#under skin tw

[faoighiche]

A Father's LEGacy | Cass & Burrow

PARTNER : @magmahearts TIMING : Current. LOCATION : The Leg. SUMMARY : While Cass and Burrow investigate the leg, Burrow investigates Cass herself. WARNINGS : Under skin.

There was a giant leg sticking out of the ground. Cass wasn’t really sure what to make of that. She’d asked her father, but even he had seemed caught off guard, though he didn’t share Cass’s curiosity. When you’ve been around as long as I have, Cassidy, some things take precedence. You’ll realize that someday. And so, she’d tried to mask her excitement. To make it smaller, to make herself smaller so that she might better fit the image Makaio might want of his daughter. 

Still, she wanted to see the leg. She knew he could tell, and she let herself think he was amused by it as she ducked out of the cave one morning. At the very least, she thought he’d probably approve of her choice of company today. From their conversations thus far, Cass got the feeling that her father, like most fae, preferred the company of other fae to anyone else when he wanted company at all. Burrow, she figured, would get along well with him. Burrow was a good nymph, one who did the things she was supposed to do. Eventually, Cass would introduce Burrow to Makaio, and he would approve.

But for now, she was going to touch the leg.

She met up with Burrow in their pre-arranged meeting spot, a precaution Cass had only begun to take since her father’s arrival at the cave. Flashing the other nymph a smile as she got close, she waved. “What do you think about the leg?” She asked in way of greeting. “Do you feel anything from it? Do your parasites? Have the fed on it at all?” Unlike the Abnormality, this felt closer to Burrow’s domain than her own.

Burrow waved to the rocks — jutting structures of the abnormality — and her reflections on them waved back. They cradled the recent oddity: the leg. The leg like a barren tree, whose branches were tipped with claws. Was this another part of the abnormality, piercing through the shell below? Was this one the abnormality wanted to claim, its pieces circling it like teeth? Questions she could not answer because of the humans. They put up fences and signs and demands for payment. She observed the humans — watching their patterns and finding where their numbers were always slim. That is when she returned, chasing the humans who remained with the buzzing of her wasps and the bite of her phantom ticks. Finally, alone. Free to inspect the leg… and Cass.

Burrow knew the stranger lurking in the cave was not a passing visitor. They were still there when she sent her flies in her stead. The flies did not understand language but they did know tone. Cass and the stranger had spoken with gentle words. Their faces had been serene. They were familiar with each other, of soul and body. The stranger was chiseled in Cass’ image, seeping with the same molten blood. Observations implied they were kin, yet why was Cass not rejoicing? It was no secret that Cass yearned for family, so why was this stranger a secret? There must be something she was missing. 

A thing Burrow would discover, in time, as she waved Cass closer. “I think the leg is… interesting. I do not feel anything from the leg. My kin have not claimed it.” So large, so inviting, so befitting of homing thousands of her precious ones. Yet it was absent of their pleasant touch. She would touch it for them — determine if it was worthy of their taking. She pried her fingers under the scales, but they resisted her intrusion. Her fingers split into separations that ran down her palms. They extended and curled and lost any memory of joints and bone. They became tendrils that bore into the flesh. It tasted… wrong. A corruption that made her quiver. She leaned forward, licking at what she could of the exposed skin. It gave her a full taste of the disgusting rot. She immediately pulled away, spitting on the ground. “The leg is nasty.” As her tendrils retracted back into fingers, she looked to the bits of the abnormality surrounding them. “You can have it.” Maybe it could give this rotten thing some use.

She hadn’t told her father where she was going, which was rare now. In the beginning, when he’d first arrived, she’d filtered in and out of the cave with little more than greetings and fond words of departure, but lately she’d felt the need to update him in on her comings and goings. She wasn’t sure why, didn’t understand the desire to make sure he always knew where she was. Maybe it had been a few comments he’d made here and there, or maybe she just thought it was what you were supposed to do with your parent. Regardless, she felt a little guilty about the way she’d sauntered out of the cave without an explanation today. Would he be more disappointed in her for that than he would have been if she’d told him where she was headed? He’d like Burrow if he met her, Cass was sure of it. When he was ready to meet people, she thought, Burrow would be the first one she’d introduce him to. They’d get along. She knew they would.

But for now, there was a leg to touch. Cass was more excited about it than she’d been about anything in a while now, especially out in the open where she didn’t feel the need to stifle her enthusiasm. She wanted to see what the big deal was, wanted to figure out how it worked, wanted to know what Burrow knew about it the same way Burrow had wanted to know what she knew about the Abnormality. She liked listening to what Burrow had to say. It was always interesting, even if it sometimes didn’t make sense.

And so, the excitement in her chest bubbled and built as she approached her friend, moving in closer when Burrow ushered for her to do so. She watched Burrow inspect the leg, tried not to make a face as she licked at it. This was part of Burrow’s process, she thought. Still, Cass wasn’t surprised when Burrow proclaimed the leg to be nasty, wrinkling her nose as she leaned in to press her palm against it. “I don’t think I can do anything with it, either,” she replied. It wasn’t stone; that much was certain. “So it won’t help your parasites? Won’t feed them?”

Cass appeared as her usual self: bubbly and bright and blazing. As warm and ignited as the magma hidden below her skin. The stranger, whoever they may be, had no effect on that flame. The appearance of it, at least. Just as the skin hid molten rock, Burrow wondered if that smile hid something else. She knew how easily all things were concealed. Even joys; even troubles. As she looked to the surrounding bits of the abnormality, her swarm of reflections were also familiar. Her dark eyes stared back, steady and without strain. Absent of the failure she was becoming: a parasite who took too much. Death rarely served her, and the death of the salted one was no different. It’s only purpose was to show she was not yet ready to give her parasites their home. She was not the guardian they deserved. 

Even as Burrow remembered her mistakes, remembered how she faltered at protecting her kin, her reflections did not betray her. She continued to stare, strainless. Soon, her insides would match, when those feelings drifted back into nothing. Until that peace, she focused on her kin dwelling inside her. What wisdom did they offer? There was a unanimous chorus of hatred and disgust. Bad leg, rotten leg, nasty, nasty, nasty. Such wise words. “No. The leg is… rotten. The leg is disgusting.” She spit away more of its remnants in her mouth. A bath was due in her near future. “My kin would die if they ate the leg.” The leg was useless to them, but it did not mean it was without use. Her eyes flickered back to the rocks, to her reflections, before returning to Cass. “Does the abnormality want the leg?” 

Burrow hated the leg, so Cass decided she hated it, too. It was a silly thing, a crutch she no longer needed to lean on. Her father had been trying to remind her of it, when it came to her friends. If they care for you, you won’t need to pretend. You can be who you are, you can be my daughter. If they love you, they won’t leave. And if they leave, they do not love you. It was good advice, but privately, she wondered why he was hiding if he believed it. Privately, she wondered if he feared her friends wouldn’t accept him, if he was just as insecure as she was. If he voiced it, she would have reassured him just as he reassured her. If they like me, they’ll like you, too, she’d tell him. We’re the same, aren’t we? Anyone who loves me should love you, and anyone who hates you must hate me, too. She would have told him this if he’d asked, but he didn’t and so she thought it silently instead. She reminded herself of it, became convinced of its accuracy. If her friends loved her, they should love the man who made her, too. And if they didn’t…

Family was what was important, wasn’t it? And she’d found hers now. Her father wouldn’t leave her, so how could Cass ever leave him? She’d never been the one to walk away before; she certainly wasn’t going to start now.

“Then they shouldn’t eat it,” she replied firmly, because she didn’t want Burrow’s parasites to die. Burrow would be sad, wouldn’t she? If that happened, Burrow would be sad, and Cass didn’t want that. She wanted Burrow to be happy and safe and okay and here. And if the last one felt the most important, she wouldn’t confess to it. It seemed a heavy thing to say. “I don’t know if the Abnormality wants the leg or not. I think… the Abnormality usually wants everything. So maybe it does. Or maybe it thinks the leg is nasty, too.”

Burrow nodded in agreement. An acceptance that brought a frown. “It is unfortunate they should not eat it. The leg could be the mighty host.” Instead, the thing was an apartment full of black mold. All those empty and waiting rooms were stacked coffins in disguise. It was cruel to tempt them all with that buffet of flesh and tissue. So many spoils for so many of her kin — so many that they could never take too much. Which was not a concern, for her kin knew better than to do such a thing. “Perhaps it is for the best. The leg attracts… too many of the humans.” The sight of the humans was a death sentence. They always boasted about helping those poor and sick hosts. What about them? What about her lovely kin? The humans would probably choose this rotten thing over her beautiful worms. No one ever chose her beautiful worms. 

“I hope the abnormality does not think the leg is nasty. I hope the abnormality will make the leg useful.” Burrow did not want nature to reclaim it. That rot would return to the cycle, seeping into the soil to sprout more putrid hosts. More cruel things to tempt her parasites. At least when the abnormality stripped the lands into that hungry emptiness, too hungry for her parasites to survive, it was for a purpose. A purpose she did not know, but she hoped to find out. 

A discovery that rested in the future. The present offered Burrow a more reasonable discovery: who was in Cass’ cave? A question she wanted to ask outright, but she had learned that secrets were best claimed by delicacy or force. She had no desire to ever harm Cass. So, she would start with a prick. “How is your cave?” 

“It seems like a waste,” Cass agreed. It was sad, in a way. There was this thing here, and it was huge. It could feed so many of Burrow’s parasites, could sustain them for so long, but it was inedible. It couldn’t be claimed by her, and Cass couldn’t think of any other fae that could make use of it, either. So, what was it here for? For some humans to set up camp in front of it, charge money to other humans just to touch it? That wasn’t what nature was for. Her father, she knew, would find this distasteful. And so Cass, in an effort to be someone he would approve of, found it distasteful, too. It seemed Burrow agreed, and she was glad for that. It meant Makaio would like her, when it was time to introduce them. “Humans don’t know how to leave things alone sometimes,” she added, wrinkling her nose a little. It wasn’t a stance she used to have, but she was finding she believed in it more and more now.

But maybe there was still some use for the leg. If the Abnormality could claim it the way Burrow’s parasites couldn’t, if it could absorb it and make something of it, wouldn’t that be good? Wouldn’t it be better, at least, than humans using it as a tourist trap? “Maybe it’ll be good for the Abnormality.” Wasn’t that something she wanted? For the Abnormality to have something good?

At Burrow’s question, Cass found herself smiling a little. It was a genuine expression, a happy one. “Great,” she replied, the word just as honest as the smile. She was so happy with her dad in her cave; happier than she’d been in such a long time, happier than she’d thought she knew how to be at all. “It’s been really good lately.”

If only the humans were alone in their harm against Burrow. “The fae also do not know when to leave things alone.” That slap felt crueler, for the fae were things of nature. They followed its call, yet denied her place amongst its cycle. They thought they could tear her out like a weed, but weeds always came back — larger and hungrier. A weed that would strangle them all. No one cares or likes my parasites, that bitter thought returned to her. It had clung to her the day she was born. But as she glanced at her companion beside her, she felt the words shift. “Not many care or like my parasites.” A grievance she never bothered to bring to the fae. What was the point in complaining to the knife? It would not stop it from twisting inside her. But Cass also knew that knife. The two bore twin scars like birthmarks from its cut. They were cousins of that pain, which is why she liked Cass’ company. Shared pain was easier to bear.

The abnormality, too, was a cousin. A fellow taker. A fellow thing feared and misunderstood. Even its name showed that nature: abnormality. Burrow nodded in agreement. She also wanted the abnormality to have something good, even if she did not agree with its tastes. The rot still stung her tongue.

The stranger did not seem to sting. Their presence had not tainted the sanctuary of the cave. Perhaps they even enhanced the experience. So, why were they absent from Cass’ lips? People always liked to babble about good things; sometimes Burrow could not get them to stop. What was she missing? She must prick further — pry underneath and seek her entry. If only the act was as easy as the metaphor. Her tendrils were made to take the spoils of blood and chyme, not of knowledge. Her tongue hesitated as she selected her words. “Are the things that are inside your cave also ‘good’?”

Cass knew, better than most, how true Burrow’s words were. She’d been cast out by fae — the same fae who had cast her father out a generation before her. The sting of it hurt worse than the sting of the humans who were afraid of her, because weren’t fae supposed to get it? Cass met other nymphs who loved people just because they were fae, nymphs like Teagan who called her cousin and were overjoyed at the sight of her, at the feeling of butterflies in the stomach that came with seeing someone like you. That hadn’t been Cass’s experience for the longest time. And it hadn’t been Burrow’s, either. Selfishly, she found some comfort in that. She wasn’t the only one who’d been cast out — Burrow had, too. So had Makaio. And if she loved the both of them, didn’t she have to admit that this meant the person being cast out wasn’t the problem? If Burrow and Makaio were good, didn’t that make Cass good, too? 

“I like your parasites,” she said, and she meant it. “I care about them.” She cared about them because Burrow did, because when something was important to someone you loved, you made it important to yourself, too. Cass would love what Burrow loved. Cass would love what Makaio loved. And, in return, both of them would love Cass. Wasn’t that the only thing she’d ever really wanted? Wasn’t this town good for giving it to her? 

Burrow’s question was a little confusing. Cass wasn’t sure she understood the phrasing of it. She’d grown used to Burrow’s careful way of talking, the way she chose her words. There was always some comfort in it, in a way, because it was so entirely Burrow. The question was confusing, but Cass untangled the words in her mind with a concentrated furrow to her brow before nodding. “Yes,” she said. “Things that are inside my cave are also good. There is nothing bad inside my cave. There were before, when the crystals and goo were all over, but not now. Everything that’s inside my cave now is there because I want it there, and it’s good.”

It was still so strange to hear that. That a fae of all things cared about her kin. As the years threw more bile upon her from what were supposed to be her family, Burrow yearned for apathy. At least then, the weight of the pile would not grow. She never expected a fae to want to remove that weight. She stared at Cass, a smile forming hesitantly. A smile that never truly formed, because the weight was still there. It would always be there. Why did it have to be there? Cass made it look so easy. She said the words so effortlessly: I care about them. She had yet to know Burrow for a full year, yet cared more than those who had been there since her birth. Why did it have to be there? Even in such a happy moment, the bile ruined it. The fae, as always, ruined it. They had left their stain on her — one she did not know how to remove. Her smile twitched, unsure of what to do. She looked back to the leg.

The stranger possessed none of that complexity. They were not tainted. They were good, that was no longer a question. Burrow needed to meet this stranger: the reason for her friend’s smile. Such a secret should be shared, indulged, and enjoyed. Had it been kept from her because of her nature? Cass knew she took what she wished, but in this instance, her hands did not ache to claim. The stranger would not know her taking. They would not know what it meant to be chosen, completely, by her vines. They would not know how her vines were only satisfied when they took everything, even life. No. The stranger made Cass happy, so their presence was more useful in the cave. “I assume that means the fae in your cave is the good presence? I saw them, when…” I took the life of the salted one. I took more than I meant. I took more than I needed. “... I needed to see you.” 

It was selfish, but there was some part of Cass that liked the fact that Burrow, like her, had been cast out from the aos si she’d been born into. She’d never say it aloud, never voice the terrible thought, but it lurked in the back of her mind all the same. She’d never had someone who understood her experience the way Burrow did and now, with both Burrow and Makaio in her life, she had two people who got it. She never thought she’d be so lucky.

So… she didn’t panic the way she probably should have when Burrow revealed that she knew about Cass’s father in her cave. If Burrow understood her, and her father understood her, didn’t it stand to reason that the two would understand each other, too? Of all her friends, Burrow was the one Cass most believed Makaio would get along with. Burrow knowing about him was definitely a shock, but… maybe not a bad one. Cass glanced around carefully, looking at the leg for a moment. Could it hear them? She pulled Burrow a few steps away just in case. “You can’t tell anyone,” she said lowly. “But… he’s my dad. He found me a little while ago. He’s been looking for me all this time, you know? He’s a good presence. Definitely. And he — I really think he’ll like you, too. He’s just… not ready to meet anyone yet. I think he’s scared of people, a little.”

He’s my dad. Burrow had suspected. The two had been weathered by the same winds, formed by the same lava that still glowed through the cracks. It was so obvious. Yet, despite the logic and previous assurances, her chest seized at the reveal. Her mind flashed with images — faces that clung to her like a stain. Sneering, frowning, glances away, all carved into the folds of her brain. Expressions that did not match what she had seen in the cave. The stranger, the father, had looked to Cass with full attention. He had not looked away. He had not ignored. The connection to Cass frayed a bit at the edges, for they were not as similar as she had once believed. Cass’ father wanted her — Cass’ father was good. It was correct to have kept this all a secret, because she did want to take. She wanted to claim that love of a father. She wanted to know how it felt.

Burrow could bind him. She would bind him. Tie him to herself, with the same bow she was joined to Cass. Then, the two of them would be cousins again. They would share. A rare blessing from one who only took for herself, but she made exceptions for her kin. The claws of her past no longer pierced her chest. It returned to its proper time, releasing her to her usual calm. All the while, she continued to stare, strainless. “Ok. I will not tell anyone.” She only had Teagan to tell, and it would still be a time before she rejoined the nix. Her vines had tasted the sweetness of nymph’s blood — they might crave more. But the father was made of the same molten rock as his child. Burrow may try to take his heart, but never his body. He would be safe. They would both be safe. “I want to meet him.”

Something flashed across Burrow’s face, and Cass felt her heart fracture just a little. She knew that Burrow had issues with her own father; she understood that. But part of her had thought — had hoped that Burrow would be happy for her and the relationship she was building with hers. Weren’t friends supposed to be happy for you when it came to things like this? Weren’t they supposed to laugh when you laughed and cry when you cried? Cass shifted her weight, uncertain as she held her breath and waited for Burrow to speak, waited for her to prove that she was still a friend, even if the feelings were complex.

When she did, when she agreed not to tell anyone and requested to meet Makaio, it felt like the world was righted. Cass smiled, relief flooding her. It had only been a moment. It had been a moment of uncertainty, but Burrow was happy for her. Burrow was happy for her, and her other friends would be, too. They would rejoice with her. Makaio would come to dinner at Metzli’s, would watch movies with Ariadne. She could have both. She would get to keep both. This was proof of that. “Let me ask him,” she said softly. “Let me ask him, and then you can meet him. He’ll like you. I know he will.” Makaio would like Burrow and Burrow would like Makaio and Cass would have her cake and eat it, too. It would be good. Everything would be good. She knew it.

Burrow liked the way Cass smiled. She had tried to mimic it before. Her own never matched its brightness, still flickering at the edges. Still, she did try. At the sight of a new one, her lips curled like its echo. Small, faded, and distorted. “Ok. He will like me.” By the power of their words, the ones who spoke the truth, it would be true. That truth eased her. It meant the bind on him would settle easier. She preferred when the hosts did not struggle. “I think I will like him.” A statement she never thought she would utter, back when she believed Cass’ family was much like her own. The type to scorn their own blood for the crime of existing. But the stranger in the cave was nothing like the ones who had left her, writhing in the muck of humanity. They were in the muck together, shielded by their stones. They had made their own sanctuary. It seemed almost too good to be true. But Cass assured her that the stranger was good — that he would like her. So, she believed it. Everything was good.

[dirtwatchman]

PARTIES: Caleb TIME: May 13th SUMMARY: Hey, remember that shadow thing that kept following Caleb around? Yea, he finally gets to see what that was. WARNINGS: Possibly under skin tw

It was back.

The lingering feeling of being watched stuck to Caleb all day as he navigated through his schedule. Digging a grave here, fixing a leaky pipe for his sweet next door neighbor there, until he’d finished every task that he could get his hands on. Distractions were needed as that heavy weight bared down on his shoulders more than it had since it had started following him on and off weeks ago. There were moments when he felt like it was going to drown him but he mostly couldn’t feel it at all. Those were the moments he knew whatever it was had gotten bored and scurried off to do…whatever shadows did. The naive part of him thought that maybe if he ignored it enough the intense entity would get bored enough to leave him alone all together but now…now it was clear that he was a target.

It had been bearing down on him throughout the day, stronger than it had been before, more persistent than ever. He could have sworn that at one point it was whispering to him again but Caleb couldn’t make out the random murmuring. It was scary, yes, but nothing was more terrifying than what started happening when he arrived home that night. 

The shadows were moving around him, lightening certain parts of the ground as other parts darkened, large shapes twisting to mold into each other. This thing, whatever it was, was bigger than he’d thought. The zombie had never seen anything like the swirling mass of absent light that was forming, clinging to his body as if those shadows were trying to take on his shape. It was horrifying to watch those dark shapes come together in front of him until there was a mirror image of himself standing before his eyes. Only this mirror seemed to separate him from some sort of shadow realm, the light facing the dark, the two parts of him separated to form a face off. The question was; which would win?

For years now he’d known there was a darkness inside of him begging to come out. He could feel it clawing through his mind, stirring more and more with each body he cut into, with each murder he committed. Deep down, that darkness waiting to see the light of day had always been what was holding him back from doing what he needed to do to help supply the zombies of Wicked’s Rest. He was afraid that once he unleashed that side of himself, once he allowed himself to fully enjoy taking a life, he’d never be able to reign it back in. It was sick and twisted resulting from the parts of him that had been broken long ago. Part of him wondered if it was being unleashed in a different way now, pouring from him so that he could face the imagined atrocities he’d been able to successfully push away. What else could this be?

Caleb wasn’t ready to face that just yet. He wasn’t ready to give in to the fear and the anger that drove him to those thoughts. He still wanted to let the love he’d been given by those chosen few win out over all of the darkness that had formed his past. It was like the presence could sense his resistance though, the shadows pushing towards him as soon as the thought of bolting came to mind. Instead of facing him in a battle it was embracing him as if the dark parts of himself wanted to be welcomed home with open arms.

It had been a long time since he’d felt tired. He’d almost forgotten how draining it could be to need the soft comfort of a bed but as those darkened shapes crawled over his pale skin he could feel the fight starting to drain out of his pores into the air. His eyes started to droop, Caleb taking in a deep breath he didn’t need to try and calm the panic building within him. 

The shadow was overtaking him and he was powerless to stop it. ‘Stop!’ Had he yelled it out loud or only in his mind? Caleb couldn’t tell. He didn’t know if his mouth had opened to scream into the vast area of land that separated him from the outside world, knowing no one was close enough to hear him, or if he was trying desperately to send that command telepathically. This thing would understand either way, there was no mistaking that. It had felt when he was ready to run, it had felt his nerves throughout the past couple of weeks and urged him towards recklessness. He had heard it, felt it himself when nobody else could. There was some kind of connection even before it started to seep into his skin. 

‘Buckle up, Caleb.’ The voice in his head didn’t match his own. It was dark, gravelly, and it sent a chill through a body that couldn’t even feel the cold. ‘This is going to be a wild ride.’ He wanted to protest but he was mesmerized by those shadows sinking further into himself, moving through every pore so easily. He could feel the control over his body slipping away more and more until all at once it was completely gone, that darkness gone along with it.

Because it was inside of him. 

He knew then that this hadn’t been the parts of himself that he was trying to push away. No, this was something else entirely, something that had the power to push him in the background of his own mind. Caleb was still fully aware of everything that was going on but as he tried to move his feet his body stayed in place. There was a deep chuckle sounding throughout, echoing all around him, bouncing off the dark walls that were surrounding his conscience. ‘Much easier than I thought it would be.’ That wasn’t his voice either. ‘It’s no use trying to fight it. I have all of the control now.’

‘What are you?’

‘Not what, who.’ The voice replied to his thought, Caleb sinking further into his own psyche. It was like a battle raging in his own mind, one that the zombie wasn’t going to win. He was pushed further into the depths, sinking into a murky ocean of thoughts and hurtful memories. Caleb had never drowned before but he was sure that this was what it felt like. 

“I’m Aesil, and I’m here to stay.”

[longislandcharm]

PARTIES: @longislandcharm and @wonder-in-wings TIMING: Late November LOCATION: Outside the Elysium/Around town SUMMARY: Determined to get Winter out of her gooey situation, Parker goes to the hotel with a pizza and an offer to help get her to where she needs or wants to go. The day is interrupted by a surprise visitor. CONTENT WARNINGS: Implied parental/familial abuse (mostly talking about the scars it left behind), Under skin tw (a parasite)

Most of the reports hadn’t been kidding when they said that there truly was vile black slime everywhere. Parker’s route was carefully planned and he had to take more than one detour as he circumvented the shiny trails of ooze. He was on his way to the Elysium Hotel and Casino, a place of luxury and affluence, a place that’d been (perhaps begrudgingly) turned into a temporary shelter for the displaced. The Warden never held any remote interest in either hotels or gambling but he wasn’t going there out of his own interest. He told Winter that he would go retrieve her. That and he owed her a pizza, which was sitting in the passenger side seat, covered by his black leather jacket that he finally had to pull out of his closet as the weather had gotten too biting to ignore. Parker wasn’t a fan of cold weather, with the low temperatures and large amounts of snow easily working their way onto his list of least favorite things about the town. It didn’t seem like snow was there quite yet, however, as he carefully made his way around the more covered areas of the road and, indeed, it seemed like the goo was dissipating as well the closer he drew to the hotel. Eventually, as he pulled into one of the nearby parking spaces that had a rather clean path from it to the door, he found himself wondering why she couldn’t just leave. Sure, it was oppressive in a lot of other places but she didn’t seem to be as trapped as she thought. Or maybe there was just something Parker was missing; was this a metaphor? He was always poor with those, or so Walker told him. However, he started to relax in his seat when a sharp pain on his upper back made him suck air in through his nose and he immediately opted out of leaning back. No, he leaned forward instead, not sure what that was on his back but he could neither see nor reach it so there was little point in worrying too much about it. Pulling out his phone, he texted Winter. “I’m out in front. [...] Where are you? I have a pizza.”

“Holing yourself up in the room isn’t healthy, you know that, right?” Winter threw Henry a glare as she tossed her wallet into her bag. “I’m going to start calling you dad if you don’t stop. I wasn’t holing myself up, I just didn’t want to risk being stuck in that crap. Do you see how many things are caught in it right now?” Henry rolled his eyes at her, not believing that someone like her wouldn’t take a risk to go get a pizza. “Seems like you’re hiding away in here.” She was about to say something back to him when her phone beeped at her, the medium smirking as she held it up to show him the message. “See? I’m leaving right now, smart ass.” He threw her a look while she threw her purse over her shoulder and hummed with satisfaction before turning to head out.

She didn’t bother to text Parker back as she made her way past the extra people in the halls, one woman squeaking as the ghost trailing Winter walked through her. Why did she love when he did that? It was always entertaining to watch people look around them with alarm when she knew it wasn’t anything other than a cold chill. 

His car was pretty easy to spot. The only running vehicle in the area while most of the guests now staying at the Elysium had been walk-ins. Was Parker squirming a little as she walked up to the passenger side door? That didn’t seem right. She knocked on the window, wanting to alert him of her presence before trying to open the door in case he got spooked and ninja'd a dagger at her or something. She knew what he was capable of with his fists, no telling what he could do with a weapon. “Oh my god, you actually brought a pizza. Parker, you care.” She placed a hand over her heart as Henry scoffed. “Should have made you go get it yourself.” 

A look was thrown over her shoulder before Winter grabbed the box and took her place in the car. “Henry says hi, by the way. Do you let people eat in your car? Do you want some?” Her good mood must have been attributed to finally getting out of that room. Henry couldn’t even bring it down while he glowered in the back seat, probably upset that he couldn’t have any pizza himself. “You know you didn’t have to come out here, right? I know you hate it here. But it has given me something to look forward to.”

Smartly, she had knocked on the window to indicate to him that she had arrived. He supposed it made sense given how… on edge their first in-person interaction was. Parker turned his head to regard her, one of his eyebrows twitching faintly as she seemed surprised that he followed through on his bringing her a pizza; he wasn’t sure what about him indicated that he held empty words, that he wasn’t one to actually do as he said he was going to do. Did people just think that he said things to placate them? She looked over her shoulder before getting in - either she had heard something he didn’t, she was regarding the ghost known as Henry or both. When she said that the specter said hello, Parker’s own glance drifted to the backseat. Assuming the ghost had decided to sit in the back seat. It was a little surreal, to take someone’s word that there was an undead spirit lingering right in front of him though he couldn’t remotely and would never see it. “You may eat in the car. Just try to… keep the mess in the box.” He remarked mildly, blue eyes resting on her once more. He wasn’t about to tell her that the inside of his unassuming silver car had seen decidedly gorier things than flakes from a pizza crust. “I don’t…” It would’ve been a lie to say that he didn’t actually hate it there, so the sentence faltered in his mouth. “It’s… more tolerable in the vehicle.” The Warden faced forward once more, moving rather carefully as he rolled one of his shoulders. “Also I… told you that I would. I don’t like lying. Or… saying things I don’t intend on keeping my word on.” A pause accompanied with an inhale through his arrow-straight nose. “Where would you like to go?”

It was a little amusing to watch him glance towards Henry knowing that he couldn’t see what she saw. She knew better than to think that he would be jarred by the sight of Henry and his detached arm but it was still funny to imagine the scene unfolding. In fact, she’d gotten so used to it that somebody else being frightened by the missing limb might have even surprised her a little. Henry waved at Parker, even while knowing the hunter couldn’t see him, and Winter rolled her eyes good naturedly as she turned back to the food; the wonderful food that Parker had now given her permission to eat inside of his car. She wasted no time, her mouth full by the time he had said to keep the mess contained inside the box so she nodded to acknowledge that she’d heard. 

Swallowing the bite before speaking, she shook her head at his words. “Is it though? I mean, I get why you don’t like it out here. Some of the places have character but for the most part this place is not ideal. I’ve been looking for something else but I…am too hard to please.” She had rejected a  high rise in Los Angeles just because she didn’t like the height of the cabinets in the kitchen but Winter had a feeling she was going to have to settle for some place around here. 

She looked over, another bite of the pizza being chewed on thoughtfully while she tried to explain her doubts. How did she come right out and say that most people in her life ended up disappointing her so she’d come to expect it without it sounding mean? “I wasn’t trying to imply that you wouldn’t but most people don’t really keep their word, especially over small things like this. But I guess you’re not most people, are you?” It’s not like she would have been angry if he hadn’t brought the food, she’d suffered worse blows before, but it was refreshing to be around someone who wouldn’t say one thing to your face and turn around and do the opposite. “That’s pretty cool.” 

Winter closed the pizza box after scarfing down the first piece, her mind now going to the potential stores they could hit. “There’s a boutique in Harborside I wanted to check out. I’ve never shopped at a small town store but anything with the word boutique has to have something quality in it. But I’ll also give you one last chance to back out because this is going to test your limits, I know it.” Henry snorted from the back seat, not able to resist adding his own comment. “I’ve seen her online shop, she’s not wrong.”

Well, if nothing else in this trip mattered, at least he had gotten her the right type of pizza. Either that or she was just so desperate not to eat hotel food anymore that anything would’ve sufficed. Then as she responded to his comments about Worm Row, Parker decided to get them going - the sooner they were out of that general vicinity, the sooner he felt as though maybe whatever few nerves had worked themselves up inside him would calm down. So he started driving, slow, rather leisurely, still carefully weaving around the spots on the ground on the off-chance that hitting it would spontaneously freeze his car and envelop it. “I’ve… been informed that I’m not like most people, no.” Parker replied, keeping his eyes on the road though he made it evident that he was still listening to her as well as he possibly could’ve. “I understand that there’s a general casualty to words.” He said. “I’m very careful with my words. I said I would bring you a pizza. I said I would take you shopping. I don’t make false offers.” As he spoke, his mind planned a map for him to take that would avoid the problems with the roads and still head over to Harborside. And yet, as Winter assured him that this shopping trip would test his limits, the Warden scoffed through his nose; the closest he’d ever come to laughing in over two decades, perhaps even more. “You know it?” He asked, his expression softening ever-so-slightly as what seemed to be the ghost of a smile tugging on the corner of his mouth. “You know what my limits are?” It was playful. An attempt to… loosen up. This was a new interaction between them. 

“That’s not a bad thing, everyone being the same is boring.” Some of the other residents of Wicked’s Rest floated through her mind after saying that which prompted her to add under her breath, “Well, some people could stand to add a little boring to their life.” She was starting to think she was included in that comment. Ever since Henry had become a part of her life things had spiraled and normal was a different world away. Winter had learned so much about herself and the world and yet she still had so many unanswered questions. Especially when it concerned her past and how her family factored into all of this. Had her parents known all this time that she was able to see these things or were they just as clueless?

“I will keep that in mind then.” Winter looked over at him again, regarding him silently. It wasn’t often a person came across someone who stuck to their word, even the little things, and she felt a little lucky that she’d found someone who would do that. The question was: Was she able to do the same for him? If friendship was a transaction in her mind, an exchange of good deeds and care, then she owed it to him, right? It was probably time to start being more careful with her words, and not just around Parker either, around everyone. “But I also want you to know that if you promise something as small as a pizza and you don’t follow through for whatever reason it’s not that big of a deal.”

An eyebrow quirked at his reaction, the girl glad that he was able to relax enough around her to be humorous in his own way. It also felt a little like a challenge which she loved. There was nothing more amusing than a competition for her and Winter was always confident that her win was imminent. “Maybe I don’t, but I’m sure I’m going to find them today.” Henry leaned forward between the two of them, his expression grim. “Dude, just stop now. I’ve never seen anyone so willing to push a person’s buttons before.” Winter smirked at the words, deciding not to relay the message. This was going to be a fun day.

The Warden felt the ghost of a smirk of his own tug on the corner of his ever-downturned mouth in response to the medium’s playful challenge. “We’ll see.” He said, realizing immediately after he said it that he had sounded more like his own father than he had in a while. That was a rare thing, as Parker recalled it now; they were on a trip, one specifically for the younger Wright as the four of them were in the car, passing by unfamiliar landmarks and environments. When asking where they were going, taking a break from his curious staring out of the window, his father, with a half smile on his face, raised his brow with a knowing look and said ‘we’ll see’. While the situation wasn’t exactly the same, it did carry a reminiscent feeling with it and it was those moments, the rare memories where things seemed… almost normal, in their own way, that made Parker insist that he didn’t have a bad childhood. He was the exception to the general rule that hunters all had troubled upbringings. He was the outlier. His father was strict, but Parker only ever got in trouble because of things he did wrong, or ways that he was wrong; deficiencies, shortcomings, weaknesses. He appreciated his father’s patience with him. 

Patience that he could extend to Winter as the two (though Henry was presumably there and tagging along whether he wanted to go or not) went to the first store on her mental list. And thus began what turned out to be a morning, though how eventful it was was purely going by Winter’s personal approval rating - they’d go to a store, where she’d try on different articles of clothing while he waited. He’d provide commentary or constructive criticism if she asked, and she would suggest things for him to wear in turn though Parker always politely declined; he was doing what he considered to be a suitable job hiding it but he was having trouble blatantly ignoring whatever was on or in his back, aching his muscles, feeling weighty as it would twinge uncomfortably and sharply whenever he would move a certain way. The most annoying part was realizing that he couldn’t reach it. Despite this, he reacted to her quips with his own dry sense of “humor”, rolling with her punches and though he didn’t wonder himself, it could’ve been curious how malleable he was, all things considered. His brother had noted it before, when they had gone to do things together, how Parker was a follower and a receiver of instructions without asking questions. ‘It don’t matter what you’re thinkin’. You’ll do what I say, won’t you boy?’ After all, he wasn’t here for himself.  He was here for Winter, and now they sat in the car after the fourth store. The Warden checked his watch absently, though the dashboard clock was right there. “It’s about 2pm.” He said. “Would you like to break for lunch?” He asked. “Or do you want to keep eating your pizza.”

Winter had to give Parker props. Usually by the third store whoever she was shopping with would bow out or at least start looking like walking into traffic sounded more enjoyable than whatever hell she was putting them through but the hunter was keeping up quite nicely as they went along. In fact, she might have been the one getting annoyed with him. It was time to get Parker out of the henleys but everything she suggested fell on deaf ears. She just wanted him to broaden his fashion horizons, was that so much to ask? 

Apparently, it was and Henry was living for it. Every ‘no’ that the medium got, no matter how polite, would send Henry into a fit of laughter as her face fell. She was starting to think she needed to find a way to get rid of the ghost again before she remembered her salt necklace she had gotten for Christmas. Threatening him with it sure shut him up every single time too. 

She had noticed something off with her friend though. As enjoyable as the day had turned out to be she could see that something was bothering Parker even if he was trying to hide it. It sort of felt like he was trying to make sure he didn’t ruin their simple time together with whatever was going through his mind and for the longest time Winter had chosen to ignore the occasional slight squirm or the twitch of annoyance on his face. Only because she appreciated his own desire to ignore whatever was going on. She, more than most, could understand not wanting to talk about an underlying issue. Most people assumed that she didn’t care much about what others were going through, and didn't notice when something was off. The truth was, she wasn’t someone who would force someone to talk when they didn’t want to but after the fourth store she couldn’t pretend anymore.

“I’d rather talk about what’s bothering you.” Food was the last thing on her mind, shopping was even taking a backseat right now which was a rare occasion. She loved those damn fitting rooms. “Are you really not getting bothered by how many stores I’ve dragged you to or are you hiding it? I can tell something’s up and I don’t want you to pretend you’re okay with all of this if it’s torture to you.” And Winter would love it if he admitted defeat. The satisfaction it would bring was too much for her to ignore. Even Henry was sick of shopping and he got to mess around and spook the other patrons while they were out.

At Winter’s response, Parker was admittedly a little taken aback which was displayed to her via a slight tilt of his head. He knew that she was intuitive, but he supposed that his ability to suppress whatever irritation was on his mind, especially now that he had control over his emotions again, was stronger than her intuition. That being said, though she was able to discern that there was indeed something on his mind (or rather, on his back), she came to the wrong conclusion and after the initial surprise, he shook his head. “No, it doesn’t bother me. Really.” He added, giving her a rather earnest look as though to nonverbally convey that nothing she was doing, suggesting, or wanting was annoying him. But… The expression shifted in subtle ways that he wouldn’t have been able to explain and Parker broke eye contact with her, turning his head and looking out of the front windshield. Then he shifted in his seat slightly, a twitch of his eye escaping as he did so. And yet, the sharp, precise pricks of pain were preferable to the pressure of feeling his father’s eyes on his back as he tended to when he was at risk of exposing anything about himself. They bored into him now, simultaneously making him want to shy away from their unwavering glare and also straighten his spine, which he always did so instead. Eventually, after a longer moment of silence between them than was necessary, Parker blinked and shook his head as though pulling himself back into the present. Or out of his head, he wasn’t sure which. “Sorry.” He apologized first. “I have… It’s… I’m not sure what it is but…” Every few words were punctuated with a pause or a falter, something on the tip of his tongue that he couldn’t spit out. ‘So just… say it. Quit wasting her time.’ “I think… there’s something on my back. A… splinter or… I’m not sure.” As though she could see it, he leaned forward slightly and gestured to it. “And I can’t reach it.”  

Damn. He really didn’t care that she had dragged him all over each store that they had been in. It was no big deal though, at least the day hadn’t been wasted in any way. Winter now had quite a few pieces to add to her wardrobe and a few gifts she had bought for others…including a shirt that wasn’t a Henley for the man next to her even if he wasn’t going to wear it. Still, something was up with Parker and the implied ‘but’ after his sentence lingering in the air between them like some uncomfortable secret trying to break free. 

She almost rolled her eyes but decided a little grace was needed. Parker had never been one to shy away from what he was thinking but sometimes he needed a little time to get to his point. She could see his mind spinning slightly as she watched him, the little signs recognizable thanks to her years of studying the body language of others to help with her show, but she stayed quiet. The medium even looked down into one of the bags from their latest store to hopefully make whatever this was more comfortable for him, glad that for once Henry was silent as well. 

Her eyebrows rose as he started to stumble over his words, Winter never having seen Parker this unsure of what he wanted to say. It almost scared her and she was surprised when the worry started to make her heart pound a little. 

That worry was crushed as he revealed what it was. An itch? That’s what this was about? “Parker, why were you so tight lipped about that? It’s not a big deal. Let me look, I’ll see what it is.” Winter set the bag down on the floorboard and turned to face him. It was a back, there was nothing to be shy about but she didn’t think that maybe that’s why it was awkward for him in the first place. 

Her question wasn’t answered immediately; no, it stewed in Parker’s head, with the voices of his family deciding to chime in for their own reasons or explanations. ‘You turn little things into a big deal for no reason.’ 

‘Who the hell knows what information you choose to share and withhold? Your brain’s always been busted.’ 

‘It’s just something else you’ll need to repay.’ The Warden’s brow furrowed as blue eyes darted back and forth, looking at the ground and moving as though he were reading something fervently. It wasn’t a big deal. Nothing was a big deal, they were just things that Parker twisted and corrupted and turned into monumental things for reasons he couldn’t explain. He couldn’t have told her it was embarrassing that he couldn’t take care of it himself. He couldn’t have told her that his misplaced sense of pride that had been instilled in him told him that he was supposed to do everything on his own. ‘You don’t have friends, after all.’ Inhaling through an arrow-straight nose, tension evident in something so simple, the hunter wordlessly rotated in his seat. His arms crossing over themselves in front of his chest, Parker grasped either side of his familiar gray henley and started to hitch the shirt up, revealing a disorganized web of scars on his skin; small, razor-fine lines, deep, discolored claw marks and even a few that were curiously raised, that both overlaid and underlaid the segmented abdomen of a dragonfly tattoo that aligned with his vertebrae. The rest of the tattoo still hid under his shirt, which he was very careful not to lift excessively, already feeling far more exposed than he’d have liked to. What wasn’t hidden under the shirt, eventually, was a large, pulsing insect about the size of a tennis ball and garnet in color as it twitched absently, its head buried in the Warden’s flesh just to the side of his spine.

The shock of all of the marks on this man’s back took her aback, Winter feeling as if her brain was currently rebuffering and struggling to do as such. She couldn’t process everything at once and she was suddenly very aware as to why he might have been hesitant to do this. Was this his life? Just constantly being slashed and broken by the things he was sworn to protect everyone against? Wide eyes scanned over the raised flesh, onto the deep divets, and finally over the unexpected sight of a tattoo that disappeared under the rest of his shirt. What else was he hiding under there? Did she even want to know?

She decided that she didn’t. This was enough of a glimpse into what he’d been through in his lifetime.

Feelings of discomfort upon seeing the damage his body had taken quickly turned into feelings of disgust when she saw the cause of his irritation. “Oh, fuck no!” Her body jerked back slightly, startled by the sight of the large tick that had burrowed into his skin. Henry was torn between laughter and his own discomfort, wanting to immediately make fun of Winter’s reaction but also noting the damaged skin on the Warden’s back. She was glad he stayed quiet, already distressed by the bug in front of her.

“What the hell have you been rolling around in? There’s a freaking tick latched onto you!” Throw Winter in the middle of a spriggan attack, a goo filled hotel, but put a bug in front of her and she was going to lose it. Her composure was broken, a rare sight indeed, and didn’t care one bit. “Oh, god, I have to take that out, don’t I?” She would. Only for certain people would she even consider doing this for, but she would for Parker. She just had to freak out first and she hoped he would let her without feeling too put out by it all. A whine filled the car, the girl closing her eyes to take in a few breaths, and she started to shake her hands in an attempt to pump herself up for this. “Okay, okay, I think I can do this. I just need a minute.”

Shame wasn’t an emotion that Parker wore often, nor did he wear it well; he had been made acutely and harshly aware of it when he was very young, and as such was quickly trained not to respond or acknowledge it. As such, few things gave him the feeling and one of those few things was the perception that the scars he’d accumulated over the years were abhorrent. Ugly things that caused one to recoil in fear, disgust, anger, or whatever else. He knew this, just as he knew that the same scars that tensed him up as she retaliated in such a spirited way didn’t seem to cross his mind at all when he went swimming in the indoor pool that he frequented during the colder months. Maybe it had something to do with how he couldn’t have cared less about what strangers thought of him, but he knew Winter better now and with the introduction of… friends (if he could call himself and Winter that), there was an unspoken set of rules that Parker had to follow. Certain facets of himself that he either couldn’t or wouldn’t display for the benefit of others. This wasn’t a stranger at the pool. Instinctively, the hunter started to lower his shirt again as though to nonverbally apologize for affronting her with the markings– Then all the shame flew out of the window when she mentioned the singular word: tick. Instantly, Parker felt himself relaxing and if he had been less robotic with how he reacted to everything, a little closer to a normal human, he might’ve even laughed at how foolishly he was overreacting to a misunderstanding. It wasn’t the scars she was viscerally reacting to; it was an insect. Rather casually, he turned his head slowly though instead of looking at the young woman, he acted as though he could see the thing on his back and he hummed absently. “Mm. I wonder where I acquired it.” He replied in his usual flat affect. “You don’t have to–” He started to follow-up his musing with the insistence that he wasn’t about to ask her to do such a thing; she was obviously not a fan of bugs and if this one was as impressive as it seemed to persistently cause him pain (something else unusual for Parker) but in his peripheral vision he caught her movements. Quietly, he turned his head back around instead of staring at her expectantly, though the grip on his shirt tightened subconsciously. “You don’t have to. I can have it surgically removed.” He said, now feeling more childishly embarrassed that there was an insect on him that he could neither reach nor was aware was even an insect, feeling quite inadequate at his job, skills and interests but not enough for him to react particularly strongly to it. 

For a moment she was more than ready to take him up on the offer to get this thing surgically removed but the thought of diseases that spread through these things hit and she just couldn’t let him go with it in his back for longer than he had to. “No, no, what if you got lyme disease or something because it was in there for too long?” Shit, was it already too late for that? Winter didn’t know how these things worked, whether the contracted diseases through them were instant or if it needed some time, but she still wasn’t letting him go with this thing embedded in him for any longer. He was clearly annoyed by it, if not in pain. “Besides, it’s causing a lot of discomfort and there’s no need for that.”

“Brave girl you are.” The ghost was being sarcastic with her? In these conditions? She shot a glare Henry’s way but he was still smirking under the fierce gaze. What a dick. 

Winter was still pressed against the other side of the car as she moved to grab her purse from the floor board. Tweezers were an essential tool on the daily for everyone. One could never know when a stray hair needed to be plucked from their eyebrows, after all. “Alright, uh…I’m throwing these out of the window when I’m done but you’re lucky I keep these on me.” 

The medium paused in her movements after she came back with the tweezers, Henry laughing at the disgust filling her features while she looked at the pulsating bug on his back. She took a deep breath in to calm her nerves before she reached out with the tweezers, removing the large tick as quickly as she could. Winter probably should have been more careful with it but she didn’t care as her hand came back with the entirely too large insect, not noticing there was something missing. It was out the window as soon as she could roll the glass down, tweezers and all. “Ugh!”

Surprise crept onto his features when she turned down his offer to remove her from the undesirable job; she was obviously less than enthused. Parker didn’t blame her, either; he liked insects, even the parasites and given how he could feel this one, it must’ve been particularly… unpleasant-looking. “The likelihood of a disease affecting me is incredibly low.” Despite her reluctant willingness to help, he still wanted to make sure she was privy to his strengthened immune system, just in case. ‘Just in case what, she changes her mind and decides not to just remove the thing?’ His brother asked. ‘Like you’re gonna go to a doctor. You hate those, remember?’ The Warden shook his brother’s voice out of his thoughts and he looked back over his shoulder as he managed to hear her rummaging through her purse before mentioning that she was going to be ‘throwing these out the window’. Throwing what– oh. For a moment, Parker had half a mind to tell the young woman to just use one of the blades from his belt but it wasn’t in his mind for very long; she didn’t seem like the type to be particularly proficient with a knife. No offense to her, of course. Maybe that was something he could teach her if she wanted. For now, though, his gaze flickered to the tweezers before resting on Winter’s face for a moment longer and eventually turning his head back to face the opposite window, feeling just a little more heat from what was probably embarrassment on his cheeks. “I’ll buy you more.” He offered, ignoring the stinging sensation from the tick in favor of breathing deeply and calmly, in a rhythmic fashion as he attempted to help settle her nerves. How successful it was, Parker wasn’t sure but it was all he could do in the moment, partially for her and partially to keep his own emotional reaction under tight control. He was in control. But man could he feel when she was pulling that insect off of him. A sharp inhale was the only reaction she got, however, and it felt as though a physical weight had been released from Parker as she presumably threw the insect as well as her beloved tweezers from the car with her spirited verbal effort. If nothing else, her disgust for it helped get the task done quickly. Fluidly, he pulled his shirt back down, ignoring whatever blood would’ve gathered around the bite mark and he flexed and extended his shoulders, rotating back in his seat as he rolled his neck. There was still a residual thump, a small heartbeat in his skin but he knew that would be gone within the hour. It felt so foolish, he realized. To be affected by something so completely insignificant. However, unlike the last two times they’d interacted, both of them had control over their emotions and Parker turned to regard Winter again, finding her eyes with his own and his expression… softened. Still rather robotic and any emotions worn on it subtle but there. “Thank you.” He said quietly.  “I… wouldn’t have been upset if you couldn’t do it. But… I knew you could.” 

“You don’t have to buy me anything. Besides, I have a few at home.” Despite how soft Winter was speaking she couldn’t get the disgust out of her tone. Why did it have to be a freaking tick? Those were the worst of the parasitic creatures and that was including the ones who used to be human. A little shiver ran through her but it wasn’t due to the cold at all. 

“That makes one of us, then.” When she opened her eyes at his words, hazel meeting blue, she raised a questioning eyebrow at the look he was giving her. It wasn’t just the softened gaze but the red cheeks to go along with it and for a split second she couldn’t understand why Parker was staring like that. Was he embarrassed? Shit, she had embarrassed him, hadn’t she? Winter didn’t think Parker could get embarrassed but she seemed to have found the trick to doing so. Now whether that was because of the grossest bug known to man on his back or the scars etched into his skin was anyone’s guess but his. 

Another thing hit her after that thought….Parker had said ‘thank you.’ It might have been the first time she’d heard him utter those words and she wasn’t really sure what to do with them. A feeling of discomfort filled her chest as she realized how much that had meant to him, the medium always faltering when it came to the whole feelings part of things, especially when those mostly confirmed that their budding friendship was now a full blown thing. 

“Right…no, yeah, you’re not supposed to thank me, remember?” That seemed right. Reminding him of his small error was the way to go here. Winter sat back against the door of the car as Henry scoffed, the girl just imagining the ghost rolling his eyes at the two of them. “It was no problem, not even worth the thank you.” She wouldn’t look Parker in the eye as she added one last thing. “But….you know, anytime you need something you know you can come to me.” She fought a gigantic bug for the guy, that was enough to prove she would stand by his side during most anything. It wasn’t everyday the Winter Cahya would go into the throes of battle with such a thing. 

She would only do so when it mattered.

[realmackross]

PARTIES: @wonder-in-wings, @realmackross TIMING: Mid-December after the Season Finale SUMMARY: Not knowing that Parker has been temporarily compromised by a bloodclinger, Mack desperately goes to him for help with removing the goo that had settled in her lungs after becoming Goo Girl IRL, but things don’t quite go as planned…WARNINGS: Unsanitary tw, medical blood tw, surgery tw, under skin tw (just to be safe), vomiting tw

Mackenzie had been uncomfortable for days after the goo had almost taken her undead life from her. The scream that had broken her free had given her her life back, but the repercussions had been that of not being able to force the icky substance that had slipped down her throat and had lingered, even after the corroding scream that had freed her and the shelter. It was as if passing air through her lungs had been nearly impossible now, and without doing so, she hadn’t been able to speak. Only make generic moans and squeaks to anyone who would listen. For a zombie, she had sounded mighty pitiful, and was grateful for technology and even a pen and paper when the moment called for it. But she couldn’t continue on like this, and the only person she knew that she thought might be able to help her had been Parker.

Reluctantly knocking on his door, Mack waited for him to answer. This would be the first time she had ever met the man in person, and to be completely honest, she was a little nervous. They had talked and fought and ignored each other via social media for way too long, but this had not been ideally how she wanted to approach him in person.

—

It wasn’t as bad as last time. But that didn’t mean that Parker had to like it this time. Thankfully, Rhett was out of his house now - not something that he wanted to admit or even acknowledge - but considering what had been going on with him for the past week now, the younger Warden was relieved about now. He didn’t want to put anyone in the line of any potential misfire, something he had since observed when he got bitten and some part of the tick had gotten lodged into his back. It turned him more irritable, more temperamental. He snapped to himself, cut conversations short. If there was any fortune to be gleaned from this side effect, it was that it wasn’t entirely obvious online; or at least, he didn’t think it was. Nonetheless, Parker had anticipated someone showing up to his house, someone he hadn’t met in person and had a few online arguments with even when he wasn’t suffering under effects from anything; they were just side effects of who he was as a person, he supposed. Mackenzie Ross, ex-actress and current zombie, had buildup in her lungs and the literal best thing Parker could think of was to carefully cut her open and see if he could find a way to get it out. That was, if she wouldn’t turn feral on him. Parker wondered if she had brought a contingency just as he himself had one for his unfortunate affliction, eyeing the opaque bottle that sat on the counter as he stood from his chair and approached the door when he managed to hear a knock on it. As he swung the wood inwards, icy blue eyes fell upon the pale, blond visage of the actress. Parker wasn’t sure what a zombie traditionally looked like but then again, it wasn’t his place to know by looking at one so regardless, he stepped aside and granted her entry. “I understand that you’re incapable of speech.” He said first before clearing his throat, closing the door and turning to face her. “Oh. Hi. I’m… Parker.” He added with a small degree of uncertainty; this was their first meeting in person, after all.

—

Mackenzie didn’t want to be here, but it was a last ditch effort. She wasn’t entirely sure of what to do. But desperate times called for desperate measures and right now this was it. Hopefully Parker knew what he was doing. Her trust in him had grown exponentially over the period they had been talking. And he seemed to care for her in his own way. But the idea of him possibly cutting into her was a whole new thing, especially since this had been the first time they had ever met in person.

When the door opened, Mack stepped back slightly not knowing what to expect, but upon seeing him, she felt some relief knowing he seemed like just another normal guy. Of course the first words out of his mouth definitely confirmed she was at the right house. Without hesitation, she nodded, before walking inside. As she stepped in, she let her eyes wander around taking in the sights, before letting them fall back on Parker. A squeak of a “hi” and a wave was shot in his direction, before she pulled out the brand new phone she had purchased not too long after the whole having to be rescued from the goo debacle.

What are you going to do? How are you going to fix this? She typed out the words on her phone, before turning it around to show him. Quickly, pulling the phone back to her, Mackenzie typed in something else and turned it back around to face him so he could read it, And don’t drop my phone. It’s new.

—

Fortunately, whatever he had said assured her that he was who he said he was; he realized shortly after allowing her in that the situation wasn’t entirely normal, a middle-aged man offering for a young, established actor to come inside his house. Parker hoped that their relationship had been able to establish enough that on the off-chance someone objected to it, she would have his back. She seemed like a better public speaker. Well… not now, as there was a pitiable noise that Parker guessed was supposed to be a ‘hi’ accompanied with a wave. She was moving adequately, her mental processing didn’t seem to be delayed. She reacted in an appropriately timely manner. He also didn’t think much of the new phone - she was famous, she was rich. It wouldn’t have surprised him if she bought a new phone as soon as an updated model became available. Assuming she was planning on using this to communicate, he placed his hands on his hips and he leaned in to read what she wrote. He was still chewing on the answer, which he had offered to her before she had graced his doorstep, when she pulled the phone back and wrote up another message. A scoff escaped at the most recent instruction and he straightened up, keeping his icy blue eyes on Mack. “I’m not planning on dropping your phone.” Parker assured her first. “And I… have one potential solution. But I’m not sure how much damage your organs can take before…” He trailed off, starting to pace in his rhythmic way; three steps, turn, three steps, turn. All the while, he kept his stare on the zombie. “Usually, when there’s fluid buildup in the lungs, one can use oxygen or medication to get rid of it.” He explained. “This is obviously a little more… extreme than water, mucus or blood.” He paused. “I can either… operate on you, open your lungs and attempt to extract the fluid.” Parker wasn’t a doctor, nor was he a professional surgeon. That being said, the effects were largely inconvenient to her instead of actively detrimental for her health; if there was someone to experiment on in the name of science, a zombie seemed like a natural option. Well, as “natural” as the concept of undead could be. “Alternatively, I can insert a tube and try to aspirate your lungs that way.” He offered. Neither were ideal, but at least she wasn’t dying from this. He… decided to keep that comment to himself.

—

Mackenzie quickly turned the phone back around and typed the words Thank you, before flashing it in his direction. She had been lucky enough to get what she needed from her other phone. Contacts, stuff for work, but more importantly, her photos, texts, and voicemails from Brody. It was what she had feared losing the most, when she had first seen her phone was crushed, but the situation didn’t allow her to dwell on it at the time, and instead of letting it fester and linger, the very next day she went and got it all taken care of. She had missed her old phone though, especially since she was still getting used to this new one.

As Mack listened to him explain her options, neither had sounded that great. Cut her open like a frog to dissect and explore or stick a tube down her throat. The tube option did sound like the better option, and it would be less invasive. Plus, it’s not like she really had much of a gag reflex anymore so any fear of her doing her best impression of Linda Blair, he didn’t really have to worry about.

Making her decision, Mackenzie quickly started typing out her answer. Let’s go with the tube. It doesn’t sound as bad or as painful. She showed him her choice before pulling the phone back towards and looking up at him. She was curious what he would think. Would he be excited she wasn’t wanting him to cut into her or would he be disappointed? It was quite the weird conversation, but it was fucking Wicked’s Rest, and nothing here ever seemed to be normal. Wicked’s Rest…the only place in the world that could make Hollywood look sane.

—

Parker let the ‘thank you’ slide this time since it was him and her and not spoken along with the recognition that it was more of a placeholder instead of an actual thanks, meaning he didn’t need to reciprocate with an awkward response. Instead, he offered a nod of his head in response as he continued his pacing. As she considered the options he suggested, he himself thought about the tools he had and if there were any he would need - he was an amateur surgeon, to be sure, but he wasn’t really prepared for a full-blown surgical procedure. Opening her up and getting straight to the lungs might’ve been easier. He could go through her back and– She interrupted his thoughts with her reply and he paused in his pacing to look at her phone. Tube it was, which wouldn’t have been so much of an issue had Parker actually thought a little further ahead about how he’d go about doing that. It was unusual for him not to have a ready solution in his head when creating suggestions but… ‘you do have a solution.’ Walker said rather cryptically. Yes, Parker had a solution. He just wasn’t sure if Mack would be on board. Without betraying whether or not he would’ve rather operated on her (though he couldn’t deny that a small part of him burned with curiosity to see just how much he could get away with. ‘Oh my god you are a serial killer.’), Parker nodded with affirmation and held up a finger. “Wait here.” He said before retreating around the doorway, into the spare room that Rhett had been staying in. Interestingly, and perhaps unexpectedly, it didn’t take long to clean up after the other Warden had left and he retrieved– ‘You can’t be serious.’ It was a few minutes but Parker returned carrying a vacuum cleaner, a look on his face that suggested that he was serious. It was a rather small thing and decidedly much newer than the rest of the house would imply, with a capsule-like body and a long, thin hose that connected to the brush. “You don’t have a gag reflex, correct?” He asked, still blunt but with a slight inflection to his voice, indicating actual curiosity. —

With Parker requesting for her to wait where she was, Mackenzie let her eyes fall back on her phone. Instagram had been the last thing she had looked at, and she mostly did it just to see what life back in Los Angeles was like. How was her family and her friends? Her fellow actor friends? Would they ever believe what her life had become, if she ever showed her face again on that side of the country? Obscure surgeries weren’t strang in Hollyweird, but when Parker returned proudly carrying a vacuum cleaner, Mack’s face quickly reacted with an obvious What the fuck?

Closing out Instagram, she moved forward to inspect the vacuum cleaner. Was this his grand plan? Pulling the Notes app up again, she quickly typed a message back to him, No gag reflex, but is this your grand plan? A vacuum cleaner? She sighed and thought for a moment. It wasn’t like she had much of a choice in the matter did she? It was: live like this for however many more years she was around, let him cut into her, or try the vacuum cleaner. Whatever. It’s not like I have much of a choice. Let's just do this. Where do I need to go? She once again flashed the phone in his direction. If this is what Mackenzie had to endure to be able to talk again, how bad could it really be?

—

This was absurd, he knew this. Even as he glanced down from the vacuum to the zombie, the logistics didn’t make a lot of sense. How was he going to insert it? There wasn’t any guarantee that it would even do anything. And Parker really didn’t have the patience to deal with her if he did something to revert her to a shambling, thoughtless mess… the thought itself twinged his brow as he shifted the weight of the vacuum entirely to one hand while the other foolishly reached to massage the lump on his back, knowing full well he couldn’t reach it. So he lowered his arm again and cast another quick glance over to the bottle. This scenario wasn’t preferable. Would her blood even elicit a reaction? What if she had reached a point of regression before any progress could be made? She touched a rock to worse effect. Parker inhaled quietly, glancing around his living room, down at the old wooden floors, at the antique table that peeked out from the doorway to the dining room that came with the house. “Here’s fine.” He suggested. “And apologies; I wasn’t exactly anticipating on… needing to do this. I don’t think a surgical tube will be… as sufficient.” He motioned to the floor absently as he removed the narrow hose from the body of the vacuum to make it easier to attempt an insertion. “My bathroom isn’t large enough for this.” A pause. “And I’m not too worried about–” Parker cut the sentence short, popping his neck as he caught himself before saying that he wasn’t too worried about the blood. “I’m not too worried about the floor.” He rectified awkwardly.

—

Mackenzie watched Parker closely. She could see the gears turning in his brain, and she was curious as to what he might be thinking? What his ultimate plan was. She had also caught his eyes shift to something, but she couldn’t really tell what it was, so instead of questioning it, she let it go. Instead, she let the focus remain on the matter at hand…the goo residing in her body and what he wanted to do about it. And when he finally picked a spot, she obliged without questioning it; listening as she eyed the perfect spot.

Getting down on the floor, Mackenzie was just about to lay down, when she thought about something else. The floor was cold and as much as she didn’t want to be that person, she was going to be that person. Lifting her phone back up, she quickly typed. The floor is fine. Whatever. But can I at least have a blanket or pillow or something to put my head on? She showed him the phone and looked at him with a bit of a pleading look. She wasn’t sure how any of this was going to go, but if she was going to let him stick a vacuum hose down her throat, she at least wanted to be as comfortable as possible while he did it. Besides, she didn’t think it was too much to ask, considering on the inside, she was screaming bloody murder at the entire idea. Mackenzie had never been fond of doctors, unless they were on tv or her co-stars.

—

He read the request and caught the look on her face, presuming it to be one of… asking. Pleading. Unsure if she knew that he couldn’t be manipulated with nonverbal cues but also unwilling to make a comment about how she likely couldn’t feel anything anyway because she was dead, Parker set the vacuum down and wordlessly went into the spare room that Rhett had been staying in, grabbing both the pillow and comforter that was draped on the mattress. This was a waste of time. ‘What clued you in on that?’ Walker asked as the Warden motioned for Mack to scoot out of the way so he could arrange the blanket and pillow until he had formed a small pallet for her. “Anything else?” He had asked before pausing and glancing up in brief contemplation. “This isn’t going to… do anything, will it?” Parker found himself asking aloud. “As in, this procedure won’t make you lose your mind?” He felt as though it were just as valid a query as her request for something comfortable to lay on and he was past the point of dancing around terminology.

—

Watching him leave the room, Mackenzie let out a huge sigh of relief. It was a brief moment to catch her unneeded breath, but this whole situation was insane. Yet, if she wanted to be able to talk and not squeak or grunt or groan (those zombies were soooo last season), she was going to have to let Parker do this. And at least she trusted him. Surely, he had her best interest at heart right? Right?! I mean he was going to get her a pillow. That had to be out of good faith and concern when he could have easily said no. He wasn’t afraid to tell her things she didn’t want to hear, but needed to hear, so this had to be a good first step.

Looking up to see him back with the pillow and a blanket, she did as he wished and moved over. When all was said and done, she moved back to the pallet and got as comfy as she could. At his first question, Mackenzie shook her head no, as content as she could be with what she had. However, she paused on his next inquiry, before shrugging her shoulders slowly with the truth that she didn’t know if this would make her zomb out or not. She hoped it didn’t for his sake, but she couldn’t help but wonder what a brain that brilliant might have tasted like.

—

They progressed, but even as Parker stood there holding the vacuum cleaner and Mackenzie lowered herself onto the makeshift pallet, something was tugging on him. It was a small, unfamiliar feeling, but one that unsettled him nonetheless. ‘That happens every time you feel something.’ The Warden gave a small shake of his head, as though to loosen whatever that feeling was but it persisted. 

She was dead. Undead. Her nerve endings were numbed at best. She ate raw flesh and brains so her gag reflex was nonexistent. And yet, none of that seemed to assuage some imperceptible part of him. Parker approached the zombie who offered only a shrug in response to his question, almost blase about that as though it wasn’t something to consider. But then, why would she? The ex-actress was clearly under some impression, even now, that she wasn’t responsible for her actions… did she actually care if something were to happen and she’d attack him? Would she blame whatever thing that rested on what was left of her functioning brain, keeping her alive in a stasis? 

The thing inside him flowered from whatever it was to a latent irritation at the idea. She came to him for help, even after their conversations, disagreements, and her moody attitude when Parker treated her like… well, gentler than his own father treated him. ‘Yeah because if I did, you would’ve ended up like her.’ His father scoffed. ‘I taught you responsibility.’ “Do I need to restrain you?” He asked after a pause, still standing but with a new tension in his body, if such a thing were possible given that he always moved with a sort of contradictory stiff grace; always light on his feet, purposeful in his movements yet wound up, waiting for the hook to be released in a tight, controlled action.

—

Mackenzie could see the apprehension in his face. Feel the hesitation of the entire idea. And to say she wasn’t too thrilled either would be an understatement. She was about to let someone she had only talked to online stick a vacuum cleaner hose down her throat to try and suck out probably the only remainder of goo left in Wicked’s Rest. And the more she laid there and thought about it, the more absurd it started to sound. When had her life taken such a drastic change that she needed to have under the table surgery by someone who clearly wasn’t a medical professional. It was his question that seemed to cement her into this still somewhat new reality.

Pulling up her phone to her face, Mackenzie quickly typed in a response and turned the phone towards him, I don’t know. I’ve never had someone try to vacuum a foreign substance out of my body before. What do you think? She didn’t want to put Parker in danger. That’s not why she had decided to come to him. She just wanted to be able to talk again. Turning the phone back around, she quickly thumbed out another reply, Do you have any other suggestions? Maybe there would be something he would feel more comfortable with. But she didn’t know. It’s not like much could hurt her right? And it usually took a lot for her to lose complete control.

—

He read her responses, their unspoken anxieties seeming to be communicated well enough between them and with a quiet exhale, he set the vacuum down. “I think… it might be easier for me to attempt a tracheostomy first.” As Parker spoke, he pointed to his neck, the spot just above where his clavicles joined in the middle. “If you’re having trouble speaking, it might be that you have some goo lodged in your windpipe… or maybe your trachea.” He explained. “And if I can’t find any there to extract, then… I’ll consult my medical textbooks and see how it would be best to search your bronchial tubes.” There was a pause. Or rather, another pause, considering it often took him longer than necessary to spit out all the thoughts he had at once in a concise way. “Tracheostomies may have complications for the living but… since you don’t breathe, the risks are lower.” Parker tilted his head slightly. “Would… that be acceptable to you?” He didn’t want to feel like he had to restrain her; irritated as the whole predicament felt, there was still that small part of him that didn’t want to cause her discomfort or pain, if she could feel it.

—

Mackenzie took in heavy, wheezing breath and let it out slowly; the air catching through the goo pieces causing an eerie sound to leave her mouth. So he was going to cut into her. She had been on medical shows, she somewhat knew how all of this worked thanks to the medical consultants that hung around on set. Closing her eyes, she thought long and hard before typing back a response to him, Do what you have to do, and if things go south…run, Parker. I don’t want to hurt you. She couldn’t make any guarantees, but she knew she wanted him to be safe.

Putting her phone back in her pocket, signaled that she was ready. She wanted to get this over with. Though they had had some pretty lengthy and in-depth conversations online, Mackenzie had oddly felt a strong trust towards him. He didn’t seem like he wanted to hurt her anymore than what she could actually feel. Or that he was some psycho killer (Qu'est-ce que c'est?). But she knew that whatever was about to be done wasn’t going to be pleasant. However, if it actually worked, and she could talk again, that’s all that mattered, right?

—

It had to have been preferable to forcing a vacuum cleaner hose down her esophagus. It had to be, that was what Parker was banking on as she affirmed his decision, though he could feel her apprehension over the text. Part of him felt like he should’ve dignified it with a verbal response of his own but sometimes, in his experience, words couldn’t convey the feelings behind them. Parker wasn’t emotional. He was so used to not affording himself to be that he was convinced that the only time he could was when he was being affected by something outside his carefully-curated control. But even then, as he gave a silent, but understanding nod to Mack, indicating that they’d cross that bridge if they came to it, there was… emotion behind it. Nevertheless, she had put her phone away, telling Parker that whatever was going to be done was going to be done soon and he didn’t have to leave the room to procure a scalpel from… where, no one but him truly knew. With one final exhale, he closed the space between them and he knelt to a familiar crouch. Two fingers gently and carefully pressed against the spot on her neck where he had motioned to his before, and without further ado, he took the scalpel and started to create an incision. It was immediately strange. Parker cut into the flesh, but it wasn’t like anything he’d dissected before - which was really just an indicator that he didn’t harvest from the dead, and even then, fae were decidedly different from human anatomy. The incision was small and concise, though he felt his gaze get unfocused as he seemed to acknowledge each blood vessel tucked safely in her dermis. Without even realizing what he was doing, he cut wider before using the scalpel to push open one side of the opening and using two fingers to pull the other side, turning the minor laceration into a hole the size of a walnut… and getting bigger as his pupils grew at the sight of her blood just… sitting there. In their veins. Waiting for him. 

— 

As Mackenzie watched Parker grab the tools he needed, she couldn’t help but close her eyes. She didn’t want to watch what came next. It was too much to handle. She had never been one for shots, but here she was presently letting someone cut into her, and when she felt the blade dig into her skin, she winced slightly at the pressure – her eyes still closed.

Trying to occupy herself, Mackenzie started running lines in her head that she could remember from some of her favorite projects. It was a nice little challenge for both her decaying brain and to get her mind off of the idea of someone cutting into her. But curiosity did get the better of her and with one eye open, she watched his fingers come down. It was weird. The sounds she was currently hearing mixed with the pressure and flashes of pain of him tugging and pulling. It had been too late to back out now, and instead, shut her eyes back tightly. But when there wasn’t any further movement, Mackenzie reluctantly opened her eyes back up to see Parker’s eyes and the look that was on his face; a look of hunger.

Furrowing her brow, Mackenzie latched onto Parker’s sleeve and gave it a tug trying to get his attention, since she still didn’t have any means of speaking with him. If something was wrong, she wanted to know. She hadn’t quite felt like she was starting to lose herself, but considering there was still stagnant blood that barely moved through her veins, she knew she’d start fading faster than either of them wanted if he didn’t get to it anytime soon.

—

The tool was dropped carelessly as it clattered to the floor and skittered across the wood. Parker couldn’t have paid it any less mind, the sound distant and muted as it crashed against his useless ear. His blue eyes, pupils dilated as though he’d been thrust into the dark, stared at the hole he’d made in her chest. A hand on his sleeve. Acknowledged, ignored. He wondered if the hole was large enough.

Without any grace, without any warning or permission or further critical thoughts that were absent from the Warden’s mind, he grasped a handful of the cloth material that made up her shirt, effortlessly lifted her close to him and he made up the distance by leaning forward and biting her neck. Using the hole he’d made as a sort of latch point for one of his canines, he could feel her room-temperature blood slowly filling his mouth, not nearly quickly enough for him and Parker sucked in his breath, willing it from her veins. It tasted vile, immediately churning his stomach and evoking feelings of nausea as he struggled to get the first ounces of it down his esophagus. There was something small in the back of his mind as he struggled to withdraw the still blood from her veins, something that reprimanded and struck at him, telling him to stop but it was ignored in favor of the lasting effects of the bloodclinger that had been removed from his back. 

— 

Mackenzie could only watch silently as Parker did the unthinkable. With any regard for her going out the window, the young zombie started to try and squirm free of his grasp, but it was the way he sank his teeth into her neck and used the opening to begin to drain her of the fermented blood that lingered in her veins that left her helpless. At least in the moment. But the more he drank, the weaker Mackenzie could feel herself getting, and a weakening zombie would eventually mean a hungry and more powerful zombie.

Trying to take in air to speak was a struggle. She had just wanted him to stop for his own good out of the fear that he would be her next meal. She cared for Parker, even loved him like a dad, but the monster inside of her wouldn’t hesitate to wrap her fingers around his neck and beat his head into the hard floor below, if it meant survival. And the more he drank, the more Mackenzie started to lose herself, so much so that she finally managed to gather up enough strength to give him a firm shove forward knowing that whatever meat between his teeth was going with him, but at least he’d be off of her. And at least she’d still have enough of her mind intact to flee if need be.

— 

Stilled blood, inert and thick with disuse, deprived of oxygen, nutrients, seeped down Parker’s throat, pushed by musculature that recoiled with inherent disgust. Dilated pupils darted to the zombie’s face briefly as though searching for Mack’s eyes, but nothing was recognized, not at first anyway. It was insufficient, his mind and pulsing bite near his spine was telling him. It was too slow. Dead. Parker felt her struggling under his bite and his strong hands pressed just a little firmer, almost in a nonverbal gesture for her to hold still long enough for his crimson-dipped mind to fill itself with enough blood to power the machine. She obviously didn’t though, and with each bilious ounce that slithered down his throat unlocked just a little bit of critical thinking. As mentioned before though, it wasn’t quick enough. Fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately), she had managed to retaliate sufficiently enough and he was forcefully pushed away from her, pulling off a portion of her skin that was caught in his teeth. The burst of strength was unexpected enough that Parker was knocked back against the counter that wasn’t too far from them with a loud ‘thud’. With a shark-eyed glare, he spat out the gobbet of flesh he’d torn from her and his reaction time was almost faster than whatever had been jostled from the counter and knocked over, splashing the floor between them in a spray of thick red liquid. Promptly, the Warden’s glance flew to the counter where the liquid now poured from something, a container. It didn’t matter. Not wasting a second longer, Parker got up so fast he hit his head on the corner of the counter but he couldn’t have cared less as a four-fingered hand, fingertips sticky with dull brown blood, snatched the container up and threw his head back to drink the much fresher liquid. For a moment, nothing else existed but him and the… bottle. It was a bottle, filled with blood that he had… placed on the counter in case this… happened. Each thought, each moment of cognizance was returning to him with each nauseating gulp. And each one making him more and more aware with an increasing dread that he had– Parker dropped the bottle with a shaking hand, blinking erratically as he was brought back to the present, to the churning sensation in his stomach that made him want to double over with discomfort, the feeling of gunk on his fingers causing his breath to catch in his throat. But most importantly, he was brought back to the young woman, someone he considered a friend and that he had completely and unintentionally bit and sucked the blood from. 

—

Mackenzie could feel herself slipping further and further away. Luckily, the shove had sent the parasite of a man backwards releasing her from his grip, but with it went a chunk of flesh from her throat, only leaving a dull ache from the open wound and missing flesh. It would heal, but it would take a fresh meal of brains to do so. But with each passing minute, Mackenzie knew that if she didn’t get home and get to her supply, some unlucky stranger wouldn’t be going home to their family.

She had been absolutely shocked by Parker’s actions, so much so that instead of retaliating, she wanted nothing more than to flee. She would dig the gunk out of her throat and lungs herself, if she had to. She had a Shop Vac at home. She could do it. Go back to the original plan. But until then, she pushed herself up off the floor gasping in air through the open wound leaving an eerie hiss of air with each struggling breath as her eyes started to become milky.

And without second thought, Mackenzie fumbled for her car keys, before glaring at Parker one last time, watching as he guzzled the blood that was dripping from the counter – disgusted by everything. She would deal with all of this later.

Stumbling out to her car with her hand clasped firmly over the large gaping hole in her neck, she quickly climbed into the Mini Cooper. Whether or not driving had been a good idea, Mackenzie knew fleeing on foot wouldn’t get her to where she needed to be fast enough. And like a bat out of hell, she pressed down on the gas and peeled out of the driveway as fast as she could headed back to Harborside and her refrigerator full of brains.

—

Tachypsychia. A word Parker didn’t know and wouldn’t have been able to understand if it had been spoken aloud in his presence without context. When adrenaline pulsed through your system, lending itself to a perception of time slowing down. When the Warden and the zombie exchanged glances, her eyes glazing over juxtaposed against his own pupils that shrank back into tiny pinpricks, it lasted an eternity. And yet, it simultaneously lasted so briefly that even before he could react appropriately, his emotions taking far too long to process what he was feeling, she had grabbed her keys and was fleeing through the front door. “Mackenzie–” One of Parker’s hands reached out to her as though he could telepathically stop her from leaving but of course he couldn’t, and he didn’t understand why he wanted her to stay. The Warden rather clumsily scrambled to his feet in an attempt to pursue her, wanting… to explain himself. Wanting to… 

‘You don’t know what you want, boy.’ 

Unusually for him, he was too slow this time. He heard the faint sound of a car door slamming and his attempt to catch up to her was abandoned. Parker stood in his living room, pressing a bloodslicked hand to his stomach as his insides turned themselves over but it wasn’t just the nausea from ingesting the blood. Managing to close the front door after her clumsily, he then staggered to the bathroom where he painted his porcelain bathtub a ruddy red color as he retched into it. The blood from the bottle, the blood from the zombie… the chunk of flesh in his living room. Her flesh. 

His eyes watered but… somehow, a small part of him knew that it wasn’t only because of his failure to keep the fluid down.

[nightmaretist]

Weirdest dream you’ve ever had?

One time I dreamed of Vera as an infant, crawling into my marriage bed and digging her little fists into my hair before tearing through the sheets and my nightrobe and then me, returning to the womb I pushed her from, and then Hendrik was there, watching as he reminded me he wanted more, more children and she was there too, Sann That strangers asked me about my dreams online.

[peachdues]

Some hot takes because it’s 2024 and the internet is still a cesspool

Just because a fictional character does things you don’t like/reminds you of traumas you have irl does not entitle you to project those feelings onto others who like/resonate with that character.

Eating less than 1,000 calories a day will fuck up your body long term. The effects of malnutrition can take years to manifest. Don’t do it.

Someone else’s confidence is not a personal attack on you.

Influencers and celebrities pushing ozempic are also doing coke. More adults do coke than you realize.

Your worth is not defined by your relationships — romantic, familial, or platonic.

Everyone doesn’t hate you. Drink some water and eat something.

Someone can like a trope in fiction and not jive with it irl. Fiction is fiction, I am begging you all to remember that.

[thebramblewood]

Everyone say congratulations to the new uncle! Thank you @itcrescentcrow for your lovely Veronica Aurelius, whose story inspired me to have Vlad start a vampire family of his own (for entirely unspiteful reasons, I'm sure).

P.S. Join the fan club if you haven't already!

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Caleb: [startled] Jesus Christ!

Vlad: [wryly] Guess again. I couldn’t help noticing you’ve acquired a new… houseguest. That girl is freshly turned. She has all the grace of a newborn colt. Your sister’s latest plaything, I presume?

Caleb: How many times have I told you I’m not interested in indulging your desire for gossip? Anyone with a modicum of social grace would have taken the hint by now.

Vlad: [continues, unruffled] The curious thing is I’ve seen her before, the girl, at your insipid little gathering of hedonists in the spring. Her cheeks were much rosier then, as I recall. I’m surprised Lilith offered her the dark gift so soon — or at all. Does she not expect to grow bored of this one? Or, I wonder, did something not go precisely according to plan?

Caleb: [defensively] Lilith didn’t turn her. She nearly killed her. I did it to save her life.

Vlad: [amused] Always the humanitarian, you — though it is strange you would choose to burden another with an existence you clearly detest. But I must admit I’m impressed. I wasn’t sure you had it in you. Frankly, I rather thought you’d be dead or driven to madness by now. [sighs stagily] At any rate, I wish you luck. If you’re hoping to raise her in your image, you’ll need it. I can’t imagine Lilith will surrender her easily. Alas, I must go. There are other matters-

Veronica: [snarls aggressively]

Caleb: Who are you?

Vlad: Manners, darling.

Veronica: Sorry, Uncle Vlad. My dinner almost got away from me.

Vlad: [strangely paternalistic] Isn’t she a marvel?

Caleb: Uncle Vlad?

Vlad: This is my niece, Veronica. Well, cousin several times removed, but that’s such a mouthful. I’ve been trying to introduce her for some time.

Caleb: I must have mistaken that for your usual garden variety creeping.

Vlad: We have a common ancestor in my maker, though the bloodlines diverged centuries ago and hers was thought to be quite diluted. You see, after generations of tamping down their vampiric nature, their powers had largely grown dormant. But Veronica is special. She tells me her dreams led her to me. Can you believe it? [chuckles] I haven’t dreamed since I was mortal. At any rate, I’ve taken her under my wing. I have much to teach her, and she is an eager pupil.

Caleb: Good… for you.

Lilith, looking out on them from the window: He has a WHAT?!?

[movie-gifs]

Under the Skin (2013) dir. Jonathan Glazer

[zcattered-pages]

cassidy.

[opens-up-4-nobody]

:-P

[faoighiche]

PARTNER : @banisheed TIMING : A few months ago. LOCATION : Somewhere downtown. SUMMARY : A vampire tries to feed on Siobhan, so she passes him to Burrow. To Siobhan's dismay, Burrow enjoys that kind of thing. WARNINGS : Under skin (minor)

Vampires were terrible: abominations of un-life, pests, occasionally strangely obsessed with bats. But lazy vampires? “Honestly, this is insulting,” Siobhan sighed, palm pressed to the cold forehead of a snarling vampire. It was the same principle that deterred curious sharks, a swift hit to the head to send it swimming the other way. Or so she assumed about the sharks; what did she know about sharks? It worked on vampires. “It’s just rather embarrassing for you, isn’t it?” At arm’s length away from her, his jaw clomped uselessly in the air. Through his snarls, the deconstructed plea repeated. Please, he was saying, just a little taste. Back in her day, vampires actually worked for their meals; they didn’t just flail at her fingertips and beg for a sample. Something-something-televisions rotting attention spans and dissolving backbones. “Isn’t there a little bit of shame left in that smooth brain of yours?” The vampire continued to chomp on the air, held back by Siobhan’s outstretched arm, which was getting tired. 

That was the catalyst for all of it: fatigue. Fatigue had probably forced the vampire to flail at her like a child, thwarted by the superior reach of her arm, feet scraping against the asphalt as he tried to push against her. Fatigue had certainly made Siobhan drop her hand and grip the worn collar of his t-shirt. She flinged him down the street like an egregious sack of potatoes. Fatigue pushed her to say: “Just go for that kid over there.” She pointed at the figure coming up on them. “Do us both a favor and feed on someone else.” 

He looked back at Siobhan, as if suddenly taken by the morality of feeding from a child. He blinked, then addressed the girl. “C-Can I suck on your blood, p-please?” 

Burrow heard the commotion: sounds of cloth ruffling and shoes scuffling. Sounds that began and ended in the same moment, to be replaced by a grunt as a human fell into her view. She continued on her walk, though was wise enough to keep an eye on the human. A caution to prevent him from causing harm. Curiously, she did not need to be so alert in order to notice his attack. He begged her to let him do it. To let him bite — to let him feed — to know her in the most intimate way. The thing was not a human at all. She saw those fangs barely covered by trembled lips — those sunken eyes that flashed crimson, the same color as the thing he craved. He was one who walked in death and hungered for life. Hungered for her, for the fae were the essence of all life. A life that could return his own to him, if he was able to take it all from her. How delightful.

Burrow was no fool, she would not seek out those that wished to be her end. Still, there had always been a fascination with the poor dead. They reminded her so much of her parasites. Things scorned by society, cast into the shadows, but forced to the light in order to survive. Forced to take from those that hated them so much. She did not hate them, though she did not love them enough to give without taking. “You may take as much of my blood as I allow, if you promise me a favor of my choosing.” That bind readied to dig into the dead’s neck, the same as his fangs into her own. Desperation had him accepting the deal without hesitation. The bind claimed him, writhing in anticipation for what would become of it. The dead did the same, overcome with eagerness that she would not grant him access yet. 

There was the issue of the other: the one who had thrown the dead on her path. Burrow held him in place, the power of her bind assisting her. She led him to the shadows, away from the watching eyes of the other in the distance. When she had tucked the two of them in a corner, her leash on him slipped with intention. As soon as she nodded her head, his own was lost to the curve of her neck. It was followed by a flash of pain that was so familiar it had her smiling. 

And that was that! Siobhan clapped her hands together, brushing off imaginary dirt. She didn’t care as the vampire and the child went away, vanished into the dark. She certainly didn’t care as a shiver ran down through her spine, telling her that this child was a fae—family, a friend. There wasn’t an ounce of care inside of her as her mother’s chiding voice boomed through her skull: fae take care of eachother, or some variant. Fae are family, fae protect each other. One fae’s pain belongs to another. All fae are connected. No harm shall come to another fae. Fae are family. Siobhan sighed; she did care. 

“Alright, that’s enough.” Siobhan snapped her hands around the shoulders of the vampire. As she pulled back, he didn’t move. As she leaned the weight of her body in the opposite direction, his latch on the child seemed only to grow stronger. In a huff, she released him, fingers throbbing. “Leanbh, push him off! What are you--” Siobhan dug her fingers into the vampire’s cold flesh again, pulling back. “This is enough! Release her!” Or was it the girl that had him? Siobhan looked down, trying to figure out who held the power between them. Why would anyone willingly subject themselves to this?

That desperation, that hunger, that need for another’s life. Burrow knew it so well. She could feel it with each gulp of her blood. As if the two were made brothers, as they shared in that same blood. But he was not a brother: he was a strange and unknown thing. As familiar as he was a mystery. How exciting, to feel such beautiful greed without a presence in its existence. It was a wonder to consume and be consumed. Why did the humans fail to appreciate such a joy? 

Or the fae as well, for that matter. The burning alerted Burrow to the intruder’s presence immediately, sucking away her pleasant mood faster than those hungry fangs. Then came the vicious tone and the yelling — all things she had experienced before. What was unique was to see the fae struggle. The intruder was no match for the might of her bind, rendering the dead into a statue. A thing that only moved when Burrow did, as she craned her neck to the side to reveal her face to the fae. Her eyes locked with the other, staring in silence. A stare that lasted until she felt the creep of dizziness. “You are done.” The fangs were out of her neck before she even finished the statement. “We will meet again to discuss my favor. You will not stray far from me.” The dead scampered away without another word.

Burrow finally addressed the fae. “Hello.” She brushed away the trickle of blood still left on her skin. She licked what remained off her fingers. “Do you know of an Aos Sí?”

Siobhan blinked; she imagined it happened with the tink-tink of a cartoon. Incredulity swept over her in a cold wave and her jaw, hanging open, didn’t close until the blooddrunk vampire stumbled completely out of sight. “Hello,” she said in repetition more than greeting. Her head turned to watch the darkness swirl around the place the vampire had walked away into, and then back at the young fae. “You let him do that to you?” It was beyond degrading: it was confusing. The constant analysis of her mind—the churning logical machine in her head—could make nothing of it. It spun like old gears, grinding, and produced a cloud of black smoke. She blinked some more. 

“I do know of an Aos Sí, I grew up in one. As most fae do.” The confusion turned Siobhan honest. It didn’t occur to her to stomach the pains of lying, or to question what she was being asked. “But as for any here… I am not so… I do not…” What was the nicer way of saying that as a disgraced fae, she had no desires to ingratiate herself within local fae communities? “I do not know of any in this town. Though, there must be a few—the fae community here is larger than most. I do not…” What was the nicer way of saying it was strange that a fae who was interested wouldn’t know this? Was there a nice way to say ‘you are stupid, go walk into a fae bar and ask anyone’? Probably not. Why did she care about being nice? Siobhan’s head, as if answering her internal query, turned to the empty space the vampire once occupied, and then back again to the fae. 

“Why did you let him do that?” She jutted her thumb out into the empty space. “Leanbh, you do not deserve a… it’s degrading to…” Siobhan sighed; she should’ve walked away when she first thought about it. “Why are you looking for an Aos Sí?” 

The stare from before had been a mere prelude. Burrow’s eyes did as her namesake: burrowed into the fae after her admittance of awareness. Digging into the soul that lay behind that false skin, as if she could pluck out her secrets. The secrets of her home, so that Burrow would make it her own. But distance would be her enemy today. Though not a stray, this fae was as useful as the rest. Her sigh was quick and sharp. Burrow’s awaiting home dangled further away, by the hands of the strays and the imbeciles and the far from home. 

“I also assume there are a few of na Aos Sí in this nest. Well, somewhere, in this nest. Many of the fae of this nest do not know the location of an Aos Sí or what an Aos Sí means. It is sad… for them. I only feel irritated about their ignorance of na Aos Sí.” An irritation Burrow let slither out of her with the flicking of her wrists. Nature slept in the depths of winter’s belly. To avoid its hungry maw, those that were homed stayed nestled safely behind the féth fíada. She knew this. She will find success when the warmth of the sun drew them back to the light. She will wait, and watch, and practice, until their return. 

At least a piece of them did, in the presence of the intruder. Unlike the others of the town, she reminded Burrow a bit of her family. That disgust on the fae’s face was so familiar. “Chan urrainn dhuibh a thuigsinn.” You can not understand. None of them ever could. “It is not degrading to be consumed. It is wonderful. It is affection.” The dead offered a meager imitation, but one she appreciated nonetheless. Appreciated more than the poor excuse of love the fae showed her. “I look for an Aos Sí because I am in need of sanctuary.”

Something was wrong—wrong beyond the things that were usually wrong. Yes, she lacked her wings. Yes, she was a disgrace. Yes, this fae was staring at her like she wanted to dig into her skin like a worm in dirt. But something picked at her guts, rearranging the ribbons of flesh. Something was wrong, Siobhan thought. Something about all of this was wrong. Unguarded, unsure of where her guards should be, Siobhan’s voice wavered. 

“Many fae do not leave their Aos Sí; why would they? So, either you find someone out on some manner of errand or someone who…” The words caught in her throat. She shifted her weight between her feet, dislodging her unease into the bowl of her dry mouth; the words spilled like sand. “Someone who’s been thrown out.” Quickly, she added: “or someone who abandoned their home.” But the possibility that there could be a fae who would willingly leave home seemed so unlikely to Siobhan that, even though she could think of a certain annoying baby-banshee it applied to, she considered it impossible. “If you ask enough fae, maybe, eventually…” She trailed off, no longer able to stomach being helpful. 

Siobhan’s face betrayed all of her confusion and discomfort. “Affection exists in servitude—worship—not consumption. You allow a lesser creature to feed on you and what do you become?” The echo of her mother was summoned, swirling inside her head in streams of words. She could tug at any number of them to make her point: you would be weak, you would be pathetic, you would degrade yourself into the ranks of prey. But the fae’s admittance cleaved her mind instead, parting her mother’s thoughts. ‘Sanctuary’, the fae said and the strangeness of it burned; not a home, not just a shelter. Sanctuary. “What do you mean?” she asked. “Are you in trouble? Do you need help?” 

The way the other spoke became strange. As if stones replaced the fae’s uvula, striking on the membranes of her throat with each syllable. Burrow was not sure of the cause. Was she succumbing to the effects of the weather, or perhaps the effects of the heart? Perhaps it was the topic, for she herself knew the… complications of home. Still, the answer to the mystery mattered little. She was more interested in the actual words themselves. They were all things she had thought before, but they did offer something new: this fae was inclined to help. “Yes, I am aware. I remember the visits to the human nests during the springs.” Visits she was never allowed to join, but she did recall their existence. She had watched as those groups returned, bringing trinkets and tales. In her first year of exile, she had hoped to find such a group and join them in their return to home. This plan, obviously, had not worked. “I am also very aware of… the exiles and the strays.”

The helpfulness did not extend to those that reminded Burrow so much of her kin. What did this fae have to say of her precious ones? Perhaps more of the same. Her own face betrayed those soured thoughts: creases formed against her lips and brows. “I become happy. The dead desire me. You saw how much the dead wanted me. The dead wanted me so much, he would have killed me if I had not stopped him. It is lesser than…” Than her own precious ones, who were better at taking their spoils. “It is lesser, but the feeding is still love.” She did not expect the fae to understand, for she had long given up on that prospect. Still, she would not let the misunderstanding stand without a rebuttal. 

“Yes, I am in trouble.” Trouble always found Burrow, in a world that wanted her dead or locked away. Peace was never an option for her kin, only fleeting moments of comfort. “Yes, I do need help.” Her lips pulled down, resembling a frown. The expression seemed effective on Teagan and Cass. She wondered if its power could sway others. “Will you help me?” 

The exiles and the strays. Siobhan’s skin prickled; the twin scars on her back burned, as they always did when something approached the memory. The air is thick suddenly, or maybe it’s her throat all seized up. The dull, wet grass molded to her shifting weight. “The undead desire you,” Siobhan said. To her, the distinction was important; Death wasn’t something that had desires. Siobhan huffed. “At least your notion of love is more understandable than…” Her mind drifted to other people; to the stupid books she’d read under moonlight. This time, the words of Dickinson, who wrote in the style of hymns, contorting rhyme and religion—“the wind does not require the grass”. Whatever love meant, that inescapable curse to her surroundings, it was at least tolerable as the younger fae said it. It didn’t align with her understanding, and it seemed far more degrading than poetic, but she could abide that to this girl, consumption was love. “Aye,” she sighed, “that’s your love then: fed and feeding.” 

The mystery of love would wait another day for her, preferably, she’d never have to answer the damn question of it. “Eh?” Siobhan shook her head. “What are you doing with your face?” Was it supposed to be a frown? To someone else, she imagined the look must have been effective: people did hate when others were sad. However for Siobhan, displays of emotion only served to make her uncomfortable. “Yes, I’ll help you—no, I’m not promising it. You’re fae. Fae help fae. We’re family.” Siobhan frowned. “But never display emotion at me again; it’s unbecoming.” It was unbecoming of both of them. It didn’t occur to her to ask what exactly this child needed help with.

The distinction was less important to Burrow. Undead, dead, marbh beò, zombie, vampire — all words to describe the same entity. A cursed thing that walked and continued despite death’s claim on them. A thing that disregarded the cycle of nature: to take and to give. The dead only took. Only fed, as the other put it. She was surprised that there was understanding admitted from the fae, from whom she mostly knew rejection and disgust. Perhaps this one was not as terrible as the rest. A hope to be justified or denied in time. How funny that she even dared to still hope. Teagan and Cass had certainly wormed their way into her better judgment, infecting it the same as her own kin. “Yes, the feeding is… one part of my love.” Much more than food can be admired and wanted and taken. There was so much splendor and spoils to be claimed in the world, and she wanted them all. 

A want that was as attainable as the garner for sympathy. “I am doing a frown.” It was clear the frown was not as sufficient as Burrow had hoped. It had felt correct. The tension on her cheeks were similar to when she had stood in front of her mirror — her face had been quite pitiful and pathetic then. She would practice once more. At least she had no need for what next overcame her face. Lips twitched and curled and peeled back to reveal a small sliver of teeth. Fae help fae. Hinder, harm, and hate: that is what the fae did. But, she had learned that, yes, the fae could and would help, whether they wanted to or not. The lack of promise hinted that this fae was of the latter sort. She would take all the offered generosity, and then some, when the moment was right. “Ok. You will help me, cousin.” 

Burrow’s moment of amusement was gone, fizzling out of existence for it was no longer needed. She returned to her usual quiet, both of mouth and soul. Not because the fae asked it from her, but it was convenient that the other did. At least it was one less thing expected from her to get what she wanted. 

[creative-clawmarks]

If you couldn't tell I'm on a bit of a VTM kick right now and also I know exactly what clan I'd wanna be and what kind of sickass shit I'd do with it.

[junebugtwin]

haven't posted some of my own art here in a hot sec so heres a random oc (not related to worm).

still trying to come up with a name for her but the concept for her is that she's like the big bad of an imaginary childrens book/tv show- with the intended age range of like gravity falls or animorphs.

long ramblings on her below:

her Backstory (tm) is kind of complicated but to sum it up she was the girlfriend of this guy who was like the Chosen One of this prophecy and she's his tragically fridged girlfriend who he had to sacrifice in order to stop the big bad (who just so happened to be her brother) from gaining too much power and potentially destroying the world.

In order to stop her brother he 'had' to lock him in this dungeon in hell (don't worry about it) which would drain his life force. Unfortunately there wasn't enough time to convince her to leave her brother to die so she had to get locked in there as well.

so basically she was stuck in a creepy dungeon with her brothers corpse for potentially forever- unless she figured out a way to get out. She did eventually by studying her brothers arcane tattoos and sort of brute force replicating them until she could figure out a way to magically escape the catacombs. Of course this was a sort of out of the frying pan into the fire situation because after escaping she was still very much stuck in hell.

In this universe hell is like a dimension that's parallel to ours that's not really meant for people- even existing there is fatal to most people. Her newly gained magic was enough to stop her from dying but as she explored hell looking for a way out she found her body slowly changing. Becoming pale and then almost blue tinted, her eyes greying and pupil narrowing, her hair falling out. But the real change came when she hurt herself accidentally and instead of bleeding she cracked and instead of muscle she found something worse lurking underneath her skin- a sagging bloated corpse, waiting to be exposed.

The roots are an invention of hers- they helped her suck up the ambient magical energy in hells air so she could survive without food or water- of course, they were meant to be summoned from her palm, not sprout from her cracks, but beggars can't be choosers.

When she finally escaped hell she found that instead of struggling to filter hells toxic energy into scraps of something usable, her roots sucked up the plentiful mana of the overworld with abandon- suddenly she was more powerful than those who had spent their life studying arcana.

Now a days she spends her time gathering a group of loyal followers with the goal of taking down the magical society that she thinks wronged her and her brother- the magic itself is not a problem, but clearly people aren't great at using it responsibly. And whose idea was it to teach a bunch of teenagers how to commit magical war crimes anyway? Get a job or a hobby or something, she's taking away the magic toys until you people know how to use them.

[saturnisscreaming]

Can you feel the worms under your skin? They're there I promise

[m4thu1n]

Under My Skin.

There used to be a dazzling white swan hidden beneath my skin.

A jackrabbit takes its place now, wrapped in illness and sin, and still the earth continues to spin.

My flesh has an underpinning of spiders and centipedes, raw and aching— and the world casts my vision aside in preferance of the brighter things.

My eyes, once new and boastful and full of life, now sit coldly in the pockets of my skull, set in bone and dark as stone, and not a coherent thought passes behind them.

I used to be an admirable cub. I was succinct, adept— the brightest of the nest my mother laid and the brood before us. I'm now a shell of what I was, crumpled and porous— and still a rabid hound claws at the walls of my throat, snapping and snarling.

I was never made to play the role of the world's favored darling.

[lexirexie]

Hi guys

I’m relapsing. It’s just what I want right now.

I’m not sure what I weigh right now, my parents forbid scales in the house and my therapist hasn’t weighed me in a while, my last weight was 65kg (still ew i know but trust me its better than when i started off in like november, 87kg)

Since then I’ve been staying with my boyfriend at his family home and I’ve been eating a lot more with him than I do at home, which should be nice but it makes me miserable, especially since his little sister has an ED too and trust me she lets it be known to EVERYONE. I hate it.

My plan for the next few weeks is to OMAD, drink more water, walk A LOT more and cut carbs and sugar.

Anyways, my ugw is 50kg. Height is ~5’4 btw. Wish me luck.