#twisted night at the museum au | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

writingcold · 24 days

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Hello! Welcome to Chapter 6 of CD&FE.

Pairing: Jake X Female Reader

Summary: This is an AU that starts with the release of GVF’s first EP, Black Smoke Rising, and follows along life paths over the course of twenty plus years. So… It’s just messy. Fortunately, it’s also kind of a shorty as far as length goes.

Content warnings: Uncomfortable moments in adult relationships, but smut free.

Word Count: approx. 4.4K

I am so thankful for @edgingthedarkness and @takenbythemadness. But you all better know that by now, but I’ve said it with every damn posting how brilliant they are.

CD&FE, Part 6.1: Her POV

To say that I had gotten comfortable in my relationship with Frankie was an understatement. I felt like we were flourishing. I began to slowly migrate from my office into our home, working one and two days a week away from the office. No one died. No projects failed. Fancy that. I was able to distance myself and yet still get the job done. Life was good. I couldn’t lie about that.

I had gotten a call from my friend Maurice Flanders from Chicago who owned several galleries. I had been handling his accounts for years, but he reached out on this one in particular as it would be a rushed job. He had a show fall through, but found an up and coming artist that had agreed to a limited run on short notice. Of course, I’d never leave him in a bind and agreed to step in right away to handle the advertising for the event, and all of the main graphic needs for the opening night. I didn’t think of the person until well after I had hung up and a few days had gone by. The featured artist would be Clara. His Clara.

Echoes of times and interludes with Jake haunted me from time to time. Stray thoughts lingered longer than they should have. Bits and fragments of dreams would wash a tide across me when I felt weak. Always at my fringe, I could feel Jake’s presence. I could be dicing up vegetables for dinner, or have a song coming on across my feed, or hell, sitting and talking with friends, and all of the emotions of loss of him would come roaring back only to stop short and fizzle out. I supposed that was because it ended how it did. This lingering uncertainty of ‘maybe’. I felt like a corner of me longed for him still.

We were two weeks from the event when Maurice called me personally to check in and to invite me down - after all, it had been ages since we had been together in person. I knew there would be many current clients in attendance. It would be smart for me to be there. Frank was willing to take the weekend trip, so it was a go. Although, part of me was hesitant. Would Jake be there? How was I going to handle seeing him - in person after all this time?

We flew down a few days early to take in the museums and the jazz and blues scene of the city. Frank kept his distance when I needed to work, but he was more than happy to entertain himself. The opening was Saturday night and we were ready to go. It wasn’t like we had to be glamorous, but to say my man looked hot as sin would not be lying. He held me close as we approached the gallery. My stomach did a little flop as I realized that I was looking right at Clara when we walked in before the actual opening. Maurice was lovely, wrapping me up and welcoming us in.

I silently sloshed through emotions whilst keeping my professional appearance while weaving through the introduction to Clara. She gushed over our work - impressed that it was all completed on such a short timeline but so beautifully. She walked me and Frankie around showing us some of her more recent works. All of my internal organs were twisting with fury as I caught glimpses of love and Jake and their time together. I held tight to Frank’s hand, but all the while, my brain was conjuring venom towards the very unaware Clara.

My eyes were darting around when the doors officially opened. He was nowhere to be found. I picked out Jake’s parents right away. They were fawning over Clara, but their son was completely absent. I could see the glint of frustration in the woman’s eyes as they were talking. I dug myself deeper into the gallery. It wasn’t like any of that scene was my business.

I spent the better part of two hours connecting with clients and meeting potential new ones. Frank was my stalwart spirit, smiling and looking incredibly handsome. He seemed totally relaxed in his easy self that just seemed to draw people in instantly. Our last forty minutes was spent with Maurice in a cozy corner going over new contacts that he wanted to share for our valiant effort and success together.

As we started to say our goodbyes, I took note that Jake still was not in attendance. My heart squeezed a bit. I’m unsure if it was because he was not in attendance, or if there was a personal issue that was lingering behind the pretty woman’s smile. A small portrait towards the front caught my eyes and held it as we meandered towards the door. It was Jake, but his face was down, the brim of a hat covering most of his features. I felt removed. I had no right feeling this way, but my whole focus seemed to be parked on a man that I had not physically seen in six years. Six. And he still commanded my thoughts like we had just parted the day before.

The rest of summer rolled through quietly. Frank had been gone a few weeks due to conferences, to which I took advantage to catch up with friends. Patrick and Sidney took most of that time, but I so enjoyed our time together. In October, I found myself in Paris, accompanying Frank for one of his academic conferences. While he was buried in work, I was gracing the balcony of a beautiful little room, sipping coffee and soaking in the ancient city around me. Our evenings were our own. We walked everywhere until we couldn’t walk any more. We laughed over food and cried over art. I wanted more time. Always more time, but life was calling us back.

By December, I had somehow discovered that the bulk of my work week was spent in my pjs in my home office. And I didn’t feel bad about it. Christmas brought around news I didn’t expect.

“You’re procreating?” I asked, unable to hide the shrill note in my tone.

Patrick and Sid were sitting with huge smiles before me. “Aunt Y/n has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?” Pat said finally, letting me fully digest the moment.

It was unreal to think that my oldest friend was going to be a father. But they were happy. Beyond it, actually. The babies would arrive in the summer - fraternal twins no less. I was secretly planning on buying every obnoxiously loud, bright, annoying toy possible to fill their lives with such joy. Pat deserved a little more chaos in his life, right?

Spring arrived with a definite bang. We seemed to go from ice and wind and ten foot high drifts of snow to green overnight. I had come home from a client dinner party to find the apartment quiet. I went to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water, discovering that Frankie was out on the deck. The faint glow of a cigarette rested between his fingers, while a glass was nestled into the palm of his other hand. It was an odd sight. Frank didn’t smoke unless his mind was troubled.

I walked out onto the deck and wrapped my arms around his waist. He was quick to crush the smoke, but I had seen it was not just the one he had imbibed in. He had been outside for quite some time.

“How was your meeting?” he asked as he turned to welcome me proper.

“Good. I would say we landed another solid client.” I allowed myself to be wrapped up in his dense frame and scent. There was an air of removal that I did not understand. “Something must have happened, huh? Tough day?”

He hummed as he let me go. “Actually, something that I wasn’t expecting came up.”

I frowned when he paused. His whole aura seemed shifted. He was holding back. I frowned all the more as he lit another cigarette and leaned away from me. My gut blazed with a stab of anxiety. I was left wishing I would’ve poured something harder than the water.

“I’ve been invited to teach in Paris,” he said, his voice void of what made him sound like himself. It was weird.

I could see that he was happy about it, but he wasn’t allowing himself to be. I must’ve flashed an expression that he didn’t like. He turned away from me, with his face turned to the sky. “Are you not happy about this?”

“I am actually really fucking happy about it,” he muttered, his voice full of an edge.

“But-”

He let out a long stream of smoke after lighting up another cigarette. “I’ve been out here for hours trying to guess how you would answer my question if I asked you to come with me. However, I think I already have my answer.”

“That’s not fair,” I whispered.

“Would you go?”

It was like I was going a hundred miles an hour and someone just threw my ass into park without the benefit of hitting the breaks. My insides felt like they were liquefying as he seemed to fight himself from looking at me. I knew what he was asking. I had heard this question in a different, unspoken form before. And the answer was the same.

“Frank,” I hiccuped.

“It’s all right. I get it,” he said, voice hushed. “I need some time out here. Alone. Please.”

My jaw softened as I felt all those liquid guts swirl just under my skin. I felt like I was going to throw up as I pushed my way back into the apartment. My legs were declaring a mutiny as I tried to climb the stairs. I found myself melting onto the fourth step. I was in a ball while the man I had made a life with for the better part of six years was hurt outside.

I went to bed alone and I woke up alone. Frank was not in the apartment when I padded down the stairs. The knot that had strangled my innards the night before was limp from bleeding out. I was too tired to search for a note. I was sure eventually, we’d discuss the situation. I wanted to say I’d go with him. I wanted to say that I would be able to leave my work behind. But in truth - I just couldn’t.

I sat curled on the couch, waiting for him to come home. I saw a text from Pat, but I couldn’t find it in me to pay attention beyond who it was from. The parallel was not lost on me as I looked around my home - our home. It was true that I was slowly creating distance from my work, but by street blocks only. To completely leave it behind? Wasn’t that what he was silently asking of me?

It wasn’t until early evening that Frank returned. He looked hollow as he set his keys down on the table. I felt gutted as he sat down next to me. I threaded my fingers into his, but made no move closer to him. It was like a division was already between us. It hurt to breathe the same air, let alone be in the same space.

“I can’t say ‘no’ to this, Y/n,” he said quietly. “I refuse to be that guy to tell you to quit your job. I just don’t know where that leaves us.”

I tucked my chin to my chest. All the love, all the life was slipping away like a threadbare scarf. I hated this. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. And yet, I couldn’t force my mouth to wrap around the words that I needed to speak.

“Distance doesn’t work for me,” he whispered. “I’m a jealous man, if I was being honest.”

“And if I’m not ready-” My words dried up in my throat, crackling like brittle paper.

“I’m not ready, either,” he replied, tightening his hold on my hand. “Could you leave your company behind? Honest. As honest as you can be.”

No matter how much I wanted to say ‘yes, I can leave’, I just knew it was wrong. I looked at him as my eyes filled and spilled across my cheeks. I shook my head ‘no’ as my throat refused to function through the emotions.

“Didn’t think so,” he whispered.

I fell into him as I couldn’t hold back my tears. He made no move to hide his own. We mourned together. We found comfort in each other’s touch. It was like we knew it was the end.

CD&FE, part 6.2: Jake’s POV

“It’s been coming for a while, Jake,” Clara said, after I finally got her to sit down at the dining room table.

“Really? I thought everything was just fine,” I said, not trying to hide the bitterness from my tone.

She puffed out her cheeks with a hard breath. “Come on. Surely you don’t think everything has been all right?”

“Enlighten me.”

I was mad. I was mad more at myself. She did not seem to really want to answer. But that was Clara. I wanted to know. I wanted honesty. She wanted to hide from conflict. If she wanted out, I was not going to stop her, however I needed to know what the hell I did wrong.

“Chicago wasn’t my only show you missed,” she said quietly. She shook her head. “No. I shouldn’t say it that way. It was my choice to be on tour with you. I loved traveling with you.”

“But.”

She squirmed in her seat. I did not like making her feel uncomfortable, but I felt like I could at least understand. “I turned down two galleries this past year because they conflicted with the tour. I turned down working with others last year because they conflicted with the tour. When Chicago came around, and I saw it fit between shows, I thought maybe you would see my passion was as strong as yours. Perhaps it would be a way for you to see that I was as good-”

“Fuck,” I whispered against the anger that flooded my system. “You can’t put that on me. Just because you chose not to take an opportunity…?”

Clara slapped the table and jumped from her chair. I followed her as she fled to the bedroom. This was her pattern. Run. Run from any kind of conflict and let it fester until it was a hundred more times hurtful as it became a torrent flooding out of her.

“Talk to me! How can you think I felt your work was ‘not good’? I’m just as excited as you are that this is getting somewhere for you,” I said, fighting to keep my tone from hitting a harsh line.

“Really? Could’ve fooled me,” she grumbled, coming to a stop. “I have followed you around this planet with you for years, Jake. On tour, you take no notice of how I struggle to keep up. I need more time in these spaces. I need more time to create. But it’s like you have blinders on and it’s always only about the tour. Only about your work and never about anyone else.”

“It’s kind of what I do. My job. I can’t apologize for working to keep us to the level that we are. Many people depend on me, on us, to live on. It’s more than just about me. If I don’t do a good job, if we aren’t out there, families are affected.”

She rolled her eyes. “And you don’t really think about the effects on your own family.”

“We’re all working our asses off-”

“I wasn’t talking about your brothers, Jake! Me! Your family that you won’t marry?”

I stopped moving. Clara threw her hands up out of frustration and proceeded to stomp back into the bedroom. A tiny fraction of me did not want to pursue the argument. It whispered to let it go. Let her go.

“That can’t be it,” I found myself saying out loud. She scoffed as I walked into the bedroom after her.

“What - a commitment? I’m fucking human, Jake.”

I felt my brows pinch as I watched her wrestle her bags from the bed only to grab another empty suitcase and fling it open. “I-”

“I want it. I have wanted all of this. All of you. Don’t you see that?”

The corners of my mouth turned down. She was throwing her clothes into the case without consideration. It was then I realized that her ring was gone. That little whisper was rising in volume, but still not sharp enough for me to listen.

“What I see is someone who doesn’t trust me enough to let me go on tour without her,” I said, unable to really recognize the flatness of my own voice.

The laugh that slithered from her mouth made me cringe. “Trust? Fuck yeah, I don’t trust you. I see how others are out there. Leaving their wives at home so they can fuck anyone that comes across their plate! Fuck that.”

“That’s not me,” I whispered. “You’d know that if you gave me the chance.”

She started to say something but stopped. She dropped the clothes from her hands and took a step back. “Still doesn’t change the fact that you do not want to marry me.”

I nodded. She was right. I may have at one point thought that marriage in my profession was impossible, but that wasn’t totally it. I believed if I made a commitment, I didn’t need anyone else’s approval, a little paper, or any other archaic belief to say that I am with someone. That voice had gone from a whisper, to nearly a full voice, was now shouting at me.

“I’m sorry you thought you had to live around me,” I said, retreating back to the doorway. “That was never the case.”

“It was always the case, whether you realized it or not. I was given a schedule and felt like I had to live by it. I put myself in that schedule where I could.”

“That was your lack of faith in me, Clara. That’s not something I can fix.”

I walked away, allowing her to finish collecting her things. So much of this house was her. So much of the life within it was her. Was I sad about it? Yeah. It hurt like a fucking punch to my chest. But it was done.

I poured myself a whiskey and wandered out to the patio with my phone in hand. I called Josh, only to be sent to voicemail. Dick. I called Mom, but then forgot the folks were on a flight home. My brain was formulating plans. I listened to the rambling playing of the neighbor kids and the distant practice of someone on a piano. I must’ve been out there no more than an hour before I heard Clara behind me.

“I called an Uber. I’ll stay with my friends for a few weeks to figure this out.”

Her voice was void of warmth. There was nothing to figure out. It was just done.

“I leave on Monday,” I replied, looking up at her. “I’ll be gone for two weeks. If you want, you can clear out while I’m gone.”

“Wow,” she sighed. “I say done and you mean it. Kinda cold, Jake.”

I shook my head. “I cannot be with someone who has no faith in me, and cannot trust me. I will not be with someone who thinks so little of my commitment. You shouldn’t want to be with me if I make you live by my schedule. Or think that I am holding you from what you love. Those are some pretty big stopping points.”

She sighed. “I suppose you are right.”

I heard her leave, but did not watch. I reached for my phone and began an attempt to text my twin, but he was strangely radio silent. I realized in the silence, that I had not gone to actually see Clara’s showing postings. For that I was a real prick. I opened up the socials and got to her professional page. She looked happy in the first picture - she stood in the middle of the small gallery with her works all around her. I scrolled through the pictures slowly, taking in each shot of the paintings I knew well. Each one seemed to look different under the lighting, but they were all here.

I stormed through the first dozen or so before I stopped. At the edge of the frame was a familiar face. Y/n was standing with a small group, all wrapped up in her professional armor and disarming smile. I frowned for a moment. I started scrolling down and looking at the actual description and noticed a small ‘thank you’ note that included the owner of the gallery, the management team and… oh hell. Y/n had personally taken care of all the advertising and graphics within the gallery. I went back to the picture and stared. It was like all the hurt, all the guilt was paused.

I wondered if she knew who Clara was. I wondered if she was aware of our connection. Surely she had seen my post about Clara. Oh… fuck. Did Clara know? Surely not. A knot of anxiety twisted through my chest forcing me to stand up and fly into the house, phone clutched tightly in my palm. I was spooked. I was realizing that the last day was beginning to filter through. The final moments especially - I hadn’t even said goodbye. Who does that?

I decided to give her the space she asked for, going out on the next stretch before reaching back out to her. When I returned home, it was an empty house. She had taken all of her things, her artwork, the pieces that she had wanted to be in our shared space. I texted her that I was back, knowing that the last part was to get the keys. I made a nice dinner of all her favorites, along with her choice of wine. I had flowers delivered that reminded me of our time in Rome a few years back. It wasn’t meant to be romantic, but I’m sure that was what it looked like when I finished getting everything ready.

She smiled when I invited her inside. Her eyes latched onto the table and started to shake her head with excuses to leave.

“Just come and talk with me.”

I took her purse and set it to the side as she reluctantly walked past me. “Jake, I’m not sure if this is a good idea.”

“Just talk,” I promised, waving her towards the table.

I poured a glass of wine while she sat down. I took a drink of my beer before pulling serving dishes out of the warming oven. I plated up and joined her.

“I know I’m springing this on you, but,” I started, setting down her food before her, “I just thought it would make this a little easier.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “It looks delicious.”

We picked at our food, and it was silent. It was not what I was hoping for in the slightest, but it was a start.

“Have you been staying with Grace and Tucker?” I asked, hoping to break the ice.

“I haven’t left Nashville, if that’s what you’re searching for, Jake,” she answered.

I ate the hard tone and tried to let it go. Sitting back in my chair, I wiped the corners of my mouth. “I’m not looking for a fight, Clara.”

“Then what is all of this? A grand send off?”

I rolled my eyes. “If that’s what you want to call it, fine. I just want to part as friends. We were such good friends towards each other - why leave it with all that hurt out there?”

“Pretty one sided friends, if you ask me.”

My eyes rolled closed. I sucked in a long, slow breath. “I saw the pictures from Chicago - on your socials. Mom shared a few more as well. No matter how you think of me, I am proud of you. It was wrong of me to miss it.”

She set her glass down and finally made eye contact. “Why didn’t you want to be there?”

“Who said I didn’t want to be there? I made every attempt to get there. I won’t be an ass and blame the weather, but… I really am sorry I missed it,” I replied honestly. “You know how I am when we’re out there. If I don’t focus on what I’m supposed to be doing-”

“You were supposed to buy that ticket and be with me.”

I frowned. “And I am upset with myself over it, Clara.”

“Sure you are.”

“Of course I am. It was my mistake, but it showed us that you are to move in this other direction,” I said, tapping my fingers on the table softly. “I’m sorry I made you feel like you had to follow me, Clara. It was never my intent to keep you from your art.”

She flashed a sad little smile. “I didn’t mean to make it sound like I didn’t trust you. I was scared. I saw what happens out there. It’s not pretty.”

“It’s very easy to get caught up,” I admitted, keeping my voice level. “It hurt that you wouldn’t allow me to try, at least. At least prove that I could be faithful to us. There are more on the road that can be faithful than not.”

She nodded. “I’m not sorry for our time together, Jake.”

“Neither am I,” I whispered as she touched my hand.

Closure. It was not stomping away in anger. It was not lighting my days on fire just to show her what kind of man I could be. It was quiet and reverent of our time together. I hugged her goodbye and it felt good to watch her walk away knowing that she was going to be just fine without me. What more, I knew I was going to be just fine without her.

So, I’m unsure if I want to break our final part, part 7, into the three postings, with a fourth posting for the epilogue, or to post 7.1 with 7.2, and have 7.3 with the epilogue. 🤔 I’m leaning towards having two more posts after today’s, instead of four.

I’ve had quite a few new people join the taglist. However, if you are one of those who do not participate and post, it’s hard to tag you. I’m sorry. I’ve tried, but tagging in posts is shoddy as it is, so if you are not getting the notification that I’ve posted, but you’re on the taglist? It’s just the world that our tumblr is. I’m trying though - I’m trying to get these tags to work! Promise

I do have a tag list here, or you can just let me know in a reply to add you.

@lvnterninthenight @doodle417 @luverleaver @jakesgrapejuice @fictional-duchess @milkgemini @positivegvfthings @songbirds-sweet @gretavanbitches @gardensgatedaisy @babyhoneygvfarchive @myownparadise96 @josh-iamyour-mama @starcatcherc @loveisonaroll @jakesstarlight @reesetrippingthelight @builtby-gvf @ignite-my-fire @wetkleenex-gvf @gold-mines-melting @starsasone @mysticalstarcatcher @montenegroisr @takenbythemadness @way-to-go-lad @cal-a-bungaa @thewritingbeforesunrise @leftjudgeempathsuitcase @brokenbells11 @imborrowedshesblue @vanfleeter

#jake gvf #jake kiszka #greta van fleet #gvf #cd&fe #greta van fleet fan fiction #gvf fanfiction #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka fan fiction #greta van fleet fanfic #greta van fleet AU #jake kiszka AU

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star-vessel1237 · 1 year

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Hollow (Armor!Yuu)

Summary: What if Yuu was a hollow suit of armor?

(A/N: This is probably one of the last AUs I write before I go back to writing for my Digimon x Twst AU. I don’t know why but the idea just came to my head after watching “Night at the Museum”. Anyway, here we go.)

Armor!Yuu is a sentient armor that made their home in a museum where they would wander around at night

Armor!Yuu of course can’t talk, but that doesn’t really matter to them as they didn’t see the need to

As for how they got to Twisted Wonderland, unlike how it usually goes with getting hit by a carriage they ended up messing around in one of the storage rooms

Armor!Yuu stumbled on a peculiar looking mirror before it suddenly glowed a bright light that absorbed them, leaving the storage empty

To say Crowley and Grim were confused when Armor!Yuu was wearing a full suit of armor was an understatement

Crowley also tried to insist on them "taking off" the armor but to no avil

In fact, it wasn't until Grim started setting things on fire that Armor!Yuu's true nature was revealed

What basically happened was that Armor!Yuu grabbed Grim and stuffed him inside themselves

Riddle yelled at them for getting in the way when they’ve needlessly put themselves in danger while Azul is just questioning why they just stuffed Grim inside their armor

Grim jumped out of Armor!Yuu, knocking off their helmet and revealing that they had no body underneath

Needless to say, that was probably the most rememberable entrance ceremony in all of NRC history

After which, Armor!Yuu finds out they can’t go home, they’re given a pen and notebook to communicate, and are allowed to stay at Ramschakle and work as their janitor

Of course things didn’t exactly go well on their first day

Ace: It’s fricking hillarious, your an empty suit of magicless armor that still got summoned by the mirror and you, a monster, weren’t called but still tresspassed.

Ace: Man, it took everything I had to not- Ow! What the hell did you throw at me? *Opens paper airplane*

Paper: Maybe if you weren’t such a stuck up jerk you would have friends you can actually have fun with. But no, you decided to boost your ego at the less fortunate, and you call us the losers when you're literally wasting time here instead of an education to help you in life. Go off and waste your time with someone else.

Ace: The hell. You seriously wrote this?

Armor!Yuu: . . . >:(

Ace: Don’t stare at me like that. Besides, your still just an empty bucket-head and a cat.

Grim: I’m not a cat!

Armor!Yuu then watched Grim and Ace duke out, only getting involved to block the fire that would’ve scorched the statue of the Queen of Hearts

Armor!Yuu needless to say is done with Ace’s (and others) sh!t in this AU, they’ve dealt with teenagers just like them in the museum, like hell their dealing with another one when they couldn’t do anything about it back home

They’re a gentle giant, but they won’t hesitate to tear you a new one if you disrespect them or their new friends

Now for some miscellaneous details:

Armor!Yuu took off their own “head” after Riddle used his unique magic on Ace, Deuce, and Grim just to mess with him

They wear a cape in the school’s colors along with a matching plume as to make up for not wearing the proper uniform

They try to avoid rain as to make sure they don’t rust

They’re very good with swords and often train with Silver

After Chapter 6 they got a “little” broken up, but Idia helped by upgrading their armor to a more advanced one that kinda resembles the Charon robots(?) [Gonna be honest, still confused if they're robots or people in high tech armor, or both]

That’s all for now, hope you enjoyed!

#Twst au #twisted wonderland #armor!yuu #yuu #yuu au #twst Grim #grim #twst ace #ace trappola #twst riddle #riddle rosehearts #twst azul #azul ashengrotto

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owladaptive · 6 months

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Headcanons of your latest art, plz

The cool and funny thing about the addams au is that ducks don't need to change their core personalities in the slightest in order to fit. They're all just kinda Like That already.

They're just Like That already!!

They already get up to wacky, dangerous shenanigans. And other people not in the family look at it and go "that's a whole lotta weird". Individually, none of them are exactly normal.

All you really need to do to addamsify them is to take the most out of the ordinary aspects of each of their personalities and dial the notch up about..... 60 degrees.

Below are ramblings about their characters. Enjoy.

Scrooge is of course the patriarch of the family, an adventure capitalist and the richest duck in the world who loves dancing with danger. He's basically the most unchanged out of them all. But this Scrooge is... twisted. He covets the thrill of almost dying with the same fervor he covets gold. And he proudly, nay lovingly, exposes his kids to anything that brings them near the glory of death with reverence. The "other bin" is a personal museum of deadly monsters, fatal curses and dead things that he proudly lets his beloved family (and hapless guests) admire at their leisure. And he's always delighted to teach his kids anything they want to know. How to swordfight? Of course m'dear child, anything you ask. Here's the correct way you load gunpowder into a musket. Here's a fun way to give your wind-up clock bomb a little extra oomph. Want a turn in the iron maiden?

Bentina was a whole different kind of spy. I mean she was an assassin. In fact she was hired to string up Scrooge when they first met, instead he bought her off and had her dispose of her original contractor. They became friends of course, Scrooge admiring her line of work and Beakley begrudgingly respecting the sheer outrageousness of his admiration. And since coming back to his house to raise Webby (his family-oriented nature wore her cold exterior down over time until she caught the love bug) she vibes as his pseudo-sister once more.

Yeah Duckworth is still a ghost. He's been there since he died in his sleep and the whole family got together to drag his fading soul from the river styx and shove him back into the physical plain. (They worship the escape of death, that doesn't mean they want to be separated!) He doesn't say much. They love him still.

Webby is literally the same character. Only of course, her already-warped perspective on life after growing up in the shadow of Scrooge McDuck is warped all the more. To Webby, fighting, grappling, shooting arrows, firing (real) guns and stalking your friends through the shadows of night to scare the light from their eyes for a second isn't just super fun.... it's affection!! She's a creature of the night. She'll give her family so many hugs. She'll watch her loved ones while they sleep. She'll strangle them until they pass out (affectionate), she'll protect them from anything. She's everything the rest of the world is just ken.

Della is presumed dead, and nobody is particularly mad about it. This is a family that walks closely with death, after all, so while their love for each other is so strong that even a decade after she was gone they still mourn her, they would never cut her memory from their lives. Her portraits hang everywhere, her room kept immaculately covered in dust and cobwebs just the way she'd want it to be. They bring her up in conversations as though she'd just gone out to buy milk or something. And every single year, on the anniversary of her death, they hold a seance to attempt to summon her back (They already tried the thing they did with Duckworth). It never works, and Scrooge and Donald hug and cry and reminisce together and then life goes back to normal.

Donald is a faithful, doting and affectionate dad to his nephews and has told them stories of their mother since they were hatched. He loved his sister so very much, but unlike canon never blamed Scrooge for her death. Yes, she likely died in space, her spacesuit smashed open and her body freeze dried in the soul-sucking endless darkness all because Scrooge lovingly gifted her something that would put her life at risk. But she's only dead!! Nothing to estrange yourself from your family over. Donald and Scrooge are instead brought closer through shared loss. Donald in this universe is still a sailor, and is entranced by the glory of the deathly, stormy seas and all the creepy, slimy creatures within it. His anger is surprisingly mostly tamed by way of catharsis (fishing and killing the fish and cooking the fish with far too much axe chopping and knife brandishing than needed). That doesn't mean he won't lose it if someone insults his kids, his uncle or his dead sister.

Huey is a sweet, smart, helpful boy with a penchant for biting that's followed him since he first grew teeth and a rage-filled alter ego that's switched on a hair-thin trigger. When he's not flying into a mad frenzy like a gremlin ("you've got such a healthy temper dear boy, make sure to sharpen your teeth before bed now!") he's deconstructing anything he can get his hands on and building them back better and more explosive. Don't be alarmed by his muzzle - his brothers sometimes force it on him when they get tired of his biting (it makes for an unfair fight) and sometimes they kindly ask if he wants them to put it on for him when they notice he's being a little nonverbal or cranky. He loves them a lot and gives them lots of hugs.

Dewey is a melodramatic little weirdo who recites poetry and Shakespeare, adores making a spectacle of himself and hates being one of a set of three. Quite like his canon self! Unlike his canon self, he copes with feelings of resentment and middle child syndrome by way of bloodlust. It's all in good fun, of course. What child doesn't try to smother their siblings in their sleep now and then? Why, back when Scrooge was a lad, his sisters once dangled him in the path of a speeding train while he was sleeping! When his murderous urges take a backseat and he gives the booby traps a rest, Dewey's a fun-loving kid who would go to much more extreme measures to get take vicious revenge on anyone who would make any three of his siblings cry. His dream is to die suffocating in a vacuum like his mother did.

Louie, having grown up in the mansion instead of a houseboat, is no stranger to the wonders of luxury. Luckily for him, the Scrooge of this universe is wrapped around the collective pinky finger of his wee ones, and is much more doting than canon. Also luckily for Louie is that McDuck manor is built on an expansive graveyard where he can look for jewellery, trinkets and gold fillings to his greedy heart's content. When he runs out of graves at the mansion (he always buries them back, don't worry) there are always other graveyards in town. And other towns, too. And true, Louie's been dragged back home by the police every now and then, so he's had to get sneaky about his thrifting ways. He can pickpocket like a pro, filching off anybody who isn't Scrooge (who would always notice) and snatching any shiny thing that isn't nailed down and can fit in his pocket when he's out of the house. He's sneaky alright, but also sensitive. Don't touch his stuff or he'll stab you. "did the little dragon add anything to his hoard today?"

#addams au #ducktales #answer #dt17 #scrooge mcduck #dewey duck #huey duck #louie duck #webby vanderquack #bentina beakley #della duck

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therenlover · 7 months

Text

Slain (Vampire Hunter!Helmut Zemo/Vampire!Reader)

Chapter One: No Compasses, No Signs

Synopsis: The world undergoes change. Helmut Zemo finds new residence and perspective on his journey for revenge.

Tags: Vampire!AU, Vampire Hunter!Helmut Zemo, Slow Burn, Blood Drinking, Manipulation, Everyone Is Morally Grey, Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers

Rating: E (+18) For Later Chapters, Minors DNI

Warnings: Mild Gore, Minor Mentions of Child Death

Word Count: 9,900~

--------------

Her lips were a breath away from his neck, fangs bared, when his weapon found purchase in her heart. She settled there a while, leaning closer into him and the great bolt of wood that sat between them. He stilled as she did.

One last shuddering breath escaped her lips. “Thank you, Helmut,” It was more than that, though. A confession of love hid itself within her words.

Helmut grimaced. Not this. Not now.

Before there was even a moment to reconsider, he wrenched the stake free and brought it down again, and again, and again, and again… Better to make sure the job gets done than leave her to suffer.

He walked from that room into the daylight an untethered man. The hunt was just beginning, though.

Every inch of the floor sat soaked red in his wake.

———

Sokovia was always most beautiful in the autumn.

It was a timeless place, or at least that’s what all the brochures had said. After spending the morning exploring old-growth forests or quaint villages, a three-hour car ride could take you straight into the city, filled with modern Sokovian culture and art. The capital city of Novi Grad was bursting at the seams with theaters, galleries, museums, historical districts, and Michelin-rated restaurants serving farm-to-table cuisine: anything you craved on an international vacation, you could find it there. Students the world over chose the Sokovian National University over all others across Europe and the globe for its arts department. People thrived there.

At least they had.

Now the theaters that still stood sat empty, never to play another film or host another symphony. Museums were looted, restaurants burned, and the university, with a campus several hundred years old, turned to dust as Novi Grad disappeared off the map forever. The bricks that had once built a nation came crumbling down in one final, fatal blow. In the span of one night, the history of the whole country was lost forever.

Some things still remained, though; things older than even Sokovia had been.

Helmut Zemo just had to find them.

There was no map to follow towards his prize. There had been once, an ancient thing that sat rolled up tight in a glass case on his father’s desk for all his life. It had been there, untouched, in every memory Helmut had of that office. He imagined his father and grandfather had similar memories there, looking up at the very same desk and pondering the stiff, crumbling parchment above. Not anymore, though. There would be no more young Zemos to gaze up at that sturdy oak desk. It had been found crushed beneath the rubble of their ancestral home.

In fact, there wouldn’t be any more young Zemos at all.

Carl had been found crushed in that rubble too.

It was better that way. He had met a nobler fate than most Sokovian citizens had. Still…

Sometimes it was better not to dwell on things like that.

Helmut’s father hadn’t had much time to teach him the ways of the family before his passing, but some things came with time and the rest could be gleaned from superstition.

Silver, for example, was plentiful across their vast collection of heirlooms. Those trinkets had become incredibly useful to melt down for bullets and crossbow bolts when he started to hunt. Much more helpful, though, was the fact that the furniture in their homes was often made of fine wood, and some of those handcrafted bedposts and coat racks, when twisted just so and pulled at the socket, would reveal a perfectly sharpened end hidden within.

Those stakes had come in handy.

And even if there hadn’t been any childhood lessons on how to slaughter a creature soundlessly in the darkness of the night, Helmut had learned plenty about that in the Sokovian special forces.

After months of little revelations, his preparations were long past done. Now the only thing left to do was follow his father’s footsteps.

Surviving the journey was a secondary priority.

Helmut didn’t need his family’s map to know exactly where to seek the first of his quarries. He had heard tales of her for his whole life in nursery rhymes and whispered childhood stories.

Women, children, and wandering folk with pure hearts couldn’t be led astray, but if a man with a guilty mind followed the Behnit River, he might just get lost. Thankfully, Helmut had that part covered. Once lost, the poor soul would trek through the winding Sokovian mountain passes, traveling far beyond the shadow of Mount Wundagore until he came across a forest of fog. If the man wandered the forest long enough, evading the great beasts that lurked there, he would find the castle of the Grey Lady.

Anyone foolish enough to seek her there would see the face of death.

Now, Helmut Zemo was not afraid of death. He had been intimately acquainted with it from birth as had twelve generations before him. Ever since his father’s head arrived home on the morning of his eighteenth birthday, shipped neatly in an ice-packed crate and wrapped with a red ribbon, the abyss was attached to him like a lover. Not even his wife or child could escape that cruel mistress’s clutches. Without anything left to lose, Helmut found himself in only death’s company.

Even now, as he wandered the abandoned villages and barren fields of the country he once called home in search of the Grey Lady, he spent his time slaughtering the last stragglers of Ultron’s army and putting any live victims out of their misery before they turned. Neither tended to last long once they were starved, but a few stubborn bastards held on. He liked to think of it as a mercy when he drove his stake through their skulls.

Death walked beside him like a friend, and Helmut didn’t fear his friends.

They feared him.

That suited him just fine.

To be fair, not everything was bad here. The Behnit flowed through fields of flowers and fruiting trees where all manner of soft, warm, innocent creatures slept, untouched by the horrors of modern civilization. Helmut slept among them unnoticed. He sustained himself off of their sacrificial charity.

Another silver lining: the longer he traveled along the riverbank the less it seemed to rain, which was appreciated. His coat kept him warm and the stars kept him company. The autumn leaves seemed just as beautiful as they were advertised to be in the travel brochures he used to wipe his ass on the trail.

He had pitched his tent for the night in a cluster of boulders by the pebbled shore. The greatest of the stones were still jagged from where a slowly dying glacier rended the earth and left a river its wake. Still, they were softened somewhat by moss and time.

When Helmut woke that morning, emerging from the boulder’s shadows, the once open field that had surrounded the river the night before had been replaced with more trees than could be counted. Thick morning fog rolled in from the water’s edge. Visibility was at almost zero. There were just trees and trees and trees and nothing.

It was exactly as he thought it would be.

So he packed up his tent, tucked it away in his bag, and freed his wicked, silver blade from its holster- another heirloom coming in handy. Its weight rested naturally in his hand. Then, he walked on.

Thus began the first leg of Helmut Zemo’s journey towards revenge.

———

Black blood splattered against the cobbles as my ringed fingers slammed into the younger man’s cheekbone again.

It pooled in the stones’ creases; a thick, stinking ichor that clung to my jewelry and my skin as it continued to dribble down from his face and body. I couldn’t help but lick a stray droplet from my lips.

He wasn’t quite broken yet. It wouldn’t take much longer, though. My hunger could wait until then.

The pathetic creature stood his ground in the corner of the darkened stable as his eyes darted about to search for an escape route.

There were none. I had made sure of that. There was only me and the sturdy walls behind him. Nowhere to go but down.

As expected, he sunk to his knees after just one more sharp hit to the cheek.

I allowed my hand to linger for a moment. It may have been cruel, but I didn’t care to think too much about it. “Are you ready to tell me now?”

His red eyes glinted with tears. Slowly, he nodded.

“What is your name,” I asked.

“Pietro,”

“Pietro,” I repeated the word on my ancient tongue, feeling each syllable roll over the muscle. A strong name. Sokovian. I brought myself down to his level, resting on the balls of my feet before him. My fingers danced along his skin. “How did you receive the gift?”

“Please, I don’t kn-”

His voice shuddered and stalled as one of my pointed nails slowly began to dig into the cold meat of his cheek and more sticky blackness coated my fingers.

I smiled right through it despite the growing unease in my stomach. Maybe a gentle hand would be more helpful…

“You do know, Pietro, even if you don’t think you do. Don’t you want to tell me? To get this over with?” My voice was sickly sweet. The dank stall, once reeking of stale piss and rot, began to match my cloying tone. The air grew thick with a dizzying perfume and Pietro’s stiff posture softened at the first breath of it. All at once his eyes swam with not fear, but relief. He wanted to make me happy now. Nothing would make him feel better than following my command. It almost made me want to vomit more, if I were capable of it.

The words came soft and dreamlike from his trembling mouth. “Novi Grad, at the university. My friend was a student. We were walking back from the bars to meet my sister and a man was waiting in the alley… oh god. No.” Pietro shook his head. His pulse began to speed. “I ate him. I ate Paul. The man attacked us and Paul tried to run and I- I ate him!”

His story was sad but unhelpful.

My voice stayed even despite his hyperventilation. It was best to keep him calm for both our sakes. “Who changed you, Pietro? Who was that man?”

The air grew heavy around us both, blanketing him in warmth and pleasant feelings from all sides. It was calm. It was safe. It was all a deception.

Pietro leaned into my touch like a young, blind animal searching for his mother and I hated to admit it stirred something more in me than nausea. Whatever it had awoken, and I didn’t care to find out, it was bringing out my mercy. Death no longer waited for him at the first wrong move. I sat quietly at his side, smearing dark blood across his hair as I stroked it without meaning to; a small comfort. Absent tears dripped from his empty eyes.

After a long while, Pietro decided he was ready to speak again.

“He said he was a friend of Stark… that he would change the world,”

My voice came in a low sigh. “Starks always think they will,”

I had known. Even if I hadn’t been absolutely certain, it was hard to ignore the sinking feeling his scent brought on. If I wasn’t in so much denial I could have guessed as much the second even a drop of Pietro’s blood hit my lips. He was of my own flesh in a way, however diluted by distance and time. I had tasted it in him. There was a flavor only attributable to myself under his chemical bitterness and the musk of wet dog.

Slowly, I let my hand slip away from his face and stood, kicking at a pile of rotting straw on my way up.

Pietro drooped further into the corner. His sandy hair covered enough of his face that I couldn’t tell if he was still crying or not. “I was just so hungry,” he breathed, “I couldn’t even think, I just kept eating them. All of them. Anyone I could catch. I was just… so hungry,”

“Are you still hungry,” I asked.

The stable went silent.

He nodded. “I’m starving,”

It was a huge risk, and a stupid one too. I hadn’t taken on a familiar since the 1800’s. It had been much longer than that since I’d created a thrall or spawn, and this… this was much more complex in new and different ways. He was not mine, even if he shared traces of my disease in his blood. Whatever hybrid monstrosity he was—I was almost certain he contained something other than the vampiric curse I bore—it meant he could not be controlled by force as a young spawn could. Pietro would instead need to be tamed to be trusted, much like the legacies of wolves that dwelled alongside me in my woods.

Pietro didn’t look particularly defiant, though. Keeping him leashed to my side couldn’t be that difficult. Besides, the idea of having some company wasn’t a completely unpleasant thought.

In fact, I rather liked it.

I approached him again like I would have approached a wounded animal, undoing button after button on the sleeve of my coat and exposing the smooth flesh of my forearm. It was an offering. An olive branch. He swallowed hard.

“I will not give you this gift lightly Pietro but I am in a particularly giving mood. You only need to answer one more question, and this can all be over. Do you wish to pay penance for your hunger? Or do you wish to die?”

His body trembled as the pungent reek of fear took over the room once again. My glamour had worn off well before. It was only fair to let him make this choice with all of his mind in his own hands. “What are you doing?” He asked. His accent trembled on every syllable.

“I’m offering you a choice,” I replied. “You weren’t given the luxury of choosing what you have become, but now you can choose what you do with it. We’re similar, you and I. We’ve made mistakes. I know from firsthand experience that one needs to learn to control this curse or die before it kills them in the ways that matter, and you don’t look dead to me. At least, not yet. So what would you prefer, Pietro? How does this end?”

Pietro gulped. His shaking hands were fisted in the soft cotton of his dirty AC/DC t-shirt. “I don’t want to die,”

My face relaxed into a soft smile. That would do just fine.

“Then drink,”

He attacked my wrist like a mad dog. It didn’t even feel like a pinch as his teeth ripped into my skin.

Cool, red blood flooded his mouth in an unholy communion, and, in that moment, I could have been his god.

Pietro ate like an animal.

It was clear that nobody had guided him when he was created. No one had sat at his side as he fed for the first time, showing him just where to put his teeth or how to keep things from getting messy. Of course he’d had to kill to eat. There were no lessons on where the major veins and arteries lay: which ones were deadly, which could be pierced and healed, how to heal them… It was a damn shame. He could have been so much more than an animal.

Now, blood splashed wildly from his mouth as he tried to swallow as much as he could, ripping with his new, sharp molars to try to coax more viscera into his throat. I pitied his lack of understanding. He could barely feed himself, even off of my near-endless supply.

That being said, his desperation was almost cute.

He drank his fill of me until his eyes glazed over. As a fed man, he was flushed with life again, breathing deeply and gaining color in his pallid complexion with every breath. From the looks of it, a few more hours without a meal would’ve killed him before I could. When he finally detached from my wrist there wasn’t a hint of guilt or shame or fear in his eyes. Instead, they reflected pure satiation into the darkness. His look promised gratitude. Servitude.

I released a cold huff of breath into the air. “Full?”

Pietro replied shortly, wiping his mouth with the butt of his palm. “Yeah, much better,”

“Good,”

His eyes darted to the wound he’d left. “Are you ok?” He asked. For all of his previous boldness, he now refused to meet my eyes.

It didn’t matter much to me, but I shrugged, examining the previously mangled flesh. “No harm done.”

Pietro gaped at the improvement. My skin was already knitting itself back together, though it was working a bit slower than usual. I needed to feed soon myself.

Strong with a fresh supply, his pulse beat hard enough in his jugular that I could watch it pulse from half a meter away. More thoughts sparked behind my eyes.

Well… it couldn’t hurt.

I needed far less than he did to keep myself running. It would only take one bite. One big mouthful. One swallow. I had given him far more than that, so it shouldn’t leave him wanting in the least.

“Would you do me a favor, Pietro?” Using his name was a manipulation. The air grew thick again with the scent of pear blossoms and juicy, dripping stone fruits. “The first step towards controlling your new form,”

“Anything,”

The graphic on his t-shirt was soaked with blood and bits of ripped vein.

“Give me your neck,”

It wasn’t a question. Instead, I found myself demanding access to him.

The worst part was he followed me blindly, even with his own understanding of what it meant to feed. Pietro tilted his chin to the sky as if he might begin to wail at the moon and waited. Not a muscle moved as he waited for brutality.

I didn’t quite know what to do with him anymore. He was filled with too many unexpected surprises.

This man, barely more than a boy, was an abomination, a scientific marvel, living and dead all at once. He never should have been thrust into his creation, but abomination or not he would satiate the hunger that gnawed at every cell in my body better than any other source of blood at my disposal. His blood, however tainted, was warm beneath his skin. It called to me like the predator I was made to be.

As I moved in for the bite, though, his eyes met mine again despite the obvious effort he was taking to close them and imagine he was anywhere else. I found a new terror overwhelming him there. Something even more ancient than I was sat deep in the dilated pits of his pupils, like a pig finally understanding his purpose as the axe began to drop. I had seen it more times than I wanted to count: The looks they gave when it was too late to squeal or run. Fear, understanding, and acceptance of the end. It was the place they went when there was nowhere left to go as they waited for the slaughter. I could stomach it in animals, a needed sacrifice to sustain myself, but to see it in the eyes of one so much like me, his eyelashes wet with blood and tears… I saw my own face looking back at me.

Slowly, deliberately, I guided his head back to its front-facing position, patting his unscathed cheek with a cool but soft hand. “You passed the test, now go to the house. Find somewhere comfortable. I’ll meet you there,”

I wasn’t that hungry anyways.

Pietro sat still for a moment, eyes shifting warily from wall to wall, but as soon as he realized there were no more instructions to wait for he scrambled to his feet, bolting from the stables almost on his hands and knees until he managed to keep his balance. In a moment’s time, he was shoving his way out the door. Every few seconds, though, he would look back at me until he couldn’t manage to keep me in his sights.

He still reeked of fear.

Good. It was best for him to fear me. I would rather keep him in line with fear than with pain, and we weren’t here to make friends. Things would be better this way.

Brushing wet straw from the thick leather of my day pants, I rose to follow, leaving the bloody stall behind me. I only paused long enough to spare a look towards the piles of rotting, ichorous bodies packed into the adjacent stalls from the months and weeks before. It would need to be dealt with eventually, but not tonight. I continued into the gloom, locking the door to the stables on my way out.

There was more important work to do.

———

Pietro adapted to my solitary life far better than I could’ve expected him to.

He mostly kept himself entertained, never lingering too long in my presence, not that he should want to. There was very little of mutual interest between the two of us anyway outside of mealtimes. Still, I kept a close eye on him, from a distance of course.

The garden had become his main refuge, and that suited me just fine. It had gone neglected for a while anyway. Having a hobby would help him adapt to his new life more smoothly, and hey, a little uninformed TLC at his hands couldn’t possibly hurt the plants that had already survived generations' worth of being harvested but otherwise ignored.

When he wasn’t scrounging around the loamy dirt, Pietro spent his days patrolling the grounds. He had probably seen more of the expansive property in the past weeks than I had in the past decade. It was a stark reminder of what a homebody I’d become in the past hundred years.

Every night, when the gardening and patrolling was done, he would trot back to his seat at the dinner table, right beside my own at the head, and share his informal report on the events of his day. Once it had been news of the wolves he’d befriended, then a broken fountain that needed repair, then a deer caught in a fence. I figured this was his way of earning his keep, even if I had never asked him to. I had barely done more than feed and house him since his arrival. No progress had been made on controlling his power. His proverbial leash grew longer each day I refused to put in the time (and effort) to discipline him.

It would be so easy for him to slip away

I had no more control over him than I did over the weather. If he truly wanted to, Pietro could have run off into the mist the second I let him out of that stable, escaping to whatever fate awaited him outside the bubble of my protection. There was no glamour, no psychic energy compelling him to stay. It would be as easy as him making the choice and enacting a plan.

Still, he came back each night like a hound with a rabbit in his teeth, sometimes literally. We shared the details of his day over light, meaningless conversations each dinner time until he fed from my wrist once more and shuffled off to rest.

Despite everything, the time I spent with Pietro in the evenings was the most fun I’d had in ages.

Not that I’d ever admit that. There was still a certain air of decorum and fear-based respect that hung between the two of us and I refused to bridge the gap. He was my ward, after all. Or… manservant? No, he didn’t do enough around the interior of our home to warrant the title. Housemate indirectly threatened with death upon his departure? Whatever. The semantics of what he was to me were unimportant. What he wasn’t was a friend or equal. I lorded above him in every way: age, knowledge, sheer supernatural power. It wouldn’t do either of us any good to pretend we were closer than tentative acquaintances.

That didn’t mean I couldn’t privately relish in the meals we shared, though, and the brief bits of humanity he coaxed out of me somehow with his presence. Our quiet companionship would perfectly toe the line to keep him respectful but less fearful. At least, I hoped so.

It would be painfully miserable to be alone again now that I’d remembered what it was like not to be.

My own days hadn’t changed much, with the exception of my evening meals. Dawn was spent in the animal pens. I fed and watered the pigs and chickens and lambs before taking their offerings: the sheep were sheared on seasonal rotation, the chickens laid in the mornings, and every once in a while, a pig would grow round and tired enough to be culled. Mostly I would toss anything slaughtered and drained to the wolves to keep them happy, but on occasion, I’d leave with a lamb of my own to quench my unending thirst. Not often these days. Instead, I supplemented my diet with wine in the hopes that, eventually, I could overcome my hunger entirely. It hadn’t happened yet. I hadn’t given up hope.

Once the beasts were tended, the rest of the day was spent curled up in one nook or another attempting to pass the hours with whatever useless activity was available. If I stayed put too long, I had learned my flesh would begin to petrify, so I forced myself into monotonous, limited activities each day. Recently that meant embroidery, which made its way into the rotation once every few decades. Before that, I’d organized the library alphabetically by the author’s names (before it had been by book title), taken up oil painting until I ran out of paint, and spent a small stint attempting to design my own clothes for the hundredth time. It turned out as well as it always had. That was to say, every single design was awful and/or impossible to sew with the materials at my disposal. Even the garden Pietro loved so much had once been a time-sink to keep me from turning to stone. After almost a thousand years, though, nothing kept my attention long.

Nothing new was left to discover here. On rare occasions, a new hobby would arrive on the body of an interloper, like the Game Boy with its drained batteries that sat next to my bed, but even those didn’t take long to break or lose their novelty.

Besides, visitors had become a rarity as soon as cars and highways came into fashion.

Who would spend their days wandering down old forest paths when they could take their new vehicle down a well-mapped road instead? It was quicker, cheaper, safer- and then came the airplanes and the busses and the high-speed rails. By my nine-hundred and eighty-seventh year of immortal life, I was lucky to get a lost hiker at my door once or twice a year that the wolves didn’t shred before I found them.

Things changed for a bit after the world shook. Suddenly, it seemed as though there was a wave of new bodies wandering the wood every dusk and dawn. No companionship could be found with those maddened newborn creatures. They were like only one man-made monster I had ever witnessed, almost seventy-five years before, but they were mindless with the endless tug of their starvation, an unprecedented side effect of their disease. Always so hungry. Few retained any scraps of humanity by the time they made it to me, sunburnt and emaciated and so very confused.

After a while, though, even they became rare. It was as if they had all been sent in a great burst before whatever event that bore them was over. The whole situation concerned me. I wondered if they weren’t coming to me anymore, where were they going? There must have been more of them than the ones who had come to my door. If this hadn’t been an attack on my home, organized to finally rid me of my life, why were they created? And if so many had made it as far as my castle, what had become of Sokovia? I feared I would never get an answer.

Pietro was the last.

I couldn’t have known it when I spared him, but no more followed in his footsteps. He himself had arrived almost a month after the young man who came before, and he had taken a few weeks to find me after the one before him. Then, after Pietro, there was nothing. If he hadn’t been spared, I would never have known of Ultron, or the children he sired to prove himself to Stark, or the bomb Stark had dropped to rid the world of the vampiric plague that would descend upon it.

Maybe it was the renewed scarcity that made me pause when I first saw him stumbling through the bushes. That split second of indecision before I gutted him on sight, was it curiosity or loneliness? Or was it luck? Whatever it was, and I didn’t care to dig too deeply into any of my feelings on the matter, I was glad for it.

The pair of us kept each other company. Fog rolled in each morning and the moon glowed full each night and the world kept turning, but things were new now. The same china and linen and dining table I had stared at for hundreds of years seemed to have new detail in it every day.

We had peace.

Until the morning Pietro came wailing through the study doors with that mangled wolf in his arms.

“There’s a man!” He gasped, blood running down his front and into the deep auburn of the rug at his feet. The poor thing was long dead. From a few feet away I could tell it had gone quickly to whatever had felled it. Even still, Pietro’s eyes were wild with something more than fear at the sight of the corpse’s state. “He-“

I cut him off, rising from my chair. “Where,”

His eyes darted to the dripping gash in the wolf’s neck.

“The front walk,” he said, “I didn’t see much of him, just a shadow, but he’s armed with something bad, something that felt wrong. There are more dead too, too many to carry, but I thought she might make it. I thought I could fix her,” Pietro was babbling now, talking faster than he could even rationally think. It was evident that he had never seen a slaughter like this. At least, he had never seen a slaughter like this without a driving bloodlust that would drown out every thought other than hunger. A slaughter that wasn’t his own to make.

I crossed the room to him. “Watch the house,”

“But-”

My eyebrow raised. I was chillingly calm, tutting at him softly. “Do you think I am incapable of defending my own home?”

“No, no, but he’s just… I… how can I help you?”

Despite his fear, Pietro still so desperately wanted to do what was helpful. His moral compass was strong. I appreciated it. He was already making progress all on his own. I didn’t need him though, not for whatever awaited me in the woods. There were few people who had any knowledge of my location, and fewer still who would be able to enter and hold their own against my defenses. Knowing what I knew of Ultron, I was prepared for my feud with the Starks to come to an end. Besides, he would just be a liability, a clear weakness in my rock-solid strong persona. He was still too young.

Teeth bared, I let out a soft growl. “Like I said, watch the house. That is how you can help me, just in case someone else attempts to enter while I’m distracted,” I gestured towards the door into the greater hall outside. “Eat, then keep watch. I would only judge you if you wasted her body. If I need you, I’ll whistle,”

“How will I hear you from so far?”

“I have my ways,”

Without waiting for confirmation, I started my warpath towards the front of the house, leaving the sounds of sloppy tearing in my wake.

———

As soon as I was out the doors I could feel him at the end of the walk, but it wasn’t until he had broken the tree line, several hundred yards away, that he noticed me waiting for him.

Not a word was exchanged. That blurry body on the horizon shifted, reached back, postured, and- snap.

One soaring arrow cut through the air and found its target in my chest.

He wanted violence? I would give him violence. It had been so long since I had someone to toy with, someone who had the capability to even try to resist the toolbox of horrors that my nature had lent me. I grinned. This was a game, and I was a sore loser when my life laid on the line.

Time turned to mist in my grasp.

All at once, I was acutely aware of the bolt that had shredded through the shoulder of my coat. It stayed embedded there, the tip jutting out just below my shoulder blade, but the shaft sat too high, missing my heart by a significant margin. Stoney flesh burned all the way through the wound. When I tried to send a tendril of energy through the tunneled muscle, it fizzled out and died.

The damn tip was silvered.

This was a clever one; more than just another mindless, bloodthirsty drone in search of a throat to rip. This man had knowledge. He was a craftsman. A hunter.

My revenge awaited.

With a speed that defied the laws of the natural world, I greeted my opponent.

I moved with the wind. Every molecule of my body sang as I pulled them apart and brought them together at will, drifting over his shoulder in an amorphous cloud of smoke. Blood thrummed under his skin like thunder even if he could not actively comprehend my presence.

He was mortal.

I could feel the loose amalgam that made up my mouth almost watering at the sheer feeling of a human pulse so close to me, however slowed in the wake of my speed. Every bit of him was lean muscle, too, wrapped up in leather and military-issue kevlar. It would rip like butter under my predator’s teeth. He didn’t know that, though. In his mind, he was blissfully protected from the things that went bump in the night.

A quick scan with the looser edges of my cloudy form revealed that, despite his silver weapons, he wore none of the metal on his person.

This man may have been a hunter, but he was also a fool. He wasn’t a Stark, either. No, he smelled wrong, not a note of wolfish musk surrounded him besides the stench of dead dog in his wake. A wild card, then. Or something I couldn’t quite recognize without my nose all put together.

Plum, perhaps.

A sword, silvered like his crossbow bolts, was strapped high on his hip, but it didn’t take much maneuvering to undo the clip and send the blade clattering to the ground. Next came the crossbow itself. Taking something from the man’s hands was a little trickier, but nothing was beyond my grasp, especially when I unleashed this power. Usually, it was kept close to my chest. It was a secret truth I couldn’t even burden myself to recognize. I was ancient. I was so much more than any living soul could be forced to comprehend, I was-

The seal on the crossbow caught my eye. A badger posed regal, gnawing on the snake in its dripping teeth. My snake. Their crest.

Oh.

The game had just become so much more fun.

I felt the air, bringing my nose together enough to sniff at it. I had to be certain. There could be no mistakes if it was who I knew it had to be. And it was: It was like a perfume I could never quite wash out, a song that always resided in the back of my head, as familiar as my own name after all of the years I had known it. Maybe, just maybe, I knew it better than my own scent.

He was a Zemo.

Twelve generations I had killed over that stupid attempt at a takeover to expand their barony. Twelve fathers of twelve sons, each more horrid and twisted than the last, had willingly walked into the lion’s den on the eve of their eldest son’s 18th year to fulfill their end of a bargain struck by the first of them all in the hope to spare their bloodline from total annihilation in my wake. One by one they sought me out of their own free will. Every time they believed they would improve on the failings of the last, finally besting me, but their pride was their fall. They were cocky and stupid enough to think they knew enough to defeat me.

Every single son had died for their gall.

They didn’t have to. If one had simply disobeyed or learned mercy, I would have let them go without a second thought. It wasn’t as if I could leave this forest to find them. Nothing compelled them besides their own hubris.

And now, the thirteenth was there to take his place at the grave.

This was wrong, though. An unshakeable feeling gripped my mind more than even my rage at the damned bloodline before me. Maybe not wrong, no, but not quite right either. He was far too young.

It wasn’t as if he looked exceedingly youthful. The man’s eyes held a certain wisdom that only came with time. I was sure that, if I were capable of seeing my own reflection clearly, it would be a trait we shared. His face showed age too. A thick but well-trimmed beard decorated his cheeks and chin, obscuring the thin line of his scowl. I spent what felt like hours memorizing those features— searching for hidden signs of age, of course, or other features that might give away his weaknesses.

The point wasn’t to admire him, though, or let his features become the focal point of my focus. This was not a man who had raised a man.

He had simply come too soon.

There was no reasonable explanation I could find to explain him birthing a blood son who had reached the age threshold to fulfill our bargain. To take a father from his child… the thought haunted me. Even with the acrid stench of death and dog permeating my home from all sides, with the culprit all but waiting for release in my hands, I couldn’t do it. My standards remained.

It just… wouldn’t do.

I let loose my tight grip on time, letting each shred of my body come together into its correct place like the snap of a fresh rubber band. It was always dizzying to find time’s proper flow again but I leaned into the exhilaration of my physical form’s newness. My voice escaped my lips- at last, my real lips. It was a bone-chilling whisper. To him, I seemed to appear at his back in an instant, traveling with the breeze that froze him.

“Next time, son of Heinrich, you’ll have to aim better than that,”

He went stiff at the feeling of my cold breath on his neck, like every hair on his body had stood at attention the second he became aware of my closeness. It was more than just a startle, though. That fear was genetic, bred into him by father and father and father before him. It was in every drop of blood that rushed to his face in my wake. He masked it as well as he could have. His expression remained schooled even as a freezing hand came up to brush against his neck. I knew better, though. I saw things humans could never dream of comprehending about each other.

Minutiae. Breath and pulse and scent and temperature. Predator senses.

“You were expecting me,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

“And you weren’t expecting me,”

Zemo laughed, a bitter thing. “Perhaps not. None of the others have been quite so… fast,”

I tossed his crossbow aside. It landed in the nearby brush and shattered as it slammed against the ground. My own strength was unknown to me. I could only pretend it had been intended. “Your father should have taught you better than this. This is a disappointment,”

“He might have,” he said, “but he didn’t live long enough. So, I believe you are to blame for his inability to mentor me in the rules of your little game.

My pulse raced even as my mind paused. His dark eyes took in the surroundings, surely searching for something to get him out of my grasp and back into the upper hand. Little did he know that uncertainly was creeping below my skin.

Men. They were all the same. They lacked the sight.

“You’re free to believe that if you choose,” I replied, “but eighteen years was plenty of time for the rest of them. If it was not enough for you, well, I can only call that greed. Of thirteen men, you are only the second to lose your weapon before even crossing my threshold. That and the fact that the first was not your father, it seems, means it is your father’s failing that he did not pass on the wisdom he had learned.”

“How long did he last?”

“He lasted more than six hours of combat before I gutted him. It’s a shame you couldn’t do the same. At this rate, you won’t survive the hour. What a bore,” Slowly, and without a wince despite the burning at my fingertips, I snapped off the end of the bolt in my shoulder and placed the silvered tip in my pocket, patting it softly through the fabric once it settled at the bottom. Extracting the rest of the solid metal rod was an easy feat from there. His eyes remained trained on me over his shoulder as it joined his bow on the ground.

Zemo, to his credit, mastered his fear beautifully.

His pulse had stabilized some, though its steady rhythm still rushed through my nostrils and into my dizzy mind like an intoxicating symphony. He was a cocktail of emotion inside his well-kept exterior. The scent of sudden horror was now morphing into surprise, perhaps even curiosity. His gaze only escaped mine to examine the blood dripping lazily from my shoulder to my feet.

“Confused?” I taunted.

He shook his head. “Not confused, no.”

“Then what are you?”

I wanted to know him. I wanted to rip the deepest secrets of his mind from his chest and devour them. I wanted to taste it. It would be so much sweeter if I didn’t have to take it, though. If it were given freely.

“Learning,” he replied.

It was my turn to be unprepared.

I stalked around him, coming to face him head-on, and he held my gaze again. His pulse stayed steady despite the fact that the space between us was near nonexistent, as if he thought of himself as a predator too, just like me. Still, those damn eyes examined me like some sort of experiment, not like prey. Questions sat unsaid between us in the fog.

What makes you different? What makes you special? What makes you tick?

Stars above, he made it so easy. It was impossible to keep from smiling just a little at the absurdity of it all as he took in the sight of my neck and the puckered scars that littered it. This was nothing like my dinners with Pietro. This was dangerous. Almost fun.

Everything I gave to him he shot right back at me in spades, almost as if he was toying with me too and deriving his own sick satisfaction from the electricity in the air. It reminded me a bit of the great bacchanals that had been thrown here in my youth, when the castle halls ran red with the blood of my victims, both unwitting and all too willing to die by my lips. I hadn’t been alone then. There were faces to entertain me around any corner. Even when the party ended and the bodies ran dry, my creator waited patiently for me in the bedroom as dawn broke each morning. It was horrifically, terribly, irredeemably fun. I wanted to forget it so badly that I almost had.

Now, though, the memories were fresh.

How long had it been since I’d really spoken to someone without their fear leaking from every pore? Since there had been someone to laugh with? To bounce off? To feed from?

My throat twitched shamefully at the thought.

Blood was a varied thing. No two feeds would ever taste exactly the same, even if they were almost interchangeably similar. Every emotion, every dietary choice, and every passing second spent aging would affect the profile as it hit my taste buds. Omnivorous or herbivorous animals tended to be brassy and harsh on the tongue, yet somehow watery. Overall, unfulfilling. Carnivores left me a bit more satisfied, but not much, and definitely not in terms of flavor. Other vampires were more substantial than animals, but bitter depending on their age. A young vampire tasted a bit like a berry that wasn’t quite ripe.

Humans, though… humans were uniquely human. There were no words to describe it. Mortals could not comprehend the kind of sensations that fresh human blood would fill me with enough to create the vocabulary to depict it properly. Some were savory, some were sweet; some were stomach-churning and heavy and some lighter than water on the tongue. They were ephemeral. Unique. Devastatingly addictive.

There was one unchanging fact about the taste of blood, though, that haunted my waking dreams on my worst nights.

However disgusting they had been in life, every Zemo had been orgasmically delicious in death from the very first.

I resisted the urge to unleash my glamour and drain him dry right there and then heroically. I was not that woman anymore. I had to promise myself that, at least, to keep it all reined in. The last human I’d fed from had been his father and before that his grandfather. It would do me no good to give in to my basest urges which I had fought so hard to suppress. He would die with honor and dignity when it was his time, and it wasn’t.

Not yet.

So, instead of ripping his throat clean out, I dragged a nail down the column of Zemo’s neck, relishing in the gooseflesh that raised at my touch.

“Do you always play with your food?” He asked.

I shrugged, playing the persona he needed from me to keep his dignity. “Only with your family. It keeps me young,”

And suddenly, that little playful light in him died. I didn’t quite know what had set him off, or how, but it was as if a switch had been flipped on his mood.

“I would appreciate getting on with whatever this is, then, if you wouldn’t mind,” He hissed. Zemo took a sharp step forward, closing the space that lingered between us in one swift motion. My nail pressed dangerously close to his jugular. “I am not your toy, nor was my family. This little game you’ve played with us is finished. It’s long past time. No more sons,” his nose was almost brushing my own as he spoke. I could taste every lick of hate in his breath. “This ends here.”

Even now, at my mercy, he was spending his last moments protecting his son from meeting the same fate. Not even once had any of the other men who came before even mentioned them. Not even in passing.

For a moment, I almost let him go.

The first of the Zemos had deserved it. The second had almost deserved it more if such a thing were possible. The generations seemed to snowball through the decades like some sort of horrid disease. Each man had found their way through the warding around my forest, and that in and of itself was evidence of their crimes in my eyes. The weight of guilt in their hearts had guided them to me like the light of the north star. Once they’d arrived too, every man had only continued to prove themselves unworthy of life. Every time, I thought maybe I could impart a lesson.

Twelve men had failed to understand their own failings, though, and until they did, I had doomed them to pay the same price, over and over, in an unrelenting loop of loss.

But I was so tired.

So, so tired.

Who could say if they’d ever learn? The blood I spilled might have taught them nothing at all, and it might never teach them. How many years would I spend alone, haunting the halls of an empty castle, waiting for them to learn?

Always starving.

Always hurting.

Even the guilt was gone. It was just…

Emptiness.

Deep down, I had to wonder if I was really doing it to teach them a lesson, or if I was just glad to have a warm meal and a conversation these days. When had it started to become less about them than it was about me and my own feelings?

Thirteen men. An unlucky number, but a prophetic one.

Maybe it was time to let go.

I took a deep breath and crossed my arms, letting my hand slip away from Zemo’s neck. “I have to admit, son of Heinrich, it takes a lot of nerve to demand anything of me,” I sighed, reluctant, “I’m impressed,”

He quirked up an eyebrow. “This sounds like the beginning of another game, vampire,”

“You might find out if you let me finish,”

Zemo stayed silent. I could almost hear the whispers daring to escape him as he licked his lips. Around us, the fog sat heavy and thick.

“As I was saying,” I cleared my throat and my stomach turned. When was the last time I’d been so nervous about something? When had I last felt anything at all? “You want to end the games? Fine. Lay this bare. Why are you here? Thirteenth son of Zemo, what brings you to me? Why risk your life, your youth, for this?”

I did not dare unleash my glamour to pry the truth out of him, nor did I need to. His words came easily from the very depths of his soul.

“Revenge,”

His eyes glossed over as he said the word. No longer was Zemo looking at me, though, even if his eyes were trained on my own. Instead, he was looking somewhere distant. A wrath that moments before had seemed so personally tailored against me and my existence now resided not within me, but far beyond me… Interesting

I could work with that.

The whole situation was incredibly delicate. One wrong move from me and he would be lunging for any remaining weapon in the vicinity. I walked the razor’s edge, the snake in Eden. But would he bite?

My voice came low like a prayer.

“Against who? Me?”

“Against all of the monsters in this world,” Something akin to madness pushed through the man’s demeanor. It smelled inky and burnt on the skin: a human crematorium. Loss. “The things that roam and kill without a second thought, bloodsuckers like you who thrive off the deaths of those around them. Mostly, though,” Zemo grimaced, “I want to put a silver bullet between the eyes of Tony Stark and every monstrosity he’s ever created,”

Tony. He had a son.

Despite the palpable tension in the air and the pang of shock that hit me at the mention of Howard’s offspring, the wrong Stark, I shrugged my shoulders, keeping up my unbothered persona as long as I possibly could. Anything to keep this moving forward. Anything to keep him talking and not attacking. Any excuse to keep him alive just a few minutes more. “You aren’t the first person to wish for a Stark’s demise,”

He stilled. “Maybe, but I will be the last,”

“What makes you so certain that you will succeed where even I have failed?”

“He killed my wife and son,”

After all the years I’d spent surviving off of the sacrifices of others, I had thought my heart was stone. That there was nothing left, just petrified muscle and dust. Somehow, though, I could feel it thump and ache for him. Ache for his wife, his child. All at once his early arrival made all the sense in the world.

There would be no eighteenth birthday to wait for.

No more sons, he’d said. Not now, not ever.

My voice shook ever so slightly in the mist. “I’m sorry for your loss,”

Zemo shook his head. Greasy, unkempt hair fell over his eyes, shading them, hiding them away from my prying gaze. “You say that now, and yet you were the one who killed my father,”

Touche.

Uncomfortable emptiness filled the air. Neither one of us made a move to continue the banter.

It would be as easy as breathing for me to put him out of his misery. I could drink my fill of him and forget. After a few decades, my imagination would stop being haunted by the chubby cheeks of a boy who would never find a calling, fall in love, or have chubby-cheeked babies of his own. Zemo could have destroyed me too, in that moment, just as easily as I could have destroyed him. He couldn’t know it, but I would have let him. It would be as easy as lunging for his unbroken sword and ending it all. I wouldn’t dodge. I wouldn’t dare. Not when the guilt I had hidden away so well was finally rearing its ugly face.

This one felt different. He was like nothing I’d encountered in all of my long, miserable years of life. Maybe he was even more needed than Pietro had been.

If I were to end my empty existence at his hand, I could die happily.

The idea came clear.

It had been foggy before, a half-assed imagining. I could overpower him, control his fragile mortal mind, and keep him tucked away somewhere where I could covet the feeling of his resistance against me, all to ease the endless, aching loneliness I still felt every day. He didn’t need to come willingly. Just like Pietro, I could break him to my will. If I could do it to another vampire, how hard could a stubborn mortal be?

Now, though, I saw a different path through the darkness. It was a terrible idea. Self-destructive. Awful.

The worst part? It might just work.

“Howard Stark stole something from me too, once”

Zemo scoffed in disgust. “Your wealth?”

“No, my blood,”

My deepest secrets flew plainly from my lips like they were nothing more than facts. We lapsed into momentary silence once again.

“So those creatures in the countryside…”

“Are a part of me, yes,” I mindlessly fiddled with the hem of my coat pocket, feeling the weight and heat of the silver within. “I have regretted trusting him every day for the last seventy-two years,”

Zemo stepped back and I let go of the breath I’d been holding for what felt like decades. Finally, someone else knew. The jig was up. In its wake, he seemed pensive. Thoughtful. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but he seemed lonely too.

This mess was my fault, that much was plain. I hadn’t set foot outside of this damned forest since 1943 and yet, somehow, the choices I had made back then had led to the destruction of my mother country. No amount of solitude could pay the penance I owed for the crimes I had committed now, no matter how desperately I had tried.

The worst of it all was that so much was still unknown. If so many of those hybrid spawn had made it here to my home, how many more had ended up elsewhere? Was it just Sokovia that was overwhelmed by them? Who made it out? How many women and children had died at the hands of my own blood?

I rid my head of the poisonous memories as best as I could, shoving down the growing pool of guilt and regret that had been threatening to boil over for longer than I thought I could have swallowed.

One thousand years of death was finally here for its vengeance, and it was fast approaching; finally catching up to me. It was poetic, though, for it to come from him.

“I am willing to listen to your proposal,” Zemo said. “Let’s get on with it,”

“Alright. I’m offering information about the Stark family; everything I know about their affliction, my affliction, their plans to use it, the weaknesses of the monsters that will stand in your way. Anything you want, anything I know from all of my years in this life, is yours for the taking,”

He replied plainly, eyes suspicious. “I won’t spare your life,”

“Did I ask you to?” I stepped towards him. We were nose to nose again. “You can’t kill me. It wouldn’t even take a second for me to snap your neck and leave you here to die in paralyzed agony—it would be so easy—but I’ve decided against it. I’ve already had my fun for far too long, so stay here and learn all you must know from me for as long as you’d like. If you ever manage to learn enough to kill me, we shall duel honorably as your forefathers did before you. Either you will die here a failure, or you will leave here with all of the information you need to become the deadliest hunter in history. Once that’s completed, your revenge will be all but guaranteed,”

Ever the skeptic, he tilted his head to the side. “But what do you gain from this? Why would you decide against getting rid of me before I become a threat?”

“Companionship, stimulation, absolution; take your pick,”

“A meal?”

“Not until you die. Not unless you ask,”

Stroking his beard, Zemo took a step back and looked me over with a discerning eye. He had examined me intensely before, but it was like a canine scoping out its prey. Now, though, he searched me for signs of verity, any reason to distrust the suspiciously beneficial deal I had all but laid at his feet. Around us, the world seemed to pause for him as it might have for me.

“As soon as I have the power to kill you, you’ll be dead,” he muttered.

And so my final deal was struck.

“I look forward to you trying,”

--------------

Thank you for reading! Once completed, the next chapter will be linked here.

This work has been crossposted to Ao3

#zemo #helmut zemo #baron zemo #zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #baron helmut zemo x reader #daniel brühl #fanfiction #fanfic #vampire au #vampire hunter helmut zemo #pietro maximoff #marvel x reader #x reader #marvel fanfiction

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fangirlofallthefanthings · 2 months

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Hello!

My name is Char. (any similar nickname is acceptable) I am an artist, writer, and, as the name implies, a fan of many things. I mostly reblog or shout rare, post-worthy thoughts into the ether. At the moment, my interests lie with:

The Trojan War and Greek Mythology in general

Ancient History

EPIC: The Musical

Crochet

However, if anything shiny catches my eye, I'll also reblog that.

If you choose to follow, great! But there are a few ground rules you need to be aware of:

This is a safe space. If you're going to be a bigot, terf, ableist, racist, any sort of phobic, or disrespectful in any way, shape, or form, get the fuck out.

With that out of the way I have posted a few things that might tickle your fancy on A03! I am the account "A_Humble_Fan17" over there. Here is the link

There is much more on the way, but in the meantime, feel free to check out the tags "fanfic" and "char writes" for any updates or snippets! Here are a few things I'm working on:

A series of four works that go through Odysseus's life (details below)

An AU where Paris of Troy mistakenly kidnaps Penelope instead of Helen titled Ithaca's Nine

A medieval AU with a twist involving characters from the Iliad and Odyssey titled Adventure Awaits! that I will be updating here on Tumblr (link to Pt.1)

A post-canon fic for the movie trilogy Night At The Museum titled When The World's (Treasures Are) At Stake (link to snippet)

THE BIG SERIES:

A Boy and A Goddess: Odysseus fights the giant boar as a boy and wins, gaining Athena's favor and a large scar on his leg. Tiny Bean(tm) hijinx continue through the years as he becomes a man. And maybe a little self-discovery?

A Change of Plans: Word travels to Ithaca that Helen of Sparta is up for marriage. Prince Odysseus decides to go, mainly to make allies for Ithaca but partly to watch the chaos unfold. But when he meets Helen's cousin, Penelope, plans change. This work involves the evolution of OdyPen's relationship, the oath of Tyndareus, Odysseus winning Penelope's hand, their marriage, and Odysseus becoming king. Also baby Telemachus! :D

Troy Story: War. Lots of angst. A lot of blaming himself. But he finds unlikely friends and allies through it all.

The King and The Infant: (explanation here)

I can't wait to share more with you all! More is on the way! I promise! <3

Asks: Open! :D

Worm by my lovely moot, @iroissleepdeprived

#char ramblings #big post

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recreationalfanfics · 10 months

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I'm rewatching Night At The Museum but like a LARRY DALEY/DALEY! READER IN TWISTED WONDERLAND!? Like, they're related to Larry Daley and shit and they were training to be a Night Gaurd for the museum but now, they have to deal with overblots and stuff and they're armed with nothing but a trusty flash light?

- Like, you've dealt with a gigantic skeleton T-Rex, so you're not SUPER phased when you meet Grim. He's like a little tiny version of Rexy, you know?

- You're fighting with magical students and you casually blind them with your flashlight before hitting them with it just like you're dad taught you and stuff. Like, whenever Jade or Floyd sneak on you, your reflexes are faster and you're all: "SORRY! SORRY, REFLEX. I got kidnapped by a lot of museum artifacts back in my world so I developed, like, you know, a 6th sense."

- No because I can imagine that you're so unphased by paintings that come to life and you have such avid conversations with them.

- Not to mention you have to get used to the fact that the VILLAINS in your Disney stories are their gods and you give them due respect but its still so bizarre.

- BUT NOW CONSIDER THIS IDEA: UNCLE JEDEDIAH AND UNCLE OCTAVIUS END UP TRAVELING WITH YOU TO TWISTED WONDERLAND.

- The magic of this world keeps them alive without the tablet and since you're all by yourself, they're super protective of you despite their small size and stature. Also, they have a shaky relationship with Grim because he tried to eat them but now, all three of them are just trouble.

- Like they ride around on his back from class to class with you as you adjust to your new responsibilities to this world.

- ALSO, ACE WHEN HE FIRST PICKS ON YOU. Like, he grabs Jed and he's all: "Aw, how stupid, you've got a little cowboy toy?" and then Jedediah is all: "BOY, HAVE YOU DONE LOST YOUR MIND!? DON'T MAN HANDLE ME-" and Ace drops him and you catch Jed.

- NO BECAUSE JEDEDIAH AND OCTAVIUS GETTING ATTATCHED TO YOUR NEW FRIENDS, DUECE AND ACE AS WELL. Like, they can somewhat keep you safe in this new world and plus, when Deuce gets a bit hot headed, Octavius keeping him calm and saying some wise words. Or if Ace is complaining, Jedediah is standing on his shoulder and scolding him before Ace is all: "OKAY! OKAY, FINE, YOU MIGHT HAVE A POINT."

- AND THEN WHAT IF THE MUSEUM BACK IN THE WORLD WHERE YOUR DAD IS AT HAS A SPECIAL MIRROR FROM TWISTED WONDERLAND, like, he finds it and you're able to talk to everyone else from it.

- "(Y/n)!? ARE YOU OKAY!?"

- "YEAH, I'M FINE DAD!"/ "DON'T WORRY, GIGANTOR, WE'RE KEEPING THEM SAFE!"/ "Hi, Mr. (Y/n)'s dad!"/ "DEUCE, FOCUS!"/ "THIS WOULDN'T HAVE HAPPENED IF WE JUST GOT TUNA!"

#Twisted Night At the Museum AU #Twisted Wonderland #twst x reader #Twisted wonderland x reader #night at the museum x reader #night at the museum #ace trappola x reader #ace trapolla x reader #ace x reader twst #deuce spade x reader #deuce spade twisted wonderland #deuce x reader #deuce x reader twst

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thehistoriangirl · 7 months

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The Tides Have Veiled [Eight]

Viktor x Fem!Reader----Gothic AU/ Spooky Sea/---3.6K-----SFW**

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Synopsis: Piltover the Old has an old lighthouse that looms over an abandoned port. From the house in the wailing cliff’s edge, the lighthouse owner watches that the beacon is being lighten up each time darkness arrives, so that monsters wouldn't dare to crawl inland, or so legends say. Both buildings are haunted, maybe even the man himself, by both past and present ghosts.

Surprisingly, the keeper’s work is beyond turning on the beacon every night— but the rest is on you to discover.

Chapter Summary: Strange things happen in the city for those who aren't used to its busy streets, so far afar from the sea. Though the water is never so far away to not reach out for you... and maybe not just you.

Taglist: @bittercyder @lunar-monster @local-mr-frog

Eight: The Sea's Call [Pt. 2]

It was strange to see Viktor framed by the bright morning light of the city; hues of red shining through the locks of his hair poking around his ears, the freckles of brown embedded inside his amber eyes.

You couldn’t stop from feeling heat pooling in your stomach when you remembered that you had kissed him minutes ago, a tingling sensation where his lips had brushed yours.

Stop. Focus. You’re staring.

Oh no.

“Is something the matter?” Viktor said, observing you from the corner of his eye before looking away, the cobblestone of the park nearby was uneven under your heels, almost twisting your ankle when he caught your wandering eyes.

“Ah, no, no. Um… I’m just watching the sun.” Why couldn’t just be like him? Viktor looked unfazed by the new sensation of a ring around his finger.

He quirked an eyebrow, amusement inking his tone. “I suppose it’s a rare sight back home.” You nodded, feeling your words stolen from your mouth, any other lie you were about to concoct gone. “I was thinking…” he ventured. “If you’re interested to see my workplace?”

“You mean the Academy?”

“No. For now, I work as a researcher in the Natural Science Museum. It is still managed by the Academy, of course, but I don’t work as a teacher per se.”

“A museum? Sounds interesting.” You paused, remembering the towers reaching the sky with its black needles, and multicolor glass windows from the main Academy building. “Is it pretty?”

Viktor turned to see you, a soft smile barely curving his lips. “I’ve seen prettier things,” he said, eyes twinkling. “But yes, I’d say it is.”

Hands started to fall from your hairstyle when you nodded, recognizing the trolley station at the opposite corner of the park, surrounded by tiny pine trees. “Let’s go,” you said, almost dragging him toward the car when you saw the small train-like vehicle doubling the avenue. “Before it left us!”

Viktor chuckled, your hand firm in his. “Patience, patience. You’re going to make me fall.”

“I’ll hold you,” you replied, quicker than your brain could analyze the words to tell you that maybe you shouldn’t have told them. “I mean, so you won’t fall.”

Wide golden eyes trained on you for a moment too long before parting from your face, the luminous white light hitting the trolley’s window showing Viktor’s cheeks covered in a faint pink due to the warm day ahead.

“Right,” Viktor muttered, squeezing your hand to guide you inside the trolley before letting go. “Of course.”

Black marble floor echoed with each one of your steps, and some light from the exhibits dimmed without the main chandeliers lit, suspended in the middle of the rooms. You had stopped to admire the building, a new marvel of architecture.

While the Academy was built taking a gothic cathedral in mind, the Natural Science Museum was made of an iron skeleton that could be visible in the arches holding the curved ceiling; gigantic panels of glass let you see the city below.

It made you remember the beacon’s room; and you couldn’t stop from imagining being a keeper here, looking at the city sleep, with only the streetlights as company on those moonless nights.

Here in the flicking landscape, where the past had to place to stay unless encased behind a glass vitrine, in the darkness of a storage room practically forgotten.

You stopped somewhere halfway into the main lobby, following the sign of one of the permanent exhibits toward a side room, the words: The Deepest Fears: Monsters and Legends of the Ocean, prickled your curiosity. Viktor's name shown on a corner of it alongside other researchers.

The exhibit was barely lightened by the tiny beacons framing each specimen and diagram, the first big panel showing an introductory banner with a collage of images, one in which you saw Piltover the Old’s lighthouse in a white-and-black photograph.

The Calling. So it had a name, then.

Stepping further inside, the animals mounted behind the glass looked amorphous, and for a moment you were back in Viktor's office, with the stale salty air, the humidity that seemed to cling into the wallpaper, wanting to seep and break into the surface.

Aquatic serpents bigger than your body, pools of formaldehyde filled with rests of giant squids, teeth of monstrous, giant sharks; your view swept all of them, stopping in one figure that looked almost human against the dimming room.

You felt a weird icking in the pit of your stomach, heavy and unavoidable. The space the specimen occupied was familiar somehow, was it… the once occupant of one of Viktor's entire walls on his basement office?

The siren?

Viktor touched the small of your back, and you opened your eyes, jumping away. “Eh, pardon me. I lost you for a moment,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Let’s go. I’ll show you all the exhibits once the museum opens for the public.”

He pushed you gently in the opposite direction, still smelling the salty marine breeze in this closed space, so far away from the coast. It’s just my imagination, you repeated, like a plea, inside your head. I’m homesick.

Back to the lobby, Viktor walked you toward a simple wooden door that read Authorized personnel only, gesturing for you to go inside, a nude hallway welcoming you as he clicked the door closed behind you.

“The elevator is in the fourth door at the left,” Viktor told you, passing next to you to take the lead, his legs brushing your skirts in the narrow space. Much more so when you got inside the tiny metal cage next to him, your shoulders almost brushing.

“I apologize for not letting you see the whole exhibit,” he said as you felt a pull upward from your insides, the cage lifting with a muffled mechanical rattle. “Some security guards don’t like people visiting them unless the museum is open.” Viktor shrugged. “Sometimes, specimens get stolen from the storage rooms, so you can’t never be less careful.”

“You helped create that exhibit,” you chimed in, planning to say it more like a question, and less of an.. accusation of sorts.

Viktor tilted his head to the side. “… yes, I collaborate in the elaboration of all exhibits regarding marine specimens.” He observed you from the metallic reflection of the elevator’s doors. “Why?”

“I saw the lighthouse,” you muttered, feeling a bit stupid. Well, of course. The nearest settlement from the sea was Piltover the Old, and the city was called after said coastal town; it was only obvious they would have such archives of information about the beacon.

He turned to look at you, this time without the help of any reflections, expecting you to continue once your thoughts had been crafted.

“It’s named, ‘The Calling’,” you said. “Did you know it?”

“Yes, I did.”

You frowned slightly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Viktor tapped his cane on the floor, the elevator ringing the arrival at the fourth floor, gazing toward the hallway extending in front of you. "Nobody had called it like that since a long time ago."

He stepped out of the elevator, using his cane to stop the doors from closing as your frozen figure regained some senses, though you couldn't stop from asking, ignoring the still silence hung between you two:

"Do you know why is it called that way?"

Light flooded inside the hallway, big windows flanking both sides of the building with a wall separating left and right, filled with offices.

"No," he replied after a long pause in which you thought he wouldn't answer. "I suppose there has to be a chronic about it somewhere in the History Faculty of the Academy."

Some people were already there, mostly the cleaning services, so Viktor slipped his hand into yours, walking side by side toward his office, muttering good morning back to every person who greeted him first.

"I'll see if I can search for it one of these days."

His office was little and cluttered, twin shelves covering the side walls, the desk tucked in the middle, all covered in notes scattered everywhere, filled with scribbles in blue and black ink, books open with paper sheets as marks inside its pages.

Viktor took a pair of coffee mugs and what seemed to be tiny glass bottles that you had seen in the only pharmacy in Piltover the Old, his hands shoving them away, inside a drawer, though you could still see the rim stains of coffee in some of his research papers.

“What do you think?” he said, gesturing for you to sit in the only seat available: behind his desk.

“It looks like your office back home. Minus the light.” You pointed to the window, seeing buildings next to each other in a perpetual hug, streets moving fast and filled with tiny dots, like those of an anthill. "It's pretty," you commented afterward because you didn't know if he was looking for compliments for it.

You could imagine him, back bent while reading some document, writing away as all white light morphed into yellow and then orange before dissipating. How many nights he had spent here, accompanied by his desk lamp, a tiny beacon that may or may not make him remember the lighthouse? Make him remember you.

Don’t be stupid.

Your gaze localized the spines of all the books tucked into the shelves in whatever order let Viktor keep as many inside a row as possible, the titles varying from new white or gold lettering to worn-out voids of black where a name ought to be. His mandatory degrees are on the wall, encased like the specimens down in the exhibits.

“I didn’t know you had studied Literature," you said, pointing to a bachelor's degree next to a specialty in Folk Literature.

“Oh? May I ask why that is?”

You shrugged. “You’re a scientist, aren’t you? Don’t you think Folk Literature is everything people tell you not to do while in science?” You said, remembering your mom’s old books about scientific studies.

Viktor sat on the edge of the desk. “I believe there are some things that aren’t meant to be studied scientifically.” He paused. “Like art.”

“Do you make art, Viktor?” You wanted to see if there was something of his creation in the house, like a forgotten poem or a tale, a watercolor, even.

He shook his head. “Not anymore.” He chuckled. “Though I particularly like to hear people sing.” Reclined on his right hand, he turned to observe you. “Do you sing, by any chance?”

A nervous giggle bubbled out your lips. “Maybe I do, though not that well.”

“Perhaps I could hear you someday,” Viktor commented, and you laughed, not knowing if it was meant to be a joke or not. And too embarrassed to ask.

“Viktor, are you okay?” you said, leaning closer to him so he could hear you among the voice of the filled restaurant, a cool breeze moving the locks of your hair you had decided to set free after visiting the museum.

You were almost finishing your food, while he barely had eaten his now cold spinach cream, playing with the cherry tomatoes on his chicken salad.

He smiled. “Why, yes. Of course. I’m just… not hungry.”

Frowning you looked at him unabashedly; the dark eyebags, hollow cheeks, and paleness of his skin.

“You haven’t eaten anything since we left the town, Viktor.” Settling your napkin aside, you were about to stand up. “Let’s go find a doctor.”

Viktor looked at his plate, lips pursed in a pout. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t believe you.”

He sighed. “It always happens to me when I’m in the city. Must be something about the air pollution. I have some medicine in the apartment.”

“Then let’s go!” you said, not caring about the nearby customers looking at you with frowns. “You’ll get sick if you don’t eat soon.” Despite his obvious sickly state, Viktor chuckled. “What’s so funny?” you grumbled, looking for a nearby waiter to ask for the check, and to give you Viktor’s unfinished food as takeout.

“Nothing.” He stood up once everything was settled, his body wobbling more than it was normal. “Huh.”

“Careful.” You rushed to his side, taking him by the arm to stop him from toppling over. “What are you feeling?”

“Just… dizziness,” he mumbled, looking where your hand had taken his arm in a gentle grasp; cheeks tinted red.

You put your free hand on his forehead, golden eyes widened at the gesture. “You’re hot. I think you may have a fever.”

“I’m fine,” Viktor said, stepping away from your touch. “But if it will make you feel calmer, let’s go.”

He wasn’t, but you couldn’t deny how of a good actor he was, his jaw tense to keep the pain inside, steps still firm and continuous, though Viktor leaned too much on his cane. A whole act that only practice could make convincing.

Drowning his objections, you put him in bed, helping take his shoes off as he grumbled that you were exaggerating; though by this point he had become the color of the bedsheets.

You patted a cold cloth on his forehead, dabbing away the beads of cold sweat his shivers produced. Eyelids fluttering close and open, a hazy golden gaze trying to focus on your face leaning closer to his, brows knitted in focus.

“Viktor,” you said. “Viktor, tell me where you keep the medicine.”

He groaned. “I… I promise that it has never been this bad before,” he mumbled, more for himself than for you.

“Viktor, that isn’t important now…”

“I wonder…” Viktor blinked his eyes open, observing your face, from your eyes to your lips, and then back up again before closing them. “They’re… in the kitchen. The cupboard with the tea. It’s labeled.”

You blinked, confusion making your brain work slower, or perhaps it was due to the strange flutter in your stomach. Very childish of you. “Huh,” you said. “I’ll be back right away. Please, do not move.”

You stood up from the edge of the mattress, feeling his hand brushing yours. “Viktor?”

He sighed, his eyes closed so you couldn’t read into them. “It’s… nothing. Thank you.”

You had to climb into a chair to reach the top shelf of the cupboard, with dry leaves labeled inside white ceramic jars until you found the one you were looking for, making him a salvia tea and retrieving some meds from the bottom of the cupboard, a bottle of aspirins with barely a couple of them inside.

You carry it all back to the bedroom on a wooden tray, finding a void in the dipped mattress in which Viktor was supposed to be.

“Viktor?” You say, settling everything on the nightstand, hands pushing aside papers and pens. Then, a cough echoed from the bathroom, the door ajar instead of fully closed, letting you see a line of light filtering from under the entrance. Frozen, with sudden terror, your body took more time than normal to react.

The bathroom door was cold under your rigid fingers, heart climbing to your throat. Inside, the light hit the white mosaics, blinding you until Viktor’s figure materialized in front of you, crouched in front of the lavatory, some of its surface stained with a rosy mix of water and blood.

“Oh my god, Viktor!” You said, collapsing to his side, not really knowing what to do. You could smell the salty taste of blood clinging into the air.

Despite his body jerking with every cough, he had enough force to push you away.

“Viktor…”

“No, don’t come any closer,” he uttered, his coldness piercing like a dagger through your heart. With the back of his hand, he swiped the bold away, though there was still a pink trace of diluted blood in the corner of his mouth. His eyes shone against the lamp, and you couldn’t pinpoint if the unnatural glow was because of the artificial bulb or because his eyes were brimming with tears. “I want… I want to be alone. I’m going to take a bath.”

“Then let me—”

“I appreciate your help, but…” He curled into himself, pushing his hair away from his brow. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”

You bit a reply, sinking your teeth into your lips. But what to say? You didn’t have any right to chime into his life, and he had chosen not to accept your help, so there was nothing you could do. Being his fake wife didn't mean he was going to open up to you overnight—if at all. Backtracking your steps, you let the bathroom door open, only to hear it slam close once you were in the hallway, pushed by Viktor's cane.

"I left your meds on the nightstand," your voice echoed, dull against the wooden door. At least he couldn't hear the hurt bleeding from your tone with the wooden surface between you.

He didn't answer, and if he did, your ears were incapable of taking in any sound. Until hours later into the night, with the silence clinging into the witching hours, the apartment lit with the orange glow of the lamp in the living room, barely casting any hues into the hallway you had curled against. Hoping to hear anything from inside the bathroom besides some cough that echoed through your bones as if it had been your chest that was ripping.

The floor was cold and hard, muscles aching every time you moved your legs and back into another position. Viktor didn't wish for your company, or your help today. But maybe he could change his mind, maybe something would happen that would push him into calling you; and what if you were gone by now? Asleep on the couch? You knew he wouldn't dare to wake you up.

You couldn’t with the idea of something happening to him and not noticing.

Shadows crept all around you, the whole apartment growing like a monster, with its eyes set on you, the corners too pronounced, the perfect lair of a predator.

Between the sudden coughs, you heard the familiar splash of water; a wave arriving to shore. The gnawing cold followed; clinging to your feet, legs, hands. It was too dark to see them clearly, but you felt the water clinging to your body, the ever-growing wave escaping from beneath the bathroom door.

Jumping to stand up, you pounded on the door, but it just wouldn't bulge. Your hands were blue from the freezing water, and if that was how your hands looked, you didn't want to imagine how Viktor would be, lying against the cold tile.

Viktor! You wanted to scream, but when you opened your mouth, only water poured outside, one growing from inside your lungs, burning on its way out your throat, salty and heavy like hopeless tears.

Please… you thought, hands scratching the wall to plead for air, but all you could sense was water. The water coming from the bathroom, the one coming from your body; bubbles and foam as if you were in the sea.

A water grave, just like your mother’s.

Did she… feel this way? A burning sensation on the chest, as if lava were inside your nose and throat, setting ablaze the fear and dread of death to let the water take over, leaving only a carcass behind.

You collapsed on your knees, rolling to the side; the water rippling with your hit, surrounding you like an invincible enemy. You couldn't even cry, for your tears were mixed with water.

The scream of the cliff calling you, muffled at first, the light of the living room now gone.

Everything was water. Including you.

That nightmare all over again, with the moonlight barely illuminating the surface of the water as you peeked at the woman jumping off the cliff. You swam closer, as you usually did in this dream, ignoring the voice nagging ominously at you about your mistake. But it was too late. You didn’t stop swimming.

While arriving at the spot where the woman would've fallen, you heard it.

A scream of your name.

Gasping, you inhaled so much air your lungs hurt. Golden eyes were looking at you, eyebrows knitted in worry.

Viktor called your name again. “Are you alright? Why aren’t you sleeping in the bed?”

“Vik… Viktor!” you croaked, taking his cold hands in yours. Taking in the way the lamp in the living room carved his face like that of a statue; intelligible and beautiful. Atemporal. “How are you feeling?”

He waved your question away. “That isn’t important right now. Did you fall? I heard a thump noise outside and came to investigate. What are you doing in the hallway?”

“I’m… fi—” you gasped for air, a dry whistle coming from your throat when you inhaled.

You touched your chest, leaning against the wall. No, no, no… was this another dream? Was this real?

Viktor called your name, taking you by your shoulders. “Tell me what’s wrong,” he said, his eyes widening in horror. "Miss, please breathe. You're getting blue. Do it slowly and superficially at first. Just… just see me. We’ll do it together.”

You tried, but something had clung to your chest, a pressure that only grew while looking at Viktor trying to guide your breathing. It blocked your throat, the bigger lump you've felt, and for a moment you wondered if it wasn't an act of revenge from your body, making you accountable for all the times you sealed your tears, now all of them flooding into your makeshift dam, cracking it.

Tears pooled in your eyes, a last plea of agony before you felt the wave coming from inside of you break into your lips.

Collapsing on your knees, you threw up salt water, leaving only a faint trace of pink blood diluted into it.

#viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #arcane viktor x reader #viktor arcane x you #arcane viktor x you #viktor x you #arcane viktor fanfic #viktor arcane fanfic #arcane x female reader

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tonys-fav-bitch · 9 months

Text

Plot Twist || Reader x Moonboys

Moon Knight AU

Part 4

Word Count: 1.3k

Summary: in which your boss sends you to keep an eye on a possible avengers recruit. You’re tasked with following him, figuring out who he is, and if he’s good enough for the team. That’s it. But it’s never that simple

Warnings: none (I don’t think?)

YOU SMILED AT Steven who was hurrying out of the museum. He quickly waved goodbye to the guard who was at the entrance before making his way to you.

"Hey you." You said sweetly.

"Hello!" He said excitedly, making you giggle.

"Where would you like to go?" You asked him.

"Where ever you would like." He replied as he nervously fiddled with his sleeve.

"Well uh, actually. . I just moved here two days ago so I have absolutely no idea where I'm going." You said honestly, your cheeks flushing a slight red.

"Oh! Wow, uh then let me take you to my favorite place." He told you, waving you on as he started walking.

You two walked in a comfortable silence for a few blocks until you came to a small pub. The sign was old and worn out, the windows small and slightly broken. You raised an eyebrow at Steven.

"It's great, I swear! It uh. . Gives it character." He assured you with a sheepish grin.

"Then lead the way, Steven." You laughed.

He opened the door for you and let you enter first, standing behind your body. The height difference was quite big, Steven towering over your short stature.

The man waved at someone behind the bar and led you over to an empty booth. You both took a seat before picking up the menus.

"So, Steven. What do you suggest?" You wondered as you skimmed over the laminated menu.

"They have the best chips in town, I swear." He told you excitedly.

"Hmm, I'll be the judge of that." You replied with a smirk.

"I can assure you, love." He said as he looked through the drinks, not even noticing the slip of name.

You found yourself grinning at the word. You watched the sweet man as he intensely examined the different types of drinks, his eyebrows furrowing as he read.

A waitress strolled over after a few minutes and asked for your orders. Before you could respond, your phone began to ring. You told Steven to surprise you with whatever he thought would be best before excusing yourself.

You stepped outside and into the chilly night air before answering the phone. You didn't even look at the caller ID.

"Did you find him?" Fury's familiar voice sounded.

"Well hello to you too." You retorted.

"Save the pleasantries for later. Did you find him?" He brushed you off.

"Yes I did. I'm actually with him right now, but you're kinda ruining it." You huffed, hugging your jacket closer to your body to conserve any heat you had.

"It's always so nice to talk to you." He said sarcastically.

"You too. I can feel the love from here." You teased just before the line went dead.

You scowled at the device, running through different explicits for Fury. Before you headed back inside you clicked on your messages, scrolling through the photos Peter had sent you. They consisted of weird selfies and creeper shots of Sam and Bucky. You chuckled at the photos before hearting each one.

You stuffed your phone back into your pocket before heading back inside. You saw Steven nervously playing with his hair, a smile appearing on his face one he spotted you approaching.

"Hey, sorry about that." You apologized as you sat back down.

"Don't worry about it." He assured you.

"So Steven, tell me about yourself." You said softly.

"About - about myself?" He looked at you confused, almost not believing that someone wanted to hear what he had to say.

"Yea, what kind of date would it be if I didn't ask about you?" You grinned teasingly.

Steven's eyes widened at your choice of words, his heart beat suddenly picking up speed. He opened his mouth to say something, faltering for a moment.

"A - a date?"

"Im just teasing. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." You giggled as you took a sip of water.

"This is just someone helping their coworker get use to the city and her new job." You added on.

"No - uh. . I like the sound of that." He responded, his lopsided smile appearing again.

"So, in order to get to know you more. . Tell me about yourself." You smiled sweetly at him.

"What would you like to know?"

"Anything you wanna tell me, Steven."

☽ ♞ ☾

It was getting late, but the two of you sat at the booth kept on talking. You listened intently to every word Steven spoke. For the first time in a long time, Steven felt appreciated.

You found yourself holding on to every word that came out of the handsome man's lips. You didn't expect to be so intrigued by the man before you. You assumed he'd be boring or an arrogant asshole who thought he was too good for everyone else - yet here he was, kind and caring.

You had only known him for a mere 12 hours or so and yet you knew so much about his life. Most people might have been put off by his oversharing, but you found it endearing and innocent.

After Steven finished his thought he sipped on his water, nervously tapping his foot. You glanced down to your phone, noting the time.

"Oh man, I didn't realize what time it was. I hope I didn't keep you longer than you wanted." You apologized.

"No, no. You're fine. I'm certainly in no rush to head back home." He assured you.

"In that case. . Wanna walk me home?" You inquired. It would give you more time with the man, but also because you had no idea how to get back to your apartment from here.

"Of course." He grinned and got to his feet.

You followed after him and the two of you headed out the door. The chilly night air hit both of you like a brick, causing you to shiver.

"Where do you live?" He asked as he rubbed his hands together. You relayed the address and he gave a grin in response.

"You aren't far from me, come on now."

You made the trek home in mostly silence, occasionally commenting here and there. After about 10 minutes you arrived outside of your place.

"Thank you again for dinner. It was nice to spend tonight with someone rather than alone in my apartment." You thanked him.

"Of course! Although, we never talked about your job." He pointed out.

You raised your brows in surprise, now realizing that that was the whole reason for the meeting. You shrugged before speaking.

"Well I guess we'll have to do it again." You pointed out, making the man smile.

"I guess so. ." He trailed off.

You leaned forward and rested a hand on his shoulder before placing a small peck on his soft cheek.

"Goodnight, Steven."

☽ ♞ ☾

You found yourself pacing in your room as you read about Steven more. Your brain kept jumping back to tonight's earlier events, the food and the conversation - the connection you seemed to feel.

It was outrageous that you were feeling anything for a mere stranger. Even worse, a recruit? You ran your hands over your face stressfully before plopping down on your bed.

You pulled your phone out and quickly dialed a number, bringing the phone to your ear. You listened to the rings over and over until it went to the familiar voicemail you were so use to.

"It's Natasha, I don't wanna talk right now. Leave me a message and maybe I'll get back to you."

Hearing your best friends voice was always a comfort and a pain. It reminded you of the amazing person she was but also reminded you that she was gone.

Natasha always knew what to do and how to do it. You needed her right now - to help you adjust to London and to help you figure out what you were feeling.

But you couldn't. You couldn't because Thanos took her away from you and the team, forever.

And because of that, the Avengers would mourn her - always.

#jake lockley #marc spector #moon knight #steven grant #fanfic #wattpad #marc spector x you #steven grant x you #jake lockely x reader #au

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krirebr · 4 months

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Which one of your current babes from one of your series is going to plan the most romantic date night?

Ohhh, series? So that's I Know I Should Know Better Curtis, More Than This Ransom, and Ransom again from my Psycho Killer AU (I'm biting the bullet and finally just calling it that).

I surprised myself with this one. At first, I was like "Well, it's obviously Curtis once they finally get together!" But then once I thought about it a little more, I realized the correct answer is actually

Psycho Killer Ransom! (Answer below the cut for spoiler reasons)

As twisted and wild as Vampire!Ransom and his Little Rabbit are, they do seem to have genuinely fallen in love. 😂 And now that he's turned her, he is just so, so fond and completely smitten.

So, I think he'd whisk you away to some exciting locale you've never been to before and then arrange for an after-hours tour of that place's iconic art museum or something (by compelling the security guards, natch). Then when you get to the atrium, with the moonlight pouring in, it's all arranged for a candlelit meal, with food there that he hunted for you himself, just to your tastes. Then, once you've both had your fill, you probably fuck under some priceless work of art and whisper your feelings to each other. 😂😂😂

Ahahahahaha! That may have gotten away from me a little. 😂😂😂

#krismas party #ask kris #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale x female reader #ransom drysdale x reader #dark ransom drysdale #vampire au #drabblewithfrannybarnes

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sideralwriting · 1 year

Text

Merry Christmas to you @reverie-tales! I’m glad I was your Secret Santa and I’m sorry if this fanfiction reaches you on Christmas day already. I didn’t like how the old fic was turning out so I decided for another twist. Tarquin had to go XD I hope it isn’t too heavy to read, I never wrote this many words ahaha.

Merry Christmas again and thanks to @acotargiftexchange for planning the event!!

Feysand fanfic, modern AU. Word count: 4115. TW: Tamlin & Ianthe (aka the manipulation squad), NSFW (my giftee likes a lil angst and good spices atm eheh).

Edit: Summary: Every aspect of Feyre’s life as fiancée of Tamlin is carefully approached by her future father-in-law but everything changes the day she runs into Morrigan.

What a treasure you are

Feyre got out of the SUV in front of her favorite museum on a sunny June afternoon. That was her favorite place and spent most of her free time there, which amounted to basically half a day.

Tamlin had sent Ianthe later that morning to escort her to her outings and she was trying to enjoy every bit of it. Not that her routine was any different since she finished college last year: wake up, have breakfast — her new obsession was avocado toast with only avocados and sesame seeds on an almost burnt bread slice— clean the house and get out of it before 1 PM.

Feyre saw Tamlin only when he came home later into the night and before he went to work, right before she was fully awake. She was grateful to him for working enough to allow them to have a life together, but she missed doing something, anything, even if it was in order to ease his stress. Tamlin's rage grew by the day. Out of frustration for his job as his father's and Amaratha's assistant, for sure, nonetheless she was afraid. Feyre didn't want to admit it to anyone, not even herself, nor she wanted to admit that Ianthe was more the controlling kind of person than actually a family friend.

So she escaped her reality with a year-long membership to her favorite of the Prythian’s Spring Court Museums.

Feyre’s pale green dress with ridiculously big puffy sleeves had been Ianthe's "gift", accurately chosen to show off her fair skin and "bring justice to Tamlin's family name". Obviously Feyre hated it with burning passion. That day she didn't put any sunscreen on because she didn't think it would be necessary. She wasn’t Tamlin’s or his father’s creature to manipulate as they pleased. She wanted freedom to do as she pleased, without it to be judged and reported back to them. Feyre wanted to paint and paint, she wanted to be someone on her own, wanted to sell her paintings to sustain her family and travel to the mountain at least once. So she strolled through the art gallery, Ianthe a few steps behind her, waiting for her opportunity to start living again. She applied for every exhibition but her soon to be father-in-law had connections everywhere in the city and made sure she couldn’t take part in it even changing the dates of a few major events.

Feyre sat on a cream divan in front of the painting of a pink cherry tree, leaning against the highest part of the divan at her right.

Father-in-law. Husband. Tamlin’s wife. That’s what her life was bound to be the moment her father asked for a loan to the man. Feyre’s father was called the Prince of Trading before he lost everything because of a hurricane. He then asked Tamlin’s father, a collegue of his, some financiary help to pay off a couple of major debts… Creating a bigger one. Feyre’s wedding was to be an alliance between the traders. An alliance she loved at first, to help her family and being loved by a caring man. Everything started to change as Tamlin had more pressure, his temper started rising, they started arguing. What she hated more was that she couldn’t reply, nor help. Feyre had just to suppress her own frustration and avoid him as much as she could, bonus if she managed to endure Ianthe’s meddling. “Are you going to stare at that particular thing for long, Miss?” Mother above, the woman truly brought the worse out of her. Feyre turned her head slowly toward the guard and glued a dumb smile on her face.

“I’m sorry, Ianthe, what were you saying? This art piece is magnificent, isn’t it? The colors are so pale that you can feel the sadness-"

“I’m regretful to remind you of this in such a nice place, Miss Feyre,” the woman sure enough of her position that she interrupted her boss’ fiancée, “but Mr. Tamlin didn’t send me only for company. I’m here to accompany you to buy the new dress for Mrs. Amarantha’s charity party”. Right. Because why else would anyone approach her? Feyre sighed and got up from the divan. “You’re right, Ianthe”, she agreed, “you are not here for company.” The guard flinched and her cheeks reddened in anger. “Lead the way, now”.

⁕⁂♥⸙♥⁂⁕ ⁕⁂♥⸙♥⁂⁕ ⁕⁂♥⸙♥⁂⁕

The little bell on the boutique’s door jingled as Feyre and Ianthe entered the place. They were greeted by a dark-haired woman with chocolate eyes. “Welcome to Windheaven, ladies. I’m Mrs. Hilda, the seamstress. How can I help you?”

Feyre explained to Mrs. Hilda what the occasion was and most of all who the host was. After the tailor asked her to undress and step on the platform at the center of a private room, the woman took her mesurements and started sketching, draping fabrics over Feyre’s waist and shoulders. Feyre took her time enjoying the fabrics and trying to remember as many details as she could for her next painting: lilac walls, dark brown partitions, a big fuzzy white carpet. Ianthe kept nugging at the tailor’s sketches and Feyre was glad that no one ever tried to do the same thing with her paintings… for now. How would things change after she got married? After she had to give Tamlin an heir?

She turned to avoid panicking in front of a stranger and most of all in front of her guard when she lifted her gaze and saw it.

Her first painting, her first sale. A lake of starlight with weeping willows caressing the white waters. How had it ended up there? Her dorm roommate bought it, did she sell it in turn? Did someone steal it? “How-” she starded, but right at that moment the door slammed wide open and a lean figure entered the room submerged in fabric rolls

“Who are you? Why are you here?” Ianthe yelled, “Have you no decency for customers? Ask for forgiveness and get out right now!” but neither the newcomer nor Feyre were listening to her since the first one put down the fabric rolls near Hilda and turned. Feyre had recognised those footsteps as soon as she heard them. They jumped as her heart did. Because in front of her, in a wonderful red dress and blonde ponytail stands her best friend. The moment their eyes met, tears started flowing down her cheeks, warm, big tears that mirrored the ones on her friend’s cheeks.

“Miss Feyre Archeron! It’s been a year since I last saw you.” The chestnut eyes of the blonde woman brightened as she hugged Feyre as thight as she could. “Mor…” She smelled of citrus as always and Feyre would be forever grateful for even that didn’t change in her friend. In Feyre’s own life. So she hugged her tighter because words failed her. “I know”, the first one said, “I missed you too, my dear friend”.

“This is outrageous! Get out or I’ll-“ Feyre glared at the stupidity of her guard and debated how to get rid of her once and for all. “You will do what exactly, Ianthe? I know this woman-“

“But she isn’t approved-“ “Silence, Ianthe. Last time I checked it was thanks to me you still had your job, so go breathing some fresh air.” Her heart kept thundering and her hands trembled, “And next time you interrupt me, you’ll be done for.”

“How did my painting get up there?” Feyre asked, sitting on the plushy carpet. Ianthe stormed out of the room and she got dressed in the frilly green dress. “Mrs. Hilda is my aunt,” answered Morrigan over a cup of tea. The seamstress saluted with a pencil in hand and a mischievious grin before returning to her sketches. Then, “Morrigan always told me about her ‘super-talented best friend forever’ and the day she bought it she gifted it to me so that it could bring me joy everyday. And it did.”

New tears thretened her eyes whe she turned from the middle aged woman. Obviously her old friend didn’t miss a thing, though. Mor gripped her hands together, “What happens, Fey? Tell me all about it”. Probably it was her memories or her friend’s presence or the tea, anyway she crumbled. She told her about her father’s debts, how she will have to marry Tamlin, how she had no control over her life, Tamlin’s behaviour. Even Feyre’s phone was closely examined by Ianthe everyday so it was better for Morrigan not to have it. The eyes of her best friend blackened as she told her about her life, stroking Feyre’s head in confort.

That day, Feyre left the boutique with more hope than she had in a while. She had to know that it couldn’t last long, though. As soon as her SUV reached the manor's parking lot, she knew something was up. First of all, Tamlin's own car was there too and it was only six in the afternoon. Second thing was Ianthe's smirk since she saw the other car too.

⁕⁂♥⸙♥⁂⁕ ⁕⁂♥⸙♥⁂⁕ ⁕⁂♥⸙♥⁂⁕

December has always been Rhysand's favorite month. Lights everywhere glittering like stars, laughing people, warm beverages and snowball wars. He strolled through the city aiming for his favorite jeweler. Amren needed a new pair of earrings more than her life and Rhys was determined to buy his old friend the best pair Velaris had to offer. He was almost done with everyone's gifts, the pile of them from his family growing under his own tree. They got so excited that most of them tried to shake and even sniff the packaging to understand what the hell was inside of it. Somehow his Inner Circle has found him trustworthy enough to place everything at his home. Sometimes he regretted giving them the keys, but he loved them a lot. There was only one gift he still had to buy.

Morrigan's friend, Feyre, had lived with his cousin since September. They met a few times and even though her expression looked haunted most of the time, her witty replies made him loudly laugh. Pair that with how she called him a prick on different occasions and he had fallen in love. Hard and sudden. He wanted Feyre to start smiling again and wanted her to feel safe around him. He wanted to make her feel the most loved person on this planet. Mor and Feyre left for a three week holiday in Italy getting themselves drunk on shopping and nice food almost every day.

After purchasing Amren's earrings and a brooch, he found himself in front of his mother's boutique.

"My, what have I done for my son to come visit me at work?" his mother greeted him. "As if I don't come in here every other week, mother," Rhys replied, kissing the woman's cheek.

Hilda was finishing putting together a sleeve for the soft white dress on a stand behind her. "It's Morrigan's. I thought she would love a dress for Solstice day. Do you like it?"

"It will be perfect on her, your skills amaze me every time," he confessed, "what about that one, though? What is it made of?" A fine dress of the palest blue caught his eyes, shining in the low light from the ceiling, the trail pooled as a lake of stars. What kind of fabric was even that? "Feyre's dress. Oh, don't be so surprised, honey. She needed it after all she went through."

He sighed. "What happened to her, exactly? Morrigan threatened to kill me when I mentioned I wanted to ask Feyre about it." "Well…," Hilda hesitated. It wasn't like her and an angry calm set over him. What happened to the young woman? "Back in June she came in here looking for a dress. She and Mor recognized each other and an argument started between Feyre and the Miss who accompanied her. Someone sent word that a dress was no more needed and your cousin didn't see her again since Feyre showed up at her apartment and asked if she could move in. She was engaged, you see, had some arguments with her betrothed because of the other woman and called off the engagement."

Why wasn't Rhys aware of any of this? He picked out the phone but a gentle hand caressed his shoulder, the other taking away the phone. "You are trembling, Rhysand. Sit here. Sit."

"How can I help her, mom?"

"Be there for her. Support her but don't bring it up if she doesn't. " He sat there in silence for long enough that he was startled when Hilda sent him home. "Is this the only way?" he asked, getting up from the stool and pressing the second gift —a brooch of a Solstice flower made of rubies and diamonds— into her hand.

⁕⁂♥⸙♥⁂⁕ ⁕⁂♥⸙♥⁂⁕ ⁕⁂♥⸙♥⁂⁕

Feyre was glad that Azriel and Cassian drived Mor and her back to Mor's apartment. What she didn't expect was for Tamlin to stand in front of it. Arguing with Rhysand.

“Give her back now, Rhysand. You won’t be enough for her anyway.” yelled Tamlin. “Oh really?” he turned towards the group, “And here I thought that she ran away to me because of my beautiful face and because she’s not an object.” The smirk he gave Feyre turned her from white pale to tomato red in less than a second. How could Tamlin still try to take her back? She broke every tie she had to her family, her father’s debt aside. He should respect her decision and yet he didn’t. It was at that moment that she noticed the open door between the two men and the chaos inside.

She felt her anger rise. Did Tamlin look for her inside? “Why are you here, Tamlin? I’m not coming back.” Anger and frustration filled her head as she walked toward the males. “I won’t be your wife. Go marry Ianthe instead, after all she has warmed your bed since we got engaged.” She sided with Rhysand, his steady warmth and scent anchored her. She looked toward Rhys’ face. “He actually has a beautiful face.”

Tamlin launched himself toward Feyre to grab her but Rhysand was faster. He circled her shoulders and pulled her away, while Azriel and Cassian pulled a yelling Tamlin toward the exit of the building. Her heart thundered. What had just happened?

“Hey, hey, look at me.” Rhys was calling her but she couldn’t look at him. Tamlin had just- “Look at me, Feyre darling. Good girl, like that. We’ll go for another trip just the two of us, okay?” Rhysand’s blue eyes were almost violet with the Solstice lights in the hallway. She fell in love all those months ago with how they seemed to shine just for her. She fell in love with how caring he was even without knowing what happened. Feyre nodded and Rhysand escorted her to his car.

⁕⁂♥⸙♥⁂⁕ ⁕⁂♥⸙♥⁂⁕ ⁕⁂♥⸙♥⁂⁕

Four days later they reached the destination. The log cabin Rhysand drove her to was in the middle of the highest mountains in Prythian. It faced a wide lake with a few other houses here and there, a thick layer of snow covering everything in sight, brightly lit by the sun. Peace and quiet reached her ears.. together with Rhys’ pants and grunts. Why was he even doing those sounds? They make her feel so tense and weak at the same time. She turned from the landscape to find Rhys pushing her luggage inside. A huff escaped from her lips as she walked to him, helping with pulling their luggages over the wooden porch.

“And this is why Mor was expelled from the common room the third year of college” finished Feyre drinking some wine in front of the fire. The rooms were full of wood and light colors, with a big hearth in the living room. She had propped her legs up on the sofa, a soft blanket over her, while Rhysand was in front of her on the same sofa. He was laughing at the stories she shared with his cousin, only once they talked about Tamlin and decided he wasn’t worth the thoughts. His brothers were already taking care of his charges anyway, so all she had to do at the moment was relax. And wine always made her relax.

“You know,” she braved to tell him, “I actually like you, Rhysand.”

He swung his wine once, twice. “It's Rhys. And do you, now?”

“I do.” She gulped. “I started liking you the day you brought me to a dance lesson instead of Mor,” Feyre laughed. “I didn’t know I danced so badly with Tamlin.”

Rhys was silent for a second. “He knew that you are a treasure, Feyre darling. Every man you will choose to settle down with has better to acknowledge it, or I’ll be the one to teach him.”

The blush on her cheek wasn’t from her drink. “Well, you already know it”. Rhysand sat up and leaned over her. Then he started brushing her hair. It was so normal but she felt like a starving woman anyway. She'd been since that day in September. “What is it that you want, darling?” she got up on her elbows. She could feel his warm breath against her lips, mere inches apart. She met his gaze and raised a hand against his face. She felt alive again as they danced like the first time. “You.”

The kiss was hungry and sweet, soft but demanding. Their lips tasted like the finest wine they were drinking. Rhysand felt Feyre melt under his love and he couldn't believe that he would find someone who loved him this much. He had lovers but he never felt like changing into a better person with them. Feyre moaned in his mouth and it was his undoing. Rhys got up and scooped her up in his arms. In what seemed to be a second, he was at the top of the stairs with Feyre on his lips. In his room there were already dim lights on. Feyre broke the kiss long enough to examine the bedroom and laughed.

"What? Not in a Solstice mood?"

"Oh no, who wouldn't love to have sex on a four-poster bed covered in cotton balls and yellow Solstice lights?"

He grinned, "That's the spirit, darling". Rhysand put her down and slowly, oh so slowly, proceeded to undress her from the pullover, then her shirt. The leggings were the last he pulled away. Feyre was left with her little red lacy underwear in front of Rhysand, who knelt before her. Feyre averted her eyes. How was it possible that she loved the man like this? How was it possible that he loved her enough to kneel at the sight of her? It was in that moment that he entangled fingers with hers. "Are you sure of this, love?"

"I am. Only, how can you love me when I called you a prick? What if you leave me, too?" "I'm not him, Feyre. I won't leave you" confirmed Rhysand. "And I've been called worse, don't worry. Let me show you how much I love you." She smiled laying on the bed: of course he had to be right every time. Rhys undressed quickly, coming on top of her. He kissed her lips, sucked her neck. His hands roamed from her fingers to her peaked breasts, circling around the top of one to the top of the other. Feyre arched her back and Rhysand sneaked a hand beneath it to unclasp the lacy bra. He kissed his way to the peaks and Feyre felt her belly melting and tightening at the same time.

"What is it that you want, love? Do you want me to kiss every inch of you?" He showed her how under her breast. "Do you want me to suck? Or maybe you just want me to touch you." A whisper with no sound left her lips. He kept licking and massaging down, down, all the way down to her core where he didn’t stop once. He enjoyed what he was doing but looking at him worshipping her center with his tongue was a sight she knew she wanted to paint. A warm sensation started to build in her head and she couldn’t think straight anymore.

“Rhysand…”

“Don’t call me like that”, his teeth scraped the interior of her thigh. “Try again, sweetheart.” This man. She was going to let him pay. Later.

“Rhys, please”. His tongue came back against her folds and she arched as he murmured praises for her bedroom manners. He was building Feyre up so much that she was almost at the end as Rhysand withdrew from her sight. “What. What are. You doing, Rhys?” She couldn’t think, could breath fast enough. “I’m getting ready for you, my love” and as soon as he said this, Feyre found him next to her on the bed, a condom on his dick. Between the soft mattres, the cotton balls and the strings of fairy lights, Rhysand looked like a fairy king out of her favorite stories. “Come up here”, Rhys ordered patting his thigh. Feyre did as he wanted, sitting right upon his member. But she had never been good at following orders without a little ‘Feyre-twist’ and that day it wasn’t any different.

She shifted, starting to kiss and suck Rhysand’s neck as he first did, her heands learning about tatoos and muscles she didn’t even know existed. She reached between his legs and began pumping. “Fuck, Fey. There, like this. You’re wonderful” He praised her again, his hands on her hips and trying to thrust into her. “Not like that, dear,” she purred into his ear, “let me show you how to do it properly.” With a grin on her face she moved him to her folds where Feyre created a new rhythm before getting down on his member. She felt her body stretch and adapt as soon as his head entered, a new rush of hot temperature creating again a fog in Feyre’s head. She took it all in before she began moving again. “You fill me perfectly, Rhys. Can you feel how much I want you?” He merely nodded, eyes heavy with pleasure. “Then don’t stop. You’re so good, please don’t stop. I-I love you too, Rhys”. They kept moving and praising each other until they broke at last.

Both panting, they hugged each other for a few minutes before taking a quick shower -it may or may not have included more kissing and asks about being a couple- and falling asleep hugging each other.

⁕⁂♥⸙♥⁂⁕ ⁕⁂♥⸙♥⁂⁕ ⁕⁂♥⸙♥⁂⁕

Rhysand woke up before dawn between the arms of the most beautiful woman he ever saw. He traced her face with a light finger before casting a chaste kiss on her lips and leaving the bed.

⁕⁂♥⸙♥⁂⁕ ⁕⁂♥⸙♥⁂⁕ ⁕⁂♥⸙♥⁂⁕

Feyre woke up in an empty bed and felt as if everything had been only a dream. She put up the clothes Rhys had brought in the morning before and headed downstairs. She expected a few scenarios but not her new boyfriend mumbling Solstice songs under his breath while being submerged in coffee and biscuits and pancakes with blueberries and maple syrup. With his good trousers on. Only with the good trousers on. “Happy Solstice, Feyre darling!” He told her with the widest smile ever before twirling her around and kissing her. They were both laughing at the end of it.

“Happy Solstice, dear! Tell me now: did you cook all this?”

“Of course I did. I couldn’t let my girlfriend starve on the longest night of the year, could I? Now then, grab that bag and go change.”

The dress was stunning. It looked like it was crafted out of snow and light. “Where did you buy this dress?”

“That? Oh, my mother did it,” he answered before turning. His jaw dropped in a perfect O as soon as she saw her. Hair braided and barefoot in a dress of small pale gems, she felt crafted for it. “My-my mother has a boutique, the one where you met Mor back in June. This cabin is also hers.” He put a few plates on a table in front of the biggest window. The view showed the rising sun in a clear sky, over the frozen lake in a snowy landscape. Feyre made a mental note to recreate the landscape as soon as she was back, together with the previous night’s image.

She sat at the table. “You know Rhys, I wouldn’t mind being reintroduced to your mother and thank her for the dress.” Rhysand laughed “She already loves you, darling.”

#acotar gift exchange 2022 #acotar fanfiction #a court of thorns and roses #feysand #feyre x rhysand #pro feysand #acotar morrigan #modern au

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eveandtheturtles · 1 year

Note

For Donnie requests, if it tickles your fancy:

How about another one set in the tactical universe? (I so enjoyed the one you wrote for Leo when I asked last time)

Maybe a similar format to the last one but, say. Four times reader/OC (who is an art thief or whatever you like) outwits/outlucks/outruns/plain-old-tricks Don and one time he catches her?

But plot twist it was a game all along so it turns sweet or spicy (however you like, I'm down for and/or both)

(Eyyy, a returning customer! We like thay here! You said OC and activated my trap card tho lol)

Bayverse!Donnie and Kara in Tactical AU! (I am almost sure you guys are sick and tired of this ship lmao sorry xD

This one is getting a strong T!

Tactical AU belongs to @donathan

Here are my headcanons for my own spin to it if anyone is interested! And here is a link to Leo's version. Can't wait for someone to request Raph.

@madammuffins @turtle-babe83 @thelaundrybitch @sharpwindow @dilucsflame33 @pheradream15

(if anyone wants in on this list let me know!)

I. This case took him and his brothers all around the world. But it all began in New York after their handler gave them the order.

The Met event was fitting perfectly the M.O. of the thief. Donnie has been preparing himself for this. He studied extensively the previous crime scenes and had to admire the cleverness of it all.

He instructed the ground team on what to look for and how to behave. He himself kept his distance, for obvious reasons. They were going to monitor the event around the clock. The human team during the day, and the turtle brothers at night.

While the guests milled about the museum, Donnie was watching the feed from the cameras closely. This was the second day of surveillance. His sensors weren't picking up any suspicious activities either. Of course, he didn't expect the thief to be bold enough to do something during the day - this didn't fit the profile he built but all good thieves usually tried to scout their targets beforehand.

Donnie sighed and licked his lips. He switched to the computer database of all the security and staff that were currently at the museum. No one in particular stood out. Maybe he was wrong about it being the Met?

Once the gates to the museum closed it was turtle time.

The brothers took over from the day shift. As far as the security knew, they were just some special task force. The ski masks hid their faces and various leather straps disguised the shells as weird backpacks.

"This is so boring," Mikey whined over the comms. "You sure I can't liven up the place a little?"

"If you'd even think of setting off anything-!" Leo's warning resonated sharply in their ears.

The youngest snickered. "Chillax, bro, I was joking."

"Like you did in Budapest?" Raph snorted.

"That was an accident!"

"Let's make sure no more accidents happen," Leo warned him. "Especially not in the Met."

Donnie smiled listening to his brothers' banter as he patrolled the corridor he thought had the highest chance of being hit by the thief.

He listened keenly to any sound that would come his way. The empty corridors would echo them back to him. Unfortunately, it was all silent. Just the sound of his own breath coming back to him and the soft sound of his feet. The brothers were unnaturally quiet for their large size. When they wanted. Mikey usually could be heard three blocks away.

Donnie adjusted his night vision goggles as he entered a new area. He added his own security measures on top of the ones the museum had. There was no way the guy could escape them.

Suddenly one of his sensors tripped. The silent alarm got activated in one room. Donnie turned on his heel and ran.

"We have a hit!" He told the others and directed them to the correct location.

He got there first. Visor focused, looking for anything out of place. Nothing.

"What the-"

Suddenly, another alarm tripped. And another. And another. His whole grid lit up in red and he cursed. That fucker!!

"Donnie, what the hell is going on?!" Leo shouted over the comm.

"He is using my system as a smoke screen!" Donnie shouted back and cursed. He shut it down and popped the standard Met security.

Did he really figure out the system in one day? What the fuck was going on.

"He's in the Maya exhibit!"

"Raph!"

"On it, Fearless."

Motherfucker, Donnie cursed at himself and sprinted. He brought up the schematics of the room on his holoscreen.

"I have the visual!" Raph announced on the comms, which was immediately followed by a string of curses. "Stay still you slippery bastard!" And then. "I lost him but he is heading to the roof!"

Donnie smiled. Predictable.

"I'm on it!"

But then he came to a screeching halt. The fucker was heading to the main door! What?! Ballsy motherfucker.

Donnie jumped down the stairs.

"Freeze!" He got out his gun and fired a warning shot.

The thief didn't stop. Just kept running straight. Donnie followed. Then froze. The figure just passed through the glass door and the terrapin realized he was following a hologram.

"Please tell me one of you got him?" He asked his brothers, breathing heavily, feeling frustration building up.

"I saw him in the Danish exhibit but then he proofed!" Mikey responded.

"I thought I got him by the African exhibit," Leo said, his tone clearly indicating a similar failure.

Donnie cursed.

"You'll get him next time," Leo tried to comfort him.

"Yeah, thanks," he responded. The words were bitter in his mouth.

II. Weeks of intense research and work later the turtles were in Italy. Donnie once again figured out the thief would be there.

All the feed from the Met was tampered with and Donnie worked for hours to fix it. To just get three frames. Thankfully, he had seen the hologram. Raph also had a description, though not very helpful. "Short like a fucking kid and slippery like a weasel," he said. That much Donnie knew.

He managed to estimate the thief's height to be 150cm (about 4'10"). If they were dealing with a rowdy teen the turtle genius was going to be super pissed and impressed.

Right now he was riding on a huge adrenaline rush as he watched the thief through his scope. The guy was running away from Leo, who took the chase.

"I got you," Donnie muttered to himself. He aimed the shot. He wasn't going to kill the thief. Just incapacitate him with some tranquilizers.

It was the end of the road for their target either way. The line of houses ended and only a large plaza awaited. No escape.

The thief faced Leo. Then turned his head and looked straight at Donnie. The mask came off. Green skin - like the yellowing grass in autumn, face and bald, larger than average head dusted with freckle-like spots of various shades of brown, green and yellow. Pointed, pierced ears. The eyes, big, yellow, playful.

The thief winked and… just disappeared.

"Dude!" Mikey's voice activated the Comms. "The thief an alien!"

"Donnie, you okay?" Leo spoke up.

"You missed, nerd," Raph snickered. "So much for Mr. I-Never-Miss," he put on his Batman's voice.

"Shut up Raph," Donnie shot back. He was thinking intensely. She-, he was certain the thief was a she, looked straight at him. She knew his position. She led them to that corner of the street. This was all a game for her! "I need all your guys' phones!"

"Why?" Mikey whined. "I didn't do anything!"

Turns out Mikey did do something. A couple of days before he clicked some link on a website from his phone and that got the thief an entrance into their systems. That pissed off everyone and earned Mikey some extra training and cleaning time as well as a lecture on Internet safety.

What was concerning was that their criminal most likely got into their Top Secret files if she knew how to get to Mikey…. She knew who they were. Meanwhile, they knew nothing of her.

III. Next stop was Egypt. A short jump from Italy. They were going to monitor the Museum of Cairo. Why? Because right before he cleared all their electronics one message went through. “Up for another Caaper?”

When he checked the source it went dead. A burner phone. Now he had a dilemma. Either ignore it or follow… On one hand, it could have easily been a typo. On the other… In Cario there was a wooden statue of Ka-aper from the 5th Dynasty.

He chose to follow and that’s how they ended up there. Was she really going to steal the statue that was about a foot shorter than her? He thought back to the image of her in his mind. Who was he kidding, she absolutely would.

So they were staking out the museum. “Third time the charm, eh, Donnie?” Raph teased.

“Do you guys think she has like a spaceship? With lasers?” Mikey enthused over her. He wouldn’t shut up about the alien bit since Italy.

“You can ask her when we catch her,” Leo told him in a very tired voice.

Donnie didn’t join in on the conversation. He was in the room with the statue. Monitoring the screen, flipping through the feed from the cameras and paying attention to every single alarm there was. He didn’t want to miss any suspicious flicks or changes.

“Donnie, you alright over there?” Leo called to him, snapping him out of his focus.

“Yeah, yeah I’m here,” he responded.

“Anything moving?”

“Not yet…”

Why did she want to steal that particular statue?

Time ticked by… Suddenly he felt someone watching him. He turned around. Yellow eyes, right over his shoulder. He reacted immediately by throwing a punch at her. She was hanging by a rope from the ceiling. Pulling away, avoiding his fist by a hair. She flipped around. He pulled his gun and aimed at the rope. She kicked his hands and vaulted off the wall. He kicked at her legs and she fell on her back with an audible ‘oof’. He tried to grab her but she folded and jumped up to her feet. Punch, evade, retaliate. They danced across the floor.

He had to adapt himself to her small height, throwing him off a little. She had no problem with his.

Suddenly she reached for her belt and threw something at him. He ducked. She jumped again, using his knee as a boost and jumped over his back. He spun around. A puff of smoke in his face and his world went dark.

He didn’t know how long he was out. Mustn't have been long because she was still in the room, finishing up securing the statue to some ropes to pull it up. He groaned and got up.

“Stop,” he said, his voice hoarse. He reached to his thigh and pulled his second gun. Despite the headache his aim was steady.

She turned to him. Smiled. And pressed something on her forearm. A force yoinked him backward. Slamming him against the wall. He gritted his teeth. Magnets? When?, he thought angrily as he watched her ride up on the same rope she came down with.

She winked at him and blew him a kiss. 3-0.

IV. Donnie admitted that he may be a bit obsessed. The woman infuriated him and kind of… He dared not to go where his thoughts wanted.

His memory took him back to Italy and Egypt. Her bright yellow eyes, sparkling with mischief and excitement enthralled him. That confident smirk. He wanted to wipe it off of her face! He wasn’t sure how yet.

She tricked him three times! Them! She tricked them three times! Maybe the fourth time was the charm….

He knew his brothers were making some bets behind his back but he didn’t care.

They were in Tokyo, Japan, this time. She left him another clue in his pants while he was passed out.

His brothers were on the ground, while he stayed behind. Their eagle eyes. She wouldn’t slip past him again!

“I don’t think she’s gonna show up this time bro,” Mikey said. “You almost got her before, you think she’ll show up?”

“Thieves sometimes stop when they get scared but I doubt we scared her enough,” Leo sighed.

Donnie’s phone vibrated. He’d usually ignore it during the mission but this time… He quickly glanced at the screen.

After that one text she sent him before Egypt… Leo would probably yell at him so hard if he knew… But Donnie didn’t fully shut down one channel. He made it possible that if she wanted to contact him he’d be open for it.

And lo’ and behold. There was a text.

Unknown number: こんにちは！(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧ I left you something at this location~! Take it as a reward for almost catching me 4 times now! And thank you for missing in Florence ( ˘ ³˘)♥︎

Donnie jumped up to his feet and cursed.

“What’s up Donnie?” Leo checked in on him.

“I’ll be right back, this is important!” He tried to ease off the incoming protest, but also just in case he turned off his comm.

The attached location led him to a posh bar, just around the corner from the art gallery. He made sure his ski mask was on as he entered the establishment. Of course, all the eyes turned to him. Meanwhile, he only looked for one set of eyes. Unfortunately, she was nowhere to be seen.

“Excuse me,” he asked the bartender in Japanese, “something was supposed to be left here for me?”

The man eyed him, a bit fearfully but nodded. “What drink would you like, sir?”

“I’m just here to pick the item up.” Donnie tried to explain.

“The item is a drink and a letter for you after you get your drink.” The bartender insisted.

Donnie sighed. “Something fruity with rum then.” Why the hell not. Fuck it, they failed again. He might as well drink off the thieves tab. He waited for the drink to arrive before he lifted the mask up a little just enough for him to be able to drink. He took a sip. Damn it was good. He snorted and shook his head. This whole thing was so ridiculous.

As he was in the middle of his order the bartender slipped him a cream coloured envelope with a red lacquer stamp on it. Classy.

He broke the seal and opened the envelope. He read the letter.

Donnie smiled and shook his head. "God damn it."

He turned on his comm, which earned him an earful from both Leo and Raph.

"Guys, she's going to be in New York next," he told them.

"How do you know?"

"She told me," he said, draining the rest of his glass.

V. Was he annoyed that she was stringing him along so much? Probably. Was he excited to finally snap some handcuffs around her wrists? So, so much.

It wasn’t easy to find her. The riddle this time was a bit more complex than the one for Egypt and Japan. Then there was the matter of actually finding her in the urban jungle that was New York.

But when he did… He didn’t tell his brothers. It was his little secret. He didn’t want anyone following him there. He slipped from the compound when everyone else was asleep. The coordinates led him to a red brick building with an industrial elevator.

Thermal scanner told him where she was. He took the stairs as the safer option and climbed. Quietly, like a ghost he entered the large open-space. The wooden floor creaked under his steps and a loud bird attacked him. The creature wasn’t from Earth. It neither cawed nor barked. The noise was offending to his ears nevertheless.

Then a whistle. He saw her standing a couple feet away from him. She extended her arm and the bird perched on it. It had a muzzle and sharp teeth like a dog. scales mixed with feathers and claw tipped wings, almost like a bat. The legs were birdlike all-right. A long tail wrapped around the thieves arm securing it in the spot.

<Hello,> she signed. <I see you finally found me> She smirked.

<Thanks for the hint,> he signed back.

<You welcome.> She stroked the bird’s head and it purred. With a flick of her elbow it flew into the air again and sat somewhere among the pipes.

<So, how do you want to do this?> She asked. <I got some weapons for you to choose from.>

<I brought my own.> He reached to his belt and pulled out his collapsible bō staff.

She regarded him with an appreciative nod. Then she walked up to the wall. She pressed on a brick and a panel dropped down revealing a collection of staffs, spears and other weapons. She picked two thich sticks.

<Escrima?> He asked and she grinned. He got it.

They charged at each other. Blow after blow, the weapons clashed. She was nimble and fast, using her environment to her advantage. He, with the experience from Egypt, handled her better. No more blows that went over her head. She had to block him, make an effort to evade.

He hoped whatever they broke during the fight wasn’t something priceless.

Finally, he had her against the wall. Adrenaline buzzing in his ears. He hasn't won yet though. He knew it. Her golden eyes bore into his. Suddenly, both dropped their weapons and their mouths clashed.

The morning came, brutally invading Donnie’s eyes. He groaned and stirred trying to avoid it. When he couldn’t quite move his arm he looked up. One of his hands was handcuffed to the headboard and he smirked remembering that particular move.

He looked around. Karaa was sitting on the bed, eating a breakfast roll and smiling at him. She reached out and released his arm, which got a bit stiff.

<You’ll need to get dressed, your brothers and major Douche will be here soon,> she signed, smiling her usual impish smile. <Have some breakfast.>

<So, I passed?> He grinned.

<You will get points deducted for teamwork probably but…> she leaned down to kiss him. <I will give you some bonuses for performance.> She wiggles her eyebrows with her best bedroom eyes.

He got lost in their kiss but pulled back when a thought occurred to him.

They started communicating after Florence. They didn't know at first who they'd be going in the against exercise. It was all part of it. Karaa though she found out things. And also being trapped by the US military she didn't see any objections in helping the boys out.

<Oh, yeah. They will not know what hit them.>

____________________________________________________

Bonus content!

*Text in Japanese above reads: "hello"

So I decided to do this one with the OG version of Kara.

Karaa (how the og spelling is, ye I know super original lol) was first created in 2014 as my Megamind OC. In the fandom we already had whole lot of Blue guys running around and... one Red, that came from desert part of the Meg's planet. I went like, so let's complete the traffic lights set and I made Karaa + the whole lore etc for jungle dwelling aliens of Megamind's planet.

This is how she'd look like. (art by Scarlette and Koda, I'm not sure of Scarlette's current handle it's been a while since 2014 XD)The earrings serve purpose also as disguise generators/cloaking devices.

Here's link to how Pi'ehra, her bird looks like.

I'll probably draw her tactical AU look soon!

#eve scribbles #tmnt donatello #tmnt donnie #bayverse turtles #tactical au #donnie x kara #donnie x oc #tmnt fanfiction #tmnt bayverse #tmnt 2016 #tmnt 2014

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