts between horse to horse-crocodile to Skull depending on how thoroughly he's about to fuck you over

[caramelteaa]

thinking how they would look like

rambling in tags

[nud1branch-stims]

eerrr uhh alyx vance stimboard . half life once again...

heere u go ^_^ !!!!!!!

🛠️ | 💾 | 🛠️ 💾 | ★ | 💾 🛠️ | 💾 | 🛠️

[existencebringsonlypain]

I'm sorry my roller main compatriots... I have forgone you for the Neo Sploosh-o-matic and am now leaving you guys in my dust 😔

[rusty-jester]

oughghghhh <- (Thought about making themed dnd dice abt their hyperfixations for a little too long)

[toyboxfriends]

“I just spent about 30 minutes trying to find nectar to take home for my new Flutter Slimes, only to realize once I got it back that there’s no way to grow on the farm in the game yet. I ended up just tossing it and combining them with the Phosphor Slimes.”

[techycatartist]

JDC initally only gets a jersey for the New Jersey Devils because “hey same theme!” but then he actually watches some games and is now invested in hockey, much to the confusion of everyone else at the park.

“You don’t really strike me as the type to like hockey…”

“Well, it started with a jersey…”

[munnchausenzip]

might have to stay up later 2nite because od my honework :-( i might drink some coffee tmr morning. Even though i might have ménière's disease and really shouldnt drink anything with caffiene

[rboooks]

DC x DP Fic idea: The Ghost Trio's Food Trip

Gotham has always had an overwhelming pollution problem. They accepted it- even Poison Ivy knew there wasn't much chance to undo what's been done. She merely fought for what was left- and they learned to live with the tainted water, smoke-covered sky, and sometimes spicy air.

The Gotham river wasn't the color of water anymore, it's was either black or on good days dark green.

This is how it was for generations, some saying even before the first Wayne- one of the original founders of Gotham- moved in.

Then one night, Gotham saw three glowing figures in the sky. Now, metas weren't uncommon but everyone knew Batman's stance on them. Just as they knew it would happen, , the Bats attempted to knock the figures down.

Only.....the three fought off all the Bats and won. Gotham Collective held their breath as the strange glowing people brought their Dark Knight and his team to their knees.

A young girl with pure white hair kept Robin, Spoiler and Red Robin a fair fight but ultimately she was victorious.

A young adult man with the same hair color toyed with Nightwing, Red Hood and Signal, looking to be treating their fight like a game.

But worst of all was the young teenage boy who held off Batman and Orphan like they were a annoying fly.

Once the dust settled, the teenager- the apparent leader of the trio- floated a camera from a local need crew to broadcast they defeat of the Batclan.

He is holding the camera like a phone angering his face and the two others to share the screen.

"People of Gotham! I am Phantom, with me is my brother-um what's your code name again?"

The adult man rolled his eyes "Specter"

"Really? That's what you're going with?" Phantom asked and gets smack on the back of his head by Specter.

The young girl giggles, throwing her face into the frame to shout." And I'm Wraith!"

"Come on; we can't all be another word for a ghost!" Phantom whines. "Isn't there something else you want to be called?"

Specter raises a brow, forcefully taking the camera out of Phantom's hand so that his face takes up the entire screen. He stares into the lens, allowing every citizen of Gotham to see his inhuman feature as he smirks."Call me Daddy."

"DAN, NO!" Phantom screams in horror. Wraith cackles somewhere off-screen as Specter blows the camera a kiss. He slaps Phantom's hands away from the desperate attempt to get control of the video camera. "You can be Specter, just never call yourself that again!"

"Dan! Keep away!" Wraith shouts, and the man throws the camera at her as Phantom screams in outrage.

"Give that back!"

"Come and get it!" She taunts only to, throw it back to Specter as Phantom rounds on her.

As the camera jerks back and forth, Gotham can catch glimpses of their heroes. All tied up with glowing green ropes a few feet away, looking worse for wear but awake and quiet.

The three made the mistake of allowing time to plan.

Phantom eventually regains the camera after a while. He clears his throat. "As I was saying, I am Phantom and these are my brother Specter and my sister Wraith. We have ripped open a portal to your city to place claim on your resources! Should you get in the way of our feast, you will be destroyed!"

"What resources do you want?" Red Robin asked somewhere to the right.

Phantom points to the sky, the river and certain parts of the city, dramatically announcing "The ectoplasm!"

The what?

"Today we feast!" He screams and his siblings take flight.

Wraith jumps into the sky, flying across the city in neck breaking speeds, leaving in her trail.....a streak of clear blue sky?

Specter dives head first into the river, absorbing....the black tar and trash leaing clear water?

Phantom inhales, dragging up litter off the closet streets around him. It Flys around him in glowing green, and the boy stuffs them into his mouth. He moans as he chewing. "Scrumptious"

Specter returns, carrying a giant green transparent jar of what looks like Gotham slime swishing within it. He sticks in a straw, tilting the jar in his younger brother's direction. "You have to try a drink of this! The ectoplasm is amazingly sweet!"

As Phantom takes a sip. "Awesome! It's taste just like Far Frozen sparkling water!"

"Guys! Even the air here is tasty!" Wraith announces as she flouts back down her own transparent jar holding what looks like all the smoke and dangerous gasses of Gotham city. "Take a swift!"

The two slam their heads through the glowing green, taking in a long sniff and sighing.

"Wait. Wait. Wait." Red Robin calls, gaining all three attention, "All you want is Gotham's pollution?"

"No, we want the Ectoplasm," Wraith replies, crossing her arms. "And there is nothing you can do to stop us! Nothing any of you can!"

The feed cuts then as a giant portal rips above the city, and the three siblings, fly through it, laughing evilly the entire time.

They return several times a week to "steal" from Gotham and the citizens have never seen their city so clean.

Or Danny, Dan, and Dani have made up and become actual siblings once coming out to their parents. A few quick adoptions papers later, the trio bond by exploring through various doors of the Infinite Realms.

They quickly discover that different worlds have a ton of ectoplasm just up grabs since humans don't eat it and start a food tour across the multiverse during siblings night.

Jazz is welcome, but since she can't eat ectoplasm as they can, she always has a pizza- her comfort food- waiting back at her apartment and a fun session of Dnd ready for them.

Meanwhile, the Bats don't know what type of aliens the Ghost Trio are, but they have been helping with the pollution problem and can't find it in themselves to try and stop them. Damian has never seen the bottom of Gotham River, but he enjoyed painting it after Specter "stole all the ectoplasm" from it, leaving only clean water.

He hopes they visit the beach next. Maybe there was hope for their reefs with the Ghost Trio around.

Tim and Bruce are the only ones obsessed with finding answers, everyone else cheers when the three fly by.

[were-changing-cake-vaults]

See, the thing is, Grian isn’t lying when he says that the snails aren’t his doing.

He gets why people are saying that; the timeline of him finally getting the stupid book and the snails emerging from the sea line up near-perfectly, as if they were another manic machination of his boredom. It’s also the fact that they just straight up came out of the sea, or at least should’ve- he swears up and down that the pink one shot down from the sky, he saw it with his own two eyes. But, considering he doesn’t control the sky, the pink snail cannot be his doing at the very least. And the teal one? The one that people are calling his snail? He just found it after a particularly stormy night, chilling on the docks, and he found it just so damn cute that he took it as a pet. Both of those aren’t Grian’s fault. They can’t be, by that logic.

But honestly, by now, he’s getting a little worried about the snails, in either case of his innocence with them. He’ll be the first to admit that he’s not the sanest person on the Hermitcraft server—he’s not sure who is, really, when everyone has their own things going on—particularly within the past few weeks, if the beard and book count as indication. His memory has been a little foggy for a while, so it very well could’ve been him putting snails everywhere, and he just flat-out forgot for one reason or another. Though, that doesn’t seem likely- he’s strong, but not strong enough to haul a giant snail out of the sea and onto a literal freight train, nor does he have the patience to meticulously choose snails that are sturdy enough to replace the wheels. That had to be a meticulous and pre-planned process, something Grian doesn’t really have the time for.

This leaves him with three conclusions: if it is him behind the snail acts, he’s not the only thing occupying his body. If it isn’t, well, there’s still something causing the snails to make their way through the works of Magic Mountain, and it certainly isn’t another hermit, based on their reactions. If it’s a mix of both—considering he’s found himself freeing snails from the cages Scar put them in without remembering how he got there—then the snails aren’t so cute anymore, and Grian’s just about ready to—

To—

He’s just—

Where was he?

Right. The snails. They’re not his doing, pinky promise. Grian got his book, he filled the prophecy, and he’s stopped fishing like it’s his last day on earth. The bit is over. He’s moved on- why would he beat a dead horse into the ground like that? Sure, he can still smell rot wafting from the river, but he’s Gem’s neighbor, and she’s got that whole fish horror thing going on, so it very well could be her. Nevermind the fact that they were eating her lighthouse, and she wouldn't do that to her own hard work. And sure, she came to him when a snail chose her--the way he said it would--but she was probably under the assumption that it was his, just like everyone else. It wasn’t. He’s sure it wasn’t.

The snails would explain his white-hot anger at Scar’s little cooking prank; the way Grian’s skin felt like it was burning every time he looked at the pan. How, despite knowing that his friend was just messing with him, every instinct was telling him to kill him where he stood, no mercy. How it felt like the same seething rage he felt when Scar had fished up a copy of the book weeks prior, and he’d done that very thing. And maybe, just maybe, it would explain how sometimes, on the nights where his dreams are the most vivid and gross, he wakes up in the Chamber, positioned as if in a prayer.

But if it is…

A streak of fear runs up his spine. The weather, despite his dedication to the sea released, is still stormy and grey. The water is still murky and washing slime up onto his shores. The dreams of the book haven’t stopped, despite him clutching it like a rosary on even good days. The whispers of the wind are an angry, menacing thing in his ear. He thought it would be over once he got what he wanted. He thought it would be enough to satisfy whatever the ocean needed from him.

There is a rod in his hands, he realizes. He throws it as far away as he can. It lands next to a clump of snails, who all turn to look at him with an otherworldly menace in their pitch black eyes.

Just what has he released onto his home?

[incorrect-hs-quotes]

DIRK: Let's test something. Describe your gender in a way that'll baffle cis people, but other trans and enby people will get. I'll start.

DIRK: I prefer not to be perceived by others.

ROXY: ooohhh a void w thigh high socks and a beanie

KARKAT: I DUNNO. PICK A SLUR

KANAYA: I Drank Too Much Gender Juice

SOLLUX: ii wii2h ii wa2 an ab2tract concept.

JADE: oobleck!!!! my gender is oobleck

ROSE: I am a grand, old piano. I am painted black, shining and somewhat glossy. Covered in vines holding beautiful, golden flowers, I sit in the middle of a forest; forgotten, yet not lost. A cat sits atop me, staring into the distance with a glare in its tiny, marble eyes. The sun lays itself on top of my base in streaks, like looking through swaying, almost open blinds. I am a grand, old piano.

DAVEPETA: B33 < seven goblins in a trench coat, each with a diffurent hypurrfixation

HAL: David Bowie, as played by Tilda Swinton.

NEPETA: :33 < none gender with left boygirl X33

FEFERI: A s)(apes)(ifting tentacle monster t)(at takes t)(e form of your gay aunt's wife!! 38)

CALLIOPE: if gender is a performance, then mine is the cUrtains which are drawn in to block stagehands switching props and the backdrop.

JANE: I'm a girl in a man way...

DAVE: i dont know what im doing leave me alone

CALIBORN: BOOBY MCBEARDY FACE.

DAVESPRITE: rooster

ERIDAN: im all the genders but also none of the genders and evverything i wwear is drag and evvery crush i havve is gay

EQUIUS: D --> If Gerard Way was a sport bike

TAVROS: wHEN YOU ORDER A MAN FROM wISH,

VRISKA: I'm genderfluid 8ut not in a "sometimes a girl, sometimes a 8oy" way. Sometimes my gender is Wesley from Princess 8ride, a sexy cow8oy, pir8 temptress, greasy gamer entity.

GAMZEE: An OlD vEnDiNg MaChInE tHaT oNlY gIvEs YoU nIcKeLoDeOn SlImE aNd GrApE sOdA :o)

JAKE: I want to be able to see my gender in the forest after weeks of camping and get scared away. Then the next night wander into the forest searching for it again but disappear without a trace. Like those horror movies you watch sometimes you know?

JOHN: i'm a person?

ERISOL: ii think of gender a2 iicky 2tuff that ii dont wwant on me, attached twwo me. that2 another wway of 2ayiin i dont wwant gendered terms twwo define me. iim agender

JASPROSE: No matter who you are, if you have sex with me, it's gay!!

ARADIA: i d0 n0t exist 0u0

TEREZI: BOWL1NG 4LL3Y C4RP3T

[yanderenightmare]

im with anon, i'll take 500 words or less! anything you have of nasty shigaraki to spare, i'll gladly take with a smile:) also, kinda unrelated, but maybe not ;) iv'e never seen you do soulmate aus?

BNHA ! IMAGINE

Shigaraki Tomura x darling

I love soulmate aus! But only when I give them my own awful unromantic spin. 

TW: soulmate au, yandere, implied noncon/dubcon

I like to think the words written on your arm are “Why aren’t you dead?” and the fear you felt in your heart when you first heard them being spoken – lying naked in the decay of a city Tomura had just leveled with the single touch of his fingertips. Followed shortly by the sound of your voice cracking into a scream and a cry when you cough up those few pitiful words written on his arm – “No, please, no!”

I like to think Tomura hates you for making him go through his entire life, knowing those were the first words his soulmate would ever say to him – and how he’s going to torture you for it by forcing you into doing nightmarish versions of all those romantic clichés soulmates usually do.

You try to run even knowing how silly it was, crawling barefoot over sharp crumbling debris with your heart in your throat. He grabs you with ease and takes you home – each wrist and ankle tied tight to the other, a piece of ripped cloth gagging you, and a sack pulled over your head – your naked skin dusty with ashes of people and buildings laid to waste while he holds you in a bridal carry.

You were thrown on the bed with a startled yelp, bouncing on the springy mattress for a moment before stilling and sinking – swearing that the soft feel of it was moist and clammy to the touch, clinging to your skin while slowly swallowing you -and stuffy as though a million spores had just burst upon your impact, spewing out a thick fermented stench that stuck in your throat like a coat of slime.

You heard a door being locked and a key being hidden before feeling his presence crawl over you again where you lay, tied up and shaking. 

Your hood disintegrated a moment later, leaving you to stare up into those beady red eyes.

“Psh-” He scoffed, having cast a glance over your face, from the teary streaks running through the ashy dust on your cheeks to the shifty whimpers leaving your lips. “Who would’ve guessed my soulmate would be a pretty thing like you?” 

You swore it sounded less like a compliment and more like a jeer while his dry lips further cracked when stretched over the horrid smile that soon broke across his face – sharp like jagged shards of glass you feared would cut you. You shriveled in sight of it, feeling all types of gross and all types of dread twisting your gut as his hand, pale and dry like the rest of him yet unexpectedly warm, started to touch.

Your eyes swiveled with dread, spinning while eerily watching him and how his own two followed the path of his hand. Beginning at your neck in slow fascinated strokes – all five fingers with crass fissures scratching down your jugular and collarbones, making your breath hitch. Drawing down your body with a deepening sense of ownership.

And all you were left to do was chew the cloth spreading your teeth and lips, wettening it with pitiful whimpers and cries. Hands wringing pointlessly, charred and aching from the strict bonds keeping them locked snug beneath you.

A sudden giggle sprung from him then. A dry type of snicker that came from somewhere raspy deep in his lungs. Almost sounding painful if it weren’t for the glistering gleam of something terribly perverted pooling in his eyes – and the tongue that suddenly swept up your face.

“Fate can be such a sweet bitch, can’t it?”

[heartbrkr]

Hi! Can I please request a haechan one where reader’s sick and he has to take care of them? it can be f2l or established relationship, any is fine :))) thank you!

REQUEST You're sick and you forget to tell Haechan. He has his ways of finding out.

PAIRING lee haechan x gender neutral!reader

GENRE established relationship, sick fic, fluff, very slight angst if you look closer

WORD COUNT 1k

AUTHOR’S NOTE sorry this took me a while! i was supposed to write.. like.. only 800 words, but i clearly got carried away. enjoy! (not proofread)

MASTERLIST

You’ve given up trying to balance the mucus in your nose by shifting from right to left over and over again. Lying on your back, you guess it’ll be better to clog your throat with snot instead of fishing around for a stray tissue used an hour ago. You’ll build a glob of slime at the back of your throat until you can spit it out in one go; blowing your nose every other minute has made your columella sensitive and red with irritation.

The sickness has reached the extent that checking your phone for a split second could burn a rectangular hole through your head. You had no idea it was even a flu and a fever before Seoyeon had stuck a thermometer under your tongue the other morning.

Two rapid knocks echo throughout your still, dim room. Speak— well, think— of the devil. “Y/N! It’s three. You haven’t left your room yet!” You let out a groan, followed by a cough, in response, knowing she won't hear. You still get annoyed that she doesn’t. With how stagnant your room is, you could vaguely hear your flatmate sigh on the other side, followed by a suit yourself and fading footsteps.

Barely thirty minutes pass before someone knocks on your door again; it’s gentler than the one from earlier. But they all sound the same to you and your throbbing head.

“Seoyeon, go away.” You croak through your rusty throat, mean-intent still evident. You roll over to unceremoniously spit into the strategically put trash can by your bedside and wipe any excess saliva with the closest napkin.

You assume the recipient of your words has gotten the message, but they invite themself inside anyway. “Oh, she wasn’t kidding when she said your room is stuffy.” A voice that belonged to a man spoke. Fear almost washed over you before you realized it was your boyfriend… that you accidentally ignored when your illness got worse. Shit. You feel yourself getting worse than a few minutes ago.

Haechan’s outline strides over to draw your curtains open and you hide under the duvet before a streak of sun can meet your body. The creaking of the windows opening is muted. With your temporarily weakened physique, you’re no match against Haechan’s sudden tug at the blanket you clung onto to cover yourself. “No! Haechan, give it back!”

He pauses for a moment, and you take the chance to pull it back up. Your victory is short lived, however. “I would, but you ghosted me, so no blanket for you!” 

Now bare (you’re exaggerating; you still have your slightly sweaty pajamas on) to your partner’s sight, you pathetically put a pillow on your face so you don’t have to see his reaction. You mumble a halfhearted apology under it.

“I can’t hear you, babe. Let me see your pretty face please.”

“It isn’t when it’s covered in snot and sweat.” He can kind of hear the essence of what you said and frowns to himself.

“C’mon. I won’t make fun of you.” 

It takes you some seconds to contemplate it, but you groggily try to sit up, one arm still holding the cushion to your face while the other supports your weight and balance. You’re startled when another pair of hands help you up and you hear Haechan chuckle. You whine. “You said you won’t laugh!”

He intentionally ignores your remark, going back to the topic at hand. “Why did I have to find out through your roommate that you were sick?”

The tension adds to the already stuffy environment you’ve built up the past few days. It’s suffocating, so you lower the pillow down to your lap. Your head hangs immediately and you catch Haechan through your peripheral vision standing on the right side of your bed, his arms crossed against his chest.

“It’s… I don't know. I’m also sensitive-er. Doesn’t taking care of your partner of barely six months sound too intimate?” You utter while looking down at the simple floral patterned pillowcase.

“Not necessarily. Though I do think that should be the last thing on your mind when you look like you’re dying.”

At that, you finally turn to look at him for the first time this week, and your boyfriend really doesn’t mind your unruly head of hair or fully flushed features. His face melts in fondness and worriedness. “There you are,” he looks a little sullen before continuing. You can tell he’s trying his best to lessen it. “Y’know, I was worried I did something wrong. Thought you were planning to peter out of this relationship or whatever.”

This revelation alarms you, your head starts to spin with how abruptly you shook your head. You lift a hand up to cover your eyes. In your best attempt, you respond weakly. “I would never! I really like you… I guess. If anything, I think you’d try to peter out on purpose first.” He takes a seat in front of you and puts a comforting hand on your thigh. “Hey, don’t be like that. We’re working on our problems together, remember?” You solemnly nod.

“Also, what do you mean, you guess you like me?! Say it like you mean it!”

You laugh at him heartily until it transitions to a fit of thick coughs, immediately looking the other way to avoid giving Haechan whatever sickness you have. He looks like he’s about to start tearing up with the way he’s snickering back. You push him and clear your throat before speaking again. “Thanks for coming. But you should leave.”

Immune to your straightforward wording, he ignores you and points at the new paper bags you failed to notice on your bedside. He stands to rummage through them to show you his haul. “Let's eat! I got us takeout. And more meds. I also refilled your water before coming in here.”

You shield your face away from the world once more to hide any hint of flusteredness caused by Haechan. He’s not having it, prying away your palms to give you a playful grin.

“Thank you, Haechan.”

“I love you, Y/N.” You hit yourself with a pillow again.

[mirakurutaimu]

have you ever talked about the origins of your sona/her design inspirations before? ive always really loved her design and i like hearing about how nice character designs come to be

here is the full tale

she started off as a mere picrew years ago

and then people drew fanart of that design whenever i started streaming (like this retro mimi model @catastrothy made)

and then at some point i thought "hm wouldn't it be cool if i paid an artist to make her design better" and then i approached noted good local artist @cnmchn and we went back and forth on some stuff and She were born proper

here is some other behind the scenez

hair accessories were considered at one point but then we thought of the ミ earrings and i just colored in one of her streaks black lmao

final design ended up using a combination of outfit elements from our two examples, rip to alt universe skirt spats and kneesocks short braid loose hoodie long shirt ribs mimi (she will be missed) (i should draw that sometime)

anyways thats all. thats da mimi roundup. sure hope read mores function on this site

edit: i forgot to mention design inspirations.

uh. riamu failgirl, kumbhira granblue, we almost stole astolfo's haircut sans hair vents (though I think it was actually edward elric who made me think 'braid'), vampy granblue. as for the tenets of her design i just wanted a cute, colorful, energetic, annoying, smug, punchable little beast to match my vibe. her fashion sense is like the complete opposite of mine tho lmao this little freak dresses in this skimpy summery crop top and short shorts getup and shit meanwhile i'm a jeans-all-year and longsleeves/hoodie at all times kinda bitch. at least she still melts in the heat like i do

anyways i figure i may as well dump some silly canon stuff here too:

she's a being from what she says is 'the hell that froze over' (because it sounds cool), in actuality it's probably something more like a frozen-over planet with some level of aquatic life under the ice.

at a base level, she's kinda like... if a slimegirl was a crab? like, she's not made out of slime it's still Meat Stuff but it's definitely amorphous and should usually be contained within a thick carapace on the exterior (so when fully shelled, lookin like some kinda scary lookin pointy bone demon). she claims to have lost hers or that it hasn't grown in yet or some such (hence she only has the horn covering)

anyways. her inside meat being amorphous = limited shapeshifting ability, so she somehow ended up on Earth and is posing as a humanoid and having a ton of fun eating and smoking and breaking stuff. but she still fuckin' hates the sun and heat

other fun facts:

loves meat, milk, sweet stuff, clothes, sleeping, swimming, video james (bad at them), money

hates spicy stuff, hot weather, working, people as stubborn as she is, waiting

i'm torn on when her birthday should be. officially it's technically 5/21, but 3/3 would be cute...

believes drinking milk will help grow her shell in

has a strong sixth sense due to having similar organic function to ampullae of lorenzini

durable. if you punch her it caves in like some monkey d luffy shit

[inkykeiji]

omg i’m still thinking about vampire niichannnn ughh

him keeping reader captive on his lap while he sucks blood from different parts of his body. and he keeps getting more and more drunk off of her meanwhile her body becomes so limp she can barely maintain a position without him holding her still and once he notices how languid her body is, he then decides to fuck her……ahhh i feel like i’m in high school watching vampire diaries again ;) (god the acting in that was horrendous lmao)

i am hOLLERING FROM THE ROOFTOPS ANONNNN this is such a fucking concept!!! 

tw: stepcest, blood, vampire big bro, noncon words: 830

when he feels you go lax, soft and droopy in his lap as your bones turn pliable beneath his lips, he knows he should stop. 

when he feels your pulse turn faint in your veins, barely a fluttering against his tongue, he really knows he should stop. 

so he does, reluctantly pulls his crimson slicked mouth from your flesh, sealing his newest wound with a thick salve of saliva, tinged a watery pink. you slump forward the moment his teeth aren’t holding you in place, and his head quirks curiously.

looks like he’s got himself a little dolly. 

something devious smears across his face, something sinister unfurling dark and sticky in his stomach. 

oh, let’s play, dolly. 

he knows he should probably bandage your wounds before he does anything else—you’re still bleeding profusely, ribbons of scarlet cascading down supple skin, oozing slow but steady from the deep little indents scattered across your form. 

but he just can’t help it, rearranging your slack body on your pale pink sheets—thighs spread, arms above your head, crossed loosely at the wrists—and swiping two fingers through a stream of thick blood, collecting it on the pads before smearing it along his cock, a crude form of lube. 

time’s pretty tight, all things considered—you could technically die on him in any minute with how much blood-loss you’ve sustained, but that’s a risk his lust-dazed brain is willing to take—and he doesn’t have a moment to prep you properly. 

not that he would, either way. 

another messy slather of scarlet along his shaft and then he’s ramming his cock into you in one sharp, quick, hard thrust, the vicious motion jostling your limp body up the mattress. 

it isn’t as fun when you’re not crying and squirming beneath him, nails sinking into his shoulders and tearing (a futile effort, but it’s cute that you try), limbs writhing in opposition as you try to shove at his shoulders or kick at his hips (so precious that you think you’d ever be strong enough to achieve such a feat). 

it isn’t as fun when your sobs of protest don’t turn into squeals of pleasure, when your struggling doesn’t turn into clinging, suddenly desperate as your legs knot around his waist and your pelvis rolls up to meet his own, begging him with sugary sweet gasps of nii-chan, nii-chan, nii-chan!—but he’ll take what he can get. 

because even in the absence of all of his favourite things, he still cums quite quick, the scent of your blood and the feeling of it on his skin—silk and slime—an intoxicating mixture, strokes of carmine smeared across toned muscle and pale linen.

it’s almost artful in a way, how he paints your body in your combined fluids, red and white, pearl and crimson, swirling together to create an iridescent pink. 

your favourite colour, isn’t it? he thinks it might be on the verge of becoming his favourite colour, too. 

a wheeze scrapes at your throat, a thick pool of saliva gurgling on the back of your tongue and he’s drawn back to the present moment, your wounds still gently weeping. 

christ, he nearly whines to himself, fingers twitching, itching to touch. you look so goddamn pretty covered in your own blood, engraved with molds of your big brother’s mouth—replicas of all thirty-two teeth stamped thoughtfully into shoulders and wrists and thighs, stained a deep, grotesque purple—and glazed with your big brother’s cream, splattered in masterful streaks across soft skin. 

pretty and perfect and all for him, made by him, just for him.

when you finally wake, half-delirious and head stuffed with fog, you wake to your big brother studiously tending to your wounds, deft fingers conscientious as they work—yet there is a certain carelessness to it, too; an ease, an expertise, the type that develops with extensive experience.

he’s done this before. 

patches of white litter your skin, taped tightly over the sketches of his mouth. a hiss slips from between clenched teeth as you push yourself onto your elbows, blood blooming through cotton. 

“be careful,” your older brother chides, not looking up from his task, nostrils twitching slightly. “you’ll tear open your wounds again; they were just beginning to clot.” 

whining a little, your brow crumples in sleep-tinged confusion, lifting your heavy limbs experimentally, coating of dried cum cracking with the motion. some bites are deeper than others, some so painful it hurts to move the muscle they’ve been carved into at all, soft fingers prodding delicately around the puffy gauze, procuring a sharp gasp from your mouth, face puckering with pain.

“it’s good you’re awake,” he says, nonchalant as he presses another bandage over a wound on your ankle—fresh, still exuding dribbles of crimson. glancing up through a curtain of hair, his stare finds yours, crystal and bright. “i thought you might never wake up.” 

the words are chuckled, dyed with lighthearted amusement, but the gleam in his eyes holds a shard of truth to it.