All I Wanna Do Is See You Turn In To A Giant Woman~

WIP - I Like some of the shapes of this state so I thought I'd post it because I'm sure during the meat of this piece they will change

Here are some comments from mangago when a translator decided to post bad quality scans on mangago but good quality on mangadex.

Translators give you free content. Mangadex is a free website and you could have found the title after a quick google. Their website url is short and easy to get to. Yet, these people have found a reason to berate the translator when all they wanted to do was divert users to mangadex, who makes no money off scans, from mangago, who steals money. They originally didn’t even post onto mangadex.

I had never thought of mangago users as bad beforehand, but now that I’ve seen them so nasty about respecting translators I may stop posting chapters onto mangadex.

I was going to upload 5 chapters today but I’m gonna go make my own online reader for now  ヽ(o^ ^o)ﾉ see ya’ll soon!

I Can Handle Me A Dangerous Man - Ch 1

Fandom: True Blood (TV) Pairings: Eric Northman/Female Reader or Eric Northman/OFC Word Count: 4,471 Tags: 18+, NSFW in later chapters, it's gonna get real nasty Summary: Sookie's cousin returns to Bon Temps, and Eric wants her... to work for him.

When Camila Reyes steps out of the taxi, she is met with a billowing cloud of cigarette smoke, the crunch of gravel beneath her boots, and thick, humid air unlike anything she’d ever felt in Chicago. She takes in the old farmhouse, her home for much of her childhood, and feels guilt and regret settle over her when she remembers the last time she set foot in Bon Temps—the day of Gran’s funeral.

She pays the driver, tips him well even though he chain-smoked the entire ride from the airport, and lifts her bags from the inside of the trunk; when he drives away, leaving her standing in a cyclone of dust, she takes a deep, fortifying breath and strides to the front door. 

Confident is the last thing she feels—helpless, dejected, and unmoored are the first things that come to mind—but she pastes on a self-assured smile and raps her knuckles on the metal frame of the storm door. A short woman with blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail looks at her quizzically through the screen, and then gasps and throws the door open, nearly knocking Cam off her feet.

“Camila Reyes, is that you? I haven’t seen you in, what, ten years?” the woman asks, wrapping her arms around Cam. They’re around the same height with similar builds, but whereas Cam has dark hair and naturally tanned skin, she is all bright yellow curls and skin like a porcelain doll, the gap in her teeth as endearing as it was when they were teenagers.

“Sookie! It’s been a long time, a really long time. You look so lovely,” she says, pulling back so she can look her over at arm’s length. She wears a pair of yellow gingham shorts with a flowy white tank top and white Keds, and something about that is so quintessentially Sookie that it immediately fills her with fondness. Sookie grins.

“So do you – and you’ve even lost your accent,” she says in a way that’s almost accusatory, but she’s smirking playfully. “Now you sound all classy and sophisticated and I’m the only one with the podunk twang.” Cam shrugs and laughs; she didn’t set out to lose the accent at first, but it became clear that her colleagues in the big city didn’t find the Louisiana drawl as charming as television had led her to believe.

“Ten years will do that to you,” Cam says lightly, doing her best not to reflect on the last of those ten years and how everything she’d worked so hard for circled the drain. “Now, I know you weren’t expecting me, and I hate to do this…” she begins, but Sookie brushes her off with the wave of a manicured hand. 

“Don’t you even start,” she says, and then she reaches down to grab one of Cam’s bags and holds open the door. “This is your home too, and you’re welcome to stay as long as you like, you know that.”

Cam grabs the other bag and follows her through the house, up the staircase that had seen better days many days ago. “I brought wine, if that’s any consolation,” she says, though she knows Sookie means it, that it’s really no trouble for her to stay with her in this big, empty house, “and now you can borrow my shoes any time you want.” 

Sookie glances back and smiles at her. 

“Wine is always good, and your shoe collection is even better, I know that for a fact.” They stop outside what is now a guest room, but which used to be Cam’s room, and she is grateful to see something other than the pale purple wallpaper of her childhood adorning the walls. The room is now bright and airy, painted robin’s egg blue, and its look suits Sookie more than it ever suited Cam. “But the best part is having my favorite cousin back home after all these years.”  

Sookie walks into the room, sets the suitcase on the chair beside the bed, and Cam does the same. Her returning smile is sad; she knows it had to be difficult for Sookie to be here… not alone, but without one of the few people in Bon Temps who really understood her, who saw her for the girl she was instead of what they thought she should have been. Guilt makes her stomach twist. 

“I’m sorry you didn’t see me at Gran’s funeral,” she says—because technically, that’s true. Sookie hadn’t seen her, because she hadn’t made it past the front seat of her rental car. She never even told Sookie or Jason she was there. Sookie frowns, but it’s sympathetic and kind. 

“That’s okay. I know how hard funerals are for you. What matters most is that you’re here now… and that there’s someone I want you to meet.” Cam is grateful for the change of topic, and the flirtatious smile Sookie sends her way has her suddenly very, very curious. 

“Is this someone a man?” she asks, eyes wide and faux-incredulous. Sookie slaps her arm gently and nods her head. 

“Yes, it’s a man… his name’s Bill, and he’s my… Well, boyfriend doesn’t feel like the right word, but I guess that’s what he is.” Her hands move to her hips, and she looks over Cam’s hair, her outfit, and apparently deems it suitable. “Why don’t you freshen up a bit, and I’ll treat you to dinner at Merlotte’s so you can meet him. It’s near-dark anyway.” Cam smooths the hair at the crown of her head, certain she’s got frizz and flyaways no hairspray can contain, and nods. Sookie starts toward the door when Cam calls out after her. 

“You’re treating—does that mean he’s a modern man who lets his lady pay for the meal? How progressive,” she teases—Gran never liked boys who took them out and didn’t offer to pay, and it was a joke between them and their friend Tara; Sookie chuckles like she’s holding in a joke of her own. 

“No, he’s really old-fashioned, actually,” she says thoughtfully. She taps on the doorframe before she steps into the hall. “It’s just that, well, he never eats a meal.”

Bill is a vampire because, obviously; Sookie wasn’t exactly being subtle, but it took Cam nearly the entire drive to Bon Temps’ finest bar and grille to put the hints together anyway. She blames it on the jet lag, even though she never actually left her own time zone. 

They meet him inside, and he’s already seated comfortably in a booth, but he stands to greet her when she and Sookie approach him. Cam is all but attacked by Tara, who hugs her more tightly than even Sookie did, and they make a promise to catch up later when the bartender’s not up to her neck in two-dollar drafts. 

“It’s so nice to see you comfortable here,” Cam comments to Bill later, when he is handed a bottle of Tru Blood by a smiling, if slightly neurotic looking red-headed waitress. He seems familiar with the clientele, greeted Sam and Tara like friends; she has to hand it to her hometown: she would have guessed they’d be way behind the national average when it comes to human-vampire relations. Bill takes a sip and offers her a smile. 

“Thank you. That’s mostly Sookie’s doing,” he admits, and then he glances over at her, at her lovestruck smile. The two of them are so cute it actually makes Cam’s teeth ache. “People weren’t exactly welcoming me with open arms at first, but she has this way of making people listen to her, even when they don’t want to.” 

“It’s a gift,” Cam says, dropping her own hint, but Sookie shoots her an unreadable look and she takes a sip of her beer instead of following up on that. She changes tracks. “I don’t know if Sookie told you, but I’m a lawyer, and I specialized in vampire rights back in Chicago. If you ever need something, legal advice or support, you have my number now.” 

“That’s so kind of you; I will keep that in mind,” he says gratefully, fingers wrapped around the glass bottle. “And I have to say, I appreciate you doing that kind of work. I know not everyone is progressive when it comes to vampire rights, and I’m sure it’s a difficult occupation.” Cam nods. 

“It has its moments. I’ve experienced more than my share of tragedy, had many clients executed by radical humans before we could attempt justice.” She suppresses a shiver at the thought of some of the things she’s heard, things she’s seen. Across from her, Sookie tuts and shakes her head. 

“Executions. What a terrible thought,” she speaks through a frown. She takes a sip of her iced tea, and after a moment, Bill stiffens in his seat beside her. Cam, familiar with vampire microexpressions, clocks the change in his disposition, and so does Sookie; she tilts her head in confusion like she wishes she could hear his thoughts.

Just then, a man approaches their booth, tall and broad, with short blond hair and a peaked complexion that outs him as a vampire immediately. Dressed all in black, he looks especially pale, and shadow falls over the three of them as his hulking silhouette blocks out the overhead light.

“Sorry to interrupt. Hello Sookie. Bill.” The man turns to Cam, his lips curving up into a polite smile as he gives her a tasteful once-over. She can see that his eyes are silvery blue, a cool, icy, complex color that captivates her instantly. “Hello. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“This is Sookie’s cousin, Camila. She’s visiting from Chicago,” Bill says with a tone that indicates the man is unwelcome at the table they share. He pays it no mind and reaches out to take her hand, to lean in and place his lips there in the semblance of a greeting kiss. It makes Cam flush hot, and she hopes it doesn’t rise to her cheeks for all to see.

“I’m Eric Northman. What a pleasure it is to meet you,” he says, eyes drifting over her face now that there’s less distance between them. He pauses there briefly to look into her eyes, curiosity in his stoic gaze. “I see some of Sookie’s features in you.” 

“I’ll take that as a compliment, Eric, thank you,” she replies, though with her dark hair and complexion no one has ever drawn a similarity between her and her fairer cousin. Cam’s mother was Gran’s daughter, Sookie’s aunt, and Cam’s father was of Cuban descent, fresh off the boat he rode in on—and out on, just as quickly as he’d come. “Will you be joining us?” 

“He will not,” Bill supplies in the same clipped tone he’d used previously. He looks incredibly serious, more now like the vampire he is than when it was just the three of them; Eric stands, drops her hand, and flicks an irritated glance in the other vampire’s direction. 

“I do not wish to impose, but I do need a moment with Bill here, if you ladies don’t mind. Business deal,” he adds, and then he looks back to Cam and Sookie, his features more polite. He winks at them. “I promise it will only take a minute.” 

Bill thinks it over—though it doesn’t seem like a request to Cam—and seems to decide it best to accept the invitation and step away from the table; he glances over at Sookie with a brief apology and walks toward the door, and Eric follows him, throwing a glance over his shoulder as he goes.

“Now there’s a man that makes me think terrible thoughts,” Cam murmurs when she expects he’s out of range. “Over and over and over.” She says it partially because it’s true, but also to earn the scandalized laugh Sookie shares as she slaps Cam on the arm.

“Oh my god, Cami!” Cam laughs back, playing indignant. Not that you’re wrong, but…

“Well he does, all climbable and big and strong. And those eyes—you can’t tell me you don’t think he’s handsome.” 

After a brief stare-down, Sookie huffs a sigh.

“Objectively, yes,” Sookie says, with a playful roll of her eyes, “but he’s also Bill’s sheriff, and… I don’t know, rival, I guess?” Pain in the ass is more like it, she thinks, though she’d never say it aloud.

Cam drains her beer and narrows her eyes at Sookie, leaning in. The objectively shit doesn’t throw her for a second.

“Sookie Stackhouse, do you have both of those gorgeous men battling for your attention? I swear, sometimes it feels like blondes do have more fun.” 

She rolls her eyes again, chuckles like the thought of earning Eric’s attention is laughable. She probably still sees herself as the awkward teenage girl Cam remembered her as and not the Southern bombshell she is now.

“I think Eric is interested in things he can’t have, that’s all—not me in particular. And he really likes getting Bill’s goat.”

“So you’re saying I should play hard to get?” Cam teases, but despite the lightheartedness of her comment, the atmosphere changes drastically and Sookie’s face becomes serious.

“I’m saying you should stay far the hell away from him. He’s–he’s, cold-hearted and mean. Cruel. He does underhanded things to get what he wants.”

Cam has always found herself amused by Sookie’s naivety, but hearing her speak so judgmentally about Eric, about vampires, gives her pause. 

“I’ve been in the company of vampires, Sook, I know how some of them can be.” Sookie sits back, tilts her head to the side, and Cam narrows her eyes. “What?” 

“You’ve been in the company of vampires?” she asks, brows raised, and for a moment she is that naive teenage girl again. Cam simply waves a hand.

“Chicago is very different from Bon Temps, or even Shreveport, so yes, I’ve been in the company of vampires. Plus, they’re the only ones that truly quiet my mind, you know?” she adds as an aside, and Sookie shushes her, looks toward the door and back with wide eyes.

“Keep it down. I haven’t told Bill you’re a telepath too, or anyone, for that matter. Next thing you know you’ll be dragged into vampire business, and that is not somewhere you want to be, trust me.”

She can sense the sincerity in Sookie’s voice, so she does soften to a murmur, unable to be heard among the din of the chattering crowd.

“It’s my secret to keep, or not keep—and it was a big help during some of my trials, even if my colleagues didn’t know all the details. I get that you’ve always hated your ability, but it’s an important part of me. I don’t try to hide it anymore.” The thing about Bon Temps, love it or hate it, is everyone knows everyone else's business, and although Cam’s never felt fully herself in this town, she’s not about to hide for anyone else’s comfort. Sookie frowns, contrite.

“I’m sorry. It’s just… not something I’d be doing, if it weren’t for Bill. Eric holds things over him and I’m stuck in the middle trying to make peace.” She doesn’t say any more, because the vampires walk back in, and when Bill takes his seat Eric claps a hand on his shoulder firmly, in a way that could seem friendly but that looks more like a show of power than anything.

“Told you I’d bring him back,” Eric says to Sookie, who suddenly becomes very interested in her manicure; she drags the edge of her nail through the condensation left behind by her glass. Eric pays her no mind and looks to Cam again. “Before I leave, I want to extend an invitation to you. I own a bar in Shreveport called Fangtasia, and I would love for you to come by for a drink some time so we can get to know each other better.” 

The word drink makes her think of the vampire’s unique diet—something completely normal, not usually something she’d normally fixate on anymore than she’d be intrigued by a pescetarian—and she quickly tamps down the flash of interest that jolts through her body at the associated imagery.

“That sounds nice, Eric, I’ll be sure to take you up on that,” she says with a smile, and as she does something tugs at the back of her mind arbitrarily, something she can’t quite put her finger on. She clears her throat. “Bill has the details, I’m sure.” 

Bill appears grateful for her inclusion of him—she figures he’s probably feeling emasculated by the more senior vampire, the way he speaks with a double meaning under his tongue—and he assures Eric he will pass on the information.

“Well then, I’ll let the three of you get back to your evening. Thank you again, Bill,” he says without inflection, and he looks over at Sookie, then Cam. “I look forward to seeing you soon.”

He leaves, and Sookie looks Bill over, runs her hand up and down his back in a comforting gesture. Cam’s not sure if it’s meant for her eyes or not. 

A few moments later, the red-headed waitress returns to take their dinner orders, and Cam orders a massive salad and another beer and asks Bill what he misses most about the 1800s. It proves to be a good distraction, and by dessert his features seem to have softened again. 

When Sookie drives them back to the farmhouse, the twinkling stars in the cloudless blue sky remind her of the depth of Eric’s eyes.

As Cam walks into Fangtasia for the first time, she notes that it’s exactly what she expects: a small, dark, loud nightclub packed with the moving bodies of humans and vampires alike. Some of the humans are hoping to find a community of their peers, folks with tattoos up and down their arms and more piercings than one would think possible; some are there to see their first vampire or try to initiate contact with one; and some are there just to say they went, buying overpriced drinks and t-shirts and taking selfies with the crowd. 

She feels about middle of the road in a navy silk camisole, black pants, and her most comfortable black heels, and she breezes over to the bar and buys herself a martini, finds a table toward the less crowded back of the room and slides onto the stool nearest the wall. 

It takes all of five minutes for Eric to approach her, looking as gorgeous as he did when they first met; this time he is wearing a tight black tank, black jeans, and damn, if she thought she was climbable before…

He quirks a smile as he sidles up to the table. 

“Camila,” he greets warmly, and when she stands he leans in to mimic a kiss on her cheek. She feels that same strange tugging sensation at the back of her brain that she did at Merlotte’s, but the memory leaves her as quickly as it had returned. “I’m glad you decided to come.”

“I had to see what all the fuss was about; your bar is very popular among the travelers passing through Bon Temps these days,” she mentions, thinking back to a strange vampire that had given Bill a hard time at Merlotte’s the other night as they were getting ready to leave. Apparently not everyone was as enamored of Vampire Bill as others. 

“And how do you like it?” he asks, resting his hand on the table top, palm flat, fingers spread. She looks at his broad hand for a moment—a second longer than she should have, maybe—then glances up to look at his face.

“How embarrassing would it be if I said it’s… fangtastic?” she asks with a shrug of her shoulder. Her joke earns a laugh from Eric, and she feels silly for the warmth that flushes through her at his approval. 

“From you, I’ll take it as a compliment. I’m sure the establishments you frequented in Chicago were a little different from this one.” She hums thoughtfully; she’s had her fair share of meetings in swanky hotel bars and fine dining restaurants, but vampire clubs aren’t hard to find anywhere in America.

“Not so different,” she tells him honestly, “though there were fewer eyebrow piercings. I like it here, though, it’s… comfortable,” she adds with a sip of her drink and a tilt of her head. 

It is comfortable, despite the blaring music and the crowd of people talking over one another, because about a third of the bar’s patrons are vampires; she’s used to walking into a room full or half full of them and sighing involuntarily, the weight lifting from her shoulders when she doesn’t have to work as hard not to read the cacophony of their minds.

“That’s an interesting word,” Eric says, eyes roaming over her face. A pretty young waitress in a minuscule black dress steps up beside him, then, and places another martini on the table for Cam. She smiles up at Eric, who does not acknowledge her, and walks away before Cam can thank her for the drink. “On the house,” he tells her, and though she’s only half finished with the one she purchased, she lifts the glass and takes a long sip to show her gratitude.

“Thank you. And thank you for inviting me,” she adds, and when she looks up to meet his gaze she feels that mysterious pull again, then a faint buzzing like white noise on a television screen, or her ears popping at high altitude. “That’s you,” she says slowly, reality dawning on her, and though his features are frozen in surprise, she can see something curious shift in the set of his eyes. 

“Pardon?” 

“Sorry, I—I appreciate the drink, but I already know what you want from me. You want to know if I’m like her.” If I can hear what the humans are thinking, she doesn’t say, but she knows he understands. He crosses his arms over his chest.

“I’ll admit I am curious about that, but it’s not the only reason I invited you.” It feels like he’s telling the truth, but she’s still unfamiliar with him, and she’s met several vampires she believed to be honest until they showed their true colors at the end. The only reason humans don’t have the same effect is because she can hear their lies before they have a chance to really develop.

“Then why did you invite me?” she asks firmly, because while she’s not ashamed of her ability she does not enjoy being singled out for it, no matter how good looking the other party may be. Eric pauses, then sighs as though she’s forcing him to show his hand.

“I’ve looked into you. Heard about your reputation,” he says, and he takes another long look at her, lingering over her bare shoulders and throat. “You don’t look like a human rights—excuse me, people’s rights—attorney, I have to admit… unless I’ve just been doing business with the wrong attorneys.”

She takes another sip of his drink, because he’s done his due diligence and she’s always appreciative of someone who isn’t afraid to dig through some tough sources. Her firm had never exactly publicized the fact that one of their lawyers was taking vampire rights cases, so he must have pulled some strings to get the information. 

“I was a people’s rights attorney. Now I’d be lucky to try a case in traffic court.”

“Because of your defense of vampires?” he asks, and she can understand why that’s the way he’d see it; she didn’t defend them, technically, because they weren’t and still aren’t able to be held accountable in a court of law, but she did advocate for their civil rights and against forced assimilation.

“Because I don’t treat vampires like animals or humans like they’re superior,” she offers in summary. She taps a finger against the tabletop. “Say I was like her. What would that mean for me? Would you threaten me until I agree to help you? Manipulate me so I do what you want?” 

He sighs again, and this time it feels like an attempt to appear wounded by her question, though she can’t imagine there’s anything she could say to cause this man any type of emotional concern.

“I would ask if you would be interested in doing some… consulting for me. You would be under no obligation to do so, of course,” he says, showing his palms. “Sookie has helped me in the past, but she does not seem interested in continuing that relationship.” 

His contrived description of their relationship forces a huffed laugh from Cam’s lips.

“You instigate problems between her and Bill – or Bill and you, and it puts her in the middle. That’s why she’s not interested.” 

“Is that what she told you?” he asks, leaning in again, this time on crossed forearms. It brings his face closer, and despite her irritation, she kind of likes it. He’s not bad to look at, either way. “I tend to think of myself as a problem solver, if anything.” She leans in too, as much as she can, looks him directly in the eyes.

“I’m familiar with vampires like you—men like you. Everything’s a pissing contest, you’ll do whatever it takes to assert your dominance, and nothing else matters.” If he’s surprised by her assumptions, he doesn’t show it. “Sookie is my family and she has my loyalty. Flirt with her if you want to, that's your prerogative, but I’m not going to stand around and watch you toy with her to get under Bill’s skin. I’m sure you can find a way to do that all on your own.” 

He stands tall at that, brow furrowed like she’s just said something insane. 

“I don’t flirt with her, I just… enjoy exposing Bill’s weakness,” he explains with a shrug. Cam hums, unconvinced, takes the toothpick out of her glass and pulls the single olive off the stick with her teeth, eats it.

“Like all men, I can promise you he has more than just the one,” she says with a smirk when she’s finished chewing, and she downs the rest of her drink in one smooth sip. “That kid’s underage, by the way—the one by the bar with the pink streak in her hair? One of your bouncers didn’t do a very thorough ID check. She’s been freaking out about it since she walked in.” 

Eric turns to glance at the girl, who is saying nothing aloud but does look almost comically on edge, and then back at Cam. She smiles politely, her professional smile, and stands, pushing in her chair and slinging her bag over her shoulder. 

“I’ll think about the offer, if you think about what I said. Thanks again for the drink.”

Stiles and Derek getting together and it’s all flirty and awkward and them acting like blushing teenagers and one day they’re hanging out, eating breakfast and Stiles suddenly asks “top or bottom?”

And Derek just says “bottom” a little rushed and confused and then sees that Stiles is waving two halves of a muffin at him and he goes, “wait what?”

“Do you want the top or bottom?”

“Oh…I don’t care.”

“Wait…you said bottom what did–”

And then they stare at each other for a bit, Derek blushing furiously. 

I Can Handle Me A Dangerous Man - Ch 2

Fandom: True Blood (TV) Pairings: Eric Northman/Female Reader or Eric Northman/OFC Word Count: 4,441 Tags: 18+, NSFW in later chapters, it's gonna get real nasty Summary: Sookie's cousin returns to Bon Temps, and Eric wants her... to work for him. She says yes.

1 - 2 - 3

She finds herself at Fangtasia again a few days later—what else does she have to do, unemployed and ostracized as she is?—with another martini in her hand as she stares up at a surrealist painting hanging on the wall. It’s larger than life, with tigers and an elephant and a nude woman lounging in the sea, but she’s afraid she can make no emotional connection to it. Dali is weird.

“Now you’re just teasing me,” Eric greets in a low, even tone as he seems to materialize beside her, his eyes also on the painting. This time he’s wearing a black v-neck sweater, and it makes the muscles of his arms look even better, if that’s possible.

“Teasing you?” she asks, looking up at him, and he turns to her and scans her body the way he seems to every time they meet. It would irritate her, if it were anyone else, but having Eric’s attention is hugely flattering, and she can’t bring herself to dismiss the way it makes her feel.

“Coming into my bar again… looking like that.” He says it like she’s a forbidden snack dangled in front of him, and she ponders it.

She is technically fully covered in a maroon turtleneck, black miniskirt, tights and boots, which doesn’t seem all that tempting… until she considers that he’s nearly fully covered too and has quite literally never been more attractive to her. He buzzes in her ear again—his mind, his aura, whatever the hell it is—and she finally remembers that he’s said something, wets her lips to speak.

“There’s no vampire bar in Bon Temps, or I’d probably be there,” she says with a sip of her drink. Okay, maybe not, she thinks as he leans into her space, tilting his body so that it’s him she’s looking up at instead of the art. No, either way she would probably find herself drawn here, to him.

“Why? Do you like vampire blood?” he asks seriously, almost like an interrogation, and she shakes her head, frowns.

“I don’t do drugs, and no vampire has ever offered it to me.” She wants to make sure she covers all her bases, is transparent in her knowledge of not only V as a commodity, but the ritual of bloodsharing that vampires sometimes perform with their companions. “Regardless, blood isn’t the reason I came.” 

“Did you come for me?” he asks, the tone of his voice the same but his expression more relaxed. She nods her head.

“Yes. I’ll do it – consult for you, work for you, whatever you want to call it.” It took her about two days to decide, then two more to get up the courage to come down to the bar and ask for what she believes she deserves—a problem she’s never had professionally before. Her answer earns her a change in posture, and Eric seems gratified by her response.

“You will? I’m pleased to hear that,” he says, and she nods her head, trying to ignore the way it warms her all over to know he’s happy with her choice.

“I have some stipulations,” she tells him directly, not intending to mince words, and he carefully takes the glass from her hand and sets it on a table behind them. The two middle aged humans who occupy it look absolutely thrilled at this sighting of a vampire in the wild, which makes Cam want to smile.

“I would expect no less. Let’s go into my office so we can be candid,” he suggests, gesturing toward the back of the bar, and he leads her through the crowd of bodies to the cluttered, unremarkable office with a hand hovering at her lower back.

“So what is it that you want from me? Explicitly,” she asks when he closes the door. “You know I’m a lawyer, so specific language is kind of my thing.” He pulls a chair out for her, then takes the seat on the other side of the desk and leans across it to speak.

“I would like to be able to call on you when I have a situation that could benefit from your gift—and I would like to be the only vampire who calls on you. That’s non-negotiable.” 

She’d expected the first part—not so much the second—but it’s nothing she’s unwilling to give.

“I can agree to exclusivity, but keep in mind that occasionally I will hear or see things whether I want to or not; if I come upon a vampire matter, I’ll inform you and let you decide how to proceed. If it’s not a vampire matter, I’ll provide the information to whomever I see fit.”

“Okay, yes,” Eric agrees easily, and then he backtracks for a moment, looking curious. “Hear or see?”

“Well, thoughts aren’t always just a string of words, you know? Often they include images, memories, even vague feelings. What I do, it’s kind of a mixture of all those things.”

“That’s… good to know,” he says, and he taps his fingers against the desk. “It’s also important to me that you make yourself available when I need you; as you know, I only do business between sunset and sunrise. If I’m calling upon you, I have deemed it important, and I expect to take priority over other things you may be doing—anything short of a life and death emergency.”

“That’s fair,” she says, though she wonders if they should take a moment to formally define life and death emergency in case it comes up in the future. “And that’s it?”

“That’s it,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “See? No threats or manipulation necessary.” 

It’s playful, now, his tone of voice, and she answers it with a slightly skeptical smile.

“And what are you willing to give me in exchange?” 

“Anything,” he says, and it sounds earnest; he splays his arms wide like he’s gesturing not just to the room, but beyond it to the bar, the city, the world. “Anything. Money, blood, drugs, sex, protection, power—whatever you want.”

All of those things come with a hefty price tag, she thinks—and part of her has to wonder if her gift, as he called it, is actually worth it. The short list of demands she was fully prepared to fight for just an hour ago seems to pale in comparison to how important he thinks she will be.

“I would expect to be compensated in the event you come to me and I am involved in solving a problem, but I also need a retainer. Nothing outrageous, but if I’m going to be at your beck and call I won’t be able to commit to a regular job.”

“Of course,” he says easily, like the financials don’t matter to him in the slightest. She’s dealt with wealthy clients before, of course, even wealthy vampire clients, but his flippancy adds another layer of surrealism to the already surprising conversation. Should she ask for a luxury car, a yacht, season tickets to see the Saints? “What else?” 

She’d considered this next point, and then abruptly un-considered it, felt she was asking too much… but given his promise of anything, she feels bold again. Like she could actually have the upper hand.

“I want protection—your protection. If I’m in real danger, and I call for you, I want you to be the one who comes for me.”

Eric raises an eyebrow, looks over her face carefully. It’s like he’s regarding some part of her for the first time, his gaze lingering.

“Do you anticipate being in danger often?”

“No, but I made enemies in Chicago, and you know how word travels in those circles. There are certain groups who aren’t fond of what I’ve done—and it’s possible there will be people who don’t approve of my employment here. I’d just like to know I’ll be safe, if I’m going to make working for you my priority.” 

She exhales, feeling a bit less confident than when they started this, but Eric just makes a thoughtful sound and says, “It’s yours. Anything else?” he asks, and she considers that a win and stands up, feeling instantly intimidated when he stands too, tall and dark and strong. It’s so much easier to do business with him when they’re sitting down, when he’s on her level, or as close to her level as he will ever be.

“No, I think that’s it,” she says, and she sticks her hand out to shake, feeling oddly formal as she does. As a lawyer, she would have preferred the security of a contract, but that’s not the way most vampires operate and she knows better than to suggest it; that could be seen as an indication that she doesn’t find him trustworthy. A handshake, his word and hers, will have to do.

Looking into her eyes, he reaches out and takes her hand in his, shakes for a moment and then holds it there for just a beat too long before pulling away. She walks toward the door, and then, when the thought strikes her, she turns back to face him once more.

“Actually, there is one more thing,” she says, and as he walks closer she can’t help flashing back to his offer of sex—thank god she’s the one with the power of telepathy and not the other way around. “Could you help me find a decent apartment somewhere between here and Bon Temps? Sookie’s a great roommate, but I can’t stand that drafty old house.” And all of its memories. 

“Consider it done,” he tells her, and she nods her head and leaves the bar, climbs into her car, and definitely doesn’t pump her fist in the air when she stops at the red light at the end of the block.

Two days later, a FedEx driver actually drops off an employment contract—it was silly of her to assume he wouldn’t also want their terms in writing—along with a slip of paper, upon which is written an address and a phone number, and a key.

The first night she spends in her new apartment—which is truly perfect, bright and white and airy, with tons of nearby green space and amenities—there is a knock at the door. When she opens it, Eric is on the other side, in a leather jacket and jeans, holding a bottle of wine with an expensive French label. She looks him over, and he does the same, making her feel a little self conscious in her bike shorts and oversized t-shirt, ponytail, bare feet.

“Eric—what a nice surprise,” she says, and it really is nice, and surprising. She never would have anticipated him coming to her without needing something—assuming he doesn’t need something now. The wine would be an odd touch, but as always with vampires, nothing’s out of the question.

“I just wanted to officially welcome you to the neighborhood,” he replies. 

Cam had been slightly suspicious when the very first listing he sent her was a mere five miles from his bar, but when she considered his request for her exclusive availability, she figured it made enough sense not to question him any further.

“You did that when you paid my rent. For a year,” she tacks on, her tone admonishing, because that was not part of the employment contract. A faint smile lifts his lips. 

“Consider it a sign-on bonus.” The air between them feels oddly charged, and then she tunes into it, realizes it’s that static that seems to follow him around. He shifts where he stands. “I brought you a bottle of wine. A housewarming gift,” he explains, handing it to her, and she wraps her fingers around the neck and pulls it close with a smile of her own.

“Thank you. Would you like to come in and have a glass with me?” 

It’s clear by the look on his face he hadn’t been expecting that—probably didn’t expect to be invited into her home unless it was absolutely necessary for her protection in the future—but he nods, and when she takes a step back he crosses the threshold, closes the door behind him, and follows her to the kitchen.

“Are you sure this one is okay? The neighbors are so… close together,” he remarks of her new townhouse, and she bends to sort through a box full of kitchen gadgets, pulling out the corkscrew after a few seconds of rummaging.

“Oh, trust me, it’s great. My apartment in Chicago was little more than a shoebox with windows, and there’s a pool here, and a park nearby. I really appreciate everything you did.” 

She opens the bottle, pulls two glasses down from the cabinet—the only cabinet she’d managed to fully unpack—and carries them over to the table, where Eric has already settled into a dining chair. He looks uncomfortable, tall and stiff and alert, like this is all a little too human for his taste.

“Still, it seems like you miss things there,” he says as she pours them each a serving, and she shrugs, then sinks down into the seat next to his with her leg tucked beneath her. 

“Things haven’t been very good there for the last couple years, so I’m actually happy to have a fresh start.” She takes a sip of her wine, full-bodied and earthy with a peppery finish, and can’t help the sigh of pleasure she expels. “My god, that’s good.” She says it with the hint of a smile, something he casually reciprocates. 

“I had a feeling you would like it,” is all he says, but when he takes a sip his eyes fall closed, and he seems to let it sit on his tongue a moment before continuing the conversation. 

“So what kinds of things do you anticipate calling on me for?” she asks later, as they are finishing their second glass. Eric takes a moment to gather his thoughts, and she thinks it’s because he’s choosing his words intentionally, for her benefit.

“Mostly to confirm my suspicions if I think a human is being deceptive; I have some human employees, and I make business deals with others. Sometimes I need to know if my patrons are lying—if they’re underage, or looking for V, or conspiring against us. As sheriff, sometimes vampires come to me with human problems as well—it would be easier to deal with them if I had you available to me.” 

“That sounds fair,” she says, appreciating his careful explanation. She shifts in her seat. “At my old firm they called me the human lie detector… they just didn’t know quite how close they were to the truth.” 

“It must be difficult, to hear all the things you hear,” he says, and she nods her head in agreement.

“It can be, but I’ve gotten fairly used to it over time. Taught myself to control it instead of letting it bother me.” Things are quiet for a moment, and she takes the opportunity to say something that’s been on her mind since he arrived. “I feel a little uneasy about asking for your protection the other day. I think I may have asked too much of you,” she says with a frown. “I know you’re busy with the bar, and as sheriff, that a lot of people rely on you, and I’m not sure it’s fair of me to make such an extravagant request.”

It takes some effort for her to be able to look up at him instead of focusing on her glass, but when she does he seems thoughtful, his eyes serious but gentle.

“I wouldn’t have agreed to it if I thought it would disrupt my other obligations. No harm will come to you while you’re under my employ, I promise.” She nods, placated by his reassurances, and he taps a finger against the tabletop. “You said you’ve taught yourself how to control your gift. Can you… hear vampires?” 

His tone is reserved, but hopeful, and she grimaces.

“No offense, but vampire minds are kind of empty. My guess it has to do with electrical impulses, or lack thereof. Technically, I can hear you, but it’s like white noise, sometimes, or tinnitus. I don’t get any actual thoughts.” She ponders his question for a moment, wonders if that unique buzzing she picks up when he’s around is his mind, or something different. “Touching helps with humans, though. I can rewind a little bit, see memories instead of just what’s playing live, if that makes sense; maybe it would help me hear something from you?” 

Eric stretches his arm across the table, his bare hand palm up, and she slides hers over it after a cautious moment. She presses their skin together and lets her eyes glance over his face, listening carefully, searching. It feels like a very, very long time passes, and a lot of static, but eventually she finds a moment, a phrase or sentence among the near silence.

“Ӓr du död?” she murmurs, and while she can’t see anything, she can feel the heat of flames nearby. It warms her hand where it turns to ice against Eric’s. His brow furrows in recognition, and she exhales, blinks. “I don’t know the language. What does it mean?”

“It’s Swedish. ‘Are you death?’ It’s the first thing I said to Godric, my Maker, before he turned me,” he admits, his voice serious and somber. Cam inhales sharply at that knowledge.

“Wow. I can’t imagine I’ve ever gone back further than a few days that way, let alone…” 

“A thousand years, give or take.” He answers her unspoken question with a deeply curious expression. “That was among the last of my human memories, so I suppose it makes sense that you can see it.”

“I can feel it, too,” she says, and she wraps her fingers around his, searching for more, for a deeper connection. She closes her eyes this time, in hopes it strengthens the memory. “I can feel the heat from a fire. And I can feel that you’re dying. You’re cold inside, but your skin is warm.” 

“Tell me more,” he says, his voice barely there. He tightens his grip on her hand.

“There’s a man there, a very young man, and you’re not happy with him… but you aren’t afraid of him, either. He has a strangely calming presence; you’re not sure if he’s an angel or the devil.”

“Godric.” His Maker. He looks strangely young for a vampire, vulnerable, and though he’s short, he towers over Eric in his memory, eyes deep and dark and full of possibility.

“Through your eyes, he looks larger than life,” she says softly, and his fingers flex. Even if she hadn’t known Godric was his Maker, the way this man makes him feel is as clear as any emotion she’s felt herself. He is death and life, the end and the beginning. 

“He is,” Eric says—not was, she takes note of that—and when he starts to pull back she releases his hand and lets hers drop to the tabletop. She feels tapped out after that, exhausted, and Eric nods his head once in her direction. “That is a remarkable gift you have.”

“It’s something,” she says casually, as if she didn’t just travel over a thousand years in her mind and pull out his last memory of human life, as if she didn’t feel like she was inside him, a part of him, his heart, his head, his hands. She sits there, speechless for a moment, and then Eric takes a deep, exaggerated breath.

“Well, I should get back to Fangtasia—I’m happy to see you’re settling in,” he tells her, and when he stands she stands, walks him to the door. It closes behind him, and she feels both strangely invigorated by his presence, and deeply conflicted by his departure.

At Fangtasia, Pam waits for Eric at the front door. 

“Where have you been?” she asks, her heels clicking on the floor as she follows him back to the office. The crowd naturally parts for them, and though Eric probably attributes it to his aura—he’s been acting strangely woo-woo lately, talking about witches and energy and vibrations and the like—it’s more likely his huge, hulking frame and the fact that his expression alone would kill, if such a thing were possible. “You know I find it distasteful to be left alone with the humans for so long.” 

“I had an errand to run,” he says, but he smells like wine and the girl, there’s no mistaking it. Errands, her perky ass. 

“How is she?” she asks as he slides into the chair behind the desk, stretching back so he can hook his ankles over the edge of the desk. It’s even worse than manspreading. He looks up at her like he’s not sure what she means, and she crosses her arms over her chest and blinks. “Our new employee. Camila. That’s who you were with, isn’t it?” 

“You don’t care how she is,” is all he says in response, and she leans over and smacks his boots so his feet fall to the floor. Pam knows that only happened because he let it, and she bites back a fond smile.

“No, I don’t, but apparently you do. I thought you were obsessed with Sookie when she came along, but this girl has you… buying apartment buildings, and promising your protection, and you’ve barely known her for a week.” 

She hopes he doesn’t take her tone for jealousy, because it’s not, not really; she’s just never seen him this infatuated, and it’s freaking her out a little, if she’s being honest. Like it or not, her life, her comfort, relies very heavily on Eric and his… happiness isn’t quite the right word, but when he is content, her nights tend to be much smoother, more enjoyable all around. She gets to drink from an endless supply of young, willing, rich-blooded partygoers instead of traipsing around the woods and ruining her favorite pumps, or trapping moronic anti-vampers and using them to set an example for their friends.

“You have no idea how important she is going to be. No idea,” he repeats, and his voice has that strangely mystical quality about it again, a faint undertone of magic that hovers around its edges. He’s been to see a witch, she thinks, or had his fortune told, something that’s led him to believe this girl and her gift are crucial to whatever he has planned. It sends a chill down her spine that she’s unable to fight. “Her gift is going to make us unconquerable.”

After a long pause, he pulls out his laptop from the top drawer, opens it, which she knows is equivalent to dismissing her, and she sighs softly and makes her way back out to the floor. 

“I cannot believe you’re working for Eric,” Sookie says as she hangs a handful of pressed skirts in Cam’s bedroom closet. Her typical uniform is very different from Sookie’s, the blonde notices. Across the room, Cam carefully arranges gold jewelry in a tiered acrylic box with satin lined drawers.

“It’s as close as I can get to my old job for now, and I’m not really in a position to be picky, or I wouldn’t have come back to Louisiana at all—no offense,” she throws over her shoulder. Sookie tuts and waves her hand.

“None taken. I know where my heart is,” she assures her cousin. Like all small town girls, Sookie sometimes kicks herself for never leaving Bon Temps, but more often than not she loves her hometown, its history, her family’s legacy. 

Gran’s, at least.

She grabs a pile of folded sweaters in cashmere and various knits, stacks them in the space above the closet rod. “Aren’t you at all worried he’s going to use you to hurt people?” 

Behind her, Cam takes a long, careful breath and turns to face Sookie.

“One thing you have to understand—especially if you and Bill are in it for the long haul—is that vampire justice is different. I know it shouldn’t be, but until now they've been non-existent in terms of conventional law. They have their own systems in place—hierarchies, rules, punishments—and we can’t step in and tell them how to behave overnight just because we think we know better.” 

Sookie shoots her a look—as pro-vamp as she is, she admits she’s not comfortable accepting their more violent tendencies, especially where humans are involved. Cam only shrugs. 

“I’m going to defer to Eric’s expertise as sheriff, but I’ll call it like I see it. If he’s being unnecessarily cruel or unjust, I’m not afraid to discuss it with him. If his actions seem to be aligned with the usual nature of his business, I’ll excuse myself.” She walks toward the bed, picks up a pile of panties, mostly black, and places them into the top drawer of a light-colored dresser. When she turns back to Sookie, it’s clear that Cam can read the expression on her face, one of thinly-veiled awe. “What?” she asks, and Sookie smiles, shakes her head. 

“I don't know, I guess… Just, when did you get so confident? So smart, so sure of yourself?” Cam had always been the leader, strong where Sookie was soft, sure where Tara was uncertain, and though Sookie feels like they’ve all come into their own in recent years, she is so pleasantly surprised at the absolute stunner her cousin has become—physically and intellectually. She feels as proud as Cam’s mom would if she were around, Sookie’s sure.

“It’s been a long ten years, Sookie,” is all Cam says, and though she can tell there is more to that statement, she can also sense that now isn’t the time to get into that. Later, someday. 

“Yeah, it has. I just wish I was half as comfortable as you in this new world… sometimes I think I stick out like a sore thumb,” Sookie admits, lifting a stack of shoe boxes and lining them up on the floor of the closet. Cam steps over to join her, adds a couple pairs of boots, and puts her hand on Sookie’s shoulder.

“You’re like a sunflower growing among dead grass. It’s not a bad thing to stick out,” she promises with a smile that crinkles the corner of her eyes, and Sookie pats her hand in gratitude continues to help her settle in.

Skulls are awesome.

Today I was thinking, why do I like skulls so much? Because they igual . It doesn’t matter if you are black or white, you color and race. We must be igual. Always.

No thoughts, just thinking about Alexander in The Diary of a Teenage Girl. 

messy

Kate Winslet, Alexander Skarsgård – Lee ’24 Trailer – Lee Miller, Roland Penrose. Sky Cinema (x) 15 July ’24. Thanks Skarsjoy (x)

Cinema Release Dates, IMDb (x)

let's get ✨vulnerable✨