Okay no. The sounds of bones snapping and cracking; how the joints and fragments of bone would come undone and air popping from between appendages sounded like a motherfucking symphony to his ears.
He laughed, obviously, at this, and soon enough he releases the summoner's appendage. He wants to corner him and ruin him, but instead of delving a hand inside of his gut and play with innards, his claws clasp underneath his jaw line. it's close enough for the bloodied saliva to hit him point blank at the side of his cheek, and that's just enough proximity where his tongue can emerge from his mouth and slide along the thick fluid.
then, the other lowblood returns, and the highblood only grins to himself. ] YOU SHOULD HAVE MOTHERFUCKING LEFT, sister. You, you have no clue in your motherfucking think pan, MOTHERFUCKING DO YOU?
[ Juggling both lowbloods, the highblood slides his tongue along the summoner's neck before shoving him back, and once he turns his direction to aradia, his grin is wide with all lips and teeth, and his words are deep and playfully venomous. ] DO YOU WANT TO KNOW, what a motherfucker like me, CAN PUT IN THAT MOTHERFUCKING THINK PAN OF YOURS.
Tonight, sister. TONIGHT YOU'LL GET THE MOTHERFUCKING SWEETEST OF NIGHTMARES. [ :o) ]
[His jaw tightens when he feels the hand on his face, because as said? Christ this stupid fuck's hands, and soon an audible shudder and disgusted raise of his lip when he sees the Highblood lick the saliva and brown blood from his cheek, squinting his eyes in dismay. But this dismay is nothing compared to how he feels when he hears that flap of wing and the familiar voice of Aradia as she yells down to them. Lysunder's disgusted sneer turns into an expression of heated anger, eyes darting up to her.]
GET OUT OF HERE! DO YOU HAVE A DEATH WISH CHILD!? I'LL BE FI-eeeeeehhhww...
[The tongue slides over his neck and he shakes, shoulders hunching forward and eyelids fluttering. Summoner catches himself as he slides back, having been shoved, and immediately takes a deep breath, recovering from the feeling of being lic- no okay, not... Not even going to think about it. Instead he jerks his attention to Aradia again, scowling as he starts commune.]
[Birds. Hope Aradia doesn't have a problem with birds. Because a heck of a lot of them are going to fly around her and obscure her from view, trying to move her away from them, being annoying and loud.]
Lowblood child, this is not yours to fight, your hands haven't known such a thing yet.
[Another growl before looking to the Highblood who has... turned. Summoner's hand on his lance curls around it tight, blood rushing to his face, heart beating fast. Barely a blink of time would pass before he's jabbed forward, slamming his lance straight towards the Highblood's torso.]
Y-y-wh-- [WHAT. N-Nightmares what? That's not going to set well with her at all, but the only reason that she was even looking as concerned as she is was because of the situation she had put her friend in. Also like hell if she's sleeping tonight.]
[She wanted to help. She really wanted to help.
But before she could actually do anything, wings obscured her vision. So many fucking wings. She hissed silently to herself, and lifted back a bit as she floated backwards. She needed to help, she could help, but she wasn't given the chance to help like she wanted to.
This wasn't going to happen this time. She didn't even get to try to freeze him, she was going to let down her friends. Seriously, this is complete bull to her.
Hissing a soft curse to herself, she flew away from the birds, and away from the two trolls. This is completely stupid and she didn't appreciate this at all. She really hoped Lysunder was going to get his ass out of here... ]
[ She had no motherfucking clue that was going to infect her think pan and break it motherfucking wide. Did she? That sure as hell brought a smile to the clown's face upon realization that these child-trolls were -- clearly -- motherfucking weak. The most they could do was serve entertainment, just as the cocktail of blood and saliva that seeped in the hotness of his mouth served to cease the craving of his own depravity. The damp flesh of the Summoner's neck and shoulder soon enough glossed over with a hot breath.
And then, there was a harsh, barking laughter when the birds delved forth to surround the low-blood grub to serve as saviors to lead her from where she was misguided.
To motherfucking bad that the Highblood would be seeing her in her dreams. What a motherfucking shame that he will chucklevoodoo her. ] TRYING TO MOTHERFUCKING PROTECT HER, SUMMONER? [ Lips were spread ear-to-ear when large fingers coiled around his shirt-front; his breath a heavy metallic scent of blood as he hissed between gritted teeth. ]
Too motherfucking late, brother. THAT SISTER IS GOING TO FEEL SOME MOTHERFUCKING HONKS ALL UP IN HER THINK PAN. [ Lets pull the Summoner a little close, why don't we. ] Do you want the same motherfucking treatment? - I know what you motherfucking fear. [ A thoughtful pause. ] No, brother. I HAVE MOTHERFUCKING PLENTY IN THIS BROTHER'S THINK PAN OF WHAT TO DO TO YOU.
[ Between the preaching and the warmth that was barely separated by their proximity, the Highblood suddenly felt the insides of his meat spliced.
The long instrument of the lance had pierced and impaled; motherfucking missing his pump biscuit and backbone. He grunted in pain nonetheless, but who ever said that sadomasochism wasn't a two-bladed sword. With the impalement entertaining through his back and exiting from his front, it was with ease that the Highblood pried himself from the weapon -- a slick squelch of liquid emitted from his gut, the cooling air a welcomed relief that soothed the exposed organs as he turned around.
A large fist coiled around the lance, and he dragged himself closer -- directing the tip of the weapon into the entrance of the already-existent wound, digging the lance further inside and exiting him. The thick explosion of blood that drooled from the gaping wound died down into thin droplets, and his hands were smothered in his own blood.
Visceral indigo splattered along them both, and the Highblood's hands reached for each side of the Summoner's skull, thumbs smearing the purple blood along lips. ] How does it motherfucking feel. BEING THIS MOTHERFUCKING CLOSE, and you...you can't motherfucking even aim. HAHAHAHA, brother... [ His grasp tightened. ] You were motherfucking close, kicking up my motherfucking wicked death. AND WHAT DO YOU MOTHERFUCKING DO...
[ No. Summoner didn't miss shit, he hit those black feelings inside of the Highblood hard enough that they would be leaking ink. ]
Look... we're...doing that thing again, bro...redbullrenegadeDecember 10 2011, 14:10:02 UTC
[Thank god Aradia was out of here... He'd speak to her later about this little... whatever this was. Aradia being just, not very intelligent at all? She seemed like such a smart kid, hopefully... this wouldn't happen again. Unfortunately it probably wasn't because of this indigo's powers. Fuck, having Aradia hit with that is not a good thing, hopefully... it won't be too bad. By this time he was unfortunately aware of what indigos could do, hey, everyone at his age was probably hit by those crazy powers, he knew he even was as well. Thankfully Lysunder managed to cope with them some how, but a thirteen year old kid getting hit by the chucklevoodoos of a full grown indigo troll? ...He really was worried about Aradia. But as long as she was safe, right?]
[Summoner's mind went blank when he felt the lance sink into Highblood's gut and he couldn't--
--believe how good that made him feel.]
[Ew, why, why did that feel good?!]
[Hurting people never felt good. Ugh, sick, why... And then he watched in horror as Highblood moved off his lance and then back onto it. He felt through the lance, into his palms, as the highblood sunk onto the weapon, feeling the pressure quake to the lance's hilt. Lysunder's eyes widened as he watched a macabre waterfall of blood leak over the weapon to the ground, his nose filling with the scent of blood. God, he wasn't sure he'd ever get that scent out, it stained the inside of his nose and mouth, coating it in this film. It was terrible and not all at the same time. Fuck, why was he salivating? This was so ...so uncomfortable. Summoner clenched his teeth, face going orange with how hard her face curled into a scowl.]
[A bit of shock when he realized what the Highblood was doing, eyebrows furrowing. His felt the blood touch his lips and the liquid feel of it on his skin made him quickly lick it off, jerking and shaking his head when he finally tasted it. Not gonna think about how it tasted, just stop, this is so sick. What is WRONG with this sick fuck!?]
The the fuck do y-y... YOU WANT?! To kill?! TOO BAD. I stopped that, DONE. Just f-fuck! I swear by Signless I'm going to kill you!
[Summoner curses, spitting and barking in the other's direction, jerking his hands back to try and pull the lance out of him. Why didn't he aim for his heart? What the hell!? Then he'd be gone, he wouldn't have to deal with him anymore! Wouldn't have to deal with his sick twisted jokes and his horribly bastardized views of flirting, he'd be gone and he'd be rid of--
--A completely worthy opponent.]
[His eyes slim, curling his lips tight over his teeth.]
W-w-. We're done here, Chucklefuck.
[Another jerk of his lance, trying to pry it out, hearing that lurching noise inside of the other's gut, making his own roll and curl uneasily. He needed to get out of here. he needed to get away from him, this, everything.]
not my faultjugglatesDecember 15 2011, 12:32:07 UTC
[ Yeah. Thank fuck that Aradia was outta here, because the moment that the Highblood widened the gaping wound that was enlarged through out his innards and ripping through his ribcage was the moment the heavy-scented blood and the loud ear-ripping squelch emerged. The gore was cascading from the enlarged wound. That poor little fucker that flew off, the last fucking thing she had to worry about was the Summoner turning submissive underneath his own claws, not when her own think pan was getting torn open by heebie-jeebies and flooded with things that went motherfucking bump in the night. That little bitch all soaked in red cloth and red blood, she'd fucking die - it just wasn't fucking today, and when she was infected with enough fear that could curl in on itself...
...
:o)
Even he could feel the way Summoner's heart throbbed inside of that skinny little motherfucking ribcage. The Highblood was a motherfucking sadomasochist, if the Summoner was surprised that the grunts and groans that emerged from the Highblood's mouth came out as low, pleasurable chuckles, then he was out of his fucking mind.
Just as he was out of his fucking mind when the indigo could notice the trickles of thick fluid that slid down the sides of the Summoner's mouth. It was motherfucking mirrored, but instead of saliva that slid down the side of the Highblood's mouth, it was blood. How did it motherfucking feel for the orange-blood to get a motherfucking taste of hatred in his fucking heart. The Highblood didn't need to stick his hand inside of the Summoner to wrench out to confirm that there was a heavy hot heat of hate that weighed down the atmosphere. Not when he motherfucking felt it too.
The only difference between them, however, was that the Summoner was ashamed of this shit, and the Highblood? He would bask in this motherfucking hate and drink it down like it was elixir.
Engrossed hand still coiled around the base of the lance; he could pull himself closer until they were barely a few inches away, and he did. The ripping of his own flesh and the crackling of armor was nothing in comparison to the way the Highblood stared down at the lowblood, with that grind of his, and the cocktail of saliva and blood that seeped from between a wide grin, and the droplets splattered when he laughed, when his body vibrated with hysteria. ]
MOTHERFUCKING PUTTING YOUR FAITH IN THE WRONG MOTHERFUCKING PLACE. [ Thumbs underneath the lowblood's jaw, claws digging in as he pulled the other closer. A macabre portrait of romance, this must have fucking looked like, and to make it all the more grotesque was how the Highblood's tongue slid from between the barrier of his own fangs to slide along the lingering indigo fluid of his own blood that clung to the Summoner's black lips. ]
...Brother. You're not motherfucking going anywhere. HAHAHA DO YOU MOTHERFUCKING THINK. Do you motherfucking think. A BROTHER WOULD LET YOU RUN AWAY LIKE THIS. Does...a brother even motherfucking think!?
[ The more the Summoner tugged at the lance, the more it opened the wound, the more blood formed rivets down the Highblood's torso.
Right now, he was enjoying this. He was motherfucking enjoying this resistance the Summoner showed when his own impulses were purely primal; from between the hand that curled around the Summoner's own that was placed on the lance (Motherfucking hurt him more, together. Delusional fuck.) to how he leaned in and let the hot breath of his exhales caress the shell of the lowblood's ear. ]
Why are you in a motherfucking hurry. DON'T YOU WANT TO MOTHERFUCKING END THIS BROTHER?
[Fuck you; his heart beat like that because this was a fight and nothing more, his hands could feel the pressure on the lance, the scent of blood was familiar, the adrenaline rush familiar, the sounds of pain-- even if they were laced with pleasure-- were familiar. It was like he was home again, like he wasn't in the dream land that would make him forget about everything. The feeling of digging his lance into another person made his heart ache for home, Summoner feared that this place would... be too good to him, that it would make him never want to leave. And then this sick fuck shows up and Lysunder feels the war again, feels it dripping over him like that wound dripped indigo to the ground. So fuck you, this isn't like that, he doesn't... feel anything like that. It's the situation, not the person.]
[Even if it's fucking thrilling to sink his weapon deep into this particular subjugglator, THE subjugglator, the leader of those drooling, manic psychos.]
[Summoner's tongue flicked out to lick his lip, pulling in the moisture there, not wanting to risk moving a hand up to wipe it, but his eyes didn't move-- glued to the throbbing wound only inches from him. His vision almost blurred, mind falling into a haze with how poignant the smell was that filled the air. He drifted off enough to jump when he felt the hands grip under his face, thumbs to his jaw line, stinging from claws digging into flesh. The smell was even more intense now that blood covered hands were so close-- not to mention when that face was right in his.]
[Ugh, why the fuck did this indick have to get so close? The orange blood tried jerking back, grip on his face only tightening, and a shiver ran through his spine when a thick, wet organ moved over his lips. Another wave of that blood scent curled into his nostrils, along with the heavy smell of death and decay. He felt like vomiting but his mouth only salivated more, wings frantically flapping behind him as if they could help him escape this bastard's grip.]
How many times do I have to tell y-y-y-FUCK-- you stupid bastards?!
[A snarl, dipping his head down a little, forehead almost touching the painted flesh of the Grandhighblood's brow.]
I'm NOT-
[Hands on the lance hilt curl, drilling the weapon in deeper, spiraling it into the gore of the Highblood's torso. A lurching wet sound fills the air, making Summoner's heart pound and his gut squeeze.]
YOUR BROTHER!
[Again he jerks the lance, part of his mind knowing this was only going to please the other more, but that part was being droned about by another voice screaming to hurt this stupid fuck. He wanted to hear those chuckles turn to screams, more pain than pleasure, even if he had no idea how far he had to go to get that.]
[Hand tightened as huge fingers curled around his own, letting Summoner really compare the size different between either's hand and digits fully. He snarled, eyes jerking up to the Highblood to stare deep, glaring, chest rising and falling fast, trying to steady his breathing. He wanted to end this, he did, but, if he 'ended' this, that would mean killing the only thing that really reminded him of his war... of their war. And the fact that the other would show up again here-- even after death-- didn't register in Lysunder's mind now. Summoner was too in the moment, too pissed.]
WHOOPS INDEEDYjugglatesDecember 15 2011, 14:06:06 UTC
[ Fuck...him? Brother, what the Highblood is feeling right now -- with the motherfucking lance lodge deeply in his motherfucking gut and how he felt his nerves run on acid for this deep raw motherfucking hate that circulated through him -- that could motherfucking be done. Each small inch that closed the proximity between them; torso or appendages, hahaha. The Summoner? He had no motherfucking clue what he was up against. The lowblood imagined the battleground where numbers feel from a far distance, and the Highblood, he got what he wanted in his motherfucking hands. The leader of some little rebellion that prided themselves in a invisible object of hope. What were they motherfucking called, 'miracles'? What a motherfucking intangible goal that couldn't be taken into hands, the only motherfucking miracle the Highblood saw in the war was the numerous corpses of trolls with their innards splayed over moist earth enriched in colors.
Having the Summoner right here in his grasp?
Second best motherfucking thing.
Having the Summoner in his grasp, the leader of that motherfucking second rebellion in hopes to accomplish something that the Signless couldn't accomplish himself (What a fucking laugh.) -- it was something that the Highblood allowed himself to fully indulge in.
To say that the Highblood was gifted with the ability of immortality would have been a lie. He could already feel the lack of blood flow through veins caused by the wound in his gut that his think pan was infected with a blurred vision. The Summoner next to nothing but blurs; even the grip that was coiled around the Summoner's hand almost turned slack at the constant pulling and pushing of the instrument in his abdomen.
And how this poor lowblood stuttered. How fucking endearing. ] What's that motherfucker. A BROTHER CAN'T MOTHERFUCKING HEAR YOU OVER YOUR MOTHERFUCKING STUTTERING. What's that -
-- You want to motherfucking get this black on? [ Would you motherfucking believe it.
There was no inconsistency between the pleasurable noises that emerged from his mouth -- and at the same time, feeling the burning wound in his gut. A thick scent of gore. Fucking who knew what would come out when the lance was removed, this motherfucking Highblood didn't even think of it, instead what he thought of something something different, completely in heavy contrast with the violence and skewering of warlords.
Hands removed themselves from the lowblood's hands, and they were planted on each side of the Summoner's face. Blood from the Highblood's palm smearing a mellowed out indigo against gray flesh, and he leaned in, all tongue and teeth when they made contact. His fangs biting down. Hard. On the sensitive skin that were lips, against the sharp curve of the Summoner's jawline, and his tongue wasn't far to follow as his mouth travelled down jaw and neck, feeling that fast throbbing of veins that pulsed underneath the thin veneer of skin. Teeth bite down on the Summoner's neck until they punctured, until he could taste that rich blood, and until he scarred the lowblood like this motherfucker was his property. ]
[You stupid bitch, that is not what I or Summoner meant. Anything sexual is the furthest from his mind right now, which is saying something for him. Right now his mind is focused on his lance, that's it. And don't you dare make that into a penis joke because that's Lysunder's job. For now it's just blood, guts, anger, and ha- No. Just anger. Lots of anger. Because this stupid fuck just won't stop getting closer. The proximity made sense though, all of these indigo fucks seemed to like close contact-- most of them enjoyed getting their hands dirty. Most of his fights with this caste ended up close at some point, despite Summoner's effort to keep to the skies. And here we had it again...]
[Let's not repeat this, okay? It couldn't get any worse than this.]
[Then...]
MY STUTTERING?! REALLY!? Is that even necessary!? Try to keep this prof- Black. Black?
[Uh.]
N-
[Being taken aback took a little too much time, and suddenly there were hands on his face, again-- see what I mean by close? Like, every single indigo was like this. The hell is up with that? More struggling, face squeezing in the tight grip of huge hands. Summoner's eyes closed, his heart pounding, mind screaming that his head was going to be crushed. He could already hear the future sounds of bones cracking. And then, warmth... followed by pain.]
[The lowblood's body jerked back, gasping as teeth sunk into his lips, eyes rolling back and squinting. His own teeth when to bite down hard, finding the flesh of the other's lip to be in the way, skin snapping and ripping between his own teeth. Then a rush as the wounds on his lips heated up while Highblood's fangs let go, feeling his tongue roll over his jaw, slick, wet. Soon to his neck, and finally the other's face stopped.]
Haa... stop, y-y-you're-!!!
[His words cut off as he feels gnashing teeth sink into his neck. Lysunder's hands let go of the lance, fingers tense, wrists locking, back arching. His head jerks back as his teeth clench. FUCK. That mouth's a roarbeast trap. Grand Highblood wasn't being shy with it either. The lowblood could feel the skin split, feel blood leak from the wound, it felt amazing fucking terrible, and painful, and bad, and lots and lots of negative words denoting just how disgusting and uncomfortable this was. His hands moved up to grab at the Highblood's neck, trying to claw and yank the other off. He wasn't even going to open his fangs in fear a sound would come out that he didn't want to hear himself.]
[ Unfortunately the implication if the Summoner's think pan only focused on the instrument that is buried deeply within the Highblood, there is only one joke that can be made, and unfortunately, that joke is circulated with the fact of phallic objects. So, it's only unfortunate, that it has come to that.
The Summoner can also pretend to not feel that hate at all, even if the Highblood could feel it beaming it off the lowblood. It was a motherfucking catalyst for him to push it further when his teeth were dug deeply into the fleshy mass of veins and skin and muscle; the fluid of blood was quick to rush into his mouth, and the Highblood was hungry enough to let his tongue press against the throbbing skin and let his long tongue lap up the blood in a burst of greed. His large hands slid down the Summoner's shoulders to his ribs, and there was something immensely aesthetic about the lance that was still sticking out of his gut.
Some motherfucking mythical painting. And despite that there was too much fucking hate and that there was pleasure somewhere in there - it didn't motherfucking overwhelmed the way his hands were greedy or how his mouth was hungry for the lowblood's flesh between his teeth. It would motherfucking scar, and what a motherfucking shame that every time the Summoner had to look at himself, that he would see them.
Too motherfucking bad, for a lousy lowblood brother.
Ripping his skull back from the other, the Highblood could feel the small rivets of brown blood that trailed down his mouth and chin, mingling with the ingido that emerged from when the wound punctured insides. Fingers splayed against the back of his own neck, and there was now enough room for the both of them to breath. His grin was bloodied as he grinned, and he took sevreal steps back. ]
HOW WAS THAT MOTHERFUCKER. Hahaha, don't motherfucking feel it? DON'T YOU MOTHERFUCKING FEEL THE BLACK? Or does a brother have to continue making you motherfucking feel.
[ His large hand went to his gut; the slick squelch of crude sounds emerged from his abdomen as fingers wrapped around the handle of the lance, removing it - yeah that was motherfucking gruelling, to remove the lance and let the weapon hang lifelessly between his fingers. The hole that was the wound was impressively large, but long ago stopped it bleeding. What was motherfucking left of blood was nothing but the residue of closing muscle, oozing from the injury. And the Highblood could only smirk at the lowblood's futile victory. ]
[Efforts to keep his mouth shut weakened, feeling hands slide down his sides. Summoner's shoulders shrugged forward, jaw tense as he started to open his mouth, mentally screaming at himself when he heard the shuddered gasp leak from between his lips. The pain so close to his head, pulsing in his neck was overbearing-- ontop of how much of a high we was getting from the blood smell still dense around them. Yeah, he wasn't an idiot. He couldn't deny the fact that this sick bastard was feeling something here. What he could deny-- and avidly was and will continue to-- was how he felt about this. This bastard was just choking a child. He was scum, completely terrible scum. And Summoner hated how the first word to come to mind was 'hate'.]
[Black? Sure, but you won't find him saying it or agreeing to it. This clown was putrid in every possible way, Summoner wanted nothing to do with him besides to kill him. And yet here he is, having purposely missed a vital point with his lance, and letting out noises of pained pleasure from the bite.]
[Ugh he was gonna have to bathe for a day.]
[Er no, like, a week.]
[Probably a week.]
[Finally teeth let go and he teetered back. A hand reluctantly moved up to his neck, wincing as he slid palm and fingers over the wound. A compound of indigo spit and orange blood was wiped by his hand and flicked to the side.]
W-w-w... [He swallows.] This is done.
[Another hesitant step, glaring over at him, Lysunder's body shaking, wings slowly opening, and he crouched, leaping up into the air and OUT OF THIS JOINT. Keep the lance, he'll not get it later. For now he needed to go dress this bite mark and hope to gog it doesn't scar.]
[ Summoner was going to be in for a motherfucking surprise; see those motherfucking bite marks that were going to be laced over your neck, Summoner? That shit has got to sting, and the more it motherfucking stings, the more likely it will scar. Now, the Highblood had stuck his jaws perfectly inside of that tender flesh, if he had not willingly released his mouth and let himself reel back, there would have not been anything left there apart from mangled flesh and a thing veneer of muscle that barely coated exposed collar bones. This little brown-blooded motherfucker.
He was motherfucking lucky.
With how black the Highblood felt for his short-living nemesis, it was a surprise that he hadn't ripped off his head yet and impaled it on one of his horns like a motherfucking trophy. Shit, the Summoner could deny his hate all he wanted, the more he resistance that temptation, the more the Highblood wanted to rid of it by indulging his brother in it.
What a sick and twisted way to think. A hedonistic depraved lifestyle that wouldn't cease, not even here. He had threaded his fingers through the innards of shitty rebellion soldiers, but to watch the expression on the Summoner's face that was a mixture of disgust and disdain for himself; there was nothing more motherfucking delicious than to feel his arrogance growing to know that he made the Summoner feel those emotions.
The lance was still held loosely between his engrossed fingers, and he watched the Summoner take to the sky. ]
DONE BROTHER?! Motherfucking done, LIKE A MOTHERFUCKING COWARD HAHAHA.
[ Lips slowly grew into a grin as a hand slid over the gaping wound in his gut. ] ...For now motherfucker. Yeah, we're done. UNTIL NEXT TIME BROTHER. Until next time. WE WILL BE WHIPPED IN MOTHERFUCKING HATE. [ A thick crude snort. ] Don't forget about it, brother.
Okay no. The sounds of bones snapping and cracking; how the joints and fragments of bone would come undone and air popping from between appendages sounded like a motherfucking symphony to his ears.
He laughed, obviously, at this, and soon enough he releases the summoner's appendage. He wants to corner him and ruin him, but instead of delving a hand inside of his gut and play with innards, his claws clasp underneath his jaw line. it's close enough for the bloodied saliva to hit him point blank at the side of his cheek, and that's just enough proximity where his tongue can emerge from his mouth and slide along the thick fluid.
then, the other lowblood returns, and the highblood only grins to himself. ] YOU SHOULD HAVE MOTHERFUCKING LEFT, sister. You, you have no clue in your motherfucking think pan, MOTHERFUCKING DO YOU?
[ Juggling both lowbloods, the highblood slides his tongue along the summoner's neck before shoving him back, and once he turns his direction to aradia, his grin is wide with all lips and teeth, and his words are deep and playfully venomous. ] DO YOU WANT TO KNOW, what a motherfucker like me, CAN PUT IN THAT MOTHERFUCKING THINK PAN OF YOURS.
Tonight, sister. TONIGHT YOU'LL GET THE MOTHERFUCKING SWEETEST OF NIGHTMARES. [ :o) ]
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GET OUT OF HERE! DO YOU HAVE A DEATH WISH CHILD!? I'LL BE FI-eeeeeehhhww...
[The tongue slides over his neck and he shakes, shoulders hunching forward and eyelids fluttering. Summoner catches himself as he slides back, having been shoved, and immediately takes a deep breath, recovering from the feeling of being lic- no okay, not... Not even going to think about it. Instead he jerks his attention to Aradia again, scowling as he starts commune.]
[Birds. Hope Aradia doesn't have a problem with birds. Because a heck of a lot of them are going to fly around her and obscure her from view, trying to move her away from them, being annoying and loud.]
Lowblood child, this is not yours to fight, your hands haven't known such a thing yet.
[Another growl before looking to the Highblood who has... turned. Summoner's hand on his lance curls around it tight, blood rushing to his face, heart beating fast. Barely a blink of time would pass before he's jabbed forward, slamming his lance straight towards the Highblood's torso.]
[But why is he aiming in such a terrible place!?]
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[She wanted to help. She really wanted to help.
But before she could actually do anything, wings obscured her vision. So many fucking wings. She hissed silently to herself, and lifted back a bit as she floated backwards. She needed to help, she could help, but she wasn't given the chance to help like she wanted to.
This wasn't going to happen this time. She didn't even get to try to freeze him, she was going to let down her friends. Seriously, this is complete bull to her.
Hissing a soft curse to herself, she flew away from the birds, and away from the two trolls. This is completely stupid and she didn't appreciate this at all. She really hoped Lysunder was going to get his ass out of here... ]
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And then, there was a harsh, barking laughter when the birds delved forth to surround the low-blood grub to serve as saviors to lead her from where she was misguided.
To motherfucking bad that the Highblood would be seeing her in her dreams. What a motherfucking shame that he will chucklevoodoo her. ] TRYING TO MOTHERFUCKING PROTECT HER, SUMMONER? [ Lips were spread ear-to-ear when large fingers coiled around his shirt-front; his breath a heavy metallic scent of blood as he hissed between gritted teeth. ]
Too motherfucking late, brother. THAT SISTER IS GOING TO FEEL SOME MOTHERFUCKING HONKS ALL UP IN HER THINK PAN. [ Lets pull the Summoner a little close, why don't we. ] Do you want the same motherfucking treatment? - I know what you motherfucking fear. [ A thoughtful pause. ] No, brother. I HAVE MOTHERFUCKING PLENTY IN THIS BROTHER'S THINK PAN OF WHAT TO DO TO YOU.
[ Between the preaching and the warmth that was barely separated by their proximity, the Highblood suddenly felt the insides of his meat spliced.
The long instrument of the lance had pierced and impaled; motherfucking missing his pump biscuit and backbone. He grunted in pain nonetheless, but who ever said that sadomasochism wasn't a two-bladed sword. With the impalement entertaining through his back and exiting from his front, it was with ease that the Highblood pried himself from the weapon -- a slick squelch of liquid emitted from his gut, the cooling air a welcomed relief that soothed the exposed organs as he turned around.
A large fist coiled around the lance, and he dragged himself closer -- directing the tip of the weapon into the entrance of the already-existent wound, digging the lance further inside and exiting him. The thick explosion of blood that drooled from the gaping wound died down into thin droplets, and his hands were smothered in his own blood.
Visceral indigo splattered along them both, and the Highblood's hands reached for each side of the Summoner's skull, thumbs smearing the purple blood along lips. ] How does it motherfucking feel. BEING THIS MOTHERFUCKING CLOSE, and you...you can't motherfucking even aim. HAHAHAHA, brother... [ His grasp tightened. ] You were motherfucking close, kicking up my motherfucking wicked death. AND WHAT DO YOU MOTHERFUCKING DO...
[ No. Summoner didn't miss shit, he hit those black feelings inside of the Highblood hard enough that they would be leaking ink. ]
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[Summoner's mind went blank when he felt the lance sink into Highblood's gut and he couldn't--
--believe how good that made him feel.]
[Ew, why, why did that feel good?!]
[Hurting people never felt good. Ugh, sick, why... And then he watched in horror as Highblood moved off his lance and then back onto it. He felt through the lance, into his palms, as the highblood sunk onto the weapon, feeling the pressure quake to the lance's hilt. Lysunder's eyes widened as he watched a macabre waterfall of blood leak over the weapon to the ground, his nose filling with the scent of blood. God, he wasn't sure he'd ever get that scent out, it stained the inside of his nose and mouth, coating it in this film. It was terrible and not all at the same time. Fuck, why was he salivating? This was so ...so uncomfortable. Summoner clenched his teeth, face going orange with how hard her face curled into a scowl.]
[A bit of shock when he realized what the Highblood was doing, eyebrows furrowing. His felt the blood touch his lips and the liquid feel of it on his skin made him quickly lick it off, jerking and shaking his head when he finally tasted it. Not gonna think about how it tasted, just stop, this is so sick. What is WRONG with this sick fuck!?]
The the fuck do y-y... YOU WANT?! To kill?! TOO BAD. I stopped that, DONE. Just f-fuck! I swear by Signless I'm going to kill you!
[Summoner curses, spitting and barking in the other's direction, jerking his hands back to try and pull the lance out of him. Why didn't he aim for his heart? What the hell!? Then he'd be gone, he wouldn't have to deal with him anymore! Wouldn't have to deal with his sick twisted jokes and his horribly bastardized views of flirting, he'd be gone and he'd be rid of--
--A completely worthy opponent.]
[His eyes slim, curling his lips tight over his teeth.]
W-w-. We're done here, Chucklefuck.
[Another jerk of his lance, trying to pry it out, hearing that lurching noise inside of the other's gut, making his own roll and curl uneasily. He needed to get out of here. he needed to get away from him, this, everything.]
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...
:o)
Even he could feel the way Summoner's heart throbbed inside of that skinny little motherfucking ribcage. The Highblood was a motherfucking sadomasochist, if the Summoner was surprised that the grunts and groans that emerged from the Highblood's mouth came out as low, pleasurable chuckles, then he was out of his fucking mind.
Just as he was out of his fucking mind when the indigo could notice the trickles of thick fluid that slid down the sides of the Summoner's mouth. It was motherfucking mirrored, but instead of saliva that slid down the side of the Highblood's mouth, it was blood. How did it motherfucking feel for the orange-blood to get a motherfucking taste of hatred in his fucking heart. The Highblood didn't need to stick his hand inside of the Summoner to wrench out to confirm that there was a heavy hot heat of hate that weighed down the atmosphere. Not when he motherfucking felt it too.
The only difference between them, however, was that the Summoner was ashamed of this shit, and the Highblood? He would bask in this motherfucking hate and drink it down like it was elixir.
Engrossed hand still coiled around the base of the lance; he could pull himself closer until they were barely a few inches away, and he did. The ripping of his own flesh and the crackling of armor was nothing in comparison to the way the Highblood stared down at the lowblood, with that grind of his, and the cocktail of saliva and blood that seeped from between a wide grin, and the droplets splattered when he laughed, when his body vibrated with hysteria. ]
MOTHERFUCKING PUTTING YOUR FAITH IN THE WRONG MOTHERFUCKING PLACE. [ Thumbs underneath the lowblood's jaw, claws digging in as he pulled the other closer. A macabre portrait of romance, this must have fucking looked like, and to make it all the more grotesque was how the Highblood's tongue slid from between the barrier of his own fangs to slide along the lingering indigo fluid of his own blood that clung to the Summoner's black lips. ]
...Brother. You're not motherfucking going anywhere. HAHAHA DO YOU MOTHERFUCKING THINK. Do you motherfucking think. A BROTHER WOULD LET YOU RUN AWAY LIKE THIS. Does...a brother even motherfucking think!?
[ The more the Summoner tugged at the lance, the more it opened the wound, the more blood formed rivets down the Highblood's torso.
Right now, he was enjoying this. He was motherfucking enjoying this resistance the Summoner showed when his own impulses were purely primal; from between the hand that curled around the Summoner's own that was placed on the lance (Motherfucking hurt him more, together. Delusional fuck.) to how he leaned in and let the hot breath of his exhales caress the shell of the lowblood's ear. ]
Why are you in a motherfucking hurry. DON'T YOU WANT TO MOTHERFUCKING END THIS BROTHER?
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[Even if it's fucking thrilling to sink his weapon deep into this particular subjugglator, THE subjugglator, the leader of those drooling, manic psychos.]
[Summoner's tongue flicked out to lick his lip, pulling in the moisture there, not wanting to risk moving a hand up to wipe it, but his eyes didn't move-- glued to the throbbing wound only inches from him. His vision almost blurred, mind falling into a haze with how poignant the smell was that filled the air. He drifted off enough to jump when he felt the hands grip under his face, thumbs to his jaw line, stinging from claws digging into flesh. The smell was even more intense now that blood covered hands were so close-- not to mention when that face was right in his.]
[Ugh, why the fuck did this indick have to get so close? The orange blood tried jerking back, grip on his face only tightening, and a shiver ran through his spine when a thick, wet organ moved over his lips. Another wave of that blood scent curled into his nostrils, along with the heavy smell of death and decay. He felt like vomiting but his mouth only salivated more, wings frantically flapping behind him as if they could help him escape this bastard's grip.]
How many times do I have to tell y-y-y-FUCK-- you stupid bastards?!
[A snarl, dipping his head down a little, forehead almost touching the painted flesh of the Grandhighblood's brow.]
I'm NOT-
[Hands on the lance hilt curl, drilling the weapon in deeper, spiraling it into the gore of the Highblood's torso. A lurching wet sound fills the air, making Summoner's heart pound and his gut squeeze.]
YOUR BROTHER!
[Again he jerks the lance, part of his mind knowing this was only going to please the other more, but that part was being droned about by another voice screaming to hurt this stupid fuck. He wanted to hear those chuckles turn to screams, more pain than pleasure, even if he had no idea how far he had to go to get that.]
[Hand tightened as huge fingers curled around his own, letting Summoner really compare the size different between either's hand and digits fully. He snarled, eyes jerking up to the Highblood to stare deep, glaring, chest rising and falling fast, trying to steady his breathing. He wanted to end this, he did, but, if he 'ended' this, that would mean killing the only thing that really reminded him of his war... of their war. And the fact that the other would show up again here-- even after death-- didn't register in Lysunder's mind now. Summoner was too in the moment, too pissed.]
What do you want!?
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Having the Summoner right here in his grasp?
Second best motherfucking thing.
Having the Summoner in his grasp, the leader of that motherfucking second rebellion in hopes to accomplish something that the Signless couldn't accomplish himself (What a fucking laugh.) -- it was something that the Highblood allowed himself to fully indulge in.
To say that the Highblood was gifted with the ability of immortality would have been a lie. He could already feel the lack of blood flow through veins caused by the wound in his gut that his think pan was infected with a blurred vision. The Summoner next to nothing but blurs; even the grip that was coiled around the Summoner's hand almost turned slack at the constant pulling and pushing of the instrument in his abdomen.
And how this poor lowblood stuttered. How fucking endearing. ] What's that motherfucker. A BROTHER CAN'T MOTHERFUCKING HEAR YOU OVER YOUR MOTHERFUCKING STUTTERING. What's that -
-- You want to motherfucking get this black on? [ Would you motherfucking believe it.
There was no inconsistency between the pleasurable noises that emerged from his mouth -- and at the same time, feeling the burning wound in his gut. A thick scent of gore. Fucking who knew what would come out when the lance was removed, this motherfucking Highblood didn't even think of it, instead what he thought of something something different, completely in heavy contrast with the violence and skewering of warlords.
Hands removed themselves from the lowblood's hands, and they were planted on each side of the Summoner's face. Blood from the Highblood's palm smearing a mellowed out indigo against gray flesh, and he leaned in, all tongue and teeth when they made contact. His fangs biting down. Hard. On the sensitive skin that were lips, against the sharp curve of the Summoner's jawline, and his tongue wasn't far to follow as his mouth travelled down jaw and neck, feeling that fast throbbing of veins that pulsed underneath the thin veneer of skin. Teeth bite down on the Summoner's neck until they punctured, until he could taste that rich blood, and until he scarred the lowblood like this motherfucker was his property. ]
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[Let's not repeat this, okay? It couldn't get any worse than this.]
[Then...]
MY STUTTERING?! REALLY!? Is that even necessary!? Try to keep this prof- Black. Black?
[Uh.]
N-
[Being taken aback took a little too much time, and suddenly there were hands on his face, again-- see what I mean by close? Like, every single indigo was like this. The hell is up with that? More struggling, face squeezing in the tight grip of huge hands. Summoner's eyes closed, his heart pounding, mind screaming that his head was going to be crushed. He could already hear the future sounds of bones cracking. And then, warmth... followed by pain.]
[The lowblood's body jerked back, gasping as teeth sunk into his lips, eyes rolling back and squinting. His own teeth when to bite down hard, finding the flesh of the other's lip to be in the way, skin snapping and ripping between his own teeth. Then a rush as the wounds on his lips heated up while Highblood's fangs let go, feeling his tongue roll over his jaw, slick, wet. Soon to his neck, and finally the other's face stopped.]
Haa... stop, y-y-you're-!!!
[His words cut off as he feels gnashing teeth sink into his neck. Lysunder's hands let go of the lance, fingers tense, wrists locking, back arching. His head jerks back as his teeth clench. FUCK. That mouth's a roarbeast trap. Grand Highblood wasn't being shy with it either. The lowblood could feel the skin split, feel blood leak from the wound, it felt amazing fucking terrible, and painful, and bad, and lots and lots of negative words denoting just how disgusting and uncomfortable this was. His hands moved up to grab at the Highblood's neck, trying to claw and yank the other off. He wasn't even going to open his fangs in fear a sound would come out that he didn't want to hear himself.]
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The Summoner can also pretend to not feel that hate at all, even if the Highblood could feel it beaming it off the lowblood. It was a motherfucking catalyst for him to push it further when his teeth were dug deeply into the fleshy mass of veins and skin and muscle; the fluid of blood was quick to rush into his mouth, and the Highblood was hungry enough to let his tongue press against the throbbing skin and let his long tongue lap up the blood in a burst of greed. His large hands slid down the Summoner's shoulders to his ribs, and there was something immensely aesthetic about the lance that was still sticking out of his gut.
Some motherfucking mythical painting. And despite that there was too much fucking hate and that there was pleasure somewhere in there - it didn't motherfucking overwhelmed the way his hands were greedy or how his mouth was hungry for the lowblood's flesh between his teeth. It would motherfucking scar, and what a motherfucking shame that every time the Summoner had to look at himself, that he would see them.
Too motherfucking bad, for a lousy lowblood brother.
Ripping his skull back from the other, the Highblood could feel the small rivets of brown blood that trailed down his mouth and chin, mingling with the ingido that emerged from when the wound punctured insides. Fingers splayed against the back of his own neck, and there was now enough room for the both of them to breath. His grin was bloodied as he grinned, and he took sevreal steps back. ]
HOW WAS THAT MOTHERFUCKER. Hahaha, don't motherfucking feel it? DON'T YOU MOTHERFUCKING FEEL THE BLACK? Or does a brother have to continue making you motherfucking feel.
[ His large hand went to his gut; the slick squelch of crude sounds emerged from his abdomen as fingers wrapped around the handle of the lance, removing it - yeah that was motherfucking gruelling, to remove the lance and let the weapon hang lifelessly between his fingers. The hole that was the wound was impressively large, but long ago stopped it bleeding. What was motherfucking left of blood was nothing but the residue of closing muscle, oozing from the injury. And the Highblood could only smirk at the lowblood's futile victory. ]
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[Black? Sure, but you won't find him saying it or agreeing to it. This clown was putrid in every possible way, Summoner wanted nothing to do with him besides to kill him. And yet here he is, having purposely missed a vital point with his lance, and letting out noises of pained pleasure from the bite.]
[Ugh he was gonna have to bathe for a day.]
[Er no, like, a week.]
[Probably a week.]
[Finally teeth let go and he teetered back. A hand reluctantly moved up to his neck, wincing as he slid palm and fingers over the wound. A compound of indigo spit and orange blood was wiped by his hand and flicked to the side.]
W-w-w... [He swallows.] This is done.
[Another hesitant step, glaring over at him, Lysunder's body shaking, wings slowly opening, and he crouched, leaping up into the air and OUT OF THIS JOINT. Keep the lance, he'll not get it later. For now he needed to go dress this bite mark and hope to gog it doesn't scar.]
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He was motherfucking lucky.
With how black the Highblood felt for his short-living nemesis, it was a surprise that he hadn't ripped off his head yet and impaled it on one of his horns like a motherfucking trophy. Shit, the Summoner could deny his hate all he wanted, the more he resistance that temptation, the more the Highblood wanted to rid of it by indulging his brother in it.
What a sick and twisted way to think. A hedonistic depraved lifestyle that wouldn't cease, not even here. He had threaded his fingers through the innards of shitty rebellion soldiers, but to watch the expression on the Summoner's face that was a mixture of disgust and disdain for himself; there was nothing more motherfucking delicious than to feel his arrogance growing to know that he made the Summoner feel those emotions.
The lance was still held loosely between his engrossed fingers, and he watched the Summoner take to the sky. ]
DONE BROTHER?! Motherfucking done, LIKE A MOTHERFUCKING COWARD HAHAHA.
[ Lips slowly grew into a grin as a hand slid over the gaping wound in his gut. ] ...For now motherfucker. Yeah, we're done. UNTIL NEXT TIME BROTHER. Until next time. WE WILL BE WHIPPED IN MOTHERFUCKING HATE. [ A thick crude snort. ] Don't forget about it, brother.
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