#mention of poisoning/murder

[darby-rowe]

he makes you keep a vial of it in a locket and uses it has a subtle threat when you’re in public

cw poisoning, allusions to murder

mmm, young president snow having this looming threat over you that he could so easily dispose of you at any time and none would be the wiser. he holds so much power, so much evil that he demonstrates in many ways. the poison he feeds you in increasing increments almost acts like medication that keeps you docile and by his side. but he can’t blindly place his trust in others anymore. the vial is simply a backup plan in case you act out of line.

[weirdo-from-bonesborough]

Au where Cass stuck around after Bruce’s “death” and helped Dick and Damian fight Scarlet and Red Hood and now Cass believes that Jason is manipulating Sasha into being a murderer so she goes “my child now.”

[aroaessidhe]

Have you read any mysteries and/or humorous books with aspec characters? I want to buy a gift for an aroace friend but all the books I've read with aspec characters are either in the fantasy, sci-fi or YA contemporary genres which they aren't particularly inclined towards. They also also like literary fiction

Hm! Gonna be honest I'm not sure I can think of anything that'd be perfect. most of what I read is sff or YA haha.

For mysteries - there's The Murder Next Door which is historical murder mystery, f/f with an ace lesbian. The Reanimator's Heart is historical paranormal mystery, (m/m demi), Looking for Love in All the Haunted Places is a contemporary romcom with a lightly paranormal mystery element (ace f/m), Poisoned Primrose is a cozy mystery series with an ace MC & LI (f/m).

Everything that immediately comes to mind as being funny is YA fantasy or YA contemporary...

For litfic we have: Small Joys (ace SC), Convenience Store Woman (aroace coded MC), Breasts and Eggs (ace MC), American Mermaid (ace MC) - but tbh all four of these are love-it-or-hate it kind of depictions of asexuality imo, I don't know if they'd be something I'd gift just based on that if that makes sense?

[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

[fitgof]

Amy’s head throbbed and she grabbed it between her hands. He knows her real name. There’s no way he could know her real name. 

The room started to spin around her and she turned to follow the rotation.

“How did you do it?” Alouette asked, pulling her arms away from her head.

“Do what?”  Amy stumbled over the simple words.  Everything felt fuzzy.

“You can barely use the powers you have yet you had the strength to kill them both.”

None of this made sense. The books she read said nothing about the King and Queen having died that day. She hadn’t even seen them in that crowded room before the magic exploded from her hand. It was an accident.

Alouette pushed his face into hers. “Tell me, Ambrosia van Aster, how did someone like you manage to kill the most powerful people on this side of the magic realm?” He spoke her name as if it were made of poison, like the poison currently coursing through her body.  

[lovesickbaker]

I'm on the verge of mutilating a person beyond the point of reasonable recognition—until death welcomes them into its arms—simply for breathing wrong in my direction.

[homiro]

I don't believe in justice unless it's done by my own hand or the populace. I don't give a shit about being the bigger person when I'm hurt or wronged or done dirty. I don't give a shit about admitting with my chest that I would kill a motherfucker if it meant ridding the world of a threat. It's one thing to be angry at someone who is a bitch and want them to get some form of taste of what they did to me, it's another to want to get rid of one life to save one hundred trans women's lives. I hardly believe in the judicial system to do their fucking jobs. It takes a million years for them to do anything at all. When they do anything at all that is. Being the bigger person? In a world that wants to destroy us for daring to be different and for simply existing? Having compassion and principles and being humane towards monsters? Fat fucking chance. Oh you're a killer as well if you kill a killer. Yeah? And? Do you think that weighs on my consciousness? It really doesn't. Every single punch I've thrown in my life was satisfying and I never regretted planning my revenge against bullies and exacting it. I don't care about what people think of me. I don't mind being the crazy one or the villain. I'm sane enough and my "scary mental illnesses" have NEVER made me turn violent or aggressive against someone who hadn't hurt me. My public image isn't important to me. I'm not a victim. I've survived until now because I was never one. I never wanted pity because my whole fucking life I had to fend for myself. I never had anyone in my corner. I used to throw rocks and sloppy haymakers before I learnt martial arts for real. I was non-verbal most of my upbringing and even now sometimes I become non-verbal.

I grew up in a world where all I could safely feel was anger, where my tears of fury and of being unable to speak were seen by my misogynistic abuser as "manipulative woman tears". When I was a literal child. One digit old autistic child. And while before it was frozen anger tears unable to blink and being forced to look at him after he slapped me while drunk and screaming or just screaming and hitting me, when they tried to bully me at school and I cried, the anger became violence if it made me cry and now it still does, but I can fucking use them to get justice. A funny story is of when a pair of cops looked terrified when I sat on the curb when they were fining us for something ridiculous and we had no money (and the car was fucking old to begin with) and the fury consumed me so much, that I started crying in silence and stared at them without blinking with gritted teeth. They ended up overlooking it by saying 'just send this to this place and it won't go anywhere' quickly and leaving.

That's TME privilege but also looking terrifying privilege lol

[poisoned-sugar11]

i love how these 2 can go from wholesome to "Rody just found his gf dead in his boss's freezer and is about to be knocked out by said boss" in the span of like a week

Yeah thats how the average relationship goes right /j

[dullahandyke]

Sidenote I was never her biggest fan but whenever I see someone talk abt dahlia hawthorne as if she's some evil seductress who breaks hearts for fun I feel the intense urge to hit them with hammers. Fucker can you read????

[thekingofthenameless]

7 for the ask game

Thanks for the ask!

7 - Silent Fury

Tws: ableism and false beliefs towards schizophrenia and psychosis; fantasies of murder, blood mentions

Uther hates him.

Merlin is an insane man, and he’s in his castle, and no one else cares. Why should it matter that he was his father’s advisor?

He sees things that aren’t there; he replies to nonexistent voices; sometimes, he’s even convinced that his food has somehow been poisoned, and he makes his dragon eat it first. To him, at least one being is always watching him, is always behind him.

And he knows why he’s like this; because he’s used his magic for far too long, and that makes him a threat.

He wishes that he could enter Merlin’s room when he finally sleeps, when he finally isn’t going mad over the voices, and slit his throat. He wouldn’t be sloppy like whoever already attempted to, judging by the long scar there. Maybe beheading would be better, if he already survived that once; but, either way, he wants the cursed wizard’s blood to run down his sword.

But that stupid dragon is always with him, so silent fury is all he can regard him with.

[the-rogue-mockingjay]

It still kinda bugs me that the Warrior of Light was straight up POISONED and DRUGGED at Falcon's Nest and literally no one gave a shit, Thancred acts like you decided to take a nap on the floor on purpose and speaks to you rather disdainfully when he wakes you up and like. Bruh??? Yeah I know there were other things going on but the fact that not a single person cared is just. UGGHHH. WoL deserved better than that

[realmackross]

PARTIES: @contemporarybardess, @realmackross TIMING: Early November (directly after this thread) SUMMARY: After being attacked by Chris, Mackenzie goes to get help from the one person she trusts most with her life - Elora. WARNINGS: Eye trauma tw, Food poisoning tw, Vomit tw, Unsanitary tw, Murder mention tw, Gun mention tw

Nervously, Elora kept glancing at her phone for any new messages from Mackenzie. “Hey, had a great time the other night. Would love to see you again, if that’s okay? Maybe we can just relax, get some coffee?” Delivered. No read receipt, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t seen it. Was she being too clingy? It had been a few days since their last date and she had definitely felt sparks. But now she was beginning to doubt if those sparks were felt both ways. She waited a couple days because she didn’t want to seem desperate, but maybe that made Mack think she wasn’t interested? 

She had to get a hold of herself. She hadn’t ever let herself get this worked up over somebody before, even with Jake. There was a certain kinship the two had developed, especially now that both of them were aware that each of them had something that made them special. 

—

Her face had claw marks running down the middle of it and dead skin hung from scratches on her body, including a good portion of her back. Mackenzie was struggling after managing to escape from the motel room she had been in with Chris. But with all her strength after shambling around an empty motel room all night, she had found her way out into the morning light, the sun sending a pressure through her cloudy, graying eyes. She needed food. Anything that would sustain her from going on another rampage through town. And luckily for her, she was out far enough away that maybe she could avoid hurting anyone.

Air hitching in her throat as she gasped in and out, Mack stumbled around aimlessly, until she made her way back into the woods. The sounds of birds chirping around her and the rustling of leaves and brush had her spinning around as a feral instinct started to once again kick in. It was the smell of blood lingering in the air that guided the young zombie until she had reached the dying body of a deer that had been shot, and without hesitating, Mackenzie found herself digging into the flesh of the animal as it cried out.

“What the fuck?” Hearing the words behind her, the wounded and blood covered zombie looked up to find a bulky middle-aged man dressed in camo staring her down with a gun aimed in her direction.

—

Her knuckles wrapped hard on the door, as Mackenzie anxiously stood outside Elora’s home, “Please be home. Please be home…” It looked as though she had been through Hell and back, and without any means of a doctor, the deep claw marks from the werewolf attack still remained visible, but not as worse for wear as they had been earlier in the day. Finally pulling out her phone, she noticed the text message from Elora. In all the commotion, she had missed the notification, and now, she desperately stood at the woman’s front door needing her help yet again. Mackenzie had felt like the worst person on the planet, and without wanting to do any further damage to their relationship that was just forming, had turned around and started to walk away.

—

It had been far too long, and Elora got the feeling she was being ghosted. Maybe that night in the pumpkin patch was just a fun one off thing but nothing more regular or serious than that? Maybe she had said something wrong? Maybe…

Her thoughts were interrupted by a hard knocking at her door. Elora was a bit slow to get up, just because in Worm’s Row a knock at the door when you weren’t expecting one is usually trouble. As she slowly approached, she looked through the peephole. Only to see the back of a familiar blond head slinking slowly away from her door.

Quickly, Elora flung the door open and called out. “Hey! Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting co-” her words cut off as she saw the bloodied and battered woman in front of her. Here she was worrying about if Mack still liked her, meanwhile the poor woman looked like she’d been to hell and back. Fear, concern, and rage all built up inside Elora at the sight. Whoever had done this to her would pay. And they would pay dearly. 

“Oh my God. Who…who did this to you? Get inside, please. Let me help you.”

—

When she heard the door open and heard the familiar voice, Mack reluctantly turned around. She had hated that she was bothering Elora with a “needing saved” problem yet again. But at least this time, she was well aware of her surroundings and wasn’t in a state of not being able to function. No, this time, she was actually coherent and for the most part, doing okay. But it didn’t help that she had just knowingly consumed an innocent man. There was a first time for everything! And it was for the greater good right? If she hadn’t, things could have been worse right? She had to keep telling herself that, and in fact, letting Elora know was the last thing she wanted to do. In fact, Mack hadn’t got to flex her acting muscles in a while, and now would be the chance.

“It’s…I’m fine. Just a little bloody and scratched up is all. I’ll be okay. You were the first person I thought of, and I’m not here…I don’t want to mess anything up. I just didn’t want to be alone…” That was all true, but Mackenzie wasn’t fine. Had she ever really been though, since the day she turned? “Plus I can’t really reach my back, so…Doctor Elora to the rescue again…” Her words faltered and soon fell flat as she looked down at the ground, “I’m sorry. I really am.” She blinked a few times, blood seeping into her eye and giving it a nice, red hue, before walking inside with her metaphorical tail tucked between her legs.

—

As Mack spoke, Elora looked on at her incredulously. A little bloody was definitely an understatement, although she wasn’t covered in as much blood as when they had first met. Still, the ever apparent wounds on her body told Elora that this blood was at least mostly hers. She carefully took the zombified woman and ushered her inside the apartment. It was a good thing there was no carpet to get any bloodstains on. 

Thankfully, she kept a basic first aid kit on hand at all times. She took some peroxide and gauze and started dabbing at Mackenzie’s wounds. 

“What happened, did you start to get into a frenzy again? Did your food fight back this time? Or did you come across a slayer?” There was anger in Elora’s voice, but none of it was directed towards Mack. It was directed at the unknown assailant who could cause her such harm. She had hoped it was a hunter so that she had more of an excuse to give them hell. “I swear hunters are fucking bottom feeders, just taking out whoever they can for a quick buck. Tell me who it is and I swear…” she stopped, noticing her vindictive side was starting to emerge. 

“Sorry, I’m not helping your nerves much, am I? I just…can’t believe somebody would hurt you like this.” 

She came around the back of Mackenzie and slowly lifted her shirt to assess the damage. The sight that met her nauseated and shocked her completely. 

“Oh my-” she began, but couldn’t finish her sentence. Her flesh hung like ribbons from her back, as if a wild animal had attacked her. She didn’t figure Mack had gone poking around in the woods aggravating bears, so she figured it must have been a shapeshifter of some kind. She assumed it must have been a werewolf; she dreaded the idea of this being done by another siren. She wanted to say something, to ask her, but instead she just stared in shock at the extent of the damage her back had taken in her attack. 

—

Mackenzie followed Elora into her place. It was the first time she had been in there, and despite the situation she had just come from as being gnarly, she couldn’t help but take in her surroundings. It had a chill vibe to it. It seemed welcoming and safe – something Mack had definitely appreciated in this very moment. And as she followed Elora’s lead, she found a place to try and relax as the redhead pulled out her first aid kit and started to administer care to Mack, “No, it…I was jogging and me and this guy ran into each other and one of my earbuds got trashed. He said he had another one, so like the trusting idiot that I am, I went back to his motel…” She paused. Did she tell Elora that he had murdered somebody? She didn’t want her caught up in all of it. She would skip that minor detail. “Turns out he was a werewolf.” She shrugged, not thinking, but wincing at the immediate realization.

A small smile graced her face as she listened to Elora carry on, but it was the hunters being bottom feeders line that made her laugh. Emilio was a bottom feeder. That much was accurate, “I’ll be fine. It’s just flesh wounds. Yeah, they kinda hurt, but I’m dead. And they’ll probably be as good as new in the morning.” Most everything else had been it seemed like. And Mack did enjoy a nice plump hunter before coming – Wait…What?

Had she just recalled eating someone.

Not the after effects of eating someone, but actually eating someone.

As the thoughts came flooding back, Mackenzie suddenly felt queasy. The warm taste of blood, guts, organs, and…the fresh taste of brain matter sliding down her throat. Not the usual refrigerated stuff doused in hot sauce or cinnamon, “I think I’m gonna be sick…” Leaving Elora, who seemed to look pretty queasy herself, Mackenzie darted towards any room that held a sink, before…

The noises filled the room and then some as Mack left any undigested hunter parts in the sink.

—

Elora couldn’t help but marvel at Mack’s healing powers. She figured since the woman was technically dead that any damaged flesh wouldn’t heal at all. After all, weren’t all the cells that helped with healing supposedly dead? Regardless, even if she didn’t quite understand her healing powers, she was very grateful for them. She wouldn’t want her undead flame to be killed (re-killed?).  

“A werewolf? Holy shit, Mack you’re lucky to be alive. How did you escape? Is he still alive? Who was it?” She had so many questions, but she didn’t want to overwhelm her with them after what she assumed to be a pretty traumatic experience.

While she was normally pretty good with blood, she was absolutely awful at things like vomit. And unfortunately, her lovely other half has decided to drop a bunch of it directly into her kitchen sink. Normally vomit smelled awful but never this bad. It almost smelled like there was something rotting. Though she dreaded it, she approached the sink to assess the damage. 

Was that…blood? And definitely some unidentifiable viscera of some sort.

“Did you…eat him? That’s more impressive than anything, it’s not like werewolves are easy to overpower!” She got a little rush of excitement, even though the smell was still overwhelming her. Her girlfriend was a badass werewolf slayer! Only in self defense though, of course. 

“Do you need anything? Water, pepto bismol? If you’re hungry again after that I have raw chicken in the fridge, maybe that might help? 

—

Mackenzie had totally disregarded the conversation as she hung her head over the sink. How had she remembered this experience? How was it even possible? All the other times she hadn’t. All the other times, like with Brody and the Flats Reign of Terror, she was left in the dark. Was she starting to be more aware with experience or was this just a fluke? Whatever it was, she didn’t like it. She didn’t like being able to see in her head everything she had done to an innocent man out deer hunting.

Raising up from the bent position she was in, she looked over to Elora with sad eyes and a face covered in claw marks and bloodstains, “I remembered…” She ran her arm across her mouth trying to wipe off the parts of the man refusing to look back in the sink, “I remember seeing this man in the woods after finding a deer he had shot, and attacking him. I don’t know how…but I…I don’t like it, Elora. I don’t want to remember what I do to people…”

Mackenzie pitifully walked back over and sat down at the kitchen table, before letting her head drop to the table letting out a scream of frustration and rage, “FUCK.”

Raising back up, she looked back over at her girlfriend, “What do I do? I know it was because of the stuff with Chris and…” Shit. She said his name. Hopefully Elora didn’t know him. “What do I do? Do I turn myself in?” Mackenzie had just had this same conversation with Alex not too long ago after the rampage, but the difference then was that she couldn’t remember what had happened. This time she could.

—

The excitement that Elora had been feeling quickly faded. Her girlfriend was not, in fact, some badass werewolf slayer. Instead some poor sap in the woods was the owner of the guts that now decorated the inside of her kitchen sink. She had her own opinion on deer hunters, or really any animal hunters, but didn’t think they deserved to die like that. Still, she knew it was in Mack’s nature to feed out of necessity. Coming from a race of supposed “man eaters”, she could certainly relate. She still struggled at times to avoid the hunger herself. 

As Mack rose from the table, Elora met her and held her in a comforting embrace. She didn’t really know what to say. “It’s not your fault, you wouldn’t have done it if it weren’t for…” Chris? Did she hear that name slip out? She thought the name sounded familiar but couldn’t quite place a finger on where exactly she had met somebody with that name. However, the list of candidates was narrowed down significantly. How many werewolves named Chris could there be in this town? 

“You’re not going to turn yourself in. This isn’t who you want to be and I know that. It’s just…some things seem to trigger these types of attacks. Besides, think about if they lock you up. One prison riot or yard fight could turn into a major bloodbath. It’s best to stay away from a place that’s prone to violence” Then, she grabbed Mackenzie’s hands in her own, interlocking their fingers. “Stay the night here. With me. You’ll be safe here. Stay as long as you need until everything blows over. We’ll figure this out, trust me.” 

—

When Mack felt Elora wrap her arms around her, she couldn’t help but bury her face in the woman’s shoulder. Just having someone hold her like that had felt comforting and was well needed in her moment of distress. Mackenzie had missed just feeling the touch of another person, and since becoming a zombie wasn’t something she often got anymore, “I know. And I just keep telling myself it might have saved so many more people…” She spoke the words into Elora’s shoulder, before pulling back to look at her.

The woman standing in front of Mackenzie had been a Godsend, like her own personal angel that had saved her more than once now, and she didn’t know how she could make it up to her, “Alex said the same thing months ago at Monty’s farm. You’re right. I can’t go out there.” She looked down, chewing on the side of her bottom lip that didn’t have a claw mark through it. Staying with Elora was probably the better option. Besides, she wasn’t sure if Chris had still been out there looking for her, and the last thing she wanted to do was encounter him again.

Looking back up, Mackenzie squeezed Elora’s hands, despite barely being able to feel them, “Okay, I’ll stay. But I am gonna have to go back home and get more…food.” She felt queasy at the word, “I don’t want to risk hurting you if I get hungry. And you can tell me to leave if at any point you don’t feel safe with me here…” She looked in the redhead’s eyes. She was falling hard for the woman and couldn’t stand to bear the idea of hurting her like she had hurt Brody.

—

Elora couldn’t help but feel bad for the young zombie in front of her. She clearly hated what she had become and what her nature had driven her to do time and time again. It was a level of humanity that was absent in much of the population, even in many of the humans she had    met. It was a clear pang of regret that meant she wasn’t really the monster she regrettably had to act like from time to time. Elora knew this. She just hoped she wouldn’t have to convince Mack of the same. 

“‘Food’, eh? Well since you’ve already turned the inside of my sink into a crime scene I guess you can bring over whatever brains and body parts you want. Just…try to be discreet about it if you can. There tends to be a bigger police presence over in this neighborhood.” 

Elora wasn’t a man eater. Hadn’t been for many years. Yet she couldn’t deny that having Mack’s “food” would still present a strong temptation to her. After all, she still hadn’t forgotten the taste, the level of satisfaction that regular food just couldn’t supply for her. If she was really in this for the long haul, she’d have to learn ways to overcome that temptation on a consistent basis. 

“Are you sure you’ll be okay? I mean, I know a hospital’s out of the question. I just… I’m worried about you.” 

—

Mack was trying not to let this bother her. Not to put more on Elora than she already had. It would just be something else she could tuck away and deal with later when she got back home. Late nights and loneliness were her middle names. She had become a pro by this point since sleep was clearly for the weak, “Since when have I ever not been discreet?” She smiled softly at Elora throwing in a wink considering she graced television screens and computer monitors all across the world. Plus, her little Zombie Fun Run was definitely one to turn heads.

Letting go of Elora and moving towards the sink reluctantly, she peered down into the mass of zombie sludge. It was hard to believe that was once a human life. Someone with thoughts and feelings. It hurt something kinda fierce knowing that Mack was well aware of what she had done to the poor man and the deer he had shot, “I’ll clean this out, okay? Dispose of it on my way home, like it never happened.” She looked back to Elora, who had a look of concern on her face, “I’m fine. This will heal up.” Hopefully. “I mean…my acting days might be out of the question for a while, but I promise you I’m fine. If you could just throw some bandages on my back, and I might snag a t-shirt and some sweat pants if that’s okay. Don’t exactly want to walk out looking like The Walking Dead…” She forced a laugh trying to ease Elora’s mind.

—

Considering the vicious attack she survived, Elora was very impressed at Mack’s resilience. She watched her trudge over to the sink and assess the damage. 

“Just worry about getting what you need, it’s no biggie” she said, offering a warm smile back. “I’ll clean this up, let’s just say it isn’t my first time disposing human remains.” 

Mack would need more than a fresh change of clothes to make it look like she hadn’t just been through a war. But all wounds would heal in time, of course. Elora applied more peroxide and bandaged up Mack’s back as best as she could. It wasn’t perfect, but it would at least make do. 

“You can use my shower too, before you change. Y’know, get some more of the bloodstains off of you before heading out onto the street. “ While the residents in this town were used to seeing weird shit, a woman walking around covered in blood stains would still draw a lot of attention. And considering that she had to go about hiding a mostly digested body, attention was something she really didn’t want on her. 

—

Mack wasn’t thinking as clearly as she probably should have been, because when Elora mentioned taking a shower, she blinked a few times. “Wow. See this is why I’m so grateful to have a girlfriend like you…” Realizing what she had said, she paused. “I…I mean, you know, cause you’re a girl and you’re my friend and…” She quickly looked away from the woman, focusing on some random picture hanging on the wall.

Mackenzie didn’t know if it was too soon to call Elora that or if Elora even wanted to be her girlfriend. And then there was that odd sensation of being in a relationship with someone that wasn’t Brody Stevens. It was all a mixed bag of emotions, and of course, having just fought off a werewolf followed by killing a man and eating him didn’t help the situation, “Uh, think I might take you up on that shower first. You’re probably right about me needing to get cleaned up.” Her laugh was uneasy as she moved away from the kitchen, “Is it just..It’s this way right?” She pointed down the hall not paying attention to the table as she ran into the side of it, “Fuck. Sorry.” And without stopping, she rounded the corner determined to find the bathroom on her own.

—

While Elora found the other woman’s shyness cute, she couldn’t understand why she was being so coy still about defining their relationship. I mean, they had made out in a cornfield, it wasn’t exactly something most people did with their friends.

“Sure, just gals being pals. Like Joan Crawford and Mildred Pierce, the closest of friends,” she replied back with a wink. She wanted to push the envelope a bit, but still didn’t want to make Mack uncomfortable if she wasn’t comfortable slapping a label on things yet. After all, she clearly had a lot of other things going on.

She ran up behind Mack as she banged into her table, although she kept walking and seemed really flustered. She wanted to make sure she wasn’t hurt but Mack’s own panicked movements were making it hard to calm her down. She made a grab for the other woman’s hand again and gave a gentle pull, urging her to face her. 

Quickly, she gave her another kiss. This one wasn’t shy or cautious like their first few, this one had purpose behind it. It conveyed a message. I am yours, and you are mine. 

“Take a breath,” she finally said after a brief pause that felt like eternity. “You’re safe here, and you can never say the wrong thing to me.” 

—

Mackenzie was so focused on everything else and on top of that, feeling like she had made a fool out of herself in front of Elora, that when the other woman grabbed her hand and pulled her back, it was somewhat of a surprise. A nice one though. But what made it even better had been the kiss.

The kiss had been so full of love and compassion that it was hard for Mackenzie to deny that Elora didn’t want to be with her. It was the solidifying thing that Mack had needed. She would always love Brody, but if she kept dwelling on him and the past, she knew she would never be able to move forward. She would just constantly be circling the drain of guilt. And while she was still afraid of the possibility, Mackenzie knew that Elora could handle herself. She was different and knew what Mack was. An advantage that Brody never had, because Mack was too afraid to tell him.

Pulling back after the kiss, she closed her eyes and took the suggested breath, which seemed to have a calming effect. Just say it, Mackenzie. Slowly opening her eyes, she looked into Elora’s, “Will you, Elora…be my girlfriend? Like officially. No fumbling around the subject. We both have baggage, and I know that things will come out in time, but I want to try this, and I want to be with you. Like really be with you. Not just making out in a cornfield, but dates, Netflix and chill, snuggling, picking out puppies together…the whole thing.”

—

She had finally said it. Elora didn’t want to be the first to fully ask about a relationship, but she was glad they could both be open about the idea now. Trusting somebody would be scary again, especially since she learned the hard way what misplaced trust can lead to, but she could feel that something was different. She knew that Mackenzie had a genuine kind heart and would never betray her trust the way that Jake had done. 

“Mackenzie Ross, I would be honored to be your girlfriend. Officially.” She couldn’t help but smile the biggest and dopiest smile she had allowed herself to in a very long time. It was officially real, no longer a hopeful what-if. “Damn, that feels good to say. Your girlfriend.” She then started laughing, not that anything was particularly funny. It was just from the amount of joy she was feeling. “Everyone's got their baggage, it’s how you know you’ve lived your life, you know? Life loves throwing bullshit our way. But no matter what comes out, it’s better to go through everything with someone else instead of alone, right?” 

There was something nice about the images of domesticity that flashed through Elora’s mind when she mentioned cozy nights in and getting a dog together.

“I’d like that a lot. But for right now you need to clean yourself up and get all your things together. I’d say we can get real familiar with each other now seeing as you’ll be staying here for a little while anyway.” 

—

Mackenzie couldn’t even begin to describe the feeling that had washed over her in that moment. It was official. She wanted to cry, shout it from the rooftops, curl up in a ball, do all the things really. Just all the emotions. It had been a whirlwind of a day so far, and now she was official with Elora. She had hoped it wasn’t too soon or rushed or in the heat of the moment, but most days she had found herself thinking about Elora, so that definitely had to have meant something right?

“I’ve got a girlfriend. The most amazing and beautiful woman in the world. Girlfriend…” She let the word roll off her tongue, and for the first time in a long time, it had felt right. “You’re right, and if there was ever a great cure for loneliness, it would be you Elora Spiros.” But the moment was cut short, and, surprisingly, that was okay, because Mackenzie’s girlfriend was right. She did need to get cleaned up and get her stuff.

Not hesitating or second guessing herself, Mack leaned in and kissed Elora again, before pulling back, “You’re right. Shower. Stuff from home. And then it’ll be just you and me, Babe.” Everything she had been feeling earlier had been replaced with hope and positivity. If she was going to be hiding away and laying low for a while, at least it was going to be with the person she loved and wanted to get to know better. And not back at home in her huge empty and lonely house.

[aroaessidhe]

2023 reads / storygraph

The Poisons We Drink

YA urban fantasy

a girl who brews powerful potions is coerced into making potions to interfere with D.C.’s most influential politicians in an attempt to stop a dangerous Witcher Registration Act from passing, and will do anything to protect her sister after their mother is killed

bi MC, nonbinary love interest

arc from netgalley

[vixletserenity]

(AU)

Arven: *holds up a recently hunted rabbit from Nemona* “I don’t know if I can work with this. This isn’t food, it’s roadkill!”

She had just gotten a fire started to cook whatever freshkill was brought in. Her ears twitched when she heard Arven's voice; he at least had returned. Nemona might still be out hunting.

"Well that's definitely not enough for the three of us." Celeste replied, "And probably won't provide much nutrients either; relying solely on rabbits will cause a cruel form of starvation. If our bodies can even handle that little natural fats."

"Were you thinking about going into town and trying to get food there?" Celeste asked while looking into the flames she created; sometimes if prey was out hunted they went into towns to see what they could find. "I...should probably go with you then."

The fur that covered her arms slowly shrunk into her skin; as if disappearing. Her old body. That was one of the first discoveries she had made with Geeta's pack; that Celeste was capable of returning to the body she was born with.

But since then, Celeste had been suffering from body dysmorphia. She could've easily changed back and returned to the life she had. Yet, Celeste felt like she couldn't. How would society accept the girl who became a werewolf through no fault of her own?

Then was the pain in her heart whenever they did go into towns and cities. The thing she missed the most was her mother's homemade meals. The warmth of freshly made food and knowing that it was made with all the love a person could possibly put into it. She some times felt that when Arven cooked; but it wasn't the same.

Celeste curled into herself as memories started flooding in. Both of the more recent events and her childhood. When Celeste was mostly ignorant of the social relations werewolves and humans have.

"Of course you're welcome to come back home. You're my daughter, and I love you with all my heart; no matter what you look like. I'll always love and accept you with open arms."

Her mother's words rang into her ears. How can she ever return home and pretend that nothing happened? Celeste couldn't do that; her life has entirely changed and human society wouldn't respect her.

"Sorry....we should get going." Celeste mumbled before standing up and putting out the flames. Her mental state hadn't been any better since killing her own father; she wondered if Arven's dad met a similar fate.

[irresistiibles]

i was gonna do small little starter calls and changed my mind so under the cut is a post event plotting/starter call with little bits on how everyone is doing post event! i haven’t fully decided what i’m keeping/dropping but i know i’ll drop a lot, so feel free to message me if there’s something you really want to keep, but chances are if it’s not plot or connection heavy i will wind up dropping it. if you want something transitioned or time skipped to post event just let me know! otherwise all of my characters are under the cut with some little blurbs on how they’re doing! i’ll also be using memes as a way to get some new stuff going but in the meantime feel free to like to plot or reply with who you want the starter from/for! this is a long post underneath the cut i’m so sorry

achilles (2/5) : honestly he’s a little shaken. something about it all just did not set well with him, the violence, being out of control, everything, so he’s on edge and as a result a bit of an asshole but like when is he not honestly

starters: josh washington, dream

amber (1/5) : she had a fun time! i mean it was a little more stressful than a standard sparing matching but she’s not all that mad about it. they will be going around offering cleanup help or whatever else to help with repairs though

starters: noelle

asami sato (1/5) : very glad she didn’t murder korra. very over the city being like this. honestly she’s just trying to regain some normalcy though what even does normal mean around here. is gonna deal with her stress by being a little reckless but it is what is is

starters: lettie hatter

chihiro ogino (0/5) : honestly between not going on a date and being a little head empty even at the best of times chihiro really wasn’t all that affected by any of this. sympathetic to people’s issues though and happy to listen while she’s chilling

starters: ?

ciel phantomhive (0/5) : aware again! ciel is back to his typical ways of being a condescending rude little shit. he’s a little shaken, having his pile of memories which are mostly bad forced back on him really wasn’t a vibe but he’s not expressing that and will probably just be even more difficult to deal with than ever for a little while

starters: ?

emily davis (0/5) : i already did a starter call for her when i took her but if anyone else wants one lemmie know. she’s more stressed finding out people who should be dead are here than with anything regarding valentine’s day to be honest

starters: ?

esther mckinnon (2/5) : well her mom doesn’t know who she is so that’s a big pile of stress she’s not happy about. she’s used to these things happening but usually with people she can argue with and insist that she knows them, so figuring out how to express and deal with these emotions might be a bit of a time

starters: cleo mckinnon, stitch

glinda upland (1/5) : very upset! that she killed her best friend! needs some support some people to vent to or whatever because she’s loud and emotional no matter what’s happening and this is actually something worth being loud and emotional about 

starters:  addison wells

jin ling (0/5) : very relieved he didn’t stab anyone this time. stressed about the people he knows who are now unaware but will be acting annoyed about it. the stress of having such a big fam to check in on after things like this has him mostly just tired. he needs a whole nap

starters: ?

lily evans (3/5) : event over means she now has to go on the mission of making sure all of her friends got out of there alive which is always a task and a half. she’s glad she avoided everything but damn, could the city relax? tense but will be out helping people while trying to get back to normal

starters: fleur delacour, ginny weasley, rubeus hagrid

mianmian (0/5) : somehow both embarrassed and relieved that her murder attempt didn’t work. note to self rat poison is not guaranteed to kill a person. lesson learned. she’s gonna want to be a real hermit after this nonsense so someone come forcibly drag her outside please

starters: ?

madoka kaname (1/5) : avoided being shot through the power of being an upbeat lesbian so honestly she’s feeling pretty good. will be running around trying to help with recovery in whatever ways she can and get back to normalcy as she figures out what’s going on with her and homura. happy to have some friends of any kind

starters: tifa lockhart

mob (1/5) : Stressed and upset. he was supposed to have better control of his powers and then this happened. sure, rosemary was alright but that doesn’t make them feel a lot better. also trying not to be too stressed in case that sets off more destructive powers so he’s having a rough time. trying to keep to himself and focus on improving his jogging.

starters: benjamin

nico di angelo (1/5) : glad to have control over himself again. back to his usual of trying to avoid people and figure out why people don’t die long term here. he’s so bad at socializing but please give him a friend anyway he deserves it and is nice at his core i promise

starters: t.k. strand

nie huaisang (2/5) : freshly unaware! come be his friend he’s lots of fun. busy getting his phd in art history though i think he was something boring like a business major so he could have actual money before pursing his interests. give him some drinking buddies, people he tutors, pretentious museum friends, literally whatever

starters: childe, jin guangyao, elliot alderson, lan xichen

san (0/5) : killed someone but isn’t stressing about it tbh. killing a human is a positive in her mind though they don’t love that they lost control over themselves. she needs more human friends so she can chill a little please (or a nonhuman friend who understands her confusion and distaste for the city who makes her worse whatever)

starters: ?

shang qinghua (1/5) : was fully stabbed and is currently recovering. he’s gonna be achy for a little while and avoiding potential arson accusations. yeah he did it but that’s not the point. he’ll be whining about his injury but also bored from it and wishing he could run around and do more. he’s annoying sorry.

starters: sha hualing, luo binghe

shi qingxuan (1/5) : fully updated memories now and is having a bit of a time with it. honestly someone be their friend and give them a distraction. not sure about all of her usual lavish activities but if you want someone to hang out with and drink really cheap wine with qingxuan is great company. despite everything he’s trying his hardest to be optimistic.

starters: xie lian

toph beifong (05) : best valentine’s day ever tbh. a little stressed and upset about hurting innocent people. toph loves to fight sure, but she is a good person at her core and wouldn’t have wanted to go that far in usual conditions. could probably use a bit of cheering up, which for toph means reckless behavior so join them for stupid decisions and fun

starters: ?

victor nikiforov (1/5) : uh man is mostly confused about what the actual fuck went down. glad he didn’t get hurt or hurt anyone but seriously what was any of that. any normal people who wanna hang and wonder what the actual fuck this city is he is your guy.

starters: yuuri katsuki

yin yu (1/5) : does not realize his boss was killed and is now unaware because he’s too awkward to just ask why he’s being weird and is just assuming the guy forgot his name!! he could really use some chill company everyone he knows is A Lot and though that balances him well after something like this he would really just like some quiet

starters: yin yu

zagreus (0/5) : honestly? had fun. he’s apologetic about anyone he tried to fight, and will just apologize if needed but he loves to spar, and this was just a more intense version of that. he’s feeling hype after everything, loves being out of the underworld, thinks mortals are fun, and is getting a really messed up idea of what the human lifestyle is like

starters: ?

zhongli (1/5) : not feeling great ngl. he killed someone, and though he’s not the type to get really distressed he still doesn’t feel good about it! gonna keep himself busy with nice meals, visiting museums, and keeping himself busy with work so feel free to give them some company!

starters: childe

[lovesickbaker]

One of the content warnings I received, in a post in which I mentioned mutilating someone to death, was sexual themes; which sounds so absurd that it becomes amusing.