#eating descriptions tw

[pomegranarchy]

speaking of misophonia i never know how to bring it up in servers when people use gifs with chewing motions. like eating popcorn gifs or that gif of a cartoon man thats often used to represent putting a small animal in your mouth. the fuck do i say without sounding rude and spoiling the fun??

and just pictures of chewing gum will upset me because i associate the bubble with the snap that comes right after. no one adds a trigger warning for a gum bubble of all things because that would be insane

[thatadhdmood]

@nutmegan17 on tiktoks eating tray hack

By keeping a tray full of no prepare necessary food, in the fridge it can be used to aid neurodivergent or fatigued people.

By putting food like, cheese and crackers, or whatever is a safe food for you personally on the tray, it can be taken easily to the couch or bed to be eaten from whenever you are hungry.

This prevents executive dysfunction or fatigue and any reason preventing you from eating. You need to care of yourself because everyone needs food to stay alive including you.

You deserve to eat even when on a bad brain day and are unable to prepare a meal for yourself.

If not having a full meal doesn't satisfy you, a snack may even give you the energy to make a full meal afterwards!

[maladaptiveobsession]

yandere valentino x reader x angel dust

contains: reader w/unspecified genitals, gn reader, nsfw themes, noncon/dubcon, dehumanization, degradation, heavy abuse (brief mentions of physical violence, manipulation, sexual exploitation), dacryphilia, overstimulation

word count: 2,160

It’s not unusual for sinners to throw themselves at Valentino’s feet, but it is the first time the red skies of hell have thrown one directly onto him. The impact sends you both to the ground, collapsing in a startled heap.

He scrambles to throw you off, having every intention to rip you to scraps. Upon lifting your head, he suddenly has grander schemes in mind. His towering figure and lascivious grin send shivers down your spine.

“My, what lovely specimen do we have here? How kind of heaven to send a beauty like yourself directly to me.” His flirtations send blood rushing to your head, making your face grow warmer. You shyly break eye contact, swiveling your head to get a look around. Where is this place?

Valentino must notice your growing confusion and distress, interrupting your thoughts with a low chuckle.

“Welcome to hell, dollface.” Oh, you must be dead. You never thought you were perfect, but you never could’ve imagined you’d go to hell! Where did you go wrong? Suddenly thrust into hell with murderers, rapists, and monsters alike, you wondered if you could die twice.

“Don’t look so down, baby; you’re in luck! There’s no better demon you could’ve crashed into.” He goes on to introduce himself as a powerful overlord with a well-known and successful business.

“I’m feeling awfully generous right now. Why don’t you come work for me? I know just where to put you! You’ll fit right in! I’m sure my patrons will love you too.” He pauses to let you digest the information. “As my employee, you’d be provided housing. I could easily protect you from the creeps and losers on this side of hell. I’ll even forgive you for dirtying my coat! Sounds like a steal, right?”

He takes a long drag from a cigar that you're not sure where came from, then whips out a contract and pen.

“So, how about it, baby?”

Stranded in an unfamiliar place, you easily accept his kindness. As you take hold of the pen, something about his grin makes you uneasy.

If only you read the fine print. So began your life of torment.

What Valentino neglected to mention was that the “successful business” he ran was a porn studio. You spent hours doing photoshoots, films, and shows. Like Valentino suggested, you became his star attraction—the shy and delicate pornstar all of hell’s degenerates thirsted for. Yet they would never get a taste. Valentino didn’t share his personal toys. 

Inexplicably, he couldn’t get enough of you. He wanted to own you the moment he saw your pretty face, drawn to the light in your eyes.

Even with your skin bruised by his fingers and your throat sore from careless treatment, you still desired his rough affection. You didn’t mind that he left you battered each night or his harsh comments when you couldn’t keep up with his demands.

You could even forgive him for cruelly allowing his customers to take advantage of you and fuck you back into submission.

“I said I could protect you; I never said I would. Perhaps you’ll think twice before disobeying in the future.”

You would do anything if it meant receiving his violent devotion.

Being the personal toy of an egomaniacal moth could never be easy, but at least you weren’t alone. You had befriended none other than Valentino’s former favored pornstar, Angel Dust. Despite your differences in character, your shared experiences created a bond neither of you could find anywhere else. Misery always finds company.

Angel felt conflicted upon meeting you. That bastard had finally found a new toy to replace him! His joy only lasted until he heard your voice, so soft and sweet.

Valentino would break you.

Angel dreamed of the day Valentino would grow bored of him and find a new toy to play with. Now that that dream was a reality, he couldn’t push down the guilt. Shouldn’t he feel happy?

There was nothing Angel could do to protect you, but he could give you advice on how to protect yourself.

“Just do what he says. The consequences aren’t worth going against his word.”

He hadn’t planned on getting so close to you; he had tried to scare you off with cruelties, but you never minded. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t shake you. He tried to keep his distance and went out of his way to avoid you. You must have taken the hint and stopped bothering him like he’d wanted.

He didn’t owe you anything, so why did your absence make him feel worse? Why did he feel like something was missing?

Angel found his answers not long after.

He'd followed the muffled sound of choked sobs to your studio, pausing outside the cracked door. Against his better judgment, he peeked inside.

He’s met with the sight of you huddled in your vanity seat, knees raised to your chest, and your face buried in your arms.

“Doll?”

You raise your head at the sound of Angel’s voice, rushing to wipe away tears. You greet him with the best smile you can manage.

How miserable you must look to him, with smudged mascara and puffy eyes.

“I’m sorry for bothering you so often, Angie.” With how hoarse your voice is, he suspects you’ve been crying for a while. “I didn’t mean to overstep. I just felt so alone, you know?”

He does. He knows better than anyone.

It suddenly occurs to him how much of an asshole he’s been. You didn’t deserve the shit he’s been giving you.

He'd put up walls ever since he signed away his freedom; he couldn’t trust anybody. He thought nobody could understand what kind of shit he’s been through, but then you came along. You do understand because you’re going through it.

You’re all each other has.

“Don’t cry for the bastard. He doesn’t deserve your tears.” You look like you’re about to apologize again, but he continues. “Listen, I’m sorry for being such a douchebag lately. You didn’t do nothing wrong. We’ve only got each other in this shithole.”

You smile brightly, unsure what caused the sudden change in attitude, but happy nonetheless. “Right, together, we’re not alone.”

So began your unlikely friendship.

Unfortunately, Valentino wasn’t nearly as enthused. His obsession grew to new heights when you befriended Angel Dust. This manifested itself in the form of longer studio hours and even rougher sex.

Seeing you get along on set made his blood boil. The final straw was the stupid grin you sent Angel’s way. How dare you flirt with that slut! How dare he grin back!

You both clearly needed to be reminded of your status. Since you liked each other so much, he would be happy to give his blessings. Why, he’d personally see to your union.

Later that evening, you found yourself back on set, blindfolded and gagged. The cold nipped at your bare skin. Valentino kept the studios cold to keep your nipples perked. The handcuffs keeping your hands pinned to the bed post provided little comfort.

The sound of the film crew setting up around you sent heat to your sex. You couldn’t swallow the feeling of disgust residing in your throat; how could you enjoy this? Even amongst the buzz of conversations, you could easily pick out the click of Valentino’s healed boots. You wait for the familiar call to begin filming, yet you do not find it.

It’s only when a pair of hands, strangely familiar, find their way to your chest that you realize the set began. The whole situation strikes you as strange, but what could you do anyhow? Nothing would change the outcome. In the end, all you’d receive for your curiosity would be a nasty bruise.

So you brush off your worries and focus on the sensation of soft hands groping at your chest, teasing your nipples. You can’t help but lean into their gentle touches; the familiarity comforting.

The way they glide across your skin—as if searching—you wonder if they’re blindfolded too. Shivers run across your spine as they spread your legs, the cool air kissing your core. The bed shifts as your film partner settles between your thighs, their hands never leaving you.

Fingers prod at your entrance, sinking in easily. Your head spins at the sudden intrusion. As they finger and stretch your hole, you struggle to maintain composure. Each motion was intentional and practiced. You could feel the slick gather below you in a thick puddle. Somehow, they knew how to work you just right.

Droplets of pre-cum smeared against your skin as their cock brushed up against your thigh.

Unable to wait any longer, you tried lifting your hips away from their fingers. You wanted more; you wanted to be filled.

Your desire clouded any creeping shame or embarrassment. You never wanted this; why shouldn’t you enjoy the pleasure being given?

The hand lingering on your hip stills you with surprising strength; another set of hands you didn’t know they had pushes your thighs up to your chest. Desire clouds your thoughts, never once questioning the owner of said hands.

They guide their cock to your entrance, driving it in without warning—the sudden stretch takes your breath away. Though easier to accommodate than Valentino’s, you still find yourself pushed past your limits.

Little time is given to adjust; their pace is rough but controlled. Waves of pleasure burn through you. 

Your moans and pleas are swallowed up by the gag. Tears of pleasure and pain gather in your eyes, darkening the fabric of your blindfold. It hurts so good; the intensity building in your core threatens to snap. A particularly rough thrust sends powerful shockwaves throughout your body.

They shudder against you, their pace stuttering for only a brief moment. They were too busy changing their own bliss. You writhe against your binds as the heat within tightens once more, all too soon. Your pleas for clemency are muffled.

Valentino watches with great interest, languidly stroking his own length as you're brought back to the edge of pleasure. You were so sensitive and expressive.

His favorite slut being forced to use his personal toy wasn’t a sight he thought he’d enjoy. He’d initially been reluctant, only convinced by the masses demanding your collaboration.

Now he couldn’t wait for the reveal—to see the despair of fucking your only friend. Commanding his toys to fuck like dolls was fun; maybe he’d do it again some time.

He watched closely as Angel’s hips stuttered, pace becoming erratic, and fingers pressing deep into your thighs. The heat of his climax sends you over the edge. With your ears ringing and your heart pounding, you feel dizzy. Darkness swallows up your vision.

Valentino makes note of your limpness, suddenly struck by an idea. He strides over to Angel, leaning down to whisper in his ear.

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice you flirting with my toy?” He didn’t miss the way Angel tenses. “Well, I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Wasting no time, he wrenched the blindfold off.

Angel’s reaction is more than he’d hoped for. Horror and disgust flash in his eyes as he scrambles to pull out of you. He tumbled off the bed in his urgency and crumpled at Val’s feet in despair.

Angel can feel his stomach in his throat, panis rising.

“Aw, did you not like my gift?” Valentino mocks him, relishing in the pitiful display. “Well, too bad. Pick yourself up and get ready to do it again.”

For a moment, Angel is unresponsive. He has to do that all over again? He has to violate you? He can’t do that to you; it would break you.

Buzzing under the thick layer of disgust creeps darker desires: to touch and tease your skin, to sink into your warmth. To do it all over again.

He doesn't notice the way his dick responds, but Valentino certainly does. How unexpected!

“Holy shit, are you hard again? Does the thought of raping your friend turn you on that much? I wonder what your friend will think?” He can taste your fear and anguish already. “Let’s not waste any time, then.”

Angel's fear is palpable and thick. He doesn’t want to lose you. When you open your eyes, the little sanctuary you've built together will never be the same.

You should feel something, but you can only feel empty as your only friend splits you open against both of your wills. Averting his eyes, he rocks into you. Valentino’s voice hardly registers at all. 

“Don’t act so shy, Angelcakes. Go on, fuck them with your eyes like you usually do. If I don’t see some eye contact, there will be consequences for your dearest friend.”

With your eyes connected, you can’t pretend anymore. This is happening. This is real. 

You only have each other, but together you created a nightmare you can’t escape. At least you’re not alone—closer than you’ve ever been.

[veinsfullofstars]

what happened with the ghost pepper fiasco???? 👀

—✨

Oh, you know. Just the Bad Decision Duo making some bad decisions in the name of one-upmanship. Like always.

One very brief pepper-eating contest later…

They end up bedridden for a whole week after that, and grounded by their horrified parents for even longer. Doesn't stop Bow from bragging about the win, though, even into the present day. Dedede tries his very best to pretend it never happened (and steers clear of ghost peppers from then on).

**Suffice to say, they are dummies, and children, and fictional characters. Please do not try this at home.**

Sketch started 06/29/24, finished 07/01/24.

[deadrayg2mf]

Wed to the Lich (Arranged Monster Mates #8) by Layla Fae

Okay, I went into this knowing this was not the first book in the series but it didn't seem that the series may be required to be read in order as it is a collab series between Layla Fae, Eden Ember, and Cara Wylde and it wasn't recommended to be read in order - however, now having finished this I realize I may need to start from book 1 to assuage some issues I had regarding world building info. Also... that lich is just so hot... I needed to know more about him when he was what drew me to this. Which brings me to the covers!! The entire series has amazing cover art, it ranks right up there with SJ Sander's cover art that I love.

This is currently a series of 16 novellas between the above-mentioned authors, Wed to the Lich being dead in the middle at #8. It was a total of 208 pages and I read it within a quick day at work. It was a simple story which does involve triggers involving anorexia nervosa, past abuse, and animal death.

Basically, this is a world in which an event called The Shift has occurred, and from what was explained in this book alone it sounds like that was basically the... dimensional overlap of the human world and monster world where parts of the monster world ended up being transplanted into the world we know? Hopefully that is some semblance of correct as it's how I understood it. In this world, monsters rule over humans in most areas and if a human is wanting to get some cash for their family or, if you're our FL May, trying to get out of a bad situation you can sign up at the Temple and get married off to a monster.

This is exactly what May commits to as she decides to escape the abusive orphanage director who haunts her thoughts when it comes to beauty and its relation to her size and food consumption. How well this goes about depicting the troubles that come with experiencing an eating disorder I could not say, so I will leave that up to your interpretation if you choose to read. May gets married to Virgil, the all fearing Lich who can suck out your life force with just a look.

The following story revolves around May's struggle with food, her inner demons, and being beautiful for Virgil who is also struggling with how May views him and fearing that one day she may come to fear him and try to leave. In the end, they end up working out their troubles with each other's help and are a lovely couple, no matter what those town villagers think. I liked both May and Virgil's characters, he was really checking the marks for me as both loving and caring but strict and forceful when he felt necessary. By the end, May had come into who she was as a person when she wasn't tormented by her past.

My main issue comes from how I felt finishing the book. I had read 208 pages of what essentially felt like it had amounted to nothing. Unfortunately, for all that happened, there wasn't enough deep diving into characters, relationships, or true plot that it felt worthwhile. It was one of those where I was shocked it was so long for how much I got from it. I think it's a really cool story, I love a Lich, and I love a FL battling her inner demons and unafraid to seek help from another in order to do so. The way May was willing to just be blunt about what was going on versus other characters who might hide things that lead to a (beloved but sometimes overdone) miscommunication was rather refreshing.

I think I would have really enjoyed this story had it been more fleshed out. The writing was good, but the content felt unsubstantial. For all of that, I'll give it a 5/10. Mid but enjoyable and full of potential.

Would I read again? No, but not because it was bad. Just because there wouldn't feel like a point.

Would I recommend? Yeah, I am gonna go and try out the series from the first book - Wed to the Ice Giant also by Layla Fae - and then pry check out at least on book by each of the other authors. If I don't like it - you'll hear about it :)

[michaeliad]

leo tolstoy, “the lion and the dog” // supernatural, midam

[audhdnight]

I made a post about fatphobia and how being fat is not bad or automatically unhealthy, and about how food holds no moral value. Got this comment:

First of all, being “overweight” by bmi standards means nothing because bmi is bullshit. But also, the studies that claimed to show higher weight being a risk factor for disease have been debunked. There is no sound evidence to suggest that being fat will give you heart problems and diseases and kill you early.

Secondly, all food adds nutrients to your body. In different quantities yes, but that really doesn’t mean much. Obviously we eat to fuel our bodies, but we also eat for enjoyment. You are not required to eat only the most nutrient dense foods. I would also like to point out that calories are what add fat to the body, not whether your food has more or less nutrients, and that is not a bad thing either. Plus, it’s not like every fat person is just on an increasing weight train, a lot of us stay pretty much the same weight for years at a time, and fat people are allowed to gain weight too.

And third of all, idk what the rest of that last sentence was supposed to say because I blocked this person before they could comment more filth, but the “especially female bodies” bit shows their misogyny quite plainly. Big men are just big men, but big women are disgusting because women are supposed to be tiny and fragile and dainty and feminine (barf)

(Also, this is why I say food and heath have no moral value. A lot of the worst most violent fatphobes claim they’re “just looking out for your health” and while we all know that’s not true, they act as if being unhealthy is both a) a choice you made, and b) a moral failing. It’s okay to be unhealthy, whether that be because of your weight or a disability or an illness (both physical and mental). How well you take care of yourself is not an indicator of how good of a person you are, it wouldn’t be even if your health were completely up to you like these people pretend. Which is why even if you could be smaller, even if you’re only fat because you made the choice to only eat food you enjoy and not to exercise, that’s still okay. It’s okay to be big. You are not required to “put in the work” and not doing so does not make you a bad person. We have to separate morality from health and fitness. Anything else is not only fatphobic, but also usually ableist and classist too.)

[kittylittersmoothie]

❗️AO3 Fic Update❗️

The fourth chapter of √Miscalculations may take longer than anticipated. While the creeping dysphoria that initiated the hiatus is not currently present, my mental and physical health are not cooperating, to say the very least.

In the meantime, however, the first three chapters remain on AO3 if you need a refresher (I certainly did), and the fic playlist remains available on Spotify.

Sincerely, and with apologies,

—K.L.S. (ノ_･､)

[t4tstarvingdog]

12:53am monday, may 1st: the maps app says it's a six minute walk to the water — timothy l.l.s.h.

something about hunger being bad because it means you need something. hunger being bad because it means you want.

my poetry tag list (ask to be added or removed<3): @gracekisses @soldoutsaints @icantleave @hauntedpearl @chaosnatural @raytoroinmybackpack @carveredlund @pinknatural @deanwinchestersfloralwallpaper @obsessionofspn @sleepynatural @destielgaysex @gilmorenatural @faithdeans @heartshapedcas @howldean @redwinesupernova @cosmosinfinity23 @impala67-aka-baby @samsrowena @aturnoftheearth @themichaelvan @casbeeminestiel @punishercd @notreallyaroad @fatedbuddie @frogstiel

image description under the keep reading

[Image Description: a poem reading

I think I am Always hungry and I think maybe, sometimes, That I was born like this; Starving myself for something so bad that I can Feel it in my teeth even when I’m not even Biting down on anything.

It’s the kind of thought that makes me think of Barbecue and how there’s not even any good places for it, here, Up North where I never really wanted to be and somehow Scraped a place for myself anyways. Makes me think of what it would be like to have the shape of An Adam’s rib caught, like ivy, like blood, like a seashell, like a split nail, Right in that crevice of my molars.

That place meant for crunching.

I always want to be messy when I eat, because I think I want to feel like I can let go and get my hands Sticky and that it won’t matter and I think—too—that it’s a funny kind of metaphor That I can’t stand the feeling of the sauce and meat and fulfillment  On my hands. I think I hate it for the way I can’t wipe the evidence of my hunger off of My face.

I’m sick and tired of people knowing I want things, like I’m human enough To be allowed to want things, and more than that I’m sick of being hungry.  I’m sick of being hungry because it means I want, I desire, I am carnal in my Need to be fed and I think Even sticking my hands into your ribs and cracking your bone beneath pearly teeth And scooping you up and swallowing you down and Wiping you onto my face with messy hands that do nothing To erase the fact that I have consumed you, I think it would do nothing to sate me because I— Am hungry.

Don’t you understand that I cannot be allowed to eat like this, Like something worth feeding slowly, sinew and succulent in my maw— God, I wish I was a monster you could slay so I could justify the taste of blood inside me— Because if you feed me I will be strong enough to eat, Can’t you see that if I am strong enough, I will still be hungry?

I am always asking if I am gentle enough and here I am asking if I am finally Violent. Oh, please can you say yes and tremble and Gasp and weep and Mourn for me— Oh, God can you mourn for me like you are grieving someone Who was never hungry and Never ate and never glutted and never Starved and Wasted away, pale as sea foam and just as transient and just as lovely and Unasking, for anything.

Could you mourn me like that?

I think I would give anything to starve Myself into submission for you but the truth is I Will never die like a will-o’-the-wisp and I Will never be lovely and I Will always be a starving dog, hungry for your cuffing hand.

—timothy l.l.s.h.

/end description.]

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

A Couple Nights Later...

(Disclaimer: three of the characters in this story belong to me. You can find more information about Penn here. For more information about Caliban, go here. For more information about Azalea, go here. Illinois belongs to the Markiplier Cinematic Universe. The same thing goes for Murdock...but if you'd like to see my personal headcanons on him, go here. Ness belongs to the creators of the FNAF movie; I've got some headcanons on him too, which can be found here.)

(Also, for more information on the mob Murdock, Caliban, and Azalea work for, go here.)

(This is yet another gift from me to @insane4fandoms. Just a little something in return for them remembering my fanmade egos in their lovely drawings. Please give them a follow and boost their art! You won't regret it!)

(One more thing: this story is an epilogue to my latest work. You can find that story here; it has some clarifying details...)

(Trigger Warnings: implied murder/death, implied violence, descriptions of illegal business, implied cannibalism, cravings/hunger pangs, mentions of knives/blades, mentions of poisoning, mentions of blood, eating/drinking, anxiety/paranoia, implied past trauma, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

The sun was setting again, as it tended to do. The remaining light shone between the trunks of a nearby copse of trees, casting long shadows to stretch over the road. 

That was what made Penn question if he and Illinois had left one desert only to end up in another: the trees. That is, he knew logically that this county was in one of the dryer parts of the States, and any trees growing here had more than likely been planted by the locals. Once Illinois drove to a less populated part of town, there wouldn't be much in the fields besides sagebrush. 

But right here, right now, all the trees and hills were a huge change from the cacti and rock spires. 

It was refreshing. 

It reminded him that he and his companion were closer to their respective homes than before.

It reminded him that they were at least a thousand miles away from that cavern. 

(As for the horrific thing they’d found in said cavern. . .well, the duo had stopped at two more hotels by now, and Penn thankfully hadn’t seen any maladjusted figures looming outside the windows in either of them. The combination of a threat and a promise was still fresh in his mind, yet part of him was somehow sure that it’d be a long time before that monster made good on it.)

Just one more day, Penn thought as he shifted in the passenger seat. Just one more stop at one more hotel, and then we’ll be back sometime tomorrow.

The Warden hung from the rearview mirror, silent and creepy as ever. While Illinois’ personal rituals included hanging it on the doorknob of whatever bedroom he slept in for the night, he usually moved it to his breast pocket the next day. Ever since that one terrifying night, however, he’d made sure to keep it in the open, as to let its protective juju slowly but surely cleanse the surreal dread from his and his friend’s minds. 

Penn wasn’t quite sure how, but that strategy seemed to be working. 

He reached up and gingerly poked the little totem, making it sway to and fro. Illinois glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, then took one hand off the steering wheel and poked it himself. The odd game of makeshift tetherball only lasted a moment, but it still brought a smile to both the adventurer and paleontologist’s faces.

As the jeep descended a small hill, its passengers were treated to the sight of a fork in the road, the section of grass between the two pathways adorned by a large blue sign.

The top-half silently announced NEXT REST AREA—20 MILES in bold, white letters. The bottom-half, meanwhile, displayed a row of universal symbols: a gas pump, ATM, WiFi, a bed, a plate with cutlery on either side. . .and an arrow.

“Right on cue,” Illinois remarked, the wheel spinning in his grasp as he edged in the pointed direction.

___

The car’s headlights caught a pair of raccoons up ahead, waddling on their hind-legs and fidgeting with their weird little hands as they sniffed at a lumpy mound of. . .something that sat right on the seam between asphalt and grass. 

Murdock tapped at the center of the steering wheel; the horn’s blare was short and quick, but it still made Azalea flinch in the passenger seat. Just behind her, Caliban did the same, instinctually grabbing Snare and holding him to his chest. The raccoons each let out a startled squeal as they scampered off into the nearby trees, their striped tails swaying back and forth.

Azalea stared after them before raising an eyebrow at her accomplice. “What was that for?”

“Yeah, they weren’t even in the way,” Caliban chimed in, his crimson leather jacket sliding against the similar material of his seat. 

There was actually a fourth passenger here, but only in a technical sense, considering he’d been crammed into a hidden compartment in the trunk. And while that probably would’ve led to a chorus of dull thumps and muffled shouts, he wasn’t really capable of complaining. 

Or moving. 

Or breathing.

Murdock lifted his chin, glancing at the backseat as he shrugged. “Well, if we make a pit-stop, I thought I might as well scare off the competition for you, Cal.” 

Caliban tilted his head, unable to stop the confusion from creeping onto his features. It only lasted a few seconds before the hitman eased on the brake pedal, ever-so-slightly slowing down as the car drew closer to the rancid pile that the raccoons had been examining. 

“Well, that’s very thoughtful of you, ‘Doc,” Caliban replied, now understanding as he rolled his eyes, lips quirking into a sarcastic smile. “But I think I’ll pass.” 

“I thought you were hungry?” Murdock hummed as he picked up speed yet again. 

Caliban nodded. "That’s right. Hungry, not desperate.”

Murdock huffed a laugh, black-tinted glasses shuddering on his face. “Said the cannibal.”

“Exactly! I eat people, not roadkill or garbage.”

“Eh, not so sure about that last part. You’ve helped me get rid of some real scumbags before. Besides, you follow your feeding schedule like some kind of religion.”

Caliban paused. “. . .Okay, that’s fair. But the point still stands! If I’m gonna eat anything, it at least has to be somewhat fresh.”

He then leaned forward, resting one hand on the back of the driver-seat, still focusing on the rearview mirror; if he looked closely enough, he could make out his companion’s dark brown eyes behind his shades. He could make out the way they glinted with morbid humor and a challenging air. 

Caliban made sure to return the unconventional vibes tenfold. Joking with Murdock could be a gamble sometimes, but that was what made the dynamic between the two of them fun.

“I mean, that stuff might’ve been part of a person at one point,” Murdock mentioned. “It’s not like we got a good look at it, but I could turn around—”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Azalea interjected, reaching over to flick him on the side of the head.

Caliban snickered, flashing a big grin his sister’s way. Azalea smiled right back, firmly ignoring the offended hitman noises.

The snickers and grin died down, however, as his stomach started churning with a hollow ache.

The presence of a fresh corpse stowed away further behind him didn’t do many favors. But then, that target was off limits. Yeah, his organs could still be harvested to make a nice little profit on the Black Market, but they’d already been tainted enough to effect the prices. (He’d been given a hefty dose of batracotoxin courtesy of Azalea. Not that Caliban was blaming her; poison was her personal signature. She’d just been doing her job, just like he and Murdock had been a little while ago.) 

That wasn’t quite what annoyed him, though. 

What annoyed him was the fact that the target had been working with a crony when the trio had tracked him down to the dilapidated lakehouse he’d apparently been using as a hideout. 

The aforementioned crony had looked very healthy (read: appetizing) and had screamed and struggled in such an exciting way when Caliban and Murdock corned him on the pier, taking turns stabbing and slicing to interrogate him.

The smell of blood had been so heavy and rich in the air.

The red splatters had looked so dark and deep.

The adrenaline-high had been awesome, as was the anticipation of eventually getting to eat a very well-earned meal. . .and then some LAZY BASTARD OF AN ALLIGATOR had decided to JUST LUNGE UP from the water, clamp its jaws around the crony’s neck, and dive back down again in LESS THAN THREE SECONDS! 

Because APPARENTLY, when you’re a creature that nature has given so many deadly gifts for HUNTING YOUR OWN DAMN FOOD that you barely even had to evolve since prehistoric times, you STILL find it easier to STEAL from hard-working contract-killers who are just trying to earn their keep and get some fresh air. 

Caliban sighed through his nose, leaning back and propping his elbow up to rest his cheek against his hand. Snare, like a good little emotionally-tuned boy, wasted no time craning his neck to nudge at his owner’s face. With a smile that was softer than before, Caliban gently scratched his pet’s ears.

Now, he did have some well-preserved, perfectly edible human remains at home, hidden in that huge chest freezer in the corner of his abandoned-subway-tunnel-office-den. But he, his sister, and their mutual companion still had a ways to go before they returned to the Cove Port Inlets. 

This certainly wasn’t the first time his cravings had acted up, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last, either. This wasn’t even the worst instance; the emptiness wasn’t wracked with gnawing and pinching sensations for flavor (pun vERY MUCH INTENDED) just yet. It would get to that point if left unchecked for another hour or so, but that wasn’t going to happen. 

Things like beef, chicken, pork, or fish may not have been as savory as Caliban’s addiction, but they were good enough. So long as he got a bite to eat in general, he’d be fine. Sure, part of his mind wouldn’t know peace until he cooked up some pieces of human-person, but his stomach wouldn’t twist and growl and beg. Not for a while, at least.

Gravel ground beneath the tires. Bright, artificial light streamed in through the windows.

“‘Sparky’s,’” Azalea announced, reading off the sign that stood tall before a tidy little building that carried the exact same aesthetic of all roadside diners in the known world. “Looks nice enough. Have you been here before?”

Murdock nodded as he maneuvered into a space on the very edge of the parking lot. “A few times to test the waters, yeah. There’s no cameras anywhere outside the entrance, and even if there were, not many people stop here at hours like this.” 

Caliban made sure to crack both of the backseat windows open before the engine stopped rumbling. He then tugged his black hoodie off over his head, leaving its sleeves tucked into those of his jacket. He draped the clothing-combo over the vacant seat beside him. Snare promptly scurried over, flopping down and curling up on the makeshift nest. 

Caliban chuckled, reaching over to pet the hare’s fur one more time before heaving the car’s door open and stepping out.

Azalea stood at his side soon after, fidgeting in place, clearly still full of energy from the kill. The two of them shared another grin; it helped keep the awkwardness at bay as they waited on their accomplice. 

Varying shades of red weren’t part of The Pentas Family’s signature just because of the flower it’d been named after. Red was a very convenient color. Wear it to a kill and no-one would be any the wiser (especially not if you combined it with black). 

Murdock was aware of this, almost always wearing his currant-colored turtleneck and ebony overcoat when working on gruesome assignments. And yet he still remained in the car for another minute or two, elbows knocking against the ceiling and window as he took off both articles. 

He then leaned over the center console to pop the glove compartment open and fished out a bundle of dark fabric adorned by a pattern of gray leaves and orange petals. 

Once he finally emerged into the cool nighttime air, the hitman looked almost nothing like himself. 

His tinted glasses were gone too, replaced by a headband that was wider and stretchier than the cherry-tinted one Azalea was wearing. It mainly kept Murdock’s nearly shoulder-length raven hair back, but the white-as-snow material gave it an ambiguously medical look. Murdock pulled one side of it down in order to cover his right eye. 

Or, to cover the misalignment of his right eye. The way it was turned to the right as though he was looking as something sideways.

It wasn’t like his right eye was infected; it wasn’t even useless. It could still blink and see. . .it just couldn’t move around in its socket like the left one. Sure, it was a bit jarring to look at, but not too jarring in the grand scheme of things. 

Still, it was very understandable for Murdock to always keep it hidden. And that wasn’t even due to how needlessly judgemental other people could be.

No, his eye had been damaged in his former life (due to a near-death paragliding incident that he proudly enthralled any newcomers to the mob with), before he’d discovered his skill and passion for killing. All the pain that had apparently come with it...

It’d been a type of rebirth for him. There was no questioning the significance. 

(Although Murdock hadn’t appreciated Caliban’s thoughts on the matter. Which was just another way of saying that Murdock didn’t appreciate comedy. Not even the eloquent, well-thought-out masterpieces of wordplay.)

“. . .Damn,” Caliban had murmured, thoughtfully drumming his nails on mahogany. “I know people just throw words like ‘legendary’ around for almost anything these days, but that. . .that story really does feel like a mash-up of Neil Gaiman, Monty Python, and a sugar-bombed nine-year-old.”

“An inspiration to everyone, me.” Murdock had grinned, the definition of cocky as he leaned back in his chair and folded his arms behind his head. “Anyone can survive Death Gulch if they WANT to. If they want to BADLY ENOUGH.”

“Words to live by,” Caliban agreed, his eyes shifting about. 

The Pentas Family’s base was a lot like the dens he and his sister now worked out of. Hidden underground, once part of the subway-tunnel-system that had died quite a while ago. It was bigger than the other dens down here, able to fit more furniture along the walls, like the table in the corner that he and his accomplice were sitting at. 

But just like all the other dens, the base came with relative darkness and a slight chill in the air. 

The darkness and that chill. . .they were part of his and Azalea’s lives now, as fundamental as oxygen. 

They now made their way with blood and blades and screams and secrets, and that was more than fulfilling enough after all the things they’d gone through together. 

And it was all thanks to Murdock. (Yes, The Boss had obviously contributed, but meeting the hitman who sat across from him had been the thing to really put the change into motion.)

Caliban had licked his lips, his smile stretching wider to reveal his teeth. To reveal the new silver one that glinted more than the rest. “I guess that really must’ve. . .shifted your view on things, huh?”

Murdock froze, which was the green light for Caliban to start giggling. His shoulders slumped. Even with his shades on, it was very obvious that he was now questioning some of the choices he’d made to get to this point. 

Murdock heaved a long-suffering sigh. “There’s something very wrong with you.”

“Pot-Kettle-Black, ‘Doc!” Caliban, whose giggles had quickly transitioned to cackles, replied. “C’mon, that was a good one! You can’t deny that!”

“I can, and I will,” Murdock retorted, getting dangerously close to tipping his chair over. . .

Azalea pulled the glass door open, eliciting that well-known whoosh. Caliban felt a rush of cool air as he followed his sister into the diner, Murdock right behind him. A little bell suspended above the threshold let out a chipper jingle. 

The walls followed a simple wood-panel design, though the powder blue paintjob on the windowpanes gave it a little more personality. Cushy leather booths were lined up here and there; a small pendant lamp hung over each table, some flickering more than others.

A coffee-bar stood across the building, separating the main dining area from an aluminum door that had to lead to the kitchen. 

True to Murdock’s word, the joint was pretty empty. A muffled chorus of clinks, footsteps, and running water that leaked through the kitchen door was the only sign that anyone else might be here. 

Along with the voice that called, “Sit wherever you like! I’ll be out in a just a sec!”

Murdock pursed his lips and shrugged. Following standard protocol, the three contract-killers claimed a spot that was closest to the entrance.

The kitchen door swung open and a man came strolling out, dressed in a white button-down with sections on the collar and sleeves that matched the dark blue apron tied around his waist. He held a bundle of laminated menus the same way a stereotypical schoolgirl would hold her textbooks, a tired-yet-genuine smile on his face.

As the waiter came to hover in front of the table, Caliban got a clear look at the little nametag pinned to his breast-pocket: NESS.

“Welcome, welcome!” Ness greeted, setting the menus down before his customers. “What can I get for you—maybe some coffee to start off?”

“Oh yes, please,” Azalea replied, her brother and Murdock murmuring in agreement. 

Ness nodded, quick to retrieve a steaming pot from the bar-counter, as well as a trio of mugs and a bowl full of sugar packets and creamer cups. 

Once the fresh brew was poured, the trio was given a few minutes of quality time with the menu. After that, Ness returned, fishing a notepad and pencil adorned by a tiny rubber chicken-head topper from a pocket in his apron. “So, what else would you guys like tonight?”

Being a hitman meant having experience some odd emotions. Such as the instinct to keep yourself and your business hidden clashing against the desire for attention or recognition. It was a matter of (very relative) sensibility and twisted pride. And Murdock was a prime example of that.

“Oh, well—y’know, I. . .I think, m-maybe. . .maybe I could. . .” Murdock stammered, fidgeting in his seat as though he was about to pass out right then and there. “Um. . .ah. . .w-what do you recommend? If you—if you don’t. . .mind me asking.”

Even after all the time he’d spent working with Murdock, it still took some effort for Caliban to not snort at the sight. Yeah, the social-anxiety-incarnate-facade had never failed yet, but Murdock always laid it on thick. He tossed a subtle knowing glance at Azalea, who was carefully biting down her own chuckle. 

Ness, meanwhile, stayed focused. His smile softened as he pointed out certain things on the menu and explained. He was patient and polite, nodding along and not seeming to mind all the verbal vomit he was being doused in before Murdock’s mask finally made a decision. He then moved on to take Azalea’s order with not a finger out of place. 

As he watched all this, Caliban realized that he liked Ness’ spirit, even if he didn’t really know him. The food service industry was infamous for how its workers were treated by customers and higher-ups alike (with Aftertaste being one of few exceptions, of course. Azalea was living proof that even a professional murderer could have a bit more compassion than the average Joe, and that was equal parts impressive and depressing). 

If you knew what to look for and how to look for it, you could see the exhaustion and stress behind Ness’ friendly demeanor. . .and yet, that demeanor wasn’t at all fake.

Ness truly seemed to be doing his best, determined to earn his keep and survive, while still maintaining some positivity. It was refreshing to see that type of energy.

Not only that: Ness was clearly the observant type. Perhaps (hopefully) not enough to cause any problems for the trio or their work right now. . .but enough to see the rising hunger Caliban specifically attempted to hide while in public.

“Did your lunch get away from you?” Ness asked, the playful tone of his voice somehow mixing very well with the slight concern in his eyes as he wrote down the order for a rare steak. 

Caliban laughed, offering a combination of nod and shrug. “Something like that. . .”

One part of him was all-too happy to make his typical jokes, the actual meanings of certain phrases slyly hidden under a veil of casual innocence. (The way Murdock’s facade got close to twitching as he side-eyed him was also amusing.)

Another part had to focus on reminding himself that this guy was a waiter, and any waiter who wasn’t used to seeing hungry people probably had a few issues to work on. He had absolutely no way of knowing about his true eating habits.

With that, Ness vanished into the kitchen once more, calling “Order In!” to whoever else was back there, his words hanging in the air as the aluminum door swung to and fro. 

The shy simper on Murdock’s face warped into a more typical sardonic grin. He put a hand to his chest and leaned forward in a tiny little bow. 

Caliban clicked his tongue, grinning back as he offered a slow applause. “Bravo.”

Azalea waited a few seconds before joining in. “Encor, encor.”

The grin fell from Murdock’s features as he corrected his posture and pouted. “Hey, say what you will about my act, but at least it’s convincing. Not quite as obvious as your pun-addiction.” He kept his voice low as he pointed an accusatory finger in Caliban’s direction. 

“Oh, c’mon. It’s not as bad as you always make it out to be; let Cal can have his fun,” Azalea argued, nudging at her brother’s arm with her elbow. 

Caliban nodded enthusiastically. “Besides, that one doesn't count. I only make things obvious when they need to be obvious.”

“. . .When?” Murdock asked, his brow furrowed as a concoction of blankness and aggravation flashed in his left eye. “When do things ever need to be obvious?”

“When it’s already too late,” Caliban chortled, deciding to be wild and add some extra sugar to his coffee.

“You of all people should know,” Azalea agreed.

Murdock was in the middle of an overexaggerated sigh. . .only to flinch and put his facade back on when the bell above the entrance interjected.

___

“It’s them,” Penn declared in a hushed tone, struggling to keep his head down and his eyes fixed on the table. 

Illinois hummed and squinted at him, a spoon in his hand softly clinking as he stirred creamer into his coffee. “What are you talking about?” 

Penn shuffled in his seat and pursed his lips, nodding past his companion. 

The adventurer turned his head, tossing a glance over his shoulder at three other patrons who sat at another booth on the opposite side of the diner. The only other people here aside from the waiter who he'd half-chatted-half-flirted with five or so minutes ago.

“Those guys?” Illinois murmured as he returned his focus to the paleontologist across from him. “Do you know any of them?”

Penn nodded. “Not the one with the white-band-thing wrapped around his head, but the other two. . .”

The other two indeed. They sat side-by-side:  a lanky man in a dark blue button-down and a truly petite women wearing white with a cherry-red headband. They both boasted fair skin and chocolate-colored eyes to match their hair. 

That was what really caught Penn’s attention.

Those two looked distinctly related. . .like siblings. . .or cousins. 

Cousins.

Cousins, cousins, cousins, a voice in Penn’s head chanted, getting a bit louder each time, competing with flashing images of that ever-shifting monster. . .of that ungodly amount of teeth, of what the monster had said about those teeth. . .

“It’s. Them,” Penn repeated, quieter yet harsher than before, willing his eyes to give off the same vibe as concrete in order to somehow beam that particular recent memory into Illinois’ head. 

Apparently his efforts were successful, as Illinois’ eyes widened from under the brim of his hat.

“Are you sure?” Illinois inquired, leaning ever-so-slightly forward. 

For a few seconds, Penn’s mouth merely opened and closed with no words coming out. Was he sure? Or could this be some weird cosmic coincidence? (Of course, Penn’s deeper instincts already knew the answer, but some of his nerves were now on fire, and the smoke obscured that just a bit.)

There was one guaranteed way to find out.

Subconsciously weaving his red neckerchief about his fingers, Penn gazed around the diner before zeroing in on the kitchen door. He watched it, listened to the muffled chorus of sizzles and hisses and pops and other trademark noises of cooking for what almost felt like an hour.

Until the wait—uh, Ness glided back out, this time deftly balancing a platter of food on one hand. 

That was where Penn finally moved. 

He shuffled out of the booth and headed over to an empty doorway near the far-side of the coffee counter with a sign proclaiming RESTROOMS hanging just above it.

He walked right past the table Ness was now delivering meals to; right past those three other customers. Penn let his eyes briefly wander over them as he traipsed by.

In a way, it was truly fascinating just how much you could see and feel in under a minute. (And it was equally embarrassing that whenever you knew that you had to be subtle or casual about something, you inevitably ended up trying too hard.)

Two pairs of eyes flicked over in Penn’s direction, one after the other. 

Memories from his childhood flashed in that millisecond of darkness as he blinked. Those images blurred in his peripheral vision as he got further away from that table, almost like they were trying to physically get out of his head and connect themselves to what he was seeing like puzzle pieces. They lingered in his reflection as he ducked into the restroom and hovered over the sink. 

He’d seen them both pause. 

He’d seen both their eyes widen. 

He’d seen that same spark of what could only be recognition etch its way across both their faces.

Both he and the sibling duo had just barely been teenagers the last time he saw them, and somehow. . .

Penn sighed, taking a long moment to splash some cold water on his face before trudging back out. He felt his cousins’ eyes on him as he passed by yet again.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he announced in a small voice as he sat back down.

Cal and Aza, his mind whispered, dredging up names from years and years ago. They’re here. They can see me, and they know I can see them. 

Illinois offered a slow nod, chewing his lip as his eyes wandered over to the window by the table. “Well. . .” Sooner or later, a bit of expectancy mixed into the contemplation in his features. “Are you gonna go talk to them?” 

Penn blinked. “‘Talk to them?’”

“I didn’t think there’d be an echo in here,” Illinois chided. 

If there was one thing to know about Illinois, it was that he had a knack for taking things in stride when they probably shouldn’t be taken in stride. It was usually his best quality, though sometimes it could also be his worst. 

Penn wasn’t quite sure which of those categories this scenario fell into. 

“I can’t just do that.” Penn argued.

“Why not?” Illinois wondered. 

“Don’t you remember what that thing said? How he worded it?” Penn couldn’t help but shudder.

All of those godforesaken eyes and fangs. . .

Illinois’ brow furrowed with a combination of empathy and exasperation. “Yeah, I do. I heard it all, and I know how awful it sounded. But like I said before: since you don’t know what he meant by all that, then you need to find out.”

Penn couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. “You really think I can just ‘find out’ everything I need to know about such a cryptic message right now? In a place like this?” He spread his arms to gestures at anything and everything around them.

Somehow, the diner’s atmosphere remained quiet and normal. For the most part.

“. . .The Walmart incident really did a number on you, huh?” Illinois asked, though the question seemed a bit more aimed at himself than his companion. “I didn’t say you had to learn everything right now. Hell, I know that you probably won’t be able to. I’m just saying that you might not get an opportunity like this again. So. . .why not at least try to give it a shot?”

Any words that might’ve been forming died a quick death on Penn’s tongue. He shifted in his seat, suddenly compelled to stare at tiny imperfections in the table’s surface. 

Illinois sighed. “Look, whatever’s apparently going on is your business. That means you deserve to choose however you may or may not get some information or closure. I’m just trying to help.”

Oddly perfect timing worked in mysterious ways, as the statement had barely left Illinois’ mouth when the universe saw it fit to have Ness reappear and drop off ordered meals (eggs benedict for the paleontologist, biscuits and gravy for the adventurer).

With that, the duo tucked in. It’d been a long day, and it was unbelievable just how much being trapped in a car could really take out of you.

There was much less conversation than usual, but that wasn’t too much of a problem.

Though Illinois hardly ever missed a chance to talk someone’s ears off, he still knew when to keept quiet. So, he fished one of the many old novels he’d collected in his career (specifically The Egyptian Book of the Dead) out of his satchel, reading and reminiscing while he ate.

Penn, meanwhile, couldn’t stop glancing past his friend and at his cousins. 

On one hand, he knew it probably looked weird at best and maybe a little creepy at worst. 

On the other hand, while both Caliban and Azalea’s focus was fluctuating between their entrees and their companion, whose HMS Self Confidence seemed destined to keep hitting iceberg after iceberg. . .they were both glancing at him in that same quick-but-not-quick-enough-thus-painfully-awkward way.

They both shifted in place, whispered to one another. Just a moment ago, they’d acted with a confidence that Penn had never seen before, only for said confidence to evaporate when they realized who he was. 

Caliban had filled in nicely. He looked to be at a healthy weight now, but Penn couldn’t avoid recalling just how skinny he’d been in his youth. (Now, Penn knew he had no room to talk, because he’d had quite a metabolism as a child, but. . .well, people usually didn’t stay so thin after they had their first growth spurt, like the kid he’d seen at just a couple family reunions.)

Out of all the differences between then and now, the biggest one was a small scar that dragged over the skin on the left side of his upper lip. Each time Caliban opened his mouth to take in a bite of food or speak words that just couldn’t be made out thanks to the relative distance, Penn caught a glimpse of something silvery in his mouth, right below aforementioned scar. 

Azalea had been downright tiny as a child, despite the fact that she was a year older than both her brother and her cousin. Right now, her skin was practically glowing. Quite the departure from how pale she'd been back then, which had made the rings under her eyes stick out like a pair of sore thumbs.

And that, Penn realized, was something that had stayed. 

Neither of the siblings’ eyes looked sunken perse. . .but the skin beneath each pair of sockets still boasted hollows. 

The eyes themselves were a different kettle of fish. 

For Caliban, a vague hunger was still present, going deeper and darker. 

For Azalea, vigilance remained, now much sharper and more cunning. 

But there was. . .something else in both of them. 

Penn couldn’t tell what it was exactly. But somehow, he knew that it was very, very wrong. 

He took a break from his dinner to scrub at his own eyes, not hearing the footsteps until he re-opened them and saw the latter sauntering up to his and Illinois’ table.

___

“E-everything was great, thank you!” Murdock’s mask offered what had to be the sixteenth nervous smile tonight as he paid his portion of dinner. Aforementioned smile trembled on his face as he continued, “. . .Gareic would’ve loved it! Probably as much as he loved fireworks. . . ah, w-well, I don’t know for sure. I’ll never—I’ll never really know. . .”

Murdock then hunched his shoulders, forehead suddenly an inch from the table, putting on a truly Grammy-worthy act of fighting back tears. 

A cocktail of sympathy and confusion swirled about Ness’ features. He merely nodded, giving an appreciative look to Caliban and Azalea in turn. 

The siblings nodded right back in that classic Don’t Worry, We’ve Got This fashion. 

And as the waiter retreated once more, the trio made their way back outside, a rather hefty tip left in their wake. 

The shaking and choked sobs up and disappeared from Murdock’s body as he trekked over to his car, quietly celebrating a successful evening of making someone believe that he really was just another poor sap who probably wouldn't survive a public speaking class. 

While Caliban and Azalea would’ve given more sarcastic commentary on the matter, they found themselves having to concentrate on not looking over their shoulders. 

“. . .Why did you do that?” Caliban finally asked, referring to the way his sister had eventually gone over to strike up a conversation with their cousin. The way she’d acted all surprised to see Penn, given him a quick hug, introduced herself to his friend, the works. 

The way she’d ended up giving Penn one of her business cards for Aftertaste. . .

“I should be asking why you didn’t follow along with it. I had to make excuses about you being tired from a wild day. . .well, I mean, I guess I can cut you some slack for that part,” Azalea replied. 

Though that did get a chuckle out of Caliban, it was still laced with a bit of anxiety.

Azalea winced, giving him an apologetic glance before she continued. “I was setting up a gameplan.” 

“You saw that look in his eyes.” Caliban sucked his teeth. “We both did.”

Azalea fidgeted with her sleeves. “It’s been years upon years. It’s impossible for him to actually know about our work.” 

“Right, right. It’s just—” Caliban sighed, running a hair through his hair. “Something obviously happened. I don’t know how it could relate to us, but. . .” He trailed off as something cold traced along his ribcage. 

Azalea reached up to place a comforting hand on her brother’s shoulder. “Hey, we’ve gotten through much bigger things. I know how this feels right now, but it won’t be so bad later on. I promise.” She hesitated for a few long seconds, then added, “. . . It’s not like he ever tried to make things worse back then.”

Caliban gazed down at her and nodded. She was correct; she was taking initiative like she had so many times years before. She wouldn’t have to handle things alone. 

And Penn. . .well, Penn had been a good egg as a kid. Chances were he was still smart and reasonable today. 

Azalea nodded back. “What I did bought us some time to go over our stories. To come up with something convincing enough. So, once he accepts my little invitation and stops by for a visit—” 

“—we’ll be ready to put him at ease and keep him off any scent,” Caliban finished.  

Headlights beamed to life as Murdock took his place behind the wheel. 

Azalea didn’t call shotgun, but she didn’t really need to, She already had earlier that day, and Caliban, who knew his car etiquette, slithered over to the backseat without any fuss. 

Snare stirred, letting out a tiny yawn and stretching before clambering into his owner’s lap, curiously sniffing at the to-go box in said owner’s hand. 

As Murdock eased the car out of Sparky’s parking lot and back onto the main road, something in Caliban’s brain decided now was the time for him to start staring at those glowing windows. He glimpsed his sister looking in the same direction. 

Penn and his friend were still there.

It only took a moment or two before the restaurant became a small blur in the distance, but Caliban's instincts told him that his cousin could still feel his and Azalea’s eyes. . .

@sammys-magical-au @insane4fandoms @b-is-in-the-closet @im-a-weird0 @lexusinsannus @sunny011387 @x-hotrose-x

[nommedtail]

so uh after god 54 huh

[maladaptiveobsession]

yandere valentino headcanons

contains: nsfw themes, noncon, heavy abuse (manipulation, physical violence, sexual exploitation), dehumanization, orgasm control, mind break, dacryphilia, fellatio, sadomasochism, rough sex

yandere valentino

who’s affections are destructive and suffocating; to this egomaniacal mack, you’re no better than his contracted whores. from his hands that paint your skin deep purples and blues to his lips that steal your breath, nothing about val is gentle. yet, even when he sharply pulls your hair and degrades you, you find yourself entranced by him.

who’s malicious and cruel; you’re an object, his personal toy—a fact he won’t let you forget. you eat, sleep, and fuck on his command. he’ll remind you of your place if you so much as blink without his permission. perhaps he’ll have you roughed up a bit by his patrons. they’re sure to fuck some sense into you.

who rewards good behavior with praise and affection. you know you’ve done well when he guides you to your knees, lascivious grin encouraging you to open wide. your stomach twisting in knots when he calls you his good girl while roughly pulling you closer by the hair. dance around his cock with your tongue like he trained you and he may even feel generous enough to return the favor. be careful though, no good deed goes unpunished. he’ll push you to your breaking point, tease you till you’re begging for release only to force climax after climax out of you.

who’s unpredictable; his temper has you feeling unsteady, as if you’re walking on eggshells and broken glass. one moment you’re his treasured toy and the next he has you on the ground, begging for forgiveness as his boots violently meet your sides. you’ll scramble to keep his affections, never having felt so worthless without them. though you are his treasured toy, he’ll never let you forget that toys are replaceable—something that can be broken or thrown away at his discretion. of course, what makes yandere val unique compared to his normal counterpart is that he would never give you away or damage you beyond what can be repaired. his words are empty threats to keep you in line; you’re far more precious than he lets on.

who is vehemenemously possessive; you’re his, don’t forget it. keep your eyes on him unless you want a reminder of what he does to disobedient brats.

who’s merciless; this man relishes in your torment and gets off on your fear. nothing gets him harder than your pained tears as he fucks you too roughly. he delights in your cracked pleas for him to slow down and your fearful shudder as he traces your skin with his teeth. he especially loves provoking you to act out and then punishing you for it. eventually, the pain will become a familiar constant, it may even grow into a guilty pleasure. broken down and reshaped into the perfect toy, he’ll never grow bored of you; you’re stuck as his beloved stress toy for all of eternity.

[mahvaladara]

Almost on queue they heard the singing of the hens as Syra rushed back up the path throwing corn with a whole bunch of chicks chasing her. She smiled at them and made a surprised sound when she saw the fixed coop.

Syra: You fixed it!

They smiled looking at the coop as it now looked better than it had ever done. As Syra came running with the chickens, they turned to Mal.

Fannar: And I am as prepared as I can be, and I intend to stick by him to the end, whenever that might happen.  -they nodded, then looked at Syra. - Impressive, they seem to know resistance is futile. - they chuckled and picked up one of the chickens. - See new house and all.

Syra: These aren’t the original chickens -she confessed sheepishly- But we didn’t want Arlo to get upset.

Fannar: Oh.

Syra: Sorry. Brightside though! Disposable Rooster #2 -and she pointed to the rooster- Will live a long happy life and not become chicken soup!

Mal: Waste of perfectly good meat. With his size and age, his liver is huge, tasty and healthy, his heart rubbery and tasty, and if I pull and snap his neck and hold him upside down long enough all the blood's going to accumulate on the neck and head and then I can boil him, clean him up and cook that neck with coagulated blood to make the most marvelous chicken soup.

Vy and Fannar stared Mal horrorfied.

Mal: What? You guys never had chicken?

Syra: No dad. I think they did. I just think you horrified them with the graphic description of how you prepare them.

Mal: Or, you're one of those "only eat chicken from the supermarket, injected with growth hormones, held up in tiny pens and fed the remains of their crushed siblings and rejected eggs, and killed by electrocution" kind of guys.

Vy: Well... but you actually snap their necks? With your bare hands?

Mal: With what else would I kill the chickens? You expected me to go ax murderer on the chicken? This isn't The Shinning. Wastes effort, time, it's messier, more painful for the chicken, can actually take longer to kill it, especially with a rooster that size that requires at least two good hits to chop off his head, and shooting a chicken would just be overkill. Besides, it would waste all the blood I'd want around the neck to cook.

Vy: Why do you want to eat the chicken's cooked coagulated blood?

Mal: Because it's a delicacy where I come from! Don't you people have cultural gastronomy? Where I come from we eat everything from the chicken! Everything from the pork too! And almost everything from the cow. Except the kidneys, the kidneys just taste bad.

Vy: No wonder you don't eat dragons. You eat everything else, devourer.

Mal: I don't eat cockroaches, and have only eaten bugs out of desperation. I am actually repulsed by them. If you want to incapacitate me in a battle, just throw a flying roach at me and I'll jump out a window to escape it! Or set the building on fire. I have done both in the past.

[wizard-eater]

How do you deal with the whole Wizards Exploding When They Die? Does your stomach just balloon outwards like a looneytoons character for a moment.

Not every wizard experiences such a dramatic reaction after death, but those that do pop between my teeth and I savor the soft yield of their flesh as soon as the flames have ran their course

It makes for a nice caramelized aftereffect as a result

[exhaustedwriterartist]

Could you explain how Mazie deals with Sepsis? I’m not entirely sure how it works and would love to hear more about it

Absolutely! I'll go into more detail when I collab with Nya for the big lore drop, but I'll share the medical side here:

Trigger/content warnings: illness and descriptions of illness (obviously), eating disorder, descriptions of eating disorders, mentioned vomiting

Also, this is extremely long-winded but I am nothing but thorough.

To start off here is a definition of Sepsis from the Cleveland Clinic: "Sepsis is your body’s extreme reaction to an infection. When you have an infection, your immune system works to try to fight it. But sometimes your immune system stops fighting the infection and starts damaging your normal tissues and organs, leading to widespread inflammation throughout your body."

There are many different causes and ways to get sepsis, and even a cuts can lead to sepsis.

Mazie got sepsis shortly after the invasion. The reason being she ended up in a disgusting river that was teeming with whatever washed into the river after the invasion, and Mazie neglected to really patch herself up after getting injured while fighting alongside Casey. So open injuries + nasty water = high risk for contracting sepsis.

Sepsis has three stages, the last being septicemic shock, and each stage slowly worsens over a period of a few hours to a few days. Each stage also lowers chances of survival and lengthens recovery time.

Without spoiling, by the time she shows symptoms, she is in Draxum's lab. She is quite upset with Draxum at this point, part due to her hatred, grudge, and frustration with him, and partly because her illness is making her delirious and agitated. Some symptoms include her heart rate gets faster, her breathing gets faster, dangerously low blood pressure, a high fever, severe inflammation to her muscles and joints, tissue deterioration (especially around her injuries), and more! She doesn't let Drax help her or even make sure she's okay, until she reaches the final stage, and passes out... And wakes up feral, out of it, in pain, suffering, and faced with a sheep man desperately trying to keep her alive but who she believes is an enemy.

Snapping out of her feral state takes some time, and recovery takes her months. When she is aware and awake for the first time, she can hardly move, and there are a multitude of other problems that come along with Mazie_s next challenge: Post Sepsis Syndrome!

Here are some symptoms that Mazie spet deal's with that Sepsis.org (yes that is the website name) says are common symptoms of PSS:

Difficulty sleeping, either difficulty getting to sleep or staying asleep, fatigue, lethargy, shortness of breath, difficulty breathing, disabling muscle or joint pain, swelling in the limbs, repeat infections, particularly in the first few weeks and months following the initial bout of sepsis, poor appetite, reduced organ function, eg kidney, liver, heart, panic attacks, flashbacks, nightmares, loss of self-esteem, depression, post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).

The loss of appetite turns into a big problem over time, turning into an eating disorder. It gets really hard for her to eat most solid foods, it's like there's an invisible wall that keeps her from being able to swallow or eating at all. Thankfully, liquids and liquid foods don't give her as much grief (emphasis on "as much"). She dreads having to eat but forces herself to when she's around others. When she's alone though, it gets much harder. What makes it worse is that Mazie has to eat something to keep Draxum's medicine down. Unfortunately, she can't always keep it dow and it comes back up before it has a chance to help with her pain, or she has bad stomach pain. Either way she is suffering.

She slowly recovers from her eating disorder along with PSS, but it definitely takes her time, being honest with other and asking for help, and allowing others to help her. Slowly, others begin to find out about her her struggles, and much to Mazie's surprise, they aren't angry at her for hiding this.

Anyways, I hope this makes sense and helps clears things up!

Thank you for asking Moo!!!!

[milkywayscap-blog]

Tainted Waters

TRIGGER WARNINGS: SA, CHILD ABUSE, GORE, BLOOD, VIOLENCE, DOMESTIC ABUSE

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The life of Lucianus Amandus:

Infancy to early childhood:

Lucianus was always praised and adored as a child by his family, especially his mother. She viewed him as a blessing from the goddess of beauty, Venus. This became more apparent as he grew up. Although his older siblings and father also doted on him, his mother smothered him with attention every chance she got. Despite this, Lucianus loved his family's attention and cherished those moments. His father often took him to the beach near their village where they would name sea creatures and play in the water, which was Lucianus's favorite part of the day. He had grown an attachment to the sea and its many facets, the beach, anyone really, was a safe space for him.

Early childhood to mid-preteens:

Lucianus’ father had died in battle. He sobbed into his eldest brother’s arms as his other sibling simply patted his head as they stared sadly at their father’s grave. Their mother seemed the most affected by his death, though it wouldn’t seem to be the case as only a few months after she had met a new man and quickly married him. The siblings did not take a liking to the man, there was something off about him and his demeanor. Unfortunately, Lucianus’ eldest brother, Glacies, could not stay as he had to go fight in the war, though they wrote to each other very often. However, things were only doomed to get worse. His stepfather was a drunkard but a wealthy man. He would constantly find things or nitpick the two about. Achaea, the middle child, had enough of their stepfather and yelled at him, “Why the hell do you think you can dictate what we do!? You make it seem like we’re the problem when it’s just you.” But they would regret doing so. Their stepfather grabbed a knife from the table. Lucianus’ eyes widened as he stood frozen behind his sibling. A blood-curdling scream was let out as Achaea fell to the ground as they covered their face. The sound of something falling to the ground was muffled for Lucianus as he just stood there frozen in fear at his stepfather's bloody knife. His gaze fell to whatever fell to the ground... It was Achaea's eyes, the man had gouged out his older sibling's eyes. "How... How could you-" "Shut up. Just bandage them up before I give you the same treatment." The man said as he walked away, slamming the knife back onto the kitchen table. Lucianus hurried to Achaea as he helped them up and went to bandage their eyes. That was when his life took a drastic turn when his older sibling was blinded and almost fatally wounded by their stepfather.

Early teens to now:

Lucianus felt himself being tugged his begging and and pleading falling on deaf ears as he was tossed into the arms of an older man. "He's going to take care of you for the next few days, sweetie," His mother said in a soft tone as the unknown noble handed her a hefty pouch of gold coins. The next few days Lucianus wished he could wipe from his memory. The older man used him like a doll pushing, pulling, and contorting his body to fit the unknown man's pleasures and desires. Lucianus felt like a passenger to all of the events and actions that took place over those few days feeling his body be touched, poked, prodded, and even violated. He felt every stroke, kiss, and hungry stare. He felt how things happened to his body and his body reacted and that made him feel even more sick to his stomach. He would shove and push at the men but that would just lead to them being even more turned on at how 'feisty' he was. After those events he never wanted another man to touch him let alone lay his eyes on him. But fate must want to be cruel as he was bought off and given around to noblemen like he was a toy. "You're so beautiful," "Your body is so plush and soft," "I would almost think you were a girl with how beautiful and soft you are," "Do you think your mother would let me keep you for a few more days?" and "Your body accepts me so well, have you done this before?" is what those men would say as they pulled on his body and hair watching him scream and cry as they gorged themselves on his body. He was like a toy that his mother chose to give away every now and then. A toy that got more broken each time he was 'played' with. He felt trapped as if he was a butterfly simply caught in the web that was his mother's and stepfather's influence, control, and power. It had never got better when Lucianus, as well as Achaea, heard the news of their mother carrying another child. They had delivered this news to Glacies in their letter to him. Seeing how their stepfather treated Kalliaros, their youngest brother, it had shocked the two. And made it all the more apparent that they could not let him fall victim as well. The young boy was as sweet as sugar helping Achaea at every turn. Though, whether it would be fortunate or not, Lucianus had been sent to a school far out in the city of Rome. Lucianus found it to be a reprieve from the things that awaited him back at home, though he knew eventually that he would go back on breaks. And that scared him the most, having to go back there. The 17-year-old made it his mission to avoid any and all men at his new school though, he's already been there for two years now and still hasn't made any effort to speak or even look at his male classmates and teachers. That was until he met... Him. Antemion was the boy's name, the boy who had just followed him into an empty classroom. He was known to be a troublemaker. But, instead of the usual snide remarks that he had seen the other boy make... he was surprisingly sweet, apologized, and even gave Lucianus a fig as a sign that he had not meant to scare the boy.