#i personally find the way he drew that kind of boundary endearing. on one side he has a job to do which requires him to utilize his soc med.

[aprilblossomgirl]

-- winny's instagram post 22.08.2023.

[astriefer]

Just Let Me Breath With You

Pairing: Thomastair

Word count: 3033

Warning: CHAIN OF IRON SPOILERS, injury, blood, mentions of trauma

It all happened in a swift blink of an eye. The demon attack, the fighting, it all passed in a great swipe of Thomas's boleadoras.

The attack was surprising - not because it was an attack, but because it was close to the stronghold of London's enclave- the London institute. Demons lurked in the road, near Fleet street. A get-together at the institute was held that gray, hazy day in London. What precisely they celebrated was beyond Thomas; what mattered was that old and young Shadowhunters as one joined the battle against the horde of Achaieral demons. Their numbers were the larger he has seen ever since the Mandikhor. It didn't pass smoothly - some injured, although Thomas hadn't registered who. During the fight, Henry or Christopher threw at the demons one of their newest innovation. He noticed only a blur, a small grenade-like object, thrown close to where he was fighting one of the demons. He tried to stop the nasty-looking Achaieral demon from flying - with Thomas himself- when smoke swirled from the thrown grenade. There was a hollow thud of metal hitting something, an explosion followed afterward, and the demon disappeared.  Maybe it was better not to inhale, but he was surrendered by the weird, thick smoke. He wasn't blown up from his inside out, so he considered it safe enough. As for now, the gates of the institute were behind him, hanging open to carry wounded and hurtling carriages. 

Thomas's hands were sore and calloused as he rubbed them against his neck. He swayed slightly, an expression of a fool sprawled over his face. He surveyed his surroundings in bewilderment. Soon enough, worried and relieved faces gathered around him. His friends and family crowded him, mumbling altogether to make no sense at all. It felt utmost importance to note to himself not all of his friends and family truly were there. Matthew wasn't, and so was Cordelia. He heard the word "overwhelmed" in all the havoc. He didn't understand what they were talking about - surely they had been fine if they were running around the way they did.

He kept his eyes on them, trying his best to decipher what they were saying, but his gaze inevitably slipped away from them. He caught a brown blur of torn red jacket, grey pants, and tousled dark hair. That instant, the world turned down, and all left was him and this man in another corner of the institute. Even the voices surrounding him ceased to exist.

On the spur of the moment, he briskly departed from his family and friends and walked to him, barely restraining himself from storming toward him. A hand rested on his forearm -  an attempt to stop him - but he shook it off without glancing at whomever it was. Sensing his intensive look, Alastair stared at him with a puzzled countenance. The short man was sitting against a wall, letting another Shadowhunter draw an iratze on his left arm. Thomas remembered Alastair charging to battle, now and in other battles they fought side by side, and relief I've washed him because he didn't seem to be wounded. By the time he reached them, It didn't matter who the other person was. The moment he captured Alastair's forearm, he broke into a run, not bothering to look at anyone as they hastily evaporated from the forecourt. Bad-mannered indeed, but Thomas was sure whoever that was would've understood urgent matter to talk with Alastair if he had known.

The tall man led the other through hurrying servants and leery eyes. Thomas almost knocked over a few people, but he did not find himself to care much more than mumble a half-hearted 'sorry'. He hadn't let go of Alastair, just loosened his grip slightly so he could slip his hand into Alastair's. His hold was firm nonetheless.

"Thomas!'" Alastair called out and caused him to turn his head over his shoulder. By the look of annoyance on his face, Thomas assumed the other man called his name a few times. Or perhaps, it was a result of being publicly dragged by Thomas for no apparent reason. Then he understood. Alastair had to run in order to follow him at this pace. For the first in entirety, Thomas cursed Alastair's shorter legs; but he quickly took it back because Alastair was, of course, the most beautiful the way he is. e slowed down his pace enough for Alastair to walk beside him, still dragging him after him. He felt a jolt of surprise Alastair didn't fight him about that, that he just let him take him to wherever he had in mind. Perhaps he was too stunned to really do anything else but stare at Thomas.

Thomas hadn't stopped to ponder over his good luck and no fuss from Alastair's side. He navigated through the maze of rooms and corridors, guiding Alastair to a casual unused guest room. He thrust the door open, let Alastair and himself enter before releasing his hand and shutting it close. He couldn't quite catch his breath.

He spun around to confront Alastair. Beautiful, he thought. The man in front of him was beautiful. Alastair - with torn clothes and dirt on his face - looked as charming as ever. In the last rays of the London sun, Alastair's eyelashes cast shadows upon his face. His cheeks seemed a bit red - was it because of Thomas or because of the previous fight? - and he chewed his lower lip. Thomas had the sudden urge to raise his hand and separate his lip from his teeth, pass his thumb on the soft mouth of Alastair Carstairs. The older man clearly tried to look expressionless, but he could see he studied him with concerned eyes. Thomas saw the question in them as well. Out of self-awareness, he looked down at his own clothes; they were rumpled and he lost his waistcoat in the fight, leaving him with trousers, a jacket, and a white shirt. All stained Ichor. He peered at Alastair, his clothes, and Alastair again. He must have looked like a corpse. Alastair, however, kept his captivating eyes on him, endearing-looking with his normal composed facade slightly off. 

Alastair's stopped biting his lip and opened his mouth to talk, yet before he could voice a word, Thomas stepped closer and buried his face in the soft hair of Alastair Carstairs. He relished the feeling of Alastair close to him, of his smell and heartbeat and warmth. "You're here. You're fine."

His voice was just above a whisper, but it filled the quiet room. "I wanted to talk with you for days now." Alastair's breath hitched. He hadn't pulled away. He hadn't tried to push Thomas aside. It was Thomas who backed away from their position. Alastair tilted his head up to look at his face and gasped loudly when Thomas crushed him in a hug. He groaned in pain, and it struck him Alastair had been injured.

"You are hurt." Thomas's voice was almost offended. He loosened his grip on Alastair, whose hand came to rest protectively on his side, where his bruise must have been. Thomas recalled all of sudden he had been given an iratze. Was his wound worse than just a bruise?

"It's nothing," Alastair wheezed and took a careful breath.

Their gazes met for a long moment. Alastair didn't squirm. Thomas leaned forward leisurely, testing his boundaries. When his lips collided with Alastair's forehead, he let out a sigh against the soft skin. Alastair stood strained at first, then slowly relaxed. it had not even been a week since the sanctuary, since Belial and his schemes, since Cordelia and Matthew disappeared to Paris. Alastair was avoiding him like the plague, and Thomas couldn't blame him much. He wished he could. It hurt seeing Alastair and knowing he could not be with him the way he craved to be. He suspected Alastair would back away soon, leave him alone in this room, disappear without a second glance. Come and leave like in a dream. Like in their time in Paris. 

Then, "I am glad you are okay as well."

Thomas's heart skipped a beat. Or a few. He abruptly ducked his head into Alastair's neck, close to his pulse. His body lost its tense as he devoted all his heed to the marvelous sound of Alastair's heart, beating strong and fast, addicting to Thomas's mind. Not a minute later he felt small palms pushing against him gently. He drew away begrudgingly.

His eyes were unclear, while Alastair's were shining brightly. Too brightly. He lifted his arm to touch the side of the fair hair on Thomas's head. When he lightly caressed it, Thomas winced. Letting his arm fall to his side, Alastair said, "You are hurt too. You need treatment."

Alastair dismissed his injury because he didn't want to worry Thomas and make it about him; Thomas dismissed it because he didn't want to be away from Alastair. His head was throbbing; it didn't matter. "It's nothing." he tried to enfold the small figure in his arms once again, but Alastair didn't let him. Thomas didn't try again, just silently observed Alastair. The dark man's eyes were conflicted as to if debating over himself what to do now. He sighed. "We can't, Tom. Please."

It was like a heated knife to his heart. He swallowed tightly. "I know," he forced himself to speak. "I am - I keep remembering all you are. All I love about you. Your hair," he counted and planted a kiss on his damp hair.  Alastair looked at him, surprise written over all his face. "Your haughty smile, your dark colors, your eyes-"  sparks of gray in a pool of black that reminded him of a starry sky. "Your lips," He closed his eyes. "your heart, so wide and loving, despite how much you try to conceal it. Your stubbornness, kindness, and selflessness. Your love for mundane movies and history and art. All of it. The feeling I can twirl around you for hours without getting a tad bit tired."

"Thomas," Alastair whispered.

"You deserve to be happy. I wish you would let me show you some of it," he continued tentatively. The man in front of him stood rigid, and it made sprouts of doubt rise in Thomas's chest. 

"Thomas. No. No. We cannot. Don't act like we- as we could ever happen. Don't say those things to try and convince me we can be more than heartbreak for each other."

The knife twisted. Thomas blinked. "I am not telling this to try and win you over, Alastair," he said slowly. "I am telling you this because you deserve to know. Because I want you to know how much you mean to me," he inhaled, feeling a bit lightheaded, and went on. "With my friends, I always hide this part of me. The part you take in my life, in my heart. I can be all I am with you. You understand me so easily, that it takes my breath away. I- I am not as good at words as James is. I am not as wild or charming as Matthew. I am not as talented as Kit. I am me, and with you, I feel it's enough."    

"Tom, it always has been enough."

Thomas sucked in a breath. How could he say this and expect Thomas to keep his face straight and his heart in control? He tried to push Thomas away but didn't let him think less of himself. He didn't let himself what he deserved, what they both did, because he believed they would both end up hurt. "I know so many things are - complicated," Alastair snorted at that. "But right now, everything is lucid, with you here."

He gazed deeply into those dark eyes. They held depths inside them he wanted to learn off by heart. Depths he wished to explore but could not reach.

Alastair shook his head and stubbornly kept his gaze at his dusted shoes. "You think we have reason by our side, but all we have is the burning yearning and stolen time." He knew if he let himself fall this time, he could not stand back. He would lose himself those kind hazel eyes, his deep voice, his brave heart, in everything that is Thomas Lightwood.

"We have more than this," Thomas declared. "I trust you."

Alastair piped his head up, "What?"

"I trust you," he repeated."And I want you, Alastair. I know you do too. But I want you to trust me as well. Trust me when I say I will never say those things just to make you give in and be with me. I am saying them because they are the mere truth and because I care for you."

Alastair glanced away hastily, eluding his eyes. "You are in no condition to make this decision. You- We can't -"

"But do you want us to be? Do you wish us to be together? "

Electricity filled the room, and both couldn't take their eyes off the other. Thomas knew it wasn't fair of Alastair to ask such a question. He knew on his flesh what it is to admit- even simply to oneself - you want something and believe you would never have it. That is how Alastair seemed to perceive them - a false fantasy, a feverish dream that would never come true. Thomas knew as well that Alastair had made it clear he didn't think they had a future, and making him fumble with those pieces of broken fantasy could hurt worse than words could. Yet, a part of Thomas couldn't help but wonder what the other had been through to be so hesitant to let himself be happy.

Do not say it's not possible on my behalf, he wanted to shout. If you wish to break my heart, do it because what you want is not a future with me in it.

"Yes."

Relief came so fast he felt abashed. His heart pounded ear-piercingly through his body. "Tell me," he asked gingerly. " Will you allow me to kiss you?"

Alastair drew in a sharp breath. Color flooded his cheeks. "Thomas..."

Thomas searched his face, which for so long was emotionless when he saw him the past week. He saw the hurt -  how much it must be for Alastair?  he pondered - and the fear. The dark-eyed gentleman wouldn't believe Thomas's words. He wasn't sure he could trust him with his heart. For now, he shall have the certitude for both of them. There was a voice telling him he wouldn't have come to Alastair after the fight if he could think clearly. He pushed that part away, locked it in a cage, and threw away the key. 

He swallowed down the odd, stinging feeling of being rejected. "Will you allow me to embrace you, then? " Just let me breathe with you. Let me hold you in my arms, to reassure us both, to know you are here. "You don't have to. I swear to it." He took a step back to prove his statement.

The judicious decision was to ignore the offer. To turn away from Thomas and all the comfort he had to give. Alastair was on the verge of tears. Thomas hated those tears were because of him. Because of them. Alastair opened his eyes and hummed acquiescently, soft and low.

The shreds of resistance left Alastair's body as Thomas swooped him into a hug. His big hand passed his head on Alastair's back, between his shoulder blades, and to his lumbar. He absentmindedly caressed Alastairs's side, touching Alastair's wound lightly. The smaller man shied away from the contact but immediately calmed back into the hug. He stifled a whine, and in the back of Thomas's mind, he knew they both had to get checked on. Thomas put his cheek on the other man's forehead. He closed his eyes and let out a pleased noise. Alastair's arms slowly cloaked Thomas's waist, holding him close. 

"We should return," Alastair whispered. A few minutes had passed. They were alone, far away from anyone who might hear, but the moment was so dreamlike and tender both were afraid to break the air around them. That alternate reality they formed in this godforsaken room, for a glimpse of a moment.

"I find it so tremendously difficult to do," his breath felt heavy; so did his heart. "Because I don't want to ever let go of you."

He heard Alastair gasp, and Thomas's own breath was quivering. The pulse beating deep in Alastair's chest raced, and Thomas was sure he could listen to it forevermore. The hug felt more private than a kiss, more overwhelming and welcoming and warm and protecting and trusting. "I missed you."

"Tom," Alastair's voice was suffocated, and thick from emotion, as if he was a boat that slowly sank because it's full of water. Thomas tried to retreat, suddenly fearing he passed the line. He must have passed it long ago, and yet Alastair let him, despite his own warnings. Thomas was about to apologize when he felt Alastair's hands tightening around him, and then the blazing understanding hit Thomas that It was Alastair's way of telling it was fine. Haltingly, he returned to their previous position.    

They were hugging, nothing more. But the proximity made Thomas feel a sense of internal peace, like a calm wave hitting the sand lightly. It made his lungs protest because he was out of breath. How could he ever let go? It was better than nothing at all, better than air and staring long at the wall of his room. It was Alastair, and he was ready to take every drop given to him. Yet, because it was Alastair, he could never get enough. It was hard to capture it - the soft looks, the thumping hearts, the yearning and the hurt. Thomas's cheek was still pressed against Alastair's forehead. He shifted to hide his face in his strands, dark like the night, soft as a feather. Alastair's smell was intoxicating. The words slipped his tongue before he knew it. "I am glad I am here with you."

There was a beat of silence. The voice of the man he loved - Thomas almost startled himself by the heedless use of the word love - barely reached his ears.

"I am, too."

[fernsplaysthings]

Have some cute Kes x Crow because I cannot control myself.

Kestral hoped that he wouldn’t take their staring the wrong way when he eventually turned around because, if they were being honest, they were staring. In part because Crow was nice to look at, working away in the kitchen to prepare them some food on a quiet evening in. He wouldn’t mind that in the slightest. In fact he’d be a smug little git with a smug little grin and Kestral would kiss him to shut him up every time he bought it up to remind them that they thought he was hot.

No, they were staring because of the tiny Vex Harpy replica floating just over his shoulder, bobbing happily as he chattered completely carefree with the other lightbearer. 

Usually their Ghost so close to another person so openly would cause every hair to stand on end, for every muscle and nerve to fire into a readied state able to pounce at a moment's notice. Around fireteam Mayhem, less so these days; the three of them and their Ghosts tended to spend a lot of time together. Roost buddying up with Crow was new though. Not wildly unexpected but different in a way that still had Kestral on edge.

Not out of mistrust.

The connection they shared, the way Roost could feel what Kestral felt and interpret their thoughts in a way that was akin to reading them, well it went both ways and the glowing warmth that absolutely radiated from Roost was totally endearing. The little light adored Crow just as much as his lightbearer did and that made their heart skip giddily. 

They watched as Crow lifted the one hand that wasn’t busy stirring a bubbling pot to gently pat Roost’s shell, turning his head slightly to laugh against the Ghost and Kestral realised they’d melted back into the sofa with a broad goofy smile that reached all of their features.

“They get along well, huh?”

And then they were startled upright by Glint materialising to their side, slightly dinked shell and happy little holographic eye smiling their way.

“They really do. I wasn’t sure Roost’s attitude would translate well given…” they paused to consider their words carefully, “...given we’ve known each other so long.”

The increasingly familiar light flickered his shell in thought, a drawn out pause between them both, “I...would have thought it would be strange letting your Ghost so close to another Guardian when you’re not within the same reach,” he floated downwards, closer and added in a hushed tone, “Is it? Strange, I mean.”

He must’ve noticed their expression soften as they raised their hands together with cupped palms, “Would you like to find out?”

Glancing back to Crow and Roost, and around to Kestral again, Glint settled himself into their palms with a hum, his shell again shivering as though relieved to be resting. It took only seconds for him to find himself a comfortable spot, looking up at Kestral.

“It’s...nice.”

They decided to see if he had anything to elaborate on that with and when he didn’t speak, slowly blinking his eye Kestral smiled, “Being held, or…?”

“No. Not exactly,” he chirped, “Kind of. Crow holds me all the time, I don’t think another Guardian’s ever touched me before though. I’m not sure either of us would have allowed it.”

There’s a faint hint of hurt in his voice and Kestral instinctively drew the little Ghost towards their heart, leaning down to press a featherlight kiss to the point of his shell, “You’re safe with me, I hope you know that. You’ve done so much good for him, the least I can do is promise that I’ll be there for you two if you need me. I don’t…” they pause, feeling the warmth of the little light in their hands, and something else, “I don’t want to hurt him or you. I don’t want anything to hurt either of you.”

The ‘something else’ turned out to be Crow’s glowing yellow gaze from the kitchen, the sensation of being watched. They’d only glanced up quickly trying to work out the strange feeling and only seen a glimpse of the expression on his face. If his interactions with Roost had made their heart giddy, this look made it stop for a second. Red coated their cheeks when they’d flicked their gaze back down to Glint and let him float free from their hold with a smile.

“Dinner’s ready,” Crow finally managed to stutter out, punctuated by the sound of two Ghosts transmatting away.

-----

The intimate interactions between Ghosts and Guardians-not-their-own had definitely done something to the atmosphere in the apartment and even when food had been eaten and dishes done it still lingered. Kestral’s thoughts had run away with themselves and they suddenly feared they’d overstepped an unspoken boundary. Not one to hold back when the answer was right there, they ran their hand up Crow’s arm while he finished putting the last few pots and pans away.

“Crow did I...was that OK? With Glint. Did I make you uncomfortable?”

He freezes up for a heartbeat and then finishes his action until he had both hands free, enough to turn and gently cup Kestral’s face, “It was fine, and it was...strange. I’d always been afraid of what it would feel like to have another Guardian lay their hands on Glint but I’d always imagined it in a violent way. I suppose that’s...what I knew after all. But…” he dipped down and kissed them firmly on the mouth, breathing deep and muttering against their lips, “How could I have ever imagined this?”

Heart leaping, Kestral looped their arms around his neck and smiled, still close enough to be breathing with him, to feel his lips brush theirs as they spoke softly, “What did it feel like to you?”

“Like starlight. Like the quiet, cool peace of an early morning,” his features scrunched up in a laugh, “That sounds so cheesy. No. Glint thinks the world of you, I’m a little jealous.”

His hands slid down to their waist, fingers tickling up their sides under their shirt to rest on their ribs. Kestral pulled him down to their height and kissed him deeply, enjoying the softness of his tongue against theirs, how his grip tightened to keep them pulled close.

“There’s no need to be jealous. Roost just loves you,” they realised within a half second what they’d said and decided perhaps now wasn’t the time for backpedaling. Resting their palm to his cheek, their thumb brushing his lips they turn shy, “I love you.”

The intense, glazed look in Crow’s darkened eyes breaks for a moment and he blinks, “Really?”

Kestral confirms this with a nod, eyes never leaving his, searching for his reaction and finding just a slightly baffled Awoken, “You don’t have to-”

“I love you too,” he says and without waiting for a reaction from them, pulls their body flush to his and kisses them until they’re both breathless.

[mwolf0epsilon]

Story about Joey being a vampire hunter and Sammy being a vampire. You can bring in Norman ((human or vampire))to to safe him

Summary: In which Sammy is sometimes a very ugly bat, and his boss might want to kill him. Normal workplace issues.

---

[[MORE]]

     Hypsignathus monstrosus. Commonly known as the hammer-headed bat (or big-lipped bat if you preferred a more unusual denominator), is a frugivorous species of megabat widely distributed in West and Central Africa. It's the only member of its genus, Hypsignathus, which in itself is part of the Epomophorimi tribe alongside other four unique genera.

The largest bat in continental Africa, with wingspans approaching 1 m (or about 3 ft), and the males being almost twice as heavy as the females. It's a sexually dimorphic bat species, with differences including several adaptations that help males produce and amplify vocalizations. Mainly the differing size of the males' larynges, which are about three times as large as those of females, and the large resonating chambers on their faces that give them such a distinct look. 

The females in turn, appear more fox-like as is the norm of most megabat species.

All in all, information that really didn't help Sammy in the slightest, as he tried to make sense of three different books that, in theory, should give him a vague idea of what the hell was going on with his body this time...

     To put it in simpler terms, he'd turned into a bat, as per say of those ye olde queer tales of vampires that were capable of shifting into those little chittering flying rats that flew out of caves and dreary old castles at night… 

But then what he'd seen reflected (because most modern mirrors were not backed by silver or other such pure metals) had most definitely not looked like a squashed-nosed winged rat. It had looked truly like a freakish monster. 

But that was getting a little ahead of himself really...

There were things one had to note beforehand to really comprehend what Sammy Lawrence was currently going through: Starting with the attack.

Two years ago he'd been assaulted by what he'd once assumed to be a creature of mere legend, although at the time he'd thought it was a random dog attack because what had taken a chunk off of him looked inhuman (more like a very warped looking pug-snoutted thing now that he really thought about it). 

On awakening the next morning at the hospital, he'd been informed that he'd henceforth be barred from entering such facilities because he now suffered from vampirism, and that his name and records had been archived by some secret governmental agency that then directed him to a sub-civilization of non-humans. 

Shocked and confused, he'd been quickly integrated into a coven that took no time to teach him the basics. 

He was to live life as if nothing had changed, hidden among mere humans, yet he'd be judged as a pest by those that recognized specific documentation he now had to carry for "security reasons" (aka clearance for services to deny him due to his ailment).

Oh and he had to cope with the harrowing realization that food did nothing for him other than eliciting a form of pleasure (through stimulating his taste buds) and that he needed to instead find nourishment in human blood, otherwise he'd either die or go into an uncontrollable frenzied state (in which case he might end up dead anyway because if he so much as killed a person he'd be put down like a rabid dog).

No pressure right?

Funnily enough, Sammy had actually adapted to this drastic change. The poor man had to, otherwise he was screwed.

And then again it hadn't been all that difficult since the coven was less of what you'd assume from the olden tales of groups or communities of vampires living in the same roost, and more of a civil service in of itself. 

It was like having a parole officer really. One that gave you some pointers in the right direction, and that reminded you of feeding schedules.

Feeding itself wasn't as bad either, twice every month in specially assigned locations where cattle would be provided to them by a few sponsored ranches.

What really bothered Sammy about all this was the maturing of his vampirical traits. Specifically the part when one night he found himself ripping out of his clothes and seeing his body grotesquely transform into a quadrupedal flying thing that he couldn't quite put a name to. Hence why he'd come to the library in search of answers.

Still the best description he got was for some African fruit bat that had a face that not even a mother could love.

How could a vampire seemingly become a herbivorous bat, when he knew for certain he'd slaughtered two horses the previous night?

  "Found anything yet deary?"

     Sammy startled slightly as Mrs. Harrison, bless her for being the supportive sweet old grandma figure that she was in his time of need (and one of the few humans who knew of his predicament and didn't judge him for it), joined him with a couple of books.

She'd taken them both, plus Abigail, to the library to help him figure out about his strange transformations. 

She was also the one who took Abby on the nights he needed to feed because he couldn't trust himself not to attack her. 

He was too akin to a wild animal on a frenzy when he felt the hunger calling, which Mrs. Harrison had stated was normal for fledgeling vampires like himself.

  "Honestly, just this ugly looking thing… it's the closest I've found to what I saw in the mirror."

  "Ah, the hammer-headed bat! They're quite unique I'd say… My dear husband, god rest his soul, used to stuff them back when he hunted in Africa. He thought they might bring him luck, the nutter." The old linguistics teacher smiled, the gaps where she was missing teeth making it look slightly crooked but no less endearing. "It isn't unusual for vampires to instinctively take on forms that don't quite match their dietary needs. Most who change become similar to a species that best suits their needs. This one I'd say has qualities befitting of you deary."

  "That's… not very comforting." His nose had always been a sore spot. Turning into an animal whose face was 90% nose was just insulting to him.

  "Don't take it so badly deary." Mrs. Harrison chuckled. "What I mean to say is these bats, specifically the males, are known to be quite vocal. You, my dear, are quite vocal, are you not?"

Well, when she put it like that…

  "That's a yes in those pretty eyes of yours deary. And besides, not many new vampires can say they naturally became megabats. You're very well endowed in that aspect."

She took great joy in getting him to blush at such a comment. He could see the devilish glee in her kind old eyes, accentuated by crows feet and wrinkles.

They picked up a few books on the "specialized" area, Sammy vehemently ignoring Abby's questions of why his face was so red, and soon enough the trio was on their way back to the apartment.

Sick leave (which he took twice a month as mandated by the coven) would be over tomorrow, so Sammy needed to prepare.

Because working in an enclosed cartoon studio run by Joey Drew would definitely spell trouble for a vampire that had just earned their shifting ability.

-

     There are a set of very specific rules for new vampires. Don't expose yourself, don't expose the community, don't expose the sponsors or patrons.

Sammy had gotten pretty lucky, Mrs. Harrison was a patron and one of the best at her job.

She provided rehoming possibilities to fledgeling vampires, and ensured their safety within the communities they'd been integrated in.

She also kept an eye on hunters.

So of course Sammy was quite aware that Joey Drew was a person he needed to watch out for.

Joey Drew, who was notorious for having at least 36 confirmed kills under his belt. Here's where things got tough: Joey knew Sammy was a vampire, so he tended to keep a pretty good eye on the music director as well.

It was a perpetual game of cat and mouse.

A very dangerous one that had just reached a new level.

Because Sammy's overall safety lay within what his coworkers thought of him vs what they thought of their boss's eccentricities.

No one was crazy enough to believe that their coworker was secretly a vampire, or that their boss was essentially the equivalent of a vampire poacher.

And that is what Sammy wanted to maintain. A veil of normalcy to keep himself safe. One that would be much harder to maintain now that he had matured out of the first two years of being a fledgeling and developed such a large and rather monstrous looking shift.

     Hazel eyes locked with icy blue ones as the music director locked eyes with the founder of Joey Drew Studios. They drank coffee in the break room, surrounded by oblivious employees, and maintained this tense stare-down until Henry came by to drag Joey away.

Then Sammy would let out a quiet sigh of relief and go back to work ironing out the flaws in his current composition.

Jack would pass by his office to drop off a few new lyrics, he'd point out which needed a bit of tweaking, and then he'd be alone with his thoughts and his sheets up until he had to help Susie with recording.

Then he'd spend a good hour or two conducting the band, catching the brief glimpses of his ever watching boss in the corners of his eyes.

The staring contest would restart on every break, and Sammy would have to seek safety by mingling with coworkers (some of which he could not stand).

Norman was often his go to, as Joey never risked these sorts of behaviours with the larger southern man around.

The projectionist was a very bright man after all, and could dig up dirt on anyone that so much as rubbed him the wrong way.

It was a miracle he hadn't figured out Sammy's little secret thus far.

  "Runnin' from the boss again?"

  "That man is insane… I swear he's obsessed with me, Polk. It's creepy!" He'd replied after sneaking away to practically glue himself to Norman's side during another much needed coffee break. He desperately needed a smoke, his skin felt tight and uncomfortable.

  "Drew don't know no boundaries. Yous should consider takin' it up to Henry." Norman suggested. "Only man ta boss will listen to."

  "I wouldn't want to bother Henry because of Joey." Sammy huffed. "The poor man isn't his keeper."

  "Sure coulda fooled me." Only three more hours of this. Three more hours and he could go home.

  "Mr. Lawrence, a word." Speak of the devil… Joey Drew himself feeling bolder than ever as he moved over to address Sammy in Norman's company. "About the most recent composition."

  "Devil's Swing. What of it?" He'd worked hard on it to act as a counterpart to Angel's Tango. One of his finer masterpieces if he did say so himself.

  "I find it's going in the right direction… But it just lacks this… shine to it." Joey gestured vaguely "Like it's missing something that'd make it just right."

  "Shine… you think it's missing some shine?" Sammy suppressed the need to growl. What was the man on about? Just this morning he'd been happy with it!

Lord forbid Mr. Drew could ever make up his mind.

Norman watched the exchange quietly, keeping a close eye on both of them as Joey gave one of his signature grins. The kind that'd make the little devil darling himself quite jealous with just how much tooth it showed.

  "As we're on a tight schedule, I have to ask you to fix it by midnight tonight. Since you were on sick-leave recently, I'm sure you can compensate for setting us back with overtime." Oh, oh dear.

Sammy could now see what he was up to.

By midnight the studio would be virtually empty. Just him, the ever oblivious Wally Franks, and Joey Drew himself.

Oh he was in trouble… Unless he could do the alterations well before, but then if Joey wanted to trap him in the studio where he couldn't get help, who's to say he'd accept any of his corrections?

  "I…"

  "Well, on with it then! No time to waste!" Joey gave him an overly friendly pat on the shoulder, those icy blues glinting with manic glee as he walked off.

Norman wrinkled his nose.

  "That man ain't right in the head… Yous just came back from the doc."

  "You know how it is. Only thing Drew cares about is money." And Henry, to an obsessive degree actually. More so than following Sammy around now that he thought about it.

Either way, he had to get to work now, or he'd be screwed. "I'm going back into my office. There's no way I'm sticking around until midnight."

  "Best o'luck. I'll be in my booth if ya need anythin' from me."

Sammy needed an escape from their boss, but he couldn't exactly tell Norman that. He was the last person that needed to find out one of his coworkers was a damn bat-shaped leech. The blackmail would be horrid!

-

     The clock read 23:47 by the time Sammy had finished, and honestly the blond was ready to break.

One by one everyone in his department had packed up for the night and gone home. Susie had come by to give him a quick peck on the cheek before she'd saunters off humming a chipper tune.

Jack had come by to remind him not to stay too late and then been on his way as well. Wally himself was nowhere to be seen, probably cleaning that spill he'd heard about in Heavenly Toys, so the music director was completely and utterly alone.

And he was running out of time. 

Joey was going to get him.

  "Damn it… I've been good with this. I haven't even tasted human blood, and I'm still going to get put down by some crazy asshole…" he put his face in his hands and groaned. The tightness if his skin had only worsened as his stress piled up.

Stress-shifting was very much a thing and he really didn't want to chance transforming in the studio to release some of the tension.

With his luck Wally might walk in on him.

  "What do I do…?" He could try scaring his boss into letting it go. That bat form of his was pretty ugly, it'd scare the devil right out of Drew himself.

Or it'd just make him step up to the challenge.

A knock startled him out of his thoughts.

  "Y-yes?" He chastised himself for sounding so shaky, especially when it wasn't that grinning bastard who opened the door.  "Norman?"

  "Hey Sammy, I need a favour." The Louisianian greeted him. "I messed up my arm pretty bad while fixin' one o' them projectors. Yous wouldn't mind drivin' me to the hospital right?"

  "I… No of course." He was surprised, noticing the makeshift dressings on Norman's arm. They were messy but he couldn't see or smell his injury so it was likely a burn of some kind. Those projectors tended to overheat and catch fire at times.

  "Good, I'd ask Henry but he wents home early tonight… Strange really, Mr. Drew let a lot of folk go home early tonight..." Norman shrugged "And even if he could drive, I wouldn't bother ta boss t'do this for me."

  "I'll drive, I was done anyway." He left the sheets out so that Joey would find them as they were with ease. "Nearly midnight too, so Drew can't get on my case for leaving a little earlier."

This was the escape he needed.

He owed Norman his life, even if the other man didn't realize it.

     The two made their way outside at a leisurely pace before Norman motioned for Sammy to follow, much to the blond's confusion.

They ended up in an alleyway (not dodgy at all, nope) where Normal pulled off the bandages and revealed his arm was just fine. Sammy stared, eyebrows raised.

  "I lied, I don't need to go to the doc, but I don't think that butcher needs to know that… Have a good night Sammy, and stay safe." The much taller man grinned cheekily before transforming before Sammy's very eyes, into a truly massive Mauritian flying fox.

  "Oh you're kidding…" The larger vampire chittered, clearly amused by his reaction, before flying off into the night. "So much for having something over Polk…"

The music director huffed and began walking towards his car, stopping when it dawned on him. Norman would likely cash in this favour when he least expected it…

  "Son of a bitch, that man better not ask for something impossible…"

You win some, you lose some.

As much as he hated to lose to Norman so often, Sammy was at least glad to win this despute with Joey.

For the time being at least.

[fy-soukoku]

In Which Akutagawa Is Weak For Cute Boys

Partially based off of this headcanon of mine. But then it derailed into this headcanon.

AKA, Atsushi is really damn cute and maybe acts like a cat. And maybe Akutagawa doesn’t really know how to talk to him. Tooth-rotting fluff.

Atsushi would admit that maybe he wasn’t the most physically affectionate person out there. There, he said it. It made sense - years of abuse and belittlement left him a little bit rough on the edges and made it hard for him to trust others. Still, he did his very best. He wanted to trust people without a second thought. He wanted to be free with his affections - to be able to squeeze someone’s hand in reassurance, or to give someone a hug in a time of need.

So he wasn’t the right person to criticize Akutagawa, but that didn’t stop him from being a little put out by the cold air the black-haired man usually occupied about himself. Akutagawa was a gray cloud himself - cool and calm, but also capable of exploding and reining hell on earth. Atsushi understood where he came from more than anyone, but he also couldn’t help but be a little bit hypocritical.

But when he did bring it up with Akutagawa, he wasn’t expecting this.

“What did you just...” Atsushi froze at the feeling of fingers against his scalp, rubbing soothing patterns into the white hairs on his head. He even tipped his head back a little because that felt really good. He felt nails scrape very lightly against his head, and let out a little sigh, leaning into the touch.

But then the hand was pulling away, and Atsushi was whirling around to find the culprit.

Akutagawa was watching him with hooded eyelids, the sunlight streaming through the window framing him in a radiant light that highlighted his fair features. In the beams, accenting his cheeks and making his cheekbones glow, Atsushi could see the pale freckles that littered his face, bridging from his cheeks and coming to meet in light specks on the bridge of his nose. It was cute, Atsushi thought, though it wasn’t for the first time that he was finding something endearing about Akutagawa. The man was fairly easy to grow fond of, much to most of the Agency’s surprise.

“Did you just...” Atsushi knit his eyebrows in confusion, sweeping his gaze about the room to see if anybody around them had noticed. Ranpo had, but he wasn’t saying anything. The weretiger lowered his voice, leaning as far up as he could without actually standing. “Did you just pet me?”

Like a goddamn cat? He wanted to finish, but there really was no point in saying that out loud. Besides, maybe he just meant to... pat him on the head? Maybe he saw some fleas in Atsushi’s hair. Yeah, that made more sense. Atsushi had an awe-inspiring lack of personal hygiene.

“You were lounging in a sunbeam,” Akutagawa said, not looking awkward in the slightest. Like he didn’t know. “You looked like a cat.”

Atsushi stiffened, Seriously? Sure, he had been... situated under the sunny window, but he wasn’t lounging in it. Because Atsushi was a human being damn it. Not a cat. Human beings did not laze about in sunbeams.

He told Akutagawa so.

“I never said you were a cat,” Akutagawa said, raising a thin eyebrow. “I said you reminded me of one.”

“So you ran your fingers through my hair?” Atsushi blinked, still confused as to how that leap in logic was made.

Akutagawa looked to his left, suddenly interested in a potted plant. His cheeks had a rosy glow about them, a soft dusting of power sweeping over his pale skin. “Look, you’re the one who said I need to work on my people skills.” The man muttered, avoiding eye contact.

“Not by petting me!” Atsushi blurted, a little too loud. From the other end of the office, somebody whistled. Atsushi grabbed a pen and hurled it at Dazai who was very obviously eavesdropping.

The resounding thud of Dazai rolling off the couch with a shriek made the whole conversation suddenly bearable.

“Sorry.” Akutagawa said, though his voice was fairly lax. He didn’t sound sorry at all. Atsushi had half a mind to throw his pen at him, but he really couldn’t bring himself to do so. Dazai was a special case. “Here. I had to bring this to you.” He thrust a folder at Atsushi, and bowed his head in a sayonara. With a swish of his raven coat, he was gone. And Atsushi was now very confused.

----

The whole petting incident resolved pretty quickly. Meaning that Atsushi ignored it, and Akutagawa didn’t see any issue with it in the first place, so he was his usual self afterwards.

But communication is still key, and thus a week later, Atsushi realized that Akutagawa needed someone to sit him and down and talk about personal boundaries.

All Atsushi did was lean back in his chair, stretching out his neck and shoulders, working out a couple of kinks in his spine. He allowed himself a small yawn, and prepared to go back to his previous position when-

No.

Oh no.

“Akutagawa?” Atsushi began, gritting his teeth.

“Yes, jinko?” The man answered, focused on the files on the table in front of them.

“Are you... scratching underneath my chin?”

His black eyes stared blankly at him, “Yes.”

Atsushi was torn, because the movement felt good and soothing and he had half a mind to tip his head back more and provide more area for Akutagawa to cover, but also...

“You look like a cat.”

Atsushi smacked Akutagawa’s hand away, and growled. “I am not a cat.”

“I didn’t say you were.” Akutagawa sighed, and flipped open a packet of papers. “But when you stretched back and yawned like that, it was very catlike.”

Atsushi sighed, slumping in his chair. “Akuta-kun...” He saw the man freeze at the name, but only for a millisecond. Well, then...

“Remember what I said about petting people?”

Akutagawa was silent.

“No, what?”

“Don’t!”

Akutagawa shrugged, “Okay. But that wasn’t petting.”

Atsushi was on the verge of sobbing. “Fine, then don’t scratch my neck.”

Akutagawa nodded, not fazed by the obvious irritation in Atsushi’s voice. “I’ll make sure to add that to the list. Thank you for your feedback.”

Atsushi’s mouth fell open as he watched the man slip out.

And absolutely failed to notice the red glowing on Akutagawa’s cheeks.

----

This time, Atsushi swore up and down he did nothing to provoke it.

He and Akutagawa were on the train, heading downtown to solve some minor incidents. They had managed to find decent enough seating, though they did have to squeeze in next to each other, which had Akutagawa feeling mildly uncomfortable from the looks of it.

Atsushi was surprised that he didn’t mind - somewhere along the line, he had gotten close enough to the man that small touches no longer bothered him like they used to. They had even shared a hug the other day, which resulted in a very stiff spine from Akutagawa and a lot of confusion from Atsushi.

But this something else, seeing as how he was borderline in Akutagawa’s lap.

“You remember what we need to do, right?” Atsushi asked, as the raven-haired man stared into the pitch-black of the window. He was slightly distracted by the sight - the flickering yellow lights outside shone in Akutagawa’s dark irises, shining over his cheekbones. He had really prominent cheekbones, Atsushi realized, and resisted the urge to trace his fingers over the shape.

That would be very weird.

“Yes.” Akutagawa answered, straight-faced.

Atsushi nodded, and decided to study the patterns of the window frame, seeing as how it truly was fascinating. Yes, he constantly wondered how one attached a window to a train wall. Truly marvelous, brave work. They should be giving awards to people who make windows, because it kept certain members of the Detective Agency from watching the way that their cute partner drew light onto his dark features, looking more like an angel than a vampire.

He felt a finger poke his nose, and jumped, unintentionally kicking Akutagawa in the upper thigh.

Akutagawa winced, withdrawing his hands to gingerly press at his leg. Atsushi wasn’t even surprised at how nonchalant he was. Well, that wasn’t true, but he never said he was honest with himself all the time.

“Akuta-kun.” Atsushi began, as Akutagawa straightened and went back to gazing at the window.

“Yes, jinko?” Akutagawa said, monotone, eyes dull.

“Don’t poke my nose.”

“But cats like it when-”

“I’m not a cat!”

----

Atsushi was fond of naps, as most people knew. He could fall asleep almost anywhere, and usually did. (This resulting in an embarrassing compilation of photos in Dazai’s reservoir, and usually required a weekly bribe of some kind to prevent them from being printed and passed around.)

So it was no surprise for anyone when he was sprawled out over the couch, the sunlight hitting his face and lighting up his hair, sending a silver glow over his features. He had stretched himself out over the whole sofa, his arms thrown over one armrest. Typically, he found himself curled up in a ball when he awoke, but he felt weirdly comfortable in this particular spot and allowed himself to loosen up a little bit.

He yawned, blinking open his eyes and staring up at the ceiling. It looked about late afternoon, with orange tinted light filtering through the room. He curled onto his side to escape the blinding glare and-

Bang!

Atsushi rubbed the back of his head where it had smacked loudly onto the couch’s armrest. A dull ache was now spreading through his forehead, and black spots danced in his eyes.

“Are you okay?” Akutagawa asked, face blank.

Atsushi glared up at the taller man from his spot on the floor. How the hell did he make him, a fairly average height man, seem short. “No! What were you doing?”

“Waiting for you to wake up.” Akutagawa said.

Atsushi groaned, burying his face in his palms. “Akuta-kun... you don’t.... You don’t just stare at people until they wake up like that.”

“I didn’t want to wake you up,” He responded. “You looked really cute.”

Cheeks heating up, Atsushi held back as squeak of surprise. “C-cute?”

Did he just say that...?

“Yes, I think you’re cute.” Akutagawa was looking to his left again, transfixed as always by the plant over in the corner of the room. His cheeks were decorated in soft flecks of pink, dusting over his pale skin like soft strawberry powder. Atsushi noticed the ray of the sun bouncing on his cheekbones, highlighting the row of pale freckles that lined up on his cheeks.

“Is that why...” Atsushi began, before closing his mouth again.

“I know that it’s stupid,” Akutagawa crossed his arms, looking at the ground this time. “We were supposed to be rivals, and now we’re partners, and it’s weird and unprofessional.”

The shorter man realized that he was still crumpled in a ball on the floor, and pushed himself to his feet. “Well, um... It’s not anything to be embarrassed about.” He said, smiling kindly, though he could still tell that it was tinged with discomfort. “People get feelings. They form attachments. I think you’re cute, too.”

He hadn’t realized that the sentence poured out before it was too late, and he clapped his hands over his mouth, face growing warm when he realized what he had done.

Akutagawa was having a similar reaction, hand clasped over his face in his usual fashion.

“I, um... I’m going to go.” He said, abruptly. “I am going to go and... reevaluate my life choices.” He spun on his heel and left the office.

Atsushi noticed, just after he left, a container on the table next to him. A styrofoam container, still hot.

He popped it open, and peeked inside. The scent of green tea and rice wafted into his nose, and he grinned, his cheeks growing sore and his heart thumping a little too hard in his chest.

He brought me chazuke.

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, J! You’ve been accepted for the role of DESDEMONA. Admin Rosey: There is something incredibly sweet and endearing about Desdemona -- but a quiet strength that preceeds everything she does. J, you laid the foundation so well in your application, her sincerity and kindness shines through, as well as a simplicity that is overlooked in a city like Verona. She wants to be challenged and wants to be better, and I think the plots you have planned for Delilah will help her grow in strides. I’m so incredibly excited for Delilah and everything that you promise!.Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Alias | J

Age | 21+

Preferred Pronouns | She/her

Activity Level | I work full time which means that there isn’t much time for me to be on throughout the day Monday to friday. However, I can be found online most nights. It always depends on the activity of the group but I’m usually a very quick rper, so I get to all my replies within a day most often, if not two.

Timezone | EST

How did you find the rp? | Tags (also I’ve been stalking for a bit)

Current/Past RP Accounts | catdemir.tumblr.com / blakestvens.tumblr.com

IN CHARACTER

Character | Desdemona / Delilah Bello

What drew you to this character? | The first initial thing that got to me was how strong Delilah was. Not in terms, that the woman has never broke down in her bedroom alone, but the mere ability to get up when everyone and everything is fighting against her. Even the length of time she stayed with a man who continuously put her down and treated her badly is a strong show of character. The mere knowledge of who she is as a person is admirable. Frankly, she had every single right to speak on her husband’s betrayal, but she remained quiet and chose to show them rather than fall into the tirade of revenge and anger. The ability to shrug things off and find a noble way to regain her character is impressive. She wants the truth to be out, but she won’t go against her own person and beliefs in order to ensure people believe her cause. Her determination to face each day with her head high is awe-worthy. Especially when she has every right to leave and return to a simple life as the war and bloodshed around her is a life she accepted with her marriage. I guess, all to say that I have a thing for strong women who aren’t outwardly cruel, but who can still bear the weight of the world and never let their knees buckle.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? | 1 ) I would absolutely love to have her confront her husband and defend her title. The mere admission from him would be a feat but give her a new sense of will to fight for her cause. Ultimately, it’s not something that she needs, but I believe she needs to hear it for herself. It doesn’t matter if he tells the world afterwards or if she’s the only person who hears those words from him. But the truth escaping his lips would be tremendous. Without that being said, I also believe it could be nice for someone to finally see through the rumours. To have someone finally admit that they believe her rather than hushed lies.

2) I’d love to see her toy with the temptation of perhaps switching sides. While her loyalty lies with her side, her kindness would force her to listen to the temptation of another being. Perhaps the kindness of a stranger and invisible manipulations would sway her to think about joining a cause that is not her own. I’d love that internal struggle for her and toying with the true temptation of being disloyal after trying to clear her name for so long to people who seem far too capable of pushing her aside, but also realising that this move would only fawn the flames of their false beliefs.

3) I’d love for someone to get close to her in an attempt to get something on her. Whether the hidden agenda is personal or not, it would be interesting for her be approached by a person who either searched for information on the true events within her marriage, or even finding her the easiest link to get information on the Capulets. While many would know that her status has dropped given the latest circumstances and she is not often told any significant details for attacks — but could still be valuable in voicing the little information that trickles down to her. It would be interesting to see how she fends for herself in that situation.

4) I’d love, love, for her to be in a situation where she can truly prove herself and her loyalties. Perhaps it comes down to saving her ex-husbands life or taking a bullet for another person on her side. Perhaps to even be the person to pull off a stupendous move that puts her side to a rather significant advantage. While not always merciless like others, she is a woman of her word and will go the distance to prove her loyalties to the individuals who blindly took the word of her ex-husband, I can see her going to length in order to make a move that is for the greater good of her side. The residual emotions that would come to linger afterwards could be interesting as well!

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | The dramatic side of me says yes because of the advancement and drama, but my heart says no because I already love her. However, I would be up to discussing and could certainly be swayed. Everyone loves a good death, including myself!

IN DEPTH

Please choose between the interview or the para sample (or both, if you like!)

In-Character Interview: The following questions must be answered in-character, and in para form (quotations, actions written out if applicable, etc). There is no minimum or maximum limit for your response - simply answer as you would if you were playing the character.

What is your favorite place in Verona?

“There isn’t a part of the city that I don’t dislike within Verona. However, I’ve come to long for the places that are forbidden to me. I’ve always been curious and yearned for what was out of my reach. Particularly, the library.  The architecture fascinates me and the concept of not being able to touch many of the books within saddens me greatly, but I understand my position within this town and respect the boundaries established. However, within the bundle of buildings that I do have unfettered access to, I have to say that Phoenix and the Turtle café has to be my favorite one outside of my own abode. The mere tranquility that comes over me when I enter the warm room filled with soft chatter often serves as a sanctuary. Their coffee is exceptional as well. If you ever do go, please have their mille-feuilles.” The brunette said with a soft smile as she bit her lower lip and decided that perhaps she would spoil herself with a latte and baked good after this string of questioning. “However, as beautiful as all the buildings are within Verona, I have to admit that they could never compare to the comfort of my own home.” She chimed then, allowing a small chuckle to grace her lips. After having moved out from the home she shared with her ex-husband, the woman had searched high and low for an apartment that would comply with her needs. High windows, a lot of air circulation, a large open space – all of which she’d magicallyfound within her flat (albeit a bathtub which still saddened her). Nonetheless, the greenery she’d intricately placed within her apartment as well as her beloved pieces held a special je-ne-sais-quoi within her beloved home. “There’s never a place like home, is there?”

What does your typical day look like?

“Shockingly, I’m a morning person.” It had changed throughout the years, as she had come to find herself mesmerized with the darkness and silence that fell over a once chaotic town. Now, she could barely stay in bed after seven am. While she would like to take pride in her self-control, she knew that it held no part of the reason why she was forced from the comfort of her bed so early. “I tend to spend the day with my dog. He’s a pitbull and german mix. The neediest thing you’ve ever met and he quite enjoys waking me up early.” She mentioned with a small smile, one that easily slid across her features when she was reminded of her dog. He had been a saving grace after the fall of her marriage. One never mentioned how painful returning home to an empty house could be, no matter how horrendous a marriage had come to unfold. Though the loneliness had long settled into her bones before her husband had even made his final departure, she couldn’t bare the painful emptiness within her abode. Noshi had illuminated her life and always served to brighten up her days. A mere reminder and reason to return home and keep going on the hardest of days. “I walk my dog, and work around my home. Well, on the days that I don’t find myself being pulled into work.” A humourless laugh almost bubbled in her throat at the mention of work. Her status within the Capulets had significantly fallen since her husbands’ dismissal and false claims. Therefore, the days where she remained at home were far more numerous than the ones where she was sent on missions for the Capulet.

What has been your biggest mistake thus far?

Delilah paused shortly to mull over the question. She could give multiple answers that would satiate some of their thirst. However, their expected looks indicated that none would be sufficient. They had made up their minds on the answers they wanted to hear. In fact, she was certain that even if she did not speak on the subject of her alleged affair, they had already convicted her guilty. She had heard the mumbles of those who did not dare face her and listened to those who did. Nonetheless, she was not one to let herself be forced into a false admission. Nor would she give them any further material to twist and convert to appease the stories they had already taken as truth. “I believe we all make mistakes. It’s the human nature, isn’t it?” A grin forms on her lips but its rather evident that it was not summoned by anything that was said aloud, rather her own thoughts. “It’s almost the most personal question one can ask – to know what keeps another human up at night. A weakness of sorts.” Her head tilted then and her form straightened before dark hues flicked from the space it had settled upon the ground and onto the individual who had asked her the question.

“I didn’t drink as many as I wanted on my wedding night.”

A silly admission to others, but it had been the first of many ways the woman had plied and tempered herself for the sake of another being. She had counted her drinks and downed water all to ensure that she’d be able to care for her husband who had no qualms about enjoying his night to the fullest.

What has been the most difficult task asked of you?

“In my life, I’ve done many things for the sake of others.” The woman began as her mind circled back to her childhood. As a lone child of two overbearing parents, the little girl had been quite aware of her parents love and protective nature compared to others. How other children were left to their devices to play and explore their surroundings while she was often akin to nestle between both parents on a couch most nights. “It begun when I was a child. While children experienced many events that one yearns for while growing up, I sacrificed them in order to appease my parent’s protective nature.” Her brow perked momentarily as she allowed a shoulder to rise and fall tentatively. “It’s been in my nature to put others first, even if it means having to sacrifice my own happiness and desires. I believe that to be the most difficult but selfless task asked of any individual.” Without lifting dark hues to meet the others, she let her thoughts wander towards her failed marriage. She’d sacrificed herself in that aspect as well, and still to this day. Her image had been shattered for the sake of her ex-husband’s ego. However, the kindness that had long since nestled into her heart refused to fight in turn. One day they would find out the truth— and she would not have to bring herself down to her ex-husband’s level in order to do so. The truth was, though he had taken both her pride and future away, she still forgave him. Her parents had thought her that the hardest skill one could own was the ability to forgive in the face of pure cruelty. However, the poignant pain in her chest still remained when her thoughts inevitably returned to her parents whom she had attempted to rekindle a relationship with after the divorce.

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?

“That is quite the question,” the woman mulled momentarily before a mere sigh parted her lips. “I believe it’s known that this has never been my war.” At the time, her heart had only known kindness but for a man that she adored, she had jumped into a foreign fight head first. The taste of blood and hatred that exuded off of her patrons was one she’d gotten accustomed to. Mere flinches had stopped to cross her features at the sound of gun shots, but while many walked around boasting about a recent victory – she could not find the same enthusiasm. “I believe there was once a good cause for this war, but it seems it may have gotten muddle throughout the years. We fight for revenge but it will never end until we’ve all fallen.” As her form readjusted itself within the seat, she folded her hands over her left knee. “Nonetheless, I’ve long since chosen my side and will fight until that moment comes.” While this war was not hers to fight for, there were other fights she needed to win. The first and only being for herself: to prove that her loyalties were her own. Eventually, her determination would serve as lenses for those who had doubted her. They would realize that her words were the only truth. One day, she would come to win her own war and relish the sight of inner-guilt of those who dared point a finger at her. This was the only victory she believed in.

As silence filled the room and the interview came to an end, a fragile smile framed her soft features. “I wish you all the best for today.”

As she collected her jacket, the woman rose from her chair and made way towards the door.

Extras: PINTEREST BOARD && INSPO POSTS