rxmandrake

[rxmandrake]

@zoemarshallxrp​

maybe others would find the sight of dismembered limbs and carved bodies off-putting to their appetite, but roman drake had long ago become immune to such things. shoving another pork dumpling into his mouth, he narrowed his eyes at the photos from the latest crime scene. there was a serial killer in new york city--and roman was certain that he or she ( or maybe even they ) were targeting artists. he had fallen onto the trail while looking into delilah’s death but now seemed unable to pull himself away from the growing body count. glancing up, roman caught sight of the blonde a few tables away looking again in his direction. enough was enough.

he smirked into his mug. “so ya gonna come over here and ask what you want to ask, or are you just gonna keep stealing glances when you think i’m not looking?”

#c: zoe

[rxmandrake]

eli.

It was as if the rest of the crowd had faded, sounds muted as Elliot focused on this man and his clear, raw grief. From an outsider’s point of view, they must have looked odd, Roman’s face drawn, his lips pressed tight and Elliot finding himself at a loss for words, silent in front of him. He felt woefully inadequate to deal with such a situation, for he did not know what it was like to lose someone to death. His parents were healthy, his brothers at the peak of their lives. He attended the funeral of one elderly aunt or uncle, but it was never someone he was incredibly close to. He refused to think of Rafe - though the chances he had passed were incredibly slim being a muse, he was lost to Elliot either way. 

“People, even after years of knowing them, can still take you by surprise.” His experiences - a one year, one and a half if they were being generous, on-and-off relationship juxtaposed to a real, devoted, honest-to-gods marriage - it couldn’t possibly compare. But Elliot had nothing else to offer. “I’ve met her, in passing. I sponsored a few of her shows in fact, she was such a great talent. Also incredible to work with.” These were shallow comforts, Elliot couldn’t help but feel, but he continued on anyway. “I recall the time when she dropped off the face of the art scene for a few months - everyone truly wondered where she’d gone. But her first show upon coming back, it was utterly amazing. I have one of those paintings till this day.” Elliot trails of uncertainly. 

roman digested the other man’s words--small, tidy well-meaning bits of insight from someone who apparently had nothing concrete to offer on the matter. the quickness of the sentiments felt wrong; a generic response, too well prepared. he knew it was likely just the detective in him reading between the lines, seeing enemies where none existed. roman allowed for a heavy silence to fill the air, the thump in his chest the only indication that time was continuing to pass. eventually he nodded, a slight huff escaping through his nose. “yeah, that’s about the answer i’ve been getting.” 

while he was willing to believe that those he’d talked to tonight may not have known his wife personally ( what was a single painter, in the scheme of things ), roman knew that there were people in this room who knew about the strange world she belonged to. the world of high-stakes art, of passion and betrayal. roman crossed his arms. “if you were to look through a list of all the artists who’s work hangs in your home or that you’ve sponsored, would you be surprised to know how many of them are dead or missing?” because roman was willing to bet the number was pretty damn high. it’s what had brought him to new york, out of every of city where this was happening. 

#c: eli

[rxmandrake]

ophelia.

there was something about roman drake’s company that she found herself returning to. unintrusive, always dancing around the surface of more serious topics of conversation. for a little while she was just talking about art, a topic that she was fairly certain he had a better grasp on than she. but she couldn’t simply say that and risk him suddenly deciding there was something more pressing. she didn’t have the answer to every question he asked, but she tried her best to remember who she’d seen over the years.

“jackson, yes.” how else would all those splatters become beautiful? she only saw inspiration in the stories that were drawn from her past, the music just shy of her home. she remembered looking at his work hung in the gallery, the confusion furrowing in her brow as others fawned. he had a muse, but it wasn’t her. “frieda, i—” her mouth hung open, watching as he tapped the dash. the rhythm filling the silence in her head where an answer should have been supplied. “i don’t know. i could find out.” because for every person she didn’t know, someone in new york was old enough to remember. it was all about finding the courage to ask. she could work on that for the sake of trivia. that was growth. “andy warhol was a yes.” she took a sip of her shake if only to fill the silence. “i was wrong about him, sorry.”

he nodded thoughtfully, quietly digesting the information. roman liked to think he was getting better at identifying some trademark characteristics that noted an artist was bonded--but in reality, he was just throwing darts at a board. roman didn’t get art, he’d never gotten it. maybe it had been stupid of him then, to marry a painter. “a mystery for another day.” roman offered softly, letting her off whatever hook she was about to put herself on. the streetlights outside flooded the car with enough light that he could read ophelia’s lips, which was great, ‘cause there was no way in hell he’d ever be able to make out her whisper of a voice. 

so he was right about warhol? he felt better about that. that one, he’d been so sure of. roman shifted slightly in his seat, pausing, obviously wanting to say something--or rather, ask. he tried not to pry too much into her life, he knew there was bound to be stuff she didn’t want to share and stuff he wouldn’t understand even if she did. still. it was eating at him. “i have--,” he paused, grunted, “can i ask a question?” roman found himself leaning forward, inadvertently, not wanting to miss her answer; if she choose to give him one. “do you think it’s like a drug? to be bonded?” there he was again. looking for excuses. ways to forgive delilah for cheating on him, on bringing death to their door.

#c: ophelia

[rxmandrake]

💬 the bird girl

for a text my muse would send about yours to a third party.

[ text - mom ]: she’s an adult, she can make her own choices.[ text - mom ]: i’m not gonna stalk her for you. how did you even get this number?[ text - mom ]: if birdie finally wised up and moved away then i’m happy for her. i didn’t have shit to do with it but if she comes to me for help then i’ll give it to her. i shoulda never left her with you assholes but at least she didn’t turn out rotten like everyone else. 

#c: birdie #Anonymous

[rxmandrake]

👊

👊 for what my muse would say upon hearing yours has been arrested.

    he had to check twice, certain that it was a mistake–even from the short interaction they’d had, roman didn’t peg eli as a troublemaker. when he was certain that it was in fact the same rothschild he’d met earlier, his first thought was to go to the station and see what he could do; as stupid as that was. eli was rich, he’d post bail and be out in a few hours. there wasn’t anything roman could, or should, do. 

      eventually he realized he was chewing his nails again, an exasperated sigh leaving his lips as he threw down some change and got up to leave. if eli was in jail, it had to be a good reason–and roman wanted to know what that was.❝ fucking rich people.❞  he murmured, preparing to get himself tangled in whatever web eli had fallen into. 

#c: eli #roman: sigh... I GUESS ill come help #elliot-rothschild

[rxmandrake]

@ophelicjames​

he fiddled with the dials on the radio, finding the usual station that they allowed to fill the space between them. the windows were down and cool air found its way into the car as they sat in the near-empty parking lot, their usual order of fries and shakes in their laps. as he got more and more involved in the art scene, there were certain faces roman found himself repeatedly running into. ophelia james was one of them--probably the only one who’d been kind enough to put up with his questions, his probing, his confusion. she’d helped him put together a few of the pieces he’d been struggling with, though roman liked to think he’d figured out most of it on his own. muses. immortality? it was still a hard pill to swallow, and in the spaces of silence that stretched out between the two of them, this was usually what he thought of. 

eventually he looked over towards her, one hand idly tapping on the dash as he asked, “jackson pollock?” another name, another guess. a game they played--a compromise between wanting to know more but not wanting all the answers handed to him on a silver platter. roman liked to try and figure out which of history’s ‘greatest minds’ had actually been bonded. “how ‘bout frida kahlo?”

#vibe sesh #c: ophelia

[rxmandrake]

z.

all she could do was hold his gaze as she chewed and swallowed, drawing the action out before ending in a cheshire-cat grin. z didn’t often show teeth, not that her’s weren’t perfect, but roman just brought it out of her every time they met. 

she leaned in, catching his cologne as she did so(probably body wash, cologne seemed like a lot of effort for him). “oh my, roman. i should remind you, i demand a fancy dinner before you whip out anything in my presence. what kind of girl do you think i am?” her tone was sickly sweet, and it was like a private little joke between them. he had a good idea of what kind of girl she was. “but don’t worry, i’m not working tonight. though, with this display, you should still probably be concerned.”

watching her lean into his space, roman felt the distinct thrum of a headache coming on. he let out a breath of air, unamused at the comment though not really expecting anything different from her. eventually he dropped his shoulders, releasing some of the budding tension and reaching into his pocket for the bottle of aspirin. “not here tonight for the art anyway,” he explained, giving nothing more than that.

roman really didn’t give a shit about the art--but a paycheck was a paycheck, and some days he couldn’t afford to pick and choose his work. besides, as much as it felt like a waste of time, roman was beginning to understand just how connected these things were: forgery and thievery were just the lower rungs on the ladder that lead to the real prize, kidnapping, torture, murder. he’d have to go as far as the rabbit hole would take him if he ever wanted to know what had really happened to delilah. popping a handful of asprin into his mouth and closing the bottle, roman waved at a painting on the wall. “why? doesn’t seem like anything special to me.” not that he would really know.

#c: z

[rxmandrake]

eli.

Elliot tried to place the man’s face, wondering if he truly knew him or he saw echoes of people he knew in his tired eyes. He did not look like he belonged here, not because of anything superficial, like his dress or his manner - but rather, he struck Elliot as the type of person who did not put on airs, who did not cater to the wealthy train of thought, which is more, more now, no questions asked. “I’m not averse to the night getting cut short, if that’s what you mean.” His smile was slightly strained, a rare show of his true feelings, before his mask slipped back on. 

“Delilah Drake, is that right?” His eyes flared to life briefly, taking another look at the man. “Yes, I do love her work. I have a few displayed in my own home, in fact.” He turned fully towards him, tilting his head, his gaze thoughtful. “She was quite a talent, a rare gift. I’m so sorry for your loss.” Elliot said softly, knowing the inadequacy of his words. 

roman kept his eyes on elliot’s face, reading the other man’s lips in determination not to miss a word of the conversation. it might’ve been off-putting, but if it was, elliot didn’t show it. he nodded awkwardly at the offered condolences. “she left a lot of people behind.” roman was all too aware of the bitter taste the words left in his mouth, silently berating himself for having said such a thing--for trying to distance her, even in death. roman had been learning a lot about his wife in the years since her passing; more and more he found himself wondering if he’d even known her at all. he turned away from elliot for a brief moment, shoving his hands in his pockets to hide the fact that they’d begun to shake. roman licked his lips, turning back to the other man. “see, more and more as the years pass, i realize i didn’t really know my wife. and i’ve been trying to.. put her together. by talking to people who did know her.”

it wasn’t hard to play the dutiful widow, the spouse of a cheating wife who left him with nothing but a broken heart and unanswered questions. roman leaned into that, as much as it hurt, knowing that he was much more likely to actually unravel the truth delilah’s world if no one thought of him as a cop. “did you know her, mr. rothschild?” 

#c: eli #edgy!

[rxmandrake]

Where Did You Sleep Last Night by Nirvana except from your car radio while you sit, parked, in heavy rain.

requested by @devilinacocktaildress

#oh this is the vibe

[rxmandrake]

#ksdfl;sdf #vibes

[rxmandrake]

z.

z didn’t ever accept a job for a museum she was unfamiliar with, but the hype and attention mr. poldark had garnered for himself left room for so much potential. she could see what percentage of a payout she’d receive for each piece, cataloging it in the back of her mind with pleasure. she wasn’t an artist, her talents lie in other activities, and she surely wasn’t a muse - so with the lack of purpose tonight, she moved along the background of the showing, hoping for some kind of excitement before the night’s end in her silent observation. she made her way over to the spread of snacks and grabbed herself some fresh fruits, bumping into another hungry soul as she did so, her voice taking on a deliberately sweet tone,

“excuse me, i didn’t see you there. that’s how desperate i am for a few of those strawberries.”

of course she would be here; zah’ra amir, always showing up with the promise of ruining roman’s otherwise quite night. he pursed his lips at her, looking down as she sucked on a strawberry red enough to match her lipstick. “z,” he murmured, somewhere between relieved and annoyed. he doubted she was here on her best behavior, and roman couldn’t help but wonder which of those in the room with them would end up being the sorry sucker that fell for her tricks tonight. “don’t think i need to flash the badge to remind you not to cause trouble, do i?” he warned, doubtful that it would have any real impact on her behavior. 

these were the games they played. empty threats. empty promises. roman was too busy tracking down actual leads to go chasing z every time she stole a painting from some rich asshole.

#he's so unamused #but also lowkey heart eyes #c: z

[rxmandrake]

eli.

Elliot never let his smile falter, shaking hands and murmuring graciously when someone would approach to congratulate him on this and that, taking the opportunity to flatter and brownnose in what he believed was an entirely inappropriate setting, now was a time to give recognition to the artist and not the wealthy elite who just happened to make up most of the crowd, but he digresses. Now, in the midst of entertaining a rather eager Mrs. Donaghue, a widow who collects marriages like precious paintings, Elliot pretends to have his attention drawn by someone else, “Oh, isn’t that-” he starts, and he offers his sincerest apologies before making a beeline for the other end of the room. 

he’d been here less than fifteen minutes and had already decided that coming here had been a waste of time. roman wasn’t gonna learn shit here, some fancy party with artists and the like kissing each other’s asses. roman stuck out like a sore thumb, and though he doubted anyone would make him for a cop, he knew his tattooed visage and broody appearance wouldn’t invite much conversation. 

lifting his head to look around the room once more, roman was more than a little startled to see elliot rothschild appear beside him. he licked his lips, searching for something to say that wasn’t painfully awkward or out of place. roman took a moment to take in elliot’s appearance, realizing the man seemed almost as frazzled as he did. common ground. “i take it you’re about as ready for this night to be over as i am?” roman joked, allowing the exhaustion to color his tone. “you’re rothschild, right?” he asked, despite already knowing the answer. “i think you knew my wife.” roman explained, offering a hand out to him. “delilah drake. you bought a few of her paintings.”

#c: eli

[rxmandrake]

goes to a strip club and pays a dancer to hold my hand and tell me everything is okay

#isms

[rxmandrake]

#isms

[rxmandrake]

@innxcentfaces

Serenity (2018)

#sunshine on a cloudy day | charlotte

[rxmandrake]

innxcentfaces‌:

What was even happening?! There was no time to think, to plead, to do anything but shrink in fear and pain. It was all too much, too fast, and then it just wasn’t. Left in a ball on the cold concrete beside the car, it had all ended in an explosion of sparks as she’d first been tossed into his car hard enough to dent it, and then hit the ground before she’d even realized it’d be coming. 

Everything hurt; the familiar warm stickiness on her face was enough to have her curling up inside as much as out. Where had they gone? Finally lifting her head, the nausea that gripped her was intense, forcing her body to roll over, though there was nothing in her stomach to come out except bile. Turning her head at the sound of impact to the car, she sees him then. Through the drivers window and then the windshield, her brother, pushing down on someone, but her rattled brain couldn’t fathom who it could be. 

Pulling herself over just enough, her eyes make contact with Roman’s face, though all she could do was whimper as he speaks. They were going to kill him. Why else would he say that. “No…” Barely able to shake her head, she’s already fighting to her feet, weak hands and shaking arms trying to use the car itself to support her to standing. Stumbling forward but catching herself on the hood just as he throws himself away, every single one of them in the parking lot stood in utter shock as her boyfriend started to tear at himself, falling apart like something straight out of a horror movie. 

Twisted and somehow half human and half creature, changing constantly, the moment he lunges and a fine misting of blood splatters her face, she dropped to her knees and scrambled, pain forgotten for an entirely new sort of fear, shock numbing in it’s attempt to preserve her life. Refusing to even steal a look at the horrific sounds on the other side of the car, Charlie pulled herself inside of it, and slamming the door behind her. Hitting the locks and testing it by throwing herself a bit against the door, her knees pulled to her chest, forehead against them, arms clasped tight over her ears. 

The sounds of bangs on the window pulled a sharp scream past her lips, disbelief and horror on her face as she realised it was Pj, banging desperately on the passenger side, covered in blood and begging to be let in. But she couldn’t, just couldn’t. Though part of her begged her to let him in, to save him, the part of her he’d tortured for so long refused to let in one monster for another, and she just whispered an apology at him and curled up once more in the drivers seat, pleading out loud for it all to stop. 

roman was barely present. he’d never had much control over this side of himself, and his inability to accept his own reality only made things worse. the scene before him flickered in and out, as if it played on a spotty reel that kept losing picture. some of the men that still stood decided running was their best option, but that only made things worse for them. it got the wolf worked up, got it excited. 

roman was vaguely aware of chasing two people into the woods by the apartment. flashes of blood and screaming and the sickly-sweet smell of spilled guts. all he’s sure of is that they didn’t die quickly. the hulking figure returns to the parking lot several minutes later, muzzle covered in blood. getting on all fours, the creature that was once roman skulks through the empty cars in search of its last target. pj’s beating up against the door, mouth moving in what was certainly pleas for whoever was inside to let him in. his frantic movement stopped, suddenly aware of the heaving panting from behind him. he opened his mouth--to cry, scream, curse--the wolf suddenly lurching forward and violently nipping at his face. flesh and muscle fell away easily, the bone underneath crunching as the wolf tore off mouthfuls of what was once the man’s face. pj’s body twitched, disgusting gurgles and moans escaping from him, probably shocked to learn that there were far worse monsters in the world than himself.

cut to ten minutes later.

he’s on his hands and knees--human now, as the day he was born--vomiting up whatever the wolf had snarfed down while he was in charge. suddenly there’s a blanket being thrown around his back, and he’s too disoriented to do much but mumble out a word of question. “w..who?” too much happens in the next minute for him to capture it all, but roman understood enough to be thankful for the universes’ sick sense of irony. 

@ashtonfinryder

#sunshine on a cloudy day | charlotte #gore tw #brings in shan because this thread is kicking my ass already

[rxmandrake]

innxcentfaces‌:

@rxmandrake

The moment she’d pulled into their parking space, she’d seen them. Four hulking men glad in leather and covered in tattoos, loitering around an SUV, eyes on the apartment building at first, but then on her. Heart pounding so hard in her chest as she sat in her car, she’d turned off the engine and cut the lights, hoping they’d leave before she had to get out. It didn’t seem likely, though, they’d obviously been there for some time already. 

Fumbling in the dark of the car for her phone, she hit the button to call upstairs to Roman, their balcony overlooking the parking lot. “Roman, he’s-…hey! no!” Realizing only too late that she hadn’t locked the door properly, it was already opened and a hand reaching in before she’d gotten to finish her boyfriend’s name. The first fist hit her then and there, knocking her phone to the floor of the car as a second hand reached in and yanked her from the vehicle by her ponytail. 

Three of the four men around her, one of which was her own brother, shouts of bitch, traitor, slut… horrible words rained down on her along with blows that she could only curl up on herself to avoid, even as one of them tried to yank her to her feet. Cries and screams for help and mercy constantly interrupted by a fresh explosion of sparks behind her eyes. 

knowing charlie was due home at any minute, roman had settled into a chair at the kitchen table to await her. feeling his phone go off in his pocket, he pulled it out and looked at the number before answering. charlie. maybe she wanted to pick up food? they didn’t have any plans for dinner yet. pulling the lit cigarette from between his lips, roman held it away from his mouth as he picked up the phone. “hey,” he greeted her easily, though her own words caused him to furrow his brow in confusion. “what’s going on?” roman asked, standing from his seat. “charlie??” he called, his heart beginning to pound in his chest. he couldn’t hear what was happening on the other end of the line, but his mind could imagine only the worst scenarios. without thinking he grabbed he headed outside, throwing open the door and taking the steps two at a time. 

the scent of fresh blood hit him and roman turned his head in search of the source, spotting his car and a group of men around it--one of them being charlie’s own brother. the sense of panic was nearly indescribable, the world around him coming in and out of focus as roman did his best to make his way over. as he came closer he could see the four stood circling something. someone. “stop” roman called out weakly, the group blocking him from charlie. they turned his attention to roman, sneering words and making threats. roman was too occupied trying to get sight of charlie, though he could only make out her legs from behind the other-side of his car. he isn’t sure where the first blow came from. or the second. but he knows that pj is the one to grab him by the back of the head and knock him into the hood of his car, repeating the action twice before letting roman fall to his hands and knees and wheeze. before he can orientate himself, roman’s kicked in the stomach. he’s so close now--just needs to push himself a few more feet. 

roman swallows in anticipation of the sight.

he knows he has to look.

he knows what will happen if he does.

he hasn’t been taking his silver injections, hasn’t been running his body ragged so it didn’t have the energy left to try and transform. just making it outside after hearing the cold fear in charlie’s voice had been hard enough, but roman knows the sight of her beaten body will be more than enough to finally send him over. he’s just sorry she’ll have to see him that way. 

finally catching sight of her on the ground, roman does a quick once-over. each cut, each bruise, each hair out of place on her beautiful head hits him like a knife to the chest. groaning, he tries to hold it together for just a few more seconds. “ch...charlie? baby... please... don’t. watch.” with great effort roman stumbles away from the car, the group of men watching in confusion as roman begins to tear at his own chest in pain and his very flesh begins to rip away--making room for a thick coat of black fur. the wolf inside doesn’t even wait for the transformation to complete before attacking its prey, lurching forward and using the half-revealed hand of claws to rip out one of the men’s throats. 

#sunshine on a cloudy day | charlotte #hey sorry if this is... a mess lmao #gore tw