𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐂𝐎𝐃𝐘 a study in biting the hand that feeds. toxic pack mentality. unending depths of self esteem issues. untreated mental illness. accidental trauma bonding. and the mommy issues to end all mommy issues.
indie and friend focused 𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐖 𝐏𝐎𝐏𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐃𝐘 from the TNT original ANIMAL KINGDOM. barely controlled by 𝙰𝙴𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁 they / them 30+ EST. medium to low activity. extremely dead dove do not eat. triggers include: mental illness. suicidal ideations. murder. violence. criminal mentality. and questionable family dynamics.
rules - ish
don't be a dick.
this will be a heavily friends focused blog. meaning threads with my friends have priority.
this is VERY dead dove do not eat. if you haven't seen Animal Kingdom I suggest googling a synopsis. because oh buddy is this a messed up shell of a man.
writing is a hobby. if its not fun, I'm not doing it.
smut is not and will never be a priority. relationships will be built and not assumed. if a relationship shows up out of no where and you feel the need to be like 'but Aether....' just know it was heavily joked talked about before it happened.
it shouldn't need to be said but just because I write the muse does not mean I agree with the behavior.
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She knew he was awake; he'd left the bed again to wander the house, and Igraine wasn't having it. He needed sleep. She needed sleep. She lifted the blankets before quietly calling out to him. The house was quiet this late at night, so she knew he'd hear her, and sure enough, he'd almost come immediately, standing at the entrance to his own bedroom that she now occupied with him. "I can't sleep without you here. Can you just help me out for a few more hours, please?" she pleaded and lifted the blanket up further.
"Andrew, c'mere," she yawned until finally he moved into the bed, and she directed his head to her chest and lay down over her. The blanket dropped over them, and immediately her arms wrapped around him, rubbing soothing circles and trying to maintain some semblance of pressure on him. She'd noticed the self-soothing right away, and medically speaking, deep pressure was a way to signal safety to one's brain. It lowered hormones like cortisol, and she hoped it would release things like dopamine and oxytocin. "You can rest your full weight on me," she mumbled, already more relaxed.
The idea that he had been anxious and wandering his own house for most of his life, practically alone, and no comfort except his own arms was enough to simultaneously piss her off and break her heart all in one thought.
It took longer than expected, but she felt his body slowly melt, his face turn into her chest, and felt his lips at her collarbone, light pecks against her skin before she felt his cheek nuzzling her. She finally turned her head on the pillow so she could look down at him resting on her and whispered, "You're so good for me, Andrew."
Ending the day at the beach had been Igraine's call after his last job. He hadn't been the same, constantly worried, so much that he'd scrubbed her bathroom twice (it was immaculate before because of him). So she'd pulled up to his house, demanded he get in her jeep, and driven him to the beach so he could skate at the skatepark right next to it until sunset. She'd brought a chair, lay out in her bikini, and watched him. Igraine removed her sunglasses when needed and truly watched him as he went into the things he could do with the board. She made a mental note to force him to come more often, if only to see the small smile that would play on his lips.
By the time the sun had started to set on them, she called him over, and they strolled the beach to find a good spot to watch the sunset. Sometimes care was forced. They sat on the beach blanket she'd brought, him next to her while she lay back on her elbows to watch the sunset over Oceanside. It was the end of a better day than when it started.
Igraine didn't know how she had transitioned from looking at the water and sunset to watching Pope. Suddenly, he wasn't the one with the staring problem as she took in his side profile, the curve of his nose, cheekbones, and lips. The freckles that dotted along his cheeks and forehead. She'd suddenly grown an interest in the way his auburn curls were framed in the glow of the evening light. His lashes were long and curled, framing warm brown eyes, his brows framed his eyes and always seemed to give him a sad expression. Pope Cody was beautiful.
Unashamed, she kept staring, and sure enough, she knew he'd feel the heat of her stare and turned his face toward her, confusion written on his face. Pope always seemed to be trying to figure her out when he did look; it didn't seem to be without purpose.
She pushed herself upright in the sand, waves filling the silence between them. She held his gaze, then flicked to his mouth and back to his eyes again.
The smile threatening at the corner of her lips softened. Slowly, giving him every chance to pull away, she leaned closer. Inch by inch, the distance disappeared, and when he didn't pull away, her shoulders relaxed. She closed the remaining distance and kissed him gently, soft and brief at first, testing whether it was really happening now.
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Air. She gasped, clawing at her own throat, eyes blinking, taking in the night air and bright moonlight. Igraine tried to take in a deep breath of air, but nothing was needed. Her lungs didn’t inflate as she stared at the night sky above her. Panic sank in. Where was her Andrew? She couldn’t remember the last place she had been or when she had last seen him. Her nails pulled away from her throat as she touched her collarbone, chest, and down her body, checking for any damage as she lifted herself up and off the ground.
Her nightgown and robe still adorned her body, but she felt the dirt smeared over her face and the crunch of the leaves in her curls. Horror seeped into her bones as she quickly lifted herself out of the dirty hole, too effortless, nothing like she would have done before.
“Hello!” her raspy voice called out into the night, but no answer came. Only the sigh of wind through skeletal branches and the distant cry of something moving in the darkness.
Igraine stumbled forward, bare feet sinking into the damp earth. The cemetery stretched around her in crooked rows of stone and shadow. Headstones leaned at impossible angles beneath the pale moonlight, their names half-swallowed by moss and age.
She felt wrong, and wrong beyond the dirt beneath her fingernails, and beyond the cold that had settled deep inside of her chest cavity. Her heart wasn’t beating. She stopped and listened, waiting to hear something, but nothing came. No pulse thundered in her ears, no rush of blood would flood her face, no frantic breaths escaping her lungs. Igraine was still.
A sob threatened to tear through her chest when she was struck with a sensation, a hunger deep in her belly. It struck her so violently that her knees nearly buckled. Her stomach twisted, and her throat burned as the scent wafted across the graveyard. Warmth. Living. Blood. Her head snapped toward the sound of the rustling, and two bright eyes stared back from the darkness. A rabbit. For a terrible moment, she knew what it was before the hunger took hold, and when the creature bolted, Igraine took chase, moving faster than any human had a right to. Warmth filled her mouth, easing the burning, but the horror remained, as did the blood staining her lips, neck, and chest from the violent feast.
“Oh god no…”
Andrew, where was her Andrew? The memories of his hands, eyes, smile, the last moment she had seen him, going out on a job they both knew was dangerous. She hadn’t expected to be taken, face down in mud as she watched them kill him, both helpless to save one another. How had she lived?
The hunger quieted, but not left entirely—it still lived under her skin, coiled deep inside her ribs, waiting for an opportunity. The copper tang of blood stained her tongue, thick and unmistakable, and every time she swallowed, she tasted the evidence of the life she had drained. The small body of the rabbi lay abandoned as she traveled through the cemetery, small cries and wails filling the night air.
The warmth of his body in bed beside he, the rough callouses of his hands on her face. Her hand flew to the nearest headstone for support. Somewhere among the endless rows of graves and monuments, beneath the cold weight of the soil and stone, the man she loved was laid, so she ran. Gravestones flashed past her faster than she could read them. She moved through them with impossible speed, feet barely seeming to touch the ground, panic propelled her forward, raw and desperate until she smelled him.
The unmarked grave stopped her so abruptly she nearly collapsed. She stared, unblinking, and a broken sound escaped her throat as she approached the grave, dropping to her knees. The earth beneath her fingers felt cold and damp, but no colder than her own skin. Her Andrew was cold.
“Andrew.” she sobbed. There was no call back, and the silence was unbearable.
Fingers dug into the earth before she decided consciously to dig him up. Soil stained her hands and nails as she clawed with frantic determination to reach him. It was not an easy feat, something she shouldn’t have been capable of, but the dirt yielded before her with handfuls of dirt flying aside. Her robe was caked with mud. The scent of disturbed soil filled the air around her as tears blurred her vision. Were they tears? Red smeared the dirt below her. Still, she continued to dig until her hand struck wood.
The coffin lay beneath her fingertips, hidden beneath the last layer of earth, and reality settled over her like a shroud. This was a living nightmare, and not grief playing tricks on her. He was here.
Her shaking hands settled against the wood, and every thought begged her to stop, leave him unrested, but love was never rational. She sobbed and pulled, splintering the wood. Igraine’s breath caught. Death had already stolen him; the decayed body and hollowed familiar features were cruel evidence of days past spent beneath the earth, but he was still hers.
The grief that followed tore through whatever was left of her soul, and she climbed into the grave with no hesitation, the dirt crumbling around her. The confines of the coffin left little room to move, but she forced herself closer, gathering him in her arms with desperate care. Her bloodstained hands brushed his face tenderly. The same lips that had ripped into an animal moments earlier were tenderly pressed against his cold brow.
“Oh, Andrew,” she whispered, choking on no air now.
Curled around him within the depth of the grave, Igraine wept as though her heart hadn’t already stopped beating. Above her, the moon shone pale and indifferent across the cemetery, maintenance men across the entire cemetery, unknowing that an open grave held a monster mourning the man she loved so completely that death had failed to separate them.
When I was your age, I'd get angry all the time… you know? Kids thought it was funny, so they'd steal my things and push me around. I was kind of small. So I'd get angry and… and hit somebody. Teachers would get mad. You know, they never saw what the other kids did. Everybody thought I was… terrible, even Smurf. I guess maybe I was pretty awful. The only person that was nice to me was my sister. Your dad was the second. And then your mom. I promised them I was gonna take care of you and I'm gonna do that, okay?
TV MEMES: True Blood (season 1) quotes 🩸🦇👄
↳ Please feel free to tweak them etc.
Trigger/Content Warnings: blood references, drug use, sex references.
“Aren't you gonna tell me to be careful?”
“Oh my God. You are a gigantic parody of yourself and you don't even know it.”
“I'm an organic vegan and my carbon footprint is miniscule.”
“Hundreds of years old and you're still a terrible liar!”
“Guilt is a useless emotion. Or so I've heard.”
“Wow. This place is even more depressing than I thought it'd be.”
“I'm not the killer, I swear. I'm a shapeshifter.”
“Why didn't you tell me you were going out with [ name ]?”
“I know I've done it four other times, but it never gets old.”
“I told you. It's better than sex.”
“I'm sorry to break it to you, baby but you are not my only source for a good time.”
“Take a break. It'll do you some good.”
“If you wanna torture anyone, torture me!”
“Withholding is tantamount to lying, and I can't have that in our relationship.”
“Oh my god! You are still high.”
“You want to drink the blood they collected?”
“Well, I hate to break it to you but you're not even the most fucked up person in this house much less this town.”
“Life is just getting too weird too fast.”
“But you're not like them. You're better than they'll ever be.”
“He's all charm and smiles in the beginning. But the second he gets tired of you, he gonna stop calling.”
“I am not psychic!”
“It keeps you alive, but it will bore you to death.”
“Tell me, do you enjoy living halfway up his backside the way you do?”
“Did he ask you to do it buck naked?”
“It's like watching Animal Planet, yeah? Any second she's gonna bite his head off.”
“Well, don't get too comfortable. It tends to get more authentic as the night wears on.”
“They sleep, just not at night.”
“Can I ask you a personal question?”
“I tried to apologise for that but you wouldn't let me.”
“I'm too damn pretty to go to prison.”
“You don't wanna be on my bad side.”
“Jesus Christ! I want to lick your mind.”
“You left me alone with no promise to come back!”
“You know, I was sitting in that jail, I just kept thinking about all the stupid stuff I've done.”
“We honour Gaea, and seek the deepest relationship to her.”
“Every time I get a night off my babysitter falls through on me.”
“Baby, you're sweet but you've gotta mellow out.”
“They don't understand man. None of 'em will ever understand. You stay sharp, brother.”
“Remind me why I hired you again.”
“We started most of the myths about ourselves many centuries ago.”
“Relax, this is not drugs, this is just a Valium.”
“I can kill anybody I want and there's an awful lot of people I'd like to kill.”
“He didn't show up tonight, he's not coming back.”
“So I guess you've killed a lot of people.”
“You need to let people see the real you. 'Cause you're kind and brave. There's nothin there not to love.”
“Well, I'm sorry, [ name ], but it is against bank policy to extend a loan for an exorcism.”
“So, who's good to eat around here?”
“I think I lost the upper hand in the relationship.”
“I find myself doubting whether you were ever truly human.”
“You are way too good for him. You know that, right?”
“He doesn't know anything, he didn't do anything and he doesn't give a shit.”
“[ name ], you don't need any help lookin' like a fool.”
“I'd do anything for you.”
“I'm surrounded by assholes and morons!”
“Are you sure? She's been glamoured one too many times already. Who's knows how much of her is left.”
“What I am is telepathic. I can hear people's thoughts.”
“Not every detail of everyone's personal life is your business, okay?”
“Well, I didn't mean to hurt you. You gotta know that.”
“I take it by your being here, there was no way around it then?”
“No more rules… I'm a vampire!”
“I thought you liked not knowing what I'm thinking.”
“Vampires are always in some kind of trouble. I prefer to be in it with you.”
“So, we can never sleep beside each other?”
“Toss it. [ name ] don't need no bad juju cooking.”
“Nothin' says I'm sorry like a tuna cheese cassarole.”
“You might say that I'm lactose intolerant.”
“There's no help for you, child”
“Why am I the only person in this world that doesn't think that vampires are monsters?”
“Actually, I'm the oldest person here.”
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& .˚ flirting / oblivious prompts. ( some of these may be cheesy, some are wholesome and some are about realizing the situation and/or confessing with some pining. )
flirting
“ you look great today . ”
“ you always look good . ”
“ i really enjoy spending time with you . ”
“ what else do i need to do for you to understand that i like you ? ”
“ am i that bad at flirting or does everything go over your head ? ”
“ i don’t act like this with everyone . ”
“ you’re my favorite person to be around . ”
“ i can’t believe you didn’t realize it. i thought you just weren’t interested in me . ”
oblivious
“ wait- are you… did you just flirt with me ? ”
“ what are you doing ? ”
“ how long have you been doing this ? ”
“ you’re such a good friend . ”
“ you’re always so nice to everyone . ”
“ uh… thanks ? ”
“ have you been flirting with me this entire time ? ”
“ you seriously haven’t realised that he/she/they have been flirting you all this time ? ”
It had been the briefest moment; she'd been sitting there at the bar listening to Deran prattle on about something. Pope had been glued to her side; she wasn't sure for her own sanity or his, but she liked him there. It gave her a sense of security, and when he excused himself, there had been a brief pause, a moment of hesitation before she felt his two lips against her cheek.
Immediately, her face warmed, her eyes widened at the loss of contact, and her head nearly fell off from how fast she snapped her neck, following the way he went through the crowd. Igraine's eyes stayed firmly on his form until the crowd swallowed him whole, and she released the breath she was holding. He'd kissed her...kissed her on his own. And she wanted him to do it again, immediately.
The low whistle from Deran caught his attention, breaking her away from her dizzying daydream.
"Don't you dare ruin this for me, or I will drown you in your own pool. It's not like I don't have the needle and sedatives for it," she warned.
“Hey, hey, please don't shut me out. We can just sit together in silence, yeah? I just… I really don't want to leave you alone right now.”
“Ding dong. Open up, I brought your favorite snacks.”
“Sorry about the mess. I tried to clean up, but…” “Don't even mention it. I'm here for you, not your apartment.”
“Do you want me to stay?” “You don’t have to.” “Not what I asked.” “…then yes.”
“I don’t want to dump all this on you.” “That's bullshit. You’re not dumping anything, I'm your friend. I want to know how I can help you, even if all I can do is listen.”
“I'm fine.” “Want me to stay anyway?” “Yeah.”
“Sorry that I just showed up like this, but you stopped responding to my texts.” “…Sorry. I didn’t think anyone would notice.” “I did.” “Yeah. You did.”
“You’re annoying when you care about me.” “It's a pleasure.”
[Prompt Calender: May 11th, National Mental Health Awareness Week]
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Their hands had brushed against each other the entire day. Igraine had declared she wanted to visit the local aquarium after he'd spent the night watching Blue Planet. Now it was two weeks later, after their schedules aligned. It started when he'd picked her up.
Both of their hands settled on the center console without thinking, the low hum of the engine and the rhythm of the road nudging them closer until the tips of their pinkies met. It lasted only a heartbeat before one of them shifted away—she couldn't have said which—but neither had acknowledged it.
Then the ticket counter. Both reached for the same brochure, fingertips skimming across the glossy cardstock before she laughed and surrendered it to him with a tiny flourish.
Inside she'd wandered a step too close whenever she pointed out something they'd seen because of the documentary, and every time she gestured toward a jellyfish or a stingray gliding overhead, the back of her hand would brush his forearm. He'd leaned in to hear her quiet observations over the chatter, shoulder nudging hers.
The tunnel was worse, because there wasn't enough room to walk side by side without bumping into each other. Their sleeves caught, elbows knocked together, and when a child ran past them she stumbled, Andrew's hand had steadied her and just as quickly disappeared, but Igraine noticed every single touch.
Then they stood shoulder to shoulder, watching the sea turtles drift lazily through the water. Their hands hung at their sides, close enough that every few seconds their knuckles brushed together. Brush. Separate. Brush again, but neither jumped away from the touching.
Then his hand lingered against hers, and while she expected him to pull away, his fingers shifted enough that the side of his hand settled against hers like they were waiting for permission she didn't know she needed to grant. Her own fingers answered before she could. They curled, tentative at first, until his hand turned over completely, threading his fingers between hers with ease.
The aquarium continued around them with children laughing, water rushing over glass, and someone marveling over the sharks, but Igraine couldn't have told anyone what she'd been looking at.
She was far too busy memorizing the shape of his hand around hers. How his hands, no matter how rough, had been the softest touch a man had ever given her.
