#but I still think he should get to be a little mean sometimes

[alchemistc]

You never let me in, Buck sends, two of three sheets fully winded, and when he kicks his leg over the coffee table he nearly knocks over three empties.

They do this thing, right? Buck gets upset and before the tears can fall, because he's cried too many fucking times already, he makes himself angry. Picks at something that has come up every time he's done a post-mortem on the last six months.

And then he sends that shit to Tommy. Because - because who the fuck else is he supposed to talk to about it? The guy who'd sucked him off in the hallway of a nightclub two weeks ago? The woman who'd spent an hour quietly helping Buck understand that yeah, he was very much bi, and yeah, some people did not like that shit? Maddie, or Chim, or Hen or Eddie, who still might interact with him on the job? Bobby? Fuck, not Bobby.

Bobby who'd blinked at Buck and offered platitudes and apologized to Buck like it was somehow his fault Tommy was good people but he was the kind of good people who just walked out on something that could have been something.

I should have pushed more. I know I should have. I just thought since I was trying to share everything, you were too.

My mistake.

Three months and Buck isn't over it. He's far enough into the mourning process that he thinks this one is always gonna sting, and not for the reasons Tommy thinks.

That's not fair. I'm sorry.

The texts get delivered. Tommy reads them. Buck's had read receipts on since the first time Tommy went quiet on a call and Buck freaked out a little - but back then they were still working towards something. Back then, sometimes Tommy would pull out his phone and open the thread just to give Buck sign of life.

He was always doing that. Heading shit off at the pass.

Buck had just never realized he'd be able to do it to hurt him, just as well as take care of him.

Every four weeks like clockwork Buck gets a response. He has no fucking idea why it's four weeks, what the third Thursday of the month has to do with Tommy feeling gracious enough to give Buck some clarity. He'd never known enough about Tommy, is the thing he's coming around to. He'd done everything he could to bring Tommy in, make him a part, and Tommy had let him. Tommy had distracted him with quippy words and a clever tongue and with being so fucking willing to be integrated into Buck's life that Buck just - hadn't noticed.

No one will say it, but he Bucked It Up in the worst kind of way.

He's waited until Third Thursday to send these texts. He actually hasn't sent anything at all, until this moment, and he wonders if Tommy noticed. If he cared. Tommy picks and chooses from Buck's random thoughts, parses out details like he's reading from a manual and Buck is off topic two thirds of the time. Buck doesn't actually know why he's been answering, all this time. He wonders if, in the last four weeks of silence, he thought he was finally done with Buck.

He wonders if it had hurt.

Buck sets his phone down to stand, skating across to the kitchen in his socks for the pizza rolls in the oven.

His diet is shit. His body feels like crap. He's one more drunken nights sleep on the couch away from emptying the rack in his fridge down the drain and giving sobriety a try. The last person he'd slept with had hinted that they'd prefer not to use condoms and Buck had almost let them.

Buck has worth. He knows he does. It's just sometimes when he remembers that every person he's ever loved has either walked out on him or let him walk away when he needed them, he struggles to find that worth.

His life has meaning, and all that jazz.

Buck sort of wonders if Tommy hasn't finally blocked his number, as he tosses a too-hot pizza roll in his mouth and huffs on the lava cheese burning his tongue. After the last message Buck had sent, three weeks ago, he wouldn't exactly be surprised.

(This is basically just an unhinged grief journal with an unreliable second narrator. Do you know what it's like to realize you're still in love with someone who never let you know them?)

There's been no response to that. Fair. Buck hadn't even actually said the words. No, he'd jumped right into the sharing a life part, cart before the horse as always when emotions were high.

The pizza rolls get tipped onto a plate and are immediately swimming in the heavy pour of ranch he'd prepared after he set the oven to preheat.

It cools them off a lot quicker than popping a hole in each seam and waiting.

It's been eight years since Buck has really even thought about that little trick.

When he opens his phone there's no response. No receipt. Just stark words waiting to be acknowledged.

I gave you my family, Tommy. You didn't even introduce me to your team at Harbor.

It's startling to realize after the fact. He doubts Tommy had meant it that way, but he'd basically spent six months being love bombed only to have the rug ripped right out from under his feet.

And yet. Months later and he still wants to know. Know why. Know how he could have done it, with tears in his eyes, with full awareness that it was already gonna hurt. Know Tommy - anything he'd part with, really, that wasn't something every random acquaintance also knew.

Cool, he'd been jealous of what Buck and the 118 had. (Buck had tried to give him that. Or at least he thought he had.)

Great, he didn't talk to his dad and Gerrard was a shitty captain. (Buck had spent an hour once explaining the first time he and his dad had spoken about Daniel without screaming at each other. Tommy had listened to the rants about Gerrard and offered physical comfort and a 'sounds like him' and Buck had just been so relieved to have an ally amongst the 'life is just like this sometimes' crowd that he'd never examined that.)

He was a Kinsey six who'd been engaged to the first woman Buck had ever really loved and they'd never dug deeper than that.

And Buck had apparently interpreted some of the shit he'd said that night wrong, but he still doesn't think it's fucking fair that Tommy can't trust him to know his own fucking mind well enough to know he hates sleeping around and he'd found the sort of connection he was looking for. He'd found it. Even with the lack of reciprocation. Even with the quiet behind Tommy's eyes that he'd never let Buck in on. Even with the -

His phone buzzes on the coffee table.

Can we talk?

Buck kinda hates those words in that order now. They'd been the start of something twice, but they'd always been leading to an end, if Tommy had his way.

Once every four weeks, apparently, Buck sends back and takes a vicious bite.

His phone chimes with an incoming call.

Buck stares at the name he hasn't had the stomach to remove the little heart from. Lets it ring through to voicemail and then shoves three more pizza rolls into his mouth and doesn't care if they burn off his taste buds.

His phone rings again.

"What?"

"I'm outside your building. Didn't want to make any assumptions that I'd be welcome without asking first."

Buck can feel his ribs cracking under the lurch of angry laughter. "What the hell?"

"Well the parking around here is miserable again, so I figure that's a sign."

"Are you driving right now?"

"Hands off. I'm on Bluetooth. So. Should I circle the building a fifth time or call it now and go home?"

Buck gets stuck on fifth time.

There's no way he hadn't been driving since at least before Buck sent that first text.

Buck sighs. There's absolutely no reason to be hopeful about that. For all he knows, Tommy has just decided dousing any residual flames is just another thing he has to do in person.

"My Jeep's in the shop. I'll buzz you into the garage."

Tommy's silent for a long, long moment. The quip comes anyway. "I keep telling you that thing is a money pit."

"I'm not really feeling the flirty banter, right now, Tommy, so maybe just let me know when you're at the gate."

He does. He hangs up the phone twenty seconds later with a plain "See you soon."

Buck doesn't have time to change. Fix his hair. Hide the sheet pan with half a dozen pizza rolls still laying on it, because he'd cooked way too many again.

(He could absolutely do one of these things but if Tommy's gonna throw this at him, he's getting every little slovenly habit Bucks's picked up since he walked out that door.)

The knock comes while Buck's shoving the last two rolls on his plate into his mouth.

He's still chewing with his mouth open to blow out the steam when he swings the door open, and Buck feels the first inklings of pleasure ripple through him at the sight of Tommy.

He looks like shit.

"You look like shit."

Tommy's brow ticks up. He stares pointedly at the glob of not-cheese that's going to absolutely ruin this sweatshirt.

"That tends to happen when you spend an hour in an armchair two sizes too small picking at trauma you've been hiding from your therapist for six years."

Buck opens the door wider. Holy crap. Tommy might legitimately be more fucked up than Buck.

Tommy's smile is strained. "Can I come in?"

Buck holds his gaze. His eyes are a little red. He's got a red spot along the side of his neck, like he's been rubbing at it. Buck only recognizes it as a comforting motion because he's replayed him doing it half a million times right before he ended things.

"Depends. Is this the last time you respond to my mean, rude, asshole texts for an hour after therapy rubs you raw?" Third Thursday Therapy, is apparently what does it. Buck is - god. He just wants -

"God, I hope not," Tommy says, and Buck takes a step to the side to let Tommy in.

[dadbodbuck]

WE'RE BREAKING UP

WHY WOULD YOU SAY THIS TO ME.

WHY WOULD YOU TYPE THIS WORDS WITH YOUR FINGERS AND THEN PRESS POST.

GET AWAY FROM ME

hi jack unfortunately we got married when you weren't looking so you have to pay for an attorney :/

anyway

Buck texts him I need to talk to you and Christopher knows it’s going to be a bad day. He was actually thinking about coming home over Thanksgiving break—it’s not as clean as going back over Christmas, but he misses Denny (who’s been telling him a lot about his cool new sister during their nightly meme exchange), and he misses his school friends (even if they��re exhausting to be around sometimes), and worst of all he misses his family. He misses his dad, he misses Buck. He even misses Tommy—despite only having met him a few times, he knows he’s been good for Buck and for his dad. 

He liked seeing his dad smiling so much when he first started hanging out with Tommy, before her. He liked the way Tommy talked to him like an adult with his own thoughts and opinions. He liked the way Tommy talked about Buck, even though it was kind of gross seeing a grown man swoon that much.

But then. I need to talk to you. And it all comes crumbling down around him. Buck even has the nerve to follow it up with Can I call you? like some sort of therapist or school administrator. Chris opts for a video call, because he’s not eighty years old, and when Buck picks up, his eyes are bloodshot, his face is pale, and he’s nestled in his bed like a stereotypical teenager girl after she gets dumped.

Oh. Oh no. “What,” Chris says, and he kind of regrets the video call now, because Buck flinches back like he’s been physically hit.

“Uh, hey!” Buck says, trying to recover and failing miserably. The smile he plasters on his face looks so forced it’s painful, “How’s Texas in November treating you?”

Chris looks at Buck and decides to play nice. Just a little. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but you sounded like you had something important to talk about.”

“You’re right,” Buck sighs, “I’m procrastinating. I just wanted to let you know that Tommy and I have decided not to see each other anymore.”

And, yeah, Chris is pretty sure he knew this was coming, but it still makes him want to cry, or bite something, or throw his phone into the lake. “What happened?”

“Well—uh—Chris, I don’t—the details really aren’t important,” Buck says, with a wince, “What is important is that I love you, and your dad loves you, and just because Tommy won’t be around doesn’t mean you won’t have our support. I’m really sorry, bud. I know you liked him.”

It blindsides Chris, and he doesn’t know why. He should’ve seen this coming a mile away. He shouldn’t have gotten attached. He never should have sat down to watch The Batman with his dad and Tommy and stolen Tommy’s popcorn and talked shit on Buck’s taste in Star Wars Prequels. 

“What did you do?” Chris asks, feeling a startling rage building in his throat. It’s familiar, now. He doesn’t know how he knows, but he knows this is Buck’s fault. Buck looks like a dog that pissed on the carpet and is waiting for you to step on the wet spot.

Buck clears his throat, and visibly weighs truth and comfort in his mind. “I asked him to move in with me. It was—it was too fast—”

“You asked him to move in with you?” Chris balks, “He has a house!”

“I wasn’t thinking!” Buck hisses, “Listen, I know I fu—messed up. I’m sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am, Chris. But it—it was the best decision for both of us.”

“You’re lying,” Chris seethes, because he knows so, so intimately the look of an adult lying to protect his innocence. “He made you happy. He made dad happy.”

Buck looks away, chin trembling, and Chris feels bad for all of three seconds before the rage consumes every other feeling in his chest. “Call me back when you find someone who wants to stay. Otherwise, keep your love life away from me. And maybe you stay away from me too.”

Chris ends the call, and two seconds later Buck is ringing him again. Chris doesn’t pick up, just sets his phone on his desk and buries his face in his arms. He doesn’t want to cry. He did too much of that after he got to El Paso the first time. But he’s going to miss Tommy. He’s going to miss seeing his dad smile like that. He’s going to miss the dopey lovesick way Buck moved through the world.

When Chris finally composes himself, he sees two more missed video calls from Buck, and a string of texts:

Love you, buddy. Sorry you’re upset. Call later to talk? Or call your therapist?

I really am sorry. I thought Tommy was going to stay too.

Text me pls? So I know you’re ok

Chris texts back: im fine. we’ll be fine. i need some time and gets a response almost immediately.

OK. Take the time you need. Your dad says if you decide to come back and you’re still mad you won’t have to see me if you don’t want to

Chris, always being left behind, feels a sick surge of satisfaction at the prospect. He could be the one who leaves. He can cut his losses before they’re fatal, he can amputate the limb before it goes septic. He texts Buck a single k back and does not examine the way something in the back of his head tells him, quite viciously, that this isn’t the first time that Buck’s been left this week.

[tossawary]

I'm reviewing episode transcripts from "Merlin" to build up my worldbuilding document (character list, mostly) and, a little ways into S2, I'm kind of feeling like the show is actually quite mean to Arthur as a character sometimes? S1 E14: "To Kill the King" is one of those episodes where I forget how badly it pissed me off until I run into it again.

Like, don't get me wrong, Arthur can be a bully, entitled, hotheaded, and reckless, but he's also at this point risked his own life to save people multiple times. Both individuals whose lives were "worth less" than his own (getting the Mortaeus flower for a poisoned Merlin, smuggling Mordred out of the city, protecting Ealdor from bandits) and also Camelot as a whole (fighting the plague-causing monster in the sewers, fighting the mam-eating griffin, drinking poison to lift the unicorn curse).

Arthur is giving me vibes of being both bored and frustrated (and probably not able to name those feelings or exactly why he has them) because he wants so badly to do good things, but he's not really sure how to go about it because (no one ever tells him anything, he almost NEVER knows what's really going on to make informed choices, and) he's also stuck under the thumb of his tyrannical father, who spends most of their scenes together berating Arthur for being too merciful, for not being dutiful enough, and/or not finding sorcerers for execution fast enough. When Arthur tries to be fair-minded and compassionate, Uther often essentially tells him that he's going to be a weak king with that attitude.

Arthur's pathways to betterment are limited, his parent and role model and boss here is an AWFUL person, but he's trying!

So, it's quite frustrating to get to this one episode where characters like Gaius (extremely biased, admittedly, clearly not an objective individual) are saying things like: "Arthur's not ready. The responsibility would be too great. Brave though he may be, he lacks experience, he lacks judgement."

Like, I don't know, Arthur may be only 21 and kind of a dipshit, but I personally think he'd still do a better job than the guy who tried to kill a kid (Mordred) just for existing a few episodes ago? Maybe? Gwen's father, who wasn't even a sorcerer or knowingly working with one, is dead explicitly because of Uther's awful laws. Did everyone in this episode forget that Uther tried to BURN GWEN ALIVE AT THE STAKE not that long ago (Episode 3)?

ARTHUR: "[Morgana]'s right, Father. You hear the word magic, you no longer listen."

UTHER: "You saw it for yourself. She used enchantments."

ARTHUR: "Yes, maybe. But to save her dying father, that doesn't make [Gwen] guilty of creating a plague. One's the act of, of kindness, of love, the other of evil. I don't believe evil's in this girl's heart."

UTHER: "I have witnessed what witchcraft can do. I have suffered at its hand. I cannot take that chance. If there is the slightest doubt about this girl, she must die or the whole kingdom may perish."

ARTHUR: "I understand that."

UTHER: "One day you may become King. Then you will understand. Such decisions must be made. There are dark forces that threaten this kingdom."

ARTHUR: "I know. Witchcraft is an evil, father. So is injustice. Yes, I am yet to be King, and I don't know what kind of king I will be, but I do have a sense of the kind of Camelot I would wish to live in. It would be where the punishment fits the crime."

UTHER: "I fear you're right. She's played with fire, and sadly she must die by fire."

When the adult druid (Cerdan) accompanying Mordred is killed (Episode 8), Arthur objects afterwards! On his own! While Arthur is sometimes an active participant in Uther's tyranny and otherwise complicit, he's been told all of his life that magic is inherently evil and corrupting, he was raised by the very man spreading this hateful philosophy, he should probably hate magic more than anyone after Uther, and yet he still disagrees with Uther's methods and judgments. Even though Uther is apparently VERY willing to lock both his son (Episode 4) and his ward (Episode 8) in the dungeons for disagreeing with him and disobeying him!

ARTHUR: The Druid was only in Camelot to collect supplies. He meant no harm. Is it necessary to execute him?

UTHER: Absolutely necessary. Those who use magic cannot be tolerated.

ARTHUR: The Druids are a peaceful people.

UTHER: Given the chance, they would return magic to the kingdom. They preach peace, but conspire against me. We cannot appear weak.

ARTHUR: Showing mercy can be a sign of strength.

UTHER: Our enemies will not see it that way. We have a responsibility to protect this kingdom. Executing the Druid will send out a clear message. Find the boy. Search every inch of the city.

Obviously, running a kingdom is complicated! Uther apparently won Camelot by conquest and is in conflict with many of the neighboring kings, including Odin and Cenred, and likely has more of the respect of the local nobility than young Arthur does. Uther's death would create some instability! (Agravaine de Bois hasn't been created yet, but let's assume there are many other potential vultures.)

But the show generally isn't pushing that angle. This isn't really about smooth transitions of power. Personally, concerning Arthur's "lack of judgment", I do find his ready conviction that it is his duty to die for Camelot's honor if necessary (he says as much to Merlin explicitly before fighting Valiant in Episode 2, then again before fighting the Black Knight in Episode 9) more than a little concerning, but that doesn't seem to be angle pushed here either.

The show has characters (Merlin, Gwen, Gaius) suggesting that offing the King, who regularly kills innocent people whether they have magic or not, who has forbidden use of the tool that might have saved innocent people from Nimueh's plague or the wraith of Tristan de Bois, would be wrong! It would be murder and murder is bad! It would make (in the words of a grieving Gwen) her "just as bad" as him.

Even though Merlin has at this point already killed Aulfric and Sophia (Episode 7), as well as Mary Collins (Episode 1) because they were trying to kill Arthur. And arguably got an assist with Valiant (Episode 2). And will kill many more as the show goes on. This conversation with Kilgharrah in S1 E14 is in many ways so, so funny:

KILGHARRAH: Well, young warlock, what is it you come to ask of me?

MERLIN: I need your help.

KILGHARRAH: Of course you do, but this time, will you heed my words?

MERLIN: The sorcerer Tauren is plotting to kill the King. He's made an ally of Morgana. I don't know what to do!

KILGHARRAH: Do… nothing.

MERLIN: What do you mean? If I do nothing, Uther will die.

KILGHARRAH: Don't you want Uther dead? It is Uther that persecutes you and your kind, Merlin. It is Uther that murders the innocent…

MERLIN: But surely that doesn't make it right to kill him.

KILGHARRAH: Only if Uther dies can magic return to the land. Only if Uther dies will you be free, Merlin. Uther's reign is at an end. Let Arthur's reign begin. Fulfil your destiny!

[The dragon flies off.]

MERLIN: Wait! Where does it say my destiny includes murder?

KILGHARRAH: Free this land from tyranny, Merlin! Free us all!

I feel for Kilgharrah here. He was VERY straightforward. I don't know how he could have been clearer about this.

I won't say that Merlin's character writing doesn't make ANY sense here (I do think the character writing in this show is NOT amazingly consistent), because... he IS being influenced by Gaius, who is, unfortunately, a bootlicker and also probably extremely traumatized by all of the death he's seen (big contributor of the bootlicking) (also, apparently Gaius only becomes a "freeman" at the end of Episode 6, so there's that). And Merlin is also being heavily influenced by Arthur, who loves his father, despite everything. For Arthur's sake, if no one else's, Merlin will go out of his way to save Uther. Sure! That tracks!

Merlin spends a lot of time in this show protecting a terrible status quo under some assumption that Camelot will... somehow suddenly become better under Arthur? Instead of perhaps eventually just trusting Arthur and talking to him after their years of knowing each other? There are several, in-world reasons for this and I don't think they're all unrealistic! It's tense! It's thrilling sometimes!

(Though I am ultimately a little annoyed that Merlin's many secrets never really come out and get dealt with by the characters, because that would have been fun drama and some resolution to all the tension, even if the story did still end in death.)

There's some tasty tragedy in this silly show, in many ways. Merlin is confused and conflicted and scared and without clear guidance in many ways. Kilgharrah is mysterious and not at all reassuring. Gaius is complacent and (very reasonably) incredibly secretive. Merlin doesn't get to see many of the moments where Arthur speaks up for magical people and tries to talk Uther down. Morgana and Arthur are both stuck here in a "The hands that cradled you are covered in an unimaginable amount of blood." "But they cradled me, yes?" nightmare scenario. (There's also a sexist element where male characters like Gaius and Merlin won't let Morgana know about her own powers "for her own good" in a gaslight-y way that's fascinating to me in how it creates a villain.)

But, also, the compelling tragic elements here don't make certain episodes any less frustrating to watch in their execution. (I don't think villains being frustrating to watch or read necessarily makes them effective villains, especially when what I really find annoying here is the heroes' reactions to the villain. Uther has killed SO MANY PEOPLE! FOR NO REASON!) Especially when a lot of the overall results of this show often feel more accidental than purposeful. I do understand why the writers keep Uther around! He's a formidable antagonist to have looming all over the place and the actor is fun.

But OOF, I felt that "Do... Nothing".

Merlin! MERLIN! LISTEN TO THE SCARY DRAGON! MERLIN, REMEMBER THAT TIME UTHER TRIED TO BURN GWEN ALIVE??? JUST BECAUSE GWEN IS TOO NICE TO GO AFTER UTHER WITH A KNIFE AND TAKE REVENGE, IT DOESN'T ACTUALLY MEAN KILLING HIM MAKES YOU "JUST AS BAD"!!! MERLIN!!! YOU HAVE ALREADY MURDERED MULTIPLE PEOPLE WHO KILLED WAY LESS PEOPLE THAN UTHER!!!

In Episode 4, Morgana says to Uther: "You can't chain [Arthur] up every time he disagrees with you." This implies to me that Uther has had Arthur thrown in the dungeons before. In Episode 3, Arthur says to Morgana: "Father will slam us both in chains if he knew I'd endangered you," and maybe he wasn't at all joking with that? Arthur is rattling the bars of his cell here, apparently fairly ready to be aimed wherever Merlin points him, bucking against being aimed at innocents by his tyrant of a father.

But nooo, Gaius says Arthur is "not ready yet" because...??? He seems less hotheaded than Uther to me, honestly. Are his tax policies not up to par yet? You can hire a guy for that. Suggesting that Arthur would be in any way worse than His Majesty "Anyone Who Talks To A Sorcerer Gets Executed Even If They Didn't Know They Were A Sorcerer" feels quite mean to Arthur, really. I think he'd do alright, in comparison, Gaius who lies to the King every single day, but I suppose you sometimes want to be a loyal friend to good ol' King "Made Merlin Drink Poison That One Time And Wouldn't Let Anyone Go Get The Cure". Good for you. Bad for everyone else.

Like, I know, I know this show is not very deep. I like that all of the characters are flawed and fumble a lot! I even kind of enjoy that it ultimately ends in death with so many loose emotional threads. It is a weekly burst of fantasy nonsense that is not especially concerned with consistency in worldbuilding or characters from episode to episode. But the executive discrepancies here are, like the ones in "Star Wars", weirdly fascinating with all of the holes and wobbly bits it creates.

This show: "Yes, our hero has once again saved the tyrannical king who kills innocents! Preventing the oblivious prince from assuming the throne and trying to do better as he so clearly wants to do! Good work, Merlin, taking the high road (which involved murdering the rightfully angry people trying to kill the tyrannical king) again!"

Me, every time: "...I am genuinely not sure how the show wants us to interpret this. What did they think they were doing with this? Was this always meant to be a tragedy from the first season? Because personally, I'm getting some kind of tragedy from this."

[dilatorywriting]

I feel we are all super mean to the reader with Siren Vil??? Are they actually stupid or is it just that they can’t understand what’s going on? Which is kinda valid considering their situation?

I mean it has to be hard for them, right? Not only do they have trouble communicating with THEIR world since they are almost 100% deaf, but then you have the extreme cultural differences of trying to communicate with someone who exists in what is basically from a completely DIFFERENT world (part of your world reference anyone?).

I just feel like, while they may not be a genius or anything, it’s kind of mean to be expecting them to know what’s going on when they have so much working against them. We’re calling them stupid for not understanding that the necklace was a courting gift and that the siren would come back for them… why would they think that?

They could tell the necklace meant more to the siren than they thought it should have and it made the siren more friendly, but why would that equate to what is basically marriage and never leaving them behind? And the reader knows the siren wants to get back to his pod really badly. While they became friends and got attached, that wouldn’t mean he would come back to help the reader. Of course the reader is going to see a ship and try to get off of where they were marooned.

As dumb as the reader CAN be sometimes (like when they took a bite of the cooked crab without removing its shell 🤦‍♀️) I really don’t think they’re THAT stupid. They’re just… on the level of someone who was probably an uneducated kid when they snuck aboard a pirate ship and never looked back and now they’re an adult. You mentioned in one chapter I believe that Riddle taught them to read I think? Or something?

I LOVE this story, don’t get me wrong. At all. Ever. I adore it.

The fact that I’m even here hanging out on the author’s blog shows how much I love it - and your other writing. I guess it’s just been getting to me a little how we all seem to slam Siren Vil’s reader so much. Maybe I’m just making mountains out of molehills. Maybe you’re just being sarcastic and I’m missing the cues because I’m neurodivergent and I do that sometimes. If so I’m sorry.

To end on a good note, I’m really happy you’re back and are doing better. I know how much brains can suck. If your demons are too mean to you, just send Reaper Rook after them. He’ll take care of them for you, I’m sure of it! 💚🖤

I think it’s mostly said out of love, like how when you pick up a cat to give it cuddles and call it a stinky lil garbage gremlin even though you would die for that creature. The Reader in this is someone I try to write as having inconsistent levels of intelligence. Great planner, great at setting goals and reaching them, but TERRIBLE emotional intelligence all around. Not just in Siren Language. Just overall is blind to a lot going on around them. And yes, the added layer of communication difficulties certainly don’t help, but this is a reader I fully see as one who even *if* they had super sight, hearing, and intellect would still be missing the point of things simply because they’re stubborn in their perception and lock onto that One Thing rather than being willing to see the bigger picture. Even when the evidence is staring them right in the face. Which is why we lovingly call them a big ol doofus.

[mosneakers]

Alex: [Smiles warmly] Hi Coraleye…

Coraleye: [Smiles back] Hi Alex…

Alex: Ready for one last take before we officially call it a wrap?

Coraleye: I guess so! Alex: So how’s life treating you now? You adjusting okay?

Coraleye: Oh… well it's been a whirlwind, to say the least, heh. But I’m finding my footing again. Finally finishing up school. Just barely keeping my head above water some days, but yeah, I’m getting by. Trying to find my new normal.

Alex: [Nods thoughtfully] I want to talk about that a little bit. You’ve had to deal with the aftermath of everything that happened on election night. Do you remember when Cam and I came out to visit you in Brindleton Bay?

Coraleye: Mhm. I sure do. You interviewed some girls I went to school with.

Alex: So, Mackenzie, Briella, Logan… I’m not sure how much you’re aware of, especially with how quickly the media coverage was shut down after election night. But I’ve gotta ask—have you reached out to Coraleye at all since then? Offered any kind of support?

Logan: [Quickly glances at Mackenzie] I’m not sure if we got the chance to reach out yet, have we? Mackenzie:[Feigning innocence] She hasn't filled us in completely, but we’ve heard bits and pieces... Briella: We heard about her and her boyfriend. They broke up, right? [Big grin] Life has a cruel way of teaching us lessons!

Mackenzie presses her lips together, appearing to hold back a laugh, but finally cracks as a sharp cackle spills out.

Mackenzie: Oh my mod, Briella, stop! You can't say that! I just love you. So sorry about her, she's so crazy. Anyways, yeah. We wish her the best. I hope it all works out for her, I really do.

Cam: Well, I think that will probably do it for now, thank you ladies. Alex: Cam's right, thank you for your time. We'll be in touch. Have a happy Harvestfest.

Several weeks later, Britechester-

Alex: Cam and I try not to get too involved with work matters, but I'll be honest, that interview was upsetting. I wonder if they'd still be snickering if they saw what you've been through in these past few months.

Coraleye: Nah, they're the least of my worries. Pretty sure I got the last laugh when it comes to them. [Mischievous grin]

Alex: I'm in awe of your optimism, Coraleye. After all this, you’re really not bitter? I mean, look at Tycho—he lied, tried to erase your memories. And you still take the high road?

Coraleye: Oh no, please don’t get me wrong, Alex! I definitely went through—and sometimes still go through—my naughty phase, from time to time. Alex: [Leans in] You have my attention... Coraleye: Maybe it was for revenge, or a way to cope, or maybe deep down I was just really lonely and had a void to fill. Either way, it got me through some dark times. Perhaps you should book a follow-up interview with Briella, ask her if she found my panties in her boyfriend's room yet. [Waves at camera, winks, and mouths, ‘Hey, Pierce!’] Alex shakes his head amusedly and softly chuckles.

Alex: Damn! You really don't mess around. I'm guessing this doubles as punishment for Tycho as well?

Coraleye: Nope. Actually, his punishment is even better. I'm giving him exactly what he wants. After this documentary is over with, I'm erasing all of our shared memories together. He wanted to mess with my mind so badly, I'll do it for him. Alex: And how do you do that?

Coraleye: Through a spell, of course. You didn't forget that I'm a spellcaster, did you? I'll put the memories in an amulet and give it to our sage of untamed magic. They'll perform a ritual to destroy the memories. Alex: Wow. Remind me to never break your heart... Coraleye: [Smiles] Oh, I will. Alex: [Sighs] Well... Last question we're asking everyone else: Is there any question that you have, after all of this, that still haunts you?

Coraleye: [Tilts head, as she pauses to think] Hmm… I’ve still got to write that paper on my ten-year plan, and somehow I feel even more lost than before. I guess it’s time to start figuring that out now.

[anomaliex]

Freshman year Fabian loves his friends dearly but he still feels pressure to conform to what he’s been taught is perceived as cool and awesome and like, doesn’t openly want to be best friends with Riz because he’s a loser nerd. Which is mostly canon right? But then he grows into doing whatever the fuck he wants and making it cool because it’s him doing it later. I think that he also gets much more open in his affection towards his friends that aren’t rockstars (and at the time on the Owlbears), especially Riz, who is his best friend amongst best friends (or potentially more if you like Fabriz, but this isn’t a ship thing).

This is awesome for Fabian, but I like to think about how it feels from Riz‘s perspective? It happens suddenly. I mean it took a few sessions, and a few in game days, but he did drastically change over spring break. Which means the last day of school was "Fabian pretends not to be close to me in front of cool people. Which I get haha, that’s fine." and then the next school day afterwards was,,,,not that anymore. I think at parties and stuff Fabian would actively seek out Riz (if he’s there at all lol) after mingling with cool kids because he’s like wow that was fun I’m gonna talk to a person I like more than these guys now and Riz is just? Confused? Yes he understands what changed and this is awesome but it probably takes a while to get used to.

Fabian isn’t the biggest on self reflection, but after abandoning his macho champion persona I do think he would realise that he’s been a little shitty, sometimes. Which doesn’t really speak to what kind of person he is in my opinion, because there’s no one who acts shittier in interpersonal relationships than dumb insecure teenagers, and he fixes it! And I don’t know if he’d verbally apologise but he’d at least get his friends (again, especially Riz) a bunch of stuff and they could probably all tell what’s going on (except Gorgug who has a track record of shitty insight despite decent wisdom in theory). But also maybe he would say sorry, both being a bard and getting in touch with his elven roots would make him more, like, emotionally available I think. (Side note, I do believe most high elves are kinda stiff and suppressed etc. Look at the Abernants and associates. But Telemaine is all about poetry and really living life and self expression through dance. So I think that would positively influence Fabian.)

Oughhh Also Fabian wears the best friends forever necklace btw. It‘d probably still be mostly under his shirts or something but I swear to you he doesn’t take it off. They’re best friends forever fr (and he wore it before his no good very bad day and class change and stuff. He’s always liked it he just wouldn’t have admitted it before lol).

Oh speaking of post toxic masculinity Fabian, he should paint his nails. This is not related to anything I just like to think he would. Clear polish at least, nice and shiny :)

[knight-a3]

Heavenbound AU Masterpost

Alastor Redesign

I've spent an absurd amount of time researching deer, microphones, and 1920s-30s fashion for this. I'm by no means an expert of any of it, but I'm decently confident enough for some fictional depictions.

I'll include some notes under the cut, which does get a little long. I doubt other characters will get this detailed, but Alastor has a lot of design themes and motifs that were a bit too ingrained to remove. Everyone else is either simple in comparison, or much easier to simplify.

Alastor also just catches my interest in ways the others don't.

Design notes (I'll add edits notes as they come, should it be necessary)

My goal was to design him in a way that still felt like the same character, just altering the aspects I thought could be better. So a radical change wasn't what I was going for. That said, I had a logical reason for most of the changes I made.

--Deer-- Quickly, there's some regional terminology to clear up. In Europe, elk often refers to what North Americans call moose. And the NA Elk is sometimes called by an alternate name, "wapiti". I had never heard the term wapiti before researching this. And since I live where NA Elk are native (Rocky Mountain region), I think my terminology takes priority. Alastor would call them elk too. Before anyone says Elk aren't deer; yes they are. The word 'elk' basically means "big deer." They look similar to the Red Deer (Similar looking antlers, but elk are bigger, second only to moose, which are also a species of deer). It used to be believed that elk was a subspecies of Red Deer, but that's apparently been proven false. In NA, there are five main species in the deer/cervid family(listed from smallest to largest): Whitetail, mule deer, caribou/reindeer, elk, and moose.

Deer Sounds If you haven't heard deer sounds, I promise they aren't what you'd expect. Fanfics authors like to describe him making deer noises, but I'm not sure they realize what the sounds are actually like. I'll describe some noises, but search for them on Youtube, for both males and females separately. Using these terms will help you find specific examples. I listened to so many just trying to figure out how to describe them. Snort-They make a huffy blowing sound when alerted or alarmed. Often sounds like a bark. It's basically sounding the alarm. Does often make it when they're being harassed by bucks. Grunts- sounds like a croaky or clicky groan. Sorta like a frog or a pig. Sometimes sounds like cattle's moo. There are casual grunts, curious grunts, frustrated grunts, submissive grunts, low-drawn-out dominance grunts. Bleat- sounds more whiny, sheep-like, and higher pitched than a grunt. But it doesn't sound like a goat or sheep. It's used more by does and fawns. The younger it is, the higher the pitch. Really young fawns will sound like a little meep or maa. Snort Wheeze- sounds like a sniffy huff, followed by extended "F" sound. "sniff sniff Fffffff" There's a lot of air to it. It's basically an insult or challenge. Elk Bugle- much higher pitched than you'd expect from such a large animal. More so than a deer. It's an eerie, high pitched screech. They're basically broadcasting their location, looking for cows. Bulls will bugle back and forth, competing for attention. Elk chuckles and grunts- shorter versions of the bugle. Sounds kinda like monkey hoots. Elk Bark- alarmed or irritated. Sounds like a small dog's bark. Elk Chirps and mews- It reminds me of the curious sounds the dilophosaurus from Jurassic Park made. Or seagulls. They're just chatting.

What deer is he? Based on what I've observed, I don't think he was designed with any specific species in mind. I've seen others say his antler growth is most like elk, but I've found it inconsistent at best. Elk noises are used in the show, but that's because they make a distinct and eerie sound. More impressive than a deer's grunt or snort and wheeze. Personally, I think whitetail makes the most sense for him, since that's the species that would be most prevalent in Louisiana. While I'm basing him primarily off whitetail deer, he is a fictional deer-looking demon man, and doesn't have to perfectly resemble any single species of deer. His bright red color is clearly not realistic, for example. So I will incorporate some aspects of whitetail, mule deer, and elk, since those are the prevalent species in North America. I've given him a whitetail deer tail, but with the white swapped to black. That doesn't make him a blacktail deer, because that is supposedly a subspecies of Mule deer, and the tail does not look like what I am going for. Mule deer have proportionately large ears, and so does Alastor. Fans like to think they're soft and fluffy, but they aren't. I have felt deer hide, and it is NOT soft. I doubt it would be significantly different on live deer. Especially if it's anything like goats or cows(not even sheep are as soft as you'd expect). Deer ears are not positioned as low on the head as domestic livestock, but they aren't directly on top either. I wanted to maintain the upright position, because he didn't quite look right otherwise. I think I managed to get a decent balance. When he's particularly relaxed, his ears aren't as upright, but he rarely lets himself put his guard down like that. So it's basically just when he sleeps that they relax. His antler growth will vary based on a few different factors. When he is feeling confident and composed, the growth will be more typical to either of the three species. Whitetail or mule deer antlers will be more elegant, while elk antlers will be more intimidating due to the sheer size. But the more emotionally/mentally unhinged he gets(anger, fear, desperation, etc), the more nontypical his antlers will become. Which means there will be extra points in abnormal patterns. It's basically an indicator that he's not quite in control. He hates how it basically announces that, but very few people know that detail.

Anyway, here are a few references

--Life and Death-- For simplicity and easy math, I'm putting his birthday around 1900, give or take a year. He died 1933, which means he was around 32-34. Not very old, but not super young either. Lots of fans headcanon that he's biracial. Usually with a black Creole mom and white dad. His dad is often portrayed as abusive. Alastor is often thought to be fluent in French(Creole French). I want to propose an alternative. His mom is half-black half-white, his dad is white, and Alastor is consequently a quarter black. He is distinctly white-passing. He knows some Creole French, but is not fluent. I just think this could make for some interesting dynamics. Just to shake things up, his parents cared about each other and his dad wasn't abusive. But his father died in WW1, when Alastor was a teen. Instead, his uncle(father's brother) was racist and abusive towards them. Without his dad around to fend off the abuse, Alastor ended up killing his uncle in self defense and dumped the body in the woods/swamp/bayou. He had no remorse, and was rather enamored by the experience. Alastor always struggled with empathy. He was the type of kid to kill animals out of curiosity, and was fascinated by it. He felt more alive when watching the life fade from their eyes. His dad taught him to hunt, and he enjoyed the thrill of catching prey. A big part of hunting is understanding the prey's behavior and manipulating them. His parents taught him not to hurt other people, but after killing his uncle that went out the window. He justified it by "hunting" people he decided deserved it, in some twisted sense of vigilante justice. Really, he was just looking for an excuse. He primarily used guns(rifles for a clean kill, shotgun for efficiency, pistols "just in case" an unexpected opportunity presents itself) and knives for a real hands on experience. But in the end, if it got the job done, it could be used. He dabbled in magic and demonic deals while he was alive. He has a pop-culture-voodoo aesthetic, such as dolls that are connected to people and such. But I won't refer to it as voodoo, because I don't want to misrepresent actual voodoo. I will just call it shadow magic and be making up my own rules. More on it later. Radio was a comparatively mundane part of his life. It was his more relaxing pastime. He'd broadcast anything he liked. News, gossip, music, jokes, whatever. He could talk for hours, and his charisma was captivating to listeners. He did live shows too. An open mic was free game. While not aiming to be a musician, he was a decent pianist. He liked saxophone too. He preferred to dance though, and not many could keep up with him, even after some whiskey or rye. He died after being attacked by a rabid dog. He survived the attack, but contracted rabies, which there is no cure for. It attacks the central nervous system and fries the brain. Once symptoms appear, it's a death sentence. He went mad, and a fellow hunter put him out of his misery by shooting him in the head. He thinks it's an embarrassing way to die, so he's told a few alternate stories, sometimes with a grain of truth. He's amused by the gossip and speculation. Nobody knows the true story. These stories include the usual headcanons floating around. Let me explain why I don't like the usual death headcanons Mauled by hunting dogs- Hunting dogs are not supposed to kill the prey, just help the hunter find and catch them. A hunting dog that bites the prey might spoil the meat. To have a whole pack do that means those are horribly trained dogs. I don't buy it. Mistaken for a deer and shot by a hunter- Hunters should not shoot anything if they aren't certain of what it is. Otherwise they risk shooting something they don't have a permit for. At minimum, they should be checking to be sure they are aiming at a buck or a doe. To mistakenly kill a person is absurd. Also, to hit perfectly in the center of the forehead?? That had to have been intentional.

He started killing overlords partly because he could, and partly because they meet his criteria for "deserving it". He remained anonymous about it at first for a few reasons: 1. it was how he worked as a serial killer in life. 2. He enjoyed the thrill of the hunt and getting away without getting caught. 3. Watching everyone panic about the mysterious overlord killer while totally unaware it was him(seemingly unassuming) was amusing. Eventually, the novelty of anonymity wore off(partly because there weren't many consequences to getting caught like there would be in life) and he revealed himself as the mystery killer. Then he enjoyed the reputation and Overlord status. Eventually, being feared bored him too. So now he has to find some new games to play, which is where the Hazbin Hotel comes in.

--Fashion:1920s-30s-- Clothes: Men's outfits typically consisted of a shirt, waistcoat/vest, jacket, trousers with belt or suspenders, and potentially an overcoat if weather permits. If it was cold, I think he'd wear a black overcoat, to reference his earlier designs. I had to shorten the jacket a smidge, because they usually wouldn't be as long as in canon. Unless that's supposed to be his overcoat(in which case it shouldn't be so form fitting) The jacket lapels would generally be pretty wide. The pant legs would also be wide. Some of the pant styles could get rather absurd by todays standards. The basic idea was loose and boxy. The jacket, vest, and pants would be the same color if it could be afforded. But for the sake of visual interest, I've decided to ignore that. Neckties were more common than bowties. But that's more just an excuse for me to reduce the ridiculous number of bowties the show has. Belts were starting to become prevalent, especially in America. Since my research indicated that hunting clothes would use belts, never suspenders, I figured Alastor would favor belts. While hunting, he'd were a buffalo plaid shirt, a hunting cap, and some silly looking pants that were wide at the thighs, reinforcement around the seat and knees, and tight from the knee down, with either boots, gaiters(a shoe/calf cover to help keep clothes clean, similar to spats), or puttees(leg wraps that do the same thing, as well as provide support).

Monocles were used as a portable option for reading glasses, and not worn constantly. They were used to correct farsightedness, not nearsightedness. But they were fading in popularity, in part due to the association with prominent German leaders during WW1. Basically, I don't think the monocle suited Alastor.

Hair: I headcanon that his hair is actually fur. And as I said earlier, deer fur is not soft. It's pretty coarse and wiry. He probably sheds a lot too. His canon haircut is atrocious, so I had to fix it. The look of the time was short sides, long top, and slicked with styling wax. I've styled his hair in what I think would be the closest approximation to 1920s-30s fashion he could manage. Since it's fur, I don't think the wax would do a whole lot for him. He makes do with an approximation of a tousle top, which is basically minimal wax and slightly disheveled. Facial hair was not really in style in the 20s, due to the availability of razors. Cleanshaven was the ideal, especially in America. If a man did sport a mustache, it would be something neatly trimmed, like a pencil mustache. (I'm not totally sold on how I've done his hair in the below image. I may add some wave to it later. Also, don't mind his gun, I just didn't feel like drawing it properly.)

--Microphones-- I think Alastor would actually stay pretty up to date with a lot of things. But most people don't really realize it because he commits to his aesthetic. In regards to technology, if it has improved functionality, and fits his vintage style, he'll go for it. For microphones, he can summon whatever kind he wants. There are a variety of styles and types to choose from. I don't have any practical experience, but I did try to figure it out to a degree. There are three basic types he'd use, and they can look vintage just fine. Dynamic/moving coil: these are durable and less sensitive to background noise. It's the only one you can trust to survive a mic drop. Good for stage. Probably what he'd take out and about, because of the durability. Condenser: sensitive to sounds and capturing detail. Good for recording. Requires some extra equipment to prevent self-noise. Ribbon: Produces natural, smooth, warm sounds. Common in vintage mics. Probably Alastor's favorite, but they're fragile. Pop filters and wind guards help protect it from pressure changes.

--Color-- I tweaked the colors so he wasn't so overwhelmingly bright red. Overall just darkened his palette. His hair is a warmer shade of red than his suit. I also didn't think the green magic suited him. So his magic is more in the red to yellow range, because it matches his eyes and teeth(which glow, btw). Green will be an indication of either something poisoning his magic, or it's a borrowed power. I haven't fully committed to just one, and it might depend on what direction canon takes with his soul owner.

--Magic-- His stitching is an indicator that he's not really as composed as he seems. He's always a few threads away from tearing apart, but when he does he can always pull himself together again. He's in constant pain, but has also become so accustomed to it that he hardly notices anymore. I think he stitched his smile on himself. He wants to be smiling, and sewing it in place is how he can assure it never slips. It's part of his pseudo-voodoo aesthetic. Alastor was known to make overlords disappear, which shouldn't be possible without angelic weapons. But few people knew about angelic weapons before the show(himself included, I'm pretty sure). So I was left to ponder what he could have done to make victims disappear. I'm thinking the little shadow puppet gremlin creatures are the tattered remains of souls he's torn apart. I don't want to refer to them as voodoo dolls, so they will either be called variations of shadow puppets or gremlins. He usually offers fair deals, with or without a soul contract. Souls he owns--like Husk and Niffty--are added to his collection of minions, each minion has a gremlin that represents their contracts with him. But there are some that Alastor feels don't deserve fair treatment, so he tears those souls apart to broadcast their screams of eternal torment, then claims the remains of the tattered souls(whether he had a contract with them or not) and stitches them up into the shadow puppets. That way, they don't regenerate. Husk was lucky Alastor liked him, and offered a deal instead of just tearing him apart. Again, I don't want to misrepresent actual voodoo. So at most, it would be a corrupt version mixed with various pagan witchcrafts. It will just be referred to as either generic magic or shadow magic. If I need spooky symbols, I'll just make up my own. It will probably involve X shapes, to match his death mark. He became a powerful demon so quickly because he's clever, ruthless, and dabbled in magic in life, and was making demonic deals in life. Already having deals and practicing shadow magic gave him a significant boost once he died.

Some examples of his shadow puppet gremlins, plus his personal shadow buddy, which may or may not be the gremlin that represents himself:

--Wendigo-- No, I don't think he'd a wendigo. I personally don't think he was a cannibal while he was alive. He was a hunter who enjoyed the thrill of the hunt and liked venison(deer meat). The people he killed would be those he found disgusting, so I doubt he would have wanted to eat them even if he was so inclined. After death, he became venison himself, which can be perceived as cannibalism, I guess. He was cursed with insatiable hunger, which prompted him to branch out to more cannibalism from desperation. He still favors venison, which gets the closest to satisfying his hunger. Being dead has made him less concerned about cleanliness and hygiene, except when it affects the image he wants to portray. Then he became acquainted with Rosie, who was a cannibal in life. None of this makes him a wendigo. The concept of a man-eating monster or cannibalism isn't exactly unique, and I don't see a reason to apply that specific term to him. The original mythology of the wendigo does not include an antlered creature. I'm pretty sure that was more of a pop-culture addition during the 1900s. They're also more common further north where there are colder winters. Most descriptions say they are essentially ashen-skinned, emaciated-looking people(look at the game Until Dawn for a good example of that). Coincidentally more similar to the people of Cannibal Town. I doubt that was intentional, but the resemblance is still there. If any character was a wendigo, it would be Rosie. But I don't intend to explicitly make her one either.

[sevs-corner]

Back to more ideas on Tf 141: Mafia AU!

(Im world building rn + epilogue/ extra scene to the 1st Chapter)

Link to prev part:

So I was thinking how, the relationship would build between the 5 (Tf 141 and reader) naturally, ‘cause I want the story to build off of like small interactions and one shots but sometimes have like, coherent chapters in between to stabilize the “plot” per se.

(Im rusty with my writing skills and I kinda dont edit, ‘cause this is just practice for me but still lmao)

And I want it to be something gradual (just call it slow burn, they say) and I know I write interactions in a slow kinda way where it bounces back and forth from person to person, showing the reader’s perspective then subtly shifting to the character’s perspective— but I think I want to experiment into that, focusing more on dialogue and conversational exchanges that shows how close their relationship has gotten.

For ex, I was thinking how Soap was still wary of reader in the first chap- not as affectionate as he is with his mates right off the bat, he’s wary and it comes naturally in his line off work. You’re an oddity sure, but its not like he’ll put down his walls for you (yet). His speech is rough and clipped, not wanting to reveal much but letting you be privy to the information he can provide- in the mean time anyways.

Yet , at the same time, I want to show his attraction—

He’s enamored and has (maybe) a little crush, but who wouldn’t when you’re so pretty? Sitting there in the room where they grew up, blanket lazily draped across your form as your barely awake self tries to wake up on his bed, hair poking out in all sorts of places, drool dried at the side of your mouth but damn did he think you were a fresh sight to see in this city.

Maybe you were seducing him? Or was it the allure of the domesticity that was lacking in their relationship? He puts those thoughts to the back of his head ‘till he waits for the news of that meeting he was left out of last night- he feels its important when checking out who you really are.

They can’t afford to be careless, but on the other hand- you kinda were, when you first met them unfortunately, that is. Absent-minded and clumsy, that was what he thought of you as he stared at your tripped up self, sadly sitting in a puddle in pain. You were pale, shivering, and simply a mess.

Honestly, the more that he thought about it, the more it didn’t make sense to treat you like a threat. Well, at least not an active one at that. You could have been having an off day as a spy or an assassin, but if it were him— he wouldn’t be caught slacking like that in public, whether people knew him or of his occupation either way.

He could even see how you lowered your guard! Jeez, you should be more careful- especially with people like him and his mates- if you’re new to the place. He thinks you might be a lil’ looney for going to this place, especially that part of the city when all of its occupants know that it was mostly a dangerous area to get in to and stay at.

As the neutral hub for all of the mafioso around the cities, it is the one place for regular folks not to get involved in. (Unless you want to meet them of course, but he doubts that was your intention… or, shit- it could have been, considering how Price found something on you.)

Now he thinks of you as a potential client, which makes him feel worse of how off-handedly he treated you.

He knew he was gettin’ an ass kickin’ from Ghost if you were, surely.

Alas, what done has been done- at least you still treated him normally as he left, so he thinks he left a good impression.

Though, that wasn’t at the forefront of your mind right now.

Quite literally, you were being worked to the bone for information from the old Italian couple that helped you stay at their lodgings at the 2nd floor of their bakery.

“‘It’ll help un-fuck my week,’ they said but all gave me was a hope that my minimum wage self has to fight for as they get free labor in return!”

But you don’t dare say that, knowing you were speaking out of turn and out of misplaced anger so you keep your mouth shut- cleaning up the bakery for the opening in the morning.

The couple was sweet, but they were also strict, telling you that “you should move your arse so you can sweat off the sick!” Which… you didn’t want to make sense off so you just nodded, asking if that was the compensation for the information of finding your place, and they agreed. On the stipulation that you work and do all the chores on the list they handed you, making you gape and about to ask for a little consideration— but they quickly disappear, out of sight and out of mind, they say.

And you think that was better before you started mouthing off, not get anything, and then end up lost once more— which you wanted to avoid at all costs so you did sweat off the sick.

Albeit, you looked worse for wear.

Which Ghost bluntly points out as you waited their table.

…let’s just say that it was an overtime work-shift that you didn’t get money for and old italian people were slave drivers.

(yes, i made the love-hate relationship start with nonna and nonno)

[robolvrr]

late night adventures  ⁠`⁠๑🍻

swerve x gn! human bartender headcanons /

i need more of this adorable little guy.

sfw / suggestive under the cut.

"wait a minute. you gotta go to academy to make drinks?!"

you end up on the lost light completely by convenience. sure, cybertronians haven't exactly gotten the best reputation - a waging war following wherever they migrated wasn't pleasing for the planets caught in between a billion years of conflict. still, you're tired of working in a shitty bar with shitty customers and shitty pay.

while brainstorm first suggested to find a way to mass displace you (which you tend to just tune out his plans because he makes zero sense), the crew has settled on just making you a mech suit. it's not boxy, fitted for your frame. you don't have a helmet on because the mechs like to look at you.

kind of like a zoo animal exhibit to be honest. look, the alien in the tin can can speak!

you quickly develop some favorites. tailgate is adorable and cyclonus is terrifying but warms up to you over a few months. rewind is chatty. rodimus is.. rodimus. whirl has his charm and you love to hear skids ramble.

but who you really click with?

swerve.

my god he is OBSESSED. a human? on board? in his lifetime? at HIS bar?

it's even better once he learns you share interests.

you talk about your experience as a bar tender and yap his audials until he's melting. he loves it though.

he finds it interesting all the personal touches humanity tends to do for drinks.

like little fruits in fancy cups? burning a glass just for the fun of it?

"do you ever experiment with drinks?"

"well, yeah. to an extent."

"huh. do your customers sometimes offline for a lil?"

"... no honey i don't think they ever have."

please help him convince ultra magnus to include their trades for wines and spirits.

sometimes he lets you get behind the bar top.

he gets posted at your side and gushes like a goof. he finds the way you're able to talk and make drinks very, very impressive.

he learns to make drinks for you over time.

the first time you kind of gag and he freaks out, but you just end up patting his helm and choking out it's alright, he just gave his drink some extra kick.

HOOO. that is LIQUOR sir.

"what's wrong, starshine? feeling nervous?"

so. swerve isn't much of a flirt funnily enough. mechs laugh at his jokes and he's gotten some great connections, but not nearly the time to actually go out of his way (or shell) to banter like that.

it doesn't help that not a lot take him seriously. :(

when you talk to him about the culture of bartending, you joke about whether or not he had to sweet-talk his frequenters for tips and such.

he looks so confused.

"huh? why would i? you come to a bar to.. drink. right?"

oh boy.

you laugh though pat his shoulder when he gives that tiny pout of his. and you have the brilliant idea to show him what you mean.

it turns into a bet. if you can casanova the armor of em you win! and he'll get to see you in your full element. that means one night, human bartending - which drags in a HUGE crowd.

swerve bumps into mech after mech, shooting a lazy set of finger guns before knocking his way up to the bar. why was it never this busy when he was tending?

maybe he should hire the human. they certainly got some flair. for business purposes, of course. not like he's been thinking about them in the middle of the night staring up at the ceiling still as a statue. that would be weird. and creepy.

is it hot in here? it's definitely hot.

he eases himself on a stool. it feels funny being on the receiving end for once.

imagine his surprise when he spots you effortlessly zipping around, making drinks and finding him in the crowd! that look in your smaller optics sparkle and he feels the ship shift. is he having a spark attack? maybe premature crisis.

"hiya, handsome. the regular?"

he doesn't even look down at the glass you set before him, but it's his favorite engex mix and you remember, you remember what he likes. frag. you are a real sparkthrob.

"haha, already starting with the show, huh? you're gonna have to do better than that if you wanna prove your point."

it doesn't take a detective to sense how nervous he sounds. or an magnifying glass, because his gaze is a little focused on where your aft would be. your mech suit is real nice. there's orange and yellow accents, dark coal mesh barely visible between rivets of armor.

sometimes in the shower he thinks about how you'd look as a cybertonian. you'd probably be just as hot.

hot galaxy babe. ha. so he's a hopeless romantic and a xenophile.

"you're my favorite customer, swervey. just admit it feels nice to be pampered. big, hard-working mech deserves a little treat now and then."

then you toss that impish look over your shoulder, shaking two steel mixers together. the motion is standard. up, down, up down, up down, shake shake.

your grip is firm and confident on the equipment. your fingers can't really fit fully around the circumference.

he gulps.

"y-you're not slick. nuh-uh-uh. takes a lot more than saucy words from a pretty thing to get this motor running."

"oh. so you'd like me to demonstrate? i am a hands-on learner."

"this kind of talk wouldn't fly around here for long, sweetspark. makes me kind of jealous - you doing this for all the crew? cause i gotta tell you, there's some reaaaal bastards--"

thank primus it's loud in here. you don't help you know, tipping over the bar with a wry grin.

something pops into his mouth. an energon cube. raw.

"then it's good i just like teasing you."

you slide down about four drinks along the metallic table. swerve wonders if love at first sight is truly like the movies.

"tell you what. these drinks? on the house. and if you stick around.. i can teach you some chemistry outside of just making a damned good cocktail."

steam whistles out his vents.

..........

yeah. you won.

[hannahbisssssss]

Dinner and Diatribes (Nandor the Relentless x fem!Reader)

Author's Note: When asked to write this piece, I wanted to make it special for those waiting so long for its arrival. This will be split into two parts. I currently have part one (the majority of the work) done. However, chapter two is strictly NSFW and I'm separating both parts in case that doesn't interest you. I should be done with part two by tonight, so keep an eye out for it.

Warnings: Overprotective brother Guillermo, horny Nandor (duh), and an innocent reader. Take that as you will. Blood and violence (also duh)

Word count: 11,000+

Requested by @binks1004

This will also be posted on AO3 by tonight!

I sigh softly as I finish putting the last touches on my homework. Another assignment done. I look at the clock that resides next to my desk. 12:30 in the morning: shit… I should have been out of the dorms ages ago. I promised Guillermo that I would go to sleep earlier tonight because I wanted to make my way over to his house in the morning. Well, it’s not like I haven’t gotten less sleep before and still survived. 

Suddenly, my phone rings, and I jump in surprise. I check the caller ID… Guillermo. Shit. I hesitantly pick up the phone after letting it ring a couple times.

“Hello?” My tentative voice rings out.

“You should be asleep.” Guillermo’s voice sounds disappointed but not surprised. I almost hear the eye roll in his voice.

“Why would you call me if you didn’t know I was asleep or not? Who knows, maybe you just woke me up.” There’s a hint of snarkiness in my voice. As Guillermo’s younger sister, I felt occasionally obligated to annoy him.

“You were last active on Instagram 15 minutes ago.” Guillermo’s ‘I gotcha’ voice is laid on thick.

“…Whoops?” He laughs on the other line.

“Whoops is right. You need to go to bed, Y/N.” I feel the exasperation start to rise within me.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I had homework to get done before winter break. Is that so wrong of me to want to spend my full time and attention with you when I’m there at your house?” I decide to guilt trip him. I hear Guillermo sigh before I hear heavy footsteps on the line.

“Guillermo? Who are you speaking to?” The voice is distant, but I can swear I hear the essence of a Middle Eastern accent. The phone is clearly covered by one of Guillermo’s sweaters, as I can’t hear much of the conversation after that. I think I pick up the words ‘master,’ ‘sister,’ and ‘visiting.’ By the time Guillermo uncovers the phone, he responds almost sheepishly.

“Sorry. My roommate.” I am hit with the remembrance that Guillermo has four other housemates that he lives with.

“Oh, right… who was that?” My curiosity is piqued now.

“Nandor.” Guillermo says curtly.

“Nandor.” I repeat, testing the name on my tongue. “Is he nice?” Guillermo sighs.

“Sometimes.” I laugh. 

“I’m sure we’ll get along just fine, then.” I try to assure him. 

“Sure. Y/N, please go to sleep before you end up driving over here like an exhausted zombie.” 

“Alright, alright. I’ll go to sleep, but don’t be shocked when you see I’m active on Instagram for the next 15 minutes: I have a routine, you know?” I hear Guillermo stifle a chuckle.

“Yeah, okay.”

“You know you love me.” I tease.

“Of course I do. That doesn’t mean you can’t be insufferable.” He teases back.

“That’s the fun of having a sibling, I think.” Guillermo doesn’t hide his laughter this time.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” I can hear the chiding in his voice.

“Goodnight, Guillermo.” I hang up the phone and make my way over to my bed. I’m a lot more tired than I previously thought, as I plug in my phone within five minutes of my nightly doom scroll routine. 

The drive over to Guillermo’s house is nothing special. It’s cold, with some snow falling, but nothing I can’t handle. As I made my way over the Verrazzano-Narrows Bridge, I feel myself getting a little nervous. What if Guillermo’s roommates don’t like me? What if I end up biting off more than I can chew with this trip? I mean, I’m staying for an entire month. Certainly his roommates would get annoyed with me after staying with them for so long. 

Before I can panic myself any longer, I realize that I’m already at his doorstep. I raise my hand to knock on the door, but Guillermo is already there. 

“Y/N.” He says fondly. I smile and let my hand drop.

“Hi, Guillermo.” We smile and hug and get all the niceties out of the way. 

“Did you end up sleeping well?”

“After scrolling on Instagram for approximately five minutes, yeah.”

“I noticed you weren’t active super long. I was hoping that meant you were asleep and not on that one website I don’t know about.”

“Character.AI?” I say with a laugh. He laughs too. 

“Yeah, that one. Who’s your current fictional character of choice?”

“I’m embarrassed to say…” I fidget with my hands for a moment. 

“Now you have to tell me.” 

“I most certainly do not.”

As I walk in the house, I am met with an ornately-decorated foyer. The chandelier hanging from the ceiling looks quite beautiful, and I can’t help but stare in awe.

“Like it?” Guillermo looks at me taking in the scenery. 

“Holy crap, you must spend a fortune living here.” He laughs at this response. 

“If only you knew…” I give him an odd look but decide to drop it. 

“Well, it’s 9:30 in the morning… What would you like to do?” I ask him with a pleasant smile.

“Did you eat breakfast?” I shake my head.

“Let’s do that first, that way you’ll be prepared for any activities I have set up for you today.” Guillermo says with a smile.

“Ooh, what kind of activities are we talking?”

“I’ll show you around Staten Island, and that’ll give me time to debrief you on each of my roommates.”

“Yeah, where are they? You’d think they’d be up by now.” Guillermo suddenly starts to fidget with his hands.

“They’re kind of nocturnal.” I look bewildered at this statement. “They work at the railroad, so they have weird hours.”

“But I thought… I thought you also worked at the railroad.” Guillermo looks stunned and a little frightened by my statement. “I-I do…” Guillermo looks down at his hands.

“Guillermo. I’ve known you long enough to know when you’re telling a lie. Did you get fired or something?” He perks up at my statement. 

“Fired, yup! I’m just trying to look for new work, so I’ve been keeping busy with the upkeep of this house. Please, don’t tell mom.” I nod in solidarity.

“Of course I won’t. Your secret’s safe with me.” Guillermo smiles and visibly relaxes. Suddenly, another figure walks in the room. He’s bald, wearing a vest, and carrying a cup of coffee in his hand.

“Who’s this?” I perk up as he makes his way out of the kitchen. Guillermo shoots him a warning look. For what reason, I can’t be too sure.

“That’s Colin Robinson.” Colin raises his cup as a friendly gesture.

“Hello… You must be Y/N. Guillermo told us you were coming. You’re in for a lot of fun.” I smile at Colin, as he seems friendly enough. 

“Yes! I’m Y/N, nice to meet you. I sure hope I don’t become a nuisance too quickly.” He smirks at my statement. 

“Oh, I don’t think that will be a problem.” Guillermo shoots Colin another warning glare and for a moment, I could swear that Colin’s eyes brightened. Guillermo quickly takes my hand and leads me out of the house. 

“We’ll be back later, Colin.” I look at Guillermo, confused.

“What about breakfast?” He tugs at my arm again. 

“I’ll buy you breakfast, okay?” Guillermo closes and locks the door behind him, rolling his eyes at the thought of Colin. 

“He seemed nice.” I try to give him a reassuring smile.

“Yeah, well ‘seeming’ isn’t everything. Colin Robinson is one of the most annoying creatures on this planet.” I laugh a little at this statement.

“Alright, I’ll keep that in mind. Breakfast?” Guillermo smiles back at me.

“Breakfast.”

The two of us take Guillermo’s car throughout Staten Island. A diner, a mall, a work building, everything that sees me throughout the day sees a smile on my face. The minutes turned to hours and I suddenly feel the sisterly urge to connect with Guillermo. 

“I’ve missed seeing you.” I break the silence with my voice, knowing the words would ring true. Guillermo nearly trips in the shoe store we’re currently walking through.

“I’ve missed you, too.” Is his simple reply.

“I just don’t think you’d be able to understand the depth of my statement. I really fucked things up.” Guillermo stops this time, looking at me as I speak, as if seeing me for the first time in his life.

I don’t come from a functional family. I grew up Catholic, fatherless, and forced to grow up fast. The weight I bear is not something easily shaken. My mother loved me dearly, but was always worried about Guillermo. He was 7 years older than me. He didn’t have many friends growing up on account of his rather odd hobbies. By association, when I finally reached the age he was when he first started getting bullied, I was left friendless and alone. 

Life as an emotionally-mature person in an emotionally-immature body often led to grief beyond the imaginable. I knew as I grew up that there were things I would never experience. Teenage romance, of course, was the least-established of my facilities. The days boys would hit on me were over… Nobody wanted to be friends with the girl whose brother believed in vampires. What if it runs in the family? 

“I really messed up. I should have been reaching out more. College fucked me up and I think I was still holding a–” The words spill forth before I can even think. I only recently got in touch with Guillermo a few months back.

“You were never supposed to be taking care of me. I was supposed to be doing that for you. I should have listened to your feelings; spoken about your hurt.” Guillermo’s words nearly tear at my heart. There are moments like these with one’s family members that help one realize just how connected blood really makes us. Seconds turn to minutes turn to us sitting on the floor and crying together while a Shoe Carnival employee checks in on us. 

The day passes a lot more calmly than earlier. I’m not sure exactly how many times I am warned about each of his roommates. 

“It really sounds like you don’t enjoy living with them.” Guillermo grimaces at my words as if struck.

“I do enjoy living with them, but they are a particular bunch. I know you can be, too. I just don’t want anyone butting heads with you; they’d do that even if I were to specifically ask.” My face softens at my brother’s words. 

“It’s only one month. It’ll be alright.”

When we make our way back to Guillermo’s house, the lights are on and I can see shadow figures moving around inside, albeit with some paper in the way.

“Guillermo?” I ask quietly.

“Yes?” He follows my gaze before going silent.

“What’s the paper for?”

“They’re very private people. Who would I be to judge?” Guillermo nearly chokes on his answer.

“Do you think it was a good idea to invite me to spend my winter break with you?” I feel Guillermo’s warm hands clasp around my freezing left one.

“I would do anything to ensure your comfortability here. They’ll behave, I promise.” He shuts the car off and makes his way out of the vehicle, motioning for me to do the same. We make our way to the porch and Guillermo takes the jingling keys out of his pocket. As he opens the door, I peek into the foyer. Nothing. Nobody. 

“Where did they go?” My voice asks softly. Guillermo gives me a smile that could be perceived as tentative. 

“Probably the fancy room. The curtain is shut.” I immediately shrink into myself at his words. 

“They know I’m here. I should leave–” I begin frantically.

“No, Y/N, please stay. We can go and introduce you.”

“Memo, please. I know you’ve lived with them longer than since we lost contact with one another. I don’t want them to think to ask you why we stopped speaking.” There’s a rustling heard behind the curtain as it’s pulled aside. Standing on the other side of the curtain is a black-haired woman with green highlights. She is dressed in Victorian garb and looks superb. 

“I take it you are Y/N.” She says in her Greecian lilt. I give her a bright smile; years of acting makes switching from emotions a thing to do with ease.

“Yes, I am. Hi! Are you Nadja?” She smiles at me and I immediately take notice of her sharp canine teeth. Odd.

“The one and only. Come, come, you must meet the others since Gizmo won’t be introducing you himself.” Guillermo rolls his eyes and makes his way to the fancy room with a huff. Inside the room are two men. One sits on the couch with a pipe in his mouth, occasionally blowing out puffs of smoke. He shoots me a suave smile and I recognize his sharpened canines as well. I mentally take note of that as I look at him.

“My darling, who did you bring for us to meet?” His voice is strained and clearly fake. He knows exactly who I am. “This is Y/N, Gizmo’s beautiful sister who he never speaks of.” My face flushes a deep red and I feel Guillermo preen behind me. There is a throat clearing heard from the corner of the room. Out steps a figure that dwarfs the others. He is tall and imposing and every bit of the name I know him to have: Nandor. 

“Be nice to Guillermo, Nadja. You do not want to scare off his sister.” He steps closer and I feel his steps, both graceful and lumbering, get closer and closer. He is wearing a furred cape with some other cultural garb that does not seem from the United States in the slightest. He makes his way over to me with his broad chest leading the rest of his body. I almost pass out as I look up at him, feeling the air in my throat constrict. 

“Nandor.” He says in his baritone, holding a hand out for me. “Nandor the Relentless.” My mouth opens and closes like a fish before I spit out my own name.

“Relentless? Why’s that.” He doesn’t need to answer, as I’m sure I’d believe any answer he gives me. 

“Y/N. You have a very lovely name, as well as a lovely curiosity about you.” He replies. 

“Thank you, that’s quite kind of you.” I recognize now that I still haven’t taken his hand and I do, trying to shake it frantically before realizing how immovable he is. His steady hand lifts my hand to his lips as he keeps eye-contact with me. Normally, I’d explode from the attention, but I immediately clock his fangs.

“Is something wrong?” Guillermo’s voice chimes in and I realize I must have been staring. I blink a couple of times and come back to reality, noticing Nandor’s lips are still on my hand. Guillermo takes notice as well and swats at my arm. I pull it back in surprise and Nandor’s deep voice chuckles behind me. 

“Careful with this one. She’s fragile.” Nandor’s voice is both teasing and deadly serious, as if sending a warning to his roommates. Guillermo tugs my arm and leads me out of the room. I wave at Nandor and he gives me a smirk I can only describe as fond yet… hungry. After Guillermo drags me out of the room, I immediately round on him.

“You live with a bunch of cosplayers?” Guillermo shrinks from my anger. 

“They’re quite eccentric people when they’re not working at the railroad.”

“Speaking of, why the fuck are they here playing dress-up when they should be at work?”

“It’s a Saturday evening.” I deflate with Guillermo’s response. He’s right, of course.

“Okay. I’m off to bed.” Guillermo gives me an apologetic smile and as I turn away, I realize I have absolutely no idea where I’m going.

“Upstairs to the right.”

“Thank you.” I respond curtly before making my way up the stairs. When I make it to the top of the stairs and take the first right, I close the door behind me and take a deep breath. After my brain runs silent for a few moments, I decide to use the bathroom and brush my teeth. Of course, that meant exiting my bedroom, and I did not want to do that just yet. I wanted to take everything in. I look at my bed frame, an ornate metal one with a stained glass lamp on the nightstand next to it. Jesus, they took this whole cosplaying thing very seriously.

Guillermo’s POV

“Are you fucking kidding me? I asked you guys to do one thing: act normal! How hard is that? You were humans once, too!” Guillermo’s whisper shouting is quieted by Nandor, who places his hand on Guillermo’s shoulder.

“Laszlo, Nadja, leave us.” Nandor waves a dismissive hand at them.

“Fuck off.” Nadja’s voice is the first to pipe in. Laszlo is quick to recover as he stands and grabs his wife’s shoulders.

“Nadja, how about you and I go to our room and… discuss this new development in the house.” Both Guillermo and Nandor bristle at his statement for the very same reason. Laszlo drags Nadja out of the room before either of them could chide the married couple. When they finally leave, Nandor looks down at Guillermo.

“I would like to court her.” He says blatantly. Guillermo feels as if he had just been electrocuted. 

“Fuck no.” Guillermo is quick to recover from his immediate shock.

“Guillermo, she is a beautiful, unwed woman of childbearing age. Would you enjoy watching your sister turn into a spinster?” 

“Not any more than I’d enjoy watching her turn into your concubine.” Nandor looks as if he could snap his bodyguard’s neck. “You will not be courting my sister, and I’m so fucking serious. She’s a Van Helsing as well – she could kill you without a second thought.” Nandor perks up at this statement.

“I do enjoy a challenge.” Nandor’s voice is smug and steady. Guillermo storms out of the room, making his way to his room under the stairs. 

Y/N's POV

The house is cold and quiet. The fire in the living room does not create enough heat to reach where I am. Guillermo set up the room nicely, with a few extra blankets that will not go unused. I smile to myself as I make my way out of the room to head to the bathroom. Unfortunately, I smack into the chest of the person waiting outside my door. Nandor. He gives me a smirk, one of the fangs popping out of his lip.

“Hello, little Y/N.” I nearly shiver at his voice, but maintain my composure. 

“Hi Nandor. Sorry, I should have been paying more attention.” He gives me a friendly smile.

“You are quite alright. Do not feel bad. I was standing right outside your door, so I should be the one apologizing.” Nandor’s hands are clasped behind his back, making him look quite serious and almost otherworldly. 

“Yes. What were you doing outside my door anyway?” I look skeptical of him. 

“I wanted to apologize for causing any strife between your brother and you.” Now that was an answer I was not expecting. I swallow and try my best to not look phased. 

“I don’t know what you mean.” Nandor chuckles at my words, a deep and smooth sound. 

“Guillermo clearly cares deeply for you. I wouldn’t want to make a bad first impression.” Nandor’s voice is genuine, without a hint of any of the confident bravado he carried earlier. 

“I know he cares for me. Sorry, I’m incredibly tired and have to get ready for bed.” I gently scoot him out of the way and make it to the bathroom without looking back. I lock the door behind me, standing before the mirror in front of me. It is a humbling sight: I look as though the exhaustion I’ve felt since I was 12 was surfacing all at once. Realizing my face was getting red with that discovery, I covered my face to cry. 

What I could not see beyond the door was a stunned Nandor, able to hear my soft cries. He did nothing, and yet here I am, angrier than ever. I stayed in the bathroom for a long while, knowing I could not go out and face him again.

Nandor’s POV

As he stares at the bathroom door, all he can feel is completely helpless about the situation. Had he said something wrong? What did he do? All he said was that your brother cared about you. Was that so wrong? Nandor awkwardly shuffles to his bedroom, closing the door to drown out your cries. He could hear them slow and eventually stop, listening to your feet shuffle back to the room across his. He wants to try again, to reach out and tap your door; to ask you what’s wrong. He doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. He tries to ignore the feelings your emotions stirred within him as he listens to your breathing even out as you fall asleep.

Next Morning - Y/N’s POV

I wake up the next morning feeling completely out of it. As I opened my eyes, I felt all the emotions slam into me as they did last night. Fuck. Had I really gotten that emotional around Nandor? I knew that my emotions had gotten the better of me, and I wanted to apologize to him. He couldn’t have known that my and Guillermo’s relationship was a sore spot. Of course he wouldn’t have known that: Guillermo has always liked to keep his shame hidden. I sit up in my bed and groan, trying to catch my bearings. His door is right across from mine… Maybe I could sneak over and speak with him. 

Why I felt so drawn to Nandor, I couldn’t explain. Maybe it’s because he’s incredibly handsome, or maybe it’s due to the fact that he has no clue about me. A clean slate. That’s certainly what I felt I deserved at this moment.

I stand and make my way over to my door, opening it and running into someone for the second time in under 12 hours. I’m surprised to see that it’s Guillermo. 

“I’m so sorry,” are the first words that leave his mouth. I look at him skeptically. “Nandor told me you were upset last night. I should have known.” My face heats up in embarrassment. 

“It’s no big deal, really. I was just upset–”

“Stop. Please stop lying on my behalf. I’m your older brother, and I fucked up. I haven’t told you the whole truth.” That stops me dead in my tracks.

“What are you talking about?” Guillermo takes my hand and looks at me with an emotion on his face I can’t quite read. 

“I know I’ve been obsessed with vampires since I was a kid, and I hoped above hope that they were real. So real that I went looking to find them. I found a job application when I was 19 that seemed suspicious enough, so I showed up here: to this house,” I shake my head in confusion as Guillermo continues. “I was met by Nandor at the front door, who took me in for an interview. The job detailed the upkeep of the house and what being a servant–a familiar would be like.”

“A familiar? What the hell are you talking about?” Guillermo takes my hand and continues.

“I haven’t been working at the railroad for all of these years… I’ve been working for Nandor, Nadja, Laszlo, and Colin Robinson. I’m a familiar. They’re vampires.” My face turns blank for the first few seconds after he said the words I desperately did not want to hear. 

“Are you serious?” I can see Guillermo’s face fall. “After all these years, you still don’t care about how your actions affect other people. Do you know what it was like? Taking care of mom when all she wanted to do was see her son. Getting bullied at school for being your sister?” I wrench my hand from Guillermo’s grasp. “I get that us getting back on speaking terms is new and exciting because I’ve missed you, but don’t fuck with me about this,” Guillermo quickly grabs my hand again and drags me to Nandor’s room.

“I can prove it. Look,” Guillermo opens the door to Nandor’s room and there, laying in the middle of the room, is a large coffin made from some of the finest wood I’d ever seen. 

“What the actual hell,” my voice is quiet but certainly not calm. “What is this?”

“This is where Nandor sleeps. He sleeps during the day because he’s a vampire, not because he works night shifts. If he touches the sunlight, it hurts him. And if he steps fully into the sun, it will kill him. That’s why the windows are boarded up; that’s why this house looks so haunted: because it is. It’s haunted by the vampires who have lived in it for over 100 years,” I cover my face again and pull my hand from Guillermo’s grasp. 

“You’ve actually been galavanting around with vampires for over a decade?” I am dangerously calm. 

“I don’t know if ‘galavanting’ is the right word, but–”

“Well, what would you call it? Leaving your family behind to live with vampires. Some fantastical fucking dream you got to have,” I turn away from Nandor’s coffin, feeling scorned. 

“Y/N, I’m so sorry. I can’t take back those years that I left you and mamá, but I want to make up for it.”

“You left us! For years, you left us! And what am I supposed to do? Be fine that you were gone for so long, only to be living your dream,” I sit against the wall, sliding to the floor. “While I was stuck taking care of mamá, who wanted nothing more than to have her son back. Do you know what that’s like?” Guillermo takes a step closer to me, slowly sitting next to me. 

“No. I don’t. But I want to. It’s not fair that I was gone, but I want to have you back in my life–”

“Did you tell mamá?” Guillermo looks ashamed and it’s all the answer I need. “Why would you ever trust me with this secret?” 

“Because I can’t try to satisfy you with lies. I’ve done that for long enough,” Guillermo looks at me with such sincerity it almost hurts. I sigh, feeling a headache coming on.

“Is there anything else I should know?” I look at him from between my fingers.

“...We are descendants of the Van Helsing family,” I immediately groan and put my head back in my hands. 

“What does that entail?” Guillermo takes a breath as he prepares to explain.

“It means that you’re probably unnaturally good at spotting vampires. I noticed you noticing their teeth last night,” I look up at Guillermo again.

“You did?” Guillermo laughs at my question. 

“Maybe it’s why I was so good and seeking vampires out in the first place,” a small smile appears on my face at his statement. 

“Guillermo De La Cruz: always alone, traversing between two worlds,” I give him a smile as I take my hands off my face.

“Not alone anymore,” he replies with an openness I had not yet seen from him. 

“Not anymore, no,” Guillermo wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close to him.

“Yes, yes, that’s nice. Now Guillermo, please flee from my room with your sister so I may slumber,” comes a voice from the coffin. I almost forgot we were in Nandor’s room. I laugh at his words. 

“Shit, sorry Nandor,” Guillermo says as he stands, pulling me to my feet. 

“Yeah, we’ll go,” I say as I start to leave the room. Guillermo closes the door behind him and looks at me a moment before we both start laughing. 

“Whoops,” Guillermo says first. 

“I guess I didn’t think vampires could be light sleepers,” I reply. 

“They most certainly can. Breakfast?” Guillermo asks. 

“Yeah, just give me a few minutes to do my morning routine. I need to brush the heart-to-heart out of my teeth,” Guillermo laughs and makes his way down the stairs. 

“See you in a few!”

After taking the time to do my morning routine, I make my way down the staircase to the kitchen. Before I can get there, I’m intercepted by Colin Robinson, who is, once again, holding a cup of coffee and wearing another vest. I shuffle nervously on my feet, now come to the realization that I am surrounded by vampires.

“What makes you so different?” I blurt before I can stop myself. Colin looks bewildered. “Good morning to you, too,” he mutters. 

“I’m sorry. Good morning. What I meant was, if you’re a vampire like everyone else, why can you be awake in the daytime?” Colin takes a sip of his coffee. 

“Your first assumption was incorrect: I am not like everyone else. I’m an energy vampire: a daywalker,” I nod at his explanation, though I’m still confused. “I feed off of people’s negative energy. Energy vampires are the most common of vampires, and I’m sure you’ve met some before meeting me.”

“Are you draining me right now?” I ask cautiously. Colin seems to find this amusing.

“No, no. I do it when you least expect it.” His words hang in the air for a moment before Guillermo peaks out of the kitchen. 

“Leave her alone, Colin,” Colin’s eyes glow blue at Guillermo’s words. So his eyes were glowing yesterday. 

“Go and enjoy breakfast. I sure have enjoyed mine,” Colin smirks before walking away. I make my way to the kitchen and prepare for the rest of the day. 

The rest of the day is rather mundane. Guillermo told me I should start getting used to taking naps in the daytime if I wanted to spend time with the vampires. When asking him if he was going to take a nap, he merely laughed. 

“The job of a vampire’s bodyguard is never-ending,” he responded.

“I thought you were a familiar,” I eye him.

“I was, until the vampires got attacked by other vampires,” Guillermo responds as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. I guess, for him, it has been his normal.

“Should I be worried?”

“Not with that Van Helsing blood in you,” Guillermo nudged me. “Now get some rest.” So I did. The day was spent in a mostly-dreamless slumber as I tried to preserve my energy for the nighttime. Being a college student, changing my sleep schedule was certainly not hard. I woke up to my alarm and checked the time, seven o’clock. I rub my eyes and sit up, seeing the sun had already set below the sky. Being wintertime, it gets dark a lot earlier than I’d like. Maybe vampires enjoyed the winter more for that same reason. 

While pondering existential questions about vampirism, I peek out my door to make sure I won’t run into anyone else. As I look across the hallway, I see Nandor’s door is already open. I make my way over to his room, trying to be as quiet as possible, as if sneaking into somewhere I shouldn’t be.

I look inside his door and see his coffin opened. As I survey the rest of the room, I do not find him anywhere. 

“It is rude to try and sneak up on a vampire such as myself,” I jump in surprise and turn around. Nandor stares at me, a smirk playing at his lips. 

“I wasn’t–I didn’t–” He chuckles in that same deep baritone. 

“You’re not too sneaky for a Van Helsing,” I stand a little taller and cross my arms.

“Van Helsing or not, I’m still a De La Cruz,” Nandor raises an eyebrow at me. 

“I can see the resemblance between your brother and you. Come, would you like to sit?” Nandor gestures to a couple of chairs in his room. “The others are probably out hunting for the night,” I feel my blood go cold at his words. Nandor chuckles again before speaking, “Don’t worry – I ate yesterday in preparation for your arrival,” I feel his eyes on me as I sit in the chair. He moves to sit next to me. 

“Do you… kill people?”

“Yes,” his response is quick and almost cold.

“Do you enjoy it?” Nandor sighs.

“Only sometimes. Those are boring questions. I hear them too often. Let’s talk about something more interesting,” Nandor feigns a yawn which elicits a smile from me. 

“How old are you?” Nandor peers down at me from the corner of his eye, smiling. 

“I am over seven hundred years old. How old are you?” I suddenly feel much more shy and self-conscious. “Oh, come now, don’t tell me you don’t want to answer any of my questions.”

“I’m 23,” I respond quickly, as if challenging his words. 

“But a sprout amongst the trees,” Nandor’s words flow from him. “Y/N, I like your name.”

“Thank you… It’s a family name. Where does ‘Nandor’ originate?” Nandor smiles proudly. 

“From Hungary. It’s a version of ‘Ferdinand,’” Nandor says the name with a hint of distaste. 

“You’re Hungarian?” Nandor immediately shakes his head.

“No. I’m from Al Quolnidar. It used to be part of the Ottoman Empire, but now would be southern Iran.”

“I feel like I’m getting a history lesson,” I say with a laugh.

“Do you enjoy learning?” Nandor asks, blinking slowly at me. I pause for a moment, wondering how to respond.

“Yes, I think I do,” Nandor’s chest seems to puff up proudly, like a bird showing off his feathers. 

“Then I shall give you history lessons whenever you please.”

And he does. Days pass in the house and I always await Nandor’s rising in the night. I spend some of my time getting to know everyone in the house, but Nandor, of course, steals my attention most of the time. We spend long evenings and nights getting to know one another. Yet, it feels as though my life is not as exciting as his. No matter how many times I state this fear, Nandor is quick to respond.

“Just because I’m ancient doesn’t mean I’m more interesting.” We agree to disagree on this front. During the nights we are not speaking to one another, Guillermo catches us stealing glances at one another in the kitchen or the library. He, of course, knows we both have feelings for one another, but tries to inform me of how stupid and dangerous that is. I hush him up every time, telling him to let me have my fun, as there’s no possible way Nandor feels the same way about me. Guillermo shuts up every time, going back to whatever he’s doing. During one of our nightly talks, Nandor begins to open up a bit more about his love life.

“I had 37 husbands and wives,” I nearly spit out my drink at the number. 

“Shit, I realize this is probably insensitive, but how did you keep up with all of them?” Nandor laughs and waves off my question.

“I loved 35 of them, so it was relatively easy. The other two were political marriages: women meant to bear my children to carry on my name,” I try not to blush at the thought. 

“That must have been nice–having so many partners to spend time with,” I try to spin the situation.

“Oh no, I spent most of my time with my concubines when I was on the battlefield,” I, once again, try not to choke on my drink. 

“Did you ever think it was enough?” The words fall from my lips before I can reign them in. Nandor looks at me, surprised by my question.

“No… I suppose I didn’t,” I frown at his response.

“Do you ever think about settling down?” The dam has opened. 

“I’m a vampire. All I ever think about is settling down for eternity. I lived enough lives by being a conqueror as a human,” Nandor looks at his glass, half-empty with AB+ blood.

“Seven hundred years is a long time to be alive. I feel like I’ve lived through enough as a 23-year-old,” Nandor gives me a look.

“You’re still young,” he says as a matter-of-fact statement. “Let the world open up to you.”

“I think I have had enough of the world opening up to me,” I begin to swirl the wine in my glass. 

“What do you mean?” Nandor’s curiosity is piqued.

“Helping out a single mom since you were 12 is not exactly a job for sheltered individuals,” I say with a sigh. “My mom needed someone to help out around the house after Guillermo left. I was that someone. It wasn’t all that bad, but it was hard.”

Nandor is suddenly hit with the crushing realization that he inadvertently did this to you. He took away Guillermo, he made it nearly impossible for Guillermo to reach out and speak to his family. Nandor takes a sip from his glass. If his face could blush, it would certainly be burning from his shame right now. 

“I’m sorry,” is his only reply. I give him a smile, one that he recognizes as a friendly but tired look.

“Don’t be. It shaped me into who I am. I like me,” I say simply.

“I hope you don’t mind if I were to ask you about your father?” Nandor immediately wishes he could take back his words once he watches my face fall. 

“I don’t remember much. He was a piece of crap who bullied our mother for a living. When he finally decided to get lost, I couldn’t help but feel abandoned. My mom loved me as best as she could, but that doesn’t mean it was what I needed,” I say before taking another sip of my wine. “Blood is thick, though. I am forever appreciative that I got this opportunity to reunite with Guillermo, even if that means having my worldview shattered,” I say with a laugh. 

“How do you do it?” Nandor asks as he studies my face.

“How do I do what?”

“How do you speak about such things with a smile on your face? You should be crying.”

“I weep when I’m alone,” I tell him as I look into my glass again. “It’s not very becoming of me to cry in front of people I don’t know that well, now is it?” Nandor also looks into his glass before looking back up at me.

“I would like to know you,” Nandor says those words simply, as if it wasn’t a declaration.

“I don’t think you would. I’m broken–” I start.

“I don’t know why you’ve convinced yourself you’re not worth knowing. You’re allowed to be angry with me, you know? I took your brother away for years, causing you to have to raise yourself. I would understand completely if you chose to hate me,” Nandor’s words spill forth like a waterfall. 

“I don’t hate you,” my face is burning.

“Why?” Nandor’s question is exasperated. 

“I’m not sure, but I don’t. You’ve given me every chance in the world to speak freely, but I don’t feel like hating you. It does not change the past, nor does it heal the future. I think just being in your presence now is a comfort. One I should not take for granted,” Nandor is stunned into silence. 

“Can I kiss you?” I am stunned by this question. I stand abruptly before getting ready to leave. 

“I should get going,” I close the door before he has the chance to respond.

Nandor’s POV

By the end of the night, Nandor’s room looks as if a tornado blew through it. Once he heard you leave the house, he began to destroy everything within it. He threw his glass of blood at the wall, watching it shatter with a cruel satisfaction. Of course you would not reciprocate. You’re too full of life, too wonderful, too good for him. Nandor roars in anger at each of these thoughts, destroying some of the furniture in his room. All that remains untouched are his coffin and the paintings of himself on the wall: all a cruel reminder of the warlord he was. The violent, cruel, evil dictator who took lives without care. Of course you felt the need to run away for the night. He made you uncomfortable, and he couldn’t blame you for feeling that way.

At some point in the night, there is a knock at his door. Nandor rounds on Guillermo, hissing as he stares at his bodyguard. 

“Leave me,” Nandor’s words are cold and angry. But Guillermo does not leave.

“What happened?” His question brings forth a thousand more thoughts in Nandor’s head, who clutches it as if it is going to explode.

“She left. I scared her away,” Nandor’s voice cracks from emotion, and he curses himself for it, finding a book on his nightstand and ripping it apart.

“What? How?” Nandor storms over to Guillermo, towering above him intimidatingly. 

“Leave. Me.”

“This is my sister we’re talking about. My sister, who is alone in the streets of Staten Island because of you. Now, tell me what happened,” Guillermo’s temper almost matches Nandor’s. Nandor lets out a frustrated huff before explaining what happened. 

“She was never angry with me. Never angry at me, the monster who kept her brother away from her for 14 years. She held no bitterness towards me about it,” Nandor turns around to hide his shame. “None, until of course, when I ruined it by asking to kiss her,” Guillermo falls silent with these words. 

“We have to go find her. She couldn’t have gotten far–” Guillermo begins, trying to ignore the feelings stirring within him.

“We don’t have to do anything. You will go and find her. I have done enough for tonight,” Nandor hisses, throwing a glare at Guillermo over his shoulder. There’s a pause between them before Guillermo glares back at Nandor. 

“Fine. Next time, stay away from my sister,” the door slams behind him and Nandor jumps, quickly returning to destroying his room. 

Guillermo’s POV

She couldn’t have gotten far. That’s the only thing he can think as he goes out to look for you. You couldn’t have gone too far. Guillermo, met with constant lefts and rights, decides to follow a path he had taken you on during one of your many daily adventures through Staten Island. Left, left, right, straight for a few miles… You couldn’t have gone far. He tries to think of all the possible places you could have gone. 

You took your car, of course. You left in your car to do whatever you wanted, and he had no chance to stop it. Suddenly, he remembers the pang of disappointment he felt in his stomach when you said you enjoyed going to bars. He took you to a bar a couple days ago. It had food, greasy food, but it also had drinks. That’s probably where you went. He tries to stuff down the thought of you drunk driving. You wouldn’t. 

Guillermo feels an immense sense of relief when he sees your car outside the bar. He opens the doors, a sense of peace washing over him. That is, until he realizes you aren’t there. Guillermo’s panic rises within him again as he looks around. He asks the bartender if he saw you – he hadn’t. You were sending him on a wild goose chase. Guillermo clutches his head in frustration, trying to think of where else you could be. That is, of course, until he hears you scream.

Y/N’s POV

I wanted to go to the bar for the shitty food. I knew it would make me feel much better after running away from Nandor. I had been mentally kicking myself the entire night over Nandor’s question. Why did I leave? I cover my face as I sit at the front sidewalk of the bar.

Commitment issues. It was always commitment issues. I felt so embarrassed for leaving Nandor hanging, but I was terrified when he asked to kiss me. I wanted to, of course, but I had never… I mean, what would come next? Marriage? Sex? The last thought sends a shiver through me. He’s a vampire. I’m just a blip in his long existence: an impermanent thing. I cover my face and groan to get myself free of those thoughts. Standing up to go into the bar, I reach the front door before I feel my arm grabbed by some stranger, dragging me away with a hand over my mouth.

I’m dragged into an alley, a knife pressed against my back. Yeah, this would happen to me.

“Don’t scream,” the voice is scarily calm. “I’m just robbing you. This will go as easily as you want it to,” he speaks the words as if they’re molasses stuck in his teeth. As he removes his hand from my mouth, I take a deep breath. 

“I don’t have a lot of money on me,” I responded brokenly. 

“Well, it seems we have a problem, don’t we?”

“Please. Let me go. I’ll give you the keys to my car,” I am pleading now.

“You think I want some busted car from a college student?” The knife begins to dig into my skin. I gasp and the man shushes me before whispering in my ear.

“I told you this would go as easily as you wanted it to. It seems you don’t care too much,” I shake my head and try to reason with him. 

“Please, I won’t tell anyone about this. I’ll go quietly. I’ll give you everything I have, it’s just not much,” the man removes the knife from my back and brings it to my cheek. He slowly drags it down the side of my face, certainly drawing blood. I cry out, beginning to scream for help. After a brief moment, I feel the weight lifted from behind me as the man is dragged off of me. 

“Don’t touch her,” I hear a familiar voice hiss behind me. I scoot away from Nandor and the man he is now holding off the ground. His eyes are a deep red; red as blood. With that thought, I raise a hand to my cheek, feeling the warm liquid running down my face. I catch Nandor watching me touch the blood on my cheek. He hisses at the man, and it’s a deep and menacing sound. “Look away,” his voice is deep and commanding. 

I tuck my head and cover my face. The moment I do, I hear a disgusting squelching sound, followed by a gasp from the man. I’m sure he would have screamed if he could, but I would guess Nandor went for the throat.

“Y/N, we have to go,” I uncover my face to find Guillermo staring at me, frantically trying to pull me to my feet. In a split-second decision, I turn to look at Nandor, who is crouched on the ground like a predator, face deep into the man’s skin. His eyes are on mine the moment I look upon him, and I can feel his relief as he looks at me. Guillermo drags me out of the alley, holding my hand the entire way. 

“Stop looking!” Guillermo commands as he pulls me out of Nandor’s view.

“He’s not going to hurt me–” 

“You’re bleeding,” Guillermo interrupts me. “I don’t want to tempt an apex predator, thank you very much.” He opens the passenger door and helps me sit down before going to the driver’s side. Guillermo speeds off in his car, headed back in the direction of the house. When I looked behind the car, all I could see was Nandor standing in the middle of the road, blood covering his face.

We got back home after driving for a few minutes in silence. When Guillermo parks the car, he looks over at me.

“Are you okay?” I cover my face and look away.

“Yes,” I responded curtly.

“No you’re not,” Guillermo puts a hand on my shoulder to comfort me, rubbing it softly. “It’s okay to not feel okay after something like that. I remember the first time I saw a human die at the hands of vampires. It’s scary. You shouldn’t have had to see that,” he speaks so gently.

“I’m okay, really. I mean, yes it was scary… I guess I’m just glad Nandor got there in time.” Guillermo nods.

“Me too. You can thank him when he’s not all bloodlusted,” Guillermo almost reads my mind. 

“I’ll just clean up and it’ll be alright–” I begin.

“No. He’s already got the scent of your blood. He’s going to be touchy for the rest of the night. We need to get you patched up and to bed,” Guillermo cuts me off. “That is a talk that can happen another day.” I finally relent, nodding in agreement.

“Okay… Can I go get cleaned up now?” Guillermo turns the car off and walks beside me the entire way, keeping an eye out for Nandor. “I’ll be fine, you know?” He scoffs at my words.

“You’re as stubborn as him – I’ll give you that,” he mutters under his breath. When we make it in the house, Guillermo helps clean me up. Luckily, the other vampires were nowhere to be seen, though Guillermo was sure they could smell my blood. “I’m going to put a cross on your door tonight. Give you a couple stakes…” 

“Would that really be necessary?” Guillermo shoots me a look. 

“I’m not taking any risks. He’s dangerous and I will not have my sister getting bitten by a vampire,” he continued to dab a washcloth on the wound on my cheek. 

“It’s going to be a huge, ugly scar, isn’t it?” There’s a hint of despair in my voice. Guillermo sighs.

“I don’t know… Probably… But not ugly! Let’s… not worry about that right now,” he tries to filter his words, but it’s really no use. He begins to use alcohol prep pads on my skin, causing me to hiss through my teeth. 

“Ow, that really hurts,” Guillermo’s face turns sympathetic.

“You’re very strong. I don’t think it needs stitches: it wasn’t that deep. Can I put gauze on your cheek?” I nod.

“Here we go. It’ll be okay. You will be staying in your room tonight,” Guillermo’s words leave no room for argument. I groan at him, rolling my eyes.

“Fine,” Guillermo nods as he finishes disinfecting my face and putting gauze over it. 

“You’ll bounce back quickly. Something tells me you always do,” he gives me a wink and helps me stand before pushing me into my room. Guillermo places a stake on my bedside table, then goes to hang a cross on the front of the door. 

“Is all of this really necessary?” My question is exasperated. Guillermo shoots me a glare. 

“Is keeping you safe from a deadly vampire necessary? Oh geez, let’s think about that,” I roll my eyes again at his words. 

“Okay, thank you. Good night, Guillermo,” I sigh and place the hand over my gauze. Guillermo’s eyes soften and he makes his way to sit on my bed next to me. 

“You’ll be okay, I promise. I just want to be careful, you know?” I nod along to Guillermo’s words. 

“Thanks. I know you’re just looking out for me. I appreciate it,” I say to him sincerely. 

“Just rest. The morning will be here before you know it,” he leans over and gives me a tight hug. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Me too… Good night,” I say to him. Guillermo smiles and makes his way to my door, closing it behind him. 

I wish I could say that I tried falling asleep, but I did not. I stayed awake for what felt like hours, tossing and turning in my bed. All I could think about was Nandor standing in the middle of the road, watching me drive away with Guillermo. There’s a level of guilt that falls on my shoulders as I think about that look he gave me. I hold my cheek, beginning to cry softly at the thought of my face being marred for the rest of my life. 

After crying for a long enough time to feel dehydrated afterwards, I hear the loud flapping of wings and a squeak outside my door. There’s a poof sound, followed shortly by a hissing as Nandor approaches my door. 

“Fucking guy,” Nandor hissed at the cross on my door. I stand, tiptoeing over to the door before cracking it open. Before me was Nandor, cleaned up and in the same outfit I saw him in earlier. His face immediately softened once he saw me. “Y/N… Are you okay?” He reaches a hand out and I flinch, a little afraid from what I saw earlier. 

“I’m alright, I promise. You… shouldn’t be here,” Nandor scoffs at my words.

“What did your brother tell you?” He spits the words. 

“He said you would be… touchy. I don’t want to irritate you,” I whisper, trying to make sure Guillermo wouldn’t hear us. Nandor’s face widens into a smirk.

“Oh no, my dear, wrong touchy,” I blush in surprise and he takes this as an opportunity to push past me, closing the door swiftly behind him as he carries me towards my bed. 

“Nandor! Please,” I protest as he lays me down on my bed, quickly following to curl up behind me.

“Please what, darling? Use your words,” he nuzzles against my face, nose rubbing against the gauze on my cheek. 

“I don’t– I can’t…” The words are lost on my lips and Nandor shushes me. 

“I know, darling. I can smell it on you,” he nuzzles against my cheek again, pressing a kiss to the gauze on my face. “A virgin, are we? I smelled it in your blood,” Nandor whispers as he puts an arm around me. I blush deeply in surprise that he was able to guess so easily. 

“I grew up very Catholic,” are the only words that leave my mouth. Nandor chuckles darkly.

“I don’t care. It doesn’t matter why, it matters that you are,” he kisses my cheek again. I shake my head again, trying in futility to deny.

“I ran away after you asked to kiss me,” Nandor stops suddenly, his grip loosening. 

“I will leave you if you wish it,” he continues to pull away. 

“No! I mean… you don’t have to,” I try to cover the desperation in my voice. Nandor chuckles again and leans in against me.

“You smell amazing,” Nandor continues to nuzzle against my cheek. 

“I shouldn’t have run away. I’m sorry,” I feel the remorse surge within me.

“Don’t be. I got a free meal of it,” he teases gently before nosing against the pulse point on my neck. 

“But I am sorry. I shouldn’t have left you. I should have told you that I’m afraid to get close to people, that it was never your fault–” Nandor nips my neck gently, causing the words to die in my throat.

“Hush, Y/N. Stop apologizing. I don’t want you wasting your breath on something I already understand,” he leans down and kisses my head. I flip to my other side, facing Nandor and getting a good look at him for the first time since the attack. His eyes are still a faint red, pupils blown wide with some primal feeling deep within him. I reach a hand up and push a strand of his hair behind his ear. I hear a low groan rise from his throat.

“What does it feel like?” I ask suddenly. Nandor pulls away to look at me.

“What does what feel like?”

“Drinking blood. Is it… I don’t know… enjoyable?” Nandor smirks as he looks at me. 

“I wouldn’t be able to explain it. Drinking blood is like nothing I ever did when I was a human. It feels so powerful, like something out of a movie,” Nandor gets lost in thought, staring out of the paper-covered window.

“What does it feel like for a human?” Nandor looks at me a moment, before answering.

“When I was turned, it was not a pleasant experience. I’m assuming that was due to the violence of the one turning me, but I’ve heard some humans find it to be a pleasant experience. Why?” Nandor asks the question he already knows the answer to.

“I… would you drink from me?” I look up at him shyly. Nandor’s breath hitches as he looks at me. 

“You would want that?” I nod, the words dying in my chest.

“Would you remember me?” Nandor looks perplexed by the question.

“I would know you through the rain and the snow, through every storm that appears in the night. Just because your blood calls to me doesn’t mean I will answer in violence,” Nandor leans down and presses a kiss to my undamaged cheek. 

“You make it sound so easy,” I whisper to him.

“For some, it really is.”

“Is it for you?” Nandor hesitates.

“No, but I will not forget you,” I lean forward and hug Nandor against me. 

“You saved my life once. I owe you, at the very least,” Nandor leans forward and captures my lips in a kiss. It is a deep and passionate kiss that conveys the days of yearning between us. I could imagine myself getting lost in that kind of yearning forever. The kind of yearning that leaves one seeking answers from the beginning of the first interaction. 

Nandor’s tongue presses against my lips, licking off any balm I put on there a few hours before. I open my mouth to him, breath getting stolen as he takes a greedy gulp of my air. 

“The second you view this as a transactionary agreement,” he starts as he pulls away from my lips, “you’ll forget how much I want to get to know you. I don’t want you to forget that,” he says as he presses a kiss to my nose. He pushes my head to the side gently, sniffing my pulse point and taking a moment to just sit there. 

“You’re so sweet,” I whisper to him.

“Sweet. That’s not a word that’s been used to address me before,” He laughs and presses a kiss to my neck. I giggle softly as he continues to press kisses to my neck. “I like those noises. You sound happy. I only want to hear you happy,” Nandor mutters against my neck.

“I hope that not always being happy is not a let-down,” Nandor chuckles again, nipping my neck softly. 

“Don’t speak as if you’re some consolation prize. I don’t care. I like you,” he mumbles against my skin. 

“Are you going to bite me now?” I ask, trying to deflect some of the attention he was putting towards me. Nandor nuzzles against my neck again, dragging his teeth along my neck. 

“The second you say it back, I will. I like you,” Nandor says, pulling away to look me in my eyes. I blush deeply, trying to maintain eye-contact with him.

“I like you, too,” I say as Nandor leans down and captures my lips in another kiss.

“That’s more like it,” he says, bending down and pressing a kiss to my jaw. He leans down and kisses against my neck, growling against my skin. “So warm, so soft, so sweet,” he sinks his fangs into my skin. It feels like a short needle prick and I jump a little in surprise. As I jump, Nandor’s hold on me tightens to keep me in place. I whimper a little as I feel him begin to take pulls of my blood. 

“That… feels really nice,” I mutter to myself, feeling as if I had entered a trance. Nandor groans as he continues to drink deeply from my neck. The sounds are lewd and wanton as my body curls into him. It feels as though a thousand hands are holding me against him, making me feel safe and protected in his arms.

He takes a couple more pulls of my blood before pulling away, licking the puncture wounds on my neck. He kisses the marks gently, groaning from deep in the back of his throat. 

“You taste divine,” he breathes the words as if they are keeping him alive. 

“That felt really nice,” I mutter, still in a daze. Nandor chuckles and holds my face in his hand.

“I’m sure it did. I made sure to be gentle with you,” he says as he kisses the spot where he bit again. There are moments like these that help one realize just how connected blood really makes us. It feels as if we are bonded in some way, and I can tell Nandor is feeling it, too. “I’m sure you can feel how intense things are right now. Just take a deep breath, okay?” He holds eye-contact with me and takes a deep breath, trying to get me to follow suit. When I do, he smiles and kisses my cheek. “Good girl,” he whispers. My eyebrows knit together with his nickname.

“Oh, you liked that, did you, darling?” He kisses my lips quickly before saying, “my good girl,” once again.

4am - Nandor’s POV

Nandor woke up with you in his arms, feeling the weight and security you offered him. However, after a moment of peace, he feels something pressed against his back. 

“Get up,” Guillermo’s voice is a deep warning. 

“Guillermo–” Nandor tries to speak.

“Get up. I will not ask again,” he hisses again, holding the stake against Nandor’s back. Nandor looks over as you begin to stir. 

“You wouldn’t want to wake her up, would you?” Nandor’s voice is a deep purr. 

“Did you bite her?” Guillermo already knows the answer.

“Only because she asked,” Nandor nearly taunts Guillermo, who grabs Nandor and pulls him out of the bed. 

“I told you to leave my sister alone,” Guillermo growls at Nandor, who holds his hands up in defense. 

“She invited me in,” Guillermo frowns at Nandor’s words. When you stir, they both look over in surprise.

“Did anyone think about asking me what I wanted?” You stare at the two of them, glaring at Guillermo. “Yes, I invited him in. Yes, I realize that may sound dumb to you. No, I do not regret it,” Guillermo bristles at your words.

“I’m just making sure you’re safe,” his voice is a strangled mix of frustrated and calm. 

“Unhand Nandor, dude,” you say to your brother, who begrudgingly lets him go. Guillermo storms out of the room, causing you to want to go after him. 

“Don’t. He needs a minute alone,” Nandor starts.

“You don’t know what he needs. I need to apologize to him.” You get up and make your way out of the room, heading down the stairs to find Guillermo fuming in the kitchen. 

Guillermo’s POV

“I’m sorry,” are all the words you can muster. He hears you from behind him and he turns around, glaring.

“I told you to leave it alone for the night, and what did you do? Not that. Certainly not what your brother asks you to do,” you frown.

“It’s fine, he was fine! Nothing happened,” at your words, Guillermo’s eyes flicker to the puncture wounds on your neck. She flushes in embarrassment and quickly covers up the marks. “Nothing beyond that.”

“I don’t care what happened between the two of you, I want Nandor to be good to my sister. I don’t want him to lose interest the second you lose your novelty to him.”

“I don’t think I’m some novelty to him. I think he likes me–” Guillermo holds a hand up to quiet his sister. 

“I need to speak with Nandor,” he says with a biting edge to his tone. 

“Not with that stake, you don’t,” Y/N says with a glare thrown his way. Guillermo huffs, standing up from the table and walking out of the kitchen without his stake. As he stomps his way up the stairs, he sees Nandor peer from out of his room. 

“You, me, talk. Now,” Nandor opens the door for him, allowing him entry. 

“Guillermo!” Nandor says with a friendly lilt in his voice, trying to appeal to Guillermo’s normally good-natured attitude. “What is cracking, friend? How has your day been going?” Guillermo looks at Nandor’s room, still in complete disarray from the night before. He turns at Nandor and looks up at him. 

“When you said you wanted to court my sister, I could have killed you. When I saw you holding my sister this morning, I almost killed you,” Nandor shrinks from Guillermo’s words. But, he sighs. “Be good to her. That’s not a lot to ask for, is it?” Nandor immediately shakes his head. 

“I will be the best to her. Only the best she deserves,” Guillermo nods, thinking over Nandor’s words. He huffs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“If you so much as break her heart, I’ll put a stake through yours,” Guillermo threatens. Nandor crosses his fingers over his heart.

“Scout’s honor,” he bares his teeth in a little smile at his bodyguard. Nandor nearly jumps for joy as he makes his way out of the room to find you. When he sees you at the bottom of the stairs, Nandor grabs you around your waist and spins you around, kissing your bandaged cheek again. 

Y/N's POV

“Well, that went well…” I say with a laugh as Nandor brings me closer to kiss my cheek. 

“It did. Better than I could have ever imagined, my morning star,” I blush at his nickname, which elicits a satisfied noise from Nandor. “You like my little nicknames?” Nandor leans in and kisses my lips once again with a surprising amount of gentle energy. He dips me once my feet touch the floor, breaking apart only to look at me with the same reverence as yesterday. 

“Yes, I could get used to the nicknames,” Nandor smiles brightly, his fangs bared. 

“Anything for you, little one,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss me again.

[wandixx]

You'll never find the aswers ch.4

Words in this part: 5547

Story summary: M'gann was having an amazing day. She met with her civilian friends, drank an amazing smoothie, saw a cute dog. For a few hours, she didn't have to think about problems that took more than 20 minutes to solve. For a few hours, she could just be Megan.

And then there was a scream of a woman, mother, who thought too loud and faded too fast and M'gann wasn't enough to save her and it made her whole world come crashing down

And then Danny found her, with a soft smile and patient voice. He kneeled beside her to pick up the pieces.

And shards cut them both in the process.

This part summary: M'gann and Danny hold a funeral ceremony

Trigger warnings: Mention of Character Death (should I still put it in chapter tw with... everything this fic is?), (Made up) Funeral Traditions, Referenced Cultural Appropriation (I think? I'm not sure. He means well, he's trying but he just couldn't learn everything)

Please let me know if I forgot to put something here

first chapter, previous chapter

M'gann's hands were trembling. It didn’t make any sense since she was sitting in a relatively warm room and just trying to force herself to do her homework. But her hands were trembling and her head was empty. She pressed her pen to the paper anyway and wrote her human name in the corner to at least have something. It looked wrong. Her handwriting always looked weird when she was holding her pen so hard.

Mountain was unusually quiet. Most of the time it was just her and Conner here, and neither of them were particularly loud, but usually there was something to be heard. Rooms were soundproofed to give people with super hearing some chance to rest and everyone else some privacy, but M’gann almost always left her door at least cracked. It still was too quiet. Like there was nobody there in a fifty mile radius around her. Her ears were ringing just enough to be counted as a sound. 

Artemis said once that when she couldn’t think of a way to start writing an essay, she would try to find a definition of the key word in the topic. It apparently was a good way to get started.

M’gann stared at the printed sentence for what felt like milenia and still didn’t know what she actually read, let alone identified a crucial part of it. Her brain just felt disconnected a bit. Not quite like she stood next to herself but like she leaned back a little.

She sighed and threw her head to stare at the ceiling for a moment as if it held answers to any of her problems. 

Knock… knock, knock, knock-knock-knock!

Danny was at her door, knocking on the frame. At some point or another, way back when she thought she could actually help and save people and be a hero people expected her to be, back then Danny would come around to her room a lot and along the way they created a knocking system. This pattern meant something important. 

She really didn't feel like she had energy for important. 

Knocking repeated. She got up and opened the door fully. Her telepathy felt harder to use lately, as a side effect of overall impairment of psychic powers Martians typically experience at the times of great distress. In her case it depended on a day. Sometimes she could use her powers like nothing happened. Sometimes, like today, even the easiest tasks felt out of reach.

Danny smiled solemnly at her and slowly held out his hand. There were two colorful spheres in it, a bit smaller than a ping pong ball and imperfect in shape as if they were handmade by someone inexperienced. Her fingers brushed on the uneven surface. Breath caught in her throat, her lungs stilled. She recognized the colors, she recognized the texture, she recognized the scent.

Those were mourning orbs. 

“Everything is ready” he announced earnestly, whispering as if it would be an utter sacrilege to speak any louder. She nodded. She looked back at her room, her eyes darting around anxiously. She was supposed to prepare urns. She didn’t even think about touching it.

“It alright, I've got it” Danny placated seeing her fear and shifted his bag to bring her attention to it. He was so gentle that M’gann wanted to cry a bit. What did she do to deserve it?

He held her hand now, soft and tender. There was an unexpected comfort coming from his familiar calluses rubbing against her still bruised skin.

“Are you ready? We can do it another time if your not”

Her vision blurred a bit but she nodded, exiting her room. They began walking, Danny leading the way to the place he found. She couldn’t bring herself to wonder where it was. Contact helped her stay more firmly in her body but her thoughts were still fuzzy around the edges. Their footsteps weren't making any sound. Danny most likely shared his intangibility with her, to make sneaking around easier. She was familiar with the tingling of her skin it caused.

He was careful but sure in his route. His head was slightly tilted, like always when he was continuously using his enhanced hearing. He was probably making sure they won't bump into anyone, even if they could turn invisible the moment someone showed up. If they wanted to disappear at all, in theory nobody should stop them from just coming outside.

She appreciated it. She didn't want to see anyone else right then.

She rarely thought about how harsh lights in the Mountain were and how intense smelt the lemon detergent they used for floors. Silence around them was heavy, overwhelming, loud in a way that didn't make any sense. Main room was staring when they crossed it, despite being empty.

She wasn't sure why she was able to breathe  a little deeper only when they were by the door. Mountain was her home. She liked it. She felt safe there.

She felt like tearing her skin off until they left.

She had to blink a few times when the sun hit her eyes. She didn’t even realize how much darker it was inside. She didn't like the thought that it was her first time outside since she came back from school on Friday. It was late Sunday. Danny stopped and only continued after making sure she was alright. He let go of intangibility, letting their feet break twigs on the ground and brush along the soft grass.

It was warm outside, sun low enough to begin painting the sky in yellows and oranges and pinks while most of it stayed light blue. M’gann breathed in the scent of earth and leaves and overall life outside that felt too strong for how dry the past few days were.

“We're almost there. I hope you'll like it“ Danny said with a reassuring smile when she slowed down to take it all in. They stopped walking for a moment.

M’gann tried to return his smile but it felt wrong. Like she was possessing her own body and had to almost manually pull muscles for every gesture, continuously using wrong controls.

“I'm sure I will,” she said. She realized with a strat that it was the first time she spoke that day. Her voice was scratchy and uncomfortable. Judging by the concerned glance Danny sent her way, he caught it too. She cleared her throat like it could change anything. Her hand was lightly squeezed. They went deeper into the forest surrounding Mount Justice. 

They walked a bit more, slower than before. Despite released intangibility that would indicate they didn't need to sneak around, Danny was careful to not break too many branches and M’gann followed suit. Here silence wasn't suffocating but sacred. Gentle wind was rustling leaves above their heads while a few birds sang. It was late enough both in the day and the year for them to appear after doing whatever they did the whole day outside of mornings and evenings full of music. Before… before the accident, she sometimes woke up early to watch the sunrise and listen to them, before heat became unbearable even for Earth born beings. She too wasn't too keen on the heat of summer.

They stopped in the clearing small enough that most of it was still in the shadows of surrounding trees. Only some rays of golden sunlight made it through the leaves, illuminating a miniature, fragile looking bush in the middle. The earth around it was freshly disturbed. 

“We're here” Danny explained, barely louder than the breeze “You said you wanted something human to it and we usually put flowers so I took liberty and planted it here. Maybe it was too much. If it is, just tell me, I don't think it's settled enough to not survive uprooting. Sam helped me pick it, she mentioned something about flower language. I don't know much about it but I can try expla–”

“It's perfect, thank you” she choked out, not really listening. It truly was.

“Oh, okay. Okay, cool”

Sun was peeking in between leaves, marking their faces with golden flecks. Any other time she would say it looked almost magical. She felt alone all of the sudden. Of course Danny was there, silent and solemn but other than that, outside of this little clearing stopped in time, the whole world could stop existing and she wouldn't realize. She wouldn't care.

Mourning orbs somehow made their way to her hand, accompanied by a traditional necklace to carry one of them. Both of them already had some emotional residue in them, like all handmade things tended to. She liked it. Her heart felt warmer sensing utter devotion that sinked in with the time Danny spent working on them. It was too faint for him to catch, sincere as one could get.

Traditional necklace meant to hide one of them was clinically clean, made by some professional.

Danny put his bag on the ground, and took out a set of two urns. M’gann winced internally. They weren’t made by him, obviously. It wasn’t a problem. Process of creating urns was too complicated for even an untrained Martian to replicate, let alone human who had two weeks to learn. It was a sophisticated art, specifically cultivated by White Martians in their workshops. Urns Danny brought weren’t wrong in any outright visible way. They were clearly made by someone who knew their craft, a bit wider than normal but not enough to be incorrect. Clearly, the big rim was a part of the design for some reason.  If she focused enough, she probably could even guess from which artist family they came. The urns were frankly stunning, painted with rusty reds, some oranges and muted yellows and white, the color of death and danger, bright yellow like Priest’s skin to signify how sacred the item and ceremony in general were, barely there smidge of hopeful light blue and saturated red like royalty’s skin to tell anyone who could see it, how important the person mourned was to the people attending a funeral. They held weird green tinge to them and M’gann carefully didn’t consider what most likely caused it, focusing on the a bit too complicated, ornate shapes and perfectly even surfaces. If she had a chance to get a traditional funeral when the time came for her, she’d like to get urns almost like these.

But they were dead. Carefully kept from being polluted by foreign feelings. M’gann knew it was an industry norm, almost no one wanted stranger’s feelings on their gift for the dead. But it rubbed her the wrong way. She wanted feelings on her gifts, even stranger’s would be better than this unnerving emptiness. She couldn’t stand that something so personal was so dead. It didn’t make sense on a level so fundamental she couldn’t quite express it in words in her own head. Her urns should be ingrained with her tears and if not, with anything else, they should hold someone’s passion for the craft or annoyance at weird request or something, anything really.

Many others shared her opinion on the matter, so often in between getting a finished product from a workshop and the funeral itself, there was a set time when family and others that were supposed to attend the main ceremony would meet to fill urns with their feelings.

But obviously Danny couldn’t know that. So his urns were empty, perverted, wrong like a macabre funhouse mirror. off just enough to make people unsettled while being right enough to immediately recognise yourself in a distorted image.

“Do you want me to leave or do it with you?” he asked, bringing her back from her mussing.

Did she want him to leave? Not really. It felt intimidating for some reason. Overwhelming. Lonely. She didn’t want to be by herself while pouring her heart out to the world. She wasn't supposed to be on her own while doing it.

On the other hand, despite his clear, enormous effort, Danny didn’t know what it was supposed to look like. If anything, this slight mishap with urns proved that there was so much he had yet to learn and she didn’t want his lack of knowledge to profane the ceremony. Especially since he didn’t have any connection, any reason to feel anything towards the woman in whose memory they even did it. 

But he seemed earnest in his respectful silence, ready to give the unknown dead person all of the reverence they deserved. And she didn't want to be alone.

“Stay please“ she breathed out, so softly she wasn't sure he heard her. But he nodded, taking out two other orbs from his hoodie pocket.

“These were the trial runs,” he explained hurriedly “I took them just in case. I didn't plan on using them. And I only have two urns. I’ll get another two later, I promise”

“It's alright. You put a lot of effort into it all. Thank you”

Danny stared at her with a look somewhere between offended and absolutely appalled. 

“You can't halfass preparations for the funeral, it's like, the most basic decency!“

There was some sort of weird longing and jealousy(?) that flared up when she said that, strong enough that her impaired brain picked it up. They should talk about that later. It was potentially something she could do to at least partially repay him for all the effort he was putting in helping her. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you mad-”

“It’s okay, you did nothing wrong. I’m just a bit touchy about this stuff. It’s not even a ghost thing, just a me thing, really. You had no way of knowing, it’s okay”

They’ll definitely have to talk about it later. Not now though. They had other things to get done at the moment.

“Alright. I’m still sorry”

Danny just sighed and went back to searching his bag.

With gritted teeth M’gann changed back to her true form. After so long in Megan’s body it felt wrong, too stretched out and squeezed in all of the uncomfortable places, but she stayed like that. There were no lies to be told at the funeral.

Some part of her wanted to scream and rub the skin off of herself.

“Should I switch to Phantom?” Danny whispered.

“It depends. Which form do you consider the true you?”

Halfa hadn’t said anything, furrowing his brows, analyzing her question from all the angles by the looks of it. After a long moment his face smoothed over again and looked her in the eyes.

“I’m here as your friend not as a hero. Tell me when you’re ready to start”

She nodded and with an unpracticed gesture she put one of the Mourning Orbs in the necklace. She took a few steps to stand at an appropriate distance from the bush. Under normal circumstances, in its place would be preserved brain and ashes of the body, or if it wasn’t possible, something truly personal to the dead person. They had neither. Even little bit of blood that got on her clothes wasn’t available as it disappeared the moment she switched clothes. It still made her sith when she thought about it. Her ectoplasm was useless two, covering M’gann in a way that even Danny couldn’t reverse.

Boy stood on the opposite side with a grim expression on his face, holding his a bit shapeless orb like it was both a lifeline and the most precious thing he ever encountered.

She wasn’t ready. She was terrified. The memory of the dead body in her arms was just at her fingertips and she wasn’t ready to actually remember. Her breath hitched. Danny nodded with an encouraging twitch of emotions.

Let it all out~ he seemed to say. His voice and that of her home sang in unison and she could only do so much against their joined forces.

First tear ran down her cheek, quickly joined by next and next.

She held the body in her hands, staring as the life slowly left it, each desperate thought getting quieter and quieter, more hopeless as M’gann tried her best to put crushed ribs back together based on telepathic touch alone because she didn’t have an x-ray amd the family was getting broken in front of her and she wasn’t sure if the gut wrenching sobs she heard came from her or from the little boy whose smile she saw in his mother’s dying thoughts. She destroyed this little boy and his family and she couldn’t do anything to fix it and  an apology would be pointless but she was going to do it anyway. She was powerful and yet, she couldn’t save life in front of her and it was so unfair that her shortcomings hurt these innocent people.

She would switch their places if she could because they deserved to be happy and together and she could stand that they weren’t because of her and her knees hit the ground much stronger than she would think was possible in relieved memory. There was blood on her hands and she spent countless nights trying to wash it off, even though most of the bleeding was internal. Three was cheerful little boy waiting for his mom and she would never get to him because she was dying on M’gann’s lap and it was her fault and why wouldn’t world punish the responsible and not the bystander and she was choking, her chest tightly squeezed and it didn’t make sense because she didn’t need to breathe as much but earthly air still felt to thin and a woman on her lap drowned in her own blood and how could M’gann let it happen and, and, and…

And now she was using her friend who was already stretched thin and she kept worrying him and others and she was trying to get better and help people like she was supposed to instead of adding to their workload. But she couldn’t force herself to appear alright enough, not in front of Danny, being naturally more intune with emotions, and it was only a matter of time before they left because she was too much to deal with and was too weak and too useless to justify all their effort. She couldn’t get alright but she had to because she was supposed to be better and she trained more to get where she should already be but her mind and body kept slipping, kept betraying her and she was dead, the woman was dead because M’gann didn’t, couldn’t save her and now she was dead, she was dead.

She was dead, she was dead, she was dead…

Only when she couldn’t cry anymore, and when she got too tired to feel, did she open her eyes. With some surprise she realized she actually fell to her knees, back in the form she had that day. She shivered and quickly turned back to her true form. It wasn’t something that was supposed to happen.

Danny solemnly stood where he did before, fiddling with his hands like he did when he was stopping himself from doing something very intently. All of his feelings were kept tightly in his grasp, undetectable without an almost violent pressing. M’gann knew from experience how straining it was and it had to be undeniably harder for someone as unused as him.

She was almost sure he did that to not overwhelm her even more. She probably wouldn’t be able to tell him how thankful she was for that.

Curiously enough, despite how well he hid at the moment, she could sense the tangled mess of feelings he let out just before. She wasn’t in the right headspace to wonder or read what these emotions were but she knew they were strong. Much more intense than she expected of him. After all, he never even met the woman. He knew her only as a victim of M’gann’s shortcomings, taken from the world too soon. He wasn’t obliged to feel anything, to work on the whole memorial and yet he did, with more respect than she saw during some ceremonies she witnessed back home.

“Now we should burn it,” she said, her voice not raising above the quiet rustling of the leaves above their heads. In her White Martian form she could probably brush on them with her head if she stood straighter.

Burning was a complicated part. It had to be done calmly and slowly, with a confident hand so none of the ashes ended up outside of the small urn. Back on Mars, there were Priests and Priestesses, Flame Tamers who trained for ages to get rid of natural fear of fire and control flames before they caught anything they shouldn’t. Anyone inexperienced would taint the ceremony. Obviously they didn’t have anyone experienced anyway and they were both quite susceptible to the heat alone.

Flame Tamers always had a set of heavily ornate tools, that only ever they were allowed to touch. One of them, probably most important, was a stick with a funnel on the one end. It was still really precise to work with, but from what M’gann understood, it significantly facilitated the task. Danny took out a thin metal stick, from his seemingly bottomless bag. It looked like it belonged to chocolate fountain assorted silverware but she couldn't really judge him on that. She wasn't sure if there was punishment great enough for someone who would pervert such a sacred tool and gave it to anyone.

“Sorry, that's the best thing I could find”

No matter how he got everything else, there was no way he could get it too. It would be both too good and too unsettling. She was already uneasy from the horrible contrast between the calm, warm, beautiful day in the forest near the place she wanted to call home and the ceremony  from her cold, unforgiving past, which was always held in the coldest of the caves, ones with the thinnest air. The most inhabitable ones.

“That’s alright”

Danny winced, looking like he wanted to disagree but didn’t say anything. They both stayed quiet for a long moment, on a lonely, quiet clearing.

“How do you want to do this?”

“What do you mean?”

“I only have a really vague idea how this part looks. Nobody wants to tell me how it looks. What do we do now?”

Of course nobody told him. She was surprised he learned this much anyway. He shouldn’t. How the ceremony goes was supposed to stay secret from anyone and everyone who didn’t attend it. It was too vulnerable an event to share anything outside.

But now Danny needed to know. Someone had to tell him. 

M’gann explained even though her tongue felt too big and too dry in her mouth. 

She wished she could just put information in his brain. She knew far too well how Danny would react to that.

“Oh, alright, alright. Do you want me to do it or…”

“You. I wasn’t trained.”

I still fear fire, she didn’t say.

It will hurt less if it’s you who messes up, she didn’t say.

He heard it anyway and responded with a nod.

He stabbed the mourning orb with a stick (M’gann didn’t wince, M’gann didn’t wince) and fished out a lighter from his hoodie pocket. It was the lighter, night sky blue one, patterned with golden stars. The one he almost never used because it was too precious to him. Gift from someone he couldn’t bring up without tears, let alone mention them by name.

M’gann felt like crying again.

He kneeled, doing his best to stabilize his hand over the urn and let a flame lick an urn until part of it turned warm gray and started crumbling. If Danny used the right materials (and he did, as far as she could tell by texture) it didn’t need to be on fire the whole time. Just this starting nudge.

Smoke smelled like iron on the surface. Just right.

She started whispering prayers around the gulp in her throat, their soft melody rolling easily off her tongue. She should be louder, they were meant to be heard, because how else can gods know to help her traveling to whatever was her place to rest. She should be louder because her song was lost in between chirping birds and quiet wind.

But the prayer was never meant to be sung by one person. There was never supposed to be anything else that could be louder. (She wasn’t sure if she remembered words right).

This woman had her own gods anyway. Martian ones didn’t need to guide her.

She sang a little louder anyway.

She was on a very poetic passage about promise to never forget and always grieve when Danny’s hand trembled. Ash almost got over the rim of the urn, almost got polluted. M’gann flinched and stopped singing.

Up until this point he was doing surprisingly well. Maybe even suspiciously if she didn't know he had no way and no reason to actually train it. But there he was, almost as sure and precise as some Flame Tamers were.

Whoever designed the urns probably suspected that. She didn’t want to think about what would happen if they were standard size.

Even from the height of her ‘true’ form she could see tremors running through his body and a way his face was screwed to contain crying. The way he seemed to carefully measure each breath. He caught his wrist with other hand, his grip so strong that his knuckles turned white.

“Sorry about it. Don’t interrupt yourself” he muttered, his voice hoarse from unshed tears.

Some dark part of her mind wanted to listen to him, but the thought lasted no longer than half a second, drowned by guilt. Up until this point M’gann had never really considered how attending a funeral would affect Danny. He just seemed so ready and almost… excited for the lack of a better word. Eager to help like he always did. Never uncomfortable, even a slightest bit, with an idea, other than the first time when she wrote it off as overall stress from consoling her right after the… right after.

But she wasn’t really looking for it either, was she? How many things she missed because of her stupid impaired brain or because she was too self centered on her own pain or because he tucked it fast enough to consider it her mistake. But he was clearly not fine and his orbs were filled to the brim and everything filling them was just tad too personal. 

“Are you sure you’re alright? We can take a break. Or I can finish on my own.”

It wasn’t really supposed to happen but really, there were so many rules they broke. It wouldn’t change anything if they broke one more. Danny’s wellbeing was more important anyway, plus it’s not even that she needed Martian gods to help the woman. He said himself, it was mostly to help her and she wouldn’t feel any better if her friend worked himself to breakdown.

“I’m fine Meg” he muttered, hiding his tears a bit better “Just… It’s a beautiful prayer. I got moved by it” he explained, not lying but not telling the truth. There was another pang of jealousy that slipped his control. She made sure to remember it. They couldn’t talk about it at the moment, but they had to speak about it later “You can finish, I’m fine”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Sing Meg. I want to know how it ends,” he said softly. If his tone was a bit less sincere he would sound demanding. He didn’t. She knew if she really dug her heels in she could stop and Danny wouldn't fault her.

She sang again, this time it didn’t feel like she had to fight wind to be heard. She was singing for the victim and Danny both. Yes, they both had their own gods but Martian ones could lend their hands. Maybe that’s what they both needed to rest.

This time it felt like a soft breeze carried her voice, like chirping birds turned a bit more solemn and they complemented the simple but powerful melody. Words rolled off her tongue with ease. Last bits of her devastation and grief were unsticking from her soul, leaving her body with each line, each sound.

It was cleansing.

She looked up at the sky when she finished, pinks and oranges familiar in a beautiful and terrifying way.

She heard rustling when Danny stood up. She didn’t realize she zoned out long enough for him to finish burning the second orb. It wasn’t important. He smiled at her, small and comforting, craning his neck to look her in the eyes. He rummaged around his bag again and took out intricate containers that usually held the brain and ashes from the rest of the body with some solvent. They too were created by a clear master of the art.

She really needed to ask Danny how he got all of this.

“Where do we…?”

Before he could finish, she gently took both objects out of his hands. It was something she needed to do on her own.

She carefully put them in the same distance from the anemic bush that marked the center of the grave circle. Usually the remains of the dead were placed first thing first during the ceremony, but in cases like this, when there was nothing, the reminder of it was put as almost last. There was no place for lies during the funeral. Even if the lie was just to make it hurt a tiny bit less. 

Then she fixed the placement of the urn, in the circle around the brain. She carefully didn’t think about how it should be half circle, about to be finished when everyone moved on, and not mere two lone urns.

“To finish we need stones that’ll mark the border of the grave,” she explained, looking for anything sufficient. Usually funerals were attended by enough people so there was no problem with making a consistent circle but there were only two of them. Stupid tears filled her eyes. She wished she could do it properly. There was no way they could do all of the steps correctly and she knew from the start. It went better than she could expect.

She still felt an urge to throw a tantrum about everything that was wrong, wrong, WRONG!

Danny fished out two big stones, almost squares, a bit less than foot wide, about four inches tall. She knew that he had enhanced strength but it still looked unnecessarily heavy. Especially when paired with everything else he had to carry.

“Do you try to get a hernia or something? There are other ways to skip training, you know?” she joked, drying her eyes with her wrist.

Danny stayed silent for a moment, as if he was looking for words, with empty eyes and blank face. M’gann didn’t know if it was an angle or new light or something totally else, that made dark bags under his eyes more pronounced. He seemed a bit paler, too.  

“Nah. But you two deserve all the best things I could get for you,” he muttered softly. He raised both stones higher, pointedly closer to her hands. He smiled at her, earnest and solemn.

Was he trying to make her cry again? If he did, he was doing a great job at it.

“Yeah?” she choked out around a sudden gulp in her throat.

“Of course”

They put stones across each other, small, missed twig snapping under the weight. Birds kept singing cheerfully and wind kept blowing as if to spite them, as if to remind them that the world was still moving forward and even things closest to them wouldn’t stop for even a second.

It should be silent. Why wouldn’t it be silent?!

M’gann finally turned back to her green form. Danny quietly opened his arms, a quiet invitation to the hug she could reject if she so wanted. She threw herself into it fast enough to make the boy grunt.

It wasn't an all encompassing type of hug, they were too similar in size for that. But it was warm, soft and unyielding in all the right places. She was safe in it, separated from the outside world in a way no walls could ever manage. Like the most beautiful song, she could hear and feel life in Danny’s body, each deep breath and small twitch of muscles and subconscious moves of his head that made his hair tickle her cheek. She wasn’t exactly tense before but her body uncoiled the longer she was being held. It wasn’t hard to tell that Danny did too. 

Neither of them mentioned hands fisted on the backs of their shirts. Neither of them mentioned how the deep breaths turned just a bit more shallow and hitched. Neither of them mentioned how tender grass cushioned their fall.

M’gann couldn’t tell she felt better, with a tension headache and all of her emotions just too close and raw.

But she felt lighter and that was probably the first step.

******

I love this chapter, it's probably one of my favorites, but god damn was it pain to write. I liked writing it, but I was getting to it like dog to a hedgehog. I just had to be in the right mood to write it, y'know. It's probably kinda why I didn't finish rewriting before I had to start posting and why I run out of backlog hah (and right at the part that I think needs the biggest rewrite and cannot bring myself to it. Though now I have college deadline maybe I'll manage to procrastinate in a productive way)

And I had absolute blast comming up with these traditions, @audhumla-sailor can confirm that

But yeah, I love this chapter, I hope you like it too thanks to or despite a bit more... poetic way of writing

Drink something and check in with yourself if your binge reading

AO3 link

Next part

[may--hawk]

I love you (mixtape)

And the bastard walks by, and the bastard walks by / Say it to him fifty times and still the bastard won’t cry

Crowley’s in some run-down gin bar clinging to the outer reaches of the London docks like a pustule sometime in the mid-1970s. It reminds him of the gin palaces he used to go to back at the end of the last century, back when he’d trawl around and drink warm gin and incite sins until London was near-frenzied with it because there was nothing else for him to do in this fucking city, this shithole. The bar’s not so different now: less wool, more polyester, less - although not none - public urination, more women. It’s dim in here, two in the afternoon and dark as the tomb, shadowed as a mausoleum in Edinburgh, and all around him the same desperate scrabble to get ahead as he’d felt in Elspeth, humans clawing their way up with their nails and teeth only to slip back down into the grave decades later. It doesn’t matter, none of it does. The air’s thick with nicotine, Crowley inhaling a pack of smokes with every breath. He’s done a few lines, and he hums, his atoms the same frequency as a star’s - Rigil Kentaurus, to be exact. He’s sitting next to a man he doesn’t like very much, but he doesn’t like a lot of humans, really. Aziraphale would say really, do you insist on seeing the worst in them - ? But Aziraphale doesn’t know what it’s like, does he, all white clouds and sunbeams and holy grace. The man’s useful to Crowley, so Crowley hunches over his glass of gin and turns to the man and lays out his expectations. He’s setting up a drug caper, a big one, involving a few first-world governments and third-world countries and second-world middle-men. The trickle-down effect should net hundreds of thousands of souls for Hell for a century to come. Maybe more. The rest is up to them, the humans. It always is, really. The bar stinks of avarice and desperation and bodies sweating in polyester; it’s thick in the air; it’s like perfume to Crowley, like hookah smoke, he takes it in, heady and deep, and grins, a sharp flash he catches in the mirror.

The door opens, then. A ray of light shafts in, mid-afternoon light, the kind that doesn’t come inside these sorts of places, isn’t welcomed, but comes in it does, and the light falls on the bar mirror, dusty and streaked, falls on - behind Crowley, just coming in - a head of perfect white curls. Crowley freezes. Crowley’s mouth parts, he can see it in the mirror, like he’s going to ask Aziraphale, what are you doing here, angel, you don’t belong here. It’s true: Aziraphale shines. He doesn’t belong here. Except Aziraphale belongs everywhere, Crowley thinks. He has the holy assurance of God. He can walk into a lion’s den, into a cathouse, across the open trenches of a great war. What’s a cheap gin bar in the face of Aziraphale’s God-granted assurance? Aziraphale takes it all in at a flash: Crowley draped over the bar, the look of sin, of a snake, slit-eyed, waiting to strike. Takes in Crowley’s wiles, his machinations. Takes in the measure of the man next to him, neatly and finally. The angel breathes in, short and sharp, an expansion of his chest, and his mouth twists in a small moue of disgust. He meets Crowley’s eyes, shakes his head once, and turns on his heel and leaves.

It’s happened, again and again - Aziraphale’s got this idea of Crowley, and it’s wrong, it’s wrong. Crowley’s a demon. When he says he’s not nice, he fucking means it. And yet Aziraphale has the nerve to - every time he comes across Crowley tempting someone, or wiling, or doing something evil or wicked or bad or wrong - to turn that look of disgust on Crowley. Of disappointment. As if Crowley has, again and again, failed to live up to his standards. Aziraphale’s even done temptations himself; little ones, surely, but temptations all the same. And the kicker of it all, what really takes the biscuit, is that Aziraphale’s not nice either. He’s a rotten bastard just like Crowley. Even worse, in some ways, with the hypocrisy and the gluttony and the lust, oh, don’t think Crowley doesn’t notice it, the little looks, the way his hand had lingered on Crowley’s in 1787 in the ballroom when they’d been presented for the first time - joke’s on the humans, Crowley knows Aziraphale down to his rotten squalid little core. Or the way he’d pushed into the same cab with Crowley in 1814 even though there really wasn’t room for the two of them, how they’d pressed together side to thigh to arm, brushing with every sway and jolt of the carriage, Aziraphale’s breath coming fast and harsh, and Crowley could feel him quivering with it, the lust, and he’d known if he’d only turned and knotted his hand in Aziraphale’s hair and pulled his mouth to him, if he’d reached over and pushed his hand between his thighs, the angel would open up to him, would make the sweetest little noises, that the very Heavens and Earth would shake with it -

And sure, Crowley’s worse with the other sins, with avarice and sloth and despair, but Aziraphale’s not perfect, he’s not good, he’s only playing a part, and so what right does he have to turn those eyes on Crowley, dark and disappointed, what right does his gaze have to linger over Crowley in the mirror and then drop to the ground, and turn away, as if unable to continue to bear witness?

Aziraphale blows him off for the next three months: declining invitations to dinner, avoiding his calls and returning them only two or three days later. I’m sorry, Crowley, I’ve been dreadfully busy, as if Crowley hadn’t been by the shop five or six times and hadn’t seen Aziraphale just sitting at his desk with a book in his hands staring off into space. And that stings too, as if Crowley’s not worth the pain of an honest answer. But then again, the angel’s never been honest. Another demerit. When the angel feels, apparently, that Crowley’s done his penance, he agrees to meet Crowley for dinner at a new Greek place around the corner, and they go, and Crowley’s a perfect little angel, isn’t that a joke, even smiling at the waiter, not wiling one bit. Aziraphale watches him a bit like a wild animal, nervous little side glances that settle into a near-smile over the dessert course. And because the angel’s a creature of indulgence, has been ever since Crowley’d seen that want in him and offered him that platter of meat, he asks Crowley back to the shop, hesitating as he does so, as if he shouldn’t allow the foul beast in, and Crowley says yes, sauntering, slipping in, widening the crack, because he is weak too, just as weak as Aziraphale, but in other ways.

And Aziraphale knows this all about himself too, knows his failings, because he’s clever, always has been, and he still has the nerve to pretend, to hide, to lie, and so Crowley saunters into the shop and sprawls on the sofa across from Aziraphale in his tight leather pants and his tight red satin shirt unbuttoned just so. Because he had been created for this: to wheedle and to tempt and to pry, to crack things open and work at them; it’s why he had been cast down and how he had wormed his way back up again to the light. And he’s a demon, he’s not nice, he’s wicked and evil and cruel and twisted, and so he pushes, he digs and digs and digs, spreads his legs wide, spills a little wine on the corner of his lips and licks it off, turns his head to Aziraphale, takes his glasses off, and he watches Aziraphale’s face get more and more flushed, not just from the wine, not anymore, watches him loosen his holy bowtie, watches him start to sweat, watches his eyes, dark and darting and miserable. And then when he’s got him worked up to a fever pitch, can feel it ringing through the air like a struck bell, he gets up, hips first, slinks over to the kitchenette for another bottle, and when he passes Aziraphale’s chair he puts a hand on the angel’s shoulder as if to steady himself, the angel so hot and solid under his palm, and he slides his hand across the slope of the angel’s shoulder, two fingers ending up just inside his collar on the hot smooth skin, and he leans down, Aziraphale’s corporation’s heartbeat thundering in time with his own, and he whispers in Aziraphale’s ear, “Want more, angel?”

Aziraphale chokes, a great big gasp of air wheezing through his chest like it’s being constrained by a great big coiled serpent. “More - yes - more wine - please-” he holds out his glass, waves it, though it’s still half-full, even spills on the floor, but Aziraphale doesn’t seem to notice. His eyes, Crowley can see from this close, are squeezed tightly shut, his eyelashes pressed firmly to his cheeks. Crowley reaches his other hand out - which means he reaches around him, a near embrace - slides his fingertips along Aziraphale’s bare wrist, exposed by his sleeve, tangling with the angel’s fingers. Aziraphale’s pulse hammers in his neck. He plucks the glass from the angel’s hand. A silent whimper from Aziraphale, the heave of his chest. Then Crowley saunters off to the kitchenette to pour them each another glass. He can feel the pain and lust rolling off Aziraphale, stronger than any cathouse, thick as bar-smoke, dark as smog back in coal-burning London, those long decades when the air was thick and gray and choking and there was no shelter for Crowley, no relief, no soft yellow space to be invited into and breathe deep and fresh. From here, he can see Aziraphale’s reflection in the window above his desk, pale and bright and holy against the dark night. Can see how Aziraphale’s got his fist pressed to his mouth, biting down on a knuckle. Crowley bets when he goes back in and hands the glass to Aziraphale there’ll be teeth marks in his flesh, deep indentations, the mark of sin. Aziraphale’s face is twisted, nearly sobbing, wracked with pain and lust, because he’s an angel, he’s good, he’s holy, he’s not supposed to lust, can’t do it without great pain, and Crowley, watching him, his own breath coming fast, faster, can’t breathe, feels something welling in him, thick and choking, and he thinks, tell me you feel it, angel, tell me you feel the same thing I do.

Read the rest of the mixtape on AO3.

[2030kamenriders]

Taiga from Kiva started a fangire democracy after the main events of Kiva. However a lot of the older and "more traditional" fangires still prefer the chess-monarchy system, causing this weird situation where they keep voting for Taiga to be king prime minister, but dislike his policies

A lot of initial fangire alternative food is just. Doing the glass fang thing to fish and chickens and stuff. They're working on other stuff akin to vitamin supplements, but it takes time.

Haruna Terui starts off thinking "wow cops!" as a little kid, but gets disillusioned by it sometime before adolescence. Judging by how tired Accel seemed to be in that one Zi-O crossover, it might have happened as early as then. If that's the case, it's probable that Ryu was upset that he couldn't protect his kid from the trauma.

Despite this, Haruna still constantly tries to solve various cases and such around the city, and does a lot of studying the law. It's very likely she starts leading the detective agency at some point.

Also Haruna's aroace.

Masao picked up languages pretty early compared to most children. This is partly because a lot of the grown-ups around him accidentally follow the "don't use the baby-talk accent" rule when raising him.

Kivats can catch an equivalent of White-Nose Syndrome (it's a disease that affects bats), but it just looks a bit different (since. They don't have noses)

A lot of Castle Doran's rooms have been getting restored or repurposed for various things. (I mean think about it. It's a huge castle and we only ever see a few rooms of it.) One of the rooms is some kinda indoor greenhouse where they grow all the roses.

Stepping out of the Kamen Rider sphere (inspired by that "Who could solve the Death Note case" chart that goes around Tumblr) the characters from hit children's show Blue's Clues could enter the Gaia Library (and perhaps the Narumi Agency building directly) via the power of the Blue-Skidoo teleportation method

Time-travel and inter-dimensional travel go hand-in-hand in the RiderVerse. To travel to another dimension with time-travel powers, go back in time and change something, then go to the future. Provided that you yourself are immune to timeline changes (like by being a Singularity Point) you should be okay; you just have to make sure to make the correct timeline changes to get to the correct dimension. This can be difficult in some cases, so just having dimension-hopping powers streamlines that. Not sure how the reverse would work (dimension-hopper traveling through time), but considering how Decade moves in Zi-O, there's gotta be a way

Actually, I'm curious. What's some random Kamen Rider headcanons you guys have?

[leyartser]

Asking the important questions before opening the new and improved Magoland

[selunesfavouriteprincess]

I can’t even lie over time this pathetic little elf has grown on me and now I really like her as a character. she’s SUCH a loser. and someone said that she should’ve been recruitable instead of Halsin after uncovering the Shadow Druid plot and she could’ve had a redemption arc and now I can’t stop thinking about that alternate reality

[thelizaxevans]

Liza smiled at the sight of Wes with Elise, sometimes unable to even compare this man to the Wes of barely two years ago- the one who wasn't sure he could do this, who feared he wouldn't be a good father (or husband). And while she knew those fears still lingered for him, she also knew all that couldn't have been further from the truth. Wes made her feel more loved and safe than she ever could have imagined, and seeing him with Ellie...she knew there would never be a moment where that little girl didn't feel absolutely adored by her father. Just like she knew the baby growing inside of her would feel just as loved.

"Yay! Let's go then. I've always loved going there since I was a kid. Driftwood's coffee will always hold a special place in my heart- even if I obviously have to cut back a lot now on my consumption." She added with a laugh as she got Ellie's clothes sorted for the day. "Does he?" Liza asked, laughing still as she shook her head. "I mean, it tracks. Jace is....something." She told him teasingly. "He's a great guy though. We didn't see much of each other at school since he's a few years older, but with his mom having owned the coffee shop and my mom with the bakery, we kinda grew up together in a way. You two should hang out! I think you'd get along well with him."

Wes pushed himself up and out of bed to follow Liza, but not before he grabbed one of his shirts and slipped it over his head to cover his spider tattoo on his stomach as well as the scars on his back from his father. Elise had made it clear she didn't like seeing his spider tattoo and he'd already decided that one day he'd have to get it covered with someone Elise would like. The scars were a different thing altogether. He wasn't sure if there was a way to fully cover the scars on his back permanently no matter how much he wished to. He'd grown used to Liza seeing them already and she found a way to make them feel... less. He'd received the scars on his back from his father's actions that were fueled by hatred, but Liza had managed to love him enough that he wasn't as self conscious about Liza seeing them now. It was more so that he was afraid of his children seeing the scars and one day asking about where he got them from. Wes had decided a long time ago that Liza and their kids would never meet father, but he doubted he could keep it away forever.

Wes followed Liza into Elise's nursery and he smiled as he watched the two loves of his life together. It still baffled him that it was even possible to love anyone as much as he loved the two of them. It was overwhelming in the best way possible. Wes happily took his daughter into his arms and he hugged her tight, her little arms wrapped around his neck to return it. Wes kissed the little girl's cheek and smiled brightly as he watched her.

"We can! I like their London fogs." Wes wasn't big on coffee but he loved tea. "Your friend that works there, he calls you Lizzie McGuire. Did you know that?"

@thelizaxevans