#he's trying to make peace with his very nature being a threat to his life inherently inescapably

[dvrast]

a thing about jesper is that he is constantly afraid. angry and frightened— that's what the fjerdan had called him. what had matthias and inej seen in jesper that he didn't understand ? / [ stop treating your pain like it's something you imagined. if you see the wound is real, then you can heal it. ] / you taught me to lie. [ to keep you safe. ] i had a gift. you should have let me use it. [ it's not a gift. it's a curse. it would have killed you the same way it killed your mother. ] i'm dying anyway, da. i'm just doing it slow. it's a genetic disease, father to son. inheritance. power, from his mother. fear, from his father.

it was one thing to be born zowa in his father's house, a weight impossible to tip - toe around with the old farm floorboards creaking under every step, something reaching deep down in his chest to hold his breath from a young age. it was that easy, as breathing, as long as it kept the fear off his father's face ; even easier, whispering truths like pearly whites tucked inside unassuming seashells with his mother. she was brave, braver than the both of them, and she made it easy, until she couldn't. after her death, colm's fear deepened, widened, and it swallowed jesper whole.

the world was always too small for jesper, too big, for grisha of any kind, an open range with traps and snares littered every few feet like landmines. you're born as prey animals native to every continent, or trained into predators in ravka. there isn't a single hill or meadow that's safe, not really. this is a part of why he leaves for ketterdam in the first place, no matter how afraid he is to leave his da, alone in a haunted house. but he can't stay there, not when it feels like the same thing that killed his ma is lurking under the floor, hiding in the rafters, breathing down his neck. but it wasn't the house. it was a part of him, some heavy, extra organ, and he takes it with him wherever he goes. it begins to feel like some kind of birth defect, something somewhere just a millimeter out of line, killing him slowly with every too - fast beat of his rabbit heart. sleeping, waking, this inescapable, primal paranoia. it'll kill him, just for being born.

jesper has what we would call generalized anxiety disorder on top of his attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, and it's at its worst once he realizes this feeling isn't something he can leave back home in his father's house. one could go mad with it, not a single place in which you can feel yourself, safe, whole, and he feels a little mad, at first, digesting this revelation ; this is his life, a blessed death. this is what it means to be zowa, his mother's son, his father's prodigal, home or far from it, everywhere, anywhere in the world. he can't ever catch his breath in ketterdam, since before even that, light and heavy all at once, a freedom you can only feel from falling. he feels like a dead man walking the streets, less to lose than even that, and it's easy, easy as breathing, to lay down what little money fit in his pockets with or without the promise of it earning any of it back. ketterdam is alive, though, and he learns quickly how fear is in the very air, but with it, an immunity in its people. something fearless in the water. it was almost inevitable, then, that the most fearless creature in the barrel is who jesper finds himself drawn to even more than the promise of a light burning brightest before it goes out, like a moth to flame. kaz brekker makes him feel like he could be brave for the first time since his mother. like he could survive.

fear is a lot easier to face if you don't ever look away in the first place. if you never come down from the high, there's never any crash - landing, and life with the dregs is a rollercoaster of ups and downs to simulate a freefall that's in his actions instead of his bones. joining the dregs, joining kaz, it gives a name to the grip in his chest— a false one, but a name all the same. he can't be afraid of living if he's dodging death left and right. this fear he has is for a bullet in his head, a knife in his back, dime lions or black tips or stadwatch or debt collectors instead of slavers or drüskelle or ravka or poisoned little girls in need of saving or his father's scared, scared eyes— ketterdam is where taking a deep breath could get you killed anyway, and it's the first place he feels he can live in. the first place he feels he could survive, because living in ketterdam demands it.

[wannaeatramyeon]

Samuel Seo x Reader: Waiting

G/N. 3 separate fluffy scenes. Sammy just being sweet and not unhinged. Masterlists

"Sammy you don't have to come with me."

He gives you a look over the top of his glasses. One he reserves for when someone is being particularly ignorant and stupid.

(Jake Kim and Ryuhei Kuroda have been on the receiving end of this many many times.)

You think he's being a little unfair.

"I thought you were supposed to do something with your friend?"

"It's fine." Samuel responds.

It really isn't.

Goo had thrown something of a tantrum when Samuel said he wasn't able to accompany him on his latest errands. Threats of his secret (or not so secret) friend status was bandied about.

However, you have a medical appointment. Which is really more of a check up than anything, but Samuel still thinks he should be by your side.

He understands that it's standard procedure. Nothing is expected to come from it.

But there's a lot of things in his life that he regrets, and he's trying not to make any moves that would make you regret being with him.

"Sammy-"

"No." His tone holds no room for argument. "I'm coming with you."

.

-

Samuel, the absolute sweetheart, plays chauffeur without complaint and always walks you to your front door.

You had nearly swooned the first time he strolled around to your side, opened the car door for you to climb out as elegantly as you could (which was not very), and strode next to you with his hand resting on your hip.

Over time, it had become second nature for him to do so and every time, you find it just as sweet as the first.

"Did you want to come in?" You ask him under the porch light as you fiddle around with the keys.

That was also something you asked after you became better... acquainted. Nine times out of ten, Samuel would answer with a hungry glint in his eyes and a smirk that makes you want him to devour you.

Tonight-

"I've got an early morning."

It's a straightforward response. You know there's no game playing, yet you can't help the pang of disappointment and rejection. "Oh."

He chuckles at your response, the eagerness that was so clearly painted on your face then the way it dropped, "Were you expecting something?"

Samuel knows exactly what you were expecting, and relishes the way his question makes you blush.

"No!" Even to your own ears it sounds like a complete lie.

"Tomorrow," he promises, kissing you on the lips and leaving you breathless.

.

.

No matter what time your train gets in, Samuel is there waiting on the platform for you.

Sometimes it's with a bouquet, sometimes it's with a coffee. A little pick-me-up that he has thoughtfully prepared for you.

He really didn't need to do this, although you express constantly how much you greatly appreciate it. You've told him again and again but he insists on being there for his peace of mind. To make sure you've arrived safely, to make sure that you return back to his arms in one piece.

In the past he has cut off meetings with Eugene early, or heads back to the office to work late into night once he has taken you home.

For him, it's always worth it.

"Sammy!"

You're the first off the train, already impatiently gathering your things as soon as you recognised his outline waiting on the platform. Practically running off the carriage and full body slamming into his open arms.

He holds you like he hasn't seen you in years, like you're his lifeline and he's been adrift without you by his side even if it's only been half a day.

"Let's go home," he says, finally releasing you from his embrace. He offers up his hand and you happily intertwine your fingers together.

[dioslesbianwife]

Headcannons for Jojo villains and how they’d act with a crush + what kind of person I think they’d be attracted to.

Dio

Type:

I think he’d like confident, ambitious, and self-assured individuals who challenge him intellectually and emotionally. Bonus points if they have a bit of a rebellious streak or a mysterious aura. He’d want someone who doesn't blindly worship him but still admires his power.

How He Acts:

Dio doesn’t fall for someone lightly- it’s all or nothing. He’ll fixate on their every move, convinced that they belong to him. The moment he perceives any kind of threat or rival, he eliminates it without hesitation.

When he flirts, it’s incredibly intense, piercing stares, lingering touches, and comments that toe the line between alluring and unnerving.

If he succeeds in seducing the object of his affections, the gifts he gives will be extravagant. Roses, rare jewels, and maybe even an entire estate. Anything less wouldn’t be worthy of his crush.

Kars

Type:

Strong willed and intelligent people who can hold their own. He respects cunning and determination. Aesthetic beauty also matters to him- not necessarily conventional attractiveness, moreso someone whose features complement each other well if that makes sense. Bonus points for someone who shares his appreciation for nature.

How He Acts:

Kars is subtle and strategic. He’ll study his crush carefully, ensuring he knows their likes, dislikes, and small details about them.

He often shows off his intellect or skills to impress them, showcasing his knowledge in a way that seems effortless but is very deliberate. His compliments are poetic and flowery, often comparing his crush to natural wonders.

There’s a predatory undertone to his behavior- he sees them as something to be claimed, but he’s patient and willing to wait until they are “ready” in his eyes.

If rejected, he hides his disappointment very well, but his determination to win them over increases tenfold.

Yoshikage Kira

Type:

Quiet, unassuming, and polite individuals who won’t disrupt his desire for a peaceful life. He likes someone elegant and well kept, someone who seems “perfect” on the surface. He’s especially into people with delicate hands. Long fingers, smooth skin, or anything that catches his attention.

How He Acts:

Kira is pretty uncomfortable when he has a crush. This is a disruption to his quiet life. He tries to act normal but definitely stares for too long. He might “accidentally” bump into his crush in the most carefully planned ways, all while pretending it’s a coincidence.

I can see him trying to go about wooing his crush in traditionally romantic ways to align with his carefully crafted persona. Small gifts start showing up. A perfectly arranged bouquet, a beautifully handwritten note, or a box of chocolates left anonymously.

If he feels his obsession growing, he becomes more withdrawn, afraid of slipping up and letting his other urges take over.

He fantasizes about a quiet life with his crush, free from chaos, imagining them as the perfect addition to his meticulously crafted world.

Diavolo

Type:

Mysterious, independent individuals who don’t reveal everything about themselves. He’s drawn to people who are both confident and slightly unpredictable. Bonus points if they’re creative or resourceful, as he respects ingenuity.

How He Acts:

Diavolo is secretive and cautious. He doesn’t let his crush know how he feels but watches them from the shadows, learning their habits and routines. He sends Doppio to interact with his crush first, testing the waters and gauging their personality before making a move.

If he decides to pursue them, it’s in a very controlled, calculated way. His dates are expensive but private. He avoids public displays of affection to keep his identity hidden. Deep down, he’s terrified of being vulnerable, so he may push them away if he feels they’re getting too close.

If his crush is in danger, however, he’ll become more protective, erasing threats without hesitation.

Doppio

Type:

Kind, and nurturing individuals who make him feel safe and appreciated. He’ll appreciate people who treat him gently and don’t judge his eccentricities. He also appreciates someone with a bit of a playful side.

How He Acts:

Doppio is easily flustered around his crush. He avoids eye contact, trying to act natural. He does small, thoughtful things to make them happy, like leaving them little gifts or helping them with random tasks. He talks to himself a lot more when they’re around, accidentally spilling his feelings in bits and pieces.

Doppio might get jealous easily but wouldn’t know how to express it properly. Instead, he sulks quietly or becomes overly clingy.

If Diavolo steps in, things get complicated. Doppio’s crush might unknowingly become a pawn in one of Diavolo’s schemes. Doppio would try to get permission from Diavolo to pursue his crush. Depending on how that goes, they may or may not be in danger.

Enrico Pucci

Type:

I see him liking someone deeply spiritual or philosophical, with a strong sense of purpose. Pucci admires people who are passionate about their beliefs, even if they don’t align with his. He’s drawn to calm, serene individuals who seem almost otherworldly.

How He Acts:

Pucci is composed and reserved, but his crush stirs a conflict within him. He worries about whether his feelings align with his divine mission. He would engage his crush in long, meaningful conversations, subtly steering the topics toward their values and beliefs to see if they’re what God has planned for him or if they’re just a distraction to his goals.

He prays for guidance constantly, torn between his faith and his feelings. If he believes his crush is part of his destiny, he becomes devoted to them. Pucci might (whether intentionally or unintentionally) guilt trip his crush, using religious metaphors to make them feel connected to his mission.

His protective streak comes out if they’re in danger. He views it as his duty to shield them from harm, even if it means going to extremes.

Funny Valentine

Type:

Patriotic, noble, and idealistic individuals who share his vision for a better future. He greatly admires people who are loyal and willing to sacrifice for the greater good. He also respects intelligence and subtlety, drawn to those who are tactful and diplomatic.

How He Acts:

Outwardly Valentine is a gentleman, treating his crush with the utmost respect and courtesy. He goes out of his way to ensure their comfort and happiness. His feelings manifest in grand gestures, lavish dinners, eloquent speeches, and promises of unwavering support.

He’s highly strategic, ensuring that his crush aligns with his goals before fully committing. If they don’t, he’ll either try to “convince” them his vision of America is perfect. Or he’ll keep them at a distance and just use them until he’s satisfied and ready to move on.

If he views his crush as part of his grand design, he won’t tolerate anyone interfering. If he really cares about his crush and they’re in danger, he’ll risk almost anything to protect them, justifying it as a necessary sacrifice for the sake of love and his country.

•••••••••••••••••••

Anyway, hope you enjoyed my take on these guys! Requests are always open ofc! 🩷

[shall-we-die]

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{Kill}

Would they kill for revenge?

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↬[Fandom]•⊰ {Bungo Stray Dogs}࿐

↬[Warnings]•⊰ {Angst}࿐

☰[Main list]•⊰ ────┈┈{0060}┈─╮

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╰┈➤Likes/Reblogs are appreciated࿐

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↬|Atsushi|

Atsushi is a kind-hearted person who has a strong sense of justice and ethics.

He believes in protecting those who cannot protect themselves and he has a deep respect for life.

While he may act impulsively due to his emotions, it's very unlikely that Atsushi would kill someone for his significant other in revenge.

Instead, he would probably try to find a peaceful resolution to the problem.

If pushed into a corner though, he would defend his loved one and might resort to lethal force if necessary, but killing is not something he desires or enjoys doing.

Atsushi is more inclined to defend and protect what he believes in than to take a life.

Killing is not something he takes lightly and it's something that goes against his moral beliefs.

If he finds himself unable to prevent a threat without using lethal force, he would likely do everything in his power to try and find an alternative solution, even if it means putting himself at risk.

Atsushi cares deeply about life and values the sanctity of human life, believing that life is a gift that should be treasured.

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↬|Dazai|

Dazai would probably not have a problem doing that if his S/O asked. If he found out that his S/O was in trouble, he will be like a lion protecting his mate.

He won't hesitate to kill anyone who threatens his partner. If someone has hurt his S/O in any way, Dazai won't let them get away with it.

And if anyone tries to hurt or manipulate his S/O, it will be their ultimate mistake. He won't stop until he makes sure his S/O is out of danger.

His S/O knows he has the skills to handle it. (He is an ex-mafia member after all) He is very protective of his S/O, and if anyone crosses the line by hurting them, he'll make them wish they were never born.

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↬|Chuuya|

Chuuya would most likely want revenge if someone has hurt his S/O, be it emotional or physical hurt. But he might stop if the S/O says he'd rather not get revenge.

If someone hurts his S/O, I'd imagine his reaction would be pretty extreme. Like, he'd go feral and would most likely stop at nothing to kill the person that hurt his partner.

He isn't the best at taking care of someone when they are sick or hurt. He can be pretty good at calming someone down if they are having a panic attack or anxious though, as he can help ground them and guide them back to reality.

I'd imagine if he gets really close to his S/O he'd start to get a bit softer and more gentle, and become more sentimental. So when s/o tells him to stop, chuuya will stop.

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↬|Akutagawa|

Akutagawa's loyalty towards his s/o is absolute, and if someone causes them harm, he would not hesitate to take revenge, even if it means resorting to lethal force.

While he values loyalty and trust in a relationship, his ruthless nature and dedication to his responsibilities might lead him to make extreme decisions if push comes to shove.

Ultimately, his actions will depend on the circumstances and how deeply he feels for his s/o.

If his s/o were ever in danger or harmed, Akutagawa would go to extreme lengths to protect them. This could include resorting to violence or even killing individuals he perceives as threats to their safety.

He is fiercely protective and would do whatever it takes to ensure their well-being. However, it's important to note that his tendency to act impulsively and violently might also put his partner in harm's way unintentionally.

Despite this, he genuinely cares for his s/o and would try his best to make them happy.

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↬|Tetchou|

Tetchou isn’t a violent man usually, but if someone were to hurt his s/o, he’s going to get extremely aggressive.

If said s/o were to be killed, Tetchou will not hesitate to revenge his partner, and to the point of potentially killing his s/o’s aggressor.

He’d also blame himself for not being there for his s/o when they needed him most, and he would have a hard time letting go of the dead lover, to the point of visiting their graves regularly and keeping momentos related to them on him in the form of jewellery.

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↬|Jouno|

Yes, he'll kill in revenge. Though he tries to hold control, once he's pushed over the line, he'll go absolutely feral and slaughter anyone and anything in his way.

He is quite possessive of his s/o, the thought of someone hurting them makes his blood boil.

He gets incredibly envious of others talking to his s/o and will become extremely clingy.

He can a bit much, can't he?

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↬|Fyodor|

Yes, he definitely would. Fyodor is a possessive and protective man, after all.

He won't hesitate if it means protection for his loved one. He would probably do it in a very discrete way, not get caught and try his best to avoid any evidence.

But overall, yes, he would kill that bastard in revenge without hesitation.

(I have never used the word ''kill'' so many times like this, damn.)

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↬|Nikolai|

Ah, revenge for his special person.. I would say yes. Nikolai would kill for his s/o if they were hurt.

He is a man of chaos and insanity, but he values love and compassion. So any hurt towards his loved one would be answered with revenge.

If someone hurts his s/o, Nikolai becomes enraged. He loses his usual playful demeanor and becomes a dangerous force to be reckoned with.

He will stop at nothing to confront the person responsible and ensure they never harm his s/o again.

He may toy with them, playing mind games and using his theatrical skills to torment them.

For Nikolai sees his lover as the most valuable thing in the world, and anyone who threatens them is an enemy.

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↬|Sigma|

If only he was absolutely confident and certain that he wouldn't get caught or punished for it...

And he would do so as efficiently and painlessly as possible.

He wouldn't want to leave someone on death's door, making them suffer more than necessary.

However, he would kill for self preservation or for the preservation of another who is defenseless.

He won't stand idly as they are put in danger, especially knowing he himself is capable of protecting those around him.

||[🄺ill]||

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[bippot]

Calendar Girl - Before

Story Summary -> When his buddy goes missing, Adrian spends all of his time and energy trying to get her back to him. Because they're friends. Nothing more.

Tags -> Violence, Blood and Gore, Kidnapping, Mommy Issues, Idiots in Love, Fluff, Canon-Typical Violence, Stabbing, Gun Violence, Knives, Murder, Threats of Violence, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Valentine's Day

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13th of February

Adrian was going insane. For the last 48 hours, he'd been on patrol nonstop, and, for the first time ever, it wasn't out of a want to do so. No. He needed to. Every thug and criminal held the possibility to give him what he wanted: a location.

Y/N had been kidnapped, and they had no idea where the hell she was. 

It was unlike her to go no contact, so when Adrian hadn't received a text or even a simple meme in over 12 hours, he got a bit anxious. That was only made worse when he brought up his worries with Harcourt, who usually teased him for being so clingy to the new girl, but she agreed with him. Obviously, that wasn't normal. Emilia never agreed with him.

Thanks to the high-stakes nature of the 11th Street Kids, official members - everyone but Vigilante - were required to check in at 8am, 12pm, 4pm, and 8pm. There were a few times when someone missed one (it was so unlikely that Peacemaker would be awake at 8am that Harcourt stopped expecting that one from him), but once someone missed an entire day's worth, it was officially a cause for concern.

John hacked into the security camera of the corner shop that was opposite Y/N's apartment, and after skimming along the footage for the day, he came across the exact moment where the incident occurred. At 1 am on the 12th of February, a black van pulled up outside her place, 4 bald tattooed guys went in, and then 6 minutes later, they exited with a knocked-out woman in their arms. The men proceeded to place her in the back of the van and left, not even bothering to close the front door behind them. Was it random? Or had someone from Y/N's past come back for vengeance?

And now Adrian had a vendetta with every single bald man in the world. As soon as he knew what type of person to look for, he was on the hunt. He'd made a few mistakes, that's true - thanks to a particularly awkward interaction he had with a teenage boy going through chemotherapy, Adrian was planning to make a hefty donation to charity as soon as this ordeal was over - but if he had to accuse everyone with male pattern baldness of being a dickhead, he was going to do it.

Y/N was worth it. Everyone since she joined the team, Adrian's life had significantly improved. She was kind and friendly and pretty, and she always treated him like an equal. Y/N was easy to be around. The entire team thought so too.

Emilia and Y/N had known each other for years. While Emilia had been working under Waller, Y/N had been feeding her any information that she found out that could get Emilia out of her employment. Any titbit of gossip, allegation, or piece of intel she could get her hands on was passed along. Hell, Y/N may have even tortured a bad guy or two to help Emilia. Harcourt wasn't one for friends, but if she were one, Y/N would be classified as her dearest.

The immense stress of Coverdale Ranch had caused Economos to develop frequent and all-consuming migraines. Y/N was just the best when it came to comforting him while one came on, with Leota coming in second (she lost a few points because she gets flustered by silence and becomes overly talkative to offset that). Whether it was appealing to Harcourt's humanity in order to get John a paid sick day, ensuring the backroom was a stimuli-free space on the days when her appeals didn't work, or diverting the two very loud, very annoying heroes away from HQ so there was some semblance of peace, John was always grateful for Y/N's empathy.

Chris liked that Y/N could take his teasing and give it back. Her wit was sharp, and her humour was black. Although she didn't always agree with what Peacemaker said, she had a comeback ready every time. It was a delight to argue with her.

Adebayo loved how normal Y/N seemed. John was a hacker, and he acted exactly as you'd think a hacker would act. Harcourt was far too closed off to truly know. There were so many layers of bullshit hiding Peace's real personality that looking past that was tiring sometimes. And Vigilante was... well, Leota had no idea what went on in Adrian's head, and she simply didn't want to know.

Hours before Y/N was kidnapped, Leota had been at her apartment. Keeya had gotten a little angry at her because they were supposed to have gone on a romantic holiday to Paris, but because of Leota's work, they had to push it back. So, Adebayo decided to give her wife some space and sought refuge with her coworker. The pair ordered some pizza, drank some wine, and watched a crappy movie. Their friendship was so beautifully normal that Leota was thankful for the simplicity.

Though he hadn't disclosed it, 20 minutes after Adebayo had left Y/N's apartment that night, another one of the 11th Street Kids showed up. 

Now, Adrian was punching his way through half of the criminal underworld for even a smidgen of information about Y/N. The thing was, none of those people seemed to know anything at all. That was until Vigilante came across two bald drug dealers that had tattoos of a simple line drawing of a calendar on the left side of their neck. Bald. ✔️ Tattooed. ✔️ Criminal. ✔️ Based on the criteria he'd been provided, these guys fit so Adrian prepared to fuck these guys up on sight.

The dealers were arguing about something when Vigilante approached. He grabbed one by the scruff of his shirt and slammed him up against the wall, then had the barrel gun pressed against the other man's neck in seconds. "Where is your boss?" Adrian yelled.

"Who the fuck are you?"

"Wrong answer," Vigilante said, pulling the trigger and blowing out the man's skull. He then turned the gun on the guy against the wall. "Want to end up like your buddy?"

"No."

"Imma say this one more time: where is your boss?"

"I'll tell you everything," the dealer whined, raising his hands above his head in surrender, and then the criminal vomited a bunch of vital info in one big, long breath.

Vigilante dragged the dealer, who he found out was called Gustin, into HQ and shoved the guy into the centre of the room, pointing his gun at him and ordering, "Tell them what you told me."

The other members of the 11th Street Kids just stared as this unfolded. Did they expect this? No, not exactly. Did they understand why Adrian was treating this random man so harshly? No, they never knew why he did what he did. Was the hope that they finally had a lead more consuming than their shock? Why, yes. Yes, it was.

"This girl you're looking for," Gustin began, looking from person to person. He was met with five annoyed faces. "I know where she is."

"Well, spill it!" Adrian demanded. 

Gustin continued, "She's being held in the old warehouse just next to Hurtz Lane. Our boss has her in the basement."

John immediately typed that into Google Maps and found the location. After a minute of searching, he realised that the warehouse was a few hours away from where they were currently located.

Chris lowered Adrian's gun away from the shaking criminal. He didn't even need to see his buddy's face to know that he was tired - the way he was slowly swaying from side to side gave it all away. "Bud, you should nap. I'll keep an eye on this douchewad," he said, pointing to Gustin.

Adrian seemed to consider that for the briefest of moments. Then, as swift as lightning, he pulled one of his knives off his belt and jabbed it in Gustin's direction. "What does your boss want with Y/N? Is she even still alive?" he pressed, eyes boring into Gustin's soul.

"She's alive! She's still alive! He wants somebody special to spend the holiday with."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"Valentine's Day!" the man babbled. "It's his favourite."

"Who?"

"Calendar Man!"

Peacemaker let out a groan, muttering, "Fuckin' Calendar Man."

Though Peace had been in Belle Reve with Calendar Man, he had no clue about the extent of his crimes. Harcourt and Economos, on the other hand, weren't as glib. They knew. Harcourt nodded toward the hacker, and John quickly began to whip up a PowerPoint to go over everything because that was the only way that the heroes absorbed information. As much as they made fun of him for it, John knew that this bit of minor labour was beneficial to the mission. They needed to be prepared when it came to Calendar Man.

Gustin proceeded to spill his guts. He told them literally everything they needed to know.

"Cool, you're going to take me and Peace to wherever he's at. If you try to run, I'll stab you in the fucking nuts," Vigilante threatened, resting the blade against Gustin's throat. "We're going in guns blazing, gonna be shooting every motherfucker in sight."

"...Vij, no," Chris sighed.

"Vigilante, there are two of you and, judging by what Gustin has told us, up to fifty of them," Leota countered. They needed a plan. It was sweet how much he wanted to save her, but he would get himself killed in the process.

2 vs. 50? Vigilante thought he could take that. Even if Peacemaker was too much of a pussy to try, he could take that all by himself if he had to.

"Fuck you guys. I'm going by myself."

Chris managed to stop him before he got out of the door, grabbing his wrist and tugging him back so he wouldn't leave. Vigilante tried yanking his arm out of Chris's grip, but his pal didn't let go.

"Dude, think it through," Chris pleaded. "It could turn ugly fast. I hate to sound like such a dick, but having prep time will help. If they expect that you're coming, he'll kill Y/N. You don't want her to get fucked up. I know you don't, bro. Just wait a little."

It made Adrian annoyed that he wanted to tear his friend's throats out, but he knew that would be a dumb move. Y/N was still in danger, and he needed to keep his mind primed and ready. Still, if he killed Gustin, that wouldn't cause all that much trouble. If anything, it would wipe another criminal off the street, which (to Adrian) is always a good thing. 

Partly because this guy was loosely related to Y/N going missing and mostly because Adrian had no idea where to focus his anger, the knife was plunged into the criminal's throat. His dying body slumped to the floor, the wound pouring blood, and Vigilante casually stepped over it like he was a puddle rather than a full human being.

"Fine. But if she's dead when we get there, I'm going to kill you."

He wasn't joking, and they knew that. A chill ran down their spines, and though they'd never taken Vigilante seriously before, feeling the seriousness behind those words was terrifying. Without another word, Adrian sat at the desk and waited for the presentation, his foot tapping nervously against the chair leg. He was unnervingly silent. The others stared at the dead guy lying in a pool of his blood, giving each other glances that spoke more than words ever could.

"Julian Gregory Day is a criminal mastermind who is obsessed with dates," Adebayo began. "On New Year's, he used a flamethrower to interrupt the annual Gotham Ball. And our reports say that last Valentine's Day, well, he..."

She trailed off, letting the next slide do the talking for her. The image on the screen was of someone who looked similar to Y/N with deep, dark purple bruises around her neck and jawline. Her mouth hung open while her eyes were staring lifelessly at nothing in particular, and a thin line of red leaked out from her nose, dripping down onto the white sheet that covered the concrete floor below her. Strangely, the woman was dressed impeccably. Her clothes looked brand new, expensive, and perfectly fitted to her body, and her hair was neatly styled around her head like a halo. There was no doubt that she would've been a total knockout when she was alive, but now with her dull skin and sunken features, there was an air of emptiness that surrounded her.

Adebayo noticed as Adrian shielded his eyes from the image, making sure not to look at the woman herself, and the way he shook his head a little after doing so, it was clear that he had caught a glimpse of the picture in question. Shying away from crime scene photos was so out of character - hell, he'd even committed acts way more violent than this - but Leota knew why he reacted the way he did. Everyone did. It was obvious.

There was a reason why he always insisted that he had to pair up with Y/N. There was a reason why he let her use his weapons. And there was a reason why he couldn't look at someone who looked like her in a position like that.

She continued her presentation, bringing up the blueprints of the building Y/N was being kept in and a live feed of the security cameras inside that Economos had hacked his way into. Sitting at a dinner opposite each other was Calendar Man and a shabbily dressed Y/N. Adrian's hand twitched at his side as he watched the interaction unfold in front of him, feeling absolutely helpless. He was so close yet so far from seeing Y/N again. This was torture on more levels than he could fathom. His emotions were running high enough as it was; he just hoped the adrenaline would eventually kick in and numb the pain.

All he could do was remember when he last saw her.

The 11th

Adebayo had just left with what was remaining of the pizza they ordered in a Tupperware in her hand and returned to Keeya for the night, so Y/N started to get ready for bed. Admittedly, it was a little early, but there's nothing wrong with an early night. Some beauty sleep never hurt anyone.

While in the process of changing into her PJs, three soft pings bounced off her bedroom window. She froze, her worn-in and cosy sleep shorts pulled up only to her knees. Another ping. Then another. Then she heard a very familiar whine, immediately dressed herself, and opened the window. Vigilante stood in her garden, clutching his side and making little yelps of pain whenever he moved.

"You can use the front door, y'know?" Y/N whisper-yelled down from her window, watching him as he perked up at her voice and waved at her with a fully crimson hand. "Fuck, that's a lot of blood."

In no time at all, she had him settled onto her couch and peeled away his suit to reveal a fairly large gash across his abdomen. It was gnarly and jagged, and if anyone else had been the recipient of that injury, she would've called an ambulance. Thanks to Adrian's healing factor, she knew he'd survive and be healed as if it had never happened within the next week if it was cared for properly, and Y/N was more than willing to care for him.

"What happened this time?"

Shrugging, he muttered, "This crazy guy on crack totally stabbed me."

"Dead?"

"He is now."

"Good," Y/N smirked. "That'll teach him."

Laying his head back against the arm of the chair, Adrian closed his eyes, trying to relax from the pain that was radiating through his body. Her affirmation of his skills pleased him to no end. He knew that Y/N appreciated his abilities and, despite what others might say, she was one of the few people who understood why he did what he did. It was nice to be understood and acknowledged, especially by her.

They'd been through this dance before - far too many times to count - and Y/N began to clean away all of his blood with one hand and held the other palm up for Adrian to grip onto. He'd never been good with pain and naturally was a loud boy, and those two factors didn't go well together. Mr. Barten next door had left a strongly worded letter under Y/N's door the last time this happened. Her neighbour had gotten the wrong idea about what was going on and had asked if Y/N would stop edging her incredibly loud boyfriend at 3am in the morning. The letter itself was written way more conservatively, but that was the general gist.

And that's why Leota always sedated him before she fixed his injuries.

Far too casually, Y/N asked, "Gag or no gag tonight?" and Adrian's cheeks flushed pink. Obviously, it was to muffle him to not rouse suspicion or any more noise complaints, but there was a sexual way to read her words.

"I'll keep it down."

"You sure?" 

With every swipe of the cloth against his blood-soaked abdomen, Adrian felt himself getting hotter. Sweat was already forming on his brow and upper lip as she continued cleaning him, but he didn't dare speak and just nodded and shook his head whenever she asked any more questions, lest he risk arousing suspicion. It wasn't that he liked pain - strangely enough, he wasn't a masochist - no, he just liked watching Y/N focus on him, taking care of him, and it was really quite nice. Holding her hand (more like squeezing, to be honest) was pretty awesome too.

Her lips pressed together in a tight line as she sanitised his wound, and she sighed, "You gotta be more careful, pumpkin. You know I don't like seeing you hurt."

"I know," Adrian mumbled, wincing at how tender the wound was compared to the rest of him. "But it's worth it to get to see you."

"You see me every day anyway," Y/N pointed out with a smile.

"Yeah, but everyone else is around. This is just us. I like just us."

"Me too, pumpkin. I like just us too," she cooed back, looking up at him before turning back to his wound.

The silence that stretched between them was comfortable, almost lulling as the seconds ticked by. She casually placed the first aid kit on his chest and searched for the needle to start stitching up his wounds. After a long minute of searching for the right needle - what's harder, a needle in a haystack or the right size needle in a clump of other needles? -  she finally found it and gently started fixing him up. 

Her fingers worked as she threaded the needle and tied off the suture thread, making quick work of the job, and Adrian was mesmerised by every detail that came into view. In just a matter of minutes, Adrian's wounds had been stitched up and wrapped, and he looked much better than he had when he first arrived. He was still pale, and his eyes were duller than usual, but at least he wasn't losing blood anymore.

"You wanna change into something comfy? Your pants are kinda bloody," Y/N suggested, picking up the first aid kit and putting it back into her drawer. "I have some sweatpants and a hoodie that should fit you somewhere. You could bring a set or two of spare clothes over for next time, if you'd like."

Adrian was touched by her offer. Having clothes at her house? If anyone came to her home, there would be physical proof that he had been there and had been there frequently enough that he had a change of clothes there. That was so thoughtful of her. Not only did she take such good care of him, but she also made the effort to make him feel wanted.

"Yeah, please. If that's chill."

"Of course it's chill. Let me go grab them for you."

The domesticity increased tenfold once they were both in comfy clothes, sitting together on her couch while watching an old episode of Love Island and eating popcorn. It was so natural for them to be here, sitting thigh to thigh, and doing bad impressions of all the accents from the show. They got completely wrapped up in their conversation, giggling like idiots at jokes that weren't even that funny and commenting on all the stupid things that happened on screen.

It was moments like these that made him want to tell her everything that was going through his mind. How he wanted to spend the rest of his life right by her side. How he missed her when she was more than 2 ft away from him. How he desperately wished he could be selfish and kiss her right now. He wanted to tell her how badly he needed her, but he didn't want to ruin the calm that they shared because of it. So instead, he just smiled at her and listened to the sound of her laughter, feeling her warmth radiating through his entire body as he rested his head on her shoulder.

"What are you doing for Valentine's Day this year?" He impulsively asked after the episode brought up the upcoming holiday.

Y/N's gaze lowered to her lap, a bashful smile spreading across her features like a warm sunbeam breaking through the clouds. She brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear and replied, "I'll probably eat ice cream alone and play Borderlands till I pass out. What about you?"

Adrian shook his head, chuckling lightly as a blush spread across his face. "Got no plans..." he began, looking away from her and playing with the hem of his shirt. "I dunno, maybe I'll do something similar. If, uh, if you want to, we could eat ice cream alone together. Just you and me, together, on Valentine's Day."

"Yeah?" Y/N grinned widely. "Like a date?"

His head snapped back to face her, his green eyes widening. His heart fluttered nervously in his chest, the blush rising to his ears as he said softly, "If you wanted it to be, then yeah, I guess it's a date. If you...you don't want to though, that's fine too. We can just hang out normally like we usually do, or we could go out for dinner... i-if that's what you want."

She reached forward, cupping his cheek with her gentle, soft hand, and he immediately leaned into her touch, closing his eyes as she caressed his skin. Her thumb stroking along his jawline was driving him insane. He tried to hold himself together, to ignore the fact that he was practically drooling at her touch, but it was proving impossible. Every touch made him melt. He craved the contact more than he'd ever craved anything before, and it scared the hell out of him.

And yet, he found himself unable to pull away. He couldn't help it, not when her eyes shone brightly like stars in the night sky, her cheeks tinted, and a soft smile gracing her mouth.

"Wanna go to the pizza place opposite the Walgreens?" Y/N asked.

"Yeah. I do... do you really want to go with me?"

To answer him, she leaned in and gently kissed him on the cheek, lingering close enough to feel her breath fanning his skin as she pulled away. Her lips were so soft and warm - he could feel the warmth coming from her lips spreading throughout his whole body - and it was absolutely euphoric. The butterflies in his stomach were threatening to burst out of his ribcage, his smile growing wider the more he stared at her, and the heat in his cheeks never seemed to die down. As they finished the episode, Y/N was cuddled into Adrian's arms with her head tucked under his chin, and he wondered how in the hell he had managed to survive without this, without her, before.

"What are you up to tomorrow?" She let her chin rest on his chest as she peered up at him. "You can stay over?"

"I've got work in the morning, which sucks. I want to stay - believe me, I want to - but my boss is defo gonna fire me if I'm late again, so I better go."

"Do you want me to drive you home?" 

He thought about it for a second. He hated to ask more of her tonight - she'd fixed a bloody, gaping wound and then literally kissed him - so he decided, "It's okay. I'll walk. I'm on, like, cloud nine or whatever, and a walk will probably calm me down. Right now I'm bouncing off the walls in my brain, and I probably won't be able to sleep if I stay with you cause I'll be so excited. But I'll see you tomorrow?"

Y/N nodded her head. "See ya tomorrow, pumpkin."

She stood and held her hands out for him to hold, tugging him to his feet. Without thinking, he looped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer as his jaw rested against her temple. He could hardly keep his eyes open - he must have been tired beyond belief after being stabbed in the guts - but he didn't give a fuck. This moment was perfect, and he wouldn't waste one single second of it, so he took in every little thing about it. Every little detail. He would make sure that memory was burnt into his mind forever. Then he slowly let her go, walking backward and staring at her the whole time until he felt the warmth of her hand slip from his own, and he stopped walking, turning to look at her one last time to say goodbye before he left.

Little did he know that he wouldn't be seeing her tomorrow or the day after that. On the 12th of February, barely an hour after he had left, 4 thugs smashed Y/N's door in when she had finally gotten off to sleep, and in her sleepy state, she hadn't reached her gun in time.

Next Chapter -> During

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[amenti-aardwolf]

Practicing the monkie kid style with my Ninjago OC Cadmus! Info about him below the cut :3

Cadmus Rant 2.0! 🐍

Name: Cadmus Everin (goes by "Cad")

Age: 23 (19 at the time of bite)

Pronouns: He/Him

Species: Complicated ^^' (serpentine human hybrid, chosen savior of the great devourer though he rejected this destiny)

Bitten by a fangpyre at 19, the venom triggered a different sort of change, one that had never been seen before. Given that he never truly became any specific species, he just ended up stuck in some kind of limbo and had no idea why, then finds out he can shift to become a particularly large and tailed serpentine, which confuses him even further. (Similar in design to the serpentine generals, follows something along the lines of werewolf rules, though he's in full control in what he calls his 'were-snake' form)

Before being hunted and pushed out of his village by his own father, who viewed him as a threat now that he was capable of so much that he never even wanted, he learned from his mother that she was infected with venom from the great devourer during her pregnancy, and though it had no immediately noticeable effect on her or Cadmus- especially not in the traditional sense of evil- he knew it changed the path that her son would have to take, despite not yet knowing the consequences. His unknowingly impacted body mixed with the new fangpyre venom triggered it, causing the change to take a different route than it should have.

He fled the village alone, keeping this information close to him as to not potentially put his mother in danger as well, eventually electing to build a small shack from scrap pieces in the woods outside the main city, far from where he'd be found by his father. He lives out there for years, scared to look for any sort of help outside of taking supplies from the serpentine, who felt some sort of obligation to him though didn't exactly want a 'failed half-blood' around, either. He kept his larger form secret, not wanting to be used as a weapon by the serpentine or hunted by society. It was bad enough that his village saw, he just hoped that word wouldn't get out about the 'monster in the woods'.

He didn't belong anywhere in particular it seemed, and eventually, he became okay with that idea. The quiet of the woods was peaceful, and the night sky without the light pollution from the city was absolutely mesmerizing. He learned to take care of himself using nature as his guide, electing to just never go back. He didn't want to put anyone in danger, especially since he started having dreams of the great devourer, her form bound and buried, guarded by the soul of the first master. She was calling out to him, calling for him to release her, though it was a call he was never willing to accept. His connection to that great evil remained a secret, something pushed deep down into his subconscious, though he knew he'd have to face his destiny eventually. He just hoped he'd have the chance to make the right choice, to keep Ninjago and the people he still loved within it safe. But when you're born with a destiny tied to your soul, it's a hard thing to escape.

He befriends Lloyd much later on because they can relate to eachother on a lot of different things, and they sit down and have a good little conversation about making the most of your life despite being bound by what everyone else tells you you're supposed to be

They meet when Lloyd starts having to deal with his oni side- Cad finds him after a fight (he had been operating as a masked vigilante for a bit in his late twenties to try to do some sort of good and prove to himself at the very least that he wasn't inherently evil) and they just have a heart to heart where Cad reveals that he's not what he'd want to be in life, either, but it's up to them as people to decide whether they use what they are and what they were given for good or for evil. They decided that their serpentine and oni forms respectively could be considered rather morally gray, that the line between good and evil isn't so evenly drawn in black and white and certainly isn't fully dictated by fate. That good can come from inherently bad things if you just give them the chance to be something better.

[hrodvitnon]

Just a thought: maybe the reason Godzilla was acting so uncharacteristically aggressive in GxK was because he is literally millions of years old, and the whole timeline of the Monsterverse basically took place over the span of ten years or so. Which, to him, probably feels like a few minutes.

So within the span of a few kaiju-minutes, he:

> had to fight his species' natural predators which very nearly turned him into a host for their eggs and overrun the world

> faced off against his ancient nemesis frozen in Antarctica, who ended up nearly killing him *twice* and almost ended all life on earth

> saw Mothra get killed right before his eyes, and even if he knows she can reincarnate she still doesn't reappear for quite a long time while all the current mayhem is happening

> was forced to deal with a Great Ape (a member of a species responsible for his own kind's extinction) being taken off Skull Island and brought into his territory while at the same time Ghidorah's telepathic signal had suddenly come back, then getting beat to within an inch of his life by a technologically superior machine *specifically* designed to kill him

> has to deal with the other titans constantly usurping his power while he tries to keep the peace by any means necessary with Scylla being the last straw

> detects the return of even more Great Apes awakening a dangerous power all the way from the Hollow Earth and is forced to prepare himself by stockpiling on energy and Tiamat wasn't giving up her stash without a fight

> Kong suddenly returning to the surface world, while Godzilla is preparing for a Great Ape invasion, and Godzilla has no context about Kong's intentions or if he has anything to do with the signals coming from the Hollow Earth

So yeah, I don't think I can really blame him for acting so vicious in GxK. Dude's had a very stressful time in such a relatively short timescale, as is clear by him *always* just trying to get back to sleep any chance he gets. We all saw the whole "tired old man" vibe he had back in 2014, and while he's become more action-oriented since then he is ultimately just desperate for a much-needed break he just can't get. And given Skar King and his previous actions, it's understandable he doesn't trust Kong right away. He takes the threat the Great Apes pose *very seriously*, and he has no idea if Kong had anything to do with it. He got a threatening signal from them from the Hollow Earth and suddenly one of them comes out of the Hollow Earth and directly challenges him? What else was he going to assume?

At the very least, he's open to some reasonable talking-to from Mothra. After she arrives to clear things up, he never again after shows any hostility to Kong because "hey, if Mothra trusts him, then I have every reason to do so as well, even if I personally don't like him."

And maybe he's finally calmed down because he's just glad to see her again. :3

Now this makes perfect sense because if maintaining balance is basically his job, he's going through the equivalent of the most draining and stressful full-time week at work imaginable with barely a moment to breathe. I've had to work the entire Christmas weekend at my job, and if that happened to me again I'd be just as pissed as Godzilla was.

[jounosparticles]

this feels really odd to ask but but what do you think the hunting dogs' thoughts are about death? specifically if they die and how? cause I feel like all of them share a variation of "I will go down guns blazing and with glory"

fukuchi definitely feels it and I feel like jouno as well. they've both had rough and violent lives so I feel like they've always thought death was just right around the corner.

I don't know about the rest of them though. teruko I feel shares the thought but not as intense as the other two, and I dont know about tecchou and tachihara.

anyway. it's a neat thought to me :3

ohhh i’ve been thinking of the best way to answer this for DAYS. this analysis will be long so ill put it under a readmore.

the hunting dogs and death - analysis

overall, it is shown that they can die. i assume due to their abilities and bodily enhancements that they do not die of injuries very easily. it makes me wonder how disease hits them? partially mechanical bodies may not respond to illness as well as natural bodies would? or maybe the opposite and they can heal more so internally? anyways here's my thoughts on how each hunting dog perceives dying!!

fukuchi

i see fukuchi as fairly self-preserving up until the end. he can't die in battle because he needs to make sure the decay of angels plot carries out.

remember that he was warned of this at nine years old. he had to spend his life preparing for this. he likely grew very wary of living recklessly and became great at fighting very fast and young; i assume that's why he went through dojos to fight as a child.

under no circumstances could he die until the world was safe.

i imagine he put on a selfless face and was willing to take serious harm in order to protect the peace, but i highly doubt he was ever willing to sacrifice his life until his plan worked out.

here we see his thought process and how things need to fall into place. his participation was essential because in no other situation would fukuzawa be the one able to get access to the one order. if fukuchi had died beforehand, the war would play out as the amenogozen warning claimed.

he had to leave the world to fukuzawa, the man he could trust most before facing his own demise.

of course, at this point in the series he has been killed since that was the final goal of his plan. a noble death for a fantastic hero.

jouno

im actually a little conflicted on his perception of death. i believe jouno is willing to sacrifice his life if absolutely necessary but is probably more self-preserving than the others. i believe he likely uses his confident and slightly arrogant attitude to hide this self-preserving mindset. someone who comes off as intimidating or nonchalant during battle is more likely to throw off the enemy whereas appearing nervous or angry will make them seem vulnerable. i believe jouno also sees himself as very strategic and able to get out of situations easily if needed. he's a quick thinker from what we've seen thus far.

lets look at when he confronted fukuchi.

he starts off very confidently accepting the offer. we know this is a facade but him immediately trying to throw fukuchi off guard seems so show he's pretty confident in his next move.

but when this doesn't work, he immediately tries to flee. this is fairly unique for a fight in bsd, many characters will often fight until they either get what they wish or they're too injured to move. despite jouno having an ability that could dodge fukuchi's, he still chose to try and escape instead of continuing to fight. this is a very normal human reaction to have but not one you see as often.

and at a disturbance, he begins to panic and needs to ground himself by reassuring himself instead of fighting back. he's not willing to put his life on the line to stop a global terrorism and his own escape is seen as a victory, which i see as him being more self-preserving. this all took place before the sword was set on fire, so it wasn't as if he had that threat to escape yet.

however, there's a chance he just didn't know how to fight the amenogozen; but his ability was definitely one of the best to fight against fukuchi with.

still, he's smart and made sure to plan adequately in case he was injured in the battle against fukuchi. he wants to keep himself safe, but he's still smart enough to take precaution.

i think jouno has probably been through a lot in his life and wants to spend a while living happily, making him more afraid to die than the others. this is even shown when he took teruko being angry as a threat while fukuchi laughed over it.

(as a small note, fukuchi's line in the anime was "haha. it seems our gremlin is angry today" which makes more sense in this context).

so tldr i think jouno would only go down if absolutely necessary and otherwise is fairly self-prioritizing.

tecchou

i believe tecchou would sacrifice himself if it brings justice.

however, he seems to see himself as one responsible for judgement, so i imagine he gives every single fight his all.

regardless of him acting as judgement, it's been shown that tecchou is willing to die if he fails at his work.

here he promises that if he were to fail he would commit seppuku (killing oneself via slicing through your stomach--an honourable death for a samurai fighter (which lines up with irl tetchou coming from samurai lineage)), which is an incredibly agonizing way to die. regardless, he is fully willing to do it if it is for peace. this shows a confidence in death and commitment to his sense of justice to an extreme manner.

and when he found himself in a situation where he was in the wrong, he immediately admitted defeat and asked his opponent to kill him.

he admits defeat, says his wrongs and is willing to accept the consequences.

he even jumps to the harsh conclusion that he isn't worthy of his title as a hunting dog. the stark white in his eyes show that his mind isn't corrupted and that he is doing what he believes is proper justice. incredibly noble.

luckily he was spared-and likely learned a lot about justice not always being as black and white as things appear.

overall, tecchou is a very noble fighter and is willing to put his life on the line for justice. he doesn't seem to fear death and will embrace it if he feels it is earned or deserved.

tachihara

i have less to say about tachihara than the others. i see him as the type that will go down over what's right and that's shown during his fight with fukuchi.

he isn't willing to fear death or beg for forgiveness. he will go down if it is worthy.

we also see that he keeps a argumentative spirit towards the enemy despite the circumstances. he will put down his opponent even in the moment of death, he just has the confidence to.

this panel also shows that he's more willing to die than to be defeated. he doesn't want to harm anyone and be controlled so he tries to kill himself first.

overall, he's a strong fighter who isn't afraid to sacrifice his life for what he believes in. his orders make him who he is, and if the orders are to win he either will or he will die trying.

(of course that last part doesn't really count when he was posing as a mafioso because he couldn't blow his cover by easily surviving everything).

teruko

much like tachihara, teruko seems to be very willing to put herself on the line to keep people safe. this is shown almost immediately in her introduction.

if ordered, she is willing to die. she's incredibly dedicated to her job and would go down if it saves people.

she's willing to go to drastic measures to keep herself alive as well, destroying her eardrum and continuing to try and fight sigma despite being under the directed resonance guns (which were made to destroy people like her). she didn't run, and she did absolutely everything she could have done in order to win.

she seems to also pride herself in fighting and being hurt in battle, likely to show her resilience and ability to do whatever it takes if it saves people.

she even goes on to call the hunting dogs "society's servants" and refers to the enhancement surgeries as "searing order into their own bodies."

this immense dedication makes me strongly believe that she would have no problem sacrificing herself if it is for the best. she killed fukuchi despite really caring for him, so i can see her being willing to put herself into that situation as well.

tysm for the question!!!!! this was super fun to read through the scenes again and try to piece together a logical guess on them all.

[deathmetalunicorn1]

I would like to request A gender neutral reader being a half titan (Greek myth titans) half mortal whose father is Oceanus (Because it only makes sense) and the ror universe greek gods being surprised about the fact that the reader is human looking and human sized despite their their father being a titan. Greek Gods Only please. (I.e. Zeus, Poseidon, Hades, Hermes And Ares and/or Heracles)

It would be fun to see their reactions.

And Crossover is Heavily Implied But No Crossover here, Please.

How They knew and met is entirely up to your choosing.

-When it was revealed that there was a child of a Titan still out there in the world, the gods, naturally, panicked!!!

-Zeus was immediately giving out orders for this Titan child to be found, worrying about another uprising, wanting this to be dealt with immediately!

-They were not expecting their target to be brought in by Aphrodite, walking alongside her, about the same height, and looked basically like a normal human, except you had blue hair that was dark in some spots and lighter in others, like the ocean.

-You weren’t really sure why you were being called by the gods, as you’ve spent most of your life lounging on a beautiful tropical island you had converted into a massive luxury resort.

-Zeus looked up at you, his eyes wide, “This is the child of Oceanus?!” you grinned warmly down at him, “Hi there! That’s right, he’s my dad! I’m Y/N!”

-You were totally not what they were expecting, even Aphrodite, who had found you on accident, was stunned that you looked so… unlike your Titan father.

-Hades then spoke to you, his tone even but not unkind, “If you’re Oceanus’ child, why are you normal sized like the rest of us?”

-You shrugged your shoulders, “Not completely sure myself- oh wait- I know why! It’s because I’m only a demi-god, mom was a human!”

-That wouldn’t completely explain things, but they weren’t going to bother with it at the moment.

-Poseidon was rather leery of you, worried you were going to try to take over the oceans to avenge your father.

-You were immediately laughing, holding your sides as he scowled, looking rather annoyed before you gave him a grin, “Why would I want to do that when I have my resort to keep me busy?”

-This…did make sense, and Zeus was the first to apologize to you but you weren’t bothered, actually extending an offer to them to visit your resort!

-Zeus- He was instantly like your best friend, he was so funny and enjoyed as many activities he could at the resort, from partaking at the different restaurants and bars, learning to dance, you taught him how to surf yourself, at least the simple stuff. You were definitely nothing like the other titans he faced in the past, you were so much fun! He quickly joined your rewards program and was at the resort at least once a month.

-Poseidon- Watched you the closest while at your resort, which was very beautiful and you took cleanliness very seriously, not allowing any pollution from your resort to taint the beaches or oceans, and you were a constant diver in the ocean around your island, making sure there was nothing bad to disturb the reef or the wildlife. He relaxed after a few days, enjoying hard liquor as he floated in the lazy river pool that wrapped around your whole island.

-Hades- Was annoyed that he spent most of his time at the resort asleep, sleeping in his bed, sleeping in a poolside cabana, sleeping on the warm sandy beaches. He felt like he didn’t get a chance to experience all your resort had to offer, but he did feel extremely relaxed. Hades booked his next vacation as they were getting ready to leave. You were no threat; he was quick to realize this.

-Hermes- The resort was so beautiful! Hermes spent days exploring, from the resort to the beaches, scuba diving with you to see the reefs, and even the jungle that had a footpath the whole way through. He had no idea this place was even here! It was so relaxing and peaceful, he could easily tell that you were nothing like other titans, you were way too chill. He did however, enjoying watching you teach Ares how to scuba dive while he sat on the beach with a massive fruity-boozy beverage.

-Ares- Was hesitant and rather distrustful of you, thinking you were an evil titan like all the others. You were very quick to prove him wrong, given them all free reign of the resort, they could eat, drink, and have as much fun as they wanted! Ares, after a bit of goading from Hermes and Zeus, managed to convince him to go scuba diving, but only if you taught him. Ares found the experience different but eye-opening, although he didn’t like his father and half-brother teasing him afterwards.

-Hercules- You two were like you had been separated at birth, almost constantly together, getting along so easily with each other. He loved your resort, especially the options of food available from the six restaurants and nine bars, all with vastly different menus. He also enjoyed exploring through your jungle, seeing the signs you had put out, showing different landmarks. It felt so good to just be able to lay down, bury his feet in the warm sand, and relax the days away.

-Aphrodite- Was in heaven at your resort, taking full advantage of the spas, pools, and drinks offered; she spent her whole time there being pampered and treated like the goddess she was. You were definitely not a threat, despite your lineage, and she will not hesitate to defend her new favorite resort owner from others.

[twigg96]

I Should Have Been There

Daryl Dixon X Bitten Reader fic

Era: Alexandria

Pronouns: She/Her/You/[Y/N]

Warnings: Cannon divergent, talks of illness and zombie bites in detail, kidnapping, descriptions of limp amputation, blood, talks about prosthetics, Angst, Hurt/comfort

Summery: After Daryl goes out for a run, Pete Anderson asks you to help him carry some records back to his office for him. What you never expected of the doctor was to be locked up in a torture chamber with a walker as a punishment and statement for Rick to take heed to not fuck with him or his family ever again. It's up to Glenn, your best friend since before the outbreak, Daryl your boyfriend, the ingenious thinking of Maggie, the invisible nature of Carol's investigation skills, and Rick your over protective leader to find you. But will they find you in time to save your life?

Your POV

Walking around the walls of Alexandria for the 100th time that day you began to feel. The cabin fever beginning to take hold of you. Being out on the land for so long, free to go where you wanted, run where ever you wanted with the threat of walkers being the only thing keeping you awake at night truly was a luxury you were missing around now. Rick and Michonne had instructed everyone to keep your heads down. Keep to yourselves as much as possible. So you did as told even if you did wish Daryl had smuggled you on his bike on his latest run outside. But if anyone needed the escape more than you it was your boyfriend. With a deep sigh you tapped the metal of the wall with your wrench listening vaguely for any sounds of defaults or hollowness in the sound that reverberated back to you indicating a missing nut or rust that needed to be brushed away. Maggie, your chore partner for this particular job looked over her shoulder to you eyeing you with her dark eyes. "What? Am I not entertaining enough company fer ya?" She teased, knowing exactly what was bothering you. The poor brunette had her ear chewed off for hours the night before when you found out your boyfriend had taken yet another long run without even saying a word goodbye. "No..." You muttered, boredom dripping from your voice. "Just antsy." You replied not even looking to the walls anymore as the two of you continued your rounds. "How about this?" Maggie muttered, turning around on her heel so that she was walking backwards facing towards you. "We finish our shift, and I'll talk Deanna into letting us sneak past the gates for an evening stroll picking flowers?" She cocked a brow making the offer sound as enticing as she could. Picking flowers sounded like the most boring job a person could have especially when there were so many more exciting jobs to be had. But if it gave you an opportunity to escape this Hell for a little you would put up with anything. "Sure." You smiled, brushing some hair behind your ear.

"Morning ladies." A voice deep and sickeningly prideful called out to you both pulling your attention. You struggled to hide your disgust as you stared at the town's doctor, Pete Anderson. A dirty blonde towering idiot of a man who thought that using intimidation would get him places. Oh how wrong he had been once Rick had found out what he was doing to his wife... however his usual cockiness had returned and his air of superiority seemed to permeate even the space the three of you held, which worried you if you were being honest. "Can I have your help with something?" He asked, tucking his bruised hands into his pockets. "Just need help carrying some medical records and would appreciate the second pair of hands." He muttered meeting your eyes momentarily before turning them to the ground. Turning to Maggie you shared a glance, one that spoke more than words ever could. One of mistrust for the doctor but knew, in order to keep the peace with the town that one of you should at least try. Silently, Maggie glanced to the next wooden watch tower not even three tracker trailer lengths away. Atop it sat a very bored looking Glenn, his back pressed to the metal wall, his baseball cap pulled over his eyes, rifle resting comfortably over his lap. If you didn't know better you'd think the Korean was sleeping. But experience with your best friend had proved that the apocalypse had shaped him into one light sleeper. Maggie gave you a small almost indistinguishable look that told you to go. She'd stay and she and Glenn would come for you if she didn't see you by the time she reached her husband's post. Nodding you turned back to the doctor you shoved the wrench you carried deep in your pocket and stepped forward. "Lead the way, doc."

You watched the sky turn a ruddy orange as Pete lead you past rows and rows of very similar housing. If it wasn't for small lawn ornaments, flower and vegetable gardens growing, and hand made decorations you would have never been able to distinguish the houses apart. Placing his hand on your arm, Pete ushered you through a tight ally between two houses and into a space you never knew existed. Not that you ever explored beyond the main populace for fear of becoming eternally lost amongst the suburban hell. Beyond the pampered lawns of owned society were the untamed untended lawns of houses yet to find a owner. Their windows were dark and dust covered. Some were boarded with windows broken presumably from rocks thrown from the local hooligans that roamed the streets after dark. Pete lead you to one of the homes, a small nearly invisible basement door had been painted over making it nearly indistinguishable with the rest of the rest of the house's foundation aside from a rusted padlock that held the door shut and had warn with the elements. Pulling a set of keys from his pocket, Pete tried several of them with various levels of success before finally popping it open with a small click. Pocketing the lock, Pete unlatched the door and swung the door open with a loud squeak.

The basement was dark and dusty. Dirt laid on every surface that was bathed in light from the doorway. Mice droppings scattered the floor and the smell of stale air and mold filled the air making your stomach turn. The doctor however pushed forward into the darkness turning on a flashlight you never knew he possessed. Following close behind the man who craned his neck while swiping at spider webs that threatened to get in his face. "So where are these records at?" You muttered lowly, glancing at the man only now noticing how dark his bags under his eyes had gotten since your arrival. Dr. Anderson never responded instead he pointed his torch towards a wooden door locked with another series of padlocks. You cocked a brow but didn't question anything, HIPPA was a thing in the early world... you simply assumed he was one of the only ones who still adhered to it. Kicking an empty can of fruit to the side that must have fallen from one of the wooden shelves surrounding you, a sudden deep growl stopped you in your tracks. Grabbing the doctor's shoulder tight enough to bruise you quickly placed your finger to your lips. A walker?! Here in the town?! Maybe the house was inhabited at one point and the owner died? Grabbing the wrench from your pocket you wished you had been smart enough to grab your knife from the armory that morning. Pete swung his light around where you pointed. To the floor to look for crawlers then through the shelving. You saw nothing but the shadows that made you even more wary then you already were. Looking above yourself you assumed that the walker had died in the upper levels of the home... You'd have to come back with Rick later to deal with it... "Let's get these records. Just keep your voice down." You whispered gesturing to the door with the padlock. The doctor nodded pulling his keys from his pocket to unlock the lock.

As the lock knocked against the latch, the growling grew, and your patience dwindled. "Jesus can you be any fucking louder?" You whispered, glaring at the man. "Doctors are supposed to have steady hands... right?" You hissed, ready to rip the keys from the quivering man's hands yourself and do it yourself. "Shut the fuck up." Dr. Anderson growled back unlatching the lock at last. Flipping the lock and unlatching the door with one motion Pete too a step back behind you, shoving you forward through the door. The unexpectedness of it all made you trip over the high step in the doorframe. You lost your grip on your wrench and it flew from your hand and skittered onto the floor into the darkness of the room. "Ah... what the-" You called out turning to Pete, a devilish grin crossing his illuminated face. "Rick thinks he can save everyone... Lets see him save you..." He muttered darkly. Your eyes widened at the doctor's words and a deep low growl echoed from further into the room. The sickening smell of decomp hit you like a truck and the silhouette of something vaguely human limped into the light. Scrambling to your feet you tried like hell to reach the door before it was slammed shut. But only you were too late. Scratching and banging your palms against the wood of the door you could hear your heart beating in your ears. No! No no nO! This isn't how it was supposed to go! "Pete please let me out!" You begged hearing the latch close and lock click. "I wager you have three days before you die of thirst... lets see how long it takes Rick to notice you're gone." Footsteps leading away from the door were followed by a small rustling and a high pitch squeak from the other door closing.

The growls from behind you grew only louder but in the pitch dark you had no idea how close or how many walkers existed in the small space. Pressing yourself firmly to the grimy walls you slowly started to skirt along the permitter feeling the cold wet cement under your fingers. Faintly you wondered what it was that was wet before figuring it was better to live in ignorance than disgust. As you rounded the first corner you found the sharp corner of something tall and heavy protruding from the wall. An end table? No it was far too heavy for that and metal. Sliding your hand down the side of the object you found it was long and rectangular with drawers. Ah so a filing cabinet or a safe. Interesting. Skirting around the object you hugged the wall as closely as possible hoping you were near the rear of the room and at least halfway around. But as your foot came in contact with a metal can sending it rolling across the floor you felt your body tense as the deep growling came from mere inches from your face.

Glenn's POV

The sun had lowered far beyond the forest and the lights of the town began to light. From Glenn's place upon the tower he could see the approaching headlights of Aaron and Daryl returning from their run . A smile graced his lips as he sat up slinging his rifle over his shoulder. Should make [Y/N] happy to see him home safe. "Glenn!" Maggie called up the wooden latter as he stood. Looking down Glenn smiled down at his wife. Everyday was little brighter when he saw her beautiful face. "Hey Mags. Where's [your nickname]? She run off to be with lover boy already?" Glenn asked a smirk gracing his features as he climbed down the creaky latter. "No... I was just about to ask you if you'd seen her..." Maggie muttered worriedly. Glenn cocked a brow hopping the last step of the latter. It wasn't like you to skip work ever. "Why? Something wrong?" Glenn asked moving the hat on his head to wipe away the sweat that was building underneath. "Dr. Anderson came by earlier..." She drawled rubbing her arms and looking around nervously. Glenn frowned wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "I saw them walk off together into the town a few hours back... want to take a walk with me up to the garage? I'm sure she just got caught up helping the doctor. She just got carried away talking with Daryl." Glenn muttered, although his voice didn't hide the worry that he felt deep inside.

Walking hand in hand with Maggie to the center of town Glenn couldn't help but notice the blinds on the Anderson home flutter closed or the way the doctor had been peeking through his front door's window at the growing group just across the road from his residence. But the skilled tactician tried his damnedest to shove his negative thoughts to the back of his mind as they rounded the corner to the garage. Surely [Y/N] would be there, pleasantly distracted by her one and only. Oh how wrong he was... Daryl stood leaning against the garage wall talking to Aaron looking to the open bay door expectantly as the two walked into view. However the small defeated sigh, and deflated stance wasn't lost on Glenn when he noticed it was just the two of them. But... Glenn tried to stay positive. He had to... for his own sake if nobody else's. "Hey guys!" He called out waving jubilantly. "How was the run?" He unable to hold back a snarky laugh as Daryl flipped him off and rolled his eyes. "How'd ya think it went? We're back early." Daryl grumbled. "Awe shit I'm sorry about that, Daryl." Maggie said softly letting go of Glenn's hand to step closer to the archer. Daryl shrugged looking past them both and into the night. "Ya'll seen [Y/N] round anywhere? Normally they're the first ta greet me. She pissed at me 'r somethin'?" Daryl asked chewing the side of his thumb. Maggie shook her head. "No... we were hoping you'd seen her." Daryl shifted uncomfortably scanning Maggie's face for a moment with sheer scrutiny. "What ya mean? I was on a run all day I just got back." Maggie nodded meeting Daryl's eyes sadly. "Yeah we were hoping she'd be here with you... and that was the reason why she missed our meet up after she went with Dr. Anderson." Daryl tensed looking past Maggie to the Anderson household. "So ya think..." Daryl paused his face morphing into something dark and possessively. More so than Glenn had ever seen before from the stoic archer. "That bastard did something ta her?" Aaron shook his head, placing the socket wrench down on the work table beside himself. "Dr. Anderson? What? No way... I mean... the man has his bad days... and he's prone to drink but everyone has their vices." But Glenn didn't think he sounded convincing, even to himself. "I-I'm not sure. But she was supposed to be back by now." Maggie muttered worriedly looking back over her shoulder. "Ok... look I saw the two of them walking through the town earlier but lost them around here... I say we get Rick and Michonne and start looking for them." Maggie sighed rubbing her arms. "I hear you Glenn but I don't want to jump the gun." Daryl huffed staring at Maggie as if she grew a second head. "Jump the gun? Ya gotta be shitting." He snarled. Glaring back Maggie simply shook her head. "No of course not Daryl. She told me earlier that she wanted to get out of the walls... she's been itching to get out, cooped up in here she feels like she's going crazy. Maybe... if we're lucky she snuck out after she helped the doctor. Hopefully she just needs to cool down and took a walk. Knowing her she'll be back by morning." Maggie muttered running her hands through her hair. It seemed to Glenn that no one trusted a single hopeful word anymore. Why would they... after everything they'd been through. "Well I aint about to just sit pretty while [Y/N] is out God know's where tonight... I'm lookin' fer her. Do what ya want." Daryl growled storming towards his bike. Anxiety surged through Glenn as he watched Daryl climb his bike. "Daryl you just got back! You should at least rest before you head back out!" Glenn yelled placing a hand on the larger man's chest. "Glenn... I apricate yer concern but I've stayed up much longer and this is more important than any rest I need... Now move Glenn." Daryl murmured meeting Glenn's gaze seriously. So with a solemn nod Glenn stepped to the side letting the bike roar to life and Daryl take off into the night.

Daryl's POV

The ride to the gate was a short one, but it felt like the longest drive Daryl had ever taken in his life thus far. Not even the last ride he and Merle took together to the safety of the Quarry felt so long as this. At least then he felt safe. Secure with a partner by his side, family. No. Now was different. Now he was in an unfamiliar hostile environment that threatened not only his very existence, but the very love of his life as well. He felt so alone and exposed. Not even the familiar sight of Rick and Michonne standing by the gate speaking to Rochelle standing guard could ease his anxiety. As Daryl pulled up to the gate's entrance, his best friend's face fell his dark eyes scanning the archer sitting atop the bike. "Leaving so soon Daryl? Ya just got back." Michonne called out over the roar of the bike. Daryl shook his head glaring straight ahead. There were no time for pleasantries tonight. "Open the gate. I gotta get outta here." He grumbled to Rochelle ignoring her furrowed brow. "Look Daryl you should rest even if-" Rick tried to reason, reaching for the key of the motorcycle to turn it off and talk at a normal level. With a swift motion, Daryl caught the deputy's wrist glaring daggers into the man. "I aint got time fer that Rick." Daryl bit out shoving Rick away. "[Y/N's] missin'. I'm gonna head out an see if I can find her." Daryl huffed gripping his bike tightly to hide the way his hands shook with anger and anxiety. The archer watched a the ease wash from Rick's face, a stern and intense concentration falling into it's place. It was a look Daryl had seen before. One Rick held when he lost Lori. "Missing? What do you mean missing?" Rick uttered the peremptory question. Daryl growled not shaken by his best friend. "Ask Maggie. I aint got time to chat." Daryl muttered, revving the engine of his bike as if to make his point clear, gesturing to Rochelle to open the gate for him. "Daryl... [Y/N] didn't come through this gate. I would have seen her if she did." Rochelle tried to reason as the archer walked his bike closer to her. "You know as well as I do that there are areas on this wall that can be climbed over. I've seen you and Abraham using the same makeshift latter [Y/N] and I do to get out of the city for a walk when we don't want to be pestered. Now shut up and open the damned gate before I do it myself." Daryl growled not missing the tiny nod Rick gave Rochelle. "Ok... but I don't like it. But, you can go. Just be back by morning... if you can't find her by then, we'll spread out. All of us. Keep your radio on. Hopefully she just got lost in town again and will stumble home sometime late tonight. I'll stay up and radio you if she turns up." Rick called over the engine of the bike. Daryl nodded feeling slightly reassured knowing that Rick was going to do whatever needed to be done to find you. With a defeated sigh the petite woman unlatched the lock to the gate, pulling them open with a metallic screech. With a flick of his finger, Daryl turned his head light on and sped into the night praying to catch sight of you somewhere deep within the woods around Alexandria.

Glenn's POV

Sleep did not come easy that night for Glenn. Worry seeped into this very bones and leaked into his dreams morphing them into venomous night terrors that twisted his body and shook him to his very core. Images of your body ripped to shreds like one of the thousands of corpses he'd seen before flashed before his eyes. A long stretch of road with you tied gagged and bound at the end. The road stretching ever longer the harder he ran to get to you. His heart pounding in his chest. It was his fault. You were his best friend. Had been since before the outbreak. You were his responsibility. You and Maggie. He should have kept a better eye on you. Especially when you went off with Dr. Anderson. Glenn woke up to early morning sun shimmering off the cold sweat that covered his body. Maggie slept restlessly beside him, her moaning and whining accompanied by subtly jerks were indication enough that she was having yet another nightmare. They seemed never ending nowadays. Sitting up slowly as to not disturb what little sleep his wife was getting, Glenn snuck out of bed, pulling on a clean pair of jeans and a clean shirt before slipping downstairs. With any hope, you had slipped back home in the middle of the night with hardly any notice to any of them. It wouldn't be the first time you had slipped away... but as he stepped into the empty kitchen to put a pot of coffee on and crept quietly into the living room to peer over the couch to see who preoccupied it, either Daryl, [Y/N] or both. He was almost astonished to find Rick laying on the plush cushions, his attention turned to the door and a sleeping Judith pulled tightly to his chest. A single glance from the grisled police officer told Glenn he was awake and alert. Yet the dark bags under his eyes saying that he'd been up way too long. "Hey." Glenn whispered, leaning over the back of the couch. "Anything yet?" he asked, still hopeful, still optimistic. But Rick just shook his head, brushing the hair back out of Judith's face earning a deep contented sigh from his daughter as she slept. "Not yet." He murmured. Anxiety tightened Glenn's chest as he shuffled his feet. "Well... it's still early." Glenn whispered, looking to the door, hoping that in that moment both Daryl and [Y/N] would come waltzing in the door like a couple after a particularly eventful prom night. But it never happened. Instead the door stayed dreadfully closed. A less than hopeful hum came from the graying man as he shifted on the couch. "We'll see once Daryl comes back... she aint with him when he comes back we're going on high alert and searching every square inch of this place. Inside and out." Rick's voice was dark and commanding. It sent chills down Glenn's spine and before he realized what he was doing. Glenn nodded in compliance. The smell of fresh roasted coffee reminded Glenn of his first mission of the morning. "Want any?" Glenn asked standing straight. "Please!"

[Y/N] was gone... she never came back with Daryl. The look on Daryl's face when he pulled up on the motorcycle was enough to make Glenn's stomach turn. It felt like the day Beth passed all over again. Daryl was beside himself, pacing and grasping at his hair, the archer looked ready to faint. "I looked all over the ridges, Rick!" Daryl growled, pulling back and punching a sizable hole into the drywall. Blood dripped from his knuckles and soaked into the plush carpet as he paced once more. "I went the whole way out to the fuckin' shoppin' district. I cleared three shops we hadn't got to yet. I looked in the library. I searched every inch of the woods I could from the walls to about three miles out each way! I crawled in the damn sewer for Christ's sake!" Daryl was in retrospect fucking filthy. He was covered in zombie guts and dirt. And now Glenn completely understood what that third smell was that emanated from Daryl. "She's not out there I just know it... somethin' had to happen in here." Daryl muttered only stopping making his track in the carpet when Carol came back with a wet wash cloth for him to wipe his face and hands off with. "I aint doubtin' ya, Daryl." Rick tried deescalating the archer. "I just think a pass in the daylight with fresh eyes would be good... " Rick started ignoring the resentful glare he received in response. "Ya think I woulda missed her? I was calling out fer her! She would have heard me!" Daryl hissed, taking a challenging step towards Rick. But Glenn knew more than anyone what Rick was insinuating... that there was a chance you couldn't have answered. Be it because you were in danger... or dead. Rick stayed silent staring Daryl down trying desperately to get this point across to him without actually being the one to say it. "I just think we need to send a fresh new team out... You need to shower... eat something... then you can join Glenn in the city looking for her." Rick muttered definitively. With a small nod Glenn tried to pull a confident nod. "Yeah! I'll head out right away ok... so don't worry." Glenn muttered stepping as close as his nose would allow to the archer. Daryl rolled his eyes but nodded heading up the stairs to take a shower. Rick watched him carefully before turning to Glenn and Maggie. "Listen... I'll need everyone on this. Maggie I need you to talk to Deanna and explain that some of our people will be searching for one of our own outside of the walls... don't go into details yet. We don't want Dr. Dickface catching wind that we're onto him. I also don't want you to tell her we'll be searchin' in the walls too. If anyone has a chore, have them search while they work to be less conspicuous. The rest of us need to be as normal as possible while we look. Carol. You need to ask about locations in the walls that anyone would know of that is secret. Or that is kept off limits for any reason." Maggie and Carol nodded mentally noting Rick's instruction. "Ok, lets fucking find [Y/N]."

Your POV

Sliding around the wall you tried like hell to keep the growling, flesh-eating demon as far away from yourself as you possibly could. Unfortunately for you a pipe pultruding from the wall caught your shirt and caught you off guard. The small ripping sound from your shirt caught the monster's attention and the growling mutilated corpse surged towards you just as you lost your balance. Holding both arms out straight you screamed as the weight of another human pinned you back against the wall. A sharp pain shot through your nondominant hand and suddenly as a slippery and slimy appendage slid past your fingers you realized that the zombie had your hand in it's mouth. Adrenaline surged through you like a drug as the poison of the bite seeped into your blood. Using every ounce of strength you had in you, you pushed back off the wall, forcing the walker to stumble back. Gripping tight to his open jaw you grabbed the zombies skull and slammed it into the nearest thing you could find. The sharp corner of the filing cabinet. Over and over again you bashed the walker's skull into the sharp metal corner until the grunting and gurgling of the monster could no longer be heard. With a dull thud you released the beast and stood shaking, trying desperately to catch your breath as the stinging in your hand was becoming harder and harder to ignore. Reaching above you, you searched for a light source for the first time in only god knew how long. Just when you were certain you would die in the dark, doomed to turn into the very thing that you just slayed, you found a long thin string hanging from a single bulb in the ceiling. Giving the string a quick yank you could have cried when the light clicked to life. A breathy jubilant laugh escaping your lips as you shielded your eyes from the near blinding light that burned your retinas. But the faint dripping of fresh blood reminded you that time was not on your side. Your hand was a mangled mess. The bite forming deep in the meat of your palm you knew the entire hand needed to be amputated and fast. Ripping a thick strip of your shirt from the bottom you tied it off high on your armpit pulling it as tight as you could. Searching the ground you were happy to find your wrench placing it in your makeshift tourniquet you twisted it until the blood stopped and tied it off.

You didn't know how much time had passed since you had been bitten but your entire arm was starting to turn a deep unappealing color and your head was beginning to spin. You had emptied your stomach into the corner of the room several times after the effects of the adrenaline had worn off. You knew one of two things were going to happen... you were either going to die here, trapped in a basement of a house no one would ever find. Or Daryl would find you... he always did... and he would have to kill you. Sweat gathered on your forehead and your stomach flipped. You had no idea if you tied the tourniquet tight enough to keep the infection from spreading... even so, you could simply be dying from sepsis. That was an old world disease wasn't it? God you couldn't even remember. Sitting up against the door you really took in the room for the first time since you got there. The filing cabinet was covered in blood and viscera. But it looked expensive. Like one of those fire safe ones that promised to keep your documents safe even in a whatever class fire. You wondered vaguely what it was doing there before deciding that you didn't have the energy to search through it. The only other things you could see were the pipe that got you into this mess that seemingly went nowhere and were the home of a lonely pair of handcuffs hanging from them, rusted and bloody. Cocking a brow you turned to the zombie laying against the wall on the other side of the filing cabinet. Sure enough the flesh on the walker's one wrist was bloodied and broken. Looked like you weren't the only one shoved in this hell hole to die... lovely. Above the pipe was a vent. Presumably for fresh air to filter in from somewhere within the house you sighed and laid your head back against the wood. Your throat was sore from screaming. But what the hell. Maybe eventually someone would hear you.

Leaning your tired body against the concrete wall directly below the vent you screamed with all your might. Your throat ached and you couldn't help the aching cough that came once your voice started to fail you. For the longest time you received nothing but silence in return. Once in a while the scurrying of mice over what you could only assume were the radiators and vent covers of the empty house echoed through the pipes of the vent sending a jolt of hopeful optimism through you that quickly died out with every pleading cry for help. After a while you gave up. Sliding down the wall you leaned your body against the cold concrete, resigning yourself to death, when finally you heard it. "Hey!" The voice echoed loud and clear through the grate of the vent so loudly that you could had sworn the man screaming was in the same room as you. Listening closely you stood once more, praying that you hadn't just hallucinated the voice or dreamed it into reality as you had seen Rick do a thousand times with his lost loved ones. "[Y/N]! Are you in here?!" Glenn cried out loud and clear, and you could have just just kissed the man had you both not already been sworn to other people. "Glenn!" You screamed, banging the vent as hard as you could to catch his attention. "Glenn can you hear me?!" You nearly begged, clutching a pipe for dear life as you heard footsteps. "[Y/N]! I hear you! Where are you?" Glenn screamed the sounds of footsteps became more frantic. Sounding nearer then farther as he presumably searched room to room for you in the house above you. "I-I'm in the basement Glenn!" You screamed, tears falling from your cheeks easily as you sobbed. "Listen! It's not safe here! There are walkers here!" You heard Glenn's footsteps slow as he listened. "Walkers?" He asked tensely. "Yes! I killed the one that was in the room with me... b-but Glenn-" A loud thud cut you off and you were sure something horrible had happened before Glenn cut you off. "Don't say it... I'm coming to get you... so just... just stay put I'll get you out." Glenn growled, his footsteps becoming more and more distant until they and his voice could no longer be heard. "Wait! Wait!" You cried desperately, tears streaming and washing the dirt and blood from your face in thick streaks. "Glenn! I need you to tell Daryl I love him!" You screamed as loudly as you could, pacing the small space, you suddenly realized just how tiny it really was. Never before had it felt so claustrophobic. Never before had it felt so much like a prison until now. Until you felt so completely isolated. Walking to the thick wooden door you slammed your good hand against it kicking and screaming with all your might praying that maybe it would give way just enough to let you pry your way out and get to Glenn.

"[Y/N]!" His voice froze you in place and melted your heart into pieces breaking you down into heart wrenching sobs that hurt your chest and burned your lungs. Daryl was somewhere outside of the door. You could hear him clear as day. But a greedy part of you never wanted him to find you... The selfish part that knew deep down that Daryl would always want to finish things himself... the one that also knew he could never finish this by himself if he needed too. He just couldn't but he wouldn't allow anyone else to do it and it could endanger everyone... Bu that was why you loved him. He loved and felt so purely. You'd have it no other way. "Daryl!" You sobbed out, hearing a distant banging turn into wood clattering onto concrete you knew that someone had broken down the basement door. And if you had to guess it was Rick or Daryl. "{Y/N]! Darlin' where are ya?" Daryl cried out frantic worry in his voice as, his footsteps paced the concrete just outside the door where you were kept. "There! There's another door." Rick growled, sounding manic and breathless. So it was him who bashed down the last door... "[Y/N] if your in there back away from the door! Rick's gonna break it down!" Glenn cried out making you scramble back from the door in time to see the blade of an axe pierce through the wood. It took six swings for rick to make a sizable enough hole for both he and Daryl to fit through. You noted that it would have only taken three if it were just Glenn and Michonne... but who was counting... Holding your wounded arm as closely to your body as you could you stood shaking, covered in blood and sweat, and shaking like a leaf. Daryl stepped through first, Rick and Glenn following close behind then Michonne. The four stooges... would have been funny under different circumstances. Daryl eyed your injured body a deep frown forming on his face as he stepped closer to you. "Sunshine..." He started, holding out a hand to touch you, but as if on instinct to protect the man you jolted away as if your simple touch would burn him. Shaking your head you let the tears fall, words unable to form as thick sobs got stuck in your throat. "Wha'-" Daryl tried again, desperate to avoid the obvious. Maybe you just cut yourself... maybe it was crushed... hell maybe there was a curse put on you and he could just... fix it! But everyone else knew better. Glenn looked devastated shaking his head and backing away into the extended storage of the basement. Michonne was already unsheathing her sword, looking to Rick for guidance. Rick... He stood stock still, a grim firm look on his face. You could tell he didn't dare say a word until Daryl gave the order to do something... anything... but you... you had to make him understand first. "Baby. I love you more than anything." You started sadly meeting Daryl's eyes. But the archer wasn't just going to take that. No... it couldn't go down like that... not after everything. Not after all this! "So... it's a bite then..." Daryl tried to sound calm, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. You could only nod. "Daryl-" You tried to reason with him... tried to explain that he and Glenn should just wait outside. You'd meet him later... that one day he'd wake up with you by his side. But the brunette archer wasn't about to take it laying down. "We'll cut it off." Daryl bit out between gritted teeth turning to Michonne who only looked shocked then sad. "Daryl... fevers set in... you know we need to-" She tried to reason, but Daryl simply shook his head grunting and glaring at the floor like a child throwing a tantrum. "If you don't do it I will." He growled, reaching for the knife he carried with him everywhere, and suddenly fresh adrenaline pumped through your blood making you shake and shiver in both anticipation and fear. Rick sighed shifting his weight. "We do this... and she turns... you're gonna have to be the one who-" Rick muttered, once again cut off by Daryl's grunt and shake of the head. "Won't happen I won't let it." Daryl growled turning to you assuredly.

Michonne tried like hell to make it quick. You'd thought that after so many heads she'd severed that the blade on her katana was as sharp as they made them. It was sharp but despite all of her best efforts, your screaming begging and crying she could not make it go through bone. So despite every ounce of begging you tried. Every time you begged Daryl to just kill you as he held you tight to keep you from moving. It was Rick's axe that freed you from your diseased arm. Your vision blurred, your voice slurred, and everything sounded like you were resting at the bottom of the ocean as you met Daryl's worried eye, the last thing you saw before everything went black.

One Week Later ~~~ Daryl's POV

All the walkers that slipped through the gates had been slaughtered by Rick and the town meeting to decide Rick's fate for his earlier spat with the Dr. had ended with both the town's leader Reg, slayed by the Dr. himself and Dr. Anderson executed by Rick as ordered by Deanna... It certainly felt as if all hell was breaking loose on Alexandria. At the town meeting Rick unloaded on the residents of the town. Telling them all about the torture room the Dr. had set up and how if Alexandria ever truly came under attack the residents would never be prepared for a fight. Rick set up trainings for the residents. A new doctor was put into place, her Dr. Denise. Her first patient, treating the infection that was setting into place in the wound of the unconscious woman that had laid in the medical office for over a week now. Daryl could tell Denise was extremely underqualified for the position. Books upon books of medical texts lain in high stacks around her as she dug for the best treatment melody to give you that wouldn't trip an accidental allergic reaction but also treat the wound, fever, and kill the infection. Daryl watched the timid doctor carefully, placing you on a heavy dose of IV steroids and an even heavier dose of IV antibiotics. "Are you just going to sit there all day..." Denise asked once she had the courage to ask. Daryl shrugged from his seat at the corner of the room. He hadn't planned on leaving yet. As a matter of fact he hardly left your side. "Well as long as your here you can keep yourself busy." Denise huffed, tossing a wet, soapy rag to the very confused archer. "It's time to redress her bandages and give her a sponge bath... figure if you're here you might as well help me bathe her."

There was nothing more intimate than bathing with your partner. Lathering each other's bodies up. feeling the way the warm suds slipped through your fingers as you ran your hands across their most intimate parts. But this... this was different on an entirely new plane of weird. Daryl felt almost like a massive pervert, touching you like this while you slept. But after a few less than gentle reassurances from Denise reminding him that it was crucial to get every bit of you body, he complied, happy to do the work himself, refusing to let another human being get this up close with you in his life. But just as soon as he finished and was certain that the bandages coming off today were actually looking better than they did the day before, he bolted for the door. Refusing to be wrapped in another medical tasks. "Should I leave the office unlocked for you tonight again?" Denise asked making Daryl turn slightly. He wanted to punch the glass out of the stupid door in frustration. He wanted to yell "I'll be back by dinner! She'll be awake and hungry by then." But he simply looked to the floor and nodded feeling a wave of shame and embarrassment wash over him as she sighed. "Ok... I'll set up a pillow and some blankets for you on the couch."

The walk to Aaron's garage was a short one but it was easy to pass up when Daryl's mind felt heavy and weighed down. "Daryl!" The archer heard his friend call out expectantly. Turning on his heel Daryl hummed darting into the garage and finding his seat on the upturned bucket next to his bike. "Hey... you looked lost in though... is everything ok?" Aaron asked tinkering with a wrench and socket joint. "'M fine..." Daryl growled reaching down between his knees to grab a screwdriver. Aaron hummed in return. A calm silence that both knew all too well. Daryl had more so vented to his friend about the entire situation days ago when Rick had to drag him out of the medical bay to let Carol and the Doctor stitch her wound. "Oh! Hey..." Aaron muttered absentmindedly reaching behind himself to pull a large project forward that was covered with a sheet. Pulling the sheet away, a robotic hand sat proudly on a pedestal hooked to various wires and gadgets. Daryl stood slowly, a look of confusion crossing his face as he stepped closer to the counter. "Wha's that?" Daryl asked glancing at Aaron. "Oh I used to work in robotics for a time... I thought it was cool and this was my version of the prosthetic my uncle should have had a chance to have." Aaron muttered taping the wires to the skin of his arm. Squeezing his hand, Daryl watched in amazement as the robotic hand followed and matched Aaron's every movement exactly. "It's all electricity based. The movement and power of the prosthetic comes from the natural electricity found in the body. I could fashion a quick joint to go along with this, just a piston that would lift the arm up and down on swivel for the elbow if you'd think [Y/N] would be interested..." Aaron muttered meeting Daryl's gaze tentatively. The archer couldn't help but smile. "We'll see what she says... but I'm sure she'll love it."

As day turned to night and Daryl bid farewell to Aaron, his belly full after a large supper at his friend's and Eric's house. Daryl strolled the darkened streets of Alexandria wondering, if he'd ever get to do this again with you. Walking into the medical office he was grateful to find the front door unlocked and a blanket and pillow setting out just for him just as promised. But something was off... something was different. Normally when he came to check on you the bed was lying flat for the night, the monitors turned on so whoever came to check you at night could check your heart beat and the lights were off. None of those things happening right now. Your heart monitor had been shut off creating an eerie quiet in the building. Your bed was sitting upright but your body was slumped over the side of the bed. Soft groaning and whining came from you and an intense panic fell over Daryl as he instantly grasped the end of the bed to steady himself. He knew Rick told him... But he hadn't truly believed he'd had too... "Fucking God... Fuck." Your voice, albeit extremely annoyed voice, threw Daryl for a loop. You were alive... More importantly you were a-fucking-wake! Scrambling to your side, Daryl hoisted you back into bed not able to contain the face splitting smile that crossed his features. "Woah there... what are ya doin' Sunshine?" Sunshine... god he'd never thought he'd ever say that word again. "Daryl!" You cried wrapping your arm around your boyfriend. "Thank God you came. I dropped the remote to the bed and it tried to make me into a sandwich!" Daryl couldn't stop the laugh that burst from his chest. kneeling down slowly he picked up the remote, handing it to his love before enveloping her as carefully as he physically could. His laughter slowly turning into heartfelt sobs as you stroked your fingers through his hair. "I should have been here." He whined. "It's ok baby..." You whispered, kissing his crown then his lips tenderly, sweetly. "You're here now. That's all that matters."

[starry-blue-echoes]

I had thoughts help.

So. Magical Girl AU. 2 ideas. First one is one I've touched upon very briefly before, but I love the idea of Weather's initial rage not simply being darkness but instead an overwhelming light, that relentlessly burns and destroys/ensnails anything near him. The darkness that overtook him actually calmed him, sealing that destructive light away. (Also maybe the dark was tied to Perla somehow idk.)

Then Pucci showed up and misread the situation completely. So now not only is Weather devoid of dark, he also is lacking in light as well, since that's still sealed away.

And when some light enters him again, and weakens that seal... well. Nobody liked what happened after that.

2nd idea: Perhaps those possessed by darkness look a little... off. Unless their modus operandi depends on going unnoticed, like Kira, they have some feature that twists their appearance, different for each person, and growing more pronounced the longer their body remains darkened. I imagine this would make the part 5 and 6 designs very interesting. :)

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

tbh, this AU is rotating really hard in my head and this is P E R F E C T

for the first part, I had an idea to both make it better and worse :>

so as I mentioned before, humans and most Earth Creatures in this are naturally born as beings of Light. However, what if while they can be corrupted by outside sources of Darkness, it's also somewhat..... natural, so to speak. Pain, fear, anger, even apathy, those feelings all make it a bit easier for Darkness to be inside them, but in healthy small amounts. Light meanwhile has more to do with emotions like happiness, determination, justice and can drive it back.........

so what if before his memories were taken, Weather completely gave into his newly unlocked Light. His Light that was once righteous and warm because burning and scalding, driving away the Darkness that would've been the balm to soothe his grief

Pucci (albeit accidentally and unintentionally) giving him this all powerful Light in the middle of his grief took away his ability to process his feelings and what had happened with Perla. These feelings toward tragedy are natural, healthy even, and necessary for the healing process. Instead, Weather got a bright, powerful but uncontrollable Light forced upon him that he didn't know how to use. He was a Magical Girl yes, and he wasn't necessarily a corrupted one, but that's simply because the Light burned too strong and bright to let it

The Light wanted justice, and in this case it was very close to vengeance. Perla was innocent and kind, and these people were hardly good. Perhaps they themselves were corrupted with Darkness, and Weather's own Light reacted to fight back, to protect, to try so desperately to keep him and what little he had left safe. The Light made him tunnel vision so much he didn't notice those getting caught in the crossfire nor the way his own body was slowly burning inside out. Didn't notice how his grief and anger and sadness where suddenly nonexistent beyond the desire to Do Good And Help By Getting Rid Of The Threat

Pucci awakening his power nearly spelt the end for Weather's life, had it gone for a few more hours

maybe that's also why Pucci brought him to Green Dolphin, hoping that the oppressive and constant Darkness will keep the seals firmly shut

this also raises the fun possibility of Jolyne And Co healing him not with Light like they usually have but with Darkness. Maybe Emporio could help here since he's been exposed to so much that it's basically a permanent part of him now, and in the process it helps balance himself out. They almost swap the excess power they have and finally get to be at peace

(also, I think for this bit I had a fun idea for the rain imagery. This whole time Weather is practically glowing, radiating Light constantly and the longer it goes one the more he begins to burn. His skin begins to crack in places, his eyes lighten to white, his hair begins to grow black at the tips and curl like it's been set on fire

((Actually hey what if Weather's hair is white because the overwhelming light from that one time basically bleached his hair))

but then....... when it's finally over. When they manage to douse the flames the overwhelming Light has brought, to give him Darkness to let him finally feel........ it gets cloudy and rains and finally Weather gets the chance to cry)

And shifting gears for the second idea, OF COURSE

Limbs and nails and teeth that are a bit too long or numerous, eyes that are a bit too vivid or have colored sclera, patches of skin that don't look quite right like instead they're scaled or leathery or just the completely wrong color, hair that seems to defy physics or sway in a nonexistent wind or not be completely made of hair at all, voices that have strange qualities and echoes to them, etc etc :)

Giorno and Emporio both grow up surrounded by those traits 24/7 and kinda got desensitized to it all. If anything, this is how people look and are supposed to be. To them, if someone looks normal they're an even bigger threat because that means either a) they're a trap and trying to get you to lower your guard and/or b) they're powerful enough to hide

[boxfullaturtles]

"For someone who can see the future, he's very...stable." "The Herald? Oh, Titan, no, that creature is entirely mad." "Such disrespect! What makes you say such a thing!?" "If you had seen the way he laughs in the face of danger, you would not think me so wrong..."

didn't even try to make this one cover a bingo spot lol, just really wanted to get this out of my system

transcripts are under the cut!

[Choosing Hope AU Masterpost]

The Herald appeared to the Yokai in the winter of 19XX. He brought with him a message of peace and unity, and mystic powers the likes of which had not been seen since the ancient wars.

(An artistic rendering of the first time I witnessed The Herald)

He traveled the Hidden City, healing and giving aid to any who asked. He encouraged the Yokai to forge bonds of trust with the human race, to cast aside our fears and hatred and to make both races stronger through unity and friendship. Such speak was initially met with scorn and disgust.

It is not known when precisely The Herald approached the Council of Heads, it is only known that he did. Whatever was discussed there is not for us to know. All that is known for certain is that there was talk of the old prophecy, the one that said a great and terrible destruction would one day befall the Yokai. The Herald revealed that it was not just the Yokai who would suffer, but the human race as well. The entire earth would be scalded and left a barren wasteland, devoid of all life, rotten and desolate. If the yokai and the humans did not unite against this danger, then all of us would die and our history forgotten. Needless to say, The Herald got his wish and plans were made to begin connecting with the humans.

Many of us still have our doubts. The humans drove us underground out of fear and ignorance. They have shunned magic and mysticism and fight amongst themselves like feral beasts. They poison the Earth with their machines and destroy much of its natural beauty. They will end us all by depleting the planet’s resources. If anything is a threat to the Yokai than surely it is the humans themselves. Perhaps it would be better to take the initiative in such matters and wipe out the human race before they can ruin things further… Ah, but The Herald has called for an audience with me, so I will table my ideas for the moment. I doubt anything he says will convince me to change my mind when it comes to the human plague that has ruined our lives. Still, I am not so arrogant as to ignore such a powerful and wise being.

I will hear him out. If only to scoff in his face later. There have been Yokai like him before - fools who believe that humans and Yokai can live together in peace. The fools are either silenced by the Council...or the humans do the job. I do not know what tricks this Herald has played upon the Council, but they will not work on the great and powerful Baron Draxum. Humanity is a plague, the worst thing to happen to this planet. I will listen to The Herald. But I will not change my mind.

I WAS WRONG

By Titan, I was wrong. It has been...several hours since my visit with The Herald. I had to take some time to calm myself. The things that The Herald showed me were the stuff of nightmares. He used his mystic powers to present me with terrible visions of the future. I know this kind of magic, I know he could not have faked the things that I was witness to. I now understand why the Council listened to him so readily. I am willing to join his cause, and I have said as much to him. The Herald seemed delighted at my agreement. I asked him what our next steps were to be, and to my utter shock he said, “Those plans you were concocting, the ones for a group of powerful warriors that could wipe out the human race? Hold onto them. We will have need of them soon enough.”

He knew of my plans. Plans that I had told to no one, plans that had not even yet been written down. He truly must be a prophet. A Herald.

I have some thinking I must do. And some planning. I do not know what The Herald will ask of me, but I will do whatever it takes to stop that terrible future from happening.

[snowbellewells]

CSSNS23 Fic Update: "Carolina Moon" Chapter Five

Sheesh, so much for getting back to weekly updates! I don't know what else to do but apologize folks, and to say thank you for hanging in there with me if you're still patiently reading this story despite my lack of speed. Please enjoy the newest chapter - the threat is ramping up, but so is Killian's determination to help keep Emma safe!

Thank you so, so, SO much for @xarandomdreamx and her wonderful beta skills - she had a job fixing all the times I switched tenses this go 'round!

And continued thanks to @eastwesthomeisbest for this cover art that I'm thrilled by all over again each time I post a new chapter!!

Read from the beginning HERE on Tumblr or HERE on AO3

Summary: Emma Swan has returned to the town she grew up in, and the past that has haunted her no matter where she has run. She seeks answers and peace at last. Despite the years that have passed, some things haven't changed very much in Storybrooke, South Carolina, and one of those things is Killian Jones. He never forgot the gangly girl with the world on her shoulders and pain in her eyes, but will he finally be able to slip past her defenses and help her find the answers she seeks?

Chapter Five: Unwanted Reunion and New Resolve

Killian Jones’ mind was everywhere but on the shipping manifests and cost reports he was attempting to look over in his small office down at the docks. Paperwork of that nature was his least favorite part of being the boss, and a tedious chore at the best of times, but with all he had witnessed the night before - Emma trembling in his arms, shaking from the sapping strength of her visions - he could find little space in his brain for inventory and figures. The sunlight glinting off the water out the window to his left and the gentle sound of the waves striking the moorings of the pier always tried to entice him from his desk on mornings he had to take alone to put the business in order, but with his concentration already severely fractured, he was making little to no headway. He’d dropped Emma off by her car at the gallery that morning, reluctantly aware that he had to give her a bit of space, and figuring that in the middle of town in broad daylight was the best time to do so and still retain his own peace of mind. He’d spent the night on her couch - against her protests that she sleep there instead - but all had been quiet, no signs of trouble. She’d planned to go to the diner to grab breakfast, then work for a few hours, and he’d pick her up that evening when they’d both finished for the day.

With a growl of frustration, Killian pushed his chair back and reclined in it, raking a hand through his dark hair, surely making it stand on end, and squeezing his eyes closed to block all the images rushing through, images that were already inside his head. He wanted to yell, to hit something - mostly his own younger self. How had they all been so blind and callous? Was this what Emma had always been dealing with? Even as a child? Rose would have known, would have been a support, a respite for Emma in the storm the rest of her life must have been. His baby sister, whom he’d doted on, but clearly not paid careful enough attention to, would have done nothing less. But when she was snatched away, and Emma blamed for the loss, despite what she had risked in order to help, it was just too late, the storm had surged back to surround her, raging and buffeting her more cruelly than ever. Though he had wondered briefly about the marks he could see that morning, and what had kept Emma from meeting Rose the night before, he had been too young and blind, too lost in his own grief and family concerns to reach out to her as he saw now he should have done. She had lost the only anchor in the maelstrom she had ever possessed, and he hadn’t bothered to toss her a lifeline. Leaning forward again, elbows planted on his cluttered desk, Killian rubbed his stubbled chin thoughtfully for a moment, trying to refocus on what he could do now to help her and show he wanted to ease her burden - would always, always, be at her side from now on, if she would allow it. Emma had said, when her defenses were still down and he had held her close, trying to imbue any bit of strength he could, that Rose wasn’t the only one - that there had been other victims.

Galvanized with sudden inspiration, he pushed his bookkeeping aside in a messy heap to one corner of his desk and quickly opened a new window on his laptop. If he wasn’t going to be able to focus on his own work, he might as well accomplish something worthwhile, something he could take to Emma as proof of how fully he took her at her word - a starting point for their inquiry. His eyes began to scan lines of text in rapid fascination - both amazed and appalled at the sheer amount of information at one’s fingertips once he chose to look, and at the horrifying reality of there being so much to be found.

He was soon fully engaged in the task, his other concerns slipping away with the minutes that ticked by until he could call it a day, and it suddenly felt as if he had managed some worthwhile work after all. Perhaps not for Jones Shipping Ltd., but important all the same. He tried not to picture the scoff and disappointed shake of the head his father would have given at that; Brennan Jones did nothing if not for the furtherance of their name and holdings, and his imagination’s echoes of the sharp retort that would be on his mother’s lips did no good either.

All the same, he was anxious to show Emma what he had turned up, and in only a couple hours’ searching. It wouldn’t be what one might call pleasant dinner conversation - certainly not what he’d usually entertain as fit for a second date - was he crazy to consider it as such?  He felt Emma would want to know all the same. It was proof that what she had seen the night before, horrifying as it must have been, was hardly mistaken or imagined. And it was a first stop toward finally uncovering the truth after all this time. Emma deserved to be set free at long last - they all did.

When it finally neared five o’clock, Killian had never locked up his office and left work so quickly. He headed straight for the town square and those mesmerizing green eyes he was eager to feel upon him again. He had been missing them for longer than he’d ever fully realized.

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

The morning after intense visions Emma always felt a bit hazy, slightly dazed and headache-y, almost as though suffering from a mental hangover of sorts, from exerting such focus and emotion. That morning was no different, but she shuffled gingerly through her usual routine as always, wincing but not about to waste time recouping her strength if she still hoped to open for business as planned.

By the time she had returned to the gallery, a shocking amount of coffee in her system and a satisfyingly crisp and greasy bacon sandwich from the local diner in her stomach, she already felt more herself. She had called the young lady, Violet Clemens  back and hired her after all. She was going to need help, and the sale she had already made - to Ruby Jones, of all people! - had boosted her confidence. She might as well sink everything into this; if she went down, she would go down swinging with all she had.

Violet had joined her in the shop just after 12:30, and they had spent a cheerful couple of hours putting the last items and displays in place. The other woman had proven a real asset already: agreeable, quick, and a good eye to boot. She was pleasant company and a worthy distraction. Emma was already exceedingly glad of her presence.

It was just half past three when Emma paused to stretch, catch her breath, and survey their progress with a proud smile. There really wasn’t too much left after Killian’s help the previous day, and all that she and her new employee had just accomplished. Smiling broadly, she thanked Violet once more, and got them both a cold water bottle from the small fridge she’d had Killian’s help in nestling on the shelf under the counter. They were due a cool drink and a moment’s sit down, she felt sure. 

While they were still sipping their drinks perched on the tall stools she’d placed behind the counter, the bell above the shop door jangled merrily to announce the arrival of Mayor Walsh Ozman with his wide, charming-the-public smile. Emma stood and moved forward to greet her old acquaintance, asking what they could do for him, even though she was privately amused at how well the public servant schtick seemed to suit him. She would have never imagined that the unhappy, mean-spirited boy of their youth would be wearing that wide smile and winning local elections when they all grew up. Then again, she couldn’t have pictured much for her future either, not back then. Still, she mused curiously before returning her attention to Walsh’s reply, she would have to ask Killian if it was an election year and if Mayor Ozman was trying to win over these two newcomers to his town by turning on the charm.

As it turned out, the mayor was also hoping to make an early purchase - it seemed that he and his wife were quite close to their 15th anniversary, and having lived in Storybrooke all that time, he was anxious to shop for a gift somewhere completely unknown to her. He genuinely did want to offer any help he could as a town representative, but if he could find the right anniversary present at the same time, he would be incredibly grateful.

Violet happily began to show him around the shop, directing his attention to various framed photographs which might work especially well as romantic gifts - the close-up bud of a red rose, two swallows entwined in flight, a couple’s joined hands in silhouette against a sunset’s orange and gold. Not only that, but she kept up a lively patter of information that proved just what a sponge she had been for all of the information Emma had told her so far about her process, materials, and subject matter. Violet answered the mayor’s questions nearly as well as Emma herself could have done, and it pleased Emma more than she could say, thinking that not only had she helped someone in need of a job, but that she had managed to find someone with the pep and sweetness they needed out front, all the engaging personality she herself often fought to project, as well as a genuine interest in the art itself.

By the time Violet had shown Walsh all the way around the store cheerily, the mayor had a selected photo in hand once they returned to the counter and Emma was marvelling at how lucky she had been to find such a natural saleswoman along with all of Violet’s other positive traits. The red rose picture Walsh had selected seemed a touch obvious, but then, who was she to judge? She had chosen it to crop and display as she had because its blatant appeal almost guaranteed it would sell. They weren’t even officially open yet, and this was her second painting sold. If this could keep up, she might not have as hard a road making her gallery succeed as she had anticipated.

As she rang up the purchase and ran the mayor’s card, Violet carefully and efficiently wrapped the frame as she had been shown. Walsh grinned broadly the whole time as her new assistant prattled on. “You’ve really saved me a long, drawn out search with this, ladies. And Marjorie will love it too. Plus, it was a chance to keep business local. Your gallery is going to be a great addition for Storybrooke, just wait and see.”

“I certainly hope so,” Emma replied, a pleasantly warm glow of pride in her chest as she did so.

“You just give me a call if there’s anything I can do to help out,” he reminded again as he headed out the door with a wave. “It is part of my job, after all.”

When he was gone, Emma found that they really had accomplished nearly all that she had planned for the day. With heartfelt gratitude, she sent Violet off a bit early, promising that she was just going to lock up and make an early night of it herself as well. No need to tell the younger woman that she was going to be picked up at five like a kid after daycare for her own safety.

Violet hadn’t been gone but a few minutes before Emma had all in order and was gathering her things to leave, true to her word. She made sure the lights were out in the back office, that all was in its proper place, and was just bending to gather her things from under the counter, when she heard the door open once more, its bell chiming in announcement. Standing straight again, she had begun to speak before even seeing the person who had entered. “I’m sorry, but we’re not open for business yet. I was just leaving for the day, and - “ but the rest of her polite dismissal died on her tongue when she recognized the person who had arrived - a face she had hoped never to see again.

“Well, seeing as I’m already here, you’ll just have to make an exception, won’t you?” The question was taut and dangerous, hardly a question at all, though phrased as such. Every nerve in Emma’s body stood on end in response. Her limbs took on the same sort of wary motionlessness they had years ago, like a rabbit going statue-still in hopes of evading a predator’s notice, yet ready to dart away the moment an opening appeared.

Vic Franken hadn’t darkened her path again after she’d paid him off for her safety and peace of mind once he found her in Boston. Emma had hoped that fragile truce and space would hold, despite his breach of parole, but her former “guardian” never had been particularly wise, and he was eerily apt to return to what he knew, what was easiest, particularly when he was desperate. Emma wet her lips nervously and attempted to keep breathing calmly, steadily, focused on taking in any weakness she might be able to use to her own benefit. The past six or seven years had not been kind to him by the looks of it. Always tall and wiry, Franken appeared almost unhealthily gaunt, with dark shadows under eyes that were still as sharp and wild, darting quickly about the gallery space, to her, and back again. His clothes were worn and wrinkled, his hair stood on end in places, and he was moving closer, coming to stand just on the other side of the counter - much nearer than Emma could handle without her knees going a bit watery in spite of the fact that she wasn’t 13 anymore and she had every right to order him out of her place of business, whether he thought so or not.

“You s-shouldn’t be here,” she managed to say coolly, her voice only quavering slightly, for which she was grateful. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, intending to look serious, but also hoping to hold herself together as best she could.

“Damn it!” he howled, the loud exclamation ringing in the air between them as his large hand slammed down on the counter, rattling the surface with a bang, and causing Emma to shrink backward against her best effort to hold her ground. “You aren’t so high and mighty that you can just shove me out! I put a roof over you head, and you owe me for it! I’m not leaving ‘til I’m good an’ ready!”

At that, Emma regained herself through sheer outrage alone. This monster had made her childhood miserable, and she wasn’t about to have him barge in and take anything else from her. Standing taller and tipping her chin up to face him squarely, Emma’s spine returned to her after the shock of his appearance, while her hand scrambled carefully through her things beneath the countertop. She hoped Franken wouldn’t notice what she was doing before she could lay hands on the pocketknife she knew was somewhere in her purse. Granted, that wasn’t much of a weapon, but she wasn’t going to face him without any sort of defense - not ever again.

An eerie sort of calm washed over the man for a moment then, as if he and Emma were locked in a stalemate and her facing him steadily had given him pause. His exacting gaze continued to take in the large main room of her shop, and Emma held her breath, finally feeling her fingertips graze the handle she was searching for at the bottom of her purse. She knew better than to drop her guard; his quiet hesitation was like a hurricane’s eye, the calm before the gale began to batter and howl once more. Grasping her prize, Emma pulled it free and flicked it open, not wanting to show her hand too soon and yield the element of surprise if she had to wield it. 

As Franken returned his focus to her, an unnatural almost proud look crossed his features, as out of place as it was, particularly when an attempt at some sort of paternal smile twisted his visage. “Seems like you’ve done alright for yourself since I saw you last, Emma,” he finally murmured in a cajoling tone.

She snorted; regardless of how dangerous it might be to antagonize him, she couldn’t even pretend they were on terms to make friendly small talk. “If I am doing well, it’s no thanks to you,” she retorted bitterly.

Franken’s nostrils flared as he reeled back to his full height, the calm attempt at appealing to her good side shattered in an instant. “Ungrateful wench!” he hollered, eyes bulging wide as he swung a hand wildly, catching the edge of a large, framed portrait on the wall behind him and knocking it to the floor, where it crashed on its face and sent glass shattering outward in a wide spray. “After I took you in, fed you, clothed you, saw that you had a roof over your head? Now you’re too good to return the favor?”

Emma gasped in dismay at the largest piece in her gallery’s fall and destruction, but was quick enough to dodge his flailing hand when Franken reached out in an attempt to grab her shoulder and haul her close. She was just fast enough to evade him, thankfully. She might be fully grown now instead of a scrawny, underfed kid, but she still didn’t need to find out what he would do if he got a good hold on her. 

“Took me in?” she spat back, practically seething in anger that he would dare pretend he had actually provided any sort of genuine care. “Is that what you did?” Shaking her head in disbelief, Emma finally raised the small blade before her, as if warning him to keep his distance, even if there wasn’t much more space behind the counter for her to put between them. “Which part am I supposed to be grateful for, hmm?” she barrelled on, now that the gates were open, her words kept spilling out. “The beatings that left me so sore I could barely sit or walk for days afterward? The hours I spent locked in the pitch dark cellar as punishment for my demons? The shame and fear you made sure I never forgot from the moment I crossed the threshold of your house until the day I got away from it?” The small pocket knife wavered along with her hand, and her vision blurred with hot tears of frustration, but Emma didn’t falter. “Tell me what exactly I should be thanking you for?”

With a wild growl, he whirled away from her, grabbing frames from their hooks and hurling them against the walls or to the floor, knocking a large easel to the ground and smashing his foot through the canvas print it had held. He was on as much a tear as a toddler having a fit, but imminently more dangerous. Rounding on her again, his eyes were wild, and if possible, Emma would have sworn he was foaming at the mouth.

It was then, in desperation to save the work he hadn’t already destroyed, that she acted without thinking clearly and charged out from behind the counter she had carefully kept between them - so focused on making him leave that she left herself vulnerable by coming too close. “Get out!” Emma cried, mindless of his larger build and out of control demeanor; the threat he posed flying from her head as her work - the pictures she’d poured her heart and soul into, and the inventory she needed to keep her business afloat - clattered to the ground, breaking and being trashed before her eyes. She might still have the small blade gripped in her sweaty fingers, but she wasn’t thinking about defense as much as ridding herself of his presence before he destroyed her means of livelihood. “You have no right to anything from me! You need to get out of here before I call the police and tell them you’re in town!”

Franken whirled from the far wall where he’d been wreaking havoc and instead turned towards her seething with unrestrained rage. There were many times in her years growing up when Emma had feared that this man was unstable; dangerously obsessed with her “unholy” visions and driving them from her by any means necessary, and that his volatile fanaticism would injure her beyond what she could heal from or survive. Emma had spent far longer than was fair, wasted too much of her life, waiting to be out from under his thumb, no longer catching her breath and ducking a fist sure to fly or a bruising belt buckle if she said too much or let the wrong words slip. It had been long enough now though that she wasn’t guarding every thought and impulse, and she didn’t stop to second guess or recognize the danger as she took her stand. Willing to defend this little space she’d made for herself, even if it meant facing the monster from her past head-on and all alone.

The violence that twinkled maliciously in Franken’s deep, dark gaze should have been a warning, but Emma was too riled up and determined that this time she wasn’t backing down, wasn’t letting this pathetic excuse for a man take anything more from her. Where a younger, more wary version of herself would have shrunk back and put space between them, Emma instead pressed forward capitalizing on the man’s momentary shock. She wasn’t sure what she intended to try next if he didn’t move, but her body seemed determined to herd him out the door, with or without the full thought and cooperation of her racing brain.

Barely a moment’s warning, where a low, evil chuckle rumbled from his throat, evidencing anything but humor, was the only signal Emma got, and the next thing she knew, Franken had struck so fast she didn’t even see the movement - like a copperhead concealed in dank marsh water, having already bitten a person before one even knew it was there. Her head whipped to the side with the impact of his fist shooting out and making contact, leaving her ears ringing and her lungs gasping for air.

Emma struggled to keep her feet beneath her, even as the world around her tilted sideways. A wailing inside her head like sirens brought back all the times she had fallen before this monster as a child, curled tightly in a ball to protect herself from the blows he’d rained down on her for the smallest imagined infractions or the involuntary glimpses of prescient knowledge she couldn’t help possessing - they’d been part of who she was even then, as much a her hair or eye color, and they refused to stay hidden. Emma had attempted to - for all she was worth - having immediately learned speaking of what she saw, no matter how important it might seem, only earned her more suffering and degradation. 

Flailing her arms, she managed to catch the side of the counter and steady herself before she went tumbling to the floor. Franken was right there, coming for her again with his arm raised, no doubt reveling in the same sort of drunken power he had missed while the inexorable familiarity of the old, horrible pattern clutched Emma by the throat with fear. 

This time she wasn’t having it. She’d fight him even if it broke every bone in her body. With a cry of pain soaked in years of suffering unheard, Emma pushed off the counter, leading with the sharp pocket knife and sheer desperation, she meant to make her own mark this time. “Leave me alone!” she bellowed, as she took her first step to meet him.

But, despite his own seeming haze of madness and unsteady mind, Vic Franken was still quick and powerful as a gator and just as mean. Much like he’d always been, he was too large a foe for her to fell unprepared and without proper defenses. His meaty paw caught her wrist with crushing strength, until her fingers were forced to release her blade and it clattered to the floor and skittered away uselessly as she felt her tendons and bones ground painfully beneath his grip. 

He pulled her close to his face until their noses nearly touched, as if trying to understand why he couldn’t make her cower the way he once had. Emma could just begin to hear the blessed sound of sirens in the distance that she prayed were coming their way. Thank goodness she had shouldered the extra cost of hidden cameras and a security company who monitored their feed continuously. When he’d begun to tear her gallery apart it would have been obvious help was needed though she’d had no time to call for it.

“You think this is over?” he hissed angrily. “I’m not finished with you…far from it. You won’t be rid of me until I say so. Don’t you forget it.”

Flinging Emma away like a discarded ragdoll, she stumbled with the force of it, tripping on the debris that littered the floor and slamming back into the counter that had saved her minutes before. Franken fled out the door and was gone, and she slumped to the floor - for the moment too dizzy and aching to get up again. Trying to catch her breath and make her surroundings stop whirling around her, Emma breathed slowly, closing her eyes and allowing her head to lean groggily against the smooth, cool surface until she could gather her bearings.

The siren sounds drew nearer still, for which she was so thankful she could cry, but then she heard the door swing open once more, and she lurched frantically to attention, struggling to get her feet under her for fear that he had come back to finish her off. What she saw instead almost started her laughing hysterically, having never imagined this particular visitor’s appearance would send relief washing over her.

“Emma?” Ruby Jones’ voice was shocked and disbelieving, even concerned, all rolled into one as her heels click-clacked right across all the broken glass towards her before she crouched at her side, fingers already gingerly dabbing at the trickle of blood from the broken skin at her temple and then holding an honest-to-goodness monogrammed handkerchief to the spot. “What happened here?”

Emma reached out to still Ruby’s hand, shaking her head with as little force as possible and still wincing, “More who than what…” she managed, still trying to fully gather her wits and fighting for her speech not to sound slurred. She swallowed, wetting her lips and pressing on. “It was Franken….my old foster father…remember?” Ruby nodded, mouth and eyes both gaping wide at her. Emma sighed, “Thank - thank goodness it sounds like those sirens are close… don’t wanna tell this all more than once.”

“Vic Franken?” Ruby growled, her wide eyes narrowing. She looked for a second as if she might have clawed the man’s eyes out herself if she had been here just a little sooner. Emma again had to choke back out of place hilarity at the other woman’s defense of her. Rose would have loved it; she was just trying not to get whiplash. “What did that bastard think he was doing coming here?” Ruby snapped out.

Emma chuckled lightly, squinting against the way even that made her head hurt. Somehow Ruby’s fiery temper made her heart feel a little lighter. This nightmare was still dogging her, but the sheer absurdity of someone she’d have sworn even two days ago couldn’t stand her being ready to fight for her, lightened the dark cloud that had settled over her. Giving the former debutante a mischievous, if weary, side eye, she teased. “Whoo, Miss Ruby! That’s quite a mouth you’ve got there for a nice Southern belle! What would your Mama say?!”

Ruby rolled her eyes at the teasing with a dismissive snort, even as she let Emma grip her forearms and help her to stand again, holding on until sure she was steady. “Well, first she would have told me to walk on by and leave you where you fell, so clearly I don’t much care what she has to say.”

Emma began to nod her acknowledgement that what Ruby said was true, then quickly thought better of it at the shot of pain that lanced through her. 

Ruby shrugged, offering a crooked smile. “Besides,” she added ruefully, “Mama despaired of me a long time ago.”

Emma drew in a sharp breath, a few sadly clarifying things about Killian and Rose’s sister instantly becoming clear. 

“Now,” Ruby continued, red fingernail raised to point at Emma authoritatively, “you are gonna report this sorry excuse of a man so they can nail him to the wall, and then we’re gonna get you patched up, okay?”

Emma didn’t get to respond further as they were interrupted by what seemed to be the entire Storybrooke police force’s arrival just then, with a worried David Nolan leading the charge. She’d give her former defender credit. Though he looked half beside himself when he first burst through the door, his deputies flanking him, David quickly saw that the perpetrator was gone and, while she was injured and shaken, Emma was no longer in immediate danger and had someone at her side. With an almost visible effort, he reigned in his protectiveness and brought his anxiety back under stern professional control. 

Turning, he began capably barking out orders to his fellow officers - not unkindly, but feeling the urgency and not at all wanting to allow Franken to escape and cause this sort of damage again. Through the buzzing that seemed to have taken up residence in her brain, Emma heard David directing a perimeter to be set up to keep Franken from getting out of town, with an APB being put out with Franken’s name and description to all possible news outlets. He also organized the coordination of his people coming in to gather evidence and block off the space outside on the walk so gawkers couldn’t  make their way in and disturb anything that could aid in their search. 

Though there were an overwhelming number of people swarming all about inside the shop, Emma was grateful that only David himself came over to ask a few questions of her. Ruby had led her, wordless as she had ever seen the youngest Jones sibling, over to one of the tall stools at the counter, coaxing her into gingerly sitting down, being kind enough even to avert her gaze and hold back her own questions when Emma leaned slightly over, her still-spinning head against Ruby’s side as she attempted to swallow her nausea back down her throat. Ruby just rubbed a hand across Emma’s shoulder blades gently and stood there as steady and calm as a pillar of marble.

David stooped to look into Emma’s eyes with his own careful concern as he reached them. “Do you feel dizzy? Nauseous?” he asked promptly, his words clipped and tight, making the strain he was still under to remain calm and professional all too clear. Emma was fairly certain he already knew the answer anyway. If she tried to shake her head and deny his suspicions, her world would only keep spinning more frantically.

Just barely meeting his anxious stare with her eyes slitted narrowly open, she managed a half-convincing, “Calm down, Nolan. We all know I’ve had worse.”

The sheriff’s lips pressed together into a thin line, his whole expression pulled taut enough that Emma couldn’t even gauge whether anger, guilt, or fear was playing the largest role.  His arms crossed firmly over his broad chest as he stood back to his full height, sensing that hovering would not make her any more agreeable, but he didn’t cease watching her, not allowing her to shut him out. “That isn’t funny,” he ground out, low enough that in the bustle around the shop only she, Ruby, and himself heard the admonishment, yet she felt chastened all the same. “You are clearly not safe, even out in the open, in broad daylight, and what if the security company hadn’t called us soon enough, if Ruby hadn’t walked in when she did? Emma, you could have been - “

Her eyes shot up to meet his savagely, knowing the rest of his sentence and not wanting it spoken aloud. Despite the ringing in her ears and rolling of her stomach, her fierce look froze the words on David’s tongue. She’d traveled so far, worked so hard to be more than the helpless, pitied victim of that man’s abuse - and she wasn’t letting him make her one again.

Before any of them could speak further, or the tension between them could fully dissipate, the door flung back on its hinges wildly as someone else rushed into her gallery. “Emma!” Killian’s unmistakable voice called out, cracking with worry on the second syllable, even as David moved aside slightly so his friend could see her for himself.

A strangled sound escaped his throat, and in moments Jones was across the room and on his knees before her, reaching out as if to pull her close, then jolting back as he took in the trickle of blood and the bruising that had already begun to color the side of her face. Looking wracked with indecision, he simply held his place before her, as near as he dared, and breathed out a choked, “What happened, Swan? Are - are you alright?”

“She will be,” Ruby offered with much needed certainty from beside Emma, laying her hand on her brother’s shoulder, as if to steady him and remind them both that she was there.  It was new from her - for both of them - but her typical self assurance was bolstering in the fraught moment and incredibly welcome.

Killian finally released a full breath, his forehead falling to rest upon her knee, and his fingers reflexively clutching her denim-clad leg for a moment as he trembled with relief. After a moment to gather himself, he looked up into Emma’s face from where he crouched before her, eyes swimming with unasked questions and the fear - still all too close to the surface - that he had nearly lost her.

Emma didn’t have the strength to hold back, not in that tremulous moment when she was hurt and wanted to scream at the unfairness of everything falling apart around her. She grasped his t-shirt at the shoulder, comforted by his warm solidity beneath, and ran a hand over his brow, amazed that he was there and was so intensely concerned - and that she allows herself the luxury of that - before trailing her fingers through his unruly dark hair. “It was Franken,” she murmured lowly, just wanting it all out, like poison drawn from a wound. “He was here, mostly after money, I think…” she paused. “But as you can see,” she gestured to her face, “that clearly wasn’t enough to keep him from leaving a souvenir for old times’ sake.”

She could see the angry tic in Killian’s jaw, working to restrain the fury he felt, and though his was quieter, it seemed to run even deeper and even harder to contain than David’s had before it.

At that, David broke into the moment. “Killian, why don’t you take Emma to Storybrooke General to be checked out? I can swing by there later, when all this is under control, if I have any questions that can’t wait until tomorrow.” He waved to the crime scene which her gallery had become as he spoke.

Killian’s “Aye” and terse nod were all that voiced his agreement to the sheriff’s suggestion, but he stood and offered Emma a hand; balance and support to pull herself up if she chose to take it. Ruby squeezed her hand, promising she would check on her later as well.

She wanted to argue, to say the fuss wasn’t necessary, but as she stood and then wavered unsteadily, she knew there was no point. She merely took Killian’s arm and leaned on him wordlessly without a fight. None of the three people surrounding her would let her close call be brushed aside - not this time. For now, she accepted the concern and decided she’d give herself a minute in which she didn’t have to be so strong.

    *~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

A few hours later Killian was leading Emma from the waiting room of the small local hospital, walking and as close behind her as humanly possible without getting their feet tangled and making her fall. She wanted to tell him that she’d be fine, to take her back to her car and then go on home, but the determined and independent core she had built up, the one which usually allowed her to offer those placating refrains so easily seemed irretrievably weakened. She couldn’t push him away. Where she would usually deny or ignore whatever had shaken her, Emma couldn’t this time. After all she had accomplished and how far she had traveled, after how long she had denied herself and stayed as far away as she could, it hadn’t been enough - not long enough, not far enough - her past and its monster had still found her and attacked.

So she didn’t want to need Killian Jones’ warm and steady palm at the small of her back, the comforting heat and gentle, guiding pressure easily felt through the thin material of her cotton blouse, but need it she did. “Come Lass, the truck’s over here,” he murmured, soothing and low near her ear, leaning in to speak for her ears alone as he steered her toward the corner of the lot where he had parked. 

There really hadn’t been much anyone could do for the busted lip and rapidly blackening eye she was sporting, other than cautioning her to ice it often and to take aspirin as needed for the pain, but they had made sure nothing was broken in her nose, cheekbones, or jaw. She had also been cautioned, since she’d suffered some nausea at first, that if she became dizzy again or threw up, she should return for further examination. She hadn’t presented with a concussion, but one might sometimes show up later, and they wouldn’t want to miss it if so.

The doctor who had looked her over and the nurse were both concerned about sending Emma home alone; they wanted her observed and awakened every couple of hours. At Killian’s assurance that he would stay with her and do just as they suggested, however, they had relented and she had finally been released.

It wasn’t until he was helping her up into the high seat of his truck’s cab and moving to shut the door that she finally forced herself to protest - it was too much, he didn’t need to put himself out.

Killian was having none of it. He wouldn’t even let her finish, interrupting her protests in a heavy handed way she hadn’t yet seen from him. The solemnity of his vow was irrefutable when he swore that “This time, Love, you won’t be alone until that bastard is caught. Not until this is over.” His eyes burned into her like twin blue flames. “You are too precious for me to do otherwise.”

As much as the fervent emotion from him stole her breath, frustration mounted within her right alongside it. She’d spent so much of her early life beholden to one person or another, moved and driven by the whims of Fate or the system. She didn’t want to be a responsibility or a chore to anyone - not even someone honorable, who took his role as seriously as Killian. Especially not to Killian. She shook her head angrily, biting back tears. “This is stupid! I’ll just go…”

Jones didn’t even hesitate. “Then I’m going too… to the end of the Earth, if that’s where you’re headed.”

She was swiping at the errant tears that wouldn’t be held back any longer, wincing when she got too close to the tender area near her eye socket and sniffing back worse sobs as she beseeched him in last resort. “Why? Killian, why would you do that? So you can get yourself killed trying to protect me?!?”

But he merely shook his head, leaning into her space, pressing his forehead to hers and his warm breath caressing her cheek. “I’m not going to let that happen, Swan. We’ve both lost enough. I’m with you now - no matter what - and we’re going to stand and fight.”

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @cssns @kmomof4 @jrob64 @jennjenn615 @searchingwardrobes @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @apiratewhopines @xarandomdreamx @anmylica @booksteaandtoomuchtv @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @bluewildcatfanatic @xsajx @teamhook @revanmeetra @iamstartraveller776 @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @blackwidownat2814 @blowmiakisscolin @let-it-raines @motherkatereloyshipper @jonesfandomfanatic @elizabeethan @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @lfh1226-linda @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @darkcolinodonorgasm @resident-of-storybrooke @drowned-dreamer @stahlop @wefoundloveunderthelight @eastwesthomeisbest @sotangledupinit @justanother-unluckysoul @ultraluckycatnd @bdevereaux @caught-in-the-filter @belovedcreation @lenfaz

[quibbs126]

Alright, well I finally finished these two, so their names are Blessed Cream Cookie and Vanilla Bean Cookie

As stated in a previous post, these two are supposed to be Pure Vanilla Cookie’s parents

The idea for them came from Pure Vanilla’s Story description, which has a line stating “Born from nature-blessed cream and a fragrant vanilla bean” which I then took and was like “what if I make him have parents based on both those things?” So yeah

I originally had two ideas, given that Pure Vanilla seems to have started out as a shepherd. Either he came from a family of shepherds, or given he apparently worships the Divine Light, he came from a family of religious leaders, but decided he wanted to be a shepherd and explore the world instead (which is something I took from Paulo Coelho’s The Alchemist, since that’s a book I had to read and have enjoyed). Eventually though I decided to just do both, having one parent be a shepherd and the other a religious leader of some sort

You know, when it comes to their designs, I had the idea Blessed Cream was from somewhere else and Vanilla Bean was native to the land, yet ironically in the final product it looks the other way around, Blessed Cream looking Vanillian while Vanilla Bean doesn’t

Anyways, I wanted to try and divvy up Pure Vanilla’s design elements between them. For example, Blessed Cream’s eyes more resemble Pure Vanilla’s open eyes, but Vanilla Bean is the one who has closed eyes and the bottom lash. Also, BC has PV’s blue eye(s) while I gave VB the yellow (you just can’t see it), since he’s vanilla and vanilla flowers are yellow. Originally I was planning on giving BC really light yellow hair that would presumably be darkened by VB since he was always going to have dark hair, but PV’s hair is already really light, so I just made it white. But I still gave it yellow lines to indicate maybe it’s a really pale yellow. As well as giving her PV’s lines in the hair. Though I don’t think it turned out the best, likely because I don’t really do that. Ah well

Anyways, let’s talk about them

So Blessed Cream is a religious figure, devoutly following the Divine Light, though to be honest, I don’t really know religion (my family’s atheist) and so I don’t know what role exactly she’d play, though I think she’s something equating to a pastor? She’s a religious leader in the small village they live in

I gave her the marking Pure Vanilla has on his head, assuming he got it from her, though I don’t know if that’s a birthmark or some sort of marking given to him, but honestly I think it could reasonably be either way. If it’s a birthmark, assume it’s red because of Vanilla Bean

I don’t have much for her personality other than she’s a nice and very calm lady

Vanilla Bean is a shepherd, as you can probably guess. He’s very passionate about his sheep and loves them dearly, but some of them are troublemakers and it’s difficult for him to keep his eye off them, for fear of them doing dangerous things. But he still is very content with his lot in life

In terms of personality, he’s also nice and friendly, but I imagine him being much more extroverted than his wife or son, and also a bit on the goofy side

I sort of imagine these two to have had a childhood friends to lovers romance, I don’t know why it just feels right

The family’s not very rich, but they are very happy where they are

I imagine that during the Ancients’s initial travels around Earthbread, they’d come to end up in each other’s hometowns at some point. For Pure Vanilla’s hometown they’d have a very nice time, PV’s parents welcoming his friends with open arms and generally just having a peaceful time. Maybe there’d be a plot about something stealing sheep and Vanilla Bean asking the group’s help in stopping the threat and protecting the herd

But this is probably the nicest time they have at one of their hometowns

Anyways yeah, that’s them

[free-for-all-fics]

So… while working on IWTV prompts, the s3 teaser made me feral. So with the help of my bestie, @une-lueur-dans-la-nuit we wrote this prompt that ended up being so much fun for us that it became almost like a miniseries! There will be 2 parts after this! Special thanks to her for providing the French! Pls tag me if you’re inspired by any of this and I’d love to read it! 🎸❤️🩸

“No, that's how billionaire vampires do it. How does your average Jo Mo vampire keep people like you in line? Unspoken threats?”

“The threat is always there. He could kill us both now. But he doesn't. They are peaceful beings.”

“They drain and disappear us.”

“They have a biological imperative that is in conflict with human morality. But what is that morality other than rules agreed upon?”

“Thank you, Rashid. A romantic answer to your question. The average vampire has minimal contact with humanity. When exposed, they feed or run or kill themselves. And I'd say we're multi-millionaires. Not quite a billion.”

“How do you hide from the Cloud?”

“Your cell phones make you slaves to your fetishes and data retrieval is primarily about profits, so I suspect no one at Amazon is trying to sell us blenders.”

“You kill, nightly.”

“And sometimes you've watched that kill on the local news. You've never been easier to distract. You're at the height of willful ignorance. We exploit it. This is, was… Lestat's prophetic vision.”

“Lestat de Lioncourt?”

“Yes.”

“I really gotta meet this guy […] To hear Louis tell it... Lestat becoming a vampire was a horror show.”

“That may be. But he made a remarkable recovery shortly thereafter. How else could you explain his hand feeding the audience? How words came out like canaries, summer fruit in the dead of winter. They were all in love with him. He had that effect on everyone. He...”

“Was a natural?”

“Entirely unnatural. Using the Dark Gift for what? His vanity? It was heresy.”

~

Part 1: Orientation

It’s modern day. Ever since you and your older brother, Lestat, became famous rockstars while performing as The Vampire Lestat, formerly Satan’s Night Out, you’ve both been very active on socials. You’ve been around since the 18th century and it’s amazing what modern technology is capable of! You used to have to wait weeks or months for a reply to a letter or telegram, or sit or stand still for hours to have your portraits painted, but now messaging is instant and you can share photos and thoughts with people all over the world. You and Lestat are almost internet addicts with how often you post and interact online. If you’re not performing, rehearsing, writing music, or doing interviews, press junkets, or promo shoots, you’re tapping away on your phones or laptops, always posting. You’ve quickly risen in the ranks of social media influencers and have been trending for months. Together you and Lestat maintain a popular vlog on both Instagram and YouTube where you frequently post all kinds of videos ranging from Get Ready With Me, Ask Me Anything, or just daily life vlogs.

You’re currently on tour, but are in need of some new hires since your and Lestat’s last personal assistants unexpectedly…quit…or were…terminated. They weren’t up to the bar of meeting your and Lestat’s expectations and standards. Since Lestat has far less patience than you and can’t be bothered, he’s left it up to you to interview and screen potential candidates for the Personal Assistant position. Usually he’d have a say and you’d have to come to a mutual agreement before hiring anyone new, but he’s sat through this process multiple times and trusts you to single-handedly make this decision by now. That, and he just wants to dump the work, problems, and responsibilities he doesn’t want to deal with onto somebody else as quickly as possible. So the sooner you find someone, the better.

“Next!”

“Good evening, Miss Lioncourt. My name is Juliette—”

“Well, yes. We’ll get to all that. Sit down. Don’t just stand there, lurking in the doorway and making the place look untidy. What are you doing here?”

“Well, I think I could do a good job as your and your brother’s assistant.”

You read her mind. “You don’t listen to The Vampire Lestat?”

“Uh, no.”

“And before today, you had never heard of me nor my brother.”

“No.”

“And you have no style or sense of fashion.”

“Well, um, I think that depends on what you’re—”

“No, no. That wasn’t a question. A shame you were late.”

“I'm not late, though? I’m fifteen minutes early.”

“What do you mean fifteen minutes early? Did no one ever tell you fifteen minutes early is the new late? Have you had any experience before in this kind of position?”

“I already sent in my CV. All my information should be there.”

“You sent your CV through? You know, I don’t really remember you. Let me have a look. You look very different from your CV. Mmm. Well, your skills and experience are…adequate, I would say. But first thing you should know is that this job is not for the faint of heart. Lestat is incredibly fussy with his PAs. More so than I am. During our time on tour, we have had over sixty PAs come through our doors and, for one reason or another, Lestat or I just…didn’t get on with them. And no one really has ever been as good as… Well, you don’t need to know their name as it’s irrelevant, but Lestat had a favorite Personal Assistant a long, long time ago, and he hasn’t quite gotten over their leaving. Ah, Lestat est si nostalgique (Ah, Lestat is so nostalgic). They were his very most favorite assistant, so you have some mighty big shoes to fill. I hope you know that. Mhm. Well, it doesn’t really matter how well you do your job or how efficient you are. If Lestat or I don’t like you, you’re out. If you disappoint Lestat or I, you’re out. And if me telling you this makes you think I’m high maintenance or a piece of work, you won’t be able to survive in this position.”

Juliette has a feeling your use of the word ‘survive’ in this context isn’t just a figure of speech. She swallows down her nerves.

“I am the patron saint of mercy and patience compared to my brother, so if you have any doubts about your abilities, there’s the door. Otherwise…bonne chance.” (Good luck.)

“I’ll try my best-”

“Now, our concert tonight isn’t for another two hours or so, so we have a little bit of time to go over everything. Apart from us, you’d be working closely with Christine as well, so let me get this straight with you off the bat. You and Christine would have totally different jobs. She’s our lawyer and is in charge of Lestat and I’s schedule, our appointments, and our finances. She gets to go with us to Paris for Fashion Week in the fall, she gets to go to all the shows, meet all the designers, go to all the parties, it’s divine. Christine is also a vampire like us, so don’t think you can do what she can do because, trust me, you can’t. You, as a human, on the other hand, well…you get ‘coffee’ and run errands. ‘Coffee’ is code for blood, in case you hadn’t figured that out. Now, also remember you must pick up our band mates’ and guests’ coffee orders as well. Our guests could be designers, clients, musicians, models, photographers…. Anybody from the fashion, musical, or vampire world, and you are expected to learn everyone’s ‘coffee’ order. Remember, for vampires, ‘coffee’ is blood, and for humans like our band mates, it’s, well…regular coffee. Starbucks, Caribou, Dunkin’ Donuts, wherever you prefer. Now, this does change from time to time, I will admit. For instance, Zakk Wylde used to take his coffee black but now he’s um, not even drinking caffeine anymore, so you’ll just have to keep up-to-date with all our guests and their companions or assistants will tell you what they prefer that given day. We have an internal system of all the orders of the ‘coffees’ and the beverages that everybody drinks so you’re expected to learn that. Now, our internal system has everything, everything that you could possibly ever want to know. ‘Coffee’ orders, all our social media accounts, all our files, all of our system data, so I’ll get you set up on that now.”

You type away at the computer, pulling up the appropriate screen.

“So can I just take your full name? This’ll become part of your username. Okay. And what password would you like? You can change this, obviously. And your date of birth.”

When Juliette tells you her DOB, you do a double take. “Mon Dieu (my god), you look older. Okay. And your social media handles. Your Instagram first. Facebook? And Twitter? Any other social media accounts? Okay. Let’s see.” You click the ‘save new user’ and ‘apply new changes’ buttons. “All right, done. Can I take your number and then this will get pinged over to your phone? Okay. Should be through now.”

Juliette’s phone pings with a new email.

“Got it? Perfect. So those are your login details.”

“Thank you, I might have some qu—”

“Now, Lestat’s and I’s ‘coffee’ orders are incredibly important. We expect our ‘coffee’ to be on our desks precisely when we wake up in the evening. If the ‘coffee’ is late or if it doesn’t arrive for any reason, Lestat and I - especially Lestat - get very upset. One assistant actually missed our ‘coffee’ order because of some, I don’t know, bus crash downtown or something like that, some lame excuse, and…well, we drank him instead. Drained him dry. We don’t often share since most humans faint from just one of us feeding on them. Sharing a human and drinking as much as needed to feel full and satiated before the heart stops would mean certain death for them. With cell phones and social media, it’s getting harder and harder these days to make a human disappear. But it’s not impossible. Now, don’t look so scared! You won’t have to do this every night. Sometimes Lestat and I prefer to hunt for ourselves like in the old days for nostalgia’s sake. You’ll be notified in advance if we decide to hunt ourselves. But if not, it’s up to you to keep us fed, and Lestat and I tend to be very picky eaters. A fresh young girl, that is his favorite food. But the triumphant kill for a sadist like Lestat is always a young man. Young men appeal to him in particular. They represent the greatest loss to Lestat, because they stood on the threshold of the maximum possibility of life. For me, I don’t mind a young woman while she’s on her monthly cycle. It reminds me of who I used to be and what I once had. But I prefer…what do you call them in English? Ah, yes. DILFs or MILFs. Men or women who seem to be doing well in life. They have more ‘taste’, like aged wine. Lestat likes to take away young men from all their possibilities, while I like to take what I’ll never have as well: A menstrual cycle, a pregnancy, Getting old, settling down…”

“Did you and Lestat…feed on pregnant women and children?” Juliette asks hesitantly, as if afraid the question might be offensive to you.

“We used to. Not anymore though. We’d feed on infants too if blood was scarce and we were especially desperate. They were so small, there wasn’t much blood in their bodies to drink before their tiny hearts stopped. It may seem especially heinous, but in the 18th century when we became vampires, medicine wasn’t what it is now and the mortality rates in women and children were already very high even before the Revolution. People would notice if too many men died or disappeared as they held the most power and societal influence, but nobody would bat an eye if it was a woman or a child. They’d write it off as another stillborn or another unfortunate victim who succumbed to a tragic and fatal accident or whatever disease was most prevalent at the time. We were beggars and couldn’t afford to be choosers in those days. But now, like I said, we are much more particular. We don’t feed on animal blood and we don’t like cold blood from blood bags. Even if it’s been heated up in the microwave and poured in a glass, it’s not the same as when it’s warm and flowing directly from a still-beating heart. We’ll only feed on blood bags or animal blood if we absolutely have to - for example, if we’re seriously wounded from sun exposure or major loss of blood. If we cannot consume high-quality blood, we might as well drink blood from Florida. That being said, I am sure there is still decent blood to drink in Florida. But I would bring a test kit anyway. But if you value your job and your life, you’ll find us each a human volunteer to feed from, preferably ones that match our specifications.”

“And where—”

“Yes, our ‘vampire victim’ preferences and sleep and feeding schedule will be noted on the internal system so pay very close attention to it. Use Tinder or other dating apps to find matches, if you must. We don’t care what you have to do to make it happen, you’ll get us our goddamn blood. And then, once we’re done, we’ll have a car waiting for our human volunteers so they can be taken home to sleep it off. The vampire’s kiss can be like an opiate, but their blood sugar tends to drop and they get very woozy afterwards. We’ve been doing really well so far. Our kill percentage has been decreasing lately with only one or two upward spikes here and there. We’d like to keep that going.”

“That’s quite a reli—”

“You are also expected to update our social media. Every. Single. Day. The social media schedule is on the internal system and you must adhere to it. Like biblical. Lestat and I are in charge of and personally manage our personal social media accounts, so you won’t have to worry about those, but you will be in charge of managing our business accounts, including our official page for our band. And we get very upset when our assistants don’t post to social media or they forget to post to social media or it’s not right. And you cannot just upload anything just willy-nilly. Lestat and I approve every social media post, so if it hasn’t been approved by either Lestat or I, then don’t upload it. Now, when we go to Paris in the fall for Fashion Week, you’re expected to double the amount of social media posts that you will already post as a minimum.”

“But the time difference…”

“What do you mean about time differences? Well, you’re not expected to sleep whilst Fashion Week is on. Qui dort pendant la Fashion Week, franchement? (Who sleeps during Fashion Week, seriously?) You’ll have to figure it out. Our photographers will be sending you the pictures that they take from all the shows and all the couture and all of that and you’re expected, once Lestat or I have approved them, to be uploading and retweeting and regraming around the clock. You’re also expected to filter out any derogatory comments or any sort of foul language that is on the social media pages. Yes, it’s pretty intense. What, you don’t think you’ll be able to do it? You’re also expected to take pictures that represent us on a daily basis and put those up on the Cloud for Lestat and I’s approval before posting.”

“Will I be provided a camera for this?”

“Yes, you’ll be given a camera that’s state of the art, top of the range that you’ll be expected to use. As I’m sure you know, Lestat and I also have our own fashion magazine - Veins & Vanity. Yup. It’s a bestseller. Even more popular than Daniel Molloy’s trashy novel about us.”

“Who’s Daniel Molloy?”

“What do you mean? You don’t know who Daniel Molloy is? Have you been living under a rock? Pas très maline, celle-là. (Not very smart, this one.) I don’t have time to explain it right now, but— As the new personal assistant, you’ll eventually be in charge of dropping off the book each night to our apartment. But Lestat and I are very private and we don’t like strangers in our house, so until we both decide you’re not a total psycho, Christine gets the lovely task of waiting around for the book. Let me show you an example.” You flip through a thick, spiral-bound book. “This is the book for this month. As you can see, it’s a mock-up of the newest edition of our magazine. This is usually assembled at 10 or 10:30 in the evening and you must wait around for it until then. A car will take you straight to our house and you let yourself in and you do not talk to anyone. Do not look at anyone. This is of the utmost importance. You must be invisible. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“So you open the door and you walk across the way, you hang our dry cleaning in our closets across from the staircase and you leave the book on the table with flowers. Do NOT go upstairs for any reason. That is the coffin room where Lestat and I sleep and it’s strictly prohibited to humans. We do not like our sleep to be disturbed. We are very light sleepers so if you try, we will hear your footsteps squeaking on the hardwood floors before you even make it halfway up the stairs. And when we’re tired, we’re not so kind. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good. You will quietly leave in the same car you arrive in. Then, in the morning, it will come back to you and be left on a desk - usually it’s Christine’s desk - and Lestat and I will leave notes, which are in blue and red sticky notes here. You will then drop it off at the Art Department where they can systematically go through Lestat’s and I’s notes and make changes. So, that is the book.”

You pause as realization dawns on you that Juliette has just been sitting there, listening to you but not typing or writing anything that you’ve said down.

“…Have you not been taking notes?” You rub your temples. “Oh my god, have I just been talking to myself this entire time?” You hold your hand up, stopping Juliette from attempting to explain herself. “No, don’t. I don’t care how good your memory is. Just…just…” You clench and unclench your fists in frustration, your nails digging into your palms.

Your cell phone rings.

“Look, let me take this phone call, you make notes, and…” You pick up the phone. “Y/N Lioncourt. Yes, hello, Christine. No. No, the Molloy interview is next week. …What time? Yes. I will let everybody know. Yes. Yes. Yes, take care, Christine. Salut, salut, salut.”

You hang up the phone.

“Okay. Something major has just happened. The Molloy interview, which was meant to be next week, has been moved to tonight at 2:30 after the concert. So people are panicking and my cell phone is going to be ringing off the hook. Les humains sont toujours si stressés.” (Humans are always so stressed out.)

You go into your recent calls and redial Christine’s number with a tap of your finger.

“Yes, Christine, me again. What time is the editor coming in? So we’ve got a little bit of time before the documentary crew arrives. Yes. Yes. Have you let Sophie know? Yes. And…yes. What about our jackets though? Lestat expressed he wanted to wear the chartreuse with the ostrich feathers… Oh, they’ve been dropped. Okay. That’s fine, I’ll make a note of that. Okay.”

You hang up but it isn’t even two minutes before your phone rings again.

“Y/N Lioncourt. Yes. I know, I know. Yes. Tonight 2:30. Yes. Yes. Can you remember to bring those belts as well? All right. Thank you.”

You hang up and focus your attention back on Juliette.

“Like I say, people are panicking. Now, you’re expected to note down everything that Lestat or I do and don’t like. Now, Lestat, if he likes it, he’ll nod his head once. If he nods twice, he really, really likes it. And if he shakes his head, he doesn’t like it, and if he purses his lips…disaster. I think there was only two records of a smile. And that was for Louis Vuitton way back in 1858 and Yves Saint Laurent in 1966. So you’ve got everything now? Well, there’s no time to explain anymore, this Molloy interview business is really…”

Your phone buzzes repeatedly, something that only happens if given an emergency call or alert.

“getting…out of hand… This isn’t good. Y/N Lioncourt. You’re joking. How long? Yes. I’ll let everyone know. Merde!”

Your fingers rapidly type a quick message to send out in a group text before you dial a number.

“This is not good. This is not good. Mia, it’s me. Lestat is coming in twenty minutes! Yes, I know he’s early! Can you let Sophie and the team know? Well, I can’t do it because I’m babysitting this new PA. Please, Mia. I’ll let you have my Prada bag. Thank you, Mia. Yes, salut.”

You hang up again and nearly jump out of your skin when you glance over and see Juliette still sitting in front of your desk.

“Oh my god, I totally forgot you were still here! That’s crazy. Yeah, sorry, babes. My peripheral vision is kind of selective. Like if my eyes get the vibe something is boring they just won’t tell my brain about it, you know what I mean? Yeah, that’s why I failed my driver’s test eight times. At a four way stop if the other drivers seem ugly, they’re basically invisible to me. All right. Lestat is coming in early, and he’s going to be here in twenty minutes, which means we need to get you ready because I can’t possibly let you in to see Lestat looking like that. Did you even look at yourself before you got dressed this morning? I don’t understand why you look like you rolled out of bed or something. Like you just said, ‘oh my god, I’m late, let me just go to work.’ Look, you can always be two minutes late in life. Nobody’s gonna tell you nothing if you’re two minutes late. You could put on a nicer top. It doesn’t take five years to find a nicer top and get out of your pajamas. I don’t know. Maybe it’s something like your culture. I’ve seen a lot of people on the streets just walking around in pajamas, going into the store to get something. So maybe it’s a cultural thing. Maybe the less attractive you look, the better your chance to find a mate or something? I don’t understand this dynamic, but I’m learning. Don’t worry, don’t worry. Calm, calm, calm. Les humains, vraiment tous pareils. (Humans, really all the same.) I’ll fix this. Right. What size are you?”

“Six.”

“Well, that will have to change if you want to continue working here. Four is the new six, you know. All right. I’ll see what I have available but… I can’t promise anything. What size shoe are you?” You get up from your desk and pace around before going into another room.

Juliette can hear you mumbling to yourself, “Everything is just everywhere! Danielle, have you got those, um, Prada pumps?” before you come back shortly with a pair of heels in your hand and a dress draped over your arm. “All right. This is all I could find in your size unfortunately. So I got you some nice heels here. They’re beige. They’re last season, but beggars can’t be choosers, right? Heels are a must. I don’t want to catch you in loafers or, god forbid, sneakers. So heels must be worn at all times.”

You lift a backpack and hold it up precariously by pinching your thumb and index finger together on the top loop, as if you don’t want to touch it at all. You look at Juliette. “What is this? Is this your bag? Oof. It’s hideous. Elle n’a donc vraiment aucun goût! (So she really doesn’t have any good taste!) Don’t let Lestat see you with that. Absolutely hideous. And I got you this Gucci dress. And…well, that’s all I could find for you.” You hand her the heels and dress. “Now, look, go and get changed.”

“Here?”

“Well, yes, here! We don’t have time for you to go wandering around the building.”

“But the walls are glass! Anyone could walk by and see me in my underwear!”

“Well, it doesn’t matter! We’ve had so many naked women and men in this office, more than an adult film sometimes. Now, come on, get on with it, I don't have time for this!”

Your phone rings again.

“Y/N Lioncourt. Yes, he’s coming in twenty minutes. Well, probably less than that now. Yes. You’ll need to send somebody out for ‘coffee’. Well, yes. This new PA is just a nightmare. You can get Jack to go? Yes, that’ll be great.”

You hang up again. You turn back to look at Juliette, now dressed in what you gave her.

“Are you done? Let me have a look. Well, that doesn’t go like that and let me just pull that down for you there. Seriously, do you even know how to dress yourself? That will do. It’s a little bit tight but…what about shoes? Good? All right. Let me have a look at your hair. Oh. We don’t have time for this. We really, really don’t. It looks like you’ve just stepped off the subway.”

“Well, yeah…”

“Why on earth did you take the subway? You can get a cab. Elle doit être tellement pauvre pour prendre le métro. (She has to be so poor if she is taking the subway.) Don’t worry. Let me just look at you. So, yeah, first priority is gonna be how you smell because I’m going to have to experience that the entire time I’m working on you and currently these are inhumane working conditions.”

“Do I really smell that bad?”

“Yeah, you smell like a gymnasium. Don’t worry, babes, we’ll take care of that. We’re gonna douse you in Cloud, everyone loves it. Yeah, it’s a universal favorite. It will make you smell like you’ve been in a bubble bath your entire life up until this very moment. I got enough Cloud to make a crowd scatter.” You spritz the perfume all around Juliette.

“Ouch!” She blinks and rubs at her eyes.

“I got it in your eyes? Close them. Oh my god, so much better already. Next up is your hair. Oh my gosh, I love your hair! Um, is it okay if I touch it?”

“Sure?”

“Cool, thanks. It’s so pretty. It’s so soft. It’s gorgeous. I like this color for you. It’s very nice, very good.”

“Thank—”

“But…uh…” You rub her hair between your pointer finger, middle finger, and thumb. “Oh, it’s very dry. Oh my god, it’s very dry! It’s not healthy at all! Can I tell you that? It’s not at all healthy. Do you use any product on it? Do you use anything to help it? Like some kind of oils or cream? Something?”

“Not really?”

“So like…what kind of products do you use on your hair usually?”

“Pantene.”

“Pantene? Babe, you might as well be using Nair. What the hell? It’s very straight. You must use a straightener like every day. Yeah. And yet it’s so frizzy somehow. I hate frizzy hair and yours is kind of hay-like. C’est comme de la paille. (It’s like straw.) Like a frail piece of straw that’ll break from a gust of wind. It’s not good. How many times do you try to straighten your hair? Okay, I’m just asking because the more I touch it the worse it gets. Look at it, it’s so thin. It’s so thin. I feel like if I touch it too much, it’s going to snap. It’s going to snap.” You curl a strand that falls out around your pointer fingers and pull. “It makes a sound too! It sounds like plastic. Look at that! It’s plastic.” You let it fall away and shake off your fingers. “It’s quite disgusting in my opinion. No offense.”

“But you just said—”

“I know what I said. I thought I liked it, but it doesn’t look very good up close. It’s like one of those abstract paintings. From afar, it makes sense and I can see the picture, but when I come close to it, it’s like…why don’t I understand where the paint strokes are going? I don’t understand this. What is happening here? Like from afar, it looks very nice, you look very good, very put together. But then when I come close, your hair looks like trash. And when I touch the texture of your hair, it feels like it will break. Lestat and I have curly hair too, so no hate towards curly hair, but this is…interesting. I don’t know…”

“Do you use anything on your hair to get it so curly?”

“No, ours is natural. Yeah. In our family a lot of us had blonde and/or curly hair and we didn’t dye it or perm it or use heat on it. Yeah, if you watch him closely, you’ll notice Lestat’s hair is like bleachy blond. It’s so light that sometimes it appears white under fluorescent lights. He takes after our mother, Gabrielle. Lestat and I’s hair is all natural and we don’t have to use anything on it. It just dries curly. That’s why it’s so healthy. Oui, nous avons de la chance. (Yes, we are so lucky.) That’s why Lestat’s grew past his shoulders and mine grew nearly to my butt by the time we were changed. We cut it and it just grows back the same way. Yeah. That’s why we have a lot of it. Lestat and I actually did each other’s hair today. Yeah, he did my hair for me so it’s like perfect today and I just don’t want anyone to touch it. But yours is like…very thin. So thin. And the amount of frizz and hair damage you have is ridiculous, even though you definitely don’t dye it or style it or anything whatsoever. So how you managed to get it looking this bad…honestly, an enigma. It’s really disturbing actually. Have you ever thought about dying it? Yeah, ‘cause the closer I look at the color of your hair, it’s very…off. Yeah, the… What do you call this color? Strawberry blonde?”

“Yes, it’s—”

“The strawberry blonde moment is just not doing it for you. I don’t like it. Again I use the analogy of the painting because, from afar, it looks good, but, up close, it looks like ramen noodles. I don’t know how to explain it. Do you know what I mean? Non, elle ne doit pas comprendre. (No, she can’t understand.) Like ramen noodles in the box and you put it in the hot water. And it’s yellow and hard. That’s what…yeah. I don’t know. I just think of you as more of a soft caramel color. Especially a little bit lighter at the ends I think would look really good later down the road. Well, for now, I think you have to just cut it all off. Just go short and start over. I feel like a lot of split ends are here. Yeah, you have a lot of split ends, oh my god. You’re full of them. Just take it all off and stop using heat on it. Just stop it all. Don’t do anything anymore to it. Just don’t touch it. Don’t touch it anymore. Do you ever go to a hairdresser to cut your hair?”

“Of c-”

“You know what? I’m gonna hook you up with my stylist, Celeste. Yeah, she’s amazing with hair. She does mine and Lestat’s and she’s just amazing. I think you’re gonna love it. I think just a little bit of layering because you’re very much all one length here. Yeah, that was like so…2005. Yeah, you gotta change it up a little. Put some layers in and I think it’s gonna look really good. Some nice face framing layers and, like I said, a nice caramel color. Like a chocolate at the top and, as it goes down, it gets lighter and lighter. We’ll go to Celeste and you don’t talk to her. Let me talk and I’ll tell her what to do because this is, in my opinion, unacceptable. I don’t understand why you wanna keep it this way. Elle est donc aveugle. (So she is blind.) Do you like it like that? Do you like it looking frizzy and breaking? Because if you like it like that, you just keep it, you know I don’t care. It’s really none of my business what you wanna do with your hair. It’s just not a good impression in my opinion.”

“No, no, I ca—”

“No offense, but it looks like you really don’t take care of yourself at all. It just gives a wrong impression like you don’t care about yourself and when you have that impression like, ‘I don’t care about myself’ and you go out like, ‘I don’t care about myself, so why should I care about other people.’ Do you understand? So I think this is something that you need to work on. Because I don’t like when people just look like they don’t really care about anything. Because it’s like, then why are you even here? Why are you here if you don’t care about anything at all? Do you know what I mean? If you don’t care, just go live on a mountain or something. Don’t come and live in society because there’s certain standards that we want and have to uphold. And this is not it. This is not it. You use your hair as a safety net but it’s not gonna save you from a bullet or a train, so it’s not really a safety net. So for today, I have the lovely challenge of making your chemically damaged hair look passable for Lestat. Yikes! I really don’t even know where to begin. Just kidding! Yes, I do! We’re gonna start with detangling spray. A nice spritz of this is gonna make all of those millions and billions of little tangles so much easier to manage. Close your eyes this time, okay? Perfect. I love this detangling spray so much. The tangles are working out like butter. Brush, brush, brush it all out. Brush, brush, brush it all out. The next step is gonna be this hair oil. Thick and full, Biotin and Collagen weightless oil mix. It’s got vitamin B7, Biotin, Collagen, hydrolyzed protein. All kinds of goods that your pathetic little strands have never seen in their lives. This is gonna make your hair look so silky and healthy instead of thirsty and tragic. Gonna work that through. As far as the style - Oh, god. What if we just like, grab a stand from either side and clip them together in the back? That can be pretty foolproof. I think I’ve got a clip over here. Yeah, this’ll be cute on you. Let me grab a strand from the right side of your face. Little bigger than that. Grab a strand from the left side of your face and then meet them together in the back, grab that clip and clip those together. Oh my gosh, so much better already, but still a ways to go. On progresse, on progresse. (We make progress, we make progress.) Then there’s your makeup. It’s not doing you any favors. Like really bland. Wait - are you even wearing any makeup?”

“No…”

“No?” You gasp. “Nothing at all? Oh, wow! Okay.” You interlace your fingers together in contemplation. “You’re actually pretty cute - in like a weird kind of way - like an armadillo! But yeah, cute. Okay. This has me rethinking everything. I thought we were starting from an entirely different place. If this is the blank slate we’re working with, there’s actually hope! We can get you to like a solid…6.5. I’m serious! But it’s gonna take hard work to get there. Blood, sweat, and tears, babe. But it’ll be worth it. I’m gonna pull out all my best tricks. Have you ever taken care of your skin? It looks just…dull…but I think I can bring it to life because, even though it is dull, it also has this perfection to it that not many have. This is good. This is good.”

You pat Juliette’s skin with cleansing pads.

“I’m going to use products from Lestat’s and I’s makeup brand. It’s called Bloodlust. I’m just trying to cover up some of the imperfections so that when I style you next time, I can have a better idea of what the final product is going to be. First we’re gonna moisturize you up nice and good because your skin texture is like asphalt. Let me grab a beauty blender. Hydrating your skin, giving it that gorgeous, gorgeous glow it desperately needs. Making sure that the foundation is gonna have a nice surface to stick to. Wow, your skin is seriously drinking this up, it’s so dry. Have you like, ever moisturized before in your life? You’re like a freak of nature. No offense. Les humains peuvent être des créatures si étranges de nos jours. (Humans can be such strange creatures nowadays.) ‘Kay. Now we’re gonna plop on the foundation with that same beauty blender. Just layering on more and more and more and more and more until we cannot see even a single pore of your actual skin anymore because it’s giving very much Nosferatu. And now, thanks to me, it’s giving very much Malibu! Let’s pick the perfect blush shade for you. Let me get a closer look at your skin, actually. Okay, so even with the foundation on, I can still tell that you’re working with a pretty warm undertone here. So we want something pretty and peachy rather than like a pastel pink. Got it! I know just the one! Blending that over your cheeks. Oh yeah, it’s bringing some life into your face in a big way. C’est pas encore ça, mais c’est déjà mieux!” (We’re not done yet, but it’s already better!)

You open your eyeshadow palette. “For your eyes we’re gonna do something kind of light because your eyes are actually one of your nicest features.”

“Thank you?”

“Yeah, so we want to highlight them, not hide them. Let’s take this nice bronze and just do like a nice subtle wash through the outer corner into the crease. Do you even know what eyeshadow is? Ridiculous. Just add a bit of depth and sparkle and let’s pick up a highlight color and dip that in your inner corners. And then a touch more sparkle in the middle. Now we’re getting somewhere. Next is the mascara. Just a little tip from me to you: Mascara is the most important step of makeup. I swear even if you don’t have time to do anything else, mascara is the one thing you cannot skip. Like if I was human and saw a bear lunging towards me, I’d take the time between then and my mauling to apply a fresh coat. If that gives you any idea of the importance. Never, ever, ever let me catch you outside of your house without mascara.”

“I don’t really—”

“Like even if you go to the gym, I want you to wear that because you can’t just like, be associated with me or my brother if you’re gonna look like you just rolled out of the trash, you know what I mean? The most important thing to remember about this job is that you must look impeccable at all times. Your hair, your makeup…flawless all the time. Lestat and I get very upset if we see people looking drab or unkempt or unmade up. So you must look good at all times. Just blink when I say. Wow, cute. Can you look up for me? Oh and, next time, we have to do something about your eyebrows ‘cause they’re just all over the place. Yeah they’re just a little bit too bushy for my tastes personally but if you like looking like an orangutan, that’s fine. It’s up to you. Oh yeah, I could totally bring you to my esthetician. Or I could just do them for you like I’m such a pro. When I was human, I did Lestat’s, I did my mother’s. I do it for my human band mates and friends. J’espère qu’elle ne croit pas que nous allons devenir amies.” (I hope she doesn’t believe we’ll become friends.)

You check your phone.

“Well. We’re out of time, so this is as good as it’s going to get. It’s showtime. Stay after the concert and I’ll introduce you to Lestat before the Molloy interview. Don’t worry, I won’t let him bite or kill you on your first day.”

Unseen, Juliette watches the entire show from the sidelines. Your set exceeds the usual 45 minutes or hour most concerts are, on account of you and Lestat deciding to play at least three encores. After the concert, Juliette is waiting for you in the hallway that connects the main stage with the backstage area. Finally you exit, your bass slung over your back and Lestat beside you, your human bandmates somewhere else, probably the bar. Your hair and makeup are still flawless since, as vampires, you don’t sweat. Having slipped out of the Prada heels for comfort’s sake, she had been casually leaning against the wall for the duration of the show since nobody would notice her in the dark. But she straightens up from her slouched position immediately, quickly slipping back into the heels and smoothing out her hair and the dress you loaned her before either you or Lestat can notice as you meet her offstage. Phew. That was close.

“Mr. Lioncourt,” Juliette says, using every muscle in her body to speak up with conviction and not shake or twitch from anxiety in his presence. Although you promised you’d protect her today, that protection may expire eventually. She knows that you and Lestat hate weakness, and she cannot show it in his or your presence if she hopes to keep this job.

“Yes? Can I help you?” With his arm slung around your shoulders lazily, he furrows his brow. Arching it questioningly, he barely makes eye contact with her and instead focuses his attention on you, as if waiting for an explanation as to why this human has been allowed backstage, is standing in front of him and you, and is addressing him.

“Well… I’m Juliette, your new assistant. Ms. Lioncourt hired me earlier this evening,” Juliette explains.

“You’re the new PA? You’ve got to be joking.” While keeping an eye on Juliette, he turns his head halfway to whisper in your ear, “Ma soeur, avons-nous eu si peu de candidats qu’il a fallu que tu choisisses celle-là?” (Sister, did we get so few of candidates that you had to pick this one?)

“I’m sorry if I’m not what you were expecting but… Mr. Lioncourt, I need to tell you that I absolutely love your yellow jacket. The bird feathers are a nice touch. Very stylish. Very you.”

“Are you colorblind? It’s not yellow, it’s chartreuse. And they’re not just bird feathers, they’re ostrich feathers.”

“Are they real?”

“Do you know anything about fashion?”

“I wouldn’t—” Juliette catches your warning glance. “Yes, of course I do.”

“Then you know that, of course, they’re real. I only wear clothes made out of genuine leather and fur because I’m all about being genuine in my music and my personal life and I want what I feel on the inside to reflect on the outside. Many animals had to die, but that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make if it’s for the noble cause of making me look this good.”

“Do you wear clothing made from endangered species too?”

“Sometimes. My sister and I both still have articles that were made from now extinct species too. But we were around long before those species ever became endangered or extinct. The failure of your kind to preserve and protect your environment is not our fault nor our problem. Enough chit chat. Onto the main issue: Let me have a look at you. Turn.”

Juliette turns in a circle very quickly.

“No. Slower.”

Juliette turns in a circle again, this time much slower than before.

Lestat scoffs in annoyance at her inability to follow clear directions. “Just stay still.” He leaves your side to walk in a circle around Juliette, looking her up and down with his hand on his chin, his fingers moving over his mouth occasionally. He doesn’t look away from her as he switches to French, once again talking about her as if she isn’t there. He clicks his tongue, as if tsk, tsk, tsking. “Vraiment, ma soeur? C’est tout ce que tu as trouvé? Elle ne sera jamais à la hauteur. Son visage passe encore, mais il va falloir qu’elle apprenne à s’habiller et se coiffer dignement.” (Really, sister? Is it all you have been able to find? She’ll never be good enough. Her face is okayish, but she will have to learn how to dress and do her hair with dignity.)

He switches back to English. “Well. Juliette, is it? I hope you know you are very lucky to get this position. Anyone would kill to be standing where you’re standing right now. We had over one hundred applicants for this position and, trust me, it was not easy whittling them down, I must say. If it were up to me, you wouldn’t be here. I always hire the same boy or girl…stylish, slender, of course…worships us and the band. But so often, they’ve turned out to be…I don’t know…disappointing and, um…stupid. So you, who probably has an impressive resume and made a big speech about your so-called work ethic… my sister must think you’ll be different. And since I left her in charge of hiring the new PA this time around, I guess I’ll just have to live with her decision.” Lestat then looks at you and waves you both off. "Vas-y, ma soeur. Prends le risque. Embauche la grosse intello.” (Go ahead, Sister. Take a chance. Hire the smart, fat girl.)

On the other side of the large and thick industrial double doors, you and Lestat, thanks to your super hearing, can hear Daniel and the documentary crew talking, clearly growing impatient.

“The car’s been on the lot for hours, man.”

“Hey, look, if you want, I can have somebody knock on the window.”

“I, uh…I think they…”

“What? What? You think what?”

“I think they’re entertaining somebody right now,” someone says, pointing out that he saw you and Lestat earlier, and Lestat had bite marks and hickeys on his chest while you had a new girl next to you.

“Do we have insurance for homicide?”

“You know what, we had three deaths on the Banger Sisters, don't worry about it.”

You and Lestat push open the doors and make your entrance.

“That's them. Jesus Christ, look at them,” Daniel says in awe.

You gesture with your arm for Juliette to not follow you and to instead wait on the sidelines with the rest of the human crew while you and Lestat walk to the matching black leather chairs waiting for you.

“Okay, let's go. Mr. and Ms. Lioncourt, hi. Mark Johnson. I'm the executive producer. We’ve talked on the phone a couple of times.”

“We're really excited about the...documentary...” Daniel trails off awkwardly.

You and Lestat leave Mark hanging, not making any attempt to shake his hand. You can smell that he didn’t properly wash his hands and instead just used hand sanitizer. Disgusting. Is basic hygiene really a lost art among humans? You stare at him blankly, as if bored already from listening to him speak.

“Je ne me souviens pas de lui, est-ce que tu te souviens de lui, ma soeur?” (I don't remember him. Do you remember him, Sister?)

“No. Usually I have a memory like a steel trap but we talk to so many people every day, and, clearly, this human didn’t leave much of an impression or impact. Comme la plupart d’entre eux malheureusement.” (Like the majority of them, unfortunately.)

“…Okay.” Mark awkwardly puts his arm back down.

“Hey, man. Thanks for the tickets last night. Great show,” Daniel praises. His deadpan voice leaves you unsure if he’s being sincere or sarcastic.

“You have 45 minutes and they’re gone.”

“Who the fuck are you?”

“This is Christine Claire, Mr. And Ms. Lioncourt's lawyer.”

“Hair and makeup now.”

“Hi, I'm Tami—”

“Hi, I’m Sarah—”

You and Lestat both look up and pull your heads back so their makeup brushes and hands don’t touch your faces or hair. Lestat’s hair is already giving Michael Hutchence, while yours is giving Patricia Morrison. And your makeup, like your outfits, is already on point. You don’t need assistance when you’ve already achieved perfection, thank you very much.

“Do we look like we need you?”

Both makeup artists pause for a second and then retreat.

“They’re completely booked. No. Don’t even talk to me about it again for the next two months. They’re both booked.”

Lestat looks to his right. His shoulders slump as he deeply exhales and irritably taps his fingers on the armrest of the chair. He smacks his lips. “…There's a goblet on the table.”

“You don't like the goblet? Can we get rid of the goblet, please?” Daniel asks the crew.

“C'est tellement kitsch," (It’s so tacky) you say so only Lestat will understand.

"C'est de mauvais goût,” (It’s bad taste) Lestat concours.

A crew member takes the goblet away. Now that that cheap Party City Halloween decoration is gone, you can get on with it.

“Thank you. We need to wire you both for sound, I hope you don't mind.”

You and Lestat shrug.

“So the camera we're gonna be using is called an Interrotron. I'll be sitting here. You'll see my face in the camera like, uh, like we're talking to each other, and you don't have to just stare into an empty camera lens,” Daniel explains.

You and Lestat allow yourselves to be mic’d, but when the humans invade your personal space to put the microphones on your clothes, your vampire hearing can detect the fluid, or lack thereof, coursing through their bodies. You don’t have a problem with the person assisting you, but Lestat recoils in disgust, crinkling his nose. “Your sound man is dehydrated.”

“We’ll, uh, okay, we'll get him some water. Get him some water please.”

“Je ne te savais pas si attentionné avec les humains, Lestat. Cela me rendrait presque jalouse.” (I didn’t know you were so considerate of humans, Lestat. It almost makes me jealous.)

“Tu sais bien qu’ils ne m’intéressent pas, ma soeur.” (You know very well that I don’t care about them, sister.)

“All right, let's fucking go, people.”

“43 minutes.“

“Shut her the fuck up,” Daniel grumbles.

“We’re rolling! Quiet on set!”

“Take one, take one. And…action! Okay, we're gonna start. Listen, could you state your names for the camera?”

You and Lestat look up from the two copies of Daniel’s book you were leafing through.

“Justin Bieber.”

“Kylie Jenner.”

You and Lestat close your copies of Daniel’s book and place them on your laps, tapping your fingers against the hardcover, subtly nodding your heads.

“I see you have my book there, what do you think of...” Daniel starts retching. “I'm sorry. Excuse me… Give me a second here.”

“Daniel, are you okay?”

With your pointer fingers arched up, you and Lestat listen to Daniel’s retching as if it’s music to your ears. That should be answer enough for him to know what you and Lestat think of his book. The retching and the voices of the crew become background noise.

“I am the Vampire Lestat.”

“I am the Vampire Y/N.”

“Why are we retching?”

“We’re immortal.”

“I'm not doing it. It’s them,” Christine whispers.

“More or less.”

More retching.

“The light of the sun.”

“Can somebody get a glass of water?”

“The sustained heat of an intense fire. These things might destroy us. But then again, they might not.”

~

Take two.

Your eyes flicker back and forth between the camera and Daniel in front of you and J. Feldman, the first cameraman standing off to the side with the crew. The rest of the human crew either don’t see what you see, or they do and they’re just pretending to be oblivious. To be fair, you didn’t notice it during the first take either. But now that you’ve seen it, you can't unsee it. Not wanting to make a scene, you try to ignore him, but you’re obviously distracted. Lestat is the first to pick up on it, and he discreetly looks in the direction where your eyes are flickering to, but he doesn’t see what you see. If he did, there’d be a bloodbath to mop up. You make eye contact with Daniel and try to focus on finishing answering his question. “But...let's just say we, uh...we-we did a lot of writing. This is just, um...really just, uh… It's so special to be in Santa Carla, California - The Murder Capital of the World - again! The lights, the music, the energy, the people - It’s easily been my favorite venue spot so far on any tour. It surpassed our concert in Death Valley for me, which, before now, I thought was an impossible feat. Hmm.” Fuck it, you think to yourself. Your team and Daniel will just have to be okay with doing yet another reshoot.

“Ma soeur, est-ce que tout va bien?” (Sister, is everything all right?)

“Uh, I'm sorry, Feldman, what the fuck is that?” You ask bluntly, your tone laced with a bite to it as you stand up from your seat and lock eyes with the first cameraman. Everyone around him steps to the side, creating space between themselves and him in case shit is about to hit the fan or something is about to go down.

“What?” He furrows his brows in confusion when he looks at you, like a deer caught in headlights. Too scared that you’ll pounce on him like a wolf and latch your fangs into his jugular if he fully looks away from you for even half a second, he frantically glances from the corners of his eyes at either side of him, and sees from his peripheral vision that everyone has put a great deal of distance between himself and you. They are looking at the two of you with fear and apprehension in their eyes.

“What do you mean ‘what?’ That shitstain of a tattoo on your forearm. What the fuck do you have written there? ‘Armand told the truth’?”

Hearing those words, Lestat jumps up from his seat before the cameraman can blink. Lestat agreed to this documentary because he took issue with his portrayal in the book and wanted to set the record straight. Not because he wanted to invalidate everything Louis said but because when he read Interview with the Vampire, he was like, ‘ARMAND SAID I DID WHAT???’ and was angrily ripping out pages from his copy. He was annoyed with Armand's version of him and not Louis's (though you’re sure he doesn't agree with everything Louis said either.) Now this poor cameraman has two angry vampires standing on either side of him. You in front of him, and Lestat behind him. Just as enraged as you, Lestat is seething, his pupils just as dilated as yours. You haven’t seen him this angry since an incident during your tour in Death Valley.

~

You and Lestat pulled up to the auditorium in your shiny Porsche, dressed to the nines and exuding an air of money and status, ready to perform, but the security guy wouldn’t let you through at the gate. And Lestat was getting furious. The guy was like, ‘sir, miss, I can’t find your names on the list,’ and Lestat was steaming red because his ego was bruised. He’s a legend. Everyone knows his name. Anywhere Lestat goes, people flock to him, asking for selfies and autographs. He should be on the goddamn list. And even if he isn’t, he should be allowed through anyway because he’s Lestat fucking de Lioncourt. He’s a vampire aristocrat and rockstar, nowhere is inaccessible to him. He was really mad and was like, ‘why do you need my name?!’ so finally the guy was like, ‘sir, how do you spell your name?’ And Lestat went, ‘F-a-m-o-u-s!’ and then just hit the gas, breaking the barricade. It turned out the security guard couldn’t find your names on the list due to a spelling error, and Lestat’s name was listed as ‘Lesander Lionsourd’ (Lionsourd meaning deaflion).

~

His anger now is that times a billion. He is ready to tear out J. Feldman’s throat or rip his arms off. You make eye contact with Lestat and subtly shake your head at him. If you were anybody else, he’d ignore you and just go ahead and decapitate the man. He lived by the motto of ‘don’t ask for permission, ask forgiveness later.’ But for you, and only for you, he’ll be patient. Not just because you’re his sister and he loves you, but because he understands that you signaling for him to wait doesn’t mean you’ll show mercy. You don’t want this man dead. Yet. You want answers first.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Do you think that because we were born French on our father’s side and Italian on our mother’s that we can’t read English? Who tattooed that on you?” You ask.

“Uh, Joel Emerson, I think.”

“You think? Where does he tattoo?”

“O-over at Inkspire in L.A.”

“Christine, get that tattoo shop on the phone. And if Joel’s not working today, find his personal cell phone and call that.”

Christine quickly Googles the shop and dials their phone number. She hands her phone to you while it’s ringing. You hold it to your ear while glaring daggers at the soon-to-be former first cameraman.

“Hello, is Joel working today? I’d like to talk to him. I don’t care that he’s with a client right now. Tell him to put his machine down and come to the phone. It’s urgent. This is Y/N Lioncourt. Yeah, I thought so. Thank you. Joel, why? You fucking asshole. How could you agree to tattoo that on someone? I don’t care. I don’t care about ‘consenting adult clients’ and ‘it’s their money and their body, so they can get whatever they want’. I’m going to police people’s bodies if they’re going to do stupid shit like this! Because this is offensive and unacceptable to Lestat and I! You have no fucking idea who Armand is or what he’s done. You and every other human on the planet don’t even know half of it. You weren’t there because you weren’t even fucking born, so you can’t know! You can’t even begin to comprehend what the 18th and subsequent centuries were like. He’s a fucking cult leader, for fuck’s sake. Did you know that? Have you tattooed anything else relating to Armand on anybody else? No? What about the other artists in your shop? No? Are you sure? You better not be lying to me because if I look on your and your coworkers’ Instagrams and see another tattoo showing love or support of Armand, whether it’s his face, his name, or any more of that ‘Armand was right, Armand told the truth’ bullshit, I will get our lawyers involved and they will eviscerate you in court and take your shop and your tattoo license from you. I will not hesitate to do the same with other tattoo artists and tattoo shops. And don’t think deleting posts will save your ass. The internet is forever and my lawyer will use the Wayback Machine or find some other way to dig up those photos even if you delete them. Understand? Good. You won’t be hearing from me, Lestat, or our legal team so long as there won’t be any further issues. Have a good rest of your day. Bye.” You give Christine her phone back and she’s already typing away, working on keeping tabs on Inkspire and any other tattoo shop in the state for damage control.

“Uh...”

“And you! You amateur fuck. You’re fired.”

“What?”

“You heard me. There’s obviously a conflict of interest here, so you can pack up your shit and go. I want you to leave.”

“The building?”

“No, not just the building. I want you to leave the state.”

“I can’t just move to a different state! My friends, my family, and my entire life is here!”

“That’s not my problem. You should’ve thought of that before permanently scarring your body with a steaming pile of shit. I hope, for your sake, you either get it lasered off or covered up with a better tattoo. Then maybe, just maybe, you can move back. I am being lenient by letting you off with a warning and letting you walk away with your life. If either I or Lestat see you again and that still isn’t gone or covered, then we won’t be. I’m going to chop your fucking arm off with Lestat’s tiny pocket axe. I’m the more merciful of the Lioncourts, so it’ll feel like a massage compared to what Lestat will do to you. Go. Now.”

He runs away crying with his tail between his legs, urine running down his pant legs. You and Lestat scrunch up your nose at the foul odor. Disgusting. He’s lucky he didn’t get any of it on your Chanel boots or Lestat’s Christian Louboutin’s. Although you can afford it, it’d be a shame to ruin such expensive and stylish designer outfits with blood, guts and sinew. While there are frantic calls for a cleanup and reset, you and Lestat storm off to your dressing room, uncaring that you’re leaving Daniel behind, unsure on what to do or if there’ll even be an interview tonight. You pace back and forth in there, trying to get your breathing back under control. Once your eyes return to normal, you text Juliette that she doesn’t need to worry about picking up dinner. You and Lestat will get it yourselves. You could use the air and will be back in an hour. Lestat and you send Christine a similar text, telling her you’ll still do the Molloy interview, but you’re going out to feed and won’t be back for an hour. You both need to cool off and blow off some steam by going on a hunt. You both need a fucking meal before going back in there to attempt the interview again. Now would be a good time for Daniel and the crew to break for lunch. In the meantime, she should find another cameraman to replace Feldman. You and Lestat change into more “casual” clothes that you don’t care about getting messy. “Casual” for you meaning “old” designer clothes from last season.

[seeyouonsaturn]

ask game

Bird: They're both quiet types, neither of them would be too into making a big deal out of their feelings like that. It just doesn't feel natural. With Prowl and Bird, the focus is a lot more on the little things. A brief, reaffirming touch here, a mere glance and a small smile there. Casually gifting the other a pretty rock or a feather just because they found it particularly beautiful. Sharing a quiet moment, calm and at peace in each other's presence.

They don't need big gestures. They never even need to talk about it at all, even in private. If anyone asked, they wouldn't lie, but if no one ever brings their relationship up, they won't either.

If they'd gotten a happy ending, they probably would've kept at it until one day someone asked them if they'd ever thought about being more than friends. And they'd just have to stand there like "what are you talking about, we've been conjunxed for decades". They just never felt the need to outright mention it.

Skyline: Oh she would, she so would. It's not that Skyline needs them; she's perfectly happy to be shown a quiet, private type of love that's just for her and her beloved. But if given the opportunity (and if her partner was open to receiving it), she'd be the type to shout her feelings from the rooftops. Because it's precious and wonderful and she wants to share it! Skyline is a public figure, and she's used to having her entire life documented and spread around by the media. So if they're gonna talk about her anyway, they should talk about the best part of her life. She's used to having eyes on her, and would feel no shame in declaring her love in a public spectacle.

Unfortunately, of course, that is not an option either time. Even if their relationship wasn't frowned upon at best, D-16 just isn't the type for excessive PDA. Intimate stuff like this is special to him and he won't just let anyone see that side of him. Again, Skyline is totally fine with that too; she's just happy to be with him either way.

Starscream would definitely want to brag about it and shove it everyone's faces too, but in that case there is the very real threat of Megatron murdering them both, so he actually manages to shut the fuck up for once.

Razormane: Razormane isn't the type for it. She's not hiding anything, and she certainly has no issues with PDA considering she's constantly curled around Starscream like an overly affectionate, enormous cat. But she's got a quiet and reserved sort of personality, and hardly even speaks in most cases, so public confessions and the like are simply not her thing. She still shows affection in her own way though, be it the excessive snuggles (free him lmao), sharing her very limited food, or the guard dog (cat) behavior even in situations he could easily handle by himself (he's got missiles attached to his frame, for crying out loud, she doesn't need to be growling at every minor threat). But it's very rare for her to actually say the words.

Starscream (post-betrayal) is the opposite, but mainly because once he fully realized what he lost, he started tripping over himself to win her back. And it's getting to ridiculous levels. He definitely totally just wants them to be friends again, but to everyone (Razormane included) it very much looks like he's trying to court her. Maybe that's the real reason why Predaking keeps chasing him off.

But, no, believe me, if he was actually trying to court her, he would be so much worse.

@iholli