This Kill Bill AU that was manifested on my tumblr a few weeks ago, and more info (like face casts and moodboards) is linked on my bio on tumblr under the name username: musingsofvenus.

I uploaded this fic to AO3 and figured I should put it here too. Enjoy!

Chapter 1: the blood-splattered bride

Charlie has to drive with windows down yet again because the AC in the cruiser won't work, and he refuses to bring it into the shop to get fixed. Hot, sticky air blows against his face as he speeds down the road.

He switches the station on the radio and wipes the sweat from his brow.

"Come on out to Shreveport, y'all. This is jazz and blues rhythms on KTRN, Caddo Parish. And next on the track is the newest single from our very own, Randy Crawford."

As he drives further down the road, the number of houses become fewer and smaller, and the Spanish moss becomes thicker. The paved road turns into a dirt road covered in patches of moss and surrounded by tall grass and wildflowers.

He spots Waylon standing near a cluster of trees wrapped in caution tape. He waves with a grim expression on his face.

"Cajun moon, where does your power lie

As you move across the southern sky

You took my babe way too soon

What have you done, Cajun m–"

Charlie turns the engine off and tosses the keys into the passenger seat. He removes his aviators to mop his face with a handkerchief. Waylon walks to the car with hands on his hips, squinting under the rays of the sun.

"Well?" Charlie says, bracing himself. "Gimme the gory details."

"It's a goddamn massacre, if I've ever seen one," Waylon informs him. "Whole wedding party got wiped out by some giant animals, by the looks of it. Except the bride."

Charlie pauses as he exits his car. "What about 'er?" he asks.

"Looks like she got slashed in the face by whatever animal ran through here, but she died from two bullets." Waylon makes a gun with his fingers and taps his temple. "Execution style."

"Shit," Charlie grunts. He rubs a hand over his mustache. What a way to start a Thursday morning. "Alright. Let's see what we got."

They duck under the caution tape. The ground is covered in mud, wildflowers and greenery. When they get to the scene of the crime, everything is stained bright red and littered with viscera. The air reeks of death.

Charlie removes his hat and whistles. "My word," he breathes. "What kinda crazy fucker would do such a thing?"

"Maybe not so crazy," Waylon hedges. "It's a rampage alright, but it's too neat. There's no animal tracks. The hounds can't even catch a scent out here. Whoever did this, they're real good."

"How the hell can someone organize somethin' like this around here?" Charlie wonders.

"Don't know, sir," Waylon says. "You heard them stories about werewolf sightings on the news? They can live forever, and they got scary blue eyes. Bullets don't hurt 'em neither."

"Don't you start with that nonsense again. It's a load of hoodoo crap. Ain't no bullet proof werewolves howlin' at the moon or slaughterin' folks," Charlie warns. "There's a logical explanation for all this." He steps around the bodies and blood splatter, crouching beside the felled woman in the gauzy white dress. "Who's the bride?"

"The name on the marriage certificate says Julia Jones."

Charlie snorts. "That's a fake."

"Figured that. We've been callin' her The Bride on account of the bouquet in her hand."

"Whoever did this had to be crazy, messin' up her face like this," Charlie says. He leans closer. "She was a good lookin' gal. Like a… blood-splattered angel."

An unexpected spurt of blood hitting his face makes Charlie flinch. As he wipes his cheek, he sees a bullet leeching its way out of the woman's chest. The bullet clatters to the ground, and a trickle of blood leaks from the hole left behind. Seconds later, her chest stutters with a weak gasp.

"Uh, she ain't dead," Charlie announces.

Waylon scrambles over on his knees, removing his hat from his head and holding it to his chest. The bullet wound near the woman's heart sluggishly closes. The trauma to her face is still ghastly looking, but slowly piecing itself back together. The bullet in her forehead slowly pushes to the surface.

"I told ya! Whattaya make of that!" Waylon yells, pointing frantically at her face. "They're real, Sheriff!"

Charlie is not Bella's father in this universe.

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