#roadkill writes

[farceurcole]

Swamped au

MILD GORE WARNING ?!!!! Under The Cut

He hungry, FEED ‘em

Sneak sneak, not so sneaky background moon

[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.

[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.

[ciderjacks]

Agatha thoughts

[anti-oneirocritic]

[darby-draws]

@marscats37 But also I’m curious to know more about dominos grandma 👀

Wahoo!!! Yeah I like her a lot (really should design her). Here's a stream of consciousness on her! Hope you enjoy!

She's a pretty powerful witch and has been studying for decades. Her specialty is summoning minor demons as familiars, she literally has several running around her property like if pets were a little more helpful around the house. Mostly has some outside patrolling for anything weird or dangerous on her property, as guard dogs and a warning system. If you saw them, they'd appear shadowy, you'd probably squint and say, must be a stray cat, or a raccoon. Scampered off too fast to be sure... She had a son, but they became estranged when he started getting into darker magic and becoming violent and angry all the time. She knows he joined a cult of similar magic users, and last she heard they were trying to bind demons to children. (Taboo!! BAD! Demon binding is supposed to be about trust between the two parties, you can't force a kid into that! Augh!) But the group is hard to find, there's not much she can do to stop them all by herself, and she lost contact with her son for years.

She does eventually hear that her son has succeeded putting a demon in a child, his very own son, Dominique. (You can read up on that here!) Surprise, you're a grandmother now, and I'm so so sorry about what your son has done to get to this point. Unfortunately he's already been doing this for years, and she only gets to Domino after her son is dead. But boy, Domino really needed saving from that place and she's so glad to have found and rescued him from the situation! Her grandson is a bit shy and jumpy at the start, but immediately attaches to her as she treats him with love and kindness. (cries!)

She speaks mostly in French to Dominique, and is quite skilled at baking pastries and sweets to satisfy his sweet-tooth. :3 Absolutely ready to spoil him to the core, and hopefully can get his bound demon to trust her soon enough! They love watching movies together, and Grandma reveals she used to ride around the countryside on a little Vespa. This gets Domino interested in bikes and things, they soon go shopping for a bike of his very own and he picks out a cool helmet! :)

Unfortunately as they settle into their little neighborhood, its obvious that Dominique doesn't cope very well and doesn't fit in with other kids, either. He just wants to be a normal kid okay? *sad wet pathetic eyes* Grandma puts the demon to sleep with a powerful spell and represses memories of it. They even considered removing it completely, but that would be very complicated, as Dom and his demon are very intertwined in the soul. It's best to wait to see if that's a feasible option when Doms older. Once the demon is settled, they move once again, this time to a big, more private plot of land. ((this is where he meets Leigh and tries to be a Normal Teen Guy, with a friend! he's decently successful at this..! he has his quirks though, wearing his bike helmet often even when hes not riding, he's shy, don't look at him.. and maybe being a bit of a crybaby.))

Repressing the demon does give side effects, Domino often gets headaches or feels ill especially when going through stress or big emotional states.

The demon sleep spell isn't permanent, but can be redone or reinforced to keep it going strong and lessening the symptoms temporarily. When they do this, Grandma simply tells Domino that she's giving him herbal medicine and spells to make him feel better from the frequent headaches, not specifically telling him what she's doing so she doesn't trigger memories related to the demon.

Of course, the demon can also potentially break the spell and awaken before you're ready, so it may be best to avoid triggering it with big emotionally charged situations.

Luckily, Domino does fine keeping the demon at bay for several years. He moves away as an adult and is out living his life for a while. Yippee!

But that doesn't last forever...! Grandma knows his demon awoke one night when Dom calls home, very distraught. He killed a man but won't go into details further than that. But for some reason, he seems more comforted with his demon around him now, it will protect him, so maybe he'll try out having it with him all the time. No need to sleep-spell it again, and especially don't want to risk removing it completely!

After being repressed for so long, the demon wants Dominique all to himself and is fueled by jealousy. It hates having people look at His Dominique, and has somehow cursed it's host and makes anyone who looks at him for too long nauseous and dizzy and generally feeling bad. Well, whatever curse the demon is throwing out there, is the new reason Domino is always wearing his biker helmet as an adult. Grandma is immune to this curse though. She's built different! Demons have a good rapport with her, and she's just so used to their shenanigans! Also, I mean, she loves her little Dominique so so sooooo much! A curse only a Grandma could love! 🥰

She has photos of Domino all over her house, some of which are without his helmet!! (Literally anyone who comes to visit who sees the photos gets ill effects. dizzy, blurry vision, maybe even nosebleeds.)

Grandma met Parker and Quinn when she was trying to get an ancient tome of summoning demons delivered to her house. (she couldn't trust fedex for such a powerful book! she found these Genuine Qualified Discreet Package Deliverers.) She can ... definitely sense that they used the book, something is up with Quinn for sure.

She invites them in to her home, has a demon familiar boil up some water for tea, and chats with them! Parker wanders the halls a bit and looks at some photos... Grandma: "That's my grandson isn't he so handsome! 😊" Parker, migraine quickly growing: "huh what yeagh, sure." Grandma: 🥰🥰🥰

Anyway, Grandma didn't fully get the chance to figure out what was happening to Quinn, so once those two leave, she calls Domino and asks him to follow them. Just a little quest to check up on them, maybe make some friends! Thanks Grandma!

[biborispavlikovsky]

the desire to write vs the task that is finding my wip

[because-she-goes]

waiting for you

warnings: swearing, alcohol, cowboy!matty, bartender!matty, pining for each other, slow burn. Enjoy!

The lights were dim and the air was filled with the smell of leather and smoke. The sound of electric guitar, people talking and glasses clinking percolated around the bar. Neon signs buzzed and hummed above you as you fixed your hat. The staw hat had become slightly more and more crooked as the night progressed and you became more drunk off the rum and cokes the bartender kept passing to you. Today had been a rough day, your boss had scolded you about leaving papers on his desk in front of the whole office, you spilled coffee down your brand new blouse, your heels were digging into your achilles tendon and that’s not even to mention how you had ran out of gas on the way to work and had to call your work friend Mona to carpool you both there. Needless to say, you needed to take the edge off, enjoy your Friday night in peace and forget about your 9-5 for a bit. Taking a long sip and finishing the rest of the rum and coke in front of you, letting the liquor burn your throat.

“How was the drink, darling? Want another or something different?” The voice grabs your attention. Looking up at the bartender, first noticing the chunky rings that adorn his hands. Then the salt and pepper curls being held back by a clump of gel. Then his eyes, holy fuck his eyes. And god his outfit was good, a tight white tank top with a seemingly vintage flannel thrown over it and some baggy blue jeans. Shaking your head to wake yourself up a bit and bring you back to reality, you remember he asked you a question.

“It was really good, but I’ll try something different! Dealer’s choice.” You answer him, eyes now locked onto his.

“Okay, do you like sweet, bitter or sour?” He asks, eyes taking a glance at your lips. You silently thank god you remembered chapstick and lipstick today.

“…sweet.” you reply simply, taking a glace at his stupidly perfectly pink lips. You take a moment to think how they would feel pressed against your pulse point on your neck, teeth nipping. You let out a sigh as he nods and gets to work.

You watch his skilled hands move around the bar as he grabs the different ingredients for whatever he has in mind… vodka, peach schnapps, orange juice, then cranberry juice. In a shaker with some ice, he puts one and a half ounces of vodka, a half ounce of peach schnapps, and then two ounces of each of the juices. You gulp as you watch his biceps flex as he shakes the cocktail around until you notice the condensation form around his knuckles. Oh dear fucking god.

He pours out the sunset-toned liquid into a glass with pebble ice and places 2 cherries on top delicately. “Here ya go, sweetheart. Let me know how you like it.”

You take a sip and barely hold back a moan at how sweet and lovely the drink is. “Oh my god, this is good! What is it called so I can order it next time I’m out?” You ask, going in for another sip.

He waits until the rim of the glass touches your lips and then says “It’s a sex on the beach, babygirl…” Your brain short circuits at that and you cough up a bit of the drink.

He giggles and hands you a napkin. “Everything okay, muffin? You alright there?”

“Yeah… yeah I’m good, just-just took me by surprise is all!” He laughs a bit more as you wipe your mess a little… noticing an orange stain blooming on his white tank top.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry about your shirt!” You damn near shriek, reaching over the bar to wipe it with a napkin before it dried.

“Oh it’s okay, babygirl. I always keep a spare in my car for times like this haha - wanna take a walk with me? I’m due for my 15 minute break now anyways.” He offers, already walking to join you in the front of the bar. He holds out a hand and you take it, walking out to the back with him as he yells to the other bartender to cover him for a bit.

In the parking lot, you see the most beautiful red vintage Ford Bronco. He unlocks it quickly and grabs the extra shirt out of his backseat, silently swearing to himself how the shirt got ruined and he had just washed it that morning. He takes a minute to make sure you’re still okay as you lean against the driver’s side door. He sees your green eyes gleam in the moonlight and his whole body relaxes - he could never be mad at someone so beautiful, so pure, so lovely.

He wipes his hands of the alcohol being spilled while he made drinks, mixed with the dirt under his fingernails from being at the ranch that morning - he helps where he can and plus the extra money doesn’t hurt. You take another look at his hands and arms as he’s distracted and notice the very slight farmer’s tan and warm honey toned skin that graces his forearms. He peels off the dirty tank top and your heart stops when you spot his slight happy trail and abdomen flexing as he stretches.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer, buttercup!” He speaks into the night sky, a laugh hidden under his breath. Swapping the shirts, he places the clean one on and throws on a baseball hat since the gel was starting to come loose and his hair began to fall in his eyes as he worked.

“S-Sorry, you’re just s-so pretty.” You admit bashfully, kicking the pavement below your sneakers. The drinks clearly now affecting your ability to filter your thoughts.

He steps towards you, taking your face in between his palms. Your breath hitches as you breath in his scent… marlboro reds, ginger and vanilla. Warm, spicy, a little sweet - heavenly. It takes everything in you to not just fall to your knees and collapse at his scent and him being this close to you.

“You’re prettier, angel.” His voice rough and thick with desire. You exhale shakily as he presses his body against you. A silence falls between you two, the only other sound cutting the tension being crickets chirping in the woods a stone’s throw away.