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whispering-ways · 5 months

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⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡ i like you (too much) - part 1 ♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

♡ summary: you just joined a new high school and you're hoping to make a bunch of new friends. unfortunately, you're paired up with katsuki and he seems to despise you. nevertheless, you're determined to make it work. little do you know that you're first interaction would lead to a wonderful friendship and possibly even more.

♡ pairing: bakugo katsuki x reader

♡ tags: no warnings, just fluff :) but the next couple of parts may or may not have some smut ;)

♡ notes: hi besties! I'm back finally with another fanfic after months. I'm so sorry for my hiatus, but I've been super busy with college. I'm graduating in literally in 5 days which is so exciting (neurosci and psychology BS) and also been working on a patent and been doing patient trials in the neurosci lab I volunteer at and been applying for grad programs, so its been a lot. but I'm back with a new (long) Katsuki fic now that things have finally settled! Really this was a story with my OCs, Drew and Kressie (names still yet to be confirmed but that's what I've got for now) but I thought this would still work with Bakugo. Let me know if y'all want me to post the OC version too :) hope you guys like it!

As you sit in the principal’s office with your parents, you start to drown out the principal’s monotonous voice. All you cared about in the moment was how you would fit in. Middle school had been terrible; a journey chocked full of bullies and spending lunches alone. So when your parents told you that the 3 of you were moving to a new state for your dad’s fancy new job, you thought this was your chance to wipe the slate clean. Start afresh and make some friends this time around. You’d been excited for weeks, but now sitting here about to start your first day, you felt your stomach churn with anxiety.

The principal calling your name brought you back to reality. “So Y/N are you ready to start your first day? I know it’ll be halfway through your periods, but still your first day if you think about it!”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you replied, picking up your backpack.

“I’ll take you to your new classroom,” said the principal, standing up and opening the door for you, gesturing you to follow him. After saying goodbye to your parents, you head outside the office with a big sigh, readying yourself. It felt like forever before you reached your classroom. Your principal knocked on the door and stuck his head inside. You heard him say something to the teacher inside, but couldn’t quite make out what. She came out a couple moments afterward and the principal left you in her hands. A short introduction later, she brought you inside to the front of the class.

“Hey everyone, I’m sorry to interrupt you all in the middle of quiet work time, but we’ve got a new student. This is (Y/N) and she’ll be in our class from now on,” she said with a big smile on her face; it was almost too cheery. “I’m hoping since you only came in a week late, it won’t be too hard to catch up with the class.” She scanned around the classroom before continuing, “Looks like we’ll have to place you in the back with Katsuki. We share one big desk between students, so I hope that’s okay with you.” You nod and the teacher turns towards her desk, reaching down to grab a packet. “Here’s what we’re working on right now; answer as best as you can and don’t worry about getting questions wrong. You’ll be sitting right over there,” pointing to the back.

You look toward where she gestured to find a guy in a black hoodie, his eyes covered by his hood and lip curled in disdain. “Fantastic,” you thought, taking the packet from your teacher’s hand. “It’d be my luck to be put right next to someone that looks like they’d kill.” You plop down in your seat and look towards your new deskmate, smiling at him as an olive branch. Maybe he was super nice and just didn’t know how to show it.

He looked at you up and down, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as if he was wondering why you’d even dare to look over. With a sigh, you turn back around and start to work on your packet. You wouldn’t consider yourself super smart, but definitely above average. But ��above average’ wasn’t going to cut it for this packet. You chose to take Calculus to challenge you and to look better on college applications, but looking at the work in front of you, you regretted your decision. This stuff was just way too complicated, but you were determined to figure it out.

You look over at Katsuki to see whether he’s struggling too for some sort of comfort. To your disappointment, you see him flying through the work, his head practically buried in the packet. You tried again to work through the first problem. “Find the derivative of the following function...what even is a derivative?” you thought to yourself. You pulled out your phone, hoping to try and find some sort of video to explain what was going on when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

You turned around to find your teacher smiling at you once again. “Hey (Y/N), I hope the packet is going good, but in this classroom we don’t use phones to search up answers. If you’re having trouble, why don’t you ask your deskmate to help you out? I’m sure Katsuki would love to help you out!”

You slipped your phone back into your pocket, giving your teacher a tight-lipped smile in return. “Out of all people, why did I get paired with him,” you pleaded internally. After a few moments, you give up and decide to ask Katsuki for help. “Hey, uh... would you mind helping me out with this question please?” No response. You cleared your throat, hoping to draw attention to your request. Nothing, nada, zilch. It’s then that you noticed he had some earbuds in. “Maybe he really just couldn’t hear me,” you thought. A few moments of contemplation later lead you to tapping his shoulder, hoping to finally get his attention.

He whipped his head around, giving you the chance to get a good look at his face. The first thing you noticed were his eyes. His eyes were red, probably because of contacts, and were coupled with dark circles; it looked like he hadn’t had sleep in weeks. You were finally able to see his hair peeking out from under his hood which had been messily bleached blonde with brown roots growing out. His lips were still in a snarl. “What do you want?” he asked, spitting out each word with anger. “Don’t you know when people are trying to ignore you?”

A hit and a miss. There was no doubting it now; he definitely hated you. You hadn’t even been in the classroom for 20 minutes and your high school dreams of making friends were already coming crashing down. You were just about to reply when he snapped back at you “What? Just going to stare at me forever or something?”

See, you were nice, but not nice enough to let that sort of behavior go by without saying anything. “What the fuck is your problem dude? I just wanted to ask you about derivatives. Damn, a bitch can’t even be curious about math anymore,” you retorted. You were hoping to put him in his place a little, but instead, you heard him chuckle.

“Ok fine, I’ll help you out. I’ll admit, that was a little funny. But this doesn’t mean we’re all buddy buddy, okay? I just want you off my back.”

“Sure whatever gets me done with this packet,” you said, flipping through the pages of the problems till you found the one you were looking for. You pointed to the derivative question and said “Just explain this one to me and I’ll be out of your hair. I just don’t really know how to get started with it.”

With an annoyed sigh, Katsuki gets started on explaining it to you. “Okay so basically all you’ve got to do is just differentiate all 3 parts and then add it. Was that too hard for you to understand or something or did you finally get it?”

You didn’t want to say it, but you didn’t get it. What was differentiating? Subtracting? You had no clue. But you couldn’t admit that, not when he was acting so rude; you had way too much pride for that sort of confession. “Let’s say I didn’t get it. I totally did, but if I didn’t, would you be able to explain it more in depth?” you ask him, hoping he wouldn’t pick up on your lie.

Katsuki definitely picked it up. He wasn’t stupid. But he was dreading having to talk to you more. He wasn’t trying to make friends or talk to people and be all chit-chatty; all he wanted was to be left alone, but unfortunately, you didn’t seem to be picking up on that any time soon. He grabbed your sheet and put it right between you two. If you wanted a in-depth explanation, you were going to get one. Bit by bit, he explained every single step of the problem, dragging out each individual part unnecessarily. That’d teach you to bother him again.

What he did not expect was the beaming smile you gave him in return. “Thank you so much! That actually helped a ton dude! See I knew you could be nice,” you say as you bring the packet back to your side to continue working on the next couple of problems.

Your response threw him for a loop. Sure, Katsuki was confused over how he could seem nice, but what really had him was your smile. He could’ve sworn it was the sweetest smile he’d ever seen. Slightly crooked, but still shined like the sun. He turned around, pulling his hood down to cover the slight blush that had appeared on his face. He hated the feeling he had his stomach now and it was all your fault. He knew it was a bad idea to help you.

He dove into his work, trying not to focus on you. It felt like decades before the bell rang and people started packing up to move to their last period. Out of the corner of his eye, Katsuki saw you whip out a folded piece of paper, which opened up to reveal your schedule. He heard you sigh as he was packing up and he already knew what was coming. As soon as he came back up from zipping his backpack, he was met with your eyes looking at him and he knew you were about to bother him again.

“Uh... so I’ve got my next period in room 2301, but I have no idea how to get there. I think its English Lit with Ms. Carlisle, but like we only have 10 minutes to get there and I don’t want to get lost. Do you mind just giving me some quick directions?” you ask.

He wanted to say no and tell you to get lost. But it seemed like his mouth betrayed him when he heard himself saying “Yeah ok, I”ll take you there.”

“Oh! I mean you don’t have to really take me to the room, but I appreciate it a lot!” you reply cheerily with another one of your smiles.

“Do her cheeks never hurt from all that smiling?” Katsuki thought to himself. “It’s whatever, I’m in the same class too so I don’t give a shit.” he said, standing up and slinging his bag over one shoulder.

He starts walking away and you take that as a sign to start walking or be left alone in the classroom. With a wave to your teacher, you speed up to catch up to him. It was a bit awkward walking beside him but not talking. You’d initiate some sort of conversation, but it looked like he was ready to bite your head off and you already felt like you were pushing it.

Thankfully, Katsuki ended the awkward silence between you two, “So.... like, where did you move from?”

“From Florida, but not like city Florida, think like retirement home type of Florida. North Florida specifically.” you rambled, trying to fill up the silence between you for a bit longer.

“Cool, so you’ve like seen gators and shit then?” he said, looking down towards you. It was then that he took notice of the height difference between the two of you. He wasn’t super tall by any means, but compared to you he felt like a giant.

“I mean I’ve seen a couple snakes, gators... and a few lizards too! Nothing too scary though!” you say with a smile. He nodded in response and a silence settled over you two again. You started to rack your brain for something to say to keep the conversation going, when you suddenly felt a yank on your backpack.

“Don’t just fucking walk off, we’re here, English Lit,” Katsuki says, pulling you back to the front of the door after you’d walked right past it.

“Oh! Thank you” you reply, holding the door open. “After you.”

Katsuki felt weird walking into class and it had nothing to do with the quiz the class had to do today. He walked over to his usual desk and felt you follow behind before sitting down right next to him. You put your bag down in your seat and walked over to the teacher, probably to go introduce yourself. It was obvious to Katsuki that he wasn’t getting rid of you or the weird feeling you gave him every time you smiled anytime soon.

He was brought out of his thoughts by the sweetest laugh he had ever heard. He turned towards the source of the sound and he wasn’t surprised to see it came from you. It seemed like everything you did added to that weird feeling he felt in his stomach. He hated it. You sat back down next to him, syllabus in hand along with a couple of other forms for you to fill out.

Class seemed to drag on forever for Katsuki. It took everything in him to focus on what the teacher was saying rather than how your eyebrows were furrowed in concentration and how you chewed your pencil from time to time and how you drew tiny little flowers and hearts on your notes whenever you got bored. The bell finally rang, releasing Katsuki from what seemed to be his own personal hell. He got up wordlessly to walk towards his car, ready to leave and go home. He made it a couple of paces outside of class before he felt a small tap on his arm.

He turned around to see you looking up at him with big eyes. “Hey.. uhh.. Could I maybe get your number? We have to finish that packet by tomorrow’s class and I know there’s a good chance I could be confused again, so I was hoping to maybe get your help again?” you ask.

How could he refuse those eyes? With a sigh, he held his phone out to you. You looked up at him quizzically. “Do I need to explain everything to you? Put your number in already. I’ll text you back so you can have mine” he snapped.

You took his phone and typed in your number, saving your contact while you were at it. “There you go, all saved and everything,” you say. You couldn’t even fully finish your sentence before Katsuki snatched his phone out of your hands.

“Well, it was nice meeting you Katsuki, but I’ve got to head to the buses soon. I think my bus is leaving in like literally 10 minutes. It was nice meeting you though and hope to see you tomorrow,” you say, running off to catch the bus before you were left without a ride.

“Nice to meet you too, I guess,” he whispered to himself. He hoped you didn’t hear it. He walked to his car, throwing his bag into the backseat and putting his head on the steering wheel. “What’s going on with me? Why is everything so weird all of a sudden?” he thought. He took his phone out from his hoodie, looking for your contact and, more importantly, to put a name to your face.

It wasn’t hard to find since it was the only contact that stuck out like a sore thumb. “Y/N..” he said, reading out your name. He noticed a small smiley face beside your name, a sweet detail that caused an unconscious smile to cross his lips. It didn’t take him long to notice and he immediately shook his head trying to drive his smile away. He put his head back on the wheel with a thud, letting out a frustrated groan. That weird and uneasy feeling in his stomach had come back again and he had a feeling it wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

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visualtaehyun · 4 months

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Love Sea 🌊 is here and I'm being so normal about it! Entirely normal! Totally didn't already write half an essay on pronoun predictions back when the intro trailer came out or anything haha...

This is gonna be a bit meandering because it's partly my chronological notes and partly me trying to gather similar things into one category so please excuse the chaotic nature of this post lol

Disclaimer: not a native Thai speaker, still learning 🙏

Overworked secretary Mook is already my favorite 😂 She's adorable and clumsy and clearly thinks way too much! The way she frustratedly strikes through 'high voice' on her 30-step-script/plan I LOVE HER

Sidenote: I see why Vi and Rak are besties, she's such a schemester omg ViMook are gonna be an excellent side couple! It's also such a delight to see Aya in a completely different role from Wa in Wedding Plan. :>

Back to Mook's desk though- We know that BossNoeul are gonna have a cameo as themselves during the book fair Mook mentions on the phone because we've seen them with the "Boy Next World" novel in the trailer-

So let's take a look at Rak's manuscripts:

1) "Love Sand" - which is the novel that Connor and his boyfriend Khom, played by Pentor in Love Sea, are from! 2) "Test Love" - specifically, the illustration looks to be from the special novel and the middle couple, Ryu and Sun. We know them from Wedding Plan because none other than Forth, who plays Palm in Love Sea, played Sun:

Since I'm talking about him already- Palm saying ขอนั่งนะ /khaaw nang na/ (= Can I sit?) as he's literally already gettin comfy?? djshshjs this kid is so- fucking- nonchalant? overly casual? (in his speech too) it's hilarious! Also, I'm not sure if he's the best or the worst wingman ever lmao

แล้วถ้าเกิดที่นี่มีดีสุดแค่เนี้ย พี่ก็ไม่อยากได้ที่เหลือเหมือนกัน /laaeo thaa geert thee nee mee dee soot kaae niia, phi gaaw mai yaak dai thee leuua meuuan gan/ = If the best this place has to offer is just this then I don't want the rest either. -> I love and appreciate MMY's translator but it's entirely implication if he means the drink, the bar or Mahasamut

When Mut asked if Connor's talking about a person or dog and Connor said Rak is more like a cat which he'll see once he meets him, Mut texted:

/khun Connor phuut meuuan pom rap liiang laaeo/ = You say that like I've already adopted him/agreed to raise him.

And the word เลี้ยง /liiang/ comes up several times then-

This one's subbed as 'take for a walk' but it's actually เลี้ยง /liiang/ again, not that Rak understands a single word anyway when Mut's speaking Southern dialect lmao Sidenote: His dialect isn't even that strong btw, especially compared to some of the folks he interacted with at the beginning of the episode. Mut and Connor are just clearly pulling one over on Rak lmao I couldn't stop laughing at Mut keeping on pulling out the dialect to get on city boy Rak's nerves! Similarly, I love that Rak clearly underestimates Mut at first and thinks he's a huge idiot and country bumpkin, even trying to manipulate Mut with his body, meanwhile Mut plays his part so well 😂

... as well as the cat/pet implication:

He actually said 'brush your fur' lol

Here we've got an idiom that got lost in translation cause it wouldn't make sense:

หลงตัวเอง ผีเจาะปากมาพูด* /lohng dtuua eng. phee jaw bpaak maa phuut/ = So full of yourself/such a narcissist. You sure like hearing yourself talk*. -> *it's an idiom that literally translates to 'a ghost pierced your mouth to make you talk' and describes someone who talks endlessly ผีอะไรมันจะหล่อขนาดนี้คุณ /phee a rai man ja laaw khanaat nee, khun/ = What ghost would be this handsome?

Lastly- the seagull laugh after Rak trips on the beach is so. fucking. funny!

#love sea the series #fortpeat #fort thitipong #peat wasuthorn #aya orapan #vimook #bossnoeul #forth kashane #wedding plan the series #local woman harps on about linguistics #what a good first episode! interesting characters fun introductions gorgeous setting and footage- i missed mmy!#local woman harps on about love sea

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wordy-little-witch · 6 months

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More silly transfem Buggy ideas, Oro Jackson Edition

• Buggy asked a lot of questions as a child, was the reigning CHAMPION of "why". Including being told "you're a boy".

"But why?"

"Because your body is a boy's body, baby blue."

"Why do bodies be different? Why can't I be a girl?"

Roger at that point goes hmmmm, and just shrugs. "Well, you could! The kind of body you have is most common with boys, but I bet some girls have bodies like that too."

• Buggy grew up surrounded by men and fellas and dudes. The interactions with women were sparse, limited, and always temporary. The closest to a recurring feminine presence was Rouge, a few gals on Whitebeard's crew, and eventually Toki.

• when Buggy is about 8, she tells Roger that she wants to be a girl. Roger just ruffles her hair, picks her up to plop on his knee, and says, "Then a girl you are, my little buglet. I don't care if you're a girl, a boy, neither or both - you'll always be mine, and so you'll always be loved. Okay?"

"Okay... thanks, Cap."

• Rayleigh treated it like smth of a flight of fancy. He thought she was doing it because of smth else, so he tried pulling the whole "come to me in a year. If you still wish you were a girl, we'll talk then." It's unintentionally a pretty damaging thing, especially because Rayleigh even refuses to let her grow her hair out. It's during Buggy hissing, screaming, crying to get out of the mandatory hair cuts that Roger learns about it. Shanks went running for him.

• speaking of Shanks, he's the poster child for Ride Or Die. Buggy's shy about shopping but wants a dress? He's coming up with disguises. Buggy wants to present femme on ship but is scared of being made fun of? Shanks is putting on the MOST outlandish outfit he can and has 16842084 plans to make a ruckus. Buggy wants to experiment with her makeup? He's got a PhD in Hype Man Studies, from the University Of Besties.

• Buggy exploring her gender leads to Shanks exploring his own. He's a guy, he's comfortable with that, but he's also among the many who swear by maxi skirts bc those are COMFY holy shit. He's just a dude who sometimes wears a skirt.

• someone once made a side remark about Buggy being on the crew during a fight, they call her an it and thing.

Their head hits the ground just seconds afterwards.

• Whitebeard and Roger have semi-regular fight dates, like playdates but worse, after which the crews hang out and party. The one after Buggy comes out and has gotte some more confidence, she is bouncing around the crews, all big grins and talking to the girls and getting fussed over, or she's playing with the younger crew members and Shanks. He take one look at Buggy, beaming with her tiny little pigtails, her leggings, the mini skirt, blouse, and boots. He opens his mouth.

"We can't steal her, pops."

"But we could...!"

• Toki and Oden half adopt Buggy and Toki is adamant on passing down the Wano Rites to Buggy as well. Momo and Hiyori may be Wano's by blood, but Buggy is Wano's by soul and Toki refuses to let this girl slip through the cracks.

• Roger once heard someone call Buggy weak for being a girl and was ready to step in to handle it when Buggy just... goes feral. She beats the ever loving snot outta the guy, ends it with a "how's THAT for weak, dickbag!!"

He has to wipe away a tear. He's so proud.

• both cabin kids had special nicknames, and the main ones used by Roger for them are:

Shanks as the Red Menace (Menace)

Buggy as Pirate Princess (often just Princess)

((Both of them have those tattooed in their adulthood))

• Rouge meets Buggy and Shanks pre-coming out, greets them post like "hey boys!" Buggy corrects her hesitantly. Rouge is silent for a moment, turns on her heel, leaves, and immediately pops back, going "hey brats!!" Buggy had a moment of terror which then became relief-annoyance-embarassment-gratitude. Shanks just went from 🙂 to 😡 to 😃.

• Teach had a puppy crush on Buggy, which made her ALL KINDS of uncomfortable. She hated him from the start.

• she would put up with it tho on occasion for Missions. Nothing big, but when Rayleigh or someone else annoyed her and the crews were close, she'd run away to Whitebeard's crew and he'd help her gaslight the FUCK out of the other's. Just. Her in his lap, Roger in the fetal position on the deck like "pleeeaaassseee gimme my babbyyyyyyyy-"

Buggy, fighting an evil lil grin, turns to whitebeard like, "pops, is the weird man, okay?"

"I don't know, my girl, but don't mind him - my old friend here is an odd one."

"Okay, papa."

Roger makes a sound like a dying whale.

• Shanks bought Buggy a fancy custom hair piece for her birthday with matching earrings. Buggy then grabbed him by the collar and manhandled him beneath her to put one in his ear. He still wears it to this day. She wears the other one.

• Buggy is quick to crush, slow to LOVE, which was AGONY because Roger, Rayleigh, Gaban, Oden and Bullet were all varying g levels of WILDLY OVER PROTECTIVE. On the one hand - she's growing up 🥰. On the other? She's growing up!!!! 😨

• Bullet was frankly one of the WORST. Buggy was, to him, Baby Sister. Shanks was Baby Brother. Nobody, repeat NOBODY, was good enough for his little siblings. He and Roger were on the same page there. It led to some frankly mortifying yet hilarious hijinks.

• Roger was the type of man to get drunk and become COMPLETELY over the top with the love and affection. Buggy and Shanks were equal opportunity snuggle buddies, against their wishes. Shanks would wriggle to get to the booze himself. Buggy would just go limp and whine.

• the first time Buggy met Iva, she was starry eyed and scared. Roger held her hand the whole time, even as he threatened Ivankov with every single thing he could imagine, all sweet faced and menacing. That was how they found out Buggy's Devil fruit made her immune to piercings as well. She'd have to transition the old fashioned way, and use seastone for injections or sutures.

• Buggy actually cried that day.

• Crocus then requested Iva let him have a sample of their feminizing hormone to try his hand at synthesizing for Buggy. It never worked.

• Buggy goes on to find ways of transitioning that she can actually safely do, and Iva even goes on to reach out to other medical professionals to find options. If one girl couldn't be helped with their Devil fruit, who else was there? Who else needed the extra assistance? It inadvertly starts a wave in the medical community.

It's late and I'm running on fumes so nini for now okay ily baiiii

#buggy the clown #trans buggy #transfem buggy #shanks and buggy #gol d roger #he's got such girldad energy okay #rayleigh is based off of my big sister yes #honestly? Rayleigh is usually based off my sister i think #in my writing at least.

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i4bellingham · 2 years

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GO PUBLIC: jamal musiala x reader

SYNOPSIS: in which jamal's fans finally know about your relationship in a quick series of photos in an instagram post. or in which jamal accidentally (drunkenly) posts your private photos together.

NOTES: never ever letting his tags go dry 😋 here is a fluffy fluff fluff 3OOO for my fellow musiala girlies mwuah 💋 i hope you enjoy reading!

jamalmusiala10

❤️ 💭 ↗️ 　　　　 • • • •

Liked by alphonsodavies, jobebellingham and 987,612 others

jamalmusiala10 für die schönste person, ich liebe dich, meine liebe ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ to the most beautiful person, i love you my love

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alphonsodavies wrong account mate haha 😀

user1 wait is that who i think it is-

user2 “we're only friends” my ass 😭 y'all keep on lying

user3 isn't that yourusername 😟

user4 that is her 😭

user5 mate really posted an entire relationship lmao

alphonsodavies is he drunk?

yourusername i can vouch, he is :D

yourusername keeping his phone away for the entire night!

user1 yourusername no bestie we need the explanation now 😭

“Please don’t look at me like that.” Jamal sighs.

You raise a brow. “Like what?”

“Als hätte ich deinen hund gekidnappt oder so...” He moves away from the bed, standing directly behind you in the vanity mirror. Liked I kidnapped your dog or something...

“Du hast unsere Beziehung öffentlich gemacht-” You made our relationship public

“I was drunk-”

“Idiotic drunk is what you were.”

Jamal groans as he buries his face on your nape, already knowing the height of how much he fucked up when in his drunken stupor, he managed to post photos of you together which left the fans to conclude your relationship to what it really is. It also didn't help that the team’s PR manager had been blowing up his phone with multiple messages, emails and phone calls (that were all left unanswered) since last night and was just basically telling him not to do an even more stupid decision than this one.

A drunk mistake it may be but Jamal felt no remorse on how the people found out about your relationship. It's been a solid year and a half of hiding, attempting to steer the media’s eyes away from the both of you as you go on dates, strolls and doing what normal couples do but ultimately needing to cut them short because of the nearing media presence.

Jamal is certain that you're not bothered by him posting those images, but he knows you're more anxious of what the people might think and how they might react despite having an entire supporting shipping fanclub yourself even with the minimal public interaction you've done.

You're both... loved, if you will. There is still some negativity here and there but it's mostly dominated by supporting fans wanting for the both of you to date. So Jamal really doesn't see any problem why he should be regretful to what he has doneㅡ even though it was obviously a very drunken accident.

“But you're not really upset with me, are you?” You turn around to face him, cupping his cheeks and he automatically nuzzles his face on your palm.

Jamal knows you're not. He's just looking for some extra guarantee.

“No, I'm not. How could I ever be upset with you?” You tell him, voice falling into a whisper before you're being caged in his arms.

“Just so you know, I’m not regretful that I posted those pictures.”

And you laugh. “Ich weiß.” I know.

You laugh because you knew.

#☆ i4bellingham writes #☆ jamal musiala #jamal musiala x reader #jamal musiala x you #jamal musiala fanfic #jamal musiala fanfiction #jamal musiala imagines #jamal musiala imagine #jamal musiala one shots #jamal musiala one shot #jamal musiala

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chweverni · 6 months

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i gotchu bae moots as your fave songs ??? 💗💗

*INHALES*

the time has come.. thank you sm for this ask whoever u are ilysfm <3

mai @mellowdyverse - signal (twice) mainly bc mai is literally so cute hello? its jus the same as the song. i vibed w the song at my first listen just like how i clicked w mai literally after a minute of talking w her!!!! moreover, she likes cutesy things a lot (such as sanrio accessories) so this song is PERFECT for mai. literally. (perfect like her obvi)

yuyu (my no.1 obvi) @leehanascent or @247yuyu - GANADARA (jay park, IU) hear me out.. this song is so laid back and IU's vocal color on this just reminds me of yuyu. ik how introverted she can be, but she tries her best and she's def one of the first people who sent me asks after reading posts about my mental health so she holds a reALLY special place in my heart, just like this song. (mind u i found this song at shuffle, just like how a single post of my bnd album started our friendship!)

lili (my newest yet sweetest moot of all time) @hyunhanie - MAYDAY (crush, joy) this song is my comfort song bc i kept coming back at it whenever i felt down or unmotivated (such as today) and lili is just like someone you can talk your heart out, bc she WILL comfort you and make you feel better. she also resonates with wanting to meet your moots irl which makes me feel like we're besties doors away from each other :)

cherry (fellow dinonara and south asian!) @staranghae - swan song (le sserafim) this song just gives cherry vibes LMAO bc she's really sweet and hard working and is REALLY REALLY easy going! she makes friends easily and we became moots i think off of a birthday post (?) i found her account while searching for mingyu smaus and it did not disappoint LMAOO

laur (one of the first people to interact with my bnd posts, an amazing moot overall!) @starryriize - hear me out (exo) although we don't interact much, i still love your writing and you were again one of the first people to actually show interest in my bnd posts bc i would get so doubtful while posting stuff so thank you! this song is a pretty chill song and since you're very open minded and lively (and VERY FRIENDLY BTW) i thought this would be the perfect pick! :3

sorry to whoever i didn't include while writing this, if i get reminded, i will surely write ab u in a repost. my apologies for choosing a weird song too aaaaa

#hyeon talks #moot games #finally received an ask

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b0nten · 10 months

Text

THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE STOPS AT DAWN AND SPINS BACK TO HOLD THE DEVIL

[SYNOPSIS] ˚⁀➷｡ being one of five special grades, you learn how to deal with exorcisms, but rarely with loss.

[NOTES] ˚⁀➷｡ i was kinda skeptical to post this because i don’t rlly write for jjk but i had this planned out (sloppily) in my notes for so long. i would like to thank @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat for inspiring me through their fic if i fell through the floor i’d keep falling to post this (i know we’ve never interacted before so i’m literally so sorry if this comes off as random & makes you uncomfortable) because a) of how much i love that fic and b) of how it reminded me of this and actually motivated me to finish and polish it. also big thanks to my shawtybae ray @httpshujii whom i left traumatized after i asked her to beta-read this fic😭😭

[EXTRAS] ˚⁀➷｡ timeline is probably WAAAAAAAAAY off, especially the shibuya incident/culling game. swearing, a lot of words.

24.12.2017

“you two can’t even tell good and evil apart.”

“doesn’t that guy piss you off, mimiko?”

“nanako, want me to hang him?” the brunette holds her rope tight around the dummy’s neck.

her sister, annoyed by the assistant’s words, hisses. “you guys don’t even know how sorcerers like us are treated in the shitty countryside that doesn’t show up on maps. you do all the good and evil you want. but for us, if geto-sama says so, then black is white and white is black. we believe in the world he sees; and we will hang everybody who gets in the way!” she threatens and they both take their combat positions, ready to strike when, suddenly, footsteps echo through the empty alleyway.

“cut it out, you three.” wind blows though silky hair and a perfume they all recognize takes over the air as all of their faces drop. “don’t bother, ijichi, they’re just as stubborn as their dad.” a smile glides across your lips, but disappears just a few moments later. “ew, my pants are stained with curse juice.”

“mom?” “y/n-san?” they gasp at the same time, and ijichi’s head turns back so fast you could swear you heard his neck snap.

“ ‘mom’ ? y/n-san, what’s going on?” he asks, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

“that’s a long story i’ll tell you only if you promise not to snitch to the higher-ups.” you grin at him, patting him on his shoulder as you pass by. “don’t worry, i’m not switching sides.” you reassure, and hear him sigh in relief.

with the speed of light, the twins rush towards you, embracing you in a warm hug.

“miko, please don’t hang my friend, yeah? and you, young lady, what did we talk about, try to be a little less hostile!” you scold, ruffling their hair a little rougher than usual. then, a crash startles all four of you.

“miguel? what the hell are you doing!” the light-brunette shouts, rolling her eyes once the man’s ironic response reacher her ears.

“ugh, ” you can only do the same, brows furrowing when another familiar face pops up, “satoru, pipe down! and pleaaaaase try to not kill him!” you shout to grab gojo’s attention, dragging out the plead.

“when you ask me so nicely, i guess i can make an exception for you, bestie boo!” he shrugs, winking with his only uncovered eye.

ignoring the antics that you’re so used to, your attention falls back on the girls.

“you two, ” you start, clapping your hands closed and dragging your right hand as to conjure a katana. then, you scrape a circle with it in the cobblestone, “i’ll teleport you somewhere safe, i don’t like where this is going, and i gotta clean up some of the curses suguru let loose around here. be careful, i love you.” you wave as a big fire sphere rushes up from the ground, building a barrier between you. before the girls can say anything else, they disappear completely. “ijichi, text me the date and time and i’ll be there. gotta get to kusakabe as soon as i can or he may need to get his diaper changed.”

you laugh, dissipating into a puddle of black, while your underclassman still can’t believe what he’s witnessed.

15.10.2008

you know that what you’re about to do is rash and irrational, and possibly clearly also considered treachery in the jujutsu world. the fact that nobody had already caught wind of what you were up to was and still is in itself a miracle, but you could narrow it down to them thinking you were still grieving; and truth be told, you still kind of were, trying to do it the best you could. healing fresh wounds is never easy and recovering from a break-up that didn’t directly happen is sometimes like trying to sew shut a deep wound with cotton thread.

and that’s what kept you going in the most excruciating year of your life: your wounds deserve to close properly, and it is within your right to be able to run your fingers across your skin, without fearing they’ll plunge deep into your chest and dreading to take them out knowing they’ll be covered in blood and the smell of a broken heart.

so you step, determined and furious to get your cause across. you bang your fists on the big door, and a chubby man of middle age greets you at the entrance.

“what’s your name? do you have an appointment?” he questions, and you answer with the same western bullshit name you gave when you rang them up to book said ‘appointment’. he turns a few pages in his clipboard and finally his face lights up.

“yes, please, come in!” his arm is stretched out in a gentlemanly manner, signaling for you to enter. and you do, something bubbling in the pit of your stomach. excitement? no, that’s almost impossible. hate? hurt? the wish for vengeance you have so obsessively dreamed about? you’re not sure about any of those. when you step into the room, though, you feel nervous. like you’re walking on the thin glass shards of your broken youth — the one that got spat and shat on by the same world that made geto spiral into his madness — stolen mercilessly by the greediness of the higher-ups.

“geto-sama will come in shortly!” he explains, and you gather all your composure to ensure you won’t vomit right then and there.

“he calls himself geto-sama now?” you wonder, and although you haven’t said it out loud, the title still leaves a bitter feeling on your tongue. you imagine maybe that’s what curses taste like to suguru.

“welcome, miss— oh.“ full of confidence he struts from behind two curtains, and when he sees you, his gaze softens and you swear you can catch a glimpse of the boy you lost an autumn ago. “it’s so nice to see you, y/n!” he calls out and picks up his pace, almost rushing to you. “i’m so glad it’s not one of those monkeys! sometimes i get nauseous from seeing them all the time!” he face-palms, then beams, and takes your hands in his, leaving a kiss on your temple, lastly pulling you close to him like he always did, even before he vanished.

you think you’re going to be sick again, watching him act all nonchalant and normal, as if nothing has happened. “how dare he?” you think, feeling the anger pierce your stomach walls, and settling in your throat. how can he act like this? like you’re still high-school sweethearts, like he’s just come back from a mission and you’re standing at the school gates, ready to welcome him back. your brain almost freezes, heart urging you to stay like that, but mind screaming at you to pull away from him.

so, against your heart’s wishes, you tear away from him. “monkeys? that’s what you call them now, suguru?” you click your tongue in annoyance, a habit he knows you have whenever you’re about to get petty. “what happened to civilians, non-sorcerers, humans, people?” you ask, blank face staring daggers into his soul.

“my love, they’re all just monkeys.” your once-lover says with the same nonchalance, “don’t bother being all so formal with them. they can’t even use jujutsu, like we do, so—“ before he can say anything else, you cut him off, something similar to a mix of anger and sadness in your voice.

“don’t call me that, suguru.” your voice cracks a little, eyebrows furrow and your heartbeat picks up its pace, and you think maybe your legs are going to give out on you any minute now. “i’m not here to play happy family reuinted.” you almost choke on your words. “i—”

“geto-sama!!! geto-sama!!!” a panicked, feminine voice comes from behind the curtains, and soon enough, two young girls emerge from them. one has light brown hair, the other’s is a little darker than shoko’s. they can’t be older than 6, 5 if you dare to overthink. the former is dragging her sister by her hand, and the latter is holding a plushy tight against her chest, stumbling here and there.

“what’s wrong, you two?” he asks gently, crouching down to their level. you remember how he used to speak to you the same whenever you came back from a mission sad or displeased and your heart drops at how easy it is to break down your walls and have memories growing like ice flowers in the archives you vouched to burn off your mind.

“mimiko—“ her gaze averts to you and ricochets into the ground, small figure balancing from foot to foot as she apologizes, “oh, i’m sorry for interrupting.”

when you look at them, you can’t help but smile. they look so… sweet. so innocent. what are they doing here? “that’s alright, you don’t have to pardon yourself, it seemed urgent.” with a motherly sympathy you didn’t know you held within you, you explain. with the corner of your eye, you see a smile bloom on geto’s face.

“ohmygod!” the same one calls out to her sister in a not-so-subtle whisper. “that’s the lady whose picture geto-sama has! the one he told us about!”

“nanako… you can’t say that when she’s in front of us… it’s rude.” mimiko half-heartedly scolds her sister.

you can’t help the blush from creeping up your cheeks or the laugh from escaping your lips.

“y/n, these are nanako and mimiko.” suguru explains and nudges them forward. “girls, this is y/n, but you already knew.” he smiles again, abstaining himself from laughing at his own semi-bad joke. “they’re…” he continues. “they’re my epiphany, the reason i left the useless jujutsu world and started to make my own.”

you try to ignore the last part of his introduction and his sickeningly smug grin, and you crouch down too, in order to observe them from closer proximity. “nice to meet you both.” you say, warmly, and touch the floor with your hand. a puddle of black forms around it and you awkwardly rummage through the void. soon enough, you pull out two candy-bars.

“i hope you two like macadamia nuts and chocolate. unfortunately it’s all i have right now.” you apologize with a sheepish smile, handing them the sweets. they look at geto to seek approval, and when he nods enthusiastically, they accept your gift with lots of giggles and bright grins.

suguru’s heart skips a beat before it melts. he really is touched you’re showing his daughters so much kindness, but he’s even happier he sees the same candy-bars you ate in high school. he feel nostalgic, even though he knows it’s only been a year. but just like in his case, he thought a year might have been significant change for you too.

the tender moment is interrupted by knocking on the door. “geto-sama, i’m terribly sorry to disturb, but your next appointment is here.” an assistant calls out, and geto is visibly annoyed.

“tell them to wait for a little bit. we’re still not ready to wrap up.” he commands, outside going silent instantly. “i am so sorry to cut this short, y/n.” he says, admitting regret, “you are welcome to drop by any time you want. and you don’t have to use a fake name.” he’s hopeful now, he’s even more confident, and he steps closer to you.

but as if you two are magnets of the same polarity, your body forces you to take a step back. his gaze saddens and something like despair flashes briefly across his face. it almost reads like “please come by again. please.” almost like a desperate plead.

“i’ll see.” is the only response you can give before turning around and heading to the door. before you open it, you look back at the three of them. “nanako, mimiko, it was nice to meet you.” you say, softness for the two canceling out whatever uncomfortable feelings you had before.

“you too, y/n-sama! please come by again!” they both say back, waving as you leave the room. a peculiar tickle renders your body almost perplexed when you hear the honorific.

you navigate through the temple like you’re trying to find the exit of a maze, but when you’re outside, you take a deep breath of fresh air. your hand travels up to wipe the shells of the tears forming in your eyes and you swear you can smell the blood that’s gushing from your still unclosed wounds, sewn again with cotton thread.

“they’re my epiphany.”

they’re his epiphany.

you replay the scene in your head, and feel desperate the more you chant the mantra, as if your ego has not only been broken, but sanity stripped away from you. then, your thoughts are broken by your phone ringing. flipping up the cover, you try to play everything off as normal.

“shoko?” you say, “is everything alright?”

“i should be the one asking you that.” her tone is sharp, “is everything alright with you, y/n?” it softens, and like a dam about to break lose, you sniffle and answer out.

“no.” it’s clear, it’s there, you said it. you don’t have to pretend.

“come over. i miss having my girl around.” she says, and you giggle.

“you’re lucky i’m in the area. i’ll be there in fifteen, girlfriend. and stop talking to me like im one of your hoes.”

she just laughs manically before ending the call. you smile, and go.

10.04.2009

you don’t know for sure if whatever you feel against nanako and mimiko is compassion or pity. or maybe hatred, sometimes disguised as jealousy. but ever since geto said that, there is this little voice in the back of your head that keeps playing the same sentence, like your mind’s a broken record.

“he chose them over you.”

you’re not sure how to feel. they’re kids. they’re young, they didn’t coax him into starting this. maybe they were just caught in the crossfire, you like to guess. maybe they were the last straw.

or maybe, you were simply not good enough, which, in all honesty, was hard to accept. being a special-grade sorcerer that came from nothing isn’t easy. someone’s always on your back, refusing to get off; from the higher-ups to one’s parents. it’s hard to live up to pre-made expectations, and carry burdens on an already-cracked spine, but you’ve always been strong — so strong even gojo pissed his pants sometimes — so what happened? what made him resort to this?

finally, after looking through the things he left behind in his room, you came to understand geto didn’t leave because he wanted to, he left because that was what it came to. and slowly, you accepted that the twins really were nothing more than two girls caught in a crossfire, that geto somehow saved. his last mission, it must’ve been excruciating, he must’ve seen hell in its true form (again) or death itself in front of him (for the third time) when he went to that village and slaughtered it mercilessly.

that was actually the case, as you come to learn. after six months you build up the courage to visit again, this time unannounced, this time without a purpose. you were sure it’d be left unserved anyway, like the last one. so, when suguru welcomes you into the room once more, you make small talk. and ask about his life, sometimes trying not to gag when he makes disgusting remarks about “monkeys”.

and voluntarily, he tells you the girls’ story after they fall asleep on your lap, dead exhausted thanks to the running around they did. you learn their past, and see something ignite in suguru that makes you think. if you had been there, would you have done the same? would you have stopped him, or joined him? he did nothing wrong, he killed abusers. he killed people that beat two defenseless children, something he shouldn’t have been persecuted for, you thought. this whole monkey thing, tough, something else, another story. but maybe, just maybe had somebody heard him out, he wouldn’t be staying across from you dressed in robes but instead you would’ve been sitting in an apartment you bought with all the money you saved up, all four of you cradled next to the other watching tv with the volume off as to not wake up the sleeping girls. and maybe, just maybe, satoru would have found the fushiguro-zen’in boy and his sister that he’s so serious on finding and they’d come over and play together, while you, shoko and sometimes utahime and mei gossip on the couch and suguru, satoru, nanami and ijichi hang out in the kitchen.

if it weren’t for your teenage heart and forgiving soul, you wouldn’t have begged geto to consider your idea.

“i can try and negotiate a deal for you.” you’re serious, and not about to give up, no matter what he says. “i’ve been taking extra missions, suguru. they like me, they started to value my opinion in the last two years.” you say, and your eyes gloss over when you look at him.

“y/n…” he sighs. “this is my choice. i’m content living like this.”

you break a little.

“don’t say that suguru. it’s not too late, you know? i can vouch for you, i can make sure nanako and mimiko are safe, if that’s what you’re actually concerned about. i will take extra shifts, i will fight for you.” you start to crack and chip off at the edges. “in the end, you did nothing wrong killing those villagers, but that’s something they’re just gonna look away from because you killed non-sorcerers. hateful, filthy, non-sorcerers that deserved their fate.” you say, gritting and swearing behind teeth, jaw clenched and breathing like your lungs are glued together.

suguru always liked your sense of justice. it was always strong, defined, your moral compass was as clear as the sky on the first day you were transferred to jujutsu high. it was refreshing to see someone like you, that fought, no matter what; that gave herself up for the cause she wanted to prove. you would’ve killed yourself if it meant judgement had been served correctly, and even if it meant losing yourself on the way, you loved standing up for what was right. you’d tear at yourself so everybody could be happy. and he could see it in your eyes, the way they shine with the beauty of a thousand galaxies and the passion of a hundred suns, radiating hope, even after all that you’ve been through. you’re hope, you’re love, you’re light, ready to sacrifice herself just so others could grasp that spark even for a little while. ah, as long as…, like you said in your heydays, cigarette between teeth as geto lit it for you, shoko boo’d in the background and satoru annoyed nanami but entranced haibara, holding the world in your hands, ready to blast another wall, to save another soul, to make another life-source. you were temperance and the tower all in one, the embodiment of balanced destruction, the origin of damaged harmony. you ate, chewed and spit yourself out so everyone could see that you were raw — you were like them — you were all the same, kids with power and jobs too big for ages that didn’t even bloom correctly yet.

but this time, he can’t let you do that. you can’t be his divine intervention anymore, you can’t make a catastrophe of your life just to build his anew. he had chosen his way the day he committed mass murder, roots of his goal planted deep inside his hatred for non-sorcerers, and it was far too late to go back, no matter what you said or could have said or say, his life is now with his cult. and he looks at you, with his girls cradled in your lap and wonders of the life you could have had, had amanai’s death not taken such a toll on him. he never told you, but he wanted you to meet her. she would’ve absolutely adored you, no doubt, and vice-versa.

sometimes he wakes up in the morning and you’re not next to him and then he imagines it too: a little house in meguro, and he’d wake up at the crack of dawn and look at you sleeping peacefully beside him, then he’d get up and cook breakfast. he envisions evening walks in spring, when the cherry blossoms bloom, and nanako and mimiko running wildly along the river banks, and you shouting after them to be careful. his heart swells with what if’s and maybe’s but he remembers that in his world, he can achieve that. and he doesn’t have to worry about any of you three being in danger either.

you feel the need to change the topic. you feel the regret floating around in the air — you feel the wound you tried to sew shut so many times miserably — and it reeks of fresh blood and sweet tea and plum blossoms and the winter he confessed his feelings.

“let me help you get them to bed.” you smile, and he reciprocates. he takes nanako from your lap softly as not to disturb her sleep, and guides you to their room.

you find yourself kissing their foreheads as if they’re your daughters, as if you hadn’t met them only two times in your life, and suguru finds himself too close to you. you think he’s too close to you too, but right now, in this shit you’ve dragged yourself into, you don’t care at all anymore.

so you kiss him, you lift yourself up on your toes enough for him to already know what you’re doing and to bend down. electricity sparks and you see yourself in the middle of snowy shibuya crossing yet again, people going on about their day while you pour your hearts out to the other silently, carnally, with chapped lips falling against each other, devouring the curse of love with gluttony, and freezing hands tangled in the intimacy of two sixteen year olds dumb enough to think they’re able to write their own destiny.

that’s why you continue to visit. in the rest of 2009, 2010, 2011, and so on. between what you lost that you never even had, and the brief moment of serenity of feeling like a family with geto and the girls, you finally feel like you have something to live for.

it goes without saying that it still frightened you — if anyone were to find out where you were going, who you were going to — they all may have been put in danger. but the moment the big, wooden door to the temple opens and two smiley faces jump into your arms while the boyfriend you never had the guts to break up with greets you sweetly, all the worry dissipates. you were not there “to play happy family reunited”, you had found a family. and as twisted life had layed itself out for geto, maybe yours wasn’t that far from it either.

so, once a month you come, with gifts, with candy, with love and worry and whatnot. you’re there to see the twins grow up, sometimes you help suguru cut their hair, to navigate through all the stages of girlhood you experienced too — well, almost all, since it’s kind of hard to give them really everything when their dad is a wanted mass murderer in a world over half of the population doesn’t even know exists. but you’re there, and you’re happy when you’re with them. they’re your sun.

and it goes like that for years, you come, you laugh, and you leave. sometimes before you leave, geto kisses you chastely, and sometimes more, which means you stay the night, and he partially sees his dream come true the next morining; and he loves it, he can’t wait to get it done, but he feels guilty. guilty for the plan he’s come up with and guilty knowing you’re gonna be on the opposite side, no matter what.

when the girls turn eight, they start calling you ‘mom’, to your and geto’s surprise. but they like it, and honestly, so do you and so does their dad. it’s random, but it feels natural, it feels warm. suguru’s heart sinks, and he thinks he can keep his plan hidden and pushes it back a few more years, until he can’t anymore. so, on the twins’ eleventh birthday, a beautiful day of 2013, it’s the last time you come. you try to talk him out of it, but no matter how many pleads and promises and compromises, his decision is still the one he told you. that day, when you leave and look back with a fake smile at the kids waving at you from the door, the wind feels sharper on your face and the air is definitely colder than what it was supposed to ever be. you go to the bar and drown out your sorrows, glass after glass after glass after glass after glass until you’re numb. and even in the numbness, there’s still an aching pain, like a scorching dagger has been stabbed through your heart, burning the skin and muscle and everything in between on its way to bring you down. you wonder if that’s what curses feel when they’re exorcised.

so, while nanako and mimiko ask about you and why their mom isn’t coming anymore, you bury yoursef in work. you kill, you start to teach, you do paperwork. satoru comes over sometimes and when you look at him, you can only cry. shoko comes over more than sometimes, and when you look at her you can also only cry. they both hug you and sometimes cry with you too: a pity party. nanami writes to you a lot, and when you read his messages you also cry. sometimes you go to visit him, and he looks at you with a disgusting look. he knows you haven’t broken records these past few months because of your love for jujutsu, but because of the hate you bear for it. his heart shatters seeing his senior like this. so, he pours you tea and gets you the cookies you always loved, stashed next to a framed picture of you three — you, him and haibara.

kento always thought you were like glue. you kept everyone together. and although him and yu were only your juniors, you made them feel like they were your brothers. you brought together the jujutsu world so closely, you made it seem like it could work, until nobody was there to help you, even though you tried so hard. it was like a mirage, but so closely and delicately conjured one could swear it was real — maybe that was your true domain expansion — and you would’ve killed yourself if that meant it’d be kept intact, and you kind of did, because at the price of your own well-being, you took care of the others. you worked overtime so gojo had less missions to go on, helped nanami get out of jujutsu and welcomed him right back with open arms and broken heart that still needed mending desperately, and helped shoko with med school until she decided she’d just cheat herself into getting her eligibility.

and you’re a wreck, so you browse pictures in your phone of you, suguru and the girls, you frame them but keep them away from the world’s eyes, god knows who may find them and put you on death-row too. you look at them and feel like you’re mourning geto a second time around, but this time you’re also mourning.. your kids. the kids who called you mom, who sometimes called you up at night when they had some “girl problems” they couldn’t tell suguru right off the bat, the girls that asked you to sew their ripped clothes, and who watched you and geto do that side by side.

you didn’t understand how suguru came to that conclusion, to push you away for good. you never tried to erase his ideology from the girls’ minds, you simply mothered them. you loved them, trained them, you loved him, so what was up with him?

geto feels miserable too. he lost you once, and now he’s lost you twice. he’s rougher with his monkeys, he feels like he’s mourning once again too. and when he looks at nanako and mimiko he cannot stop his heart from ripping apart. they look at pictures of you. every single day, there’s not one that passes when he doesn’t want to call you and tell you to come back. to be the glue, to love him and his daughters, to make them laugh and jump and smile and make him feel warm and fuzzy inside all again. for the first time in his life, he has doubts about his dream world, because when he looks at the once so cheerful duo, sad while holding your picture, and when he remembers the tears in your eyes and how you wiped them away quickly when they came to hug you goodbye, he wants to kill himself like you always did for your cause. he wants to make the devil chew him and spit him out for forgetting you are just like him too — flesh, bones, and misery.

so, for once in his new life, geto does something he never thought he would do — he compromises. exactly 364 days after he forbids you from coming by again, he tells the twins they can go out in the world and enjoy their life. maybe they’ll go looking after you, he thinks, he hopes, and he sees their faces light up and they see his do the same. “but don’t talk to monkeys when it’s not necessary!” he orders, no, he asks. he can’t order his children around.

and mimiko and nanako go out in the world, alone, for the first time, the following day. geto asks them to buy any cake they want, to celebrate for when they come back. so they head to the bakery that breached the barriers of what they knew, once every thirty days: they mostly knew the universe geto had created for them, and once a month came clashing down an asteroid, with flowers, sweets and everything the cult didn’t really have, their mother.

so, after almost getting lost thrice on the metro, when they enter the minimalist store they searched on google maps because they kept a cardboard box of sweets you once brought over, and see your tired figure, tears in your eyes as you mouth and explain the kanji of their name to the lady with the piping bag in her hand, their eyes swell and they can only weakly sob “mom..?”, unsure if it’s actually you or a mirage.

when your head snaps in the direction of the door and you see the two kids you missed so badly in a year, you stare at them blankly. you’re afraid to get close to them, thinking maybe they’re just a shadow created by the months of exhaustion, but when mimiko asks if you remember them, you break down crying, embracing them while they weep on your shoulder too. “how could i not?” you stifle between sniffles and feel them hug you even tighter. it’s almost like movie scene, and even the cashier is on the verge of tears.

when you pull away, you’re all red-eyed and stuffy-nosed, hair a mess and hearts clammy. “let me pay for the cake first, and we can go to my place, yes?” you say and they both nod like they did when you weren’t quite as closely acquainted yet.

“we also have to buy a cake..” nanako says, “could you help us?”

you don’t hesitate and pull them to the refrigerator to chose. “what was the one you always bought?” mimiko asks, heart thumping in her chest. “well, it’s the one i have over there, but they’re actually order-only.” you say, eyeing the cake, sad. the twins bite their lips and scan whatever’s left in the display window.

“excuse me,” the lady jumps in, trying to regain composure too “we have cupcakes with that same filling, if it’s any better!” she says, “and they’re 20 percent off if you buy more than 10! and 50 for more than twenty!”

“then we’d like 24 of them, please.” you say, twins’ faces dropping.

“24? isn’t that too much?” nanako chokes out, and her sister giggles a bit at her expression.

“not at all, no, no!” you reassure, patting their heads. “and don’t even dare to pay me back.” you half-heartedly threaten when the other one reaches into her pocket to take out her wallet. “put it back, miko.”

and so, you get to patch up your heart a little bit. you buy them candles, and they blow them on the cupcakes, and take pictures and laugh about whatever.

and it was like this a lot, because whenever they came over to yours they begged you to tell them about your teenage years and show them everything you did. and, because you couldn’t bring yourself to throw away the years of beauty you had documented on film and paper, you showed them everything, accompanied by cups of tea from porcelain haibara bought you from missions he went on, and cakes and biscuits and all the snacks they asked for (thank god you always kept some stashed for satoru).

pictures of you, satoru, suguru, shoko, nanami, haibara, mei and utahime. they were all there — immortal in the plastic of the polaroids and untouchable in the albums — and no one could steal away those precious moments. you showed them pictures of every kind, going on missions and late night hang-outs in your dorms, they gasped at the sight of geto smoking and laughed at the hairstyles you did on him. in the span of weeks and months of two years, you showed them the person you had fallen in love with, and the friends that welcomed you with open arms in tokyo.

of course they were especially keen on pictures of you and geto, fangirling over the “couple pictures”, the ones shoko took of you both when you weren’t watching and later on gave to you. you showed them satoru’s first hangover, and how their dad held his hair back as he was vomiting his hollow purple into the toilet, and the selfie you and shoko took, a little less hungover, leaning against the stalls.

you showed them videos of you all rehearsing your techniques and geto protecting nanami from gojo’s annoying teenage ass.

you took them to disneyland and rode with them on all the rollercoasters they wanted, and took so many photos you bought nanako a picture-only phone. each of you hung them up in your homes, and sometimes suguru stumbled upon the girls’ pictures when he went into their room, and cried over your portrait upon seeing you in a winnie the pooh headband almost identical to the one he wore when he first took you there in high school.

and although, physically, it weren’t four of you gathered around the table anymore, you still laughed together and you felt free, until 2017 came along.

it was maybe early november when you got the call from satoru, away on business in sapporo. it sounded urgent, and first and foremost, he sounded scared. not frightened, but rather desperate, like he didn’t know what to do. therefore, on your first day back in tokyo, you went to see him.

“just rip the bandaid off, satoru.” you say, gently.

“geto has declared war on us.”

you’re left dumbfounded, tea cup shaking in your hand. you can only blink, awaiting gojo to say more. to give you more information.

“he came by the day i called you. said he’d unleash a thousand curses in kyoto and shinjuku on christmas eve. wanted yuta to join him and belittled maki.”

you put down your cup, head resting in your palms. it feels like a bad dream. you knew what to expect of him, that sooner or later he’d act on his crazy dreams of a non-sorcerer free world, but hoped it would be a lot later than this.

“was he alone?” you ask, gojo’s face making a funny look.

“no, two girls that wanted to eat crepes on takeshita and a shirtless guy.” he explains, “why do you ask?”

this time, you lie to him. you can’t let him know you’ve committed treachery for almost a decade now. “then we should also expect some counter-attack from them, not just some curses running loose.” you explain, and gojo nods approvingly.

“you’re right. we should be careful then, especially with the managers.” he says, and you only bob your head a ‘yes’. “y/n” his voice softens, and round shades peel from his face, “don’t do this to yourself.” he crouches down next to you, hand caressing your shoulder. when he feels your muscles tense, he welcomes you with open arms and you cry on his shoulder for a good ten minutes. when he feels you’ve calmed down, he unlocks his phone and dials a number. it doesn’t ring for long, and he speaks, “hey, emo girl. come over. we’re having a reunion.” he laughs, “y/n’s sad, so you do the maths on how manny bottles you bring.” he says, regretting instantly. “wait, don’t you think five is too much, shoko? hello? shoko? agh, fuck you, girl.” you laugh, and so does he, stroking your back once more. “everything’s gonna be okay, babygirl.”

“dont you ever call me that again.”

the next day, you wake up with your phone blowing up, next to shoko, in gojo’s bed. “answer the fucking phone already.” she groans, and you do, but not before kicking her side.

“yes?” without even looking at the caller id you speak, head spinning from all the alcohol (two bottles and a half, each) and voice hoarse from the packs of cigarettes each one of you smoked the previous night. (three, each.) there goes shoko’s quitting.

“mom? you’re not answering the door, are you okay?” nanako speaks from the other side and you instantly jump out of bed, startling your friend.

“i’ll be there in… fifteen. please wait.” you say and hang up after hearing a positive answer.

you dart from the apartment, hugging gojo on your way out, explaining something came up.

you drive through the city with the speed of light, getting home not just in time, but seven minutes early, and the twins hug you when you see them. when they sit you down on the couch to tell you something, your heart sinks, because you can already feel what it is.

“geto-sama declared war on the college last week.” the fawn haired admits, and the other just looks down at the ground.

“i know.” is all you say, trying to hold back tears.

“we’re really sorry. and if you don’t want to see us again, it’s alright, we, we get it.“ mimiko says, words pulled out of her mouth with prongs, almost unable to finish her sentence.

“don’t you ever think something like that.” you snap, dam breaking behind your eyes. “i saw you all this time despite not agreeing with suguru’s ideology, but you’re still my kids too, you know? i have also done some parenting these last ten years.”

it’s bittersweet, and they feel it too, and they cry too, because from being rescued by suguru to seeing the stranger lady walk into their temple every month and showing them the kindness only geto ever did, you became their mother. you stuck by them, always looking over your shoulder whenever you visited them and taking extra precautions whenever they visited you. you were their asteroid, you were their world, and although geto hurt you, not once, but twice, you still loved him and them like you were there when he saved them.

and they always saw the broken youth and undreamt dreams that hid behind your eyes, so motherly, so tender and reassuring albeit living no better than a fugitive. their lives were less stressful than yours, because you sacrificed yourself to come see them. maybe out of fear of losing geto yet again, or denial, but whatever you may have feared, you always put your little beautifully broken and beloved family above all else, bravely so.

“just promise me you’ll both be careful.” is all you say before they collapse in your arms. and you stand there, reeking of alcohol and cigarettes and the blood of the wound you thought closed up.

“we will, no matter what.”

24.12.2017

you walk into jujutsu high and can’t believe your eyes. you’re tired from killing curses and giving kusakabe a pep-talk every ten minutes, but you don’t think this is all in your mind: smashed cobblestone, holes in the ground. and blood, lots of blood.

you run into the infirmary, shoko’s door flying open as she lets out a half-scream.

“what’s your problem?” she asks, partly annoyed.

“i’m sorry for worrying about my students after i babysat a grown man all day.” you reply, and she laughs, “atsuya again, huh? too bad he’s actually talented, that crybaby persona gets too much somtimes. they’re all safe, yuta used rct on them, but gojo wants to talk to you.” she says.

“is he in the common lobby?” you ask, and she nods approvingly.

when you enter the room, you feel a chill creep up your spine. satoru is still, way too still.

“y/n.”

“satoru.”

he gulps down saliva before asking you the question. “did suguru have daughters?” he says, and you answer, mindless.

“yeah, he has tw—“ then it dawns on you. “satoru?” he sees it too. in the small crack of your voice, some glass shards hitting the linoleum. “satoru, don’t tell me,” you’re on the verge of tears. your throat is dry, stomach doing flips. “oh my god.” you gasp, legs turning into sand, and he rushes to catch you.

“he told me to take care of the three of you, and i didn’t understand and i thought about the crepe girls and then you of course and.. you and.. i… i’m sorry, y/n. i didn’t want it to end like this.” he spits out word after word, boulder rolling off his shoulder, letting himself cry in your embrace.

“no one did, satoru. i’m never gonna blame you for his death, yeah?” your eyes start to water too. he’s still the boy that lost his best friend, you’re still the girl that lost her boyfriend, shoko is still the one that lost a best friend, and you’re all three still teenagers, waiting for someone to guide you through the loss.

you stand like that for a while, until you both calm down.

“thank you.” gojo satoru, the strongest, smiles through tears he’d only ever shown a handful of people.

“thank you, boywonder.” you smile through tears you’d only ever shown a handful of people.

“i have to talk to yaga.” he runs a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily before hugging you goodbye.

you sit down in your chair and watch the sun set. through the window, maki, yuta, panda and inumaki wave at you. you reciprocate, thankful they’re still alive, when all of a sudden your phone rings.

“mom?” the moment you answer, mimiko’s voice cracks on the other end. she usually isn’t one to call, so you’re guessing you know what this is about.

“i’m coming.” you say between your own small shallow breaths, waving the students goodbye through the window once again. you make another quick phone call before leaving campus.

“yes?”

“megumi, gojo’s had a rough day and i can’t spend time with him tonight. shoko also has to do overtime at the morgue. can you keep him company for a bit?”

he sighs. “yeah, i will.”

“thank you.”

“sensei… take care. you’re a great sorcerer…and a great person. just felt like you needed to hear that.”

“thank you, megumi. you too, kiddo.”

31.10.2018

“you know this was reckless, yeah?”

“we’re sorry for keeping you in the dark so long. it’s just — we knew you would’ve stopped us if we told you kenjaku took over geto-sama’s body, and we really want him to have a proper burial.” the brunette clutches her phone to her chest, eyes fixed on the ground.

“we didn’t mean to keep you in the dark so long, but you were already grieving geto-sama for the second time. we didn’t think you’d find out like you did.” mimiko apologizes too, and even though they stand in front of you, apologizing for the biggest mistake they have ever made, you can’t scold them. not when they thought about you, about easing your pain.

“you guys did a stupid thing, that’s all i’m gonna say.” the pause and sigh you take between sentences make them want to burry themselves into the ground, “but i’m not mad, because you did it with good intent.” your voice softens and their gazes come up, meeting your face. “i’m gonna help you, but please wait until i come back.”

their faces lighten as you stroke their hair, stopping when your phone rings.

“ijichi? itadori? alone? shibuya? what’s he doing there? he’s supposed to be in harajuku station with mei ” they read between the words, knowing exactly who this itadori is, “i can’t, i really have enough curses to fight, the meiji-jingu area by itself is packed.” you apologize with gritted teeth and exhausted breath, “i’ll enter the curtain when i’m done, and send you guys some back-up,yeah?”

you look at the twins again, wanting to instinctively crouch down to their level, but they’ve gotten too tall for that. “please, don’t go out. and if you do, be careful, and stay safe. don’t do anything rash.” you say, embracing them both. “i love you two so much.” you hold onto them a bit longer than usual, kissing their cheeks before unlocking the door.

“we love you too.” they say in unison, and smile.

“be careful, yeah? lock the door after i teleport.”

“always.” is the last thing you hear before disappearing.

9.11.2018

“come on, pick up, pick up, pick up…”

you bite your nails in frustration. it’s been a week since the culling game has started, a week since gojo got sealed, since nanami died. since maki got burned. and the biggest act of jujutsu terrorism happened in less than 24 hours under your very noses. a lethal battle royal, where everyone has to kill each other.

it’s been a full week since neither of the twins have contacted you. they don’t respond to their texts either. for mimiko it was normal, she didn’t really use her phone as much as her sister, but when nanako, whose cursed technique is all about using her phone, doesn’t have it, then that’s when you start to worry.

“sensei…” megumi walks up next to you, visibly worried, “who are you looking for? maybe we can help?”

you’ve known megumi ever since gojo found him, and met tsumiki a few times too. you helped gojo train him, something that turned out useful because of your somehow similar cursed techniques: his ten shadows and your use of void space were easy to adapt to the other. you had grown close, especially because of your shared annoyance for his guardian. yet, he never once met your daughters. you would’ve loved to introduce them to each other, mimiko would have been thrilled to have another just as quiet friend of her age and nanako would have loved to bother the two of them. still, you didn’t. you couldn’t, because that would mean explaining to gojo why you have two kids with you and (while still visiting the temple) possibly needing to convince suguru to let you take them out, and even a possible slip-up would’ve meant all hell breaking loose. though sometimes you thought maybe not, since it wasn’t non-sorcerers you were wanting to befriend them with, but it was still too risky. higher-ups had eyes everywhere, and you didn’t want to risk being labeled as foe.

“y/n-sensei, fushiguro’s right!” yuuji chimes in, making you laugh a little bit, “tell us, maybe we’ve seen the person!”

“and once we’re done speaking with master tengen, we can help you search for them.”

“you too, yuki?” you sigh, still spamming the call button.

“that’s tsukumo-senpai to you!” she jokes.

“ugh, someone, take this thing away already! it keeps buzzing way too much!” a hole opens on itadori’s hand, sukuna groaning some curse words and spitting a cell phone out, full of annoyance and disgust.

your heart drops and your mind blurs as you look at it. green, silicone, bunny ears.

“sensei?” yuuta now directs his attention to you too. “sensei, what’s wrong?” he seems worried, and so do the rest of them.

“what’s that?” choso points to the green rectangle on the ground, crouching and flipping it around. they all look at the screen, which reads “mom”.

“that’s a cellphone, choso!” yuki explains.

“that’s — that’s nanako’s cellphone.” you stammer, collapsing to your knees. “yuuji, when— how? this is bad, bad, bad, bad..” you think out loud, voice shakier with every word as you flip the phone from one side to the other. “she-she can’t use her technique without her phone, oh my god. but she’s definitely with mimiko, so maybe they can transfer points to each other, and her combat skills aren’t bad at all, maybe.. ”

“y/n-sensei, i don’t know how that got there.” itadori speaks, almost ashamed.

“i do!” another orifice opens on his hand, grinning. “i killed them.”

everybody’s in shock, you gasp, phone falling on the floor as both your hands cover your mouth.

“the dark haired’s head i blew off, the other’s i sliced.” the curse continues.

“itadori, please make that thing shut up.” maki orders harshly, expression softening when her gaze falls back on you.

“sukuna, this is not the time for jokes.” itadori intervenes.

“i’m not joking. they tried to boss me around, telling me they’ll give me another finger if i kill kenjaku. some brats, trying to command the king of curses around, pfft. i couldn’t give a damn about them wanting that body back or whatever.”

yuki and yuta help you up. megumi stares at you, and choso has partially read the air, pitiful expression plastered across his face. itadori’s head hangs low. yours does too. you don’t blame him, you could never, but you’d like to beat sukuna dead right then and there. exorcize him out of his mind, over and over again. your blood boils, and you feel the cursed energy forming in the pit of your stomach. the ground breaks beneath you, literally, and everybody watches the crack extend into the horizon. you feel like a part of you has died again. the first one died when geto committed mass murder and disappeared off of the face of earth, the second one died when he told you to stop visiting the temple. the third one died on christmas eve, with suguru, and two more parts, the fifth and sixth, died when you found out your girls were dead, a few moments ago. you didn’t even know you had that many in you, but you knew you needed an outlet.

so, you use the only one you have around, that is not fatal to anybody: you let the shards break, you let them explode, allow them to cut you — you scream. you scream, falling to the ground, hands gripping at your hair. and you scream, you scream for nanako and mimiko, for suguru, for satoru, for shoko, for nanami who could’ve escaped his destiny had he not come back, for haibara, for inumaki, for mai, for mechamaru, for nobara who’s fighting death, for the youth you had lost, for the kids that are next to you in this hellhole, for the youth they’ve been stripped of, you scream for your life and scream. and megumi sees one of the women he grew up around losing it, and yuta and itadori see their teacher in shambles, maki sees her role model falling apart; yuki sees the only other special-grade, that’s not a teenager, she has left fighting to not blow up the country, and choso sees a talented sorcerer with a good heart dying inside.

and you scream, you scream until your throat is dry and even dryer and you cough, cough dry, cough blood, cough until you just stop.

megumi kneels down in front of you, and you just stare at him. he looks back at you, eyelashes wet with tears he’d never admit of having shed, silently begging you to not leave him too. he grasps your hands softly like suguru did on the first day you showed up at his temple and pulls you in to hug you. and you see in him the boy suguru used to be, and in all your other students the group of teenagers you built a family with and your heart breaks because they built their own too.

maki kneels down too, and hugs you too, and so does yuta, and although, sheepishly, yuji does that too. choso thinks a bit but megumi nods in approval and he does join, and yuki also circles her arms around you as you cry. deep down you feel and know they’re scared of what you would do, so they hold you down.

megumi never saw you cry once. not because you weren’t a cryer, the three of swords was marked by scalding iron on your heart, but because you never really cried in front of people you didn’t know, or people you didn’t want to perceive you as weak. but he remembers the only time — once, when him and tsumiki were staying over at gojo’s for the weekend — he heard you through the walls. he was eleven, he believes, and he still remembers how you sounded. the memory is sewn into his brain, and whenever he remembers it, his stomach knots and his lymph nodes harden. since then, sometimes, when he saw you smiling, he only thought about what’s kept underneath your smile and your designer clothes and jujutsu records that you broke.

“i raised them, they were my girls too.” you whisper, “they only wanted their dad to have a proper burial, was that really so much to ask for?” your head shakes in disapproval to their fate, “curse users or not, i still carry their picture around in my wallet, i still have every inch of my home full of pictures of them.”

you stop to catch a breath. they’re all still around you, not letting go.

“if it means killing kenjaku, i’ll turn myself into a vengeful spirit if it has to come to that.”

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oswlld · 4 months

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oswlld's monthly wrap up: may

note: i am trying something a bit different this year, so bear with me as i figure out how i want to format this. i wanted to spend more time sharing what i consume, beyond what i rb, and put my thoughts in one place. these posts are okay to rb

Arsenic and Adobo, Mia P. Manansala [started 05/18, finished 06/03] I didn’t dip my toes into the light murder mystery genre until now and to be honest, I’m not sure if it’s working for me. But I have seen recommendations floating around this series with filipino characters and wanted to check it out. The main character, Lila, is eerily specific to my personal experiences and upbringing, but the writing feels severely lacking because I’m actively looking for more character development and depth. My best friend clarified that this genre doesn’t really flesh out the characters in the way I want it to. In the end, it just fell flat for me. I gave it 3.5⭐️ on storygraph (which might be generous) — Crying in H-Mart, Michelle Zauner [started 05/09, finished 06/09] Have you even got a book that you know that you’ll love, so you just end up avoiding it at all costs? This is a memoir that I needed to read this slowly because it just felt incredibly special. And so painful. If you’re a first gen aapi with a difficult relationship with your mother, this is going to be a LOT for you. Sobbing, snotty, the whole works. Take long breaks in between reads if you need it. I luckily saved the heaviest part of the book for when I was taking an impromptu trip to the lake, surrounded by so much sun, mist, and life. The world was comforting me and wiping away my tears. 5.0⭐️ on storygraph!!

23.5 Degrees, GMMTV [started: 03/08, dnf] I only had time to catch episode 9 in May. I thought I would be able to complete the series this month, but alas it might be a DNF. Please tell me that the adorable teachers got together! — Doctor Who, Disney+ [started: 05/10, in prog] It shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone that DW is on here. I am a DW blog first, multifandom blog second. I’m loving the spin RTD is taking with the show for this run, having the genre touch on the supernatural/mythical/fantasy. It still has the same DNA but it’s so fresh. I only caught the first two eps on premiere week and haven’t had the time to keep up with the show weekly, but I am catching up soon. — Murderville, Netflix [started 02/10, finished: 05/23] I forgot to include this in my february wrap up, but I watched eps 1-4 back then and finally got around to seeing the last two eps this month. This show is such a delight! I love the unique twist on the concept of procedural improv, where the guest star actually have to solve the case at the end of the ep. They’re not there to just play off the other actors, they invite themselves to interact with the plot without taking it too seriously. If this sounds right up your alley to turn your brain down to like… 25%, please check this out. — Attack on Titan [started: 05/26, in prog] I have quite a journey ahead of me, but I’m happy to report that I LOVED the first ep. What a strong start to my anime era! This is gonna be my summer obsession, I can just feel it. By the time this posts, I will have seen eps two and maybe three(??). Gimme them right now, in an IV please. — Devil’s Plan, Netflix [started: 04/23, ALMOST complete] Bestie and I are OBSESSED with this competition series and we just learned there will be a s2, YAYY! This isn’t a show where you can turn your brain off. Now that I think about it, I don’t think there’s been a challenge I fully understood until ep 10, but man is it fun watching the contestants figure it out. They’re all SO intelligent and SOOO charming. And the games are so creative and elevated, it makes the stakes so charged! We are a few min into ep 11, out of 12, and we are planning to finish it this week. I don’t want this show to endddd!

Whew! I thought I didn’t watch much this month, but I covered a lot of ground on the TV front huh.

Pedro, Netflix [watched on 05/05] First off, you’ll be delighted to know that the artist and subject matter of the film, Pedro Friedeberg, has two cats named Wikipedia and Netflix. What I find so refreshing about this documentary in particular is Pedro, the unwilling participant during the process. The filmmaker, Liora Spilk Bialostozky, takes great care in sharing her insecurities about it. Liora is not shy about her adoration for her favorite artist and Pedro is very firm with his boundaries when pressed about his personal life. It makes for a very delightful, yet tense friendship between the two. — Polite Society [watched on 05/31] This is still fresh in my mind but what a spectacular film! LOVE how it puts the sister bond in the forefront of this classic action film, as well as all the female friendships. It makes the tonal shift flow seamlessly because the heart of the film beats strong. The best scene was the KHAN vs KHAN fight sequence, Ria vs Lena. The bashing, the biting, and the blood! The choice to make the final blow be self-inflicted, especially when it targets my personal experience, really took this film to new heights. I want to just ‘This movie has EVERYTHING’ meme the hell out of this. It has weird girls, judgmental aunties, college dropouts who have an estranged relationship with making art, torture scenes through the use of leg waxing, reproductive autonomy, FEMALE RAGE! It deserves to be up there when people think of 10 Things I Hate About You and Clueless.

GÉNESIS, Peso Pluma [first time listening] Before Coachella, I knew very little about Peso Pluma but his live performance really shot him to the top of my list of artists to catch up on. When I was little, my dad always had corrido playing in his car radio and to this day, he still occasionally plays it in the garage. What I really admire about GÉNESIS is the modern twists the artist takes in the production and writing, perfectly paying homage to the traditional without it sounding dated. I think it’s largely due to his vocals. He doesn’t shy away from perfecting at the cost of being authentic and it shines in songs such as Rubicon and 77. The latter half of the album really packs a punch, it’s so hard to pick a favorite. Everything from Lady Gaga to the end is just banger after banger after banger. Having this album play in my car… I really do take after my father. — LAS LETRAS YA NO IMPORTAN, Residente [first time listening] I first heard of Residente from the song Immigrants (We Get the Job Done) from the Hamilton Mixtape. Even then, I made a mental note to get back to him, but lost track of time until I started listening to Peso Pluma. This compilation consists of 23 songs and it’s such a sublime experience from beginning to end! It’s cinematic, it’s heavy, it’s a party, AND it’s skipless. He has a level of talent that has me raging!!! HE’S SO GOOOOOOD TF?!?!? The first time I heard 313, I wrote a note on my phone with “hhhhhhhh???!?!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!how dare he” and I stand by that statement. It’s almost six minutes long and not one second was wasted. Where Peso Pluma brings the traditional corrido to the present, Residente brings rap/hip-hop into the future. Whenever I get a chance to jump back into the album in the car, the songs I tend to gravitate towards are Artificial Inteligente, Cerebro, Yo No Sé Pero Sé, Que Fluya, and Las Letras Ya No Importan. This guy doesn’t miss, I hate him (affectionate). — Everything I Know About Love, Laufey [first time listening] This album is magnificent, I am UNWELL. The way I feel about this album is the same way I felt about Five Seconds Flat last summer: a feeling so bone deep, my soul begs for release. Bewitched was such a strong outing for me, so hearing little echos of it in the album before made the listen experience all the more enchanting. I’m so in love with this album. I’m actually convinced that Above the Chinese Restaurant is the most beautiful song I’ve ever heard. Ever. If I talk about this album more, it’s going to dig up so much of my deepest, darkest memories. I can’t… but also please talk to me about this album. — HIT ME HARD AND SOFT, Billie Eilish [first time listening] On gawd, what a stellar month for music, I can’t believe it! What a KNOCKOUT!! Billie and Finneas, I feel, have finally come home. They finally own their craft, refined it, and carved it into this marble masterpiece. Billie is more daring with her vocal range and exploring new avenues in her execution. The entirety of L’amour De Ma Vie was just me going “ARE YOU KIDDING ME????” 30 times over in the car. No but for real, is she joking? This is so ungodly, what am I supposed to do with myself?? HELP???? It’s a no-skip album, there is no top 5, no favorites list. It just is and it’s unbelievable that I can’t experience it for the first time all over again.

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soulsisterif · 1 month

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LITG Season 9

(Not Soul Sister related, people, just ranting)

After weeks and weeks of not playing I got up to date with season 9 and... Well, actually I didn't finish playing the latest volume. Same disappointments as always. I'm not one to post to complain but I'm kinda frustrated. Ranting got too long, so, under the cut.

First off I understand that male LIs are also infuriating and that wlw players are not this game's target audience (then again, there are few of those) but dude, at this point I'd rather not have any sapphic options. The last route I recall being actually good (by which I mean the female LI not stringing me along à la Marisol until the very end) was Najuma's and Angie's, and that was season 4. Yes, you can only couple up with Angie at the end too, but you get so many info about her, and so many sweet moments and bonding that I didn't even care. And it's more about her being unsure of her feelings than unwilling to be with you. Quite relatable. Peak of this game for me, if I'm being honest. Good friends to lovers, even if they went too far too fast with the sex scene in my opinion. Still, it was very well written!

But every single season after that had the female LI fucking drooling over several men (and sometimes women too) and then adding a half-assed line like, "'oh, but I don't know, I have my eyes on someone else too', she gives you a wink". Like that makes it okay? I think the only truly unapologetically loyal female LIs were Najuma and AJ back in season 3.

They put so little thought into incorporating the wlw routes that to make them progress you have ludicrous paths. Like, in my playthrough Henri won a challenge and as a prize my MC could actually dismiss him and choose to go to the hideaway with Natasha or Kelly instead. Like ??? That's just bad writing.

What's worse, we can't even make friends anymore, it's all about romance, which wipes out most of the appeal this game had for me. Practically every islander, even after you reject them, comes at the MC confessing their undying love like a crazy stalker for no reason, because we know nothing about each other! Besides half of the options you have to get to know more about what's happening around you force you to be an insufferable gossip or a petty child. "Let's listen to a private convo, MC", "Why don't you sneak a kiss with guy 2 to make guy 1 jealous?" And you have to pay an unfair amount of gems to do it, on top of it!

I want to get to know the characters BEFORE I choose who I want to pick. I want to know the characters even if they are not romanceable. It's ridiculous, though, that there are seasons in which you know more about your besties than you do about your LI. That's why Angie, or Seb, or Nicky, or Viv or Thabi, hell, even Hope and Lottie, wth all their flaunted flaws are so appealing. That's why Season 2 is so goddam popular. We had actual interactions back then. Now, whatever interactions there are, you just witness.

This is also why people like games like Too Hot to Handle so much more. I'm not really into guys but I still play their routes because it's good content beyond romance stuff. Hell, Jirayu may be my favourite out of this season's bunch. And they're all different! It's an interactive game, choices should matter.

At this point I'll probably stop playing and limit myself to read other people roasting Fusebox. Honestly, a company that asks for the fans' opinions season after season just to ignore all the feedback doesn't deserve half the players they still have.

There, ranting over XD

#NotSoulSisterRelated #if #litg #litg s9

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random-introverted-blog · 5 months

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About the blog [NEW] | His Star - His Queen Tumblr index + Masterlist to my other work

BLOG NAME CHANGE - THIS USED TO BE WHY-NO-SHADOWHEART-YANDERE - WE ARE NOW RANDOM INTROVERTED BLOG

If you're just looking for links to my work, they are below. If you'd like to know more about the blog, you can find that below the links. Flickers of Loss is a Shadowheart Yandere story where Selunite!Shadowheart and DarkJusticiar!Shadowheart fight over Tav. I don't own the concept, feel free to write your own story like it. All I ask is you don't straight rip from FoL.

The Masterlist

His Star - His Queen on AO3

His Star - His Queen on Tumblr

My AO3 - A Random Introvert

I feel like we've outgrown the old one, so I'm creating a new one. When I started, I didn't expect us to take off as much as we have and the old one is sort of messy with the edits I've made as we've grown. I'll still link it - Here. For those who still want to see it.

So, what is this blog? It started as a place I'd post my memes and opinions and other related stuff I felt like sharing. With the start of posting my writing, it has become a hub for me to keep my... fans? Do I have fans? Up to date on where I am with the next update. Also, I love interacting and engaging with people reading my work. Also also, I like making memes.

To summarize what I do here.

Post updates and teasers for my work. Primarily now His Star - His Queen (HS-HQ) and Flickers of Loss/Hope (FoL / FoH).

Cross post my work between here and AO3.

Post memes

Answer asks and interact with whoever decides to pop into my inbox

Bonus: I reblog my besties stuff @shadowfalllen. Because that's what besties do. She also is helping write and plan the Flickers saga with me as well as manage her own writing and beloved Shadowheart centric YouTube channel.

I enjoy both Astarion and Shadowheart pretty equally at this point, and I enjoy yandere/dark stories, and I of course, enjoy Dark Justiciar/Mother Superior Shadowheart and feel she could be explored more by the fandom. But I also understand exploring that route is incredibly rough... Which is why I say the fandom could invest more into her and make it less rough.

Ascended Astarion has been explored to hell and back, but I personally feel like a lot of what is written of him has been regurgitated and done over and over with few differences. But I also enjoy and simp Spawn Astarion more. Doesn't mean I'm against Ascended at all.

All in all, this blog remains No Judgement - No Shame. So long as we all respect that what is for you may not be for others/me.

Alright, I think we've about said everything that needs to be said. Thanks for checking out the blog! My asks are always open, even if it takes me a day or so to respond! Hope you enjoy your stay!

#bg3 #shadowheart #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate #astarion #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate shadowheart #baldurs gate fanfiction #ascended astarion #baldurs gate astarion #spawn astarion #dark justiciar shadow heart #selunite shadowheart #baldurs gate blog #ao3 baldurs gate #ao3 fanfic #ao3 link #fanfic #fanfiction

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free-for-all-fics · 1 month

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

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

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

“They drain and disappear us.”

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

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

“How do you hide from the Cloud?”

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

“You kill, nightly.”

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

“Lestat de Lioncourt?”

“Yes.”

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

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

“Was a natural?”

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

Part 1: Orientation

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

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

“Next!”

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

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

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

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

“Uh, no.”

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll try my best-”

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

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

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

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

Juliette’s phone pings with a new email.

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

“Thank you, I might have some qu—”

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

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

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

“And where—”

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

“That’s quite a reli—”

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

“But the time difference…”

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

“Will I be provided a camera for this?”

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

“Who’s Daniel Molloy?”

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

“Yes.”

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

Your cell phone rings.

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

You hang up the phone.

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

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

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

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

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

You hang up and focus your attention back on Juliette.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Six.”

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

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

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

“Here?”

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

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

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

Your phone rings again.

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

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

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

“Well, yeah…”

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

“Do I really smell that bad?”

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

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

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

“Sure?”

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

“Thank—”

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

“Not really?”

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

“Pantene.”

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

“But you just said—”

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

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

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

“Yes, it’s—”

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

“Of c-”

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

“No, no, I ca—”

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

“No…”

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

You pat Juliette’s skin with cleansing pads.

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

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

“Thank you?”

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

“I don’t really—”

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

You check your phone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are they real?”

“Do you know anything about fashion?”

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

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

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

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

Juliette turns in a circle very quickly.

“No. Slower.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I, uh…I think they…”

“What? What? You think what?”

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

“Do we have insurance for homicide?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who the fuck are you?”

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

“Hair and makeup now.”

“Hi, I'm Tami—”

“Hi, I’m Sarah—”

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

“Do we look like we need you?”

Both makeup artists pause for a second and then retreat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You and Lestat shrug.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“43 minutes.“

“Shut her the fuck up,” Daniel grumbles.

“We’re rolling! Quiet on set!”

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

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

“Justin Bieber.”

“Kylie Jenner.”

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

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

“Daniel, are you okay?”

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

“I am the Vampire Lestat.”

“I am the Vampire Y/N.”

“Why are we retching?”

“We’re immortal.”

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

“More or less.”

More retching.

“The light of the sun.”

“Can somebody get a glass of water?”

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

Take two.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh, Joel Emerson, I think.”

“You think? Where does he tattoo?”

“O-over at Inkspire in L.A.”

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

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

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

“Uh...”

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

“What?”

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

“The building?”

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

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

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

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

#interview with the vampire #lestat de lioncourt #lestat #rockstar lestat #iwtv s3 #amc iwtv #amc interview with the vampire #interview with the vampire prompt #Lestat and sister reader #fic prompt #fic idea #pls tag me if you’re inspired by this #I’d love to read it

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