sclviagant

[sclviagant]

⚡️ what is your biggest regret?

SEND “⚡️” AND A QUESTION AND MY MUSE WILL BE FORCED TO ANSWER HONESTLY

"This didn't have to be my life. I was thrown into the Brotherhood, I didn't choose it. Not at first. On my eighteenth birthday, I could've said fuck this and do something else. Anything else. I could've lived a goddamn normal life. I wouldn't've met Gael, I wouldn't have found the twins, I wouldn't've had a family, but fucking shit, look how that turned out.

"I should have never quit playing in my band. We could've gone far."

[sclviagant]

⚡️ - Which child are you most proud of?

SEND “⚡️” AND A QUESTION AND MY MUSE WILL BE FORCED TO ANSWER HONESTLY

"Neither."

@gabrielismss @gemmaismss

[sclviagant]

⚡️ - Do you think that Rose could become the Hunter she once was, again?

SEND “⚡️” AND A QUESTION AND MY MUSE WILL BE FORCED TO ANSWER HONESTLY

"Yes, she could. She has to want it bad enough. Potential won't do shit for someone unless they have tenacity along with it. Does Rose have the drive?" Adrian sighs. "Don't know. Only time will tell."

@rosexhalstead

[sclviagant]

Self doubt is deadly in their business, he has no interested of entertaining these echoes in her head. "If you can't," Adrian says, his words are slow and sturdy. "If this is all you'll be able to do, then you're dead." If she was, what use would she be to the Brotherhood? They had enough dead soldiers.

Rose isn't. Not yet. Sure, she's floundering, practically flapping her fins around like a desperate fish pulled out of water. Isn't that what this life is? Humans being pulled out of the safety of their world and thrown into another, one full of monsters and devils, and the humans try to beat them at their own game.

Some are better at evolving into this world than others.

Her skills are there, imbedded into her muscle and her memory, but she's got to dust them off and make them new. She runs the play again, this time, she's quicker. She's more determined. She's improving, but it's not perfect.

Nine thousand hours to go.

Adrian claps like a proud coach after an interception, but that's the only form of praise she'll get from him on this one. "Okay, okay," he comments, "Let's run it again. This time, go for the heart." He hands Rose a stake. "A stake in the thigh will wound them for a second. One second until the pull it out and they recon in two seconds." Rose knows this, he knows she knows this, but Adrian says it anyway. Typical mansplainer.

Another flaw of hers -- apologizing too much. Rose always felt as if things were her fault and for the most part, it was. She'd let herself become weak. She'd left home after Reid disappeared, throwing herself into her studies and now, she was a Professor. Her parents had been as supportive as they could be and had expressed to her that they were glad she stopped hunting. They had, too, after Reid. But leaving had caused her to forget a lot of her training. She'd become complacent, which had caused her to fall into situations that she wouldn't have normally been in.

She gripped a stake in her hand, aimed, and threw it at the dummy. It flew across the room and then missed by a foot to the right, colliding into the wall behind it. Her jaw clenched and she ran her hands over her face in frustration.

"What if I can't?" Rose asked as she glanced towards Adrian. "What if this is all I'll ever be able to do?" Negativity about herself had consumed her life. She was a good Professor. She was smart. But she was no longer good enough to survive in Port Leiry.

She blew out a breath, the strands of hair that had fallen out of her messy bun lifting up and around her face. She grabbed another stake, glared at the target, and threw it. This time, her throw was faster, placing more momentum on the wooden stake. It hit the dummy in the left thigh, just above the knee.

[sclviagant]

Adrian doesn't bother telling what Gabriel what to do. His son isn't a boy, he's a man, and has been for sometime now. You lose your final drop of innocence when your parent dies, you go into the negative when its your hand that puts him there.

He has regrets about that night, of course he does, Adrian isn't a monster. Cold? Maybe. Heartless? In some instances. Not a monster. He doesn't hunt for pleasure. He doesn't hunt for sport even. He hunts with purpose. Gael's hunt was no exception.

Though getting Gabriel involved in that night was a parenting flaw, if there ever was one. He was supposed to be back up, and hell, Gabriel was. If Adrian had involved anyone else besides Gabe, they'd ask too many questions. Who? What? How? Why? Gabe, the perfect soldier, didn't wonder. He made a choice and followed through with it.

Adrian's never let the angelic, golden exterior fool him; there is a german shepherd underneath all that golden retriever fluff.

"We'll hit Seattle after sunrise," Adrian tells Gabriel. It's an extra twelve hours in the city, but it gives the entire day to plan. To map the city and hotspots accordingly. To kill the fanged fuckers by midnight and be back on the road tomorrow morning. To return back to their home in Port Leiry, not feeling any less hollow.

        “ no, i’m good. ”  he almost tacks on a no, thank you to the utterance, but instead leaves it behind. and he is good. there’s enough adrenaline now, misplaced excitement to carry him through. really, it’s anxiety masked as excitement, but if he wasn’t nervous, that would be another problem on its own. anyway, gabriel’s older now, he’s not so content with being given none of the information on the way to the hunt. he’s perfectly capable, and he hunts on his own, now. he finds the internal frustration petulant, like he has to prove himself to the man that taught him how but- gabriel swallows it all, buckles the seatbelt and rolls his shoulders back. nothing up there’s any use to him, not now.

        as they pull out of the driveway, gabriel shoots off a brief, vague text to gemma about going out for a while. she sends back a picture of her at a party and gabriel’s brow furrows, begins rapidly texting back a series of questions regarding where she is, who she’s with, when she’s coming home. neither of them are all that eager to share, it seems. he powers the phone off, completely.

         it doesn’t surprise him to hear it’s a long drive, necessarily, but it does intrigue him.  “ will we get there while it’s still dark? ”  would give him a huge clue to who they’re hunting, maybe where they’re going.

[sclviagant]

Why did you do it?

The question runs a shiver throughout his entire body. It's not something cool and breezy, as if the crisp hurricane air had followed Gemma inside the door. No, this shiver aches his joints and is so bone chillingly subtle and cruel. It's the warning shots of a ghost, letting him know he shares the space with the dead. What dead do they find themselves in company with today? The death of their father and daughter relationship; It haunts this entire goddamn bar.

It makes Adrian wonder, why did he do it?

He felt justified at the time; being betrayed does that, it will greenlight every violent thought one has. Gael's lies are secondary, still a knife to the chest, but perhaps, a wound that could heal. Not a mistake Adrian could forgive, but one he could daydream about forgiving. The twins is where Adrian drew the line and that is the line Gael crossed repeatedly.

Liars make for shitty husbands and terrible fathers, yet Gael was neither. Adrian wonders if Gael played the part so well, he began to believe it. You say I love you to a person enough times, it starts to stick. Where did the lie end and where did truth begin with Gael?

Adrian chooses to believe Everything was a lie. It makes it easier for him to live with himself.

Adrian doesn't say any of this to Gemma. He only ponders the question, as if any string of words he could say would get Gemma to understand his point of view. Even if Adrian had been good with words, trying to explain to someone the reason why you killed their father is a tough sell.

He's silent as he walks over to the bar, silent as he pours himself a shot of whiskey, silent as he shoots it down and the harsh alcohol hits his chest. He hasn't had a drink since he was a kid. Adrian opens a bottle of beer.

Owning a bar has taught him, it's easier to talk after a drink. With this conversation, with Gemma, Adrian needed all the liquid courage he could stomach.

“Define it.” Thirty years sober, the whiskey hits him hard. It sharpens his tone and harshes his gaze at her. There's no use of dancing around the subject, this open pit of a conversation. Their graves, dedicated to father and daughter, have already been dug. Why not jump in and let the dirt bury them whole?

There’s a moment where she’s certain that he’s not going to open the door. He’s not going to open the door – and why would he? Their last interaction left him maimed and their family even more broken than it was before. And in the driving rain, the violent wind, and crashing lightening – Gemma thinks it's her fault the family shattered. She’s the one who sought out magic help to talk to Gael, she’s the one who dragged Gabe and his secrets and guilt into the light. Gabe went to Morgan, dragging their mess and violence to her door. Another bolt of lightening and Gemma is sure she’s going to die her outside his door. Anger spikes, hot and electric in her chest – she hopes he finds her body in the morning and drowns in his guilt, because at the end of the day isn’t it all actually his fault?

The door opens and she nearly falls back from being startled. But there he is, eyepatch cutting across the familiar lines of his face. Gemma flinches as he shouts, but obeys, darting into the familiar warmth of the empty bar. She’s fully trembling now, the stolen jacket far more windbreaker than actual raincoat, so she’s soaked through. And, apparently, bleeding. Gemma blinks, hand flying to her forehead where it comes away bloody. What hit her? Was it really that bad? Fuck.

He pushes first aid items towards her, seemingly unwilling ( or perhaps afraid ) to get too close. Gema snatches up the ointment and band aid and flees towards the bathroom. There’s a sick familiarity as she leans over the sink, some twisted sense of déjà vu – and she’s dazed from trembling and bleeding in a storm, but also she’s had a bit too much behind the bar on a solo close, caffeine or some other substance sought out to pull herself together before someone realizes and tells her dad. This place is stained with nostalgia and aching with grief, she might be better off drowning her sorrows out in the storm.

“Thank you,” Gemma emerges with a stupid looking band aid on her forehead but keeps her distance, positioning herself such that she could dive behind the bar if she had to. This is hell, this is absolutely the wrong fucking story. This is her Dad! The man who raised her to be strong and stubborn, who grumbled when Gael stuck her in dance class as an overly energetic 5-year-old but never missed a recital in those first few years. Another roar of thunder, icy fear and electric rage cut through these fond memories. He’s also the man who aimed a gun at her, who poisoned her brother into killing Gael. But he let her in, and gave her a band aid – so she might not be fully doomed.

Still trembling, she ducks behind the bar and opens one of the coolers, digging out a bottle of her favorite rose she stashed just before everything went bad. She doesn’t bother finding a glass, deftly opening the bottle then climbing atop the bar to sit directly under where she knows the heating vent is the strongest. Gemma takes a drink, and then another, mentally scanning through all Jameson’s taught her for something that might be of use should her father suddenly change his mind.

“Why’d you do it?” Why did you let me in? Why did you kill Gael? Why did you make Gabriel do it? Why were you too cowardly to do it yourself? Why was I never good enough for you? The question is almost too heavy for her to bear it, but if she’s going to die – he’s going to look her in the eye and tell her the truth.

[sclviagant]

Beware fellow drivers, there is an idiot on the road tonight. You share lanes with the stupidest man alive, the one who thought he could play with fate like a goddamn jump rope, just for it to bounce back and wrap itself around his neck.

Adrian drives faster than he should, but he's got the sense to keep his flashers on. Stay away from the madman. He swerves cause he has to. The makeshift eye patch, crafted out of the gauze and adhesive medical tape he keeps at home, doesn't help with the depth perception, nor his vision. He's sideswiped more vehicles than he can count. Adrian doesn't want to even think about how many scrapes and scratches the truck has. People are honking at him, well, more like slamming their horns. He dodged a few pedestrians, then hit something, he isn't sure what it was. It doesn't matter, the only thing that does is Adrian makes it to Morgan's house. He swears, if he can survive this treacherous drive without causing an accident that explodes the truck into flames, with himself trapped inside, Adrian could survive anything.

He's not drunk, but for the first time in his life Adrian wished he was. 

The honks don't stop. Adrian turns up the radio to drown them out. It's set on the same radio station it always is, the local classic rock one. Alright everybody, says the radio jockey, we're going to slow it down this evening with a legendary Stones song. Broadcasting from the pines to the coast, you're listening to Wild Horses.

One string pulled of the guitar feels like a punch to the chest. The pain he feels from his eye is much more bearable than the one in his heart. Is the universe playing one last sick joke on Adrian? He won't allow it. Adrian grabs the knob and turns the volume down.

He's left with echoing of car horns and something else more vile. His thoughts.

What if he's too late? What if they're dead already? He ought to pray for death by car accident, it would be kinder. It wouldn't be so personal. Adrian would be here one moment, blink, then when he'd open his eyes, he'd see all the people he loves. They'd all be together again. Gabe. Gemma. Morgan. Brad. His father. His mother. Assim. Kalpana. Anthony. The human part of Reid. The person he thought Gael was. They'd be safe. For the first time, they'd all truly be at peace.

A single tear rolls down Adrian's cheek. He doesn't wipe it away. Instead, he reaches over and turns up the volume of the  speakers. He wants to hear their song one last time.

I know I dreamed you a sin and a lie I have my freedom, but I don't have much time Faith has been broken, tears must be cried Let's do some living after we die

As the lyrics echo in his mind, they bring up familiar thoughts. The same thoughts he had the night of the murder.

Fuck you, Gael. Fuck you for lying to me.  Fuck you for loving me. Fuck you for letting me love you. Fuck you for letting me bring them home. Fuck you for building a family with me. Fuck you for loving the kids as much as I did. Fuck you for loving them more. Fuck you for seeing me. Fuck you for accepting me. Fuck you for making me happy. Fuck you for loving me. Fuck me for loving you. 

How easy everything would've been if Adrian hated Gael.

The song ends as Adrian pulls up to the Moss home, surprisingly, with the vehicle in one piece. Not entirely. He lost the right side mirror somewhere along the way. Adrian, himself, isn't in one piece either with makeshift eyepatch and all. With his right eye, Adrian can see the tall figure standing outside. Flickers of hope ignite in his chest.

For the first time all evening, Adrian is relieved to see Gael. 

He pulls the gun out of his waistband, locked and loaded. He’s ready. With only one eye, but hellish determination, he’s not going to miss this time. Once and for all, he’s going to end this. 

The truck door opens and Adrian hops out of the  vehicle. Shoes slam against the ground, then his body slams against the truck, Gael’s got him by the throat.

The vampire doesn't apply much pressure on his windpipe, Adrian can breathe fine. Fear rattles his breath. His heart nearly leaps out of his chest. They don't say anything to one another, they only stare at each other.

Adrian never forgot how Gael glimmers under the moonlight, nor the way his stature towers over him nor the way his touch felt against hisskin. As twisted as it is, it's nice to be reminded.

This is it, isn't it? Gael will snap Adrian's neck and it will be the mercy killing he doesn't deserve. His favorite chapter of all will be the one who slams the book of Adrian Castillo closed. This.... this is right, to die by Gael's hand. It's not only well deserved, its justice delivered on a fucked up silver platter. It'd be a kindness for Adrian too. The last face he will see belongs to and the last touch he will feel comes from the man Adrian never stopped loving.

Adrian rests his eyes. It's a blink, but he believes when he opens them, he will be reunited with those he's lost. When he does, Adrian sees a face of a person he loves dearly. Morgan. It's not peace in her eyes, but pure panic. He goes to reach for her, but he's kept still by Gael's grip. Adrian didn't make it to heaven, his story is still being written on the Moss porch.

Gael spews threats at Morgan, demanding she allow him to come inside. By the way Gael speaks, its clear Gabe is here. Gemma too. They're still alive. His threats hang in the air. If she doesn't let him in, Gael will kill Adrian.

A part of Adrian doesn't believe Gael, he's had his shot all night and here Adrian stands. Unraveling, barely keeping it together, but still alive. Gael doesn't need to tell the truth, he needs Morgan to believe him. By the look in her eye, Adrian can tell she might.

Adrian pulls against the vampire's grip, an attempt to free himself, but its no use. It only hurts him in the end, cutting off his own windpipe. "No..." he chokes out to her. "Morgan, no!"

From upstairs, there's a loud bang and crash thats impossible to ignore.

@retrospectral

The night splits open like a wound. Gael moves like a blade through it—cutting across streets, through fog-thick alleys, following the threads Gabriel left behind like scent trails in blood. There are only so many sanctuaries in Port Leiry that his son might still believe in. Only so many people Gabe would run to when the dead won’t stay buried. Morgan’s house is one of them.

By the time he sets Gemma down and knocks, it’s less a polite gesture and more the warning beat of war drums. He hears the dog, smells the adrenal pulse of the home. Knows, even before the door opens, that his instincts were right.

Morgan cracks the door just wide enough, placing herself squarely in the gap like a ward of flesh and bone. Her voice is calm, but her eyes flick to him like a match waiting to strike.

Gemma, are you safe?

Gael should sneer. Should call her out on the insult buried in the question—but he reins it in with the ragged edge of restraint. His hand drops protectively to Gemma’s shoulder, anchoring her with something that looks paternal, even if his grip is colder than it should be.

“She’s with me, Morgan,” he says, low and dangerous, voice hoarse from restraint. “Of course she’s safe.”

The emphasis is deliberate. Accusatory. A slap made of syllables. Like how dare you suggest otherwise. And yet, her words hang there. A confirmation. A betrayal. Gabe is here. Adrian is on his way.

Gael lets out a sharp, humorless laugh that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Perfect.” Adrian. “Another chance for him to show up late, fumble the moment, and choke on his own goddamn self-righteousness.”

He paces one slow step forward, but the threshold holds. Morgan holds. Gael seethes.

“I want to see my son,” he says, the words vibrating with fury. “We haven’t had a chance to talk. I died, Morgan. And I clawed my way back for him and his sister. And now he’s hiding?”

There’s something ragged in the way he says it—not grief. Wrath. Wrath wrapped around love so tight it’s hard to tell one from the other. His voice is low, but it vibrates with that singular, lethal intensity—the kind that has razed cities in other men.

“I’m not here to hurt him,” Gael grits out. “But I will not let him run from me.”

Morgan doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. And that silence—so calm, so final—sets something off in him.

The decision comes on like a fever—sudden, unwanted, but unstoppable. One second he’s trying to hold the line, to stay civilized, to remember that this is Morgan, the woman who once babysat his kids and watered his plants. The next, the fury curdles into something meaner. Hotter. A flash of humiliation twists in his gut—she’s the one keeping him out. She’s the one standing between a father and his child, and for what? Something old and monstrous rises in his chest, slick with hunger and certainty. He could make her. It would be easy. Just a flick of his will, a look, a word. He wouldn’t even have to cross the threshold. She wouldn’t scream. She’d just move. A slow horror unfurls inside him even as he starts to speak the shape of the compulsion aloud—because he’s still trying to justify it. She’ll thank me later, he lies to himself, even as the predator inside him begins to smile.

Gael’s eyes darken as he steps closer to the threshold, the stormlight carving sharp angles into his face. He lowers his voice. “Morgan,” he says, and her name is almost a whisper—almost tender, if not for the weight of power behind it. His gaze locks with hers, unblinking, inescapable. “You’re going to step aside now. You’re going to let me in, and you’re going to take me to Gabriel.” The compulsion weaves through each word like silk soaked in blood—insidious, intimate, irrefutable. Magic hums beneath his voice, ancient and cold, pulling at her will like thread from a spool. For a heartbeat, he watches her pupils tremble, the reflex to obey flickering at the edges. And then—nothing. The spell slides off her like rain over stone. Morgan doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t break. Gael’s gaze narrows, confused for a heartbeat—and then he feels it. Not just resistance. Recoil. The magic didn’t miss; it bounced. He leans in, scenting the air, and there it is: a bitter, green tang, threaded through the space between them like a living barrier. Verbena. Yes—but not just that. Morgan’s spine is straighter than he’s ever seen it. She’s not trembling. She’s rooted, like she finally figured out her fear wasn’t armor—it was dead weight.

The failure clings to him like smoke—bitter, choking. For a moment, there’s only the sound of his own breathing, jagged and tight, and the dog barking behind her like it knows he’s about to do something wrong. Gael's gaze snaps to Gemma. And the shift is instant. The realization clicks into place with a sickening elegance: she’s not warded. She’s not shielded. She’s his daughter. His blood. He doesn’t even have to break the threshold. All he has to do is look at her the right way, speak the words with just enough weight. It’s a terrible thing—to know you could bend someone you love. Worse to know you’re willing.

Gael turns to Gemma swiftly, the storm still boiling beneath his skin. “Gemma,” he says, and her name is a tether, a hook, a plea. His eyes catch hers, hold them, and something deep and ancient stirs in the space between them—familiarity, blood, the terrible ease of power shared by lineage. “I need you to find your brother,” he says, the command silked in compulsion, in love. “Bring him back to me. Do whatever you have to do to get him here.” The words twist, subtle and heavy, sliding into her thoughts like a seed finding fertile soil. His expression never changes. Controlled. Kind, even. Gael only knows he can’t wait anymore. He has to see his son. Has to. Even if it means using his daughter to do it. "Please, sweetheart."

@gemmaismss

[sclviagant]

When? 7:45am, weeks after the Castillo-Fiori family debacle.

Where? Shittiest diner in the Port Leiry area.

Who? @nataliyapetkova

It's not unusual for Brotherhood soldiers to go missing. They've got their hands in the world's shittiest lottery. You don't know when your number is gonna be called and you hope it never is. Yet, everytime the opportunity opens itself, they throw their hats in the game. Over and over again. You do it enough times, your chances keep growing, and sooner or later, it's your turn to die for the cause.

Some soldiers go AWOL. Simply put, they can't handle it. Their teapot start whistling because they're finished with the heat this life brings. Can't deal with the stress, can't handle the risk, and the loss, isn't that the worst one of all? All three factors are apart of their lifestyle. They might well etched them into their skin along with the magical tattoos each member must bear.

No one's heard from Natilya in weeks, not even her own family. This is a puzzling one because Nat is neither a goner or a deserter. She's a Petkova for God's sake, her heritage bleeds into Brotherhood history. She's too skilled of a soldier to have fallen, and too prideful to walk away from duty. A gigantic question mark might as well follow her name because what the fuck happened to Natilya Petkova?

Weeks of radio silence, but Adrian is the lucky one who gets a peep out of Nat. It comes in the form of a text message. Meet me at sunrise, come alone, and don't tell another soul about this. Alarm bells sound in the back of Adrian's head. He doesn't like a cryptic message, he much rather have clarity. Something's fishy, something's not right.

He almost responds to the text, telling her to pick up her phone and call her parents instead. They're worried sick about you. But if she's reaching out to Adrian of all people, there's got to be a reason for it. He honors her request. He doesn't tell a soul.

It's a quarter to seven when Adrian enters the diner. It's some mom and pop shop, located on the outskirts of town. It's so far away from the city, Adrian's not sure if this could be considered PL anymore. It's mostly empty inside. There's the middle aged waitress who's smoked too many cigarettes it's caught up with her skin and her voice. Sit anywhere you'd like, she tells him. There's a faceless cook in the kitchen, burning someone's toast in the back. There, sitting in a booth a few feet away from the door is Natilya Petkova. Alive and well.

What a relief.

"Hey Nat," Adrian greets, his voice steady and soft enough to pair with the early morning, even though parts of him want to chew her the fuck out. If you're in trouble, you should've called. You don't just disappear on the people who love you. You don't abandon your fellow soldiers either. Guess that's the father in him.

The waitress comes over to take his order. Just a black coffee for Adrian.

"I gotta say," he continues, when the waitress walks away. "It's nice to hear from you and all.. to know that some vamp didn't get you or a wolf didn't maul you to death..." That's Adrian's idea of a joke. "....but I got a feeling you didn't reach out just because you had a hankering for an early morning breakfast..."

[sclviagant]

Something strange has been in the air as of late. As a West Coast native, a fifty year old native at that, this is the first time he'd bore witness to a hurricane. Some might fear the thunder and lightning, the harsh winds and unforgiving gust too. Others might become annoyed by the incessant rain pour. Not Adrian, there's a strange comfort in the storm. It drowns out the sound of loneliness.

He's hunkered down at Sweetwater. The bar is empty, the regular patrons deciding to take cover in the safety of their own homes. His home hadn't felt safe in weeks. It was now wide open to a certain vampire, who has yet to show up again, but its also reeks of memories of a family lost. Sweetwater offered him better distractions.

Eye patch on, Adrian's sitting at one of the tables, feet on top, like he owns the place. Cause he does. His favorite Marty Robbins record plays in the background. El Paso. He's puffing on a cigarette. TV's out. His phone is dead. When's the last time Adrian read a book? He entertains himself by attempting to make smoke rings out of the cigarette smoke, like he's a bored sixteen year old stoner.

He's actually doing pretty good.

Against the melody of Marty Robbin's voice, there's a pounding on the door. That's no hurricane, those are fists. He tenses up, then waits and listens for what might come next. Shit, did he leave the open sign on?

Dad?! Please! It’s Gemma! I need help! Please Dad I don’t have anywhere else to go!

Gems. He starts to pick himself off of the chair, a father coming to his daughter's rescue, but pride puts him to a halt. She made her choice weeks ago. Supernaturals over Brotherhood. Death over life. Gael over Adrian. Where is Gael tonight? Too busy playing vampire Michael Corleone to give a damn about his own kid? Since Gemma loves supernaturals so much, since she is one herself, why not run over to No Man's Land for shelter? They'd probably love to host her.

As much as he might wish it was, it's not in Adrian to leave Gemma outside. He's an angry father, but a father nevertheless.

With his one good eye he finds what he expects to. Bewildered, rained on, Gemma. Wild blonde hair, with a bleeding forehead. The injury is a surprise.

"Get in," Adrian commands, yelling against the harsh winds. He opens the door wider to let her in. When she follows orders, for once in her life being a good little soldier, he shuts the door behind her. Latches the lock closed.

"You're bleeding," Adrian tells her flatly and heads to the back of the bar, going to grab the first aid kit he keeps on hand. There's no follow up questions. There's no why are you out in the storm? What happened to your forehead? Are you okay? Are you scared? Do you hurt anywhere else? I miss you. I miss your brother. How's he doing? Where is he bunkering? Is he okay?

Adrian snatches out the antibiotic ointment and a big enough band aid out of the kit. "Here," he says, when he returns back to Gemma, and nudging the items for her to take. "Go to the bathroom and clean yourself up."

Adrian is a man of few words, but tonight, he truly doesn't know what else to say.

when: hurricane day 1, evening who: gemma & dad ( @sclviagant ) where: sweetwater

Jameson leaves and Gemma pouts. It's quite pretty, but he’s not here to enjoy it or call her a brat. The storm is raging and she’s angry and bored. He said he’d be back soon, but her wounded pride wins out over any sort of lingering self-preservation. And so Gemma steals a raincoat and ventures out into the storm.

Several blocks later and she’s made a terrible fucking mistake. Goddamn Anderson Cooper always makes it look so effortless, and he’s like old – she should be able to handle way more than him! But she’s miserable and terrified and has been narrowly missed by several flying bits of debris. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Where the hell is she? Why has she never paid attention to the landmarks near Jameson’s? Why on EARTH did she let him pick her up the other day, essentially stranding her without a car?

Fuck!

The wind picks up – a jolt of lightning splits the sky, illuminating the surrounding buildings into some sense of familiarity. And there it is – the neon glow that once felt something like home. Fucking Sweetwater with the lights on and the open sign illuminated in the window. She’s shaking now, from fear and cold and emotion, and for just a moment there’s a sweet sense of relief. Dad! Dad’s there and he’s going to be so cross with her for walking in the storm, but he has coffee and wine and always knows what to do! And then she remembers shattered lights and blood running down his face, the haziness of Aunt Morgan’s house – and the fear is back, sharp and acrid on her tongue.

“Dad?!” Gemma bangs on the door. “Please! It’s Gemma! I need help! Please Dad I don’t have anywhere else to go!”

[sclviagant]

Stop that.

The sternness in her voice pulls him out of his wallowing like a crisp, hard smack. She's right, his internal thoughts tell him, and it sounds just like his mother's voice. Quit it with the woe is me bullshit, Adrian. Now that is his father. His eye hurts like fucking hell, just like his heart does, but there's no time to sit, to sulk, to cry or give up.

He has time for one thing only and that is to act and act quickly.

"You are in danger." His voice has lost all emotion. Just strict, cold directness, no room for anything else. Why harbor any secrets now? What good is it to play safe anymore? The only game they're playing now is staying alive. Secrets won't keep Morgan safe tonight, not with what Gabriel has done. He's made her complicit in this, whether she wanted to be or not.

"Gael is looking for Gabriel. He has Gemma with him." If she's still alive. "But he wants Gabriel."

"He's not who he used to be," Adrian continues. Had he ever been? The person Adrian loved is a myth. Gael is a mirage created out of lies and desperation and Adrian loved him like he was real. "He's different, Morg. He's dangerous. He won't hesitate to hurt you if you stand between he and Gabriel..."

With his good eye, he looks around the home until he spots his truck keys. It's risky to drive in the condition he's in, but Adrian doesn't care. He has to protect the people he loves.

"I'm on my way," he says, grabbing the keys. "I'll be there in five."

Adrian clicks off the call and runs out the door headed back to the belly of the beast.

Is it fair of her to expect honesty when she's keeping secrets of her own? Granted, the secrets are 'I know vampires are real, because I've had several lethal and otherwise intimate encounters with them' but there's no easy way to drop that in conversation. Morgan wants him to know that she knows. But if he thinks there's a reason she doesn't know, maybe it's better to keep it that way.

She doesn't know if she believes what Gabriel said, about killing his father. But she can believe Gael is back -- if Adrian's concern is anything to go off of.

"I'm not here to argue whether he did anything wrong, Adrian, I just want to keep him safe."

Morgan recoils as she hears the sound of the phone being dropped -- she tells herself it was dropped. In a panic. Because she doesn't want to think about the implications of a rage that says otherwise. It reminds her of the vampire who attacked her, another man who couldn't take no for an answer. No, that wasn't a man -- it was something that looked like one, but wasn't. Not any longer.

Still, Morgan fears the shape of anger inside the man she trusts. She doesn't know what Adrian holds in his quiet depths.

"Hey, stop that," she says, her voice growing stern, devoid of all the softness she gave to Gabe with the same words. "Adrian, we are not going to go down that rabbit hole right now. If there's a problem, you can fix it. If Gabe and I are in danger, I need to know so I can do something about it. He didn't want me to call you in the first place, so, please... tell me this wasn't a mistake to talk to you."

[sclviagant]

POP!  Though his hand is on the trigger, ready to shoot when the opening comes, Adrian hasn’t pulled it. The sound he hears isn’t as rough as a shooting gun, but light and airy like glass shattering. POP! He prefers the sound familiar sound of bullets flaring, it leaves less questions to be answered. POP! Shards of glass explode in the air, gliding and slicing into his skin when they make contact with him. A piece in his arm, another in his neck. One pretty piece, decently sized, shoots into Adrian’s eye. 

 Blood trickles down his arm, down his neck, and out of his injured eye too. Out of his good one, Adrian sees her, exactly as Gemma is. Mad, wavy blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and manifesting the magical power that has always been inside of her.

Adrian can’t help anyone, not even himself, with one fucking eye. Hastily, he picks himself off of the floor, as he had ducked down when he first heard the crackling sounds. It didn’t do much to help him in the end. Covering his face, Adrian stumbles into the bathroom, frantically pulling out drawers looking for a tweezer. The pieces of glass in his arm and neck wedge deeper with each move he makes. Can’t do much with the pain radiating throughout his body, so he digs his fingers into his wounds, pulling out the physical reminders of Gemma’s magic. 

There’s a leniency towards witches within the Brotherhood that Adrian has never understood. Some say they are a necessary evil, after all, it is magic along with ink that is bled into the Brotherhood’s tattoos. Regardless, Adrian’s never held this leniency, never had such an affinity with witches. He sees them like he sees the others because magic isn’t above murder. Dangerous and unruly, they needed to be destroyed.

There’s a particular witch-hunt that stands out in Adrian’s memory. Coming up on twenty two years now, when Adrian and Gael’s relationship was fresh, they went on a hunting trip up in near the Mendocino forests off of the California coast. They caught wind of a specific coven of witches and had hard evidence that they were doing some vile and twisted shit. Shit that made the witch from the fairytale, Hansel and Gretel look like a goddamn saint. 

During the hunt, Adrian and Gael got separated when he followed the signs and scents of one of the witches of the coven. Adrian caught up with the male witch first, a six foot tall, fair skin man, and in a strange way bore a cold resemblance to Gael. There was a struggle, of course, hunts rarely go easily, but Adrian landed on top. He had dug a hunting knife into the witch’s throat and his blood sprayed over Adrian’s face and body. After it was done, there was a scream in the background. When he turned his head back, there stood a woman, with coarse blonde hair, crazed blue eyes. Truly, something animal like. She watched in horror as Adrian stood over the man. It wasn’t hard to figure out why the man had meant something to her.

Adrian remembers, she murmured something under her breath then. Was it a spell? A curse? He didn’t have time to decipher it, only time to act. He pulled out the knife out of the dead man’s throat, then began to chase the witchy woman. She led him deeper into the trees  and eventually, to a lone cottage in the middle of the forest. The woman shut herself inside and had locked the door behind her, but what good of a hunter would Adrian be if he had let locks stop him? He kicked the door multiple times, breaking it enough where he could reach his hand through the tarnished hole and unlock it himself. There wasn’t many places to hide in the small home and eventually, Adrian found her. A fight ensued. Telekinesis pulled the bloody knife from his grip, but that was okay, Adrian knew how to kill with his hands. He eventually caught hold of her yellow locks, then got his hands wrapped around her neck. He began squeezing, watching the life drain out of her big blue eyes, until he heard the POP! of electrical wires. The distraction made him let go, which gave her enough time to slide away. Before he could grab her again and end the hunt for good , he heard another startling sound.

A cry of a young child.

When the realization hit him, he looked back at the woman, who already made it to the window, preparing to jump out and flee the scene. All she did was smile at him, before she fell out the window and made her escape.

When he kicked down the final door of the house, Adrian saw not one child, but two toddlers stuck in a crib. Red faces with snot filled noses, and screaming their little heads off. It had been obvious they were brother and sister. So close in age, they had to be twins. Fair skin, blue eyes and pale blonde hair. Dumbfounded, Adrian didn’t know what to do, except stare  at the crying babies with their father’s blood splattered across his face and their mother’s hair caught in between his fingers. 

From that moment on, those babies were his. The threat that someday, they would harbor the same inclination to magic their biological parents had, was always there. It was a silent whisper in the background  of every family dinner, every vacation, and every hunt. He chose to shoo it away, file it in the back of his mind and pretend it wasn’t there. If it wasn’t said out loud, if they did not know what they might be, of what they could become, they would not fall in the pit. If Adrian taught them well enough, they’d realize witchcraft was evil and to turn their back away just at the sight of it.

But then there was Gael and his fucking lies.

Adrian finally locates a pair of tweezers and begins to attempt to pull the large shard out. It hurts like a fucking bitch. The more he pulls, the more blood spills out of it. He’d be lucky to see out of it after this,  if he doesn’t lose his eye completely. He’s able to get the piece out, but still can’t see for shit out his left eye. 

From the bathroom, Adrian hears the vampire call out his son’s name. “No,” Adrian chokes out, and stumbles out of the bathroom. He can’t begin to fathom what kind of retribution the vampire is looking for. Gael wouldn’t ever hurt their son, but that thing is not Gael. Just the personification of Adrian’s biggest shame.

He stumbles out of the bathroom just in time to catch sight of the vampire grabbing Gemma. In a blink they are both gone. Where the hell are they going? Where the fuck is he taking her? What can he do? Adrian, not for the first time, feels completely helpless.

On the fateful night years ago, Gabriel had to make a choice. Gael or Adrian. It was  one Gabriel should not have had to make, one Adrian had put him up to. Did he make the right choice? Maybe, he didn’t. Maybe, it should’ve been Adrian who died that night. Life would’ve been easier that way. Perhaps, if it had been so, the Castillo-Fiori family, for the first time, would have known peace. 

The house is quiet now, the only noise that could be heard is the glass crunching under Adrian’s feet. What the fuck is their life? How the hell did they get here? For the first time in a long time, Adrian is completely and utterly alone.

Gemma, oh Gemma I’ve missed you.

And there he is – real, tangible, right in front of her saying her name. Somewhere along the way she must have started crying, but Gemma’s fully sobbing now – near hysterical. She can’t speak, but what is there to say? The one person she’s idolized all her life was taken from her, but now he’s back. In his absence Gael becomes almost sainted in her memories, deified in her desperation into something so much larger than life.

There’s a whisper in that electric storm of emotions, a vague warning or memory – can’t vampires bewitch or compel humans? Wasn’t that one of the many specific warnings pressed into them from a young age? Adrian’s voice talks of weak-willed people, foolish minds that so easily give in to the creature’s wishes. Well – call Gemma the village idiot for how quickly she nods her head and steps aside to let her father in.

Once past the threshold she doesn’t hesitate and throws her arms around him, pressing her face into his chest like she did when she was a child. She’s met with a hollowness where his warm and familiar heartbeat should be. It's unsettling, but she doesn’t have the time to consider this because Adrian is screaming and it's full of such fear and rage she instinctually turns and flinches.

Adrian is at the top of the stairs aiming a gun directly at her.

Gemma freezes, any hunter’s instinct or bit of self-defense he taught her for a similar situation vanishes, she can only stare at him in horror trying to understand. “What?! No! Dad! Please – no he’s back! It's fine everything is fine we can be a family again! Please!” That last word is the desperate prayer of a doomed girl and something wild and electric within her responds.

POP! POP! POP!

All the lightbulbs in the hallway burst and shatter – showering them in tiny shards of glass. Adrian is silhouetted against the lights upstairs and Gemma reaches back to grab Gael’s hand. “What the hell is wrong with you!? I can’t lose him again!”

@gabrielismss

[sclviagant]

[sclviagant]

He's asking a lot of her, Adrian realizes this. Asking for the whole table but not willing to pass even the salt. He keeps secrets cause he has to, not because he wants to. The foundation of his entire life has been built on keeping his mouth shut. Closed mouths might not get fed, but they stay safe. They keep the people around you safe.

Adrian is tired of losing people. He's so fucking tired of it. The irony is, he's chosen a path that only takes. It took his innocence. His ignorance. His friends. His cousin. His family. His husband. Somewhere along the way, it blurs. Is it circumstances that takes away the people he loves? Or is it his own hand?

Gabriel opens his mouth, he is a killer, a self identified murderer. Whatever veil the Castillo-Fiori family keeps in front of Morgan to hide who they truly are from her has a hole. Okay, alright. Adrian could stitch it up. Make it new. Not even realizing it's a big tear and as each moment goes by, gets a little bigger and bigger.

He's got no answers to give her. No justifications. Gabriel is a killer. I trained him to be that way. Might not be my blood, but I made him in my image. Is this what he's supposed to tell Morgan?

"He didn't do anything wrong," Adrian blurts out, the words rushing out before he realizes he saying anything at all. "I fucked up, I really fucked up. I got Gabriel involved in shit I shouldn't've." The words are pouring out of him now. "Now, he's back. Goddamit, he's back, Gemma let him in the house, and I don't know if I can keep 'em safe any more!"

Adrian slams the phone on the ground. His precious iPhone's screen is cracked to smithereens. Dammit. Hurriedly, he picks it up. The call is still going.

"Everything's fucked Morgan. Everything's fucked and it's my fault."

Their conversations have never been overly jovial -- that's not what Morgan calls Adrian for. It never has been. But even across the airwaves of the phone, she can tell there's a tension and an anger to him tonight that's likely related to Gabriel's breakdown.

She feels like she's betrayed the boy by calling his father, but if this is at all related to what she suspects it might be, then best to keep a trail of contact. Should Morgan call Laure next? No -- leave her out of it. There isn't much the vampire woman could do here anyhow, she suspects. "Alright." Morgan's used to doing as she's told these days.

"Doors and windows are already locked. Gabe's upstairs -- I offered him the guest room for a nap, but... Yeah, I'll go check on him." The woman casts a glance to the second floor, thinking he wouldn't dare try to make the jump... but then, there's very little someone who fears for their life wouldn't do, she's come to learn.

"Shit." Morgan winces as Adrian mentions his husband's name -- what little regular contact they've had since his death has rarely included his name. She wonders why, and just what is wearing Gael Fiori's face tonight that has everyone so spooked.

Under no circumstances do you invite him into your home.

She's beginning to have her own suspicions. But there's no easy way to drop the 'v' word in a conversation, she's learned.

"Adrian -- Gabriel thinks he's going to die. Thinks that someone is going to kill him. Because he says he killed someone. You know I'll do anything I can for him to keep him safe. But if everyone is talking in circles... I just don't want to see anyone hurt. And that includes me, if you can help it."

[sclviagant]

FUCK!

His entire life is imploding. Everything he stands for. Everything that is good and sacred is exploding right before him. Gael, not only alive but he has returned as a goddamn vampire. Gemma, outright using magic in front of his eyes. Can't stick his head in the sand on that one anymore! And Gabe, where the fuck did he go!?

Amongst this absolute cluster fuck, this shitshow of an evening, Adrian's phone has the audacity to ring? Who the FUCK is calling him right now?

Adrian looks down at his phone. Morg? His chest feels tight. The sickening feeling in his stomach grows. Why would she be calling? Instinctively, he answers.

"What is it?" He usually shelves his natural abrasiveness for Morgan. However, in this moment, Adrian doesn't have the time nor the patience to be anything but curt.

Adrian. Hi, it's Morgan. Listen, something has Gabriel deeply upset and I need to know if everyone is safe over there. Or if he's not safe here at my home.

God fucking dammit, Gabriel.

He doesn't want to be mad at his son, but what the fuck! His freak out, well deserved, but couldn't he be more strategic in the ways he freaks out? Adrian, himself, is doing it now. He's not slamming his phone on the ground, over and over, regardless if that's the only thing he wants to do in this moment. Gabriel ought to know better and leave Morgan out of this. She's family, but not to this level. She's innocent. She's human. She's defenseless! What if the vampire tracks him to the Moss home? Did he even consider he put Morgan in harm's way?!

Does anyone else in this family fucking think besides Adrian?

Keep your cool. Flared nostrils do their best to breathe in. Angry lungs exhale through his mouth. In again, then out. He can't flip out, not on Morg.

"I need you to listen to me. I will explain everything to you later, I swear to God, but right now, I need you to do exactly what I say." He's dropped the hostility, keeps the directness. He's pacing around as he speaks. "Keep an eye on Gabriel. Don't let him out of your sight. Lock your front door. Don't let anyone inside." What he says next is painful. He swallows even though his throat is dry. "If Gael stops by...." Adrian hates calling it that. "Do not let him in. Hear me? Under no circumstance do you invite him into your home" There's a pain in his voice. "I'll be there in five."

How fucked is it that they've wrangled Morgan into this? She doesn't deserve this. Sometimes, the cost of loving the Castillo-Fiori family is a death sentence.

"I'm....." Adrian's voice cracks. "I'm so sorry, Morgan."

closed starter for @sclviagant when/where: phone call after gabe arrives

Morgan knows she said she wouldn't call anyone, but... This is one of those hard parts of being a parent, right? (Honorary relations included.)

Gabe is upstairs, presumably taking a nap, and Star has settled back in her bed after the excitement and confusion. Even if the boy claimed to see his father -- the dead one -- Morgan needs to get answers from Adrian. Something here is deeply, deeply wrong.

The wait for the ringer to be picked up is endless. And she realizes that if there's something dangerous going on like Gabriel says, then Adrian might not even pick up at all. But as soon as she hears the telltale click-pop of open air on the other end of the line, she wastes no time. Her last year of supernatural crises has really worn the hedging out of her voice.

"Adrian. Hi, it's Morgan. Listen, something has Gabriel deeply upset and I need to know if everyone is safe over there. Or if he's not safe here at my home."

[sclviagant]

“I don’t need you to be sorry.”

His voice is sharp. Adrian speaks to her with the same manner he would with his own children. That's because the Halstead kids might as well be an extension of his own kin. Adrian had no room for softness, not with this. Not with training.

What is it they call it? Gentle parenting? He could snicker just at the term. Anything gentle is useless to the lives they lead. This world is anything but gentle. This world will sniff out softness, read it as weakness, because that's what it is. As soon as it does, it will crack you open, swallow you whole, then move on without a second thought. Adrian knows, he's seen with his own eyes. Over and over again.

Not everyone is built for this world and not everyone makes it.

Once upon a time, Rose Halstead had been built for this. This shit is inside of her. It's in her blood. Adrian saw this too. Yeah, he saw the broken woman held up in a mental health facility, but that's just a sliver of her story. It is not who she is. This, training, hunting, cleansing, is who she is. She's a goddamn Halstead for fuck's sake.

The world won't go easy on her, why should Adrian? He's not a monster, he sympathizes for Rose, for Lis, for the entire Halstead family for the loss of their golden boy. Reid was Adrian's friend. A pain in the ass, sure, but still a friend. A brother. Adrian still feels the loss of the eldest Halstead. He's heard the rumors. People talk at Sweetwater. He knows what's become of Reid. No use bitching and moaning about it. It didn't change anything, not really. Reid is still dead.

Given Reid's status, now more than ever, Rose needs to rise to the occasion instead of sinking any lower. The time to mourn is over. It's time to get back up. It's time to start fighting again.

“I need you to be better.”

She's rusty. Okay. Alright. That's to be expected. The lessons of her youth are wired in her somewhere. She needs to get out of her head and the memory of her muscles take over.

"Let's run it again." He's got a human shaped dummy their using for target practice. Many stakes on the side of them laying on a table. Rose can't hesitate, she just has to do. Just fucking do it.

"Faster this time. You slow down and you're dead," Adrian coaches her. "Strike to kill."

closed starter for @sclviagant

Rose chewed on the inside of her cheek as she stood there, waiting for Adrian. Her thoughts circled back to when she saw him while she was in the hospital. She hadn't expected him, or Gemma to come visit her. It had been bittersweet. Seeing them had made her both happy and incredibly sad. Rose had pushed away this part of her life for so long that she'd forgotten how important they'd once been to her.

Her mind had been at war with itself, telling her how she should have went through with it. How they were disappointed in her and what she'd become. The Halsteads weren't supposed to be weak. They were built to be strong and independent. They were fighters. And yet... she hadn't been. Not after Reid was taken from them and turned.

But... they didn't show anger towards her. They were kind. And yet, once they left, Rose had curled up in her room and cried. Cried for the life that she had once lived and for those she'd pushed so far away that she barely knew them any longer. She cried for the people she'd hurt along the way and ones she could have hurt had she went through with the suicide.

"I haven't trained in a while. Not like how I used to." Rose admitted as she saw Adrian. "I was training once a month, just to make sure I didn't lose every reflex but..." Clearly it hadn't been enough. She'd been attacked by a vampire and couldn't even defend herself. "I don't know how good I'll be."

He's going to be so disappointed in me. Her chest ached and she wished she'd brought her extra anxiety medication. Even though it might cause her to become slower and unable to think things through fully, at least she wouldn't feel the physical symptoms of the anxiety. I'm not going to be good enough.

"I'm sorry."

[sclviagant]

Death is constant in the Brotherhood community. Sometimes, you are the bringer of death. Other times, you are the receiver. That is the risk you agree to when you play this game. Some numbers get called much sooner than others. There's an epidemic that's growing and growing amongst the hunter community. Soldiers are dying like they do, but they are not staying dead. This is not part of the agreement.

There are fates much worse than deaths for hunters. Vampires, being the spiteful fucks that they are, know this very well.

People talk. Adrian listens. Here’s heard how Aelin has gotten caught in caught in one of these fates. What he didn’t know is that she’s stupid enough to show up at Sweetwater.

“You come to my bar and start threatening me?” Adrian doesn’t reach for his gun. Not yet. His gaze meets her eyes and they burn something fierce. “I heard becoming a vampire makes you heartless. I didn’t know it makes you brainless too.”

He nudges his chin in her direction. “Put your fucking fangs away before I rip them out of your mouth, Aelin.” Adrian pauses for a moment. "You know damn well you’re not welcome here. You know damn well I’m not serving you either. Don’t waste my time. Spit it out. What the fuck do you want?”

Aelin looked at Adrian with an amused expression. A place for hunters by hunters. Not for her, not now. "Yeah, shit timing. Some things never change." He would recognize her. She was, after all, a member of the Brotherhood once upon a time. Not that it mattered now. She was dead to them now in more ways than one.

"You got it in you to serve me a drink? For your sake, I hope you do." The vampire exposed her fangs for a fraction of a second. It was a show of force she was not opposed to using, not with the betrayal of her wife still lingering in her veins. This was to be a message and Aelin was pissed.

[sclviagant]

sexuality meme: 18

18. What is something they wish to try? Why haven't they tried it yet?

Sensory play. What immediately comes to mind is dripping hot candle wax on his body or dragging ice cubes on his body. Something of a physical sensation that brings him into the moment, that way he's not in his head during or in a state of numbness.

I'm not sure why he hasn't tried it. Maybe because it puts him in a vulnerable situation and he doesn't love the idea of that.