#roadkill writes

[m1ckeyb3rry]

── 𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐃𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋 // 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

Series Synopsis: You were once a spoiled duchess-to-be, set to inherit a city on the brink of a war you knew nothing about — that is, until the war came to your doorstep and the aftermath of a brutal accident bound your fate to Seishiro Nagi’s forever.

Chapter Synopsis: Nagi comes bearing news. // Your father makes an announcement about the new family in Maradine.

Series Masterlist

Pairing(s): Nagi x Reader, Yukimiya x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 2.3k

Content Warnings: death, killing, ptsd, reader is not a good person, actually nobody really is??, they all make mistakes as is to be expected, war is mentioned and the build-up/aftermath is discussed heavily but the actual conflict not so much, non-linear narrative, like HEAVILY non-linear there are two timelines for each chapter (pre and post war), probably ooc, angst, nagi is endgame sorry y’all, alternate universe (early 1900s-ish vibe but not in our world because f historical accuracy), original characters (probably…idrk yet but it’s me so)

A/N: hey guys…so here i am…with the prologue to a new story instead of an update to anything i already have out BYE I’M FLEEING FROM SHAME i’ve been wanting to do something a bit more serious for a while though so i’m excited to give this a try!! some more elaboration on the tags/summary: this is like vaguely historical-ish but not completely, and it’s kind of like two stories being told concurrently?? one being reader’s life as an adult post war and the other her life as a child/teen pre war. every time there’s a ‘break’ in the chapter that indicates a timeline switch!! hopefully it’s kinda obvious which is which especially as we go along…anyways hope you all enjoy

“Kenyu Yukimiya is dead,” Nagi said. Medals sparkled against his breast, the gold a harsh contrast to the dark wool of his coat, and his arms were folded behind his back, which he kept ramrod straight, so unlike the slouch you once associated with him. “They thought it would be best if I were the one to inform you.”

He waited for you to say something, looking much like a mannequin all the while, his pale hair lifeless, his driftwood eyes dull and blank. His careful mouth was pursed into a plain expression which might be considered a frown on another person, but not on him.  Never on him. After all, Nagi did not frown. Nagi did not smile. Nagi did nothing.

“It should’ve been you,” you said.

“Yes,” he said, as prompt and detached as always. “It should’ve.”

Barlezia was a sweeping country, and perhaps you were biased in saying so, but there were none in the world that could claim to be its equal. In the north there were towering mountains which scraped at icy skies, a heavy blue-grey fog settled over their peaks, and to the south there was a vast sea, warm and aquamarine, which led to Drieji in the east and Abraria in the west.

It was on this sea, the Canonora, that the shining city of Maradine was located. Far enough from the northern capital of the nation to have taken on its own character, its own wealth, Maradine was the jewel of Barlezia, a place full of men with horses and women with parasols. Built upon a slate cliff, with houses lining the roads winding down to the pebbly sand, it jutted so far out into the water that some people spent their entire lives on their boats, only venturing onto land for the rare storms that might otherwise drown them.

Near the top of the cliff, where the marble government buildings were sequestered away from the rest of the city, there was a villa. It was the largest of its kind, the walls a deep red terracotta trimmed with white, the floors all glazed porcelain, the many colors and shapes painted onto the tiles making up larger designs of flowers, animals, and other such wonders. The villa overlooked the ocean and a canopy of trees, and it was widely regarded in all of Maradine as the most beautiful in that most beautiful of places, the filigree on an already intricate crown, the diamond in a choker of gold.

This was the villa where you were born, and this was the villa where you would, you presumed, die. Some forefather of yours had constructed it in a time where such art had been celebrated, where Barlezia had ruled the world, and it remained as a remnant of that age, a stronghold against modernity, even though your country had long ago bowed in deference to the ideals and traditions of those in the west.

“Child! Get down from there!” 

The woman that took care of you in lieu of your parents, who were often busy — your father with his politics, your mother with her parties — was slender and frail and too old for keeping up with anyone with any measure of youth. Her hair was entirely grey, and her face was perpetually lined, with sun, with shade, with age and wisdom and worry. You knew her simply as Nanny, and as she was the only one who ever had the courage to chastise you, you found you disliked her very much.

“My tenth birthday is approaching, so you ought not to call me a child any longer,” you said, your legs swinging from your perch in the boughs of a fig tree, the collar of your neatly-pressed dress splotched dark with the juice of the fruit you held in your hands.

“If you continue to behave like this, I certainly will!” she said, her hands on her hips. “Shall I call the manservant?”

The manservant was willful and rough; you doubted he would have any qualms about dragging you to the ground with his bare hands, were he so inclined. Taking one last bite out of the fig, you threw it to the ground, where it burst at Nanny’s feet, and then you clambered out of the tree with as much grace as you could muster.

“You horrid creature,” she hissed at you when you smiled at her, your skirt wrinkled and torn at the hem, your fingers sticky and purple. “How am I to present you to your father and mother in this state?”

“How you always present me, I expect,” you said, batting your eyelashes at her, skipping lightly towards the door. “With more fuss than required.”

She grabbed you by the ear before you could get very far, yanking it sternly, earning a howl out of you. Stomping your foot, you glared at her and waited for her to let go, which she only did when she was assured you would not flee again.

“I will send along a message that you will be late to breakfast. To your room, missy, I won’t have it thought that the young duchess is some mannerless, ill-behaved ruffian,” she said, ushering you towards your quarters as if you were a sordid secret.

“Maybe you need to be better about watching me, and then my manners will improve,” you said, and because you were not doing anything untoward, only saying it, the most she could respond with was an exaggerated sigh.

She bathed you for the second time that morning, quicker than the first, and then she dressed you in something without pattern or finery. Certainly it must’ve pained her, for the ruined dress balled up and thrown into a wastebasket had been much prettier than this one, but there was nothing she could do about it, bar glaring at you as she yanked it over your head.

Nanny wasn’t always so foul-tempered; it was only when you tried her patience, as you did today, that she got to be in such a mood. Else she was a tolerable woman, if not a kind one, and generally softer with her motions. She had mentioned to you a long time ago that she had children of her own, two daughters and a son, the youngest of whom was closer to your mother’s age than your own. You supposed it meant she had some experience with child-rearing, hence why your parents had chosen her amongst the many applicants, and you sometimes wondered if she had treated her own progeny the way she treated you.

Once, you had asked her. She had told you, with a click of her tongue, that she was far stricter with them; however, as you could not fathom anything more chafing than her treatment of you, you found it hard to believe.

Although you were older now — nearly ten years of age, as you liked to remind everyone — you were still not considered enough of an adult to eat with your parents and the rest of adults at meals. Instead you would sit in your room and make faces if the food was not to your liking, discreetly glancing at Nanny out of the corner of your eye and throwing away what you couldn’t stand when you were sure she was not looking. The exception was meals which were meant to be occasions or announcements, wherein your presence was absolutely and unquestionably required.

Today was an announcement, not an occasion, or at least that was what Nanny told you. You did not know the nature of the announcement, only that she was more nervous than usual as the two of you walked to the breakfast room, where your parents would be waiting for you. Up until then, you had been convinced that she had only had two modes of being — fed-up and obedient — so the discovery of this third intrigued you far more than whatever news you might be given.

“Nanny,” your father said. “Y/N. Good morning.”

He did not comment on your tardiness, and neither did he have to; his disapproval was the silent type, which radiated into the air and shimmered like steam, cowing in its intangibility. Your mother offered you a half-smile, as trained and perfect as yours one day would be, and you smiled back at her, your entire focus going into ensuring it was not crooked.

“Good morning, father, mother,” you said, settling into the large chair at your mother’s right, your feet just barely brushing the floor when you were settled with your spine to the cushioned back. “I apologize for the delay.”

“It is inconsequential,” your father said, which was as much of a reprimand as you’d ever get out of him. “We have more important matters to discuss now that you are finally here.”

“There is to be a party,” your mother said. This was nothing out of the ordinary, for your mother, as the Duchess of Maradine, was invited to every party that could be reached from the villa in less than a day. What was strange was that both she and your father thought that you needed to be informed of this occurrence.

“I see,” you said.

“It’s that family from Aprissari,” your father said, sneering at the mention of Barlezia’s capital, the city nestled in the mountains to the north of the country, which may have been the center of your nation’s power but was nowhere near as prosperous as Maradine, never had been and never would be. “The Yukimiyas. The wife is an opera singer and the husband is far more involved in foreign affairs than he has any right to be.”

“And they are rich,” your mother said, patiently and coolly. “Richer than mere commoners. Rich enough to be considered members of the nobility, if we are not careful.”

“We must build proper relations. An alliance, so to speak, but also a reminder that they are no longer in Aprissari,” your father said. “It must be clear to them and to everyone that in Maradine, their money is meaningless if they do not have the approval of the L/N family.”

“Their son is only a little older than you,” your mother continued, perhaps noticing that you no longer held much interest in the conversation, which had diverted to topics of which you had little understanding and even less interest. “The party is being held in honor of his twelfth birthday, and you are to befriend him as best you can.”

“It won’t be difficult,” your father said, and the reluctance of his conviction was the first clue you had that the arrival of these Yukimiyas meant something more to your family than you could possibly know. “You are Y/N L/N; there’s not a child this side of the country that wouldn’t want to be your friend. But you must do it.”

If Nanny or the manservant or anyone else in the L/Ns’ employ told you something so harshly, you would’ve protested or found some way around it, but this was not anyone else. This was your father, Duke L/N himself, and so it was as much a royal command as it was a request from someone who loved you. Perhaps it was even more the former than it was the latter; based on the wideness of your father’s eyes and the lowering of your mother’s lashes, you wouldn’t be surprised if it was the case.

“Yes, father,” you said. “I shall do as you say.”

“Good,” he said. “Finish eating and then attend your lessons as usual. We shall leave once the sun sets.”

You ate at a record pace. Your parents were exchanging looks that said they wanted to speak to one another alone, and it was only your presence which was hindering them, so you endeavored to make yourself scarce as fast as you could without seeming rude. 

Excusing yourself quietly, your head bowed until you left the room, you followed Nanny towards your chambers, deep in thought, turning over the directive your parents had left you with. Befriending the son of the Yukimiyas. For you, who had never had a friend your own age, it was more difficult of a task than your parents must’ve anticipated, so with a tug on the end of Nanny’s apron, you halted in your tracks.

“You heard my father, right, Nanny?” you said. “I have to befriend that boy.”

“That you do,” Nanny said, and then there was a fourth aspect to her which you unlocked: sympathy, glimmering in her irises like a sunrise on the crest of a wave. 

“I don’t know how to do that,” you said. She patted you on the head, brusque and perfunctory, like she was dusting flour off of her hands, yet somehow affectionate, in her way.

“You’ll have to learn, missy,” she said. “Ties with the Yukimiyas may be invaluable in the years to come.”

“Whatever do you mean?” you said. She placed one hand against the wall, her thumb tracing an idle circle over it as she contemplated something or another.

“There are as many ideas of what’ll happen to the continent as there are fish in the Canonora Sea,” she said. “Whether by will or force, Barlezia shall, like every other nation, choose which they back. If they choose wrong, then Maradine will bear the brunt of the consequences. That is all.”

“But what do the Yukimiyas have to do with it?” you insisted.

“Nothing and everything, child! You will understand when you are older. Now hush and go to your lessons,” she said, breaking from her trance and pushing you into your room, where one or another of your tutors would, invariably, be waiting for you.

You wanted to rail at her, to tell her that you weren’t too young, that you deserved to know as well as she did what might yet happen to your own city. Before you could say anything more, however, she shut the door behind you, leaving you standing alone by the wastebasket, where a rusty stain the color of fig juice continued to spread down the sleeve of your crumpled dress.

[swiftysilvers]

I saw a roadkilled skunk on the way to school today. The rain had washed away most of the scent so I barely noticed it until I was nearly on it. A pile of gore with a sheet of fur draped over it. You were once alive. You were once beautiful. Did they hit you on purpose? I am sorry if they did. The only thing people will say about you now is complaints about the scent of your death. The only thing they said about you before was that you were a pest. When I came back later you were gone. There was some of your blood. And some of your scent. I hope there's a heaven for pests. I hope I am good enough to be let in.

[farceurcole]

Swamped au

MILD GORE WARNING ?!!!! Under The Cut

He hungry, FEED ‘em

Sneak sneak, not so sneaky background moon

[thatssomegoodsoup]

GOD OF ROADKILL X READER HCs

The reader is a gardener, animal activist, farmer, careful driver, veterinarian, animal rehabber, etc. (you choose!)

I'd say he protects you when you're on the road

The height different is INSANE. He can hold you like a sandwich.

Smells like death

Would love to cuddle with the reader

^ puts his head in your lap, holds you like a sandwich, lets you lay on his ribcage

Communicates telepathically

You find it odd that ever since dating him, all animals seem to like you. Even the violent ones like chimpanzees and hippos.

He would definitely bring you carvings of animals, art of animals, etc.

Since he is a god, he could fulfill your desires. I think there are some things that are outside of his reach though.

[chupacabracrafts]

Big Grey https://etsy.me/3WxDnpU

"Big Grey" was a burly neighborhood squirrel. Mom pointed him out and nicknamed him, back when he was regularly visiting her bird feeder and chasing off the weaker squirrels.

It was a sad day when we found him lying in the road, somewhat near our house, his once noble skull was pulverized by a double car strike, crushed beyond repair.

Even though he couldn't be remade in his entirety, I do believe Big Grey would appreciate his memorialized appendages and the places they will travel. Rest in Power.

[sluckythewizard]

Keep calm, and drink soda

[CW for blood and gore and vomit] takes place a day or two after emizel was sired. just two boys adjusting to a shift in their daily norms. would YOU drink your homies blood? still not used to writing fanfic so any and all advice IS appreciated. i hope u enjoy.

There were very few things that Soda enjoyed more than well, drinking soda. It was a hobby, an interest, a comfort. And by extension there were very few errands that Soda would look forward to more than the occasional soda run.

The gas station closest to the Demons hideout had stopped selling Faygo entirely about a month or two ago, and it was near impossible to find it anywhere else. The closest place was now this janky little Shell gas station, lovingly titled the Shady Shell, that thankfully sold more flavors than any of the other ones ever did.

It made the hour and a half walk here entirely worth it. Even if this side of town made his skin crawl. Normally he would ask someone to accompany him on this daring little quest, but everyone at the hide out tonight just seemed too tired, too preoccupied, too uninterested.

He knew not everyone really got the soda thing, but they were accepting of it for the most part. Soda is something that, clearly, Soda really loves, but he knew not everyone else was into it.

Which was fine, of course. They didn't need to get it. But, still, sometimes Soda found himself wondering how much of it was a bit, and how much was him.

Emizel gets it perfectly though. He would've been the first person Soda would ask to go on this soda run with him, but, well. He's been preoccupied too, with the whole vampire thing.

It's been a bit more than a day since Soda had last seen his close comrade. For a friend that he saw just about everyday, going without him this long left him feeling a little emptier.

That was fine, though. Emizel had shit he was working out, he had things he needed to do. It's not like he could go out in the day anymore, so of course Soda wouldn't be seeing him at all the usual times.

It was a lot of weird and heavy magical stuff, it made Soda think about those superhero shows. Where the hero needs to keep his identity hidden from everyone. Family especially. He knows how much of a piece of shit Emizels dad is, so he hoped that Emizels home life wasn't stirred up all stupid-like over this.

He hasn't told anyone else, about what happened that night. For the last 2 days, Soda would spend time with close friends and not let them know a thing about what happened to Emizel so, so recently. Why he's so suddenly absent, so distant, so.. off…

'Maybe his dad's just giving him a hard time', he would say, hoping to smother their questions. The less questions they ask, the better. At least until this vampire stuff gets figured out a bit more. Should Emizel wear a disguise when he goes out at night now? Just like a superhero? What kind of hero outfit would Emizel have anyways? Soda figured it would be something really cool.

If anyone could figure out a way to balance all this vampire stuff, and all the leaderly responsibilities that come with being the biggest dog in the Demons, it was Emizel for sure. That guy is so seriously cool.

He was sure this rough patch would even out, and they would weather the next rough patch together no problem. There was really nothing to worry about! All Soda has to do is stay positive, and well, drink soda.

As Soda walks quietly down the crumbling sidewalks of this dreary hive of strip malls and shops, he goes to pull his backpack around to his chest, fumbling with the zipper in the dark. Which was a little annoying, considering the tab of his zipper had fallen off forever ago. He really needed to get around to fixing this damn thing. Maybe another ziptie and a soda tab will do the trick.

Humid air hangs heavy in the night, the sidewalks still somewhat warm after a hotter day. The diesel-soaked air provided enough warmth on its own that Soda had considered taking his jacket off a few times, only for the occasional, annoyingly sharp and chilly breeze to brush by, reminding him to keep the thing on.

Tripping only once and only slightly on an uneven sidewalk, Soda manages to pull a bottle of Faygo from his backpack, a smile glowing on his face. Another short fight with the zipper seals up the bag, and he slings it over his shoulder again.

His flavor of choice tonight was actually the Red Pop, the tried and true, the absolute classic, one of the best Faygo flavors for sure.

But, this kind wasn't actually his favorite. Normally he would stock up on the cotton candy ones, but something about the last few days had him craving the red stuff.

Securing his backpack all the way, he goes to crack open the bottle. Just the clack and the hisssss of the fizzy drink were enough to lift his mood.

Not that his mood needed lifting or anything. Of course. Sure he missed his friend and sure he found himself wondering what he’s doing and where he is and if he's okay. Maybe sometimes he found himself wishing they talked about funeral plans more.

Emizel talked up all sorts of crazy funeral ideas for himself, usually involving the use of his dead body as an inconvenience for others. Outlandish and hilarious ideas, like filling it with explosives and tossing it into a busy road. But what would he want seriously? What would Soda ever do if he just stopped showing up one day?

He had to swallow down all these unnecessary anxieties, so he took a swig of his soda. Sweet, bubbly, comforting. He felt better already! Just stay positive, and drink soda..

It was a lovely night out, and he didn't come all this way planning on letting it go to waste. There was a place he was heading towards, a particular alleyway in this particular place that led off to a particularly tall concrete ledge.

 It was a run-down little space, littered with trash and shitty trees and those bushes with just too many goddamn ants in them. But the view was fairly nice, overlooking a massive deformed intersection. A particularly stupid one, at that; about 3 times a week you could witness a gnarly crash at this spot. Soda always heard people saying that LA folks can't drive, but he was just starting to figure that maybe no one can drive.

That was the place he really wanted to go to enjoy this soda, and he wasn't too far off from it. Just a few more blocks, and he would be there.

Oh wait, didn't he still have a bag of chips in this backpack somewhere? Hell yeah, he couldn't wait to sit down and relax with a good soda, a good snack, and a good view of the night.

Living as a Demon had its fair share of stresses. He felt lucky to have this life, but he knew well that it could be better. That not everyone has to worry about survival the way they do. That not everyone gets injured on the regular and not everyone has to worry about being sick and never getting better.

Living is hard. But it's finding the small moments of joy that make it all worth it. Dying would be scarier anyway. He didn't want to die, and he felt glad to feel so confident in that nowadays.

The sudden   THUNK  of something slamming into the ground just a block away from him, jolts him out of his thoughts, all his gears screeching to a halt as he freezes in place. What the fuck was that?

It looked like a person, laying flat on the ground with only their head and shoulders peeking out of the alleyway ahead. Fuck. He hated this side of town..

Anxiety churns in his stomach as he debates just turning around, but the way the victim reaches an arm out, attempting to crawl away; it made his heart ache aswell. he's no goddamn fighter, but he couldn't just leave someone like th-

The body is suddenly yanked back into the alley, snatched at a startling speed. It didn't feel exactly real, how could something vanish so fast? It reminded Soda of something from a horror movie, or whatever. What the fuck was that??

His foot takes a step forward, before the rest of his body notices its rebellion and locks down again. Was he seriously going to investigate that? He could just walk away and take another alley. But that was the one he was supposed to turn down! All the other alleys are either walled off or gated off and he wasn't about to go climbing over a damn wire gate. His soda would get too shaken up! Fuck!

Another foot goes in for another step forward. He's gotta get the fuck out of here. He could hear more commotion in the alleyway, a scuffle, a skirmish. He could hear someone cursing through a choked breath. A loud and nauseating crack echoes out from the alley, and yet, Soda takes another step forward.

This was stupid, he shouldn't be getting tangled up in someone else's business. What if something happened to all this soda?

Thankfully, it was that thought that actually got him to pause, and take in a deep breath. It wasn't worth it, maybe he should head straight home.

Atleast, that was the thought his heart and mind were about to agree on, until a particularly familiar grroowwwwlll bleeds out from the alley.

Emizel?

All reason immediately evaporates as Soda makes that connection in his head, stepping right up to the corner of the brick walls, and peering around to investigate.

There was a body on the floor, face down in a puddle of red, head split open in a way that reminded Soda of a smashed watermelon.

But standing over that body, was the familiar, blackened coat, and short blonde hair, of Sodas closest comrade, Emizel.

Despite the carnage on the floor, Soda couldn't help the smile that lights up his face. That was Emizel! That was his boy!

But before he could get over just how happy he felt to see his best friend, something else caught his eye. Movement, behind the dumpster closest to the vampire boy. A person, rising out from the shadows with a glinting baseball bat clutched fiercely in their hands.

"Oh fuck, look out!" Soda speaks up, and Emizels gaze immediately clicks over to him, silencing Soda with just that startlingly red stare.

He had forgotten just how uneasy those red eyes made him..

The attacker, silent and professional, rushes up behind Emizel and CRACKS the metal bat downwards onto his blonde head, the sound ringing out like a  gun shot  in that dark little alleyway.

Soda cringes from just the sound of the impact, but was amazed to find that the bat had warped under the force of it!

The attacker hardly had a chance to process his mangled weapon before Emizel whips around to retaliate.

It looked like he had just swung his hand at his opponent, so the way a shower of red spills outward from the slash, catches Soda completely off guard. The monster boy had cleaved an excruciatingly massive gash up from the attackers right hip, to his left shoulder, the slice spewing with scarlet.

 It wasn't until Emizel had pulled back his arm, that Soda could process the way it had darkened with more than just blood, distorted into an odd, spear-like shape.

The victim hardly had a chance to yelp before that blade swoops up into his chest at the speed of a snapping bear trap, plunging through meat and bone with disturbing ease, and forcing blood and viscera to erupt outwards. The red patters down onto the concrete behind, the sound similar to rain...

With another low, inhuman snarl, Emizel brings the twitching, dying body closer, until that signature squish of teeth sinking into fresh meat bleeds outward into the space.

What a disgusting sound, Sodas first instinct was to simply avert his eyes, but as the sound persists, he resolves that he has to do something.

He finally steps out into the alley, and speaks.

"Hey ma-"

He could hardly get two words out before Emizel suddenly rips its teeth away from its victims throat, tearing out a hefty chunk of jellied meat, and slamming the remaining fodder onto the concrete floor.

It immediately whips around to stare down Soda, red eyes glowing with reflected light, and with hardly a chance to process the moment-

-It's immediately right infront of Soda.

A gasp lurches from Soda's lungs as he almost stumbles back in shock. How was Emizel so fucking fast?

Other than that single step back, Soda was frozen in shock, his tongue buzzing with the physical pain of such a startling jolt. 'White boy jumpscare' is something that came to mind, but while usually such a thought would evoke some sort of laugh from Soda, this time it offered no such comfort. Okay maybe it did a little.

Emizels snarling face was only inches away from Sodas. Its eyes were wild and unnatural, teeth menacingly sharp and reddened with so much fucking blood. It was everywhere, coating most of his face, smothering his shirt and his coat, and absolutely choking the air with its thick, metallic stench.

Soda would gag if he felt he was safe to even move. He felt like he was locking eyes with that of a creature, something he would only ever see in his nightmares or in scary movies. But it was real. Those monsters are real. And his best friend is one of those monsters. His bestest friend in the world...

His mind was skewered on that unnatural glare, completely frozen with anxiety. Stalling too hard to come to a proper conclusion, Soda instead falls back onto what Soda does best.

"H-hey man... You want some soda?"

He very gently presses the opened bottle of Faygo into Emizels chest.

The two boys stand there for a moment, locked in a tense, silent pause, before the monster boy finally peels its gaze down to the bottle.

It's quiet, for a few seconds, the gears turning in its head. Until the monster blinks, and its eyes clear, and Emizel processes the sight of the bottle.

"Oh, fuck yeah dude, is that the Candy Apple Faygo? Man, that stuffs my favorite!" Emizel smiles as he goes to accept the bottle, and immediately takes a massive swig.

Soda tries to disregard the way his hands were still shaking. "Uh, n-nah man, its just Red Po-"

The words are bit off as Emizel suddenly retches, a heavy flood of red blood and red Faygo spewing out onto Soda, as the vampire boys body entirely rejects the fizzy drink.

The shock of getting fucking projectile vomited on had snapped Soda out of whatever daze he was just in, and it seemed to snap Emizel out of it too. Soda backs up with a groan, looking down at all the blood and bile and pop on his shirt and coat.

"Ohhh fuck dude, what the hell??" He cringes, not even wanting to try smearing any of it off with his hand.

Emizel was coughing, still holding out the Faygo bottle, but hunched over as his body dared to convulse again.

"Ohhhhhh fuck, ohhooohhh fuuuuucckkk" he grumbles towards the floor "Fuuuck I’m sorry dude, I don't know what fuckin- oohhhgg shit,” He coughs and groans,  offering the bottle back to Soda.

Soda was still staring at his messied coat with a displeased grimace, but looking up to meet Emizels eyes...

There was a guilt on Emizels face that Soda didn't see too often, and it helped wash away that irritation he felt. This sucked, but Emizel was probably going through a lot more. 

“It’s, uhm.. don't, don't worry about it, man..” Soda decides to reassure him, offering a sympathetic smile, and a hand on Emizels shoulder, as his comrade spits out the remaining blood and bile.

"Fuckin hell… I’m uh, I'm sorry about your shirt, man."

"What? Nahh it's okay man, don’t worry about it." Soda shrugs, taking the Faygo bottle back. "I mean, are you okay man? That uh.. looked like a pretty crazy fight."

Emizel was rubbing his eyes, smearing more blood across his face as he seems to be collecting himself. he spares a glance back at the carnage behind him.  

"Ah.. yeah.. I thought I uh.. I thought I saw that one fucker from uh. That one night. Yknow, the one that uh.." He snaps his fingers, as if trying to summon back the memory. "Vampire bitch... Anyway after that I just kind of, uh.."

He seems to space out again as he looks around. It was as if he was just woken up from a deep sleep, like he was certain he had just known what he was doing, but found the dream escaping him. "I guess I just.. went crazy on these guys. I dunno, they're Fangs anyways." he finally shrugs it all off, but Soda still felt unsatisfied by the answer.

"Oh.. huh…” is the only response he manages to scrounge together. Sure they were Fangs, but did they really deserve.. all that? It just seemed a bit brutal, even by Emizels standards.

He found his eyes wandering over to the split-open head. It was mostly red and bloody, but even in the dark, he could still make out some of the finer details of the gray jelly seeping from the gash. A human brain. He wondered if his own brain looked the same on the inside..

“So what are you doing out here, man?” Emizels question helps Soda pull his eyes away from the gore, instead looking over to his bloodied comrade.

Emizel looked messy and even exhausted, but his drowsy gaze was focused on Soda with a worried expression. 

“Oh, uh, yknow, just a soda run. Decided I would stock up on some Faygo from the Shady Shell.” Soda shrugs, his eyes flickering down to the opened Faygo in his hand. The top was covered in regurgitated blood. unnaturally blackened blood…

“Are you.. okay, by the way? Other than the whole..” Soda gestures vaguely at the gruesome crime scene. “Are you hurt?”

The question has Emizel pausing to consider. He straightens his back and stretches his arms, as if trying to detect any pain from any possible injury. Nothing seemed to be bothering him though, and after a second, he decides to shrug.

“Nah, I'm all good.”

“Oh.. That's good, I uh…” Soda found himself looking over Emizel aswell, searching for any wounds the monster boy might be simply disregarding, as he often does.

There was a fairly gnarly gash on his shin..

“Hey uh, I was actually gonna go hang out by the ledge down that way. Yknow, the one with the funny intersection.” Soda says, gesturing off towards where he intended to go. “Wanna come with?”

Emizel looks back that way, before turning back to Soda with a big smile on his face. 

“Oh hell yeah I do! I love the funny intersection!” he starts to walk down the alley, about to step over the body of the broken skull, when Soda speaks up.

“Uh, hey, shouldn't we uh.. Do something about the.. uh..” He waves a hand over towards the bodies, trying not to look directly at them. 

Emizel spares the corpses an inconvenienced glance, and a sigh, but ultimately shrugs them off. “Ehhh I'll just dump 'em in a dumpster again.. That's what I've been doing anyway.”

“And you're not worried about, like, anyone finding them?”

Soda anxiously watches on as Emizel paces around the body with the torn-out throat, licking the blood from his own mouth. Was his tongue always that long and pointed? That's neat, and normally Soda would point it out, but he was a bit.. preoccupied right now 

“Nahh not really. I haven't had anyone bother me at least.. Anyone been bothering you?” Emizels eyes finally flick back over to Soda. 

“Nah, I'd say things are actually more lax than usual. Anything that would end up being trouble’s been pretty much crushe- er, killed- destr- stamped out, by uh, by you.” Sods was cringing with every attempt to find a word that didn’t make his stomach turn, but Emizel didn’t seem to notice or mind.

Emizels eyes were currently a bit more focused on the body laying before him. He had that weird look on his face again… 

“Uhh, yeah, yeah that's good that uh, no troubles coming back to you guys…”

There’s a moment of quiet between the two as Emizel stares at this corpse, and Soda was about to open his mouth to fill the silence, but Emizel speaks up instead.

“Hey uh, why don’t you go ahead of me? I’ll uh, I'll meet you at the place.” He suggests, pointing vaguely off down the alley, but not removing his eyes from the kill. 

Soda certainly hesitates, his eyes narrowing before he even forms a thought. He opens his mouth to object, but then his eyes flicker back towards the body.

“Are you gonna eat this one too?”

The question leaves Sodas mouth as soon as it comes to mind.

Emizel pauses, and considers, before giving a shrug. “I don't see why not. Perfectly good blood.” He reaches down to grab his kill by the shirt, the one with the split open head. As the corpse rises from the concrete, gray matter drips and sloughs from the crack in its skull. Once again, Soda felt the need to look away, and yet his stupid eyes remained fixated on the horrendous sight. Emizel looks over the spilling brain of his meal, licking his lips curiously. “Dude, what do you think would happen if I ate his brain?” Emizel asks, looking back over to Soda with a wild, bloodied smile. Something about that look made Soda shiver, but.. Not really in a bad way… “Uh, I.. Dunno…. Eating a persons brain is how you get like, mad cow disease right? But you might also be immune to disease.. Are you immune to disease?” “Uhhh, I don't know yet actually. I'm still figuring out how much of this is like video games,” Emizel says, rubbing the back of his head as he idly sways the body of his kill around, watching the blood and gore drip and drop from its broken head. “Eh, I'll chance it later.” Without another word or thought, Emizel goes to sink his teeth into the shoulder of his kill, a pleased growl radiating from him as the blood gushes around the bite. More fresh blood upon less fresh blood upon old blood upon older blood. Just so much fucking blood. Soda thought he was used to seeing blood, but this… this was just egregious. Was he really starting to get used to this? It’s just blood after all, and it’s not from his comrades, so it's… fine… He finally manages to pull his eyes away from the gruesome sight of Emizel feeding, but his eyes instead wander down to the blood on his own shirt. Emizels blood was strange, darker than usual, and carrying a different scent. Something about the smell of his blood was more savory, more appealing than the standard metallic miasm. His shirt was smothered in it, his jacket was coated in it, and his opened bottle of Faygo was also splattered with the deep red ichor. Ink swirls within the bottle of red fizzy, spreading out into all sorts of odd patterns. It was a lot of blood. He was certain a lot of it came from however many people Emizels been feeding on. With how much hes been terrorizing the Fangs in just the last few days, and with how nonchalantly he feasts on his kills, who knows how much blood hes actually ingested… Soda swirls the bottle, watching the blood inside thin out into strands, dancing within the bubbly soda as they gradually dissipate, fully assimilating into the drink. A bad idea chews at the back of his head… The sound of ripping flesh once again knocks at Sodas head. He doesn’t look up this time, but he knew Emizel was just playing with his food again..  Did blood taste good to a vampire? Did some blood taste better than others? What did Sodas blood taste like? What did Emizels blood taste like? There's a visceral snap of something among the chewing and ripping, very clearly a bone or a joint snapping out of place. It made Soda shiver a little. When did his heart start pounding? There's an animal standing only 8 feet away from him, feeding on its kill. That animal is a person, and so is its kill. He wanted to know what vampire blood tasted like, but he already knew what human blood tasted like. It hung so densely in the air, he could feel it forming a vile film over his tongue. The blood of a person just like him. Eaten by an animal that eats people.  All this stress was no good. This bile rising to his throat was no good. This creeping anxiety was no good. He's friends with an animal that eats people. Would it eat him? This weird feeling was no good. Maybe it will never eat him. But it needs to eat people. This worry was no good. He needed to wash this awful taste from his mouth, replace it with something sweeter. He needed to keep his head clear enough to be there for Emizel when he needed to be. He needed to hold a light to these shadows. And he needed to stay positive, and drink soda. He takes a swig of the open Faygo bottle.

[boowomp]

i am basically sabotaging my personality and general tolerability these days unfortunately it's extremely fun

[anti-oneirocritic]

[citrine-elephant]

depressed leon, BUT (this is gross btw)

he's a little too sad to remember to eat sometimes, and thus, he's a bit malnourished. not dangerously so, nothing extreme or of imminent concern, but he's not doing so hot health wise.

because of this, his post-plaga cravings get really weird and really ramp up after the malnutrition thing starts to get a little spicy. (that's what you get for only drinking alco- err.... coffee + whatever garbage carbs on the gas station shelf)

you'd think he was pregnant by the way he's craving oddities. if uh, a pregnant person wanted to gobble up roadkill pelican style.

one day he gets this... wild idea. he's embarrassed about it, so he's doing his best to hide it. and the cravings are just too strong to deny his overwhelming curiosity.

the roadkill he's snagged is particularly unpleasant. few days old, rotten and covered in maggots. it fuckin stinks. and stupid plaga-brain is fighting with rational human brain as his fucked brain chemistry can't decide to salivate or throw up.

he's craving meat. he's craving protein. salt. magnesium.... a fat steak isn't enough. greasy ass salty fries ain't doing it either.

carrion beetles, fly larva, ants, everything goes in on the grill, which he's definitely stealing after he's done. (it's a public park and he doesn't want anyone getting sick.)

it's the dead of night. he's made sure he's alone.

the mystery road meat... he can't tell what the smell is now as it cooks but plaga-brain is going crazy. even without a trace of the physical parasite, it's permanently fucked his brain.

he's got sauces with him to cover up the expected terrible taste and... well, he's fucking devouring it. no seasonings, nothing.

at least he cooked it, right?

and... he still uses the sauces. and a different sauce. chocolate sauce. why? why?? why is he enjoying this? it's a nightmare and he's snapping the bones for the fuckin bone marrow now.

the only thing he doesn't eat is the fur.

bonus: there was a bonus rat inside that got stuck when he wrapped up his free meal. like a chocolate cream egg. the rat being the cream.

[m1ckeyb3rry]

── 𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐃𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋 // 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Series Synopsis: You were once a spoiled duchess-to-be, set to inherit a city on the brink of a war you knew nothing about — that is, until the war came to your doorstep and the aftermath of a brutal accident bound your fate to Seishiro Nagi’s forever.

AO3 Link

Current Word Count: 2.3k

Status: Ongoing

Pairing(s): Nagi x Reader, Yukimiya x Reader

Content Warnings: death, killing, ptsd, reader is not a good person, actually nobody really is??, they all make mistakes as is to be expected, war is mentioned and the build-up/aftermath is discussed heavily but the actual conflict not so much, non-linear narrative, like HEAVILY non-linear there are two timelines for each chapter (pre and post war), probably ooc, angst, nagi is endgame sorry y’all, alternate universe (early 1900s-ish vibe but not in our world because f historical accuracy), original characters (probably…idrk yet but it’s me so)

divider credits: @/saradika-graphics

PROLOGUE

[free-for-all-fics]

Joy Ride and House of Wax crossover prompt! This started as a silly little idea shared with my bestie @tinalbion but it just hit me hard and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Pls tag me if you’re inspired by any of these ideas and I’d love to read it! 🛻💙

You were forced to take a detour and accidentally ended up in Ambrose while on a road trip with your friends after you got lost. What the hell is this town? It wasn’t even on the map. Bo sabotaged your car and broke your fan belt while you were all asleep and camping out in the woods. He also destroyed your CB radio so you couldn’t call anyone for help since there’s no cell reception out here. Bo was so confused as to why you even had that anyway, since you don’t drive a truck. The friends you’re with are so naive and gullible. They soak up every word Bo says as he tells stories of Trudy and Victor, their boys, and what this town once was. Your idiot friends take it all at face value, honest to God believing he’ll help them. You’re the only person who doesn’t buy his friendly mechanic shtick for a second. You try to catch him in a lie or call out his bluff. He does look handsome in his mechanic outfit and he does know a thing or two about cars, but he’s so full of shit.

He and his brother, Vincent, chase after your friends and kill them one by one. Vincent then takes them to his workshop to be made into wax. But Bo has a very hard time with overpowering and subduing you. You’re feisty and strong with a high endurance. You know how to fight back and use your surroundings to your advantage. You get the drop on him and Bo is lowkey impressed. Damn, baby! Are you a professional survivalist or something? You fuck him up good and barely flinch when he lands some kicks or punches. You must have a very high pain tolerance - that could be kinda kinky 😏. Bo thinks you’re hot, even if you make him bleed. But what really shocks him is when you kill your own friend before he can. Wait, what?

You tell Bo they weren’t really your friends. Just a bunch of randos you met that day or the day before. You offered them a ride and played nice so that their guard would be down. You boast that your daddy taught you everything you know about huntin’ and killin’. You also warn Bo that he fucked up big time when he wrecked your CB radio. Your daddy gave you that CB and made a strict rule to always call him at least twice a day, once in the morning/afternoon and once at night. He’s gonna assume the worst if you miss a call: That something bad must’ve happened to you, his only child and baby girl. He’s gonna come looking for you and will do unspeakable things to anyone who may have hurt you. If Bo thinks his truck is big, he ain’t seen nothin’ yet.

Despite the unusual circumstances, you really like Bo. His brothers, Vincent and Lester, are also really nice and have their own interests and hobbies which they’re eager to share with you. You spend time with each of them. Vince has made a cozy spot for you to sit and relax in his workshop so you can watch him while he’s making new mannequins or sculpting new objects for the museum. You and Les find animals to hunt and skin, or pick up animal remains to throw in the pit after you collect cool bones and teeth, etc. And Jonesy is an absolute sweetheart! She is best girl and can do no wrong in your eyes. You love this dog to pieces and spoil her.

You admire what Bo and his brothers have done here, how they’ve made their kills into art for their wax museum. You’re not even mad he tried to kill you. Instead you praise him for the valiant effort and feel flattered he finds you pretty enough to be made into wax and put on display. Damn, Bo thought that you were smoking hot when you were fighting him and kicking his ass, but now that he knows you have a murderous side, he finds you irresistibly sexy.

You start dating and when your dad finally shows up in Ambrose to find you, Bo nearly pisses himself at the size of your dad’s truck. Holy fucking shit that’s the biggest, scariest looking rig he’s ever seen in his life. You leave Bo’s side and run to your daddy’s arms to give him a big bear hug. Meanwhile, poor Bo is frozen in sheer terror. He’s never been afraid of another man before, not even his own father. Hell, he killed Victor himself. But your father is Rusty Nail, and he’s a mountain of a man. A behemoth. He makes Bo feel small when he blows a puff of smoke from his cigarette and looks him up and down before offering a firm handshake. Bo can’t tell if his hand is sweaty from the southern heat or his nerves, but he knows Rusty could’ve broken his hand just from that handshake if he wanted to. Rusty stays in Ambrose with you and the Sinclairs so he can get to know them all, especially the boy that stole his darling daughter’s heart.

When he and Bo have one-on-one time, Rusty shows his true colors. He shows Bo the goods that he’s hauling in his trailer: Weapons, torture devices, death contraptions, trophies from his past murders, etc. (There might even be photos of you and Rusty from when you were growing up decorating the interior of the trailer. Y’know, just cute family photos of daddy and daughter celebrating her first kill, etc. Normal stuff.) When more people come into Ambrose, Rusty introduces Bo to his dice game. He ties up two victims and explains the rules, then makes Bo watch as he forces them to roll. Or maybe Rusty intimidates Bo into participating and dealing out the torture himself. But Rusty is firm in that the snake eyes kill is all his. Bo may not have much of an issue with doing as Rusty says; he’s no stranger to blood, gore, or violence.

But Jesus Fucking Christ when one of the poor sons of bitches rolls snake eyes. Watching Rusty murder is unlike any death Bo’s ever seen. Your father is the most sadistic and petty man he’s ever met, but he’ll still laugh nervously at Rusty’s dad jokes and puns while he’s torturing victims or after he completes a kill. The damage you laid on Bo when you first met is nothing compared to what your dad could do to him. Rusty could absolutely fuck him up six ways from Sunday. Bo isn’t suicidal, so he would rather not get on his bad side.

Rusty actually really likes Bo and thinks he’s perfect for you. He’s shared cigarettes and beers with him, played card games with him, etc. He’s had lots of time to sit down with Bo and bond with him. He’s gotten to know what kind of man he is through long talks on the porch, etc. He already knows the eldest Sinclair will treat you right and make you happy, so he approves of your boyfriend. When the time comes, he’ll give Bo his blessing to marry you - He just might play some “practical jokes” on him first whenever he finally works up the courage to formally ask for your hand. Rusty thinks it’s hilarious to see Bo so scared of him and nearly shit himself. Bo asked him what his real first name was once and his reaction when he thought he crossed a line was comedy gold. Even if you ask your dad to go easy on Bo, he can’t help but fuck around with him a little bit and keep him on his toes! It’s just his love language!

Bo @ Rusty Nail like:

[because-she-goes]

warm

warnings: drinking, fashion references, swearing, yeehaw! matty’s hands, a sprinkle of doom and almost no dialogue. Enjoy!

Matty’s rugged hand reached out to Thea as she took a final, long sip of her admittedly quite shitty gin and tonic. They had gone out to a different bar that evening, Matty grumbling about how he could just make her drinks at home and they'd be worlds better than whatever the young trainee bartender could whip up. She giggled at this and pleaded with him to get dressed and put on his nicest pair of boots - preferably ones without mud stains. He agreed to go under one condition, that he pick her outfit for this particular outing.

The outing in question? A line dancing night with a live band and $5 drinks. To be honest, nothing sounded better to Thea than cheap alcohol and loud music and Matty’s large hands on her hips after the week she’s had at work. Khaite had pulled out of a spread about how higher end, quite luxurious designers were now entering the denim game. This left Thea scrambling as she had to track down new jeans to feature in her piece and ones that would especially photograph well. Her and her team had ended up landing on Bottega Venetta’s denim printed leather pants and how seemingly from a distance, they are jeans up until you are able to touch and feel them. The likes of Kate Moss and Kendall Jenner had been seen wearing them. It was a wonderful innovation and far more worthy of the magazine space than the regular khaite jeans. A trick on the eyes, like Matty.

When they had met, Thea assumed Matty would be your typical Texan cowboy who was stiff and tight lipped and totally disinterested in anything that went against the usual machismo that came with that title. As the weeks progressed, she had learned that Matty was very interested in her job and what she did for a living and her world, additionally he was a phenomenal dancer and a breathtaking guitar player. After work sometimes, he would play her a lullaby on his acoustic or they’d dance around half-drunk in her kitchen to everything from Buddy Holly to Bruce Springsteen.

He was an enigma, just as she was.

Since knowing each other, Thea had become fond of Matty’s little surprises. Always keeping her guessing. He was a hidden gem, a diamond in the rough. Externally, he was the typical Texan guy… imagine Ennis from Brokeback Mountain, completely disinterested in dealing with his own emotions and confronting them. However, the few times Thea had caught Matty singing softly late at night while strumming away it was like she had an MRI of his heart, able to see every nook and cranny of him, every last thing he held dear. He was unexpectedly tender.

Even now as he held her while they danced to the sounds of bluegrass, the fabric of her soft, feminine, embroidered pink dress crinkled under his calloused hands. It was frilly, it was delicate, it was vintage Valentino - all things Thea loved. It swung around just above her knees as Matty swayed and moved behind her. It was his favorite dress of hers, that was another thing Thea had learned… Matty loved vintage shopping and finding clothes that seemed from another time. He loved an old beat up pair of Levis that fit him perfectly and he especially found joy in finding flannel shirts from the 80s. They had made a deal to pick out the other’s outfit and Thea had really done some of her finest work. A perfectly worn white tee shirt, dark navy straight leg Levis 501s, a silver and brown chunky western belt and a beautiful gray Prada sweater. Perfectly Matty. Her cowboy.

It was as she took in her surroundings and fully drank in the moment that she felt his warm breath hit the shell of her ear. It ghosted over her skin, the smell of his Tom Ford cologne filling the air around the two, she immediately felt heady and warm. Drunk on the feeling of him and no longer on the shitty fucking drink. Her feet stumbled a bit as they continued trying to keep up with the group line dancing around them. Music drowning out his voice and yet she still heard him clear as a bell…

“Be my baby… Thea, be mine.”

“Happily, my love.” Fuck it, into her doom she went - head full of dreams and optimism. Head full of him. What a fool.

[shenzaibird-art]

Today is Seir's birthday so here's a quick drawing just to pretend he isn't currently kinda irrelevant lmao

I made his colors a little bit paler than usual here. I think I kinda like him more like this (I've never been much a fan of his yellowish fur color tbh) Now he looks a bit deader... which I feel like it's kinda fitting for a necromage like him xD. Maybe he was yellower as a kid/teen but his adult coat is like this.

[dandunn]

Lupin used Backtrack! It's not very effective...

[endious]

Kinda wholesale jeff mason though but imagine his s/o wanting to hold his hand while out together (pre night of murder) and he's just like "ew no what if people see" but he finally gives in after seeing how sad you are and he just shoves his hand into yours and he's just like "fine whatever". He secretly enjoys it no matter what he says. This might be super ooc but I thought it was cute

-🍓

THE IDEA OF HIM EVENTUALLY GIVING INNNNN OH MY GOD listen ion write sfw stuff im not good at fluff or anything LMFAOAO BUT ! its so cute wthh

“Pleaseeee?” “No.” It’s instant the way he shoots down your question, tone flat and void of any emotion as he keeps his eyes on ahead.

You deflate momentarily before trying again. “C’mon! It’s cold and my hands are freezing!” “‘m not doing it.”

“Jeff…” You pout, casting your eyes to the sidewalk and hanging your head low as silence fell over the two of you accompanied by the sound of both your footsteps.

. . . God you were such a handful.

“For fucks sake, fine.” And he is annoyed with your persistence. He really doesn’t like the idea of his hand touching someone else’s, it makes his face scrunch up in disgust and if it were anyone else he would’ve told them to fuck off and kick rocks. But of course he had to be with the biggest baby in all of Forest Lawn.

The way you seem to have a skip in your step afterwards makes him feel irritated that you’re so happy go lucky all the time (and especially when you’re around him. He doesn’t understand where your joy comes from consider he sucks the happiness out of everything and everyone around him.) But the corners of his lips tug up slightly and he lets out a slight chuckle as he drops his head for a second.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, always so genuine and caring. It’s fucking weird to experience and deal with someone besides his annoying family worrying about him, but you aren’t obnoxious about it. It’s as if you’re slowly “understanding” him and what gets on his nerves the most. The thought makes him chuckle again.

“‘s nothin’.” He grins to himself, shaking your hand exaggeratedly in his own as if he’s trying to shake the foreign feeling he got away.

You giggle at the action, all smiley with heart eyes at him as you step a little closer and squeeze his larger hand gently before talking on about a creepy shop you thought he’d like to look at and his fingers ever so slightly push into your hand more.

[comfortablyunsolved]

I still love you the way you love your own roadkill, the deer you hit in the street at night in the woods, the childhood pet your dad accidentally backed over in the driveway (you never really forgave him). Any other iteration of my love for you, and yours for me, is too far gone to recover, but there is still a tenderness, a guilt-laden grief that pulls at my heart every time I see you. I yearn for us to know each other like we used to and yet I know the blame is on me and yet you hurt me too and yet and yet and yet. And like roadkill, I will pick up my love for you and carry it to the side of the road before it starts to rot. I will carry it gently, knowingly, softly, full of regret, but I will carry it all the same. I will place my love down in the wet grass on the side of the road, a soft resting place where it will tangle in the plants over time, and I will walk away.