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exactlycleverpirate · 10 months ago

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What happened to Lemuria and Rafayel?

A mix of facts and theory. I try to quote where I got stuff from in the game, but let me know if something is unclear.

This is a monster. For TLDR, jump down to the bold words, as this sums up the general idea of this post.

SPOILERS for Main Story, Anecdote 3, and some Memories.

(MS stands for Main Story)

What we know:

Rafayel is Lemurian (Ebb and Flow and MS Chapter 7)

As a child, a long long time ago*, he lived in a Lemurian community in the ocean, specifically in the Deep Sea. He would sneak away from his home to explore the ocean and the surface world. (Nightly Stroll, Whalefall Lament, Ocean At Night).

*(What is a long, long time ago? 10-15 years? 800 years? He says his age is “24…probably” (promotional video). What does that mean? Has he forgotten exactly when he was born or is he alluding to the fact that he is much older? He made his vow to MC when they were both children (MS Chapter 7.11). Was that current MC or a previous reincarnation of her? If current, then he must be actually around 24. If a previous life of MC, then he could easily be 800 or more.)

Lemuria was believed to be mythical, and/or to have disappeared thousands of years ago. It was confirmed to really exist when, on December 31st, 2034 (the same year the Deepspace Tunnel appeared and the Chronorift Catastrophe occured), a tsunami and earthquake southeast of Linkon opened a rift in the ocean, revealing an ancient Lemurian city (MS, in-game article, and promotional video). When asked how he can be alive today if Lemuria disappeared thousands of years ago, Rafayel says to think of him as “a lost pearl that washed up on the beach”.

Other Lemurians are still alive. Rafayel’s Aunt Talia appears to be a Lemurian herself (his only remaining family) as she has known him a long time, knows about Lemurian ceremonies and other Lemurians, etc. In 2047, a Lemurian named K died. Rafayel attended his Seamoon Ceremony (essentially a funeral of sorts, returning him to the ocean to pass on and return to the water from whence he came), as did other remaining Lemurians (Anecdote 3).

Now that we have that foundation to work with, let’s start with Louis’ Tale in Anecdote 3.

For the sake of argument, I am going to assume that Louis got most of the story right, since Rafayel doesn’t contradict him on most points, aside from dismissing him in general, which I feel was to downplay how close Louis was to the truth.

They are discussing the opera Rafayel just performed in, particularly, the Siren’s Ballad. In the opera, the siren is a woman and the human is the man (played by Rafayel). Louis says they got this wrong. The Siren was “a charming, handsome merman”. Presumably this Siren is Rafayel.

Simple enough so far, but now it gets confusing.

The Siren (Rafayel) “met a woman on the beach, but she took his tail and cut off his scales”. This sounds similar in some ways to MC, but opposite in others. MC was a child, not a grown woman. And Rafayel got stranded on the beach (No way out, no hope, and waiting to die) and MC rescued him from death, rather than taking his tail and scales.

However, if we assume Fragrant Dream was a memory and not just a dream (Rafayel acts as though this dream is significant somehow), Rafayel gave a scale, his blood, and his voice to save MC, and ultimately sacrificed his life for her, in some past life. The perfume (bitter like fermented aquatic plants, the same description as the potion in the dream) that brings the possible memory to MC’s mind is from Your Fragrance. Rafayel has some very strange lines in Your Fragrance when he is under the apparently intoxicating effect this perfume has on him. He says the perfume smells familiar, then goes on to say:

“It must be an allergic reaction. This isn’t perfume. How dare they use such underhanded methods to trap me…”

“Who gave you the perfume?”

“Are you trying to run away again?”

“I’m not going anywhere. You’re gonna lock me up again… You’re with them, I just know it. Don’t think I’m unaware of what you’re about to do. (MC name), I won’t fall for it again. Not this time.”

This all implies that Rafayel was trapped and locked up in the past. And that on at least some level, he feels like MC played a role in him getting tricked. (Which might explains why he considers abandoning her when she is drowning in MS Chapter 7.11. See an alternate theory for this here.)

Back to Louis’ story, he describes the fate of the woman. The Siren is on the verge of death, and he sings the Siren’s Ballad. (Later, we learn this portrayal of the Siren’s Ballad is inaccurate: ““Siren's Ballad” isn't a song of revenge. It's an elegy sung for Lemuria”.) According to Louis, “Ultimately, the woman on the shore passed away with a smile as he sang.” Obviously, MC is currently alive. Did Louis get this wrong? Was this a past life? A different woman?

Louis then describes what he believes those who die by the Siren’s song experience.

“People lured by the siren's ballad don't die peacefully. Their smiles are just a mask bestowed by the Siren. Instead, as they near death, they witness bizarre visions as they're plunged into endless torment.”

The man, Mr. Fallon, who died during the opera is described as having died of no obvious cause with a smile on his face. After singing during the opera that Mr. Fallon died watching, Rafayel goes backstage.

“A searing pain throbs in his throat, pulsating in tandem with his heartbeat, rapidly stimulating his nerves. As he touches his Adam’s apple, he pulls out a new tie from his leather briefcase, a smooth satin entwined between his fingers. The cool texture gradually envelops his neck. It’s like sheathing a blade.”

This strongly implies that Rafayel used his voice for something more than singing, hinting at it being a weapon. I think it is safe to assume Rafayel somehow killed Mr. Fallon man with his song, presumably in the way Louis describes.

Another interesting thing of note in this part of Louis’ description is: “A blue pattern, representing the Siren, appears on their chests. It's a constant reminder of the sins they committed against the sea.” At first, I thought this may be the pattern we see on Rafayel’s chest in Chapter 7.11, implying he sinned against the sea, but on rewatching it, I realized that the mark is red, not blue. So I am inclined to go with my first impression that Rafayel’s mark is related to his bond with MC (since it responds to her calling out to him).

So, now that we are thoroughly confused about what has taken place between Rafayel and MC, let’s move on to the next part of the story. This is when everything takes an even more heartbreaking turn.

“The Siren returns to the sea, believing everything has ended. But he discovers his underwater kingdom has turned to ruins, soaked in blood. His people have either vanished, turned into bloody foam, or were kidnapped. His homeland has turned into a silent, deserted city overnight. Oh, and as for the name of this underwater kingdom - Lemuria.”

(Interesting side note: After this part of Louis’ story, Rafayel’s meal is served: “a fish laying amidst white rosemary”. Rosemary symbolizes fidelity and remembrance.)

Later, in his memories, Rafayel adds to this scene for us.

“The young boy sits alone in the middle of the coral reef, softly humming “Siren's Ballad.” Waves lap the shores, staining it dark red. The color blends almost seamlessly with the bloody setting sun in the distance. Those who deceived him have long since sailed away on their massive ships, laughing all the while. “Siren's Ballad” isn't a song of revenge. It's an elegy sung for Lemuria.”

He also remembers:

“The dying cries of his people echo in his ears, fizzing and crackling like a broken record that's been ground into pieces.”

“In the darkness, the shadows of those he personally laid to rest emerge and drag him down, lower and lower into the depths.”

Now, let’s talk about the painting Raymond bought from Rafayel.

But first, let’s talk about Raymond. He is a former patient of Zayne’s with a congenital heart disease. In his mansion, he has a giant fish tank with no water in it. Instead, it has a dull and pale skeleton. (MS Chapter 2.2-2.3)

“Fin-like bones protrude from its pelvis. This skeleton lacks legs, its spine extending like a long string. Its pose is ominously beautiful, resembling a girl sitting cross-legged.”

I think it is pretty safe to say this is a real Lemurian skeleton.

Additionally, Zayne notes that “According to the Akso remote monitor, your vital sign data has improved. The equipment also determined your age to be far younger than what it actually is.” In other words, Raymond’s health has improved, and he is unnaturally youthful for his age. Raymond even suggests he should be dead by now and asks Zayne if he is curious as to why he is not dead. Zayne admits to initial curiosity, but then moves on.

Before K died, he said “They took away my scales and drew my blood. Over and over again. I’m no longer Lemurian.” The doctor told Rafayel that K had endured “such agony”. This appears to be something many of the Lemurians on land are facing or trying to hide from.

In Rafayel’s Myth (Chapter 3), it says that the humans of that time believed:

"Every Lemurian was blessed with beauty. Their tears turn into glimmering pearls, their voices brought dreams of wonder, their blood made one live forever or could even resurrect the dead. Once you tamed a Lemurian, they were the most loyal, powerful servant. They listened to every command, even if it cost them their life."

Even if only parts of this are true, it shows that Lemurians are considered highly desirable as slaves or for parts. And the part about the blood seems to have at least an element of truth, given Raymond's health.

It seems reasonable to conclude that Raymond has been harvesting something (scales, blood, etc) from Lemurians to unnaturally lengthen his life and make him younger.

Now enter Rafayel’s painting.

He used blood red coral, infused with Metaflux, from the ruins of Lemuria for this painting.

When MC resonated with the painting in Raymond’s house, this is what she experiences:

“A stunning oil painting hangs on the wall opposite of the sofa. It depicts a brilliantly blue sea with cascading white waves. Each brush stroke feels alive as if countless fairies are jumping out of the water.

At the edge of the sea, the water is gradually stained crimson like something is being torn apart, swallowed, and coalescing into a blood clot.

The gloomy weather, the sound of the ocean - a salty humidity slowly creeps into my hair.

A girl by the shore, the lower half of her body submerged in the water. Strange. It's almost like she’s crying and laughing at the same time.

The swirling fog carries a faint, ethereal melody on the sea breeze. It sounds like a song, yet is also a lament.”

Mermaid Song plays in the background while MC is resonating with the painting. The translation of it is:

“A fish in your hand. Please burn with passion. Nets of moonlight. With coral, a prison. When waves kiss the morning sun. The scent of roses pierce. With a fish in your hand. Blood. Blood. Blood covers the sea.”

When MC visits Rafayel’s art gallery, we learn a bit more about this painting.

“When I was a kid, I had dreamed I turned into a fish.

I swam and swam and swam from the deep sea, seeking a place beyond the water's surface. Only to end up in blood-red seawater.

It was the first time I ever saw such a color. Who knows how many years I've spent trying to recreate it. But I never really could get that same shade of red.

It was always a slightly different hue, you know...”

All of this put together paints a scene along these lines for us:

A young Rafayel returns from an encounter with a human woman on the beach (MC?). He finds that Lemuria is in ruins and empty. He swims to the surface. It is nighttime on a coral reef. There is a smell of roses in the air. As the sun rises, he sees that the water is filled with blood. Perhaps there is a Lemurian girl there singing mournfully, or the girl in the painting is representative of Rafayel’s experience and the experience of other survivors. (Perhaps it is even her skeleton in Raymond's home). Some Lemurians are dead or dying in the water or on the beach. Rafayel hears their dying cries and returns those dead on land to the sea to become one with the water. He then sits alone on a coral reef, surrounded by bloody water, singing an elegy for Lemuria as the sun sets. He knows he was deceived and that his deceivers have already sailed away. Some of the Lemurians have been kidnapped and taken away with the deceivers.

("A fish in your hand" from the Mermaid Song seems to refer to the Ocean Emissaries (little blue fish) that come from making a Lemurian vow (though Rafayel also seems to be able to summon these on command). Is this a reference to the promise between Rafayel and MC? How does that play into the rest of this scene?)

Given how vulnerable Lemurians are on Ebb Day, I think it very likely that this occurred on Ebb Day. (Perhaps this vulnerability was revealed to those who killed the Lemurians by MC or Rafayel himself. Did one or both of them trust the wrong people with this information? This also might be why Rafayel was stranded on a beach in the first place when he met MC.)

So now we have some kind of a picture about what happened to Lemuria. Is this ancient or recent history?

Either way, Lemurians still live and are still being harvested for parts.

Louis concludes his story by asking Rafayel, “When the Siren returns to the beach…How does he exact his revenge on those responsible for Lemuria's destruction?”

To which Rafayel responds, “I think he’d first learn from them. He's gotta study their wits and cruelty, you know.”

Which brings us back to Mr. Fallon dead with a smile on his face at the opera. And also Raymond drowned in his bathtub after carving fish scales into his body. The painting has vanished from his home. (MS Chapter 7.3)

I think this is why Rafayel has a bounty on him, since those participating in harvesting Lemurians are being killed by him, but can't exactly go to the authorities about it.

I also think Rafayel is not solely motivated by revenge. He tells Aunt Talia “Not every Lemurian survivor can wait.” Somehow, what he is doing is supposed to prevent other Lemurians from ending up like K.

Talia notes that Rafayel has changed "After that incident in Lemuria." He seems unrecognizable. Past Rafayel was like a blazing flame, whereas he "now resembled a reef battered by relentless waves - outwardly cold and hard, yet riddled with cracks, vulnerable to crumbling from the next wave." Talia is helping Rafayel gather information for his goal, but she isn't convinced that they are doing the right thing.

What are your thoughts? Was this helpful? More confusing? Is Rafayel ancient or young? What the heck happened between Rafayel and MC? Let me know your thoughts!

#love and deepspace #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel #love and deepspace rafayel

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randomness-is-my-order · 10 months ago

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from the start, i’ve mainly been praising the show and have spoken against the minor nitpicks but i think some constructive criticism won’t go amiss. i’m always going to advocate for praise + critique but since literally all my posts praise the show (character-work, writing, directing, cinematography, literally all aspects) i’ll focus on the main issues i have with it for this one.

i’m only saying this because i do think there is merit to the conversation: yes, i agree with many other people saying the show has a very real lack of tension. the stakes are established, potential horrific consequences are alluded to, but the instances in which the action needs to take place falls short. i wanted to see percy and annabeth and grover SHOWING their inexperience through stumbling on traps (which would automically raise the tension in both medusa’s lair and the lotus casino), i wanted them to make mistakes and quick-think their way out of it. sure, there’s something to be said about conveying annabeth’s intelligence but aunty em was a great way of highlighting percy & annabeth’s dyslexia by having them be unable to read the signs. the statues could have been removed from the yard–a move that would show medusa’s intelligence instead. similarly, the fun of the lotus casino was about the creepiness that slowly and steadily builds on the backdrop of this harmless kid carival like setting. percy, annabeth and grover’s intelligence and knowledge has already been built in other obstacles so seeing them actually fall for well-set traps seems to me like a much more nuanced portrayal of the kids, their capabilities but also their weaknesses. speaking of, i was waiting for one moment of annabeth making some mistake, showing some flaw. i think it would have been cool if she was the one to lose her drachma given that she was undoubtedly jostled hard while clinging to the cerberus. grover already felt like he messed up after the lotus casino and having percy reassure annabeth after her drachma screwup would really nail in that yeah she’s intelligent and wise but she is also just 12 and she can be a bit reckless too.

honestly, i’m a sucker for flaws. i love my emotional percabeth bits to death but would i have rejoiced just as much had both of them been a little more unempathetic towards each other and been at each other’s throats for a few more episodes? yes.

i love show grover and his earnestness and savagery in manipulating a god but do i love my little coward goat boy who slowly but surely proves himself to be capable and brave? who keeps asking for food at the most inopportune moments but really has percy’s back at the end of the day? who is severely unconfident but slowly learns to trust himself more? yes! i just feel like the grover we have now was my imagining of grover in book 2-3. we never got to see his major flaws so i’m just wondering what kind of upward arc will he have and will it be as impressive as the books.

i really really appreciated that percy’s impertinence was actually something he paid a price for. it will make his continued rebellion against the gods that much more intentional. that said, i would have liked percy’s relative ignorance of the mythic world to still remain. having sally make him so prepared that he sometimes manages to know obscure greek stories sort of blends their roles in the trio. yes, each one of them is layered and there is no one super rigid position they must adhere to but this is storytelling on television at the end of the day, the characters should have unique traits to distinguish themselves. for me, percy’s intelligence was about his presence of mind and deductive reasoning which the lotus casino scene in the book beautifully portrays. similarly, his knowledge was less about facts he knew and more about the street smarts he had acquired. in some way, annabeth and percy have a weird overlap in characteristics (show annabeth feels as sassy as show percy which is not the book dynamic imo).

i don’t see these as minor nitpicks btw – i think show portrayals have changed these characters through small changes and while that is okay, it also leaves room for improvement before it is too late. there are many considerations to be made–percy’s grief, annabeth’s tackling of complex feelings about the gods, grover’s guilt, ofc. but it’s, i think, a valid critique of the show that the main trio’s dialogue and actions could be made more faithful to the books.

also, i think the direction can be more dynamic, especially in exposition-heavy scenes. there are ways to make info-dumping fun and i’m sure the directors are more than capable of exploring these options moving forward.

there are many more smaller things i would point out but i don’t want to make this longer that it already is. many people handwave alot of the critique saying that the show is for children to which i say: children’s media doesn’t mean lesser quality media–the books were literally made for children yet on tv, many scenes are sanitised, very little left not on-the-nose. i have myself mentioned how certain scenes could be impossible to film with 12 yr olds (medusa beheading) without harming them mentally in some way so i appreciate the clever sanitization there. but the action sequences do need much more edge and that’s okay to acknowledge. the show we have now is great but it is absolutely not without flaws and normalising discussion about the flaws is only going to benefit the show moving forward.

and lastly, rick might be the author of the books but there is no rule that once you like an author’s work, you will have to like all of that author’s writing. just because rick made some final decisions does not take away the fandom’s rights to question those decisions and critique the screenwriting. there is seriously no use putting him on a pedestal–and i say this as someone who adores his writing in pjo.

let’s let the fandom breathe a little. let the mild, politely conveyed critique become commonplace as much as the ardent praise because i think that’s the balance we need to ensure that season two delivers on all the fronts that season one was unable to.

that’s all. thanks for reading lol. have a nice day. :))

#pjo #pjo fandom #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #pjo series #pjo tv show #percy pjo #pjo tv adaptation #pjo tv series #walker scobell #annabeth chase #grover underwood #pjo tv spoilers #pjo tv crit

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vickyvicarious · 1 year ago

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Hello! I was wondering what you make of Seward's phrase "is it possible that love is all subjective or all objective?" I've seen people allude to different meanings on the phrase but I can't quite figure out what it means

I wanted to wait until after 11 October to answer this ask, just so I didn't have to spoiler for the context of my reply. Which is that... my instinct is to oppose Jonathan and Seward's loves for this one. Specifically, in their reactions to the women they love becoming vampires. (I'm choosing Jack specifically to talk about because we get in his head more than we do for the other suitors, though by actions one could argue they fall more on the same side as he does.)

Firstly, let's take a brief moment to talk about the specific words used. Subjective generally means dictated by personal taste, and objective would be based on fact or truth. So, a love that is all one or the other could be very different depending on what the person you love is like. For example, an objective love would appreciate someone's virtues, while a subjective one might find things to love even in their flaws. Or on a larger scale, and much more relevant to how the phrase is used in the book... what would happen when the person you love is becoming a vampire, a creature that is factually and objectively evil and wrong? How would you react, how would you feel?

It depends on your type of love.

Jonathan's love is all subjective. Even though he absolutely hates and despises vampires, once he knows Mina is at risk of becoming one he resolves to join her if need be. He sees her rejected by God when the communion wafer burns her forehead, and he says 'actually no, I think the holiest kind of love is the one that would lead me to join her in her unholy state'. Even when Mina outright appeals to him to kill her if she is too far gone - an appeal to his objective understanding, for him to express his love in a way that confronts the truth of what she would become - Jonathan remains silent and in doing so refuses to make that promise. It's implied that he would be willing to fight the other men in order to protect her, even though they are his allies and friends. His beliefs warp around the shape of his love. He will destroy himself and others for the sake of his love, even if he knows through painful experience how objectively evil vampires are.

Jack's love meanwhile is all objective. Even though he didn't fully understand what a vampire was, he began to lose his love for Lucy as soon as he saw her acting in that way. In fact every time she was acting out of character to be more vampiric before her death, he seemed to notice and be a little put off by it, even though he didn't really seem to realize so much at the time. He outright says this quote when he is watching vampire!Lucy and realizing that he doesn't feel as horrible about mutilating the body of the woman he loved as he would have expected. When he learns Lucy has become a monster, he begins to feel repulsed by her - a process completed when he sees her up close and outright says his love for her is gone: "At that moment the remnant of my love passed into hate and loathing; had she then to be killed, I could have done it with savage delight." His determination to destroy the Thing she now is completely separates her in his mind from her living self. His love gives way to the objective facts. He will help to kill her, and gladly, because what she has become disgusts him... because what she has become is objectively evil.

Obviously, their experiences are different, and perhaps it's not quite such a true binary. Mina's gradual transformation, combined with Jonathan's pre-existing knowledge, is quite different from Jack's abrupt introduction to Lucy's vastly changed self and to the idea of the supernatural at all. But for the purposes of examining this quote, I think it works quite well to set them up at opposite ends of that scale.

It's also kind of curious because it calls back to another great line of Seward's: "(Mem., under what circumstances would I not avoid the pit of hell?)" The context of that line is Seward struggling to resist his dark impulses with regards to his treatment of Renfield. And he says this after having noticed himself actively doing something he says he'd normally avoid like the pit of hell, so that means he was approaching it until he caught himself. This is a struggle he repeatedly faces with Renfield, finding himself longing for a cause that he would consider it worthwhile abandoning his morals for, so that he could just give in to these urges.

But while Jack Seward is the person most drawn to the darkness, as we get introduced to the vampires are representatives of the ultimate darkness he backs firmly away. It's only in isolation that he feels so attracted to amoral experimentation; when together with his friends he pulls himself back to be more firmly opposed. His treatment of Renfield is a mess the entire time, don't get me wrong. He never really does right by him. But he doesn't seem to feel that same urge to push him in such a cruel way merely for his own interest/satisfaction. It becomes in the service of a greater goal, the objectively good idea of fighting Dracula. (Again, not saying his methods are good, but his motivation shifts.) He's always been conscious of an idea of what is right to do and he actively tries to follow that, with much greater success when not left to his own devices.

Meanwhile Jonathan has never felt such an intense draw to the darkness. He survived months alone surrounded by evil influences, and it only increased his determination to remain himself/human. He hates the vampires and he feels no true allure to the idea of being like them (outside the allure everyone feels when being hypnotized by them, etc.). He wanted nothing more than a normal happy life, he never longed for a cause that would be worth throwing his morals away. And yet, when Mina begins to turn we see Jonathan decide that this is the circumstance under which he will not avoid the pit of hell. This is the cause he can dedicate himself to as fully as any madman. Jonathan never felt the need to philosophize about trying to avoid such things before he was exposed to them by others, because he has no inherent urge to seek them out. But he also lacks that restrictive hold when a reason does come along.

(To visualize: if there's a pit, then Jack is the person who keeps wandering closer, desperately wanting to lean over the edge and see what's inside. Knowing this about himself, he's tied a rope around his waist to ensure he doesn't slip too far. Jonathan never even went near until he abruptly decides to sprint up and swan-dive straight into it when he thinks Mina's fallen in.)

#dracula daily #jack seward #jonathan harker #anonymous #replies #my meta #dracula meta

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pekoehoneyncream · 2 months ago

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Ghoaptober #2

Prompt: Bullet

Words: 1500~

TW: None (sfw)

This version of Ghoaptober was created by @spadesandshovels

I'm once again not playing by the letter of the law, but I really couldn't think of anything to write about bullets :(, so I found a work around.

Enjoy!

“Hello and welcome to Alpetsha's Arctic Expeditions! My name is Chrissy, I'll be your guide. Up there is Duncan, he's our lovely captain, give him a wave,” Chrissy smiled at all the frantic waving from the kids and the few half-automatic waves from the adults, “Awesome! Today we are focusing on Homotritus, or as it's more commonly called, we're going mer-spotting!”

Chrissy paused to allow for the cheers that announcement always brought, “Glad to see we're all excited! Duncan is taking us up to the edge of a territory that's home to a very unusual mer-pod. When we get there I'm going to ask that no one shouts, screams, or throws anything into the water. That includes yourselves or your fellow passengers,” she ends with a laugh to lighten the tone of her warning, smiling at the small ripple of laughter that washed through the boat in reply.

She felt the engines cut and the boat coast to a stop, a glance up to Duncan showed him giving her a thumbs up and she plastered an even bigger smile onto her face.

“Okay! Looks like we're here folks, I'll give you some fun facts while we wait for our neighbors to get curious. We're visiting a territory that's been established by a pod of four mers, we'll most likely be seeing Babble and Bullet come up for a visit. Babble is a minke-whale morph that-”

“What's a morph.” A little girl interrupts from her perch in her father's arms. Chrissy could barely make out her eyes, she was so well bundled against the cold.

“A fantastic question! A mer's morph is how we refer to the species that the mer looks like. It's not actually known why mers resemble certain species of sea creatures. Some claim its convergent evolution, others say its just aesthetic mimicry, but nothing is known for certain.” Chrissy throws a wink to the little girl, delighting in the way she giggles and hides her face, “As I was saying, Babble is a very curious minke-whale morph that will probably pop up to check us out sometime soon. Following him will be Bullet, an orca morph." The word orca sends excited titters through the crowd, everyone knows what an orca is, not so much for minke-whales.

"I will have to ask that no one screams if they spot them." Chrissy tried to make her voice serious, but not domineering. She didn't need anyone getting uppity about a woman bossing them around, "Bullet and Babble are some of the rare mers that wear rudimentary coverings and accessories and they can be somewhat alarming at first glance. Please remember that they will not harm you.”

“What's so alarming about them?” The gruff question is called forward from the back of the group, so Chrissy can't spot the exact asker.

“Another excellent question! Bullet has fashioned what looks to be a juvenile true-orca's upper jaws into a kind of headpiece, and Babble wears what we can only assume is the matching lower jaws.” Startled exclamations from the port side of the boat saves Chrissy from having to take a stab at explaining why mers do anything, and she moves over to the commotion as quickly as she can. Spotting curious blue eyes poking above the waterline as Babble spy-hops to get a look at them.

“And here’s Babble! You're right on time!” Chrissy pitches her voice to carry across the water, feeling the tension fall out of her muscles when the mer seems to recognize her or the boat she’s standing on and pops further up out of the water. Showing off the skeletal jaw of sharp teeth that was aligned and fastened to his own. Chrissy was happy to let the guests live in the ignorant bliss of assuming that she’s just trying to look fun by talking at the mer, every employee had been banned from even alluding to the fact that this particular mer-pod was notorious for sinking any boat that they didn’t like, along with almost every ship that dared poke its nose over their territory lines. Alpetsha Arctic Expeditions didn't make it a company policy to stay out of their territory just to be polite.

The minke-whale mer looked them over for a while longer then dove back under the water, sounding off with a flood of ratcheting clicks, pitching whines, and popping chirps the whole time.

“And that’s why we call him Babble. Now that he’s come up to say hi, we can expect to see Bullet soon enou-” the yelp of a bitten off scream echoing from the boat’s starboard side heralds Bullet’s arrival and Chrissy hustles over before people started getting smart ideas.

Bullet slowly circled them, his left pectoral fin breaching out of the water as he swam on his side to better eye the boat and its contents, or perhaps it was to keep the height of his distinctive dorsal fin under the water, so as to not give himself away too soon.

Bullet was a bastard like that.

“And here’s Bullet! If he turns over you’ll get to see how he got his name,” Chrissy said this with the bouncing tone of tour-guides everywhere, but eyed Bullet with much more caution than she'd given Babble.

Bullet’s upper face was completely obscured by the jaws he had broken and molded and mended to fit onto his head. The bone was covered in nicks, discolourations, and what a more generous soul might call carvings.

A shadow barreled up from the depths to sideswipe Bullet. Babble arcing out of the water and crashing back into it with a cheerful trill, narrowly missing coming down directly on top of Bullet. The waves Babble displaced rocked the boat and the guests gave a cheer for his antics. Bullet turned to chase Babble clockwise around the boat and the guests able to see him over the sides gasped at the newly exposed carnage.

Bullet’s right pectoral fin was ragged, missing its fore-edge and pockmarked with holes. The holes traveled diagonally up to his side, where their path was continued by a series of puncture scars. His back was serrated by lines of propeller scars, the front edge of his dorsal fin cut free from the rest of the structure, with the top third of its length missing entirely. He had another set of propeller scars marking his right collarbone, going over his shoulder, continuing down his upper back and Chrissy was willing to bet that under his mask he had a matching set across his face. Innumerous less distinctive scars tore up and down Bullet’s hide as well, teeth-rakes, old bite marks, rub lines, but the one that always got to Chrissy was the thick scarring that cuffed his tail above his flukes. Like someone had hauled him up and dangled him out of the water, their prized catch of the day.

“You said this is a four mer pod?” The shy question came from the very pretty young woman who had been unfailingly polite on every expedition Chrissy'd had her on. Chrissy was almost certain her name was Lizbeth.

“I did indeed! Good listening,” Chrissy praised, half to set a good example and half to see that cute blush creep up Lizbeth’s cheeks, “the other members of this pod are a very rare spot, as they like to hang out on the ice floes that are deeper into their territory. There’s a walrus morph we call Hoss and leopard-seal morph that earned the name Houdini. I’m seeing a few raised eyebrows from the more nautically inclined of us. Yes, the Arctic is not the natural habitat of the leopard-seal, but please keep in mind that this is a mer, not a true-leopard-seal. Mers are usually known to favour the natural habitats of their morphs, but they can and do move around as they like.” Chrissy watched the guests give understanding nods and gave another smile. Movement from above caught her eye and she glanced up to see Duncan giving her the ‘wrap it up’ signal.

“Alright folks, we’re gonna have to start packing it in, does anyone have any last questions?” Chrissy moved back over to her speaking platform. The speaking platform was really just a few pallets secured to the deck with anti-slip tape conquering its every flat surface, but it worked just fine.

“They’re all guys?” The question was half a sneer, from a young man that had been largely and loudly unimpressed with every activity Chrissy had seen him deign to attend.

“Yep,” Chrissy chirped, giving her biggest smile yet, “They’re what’s known as a bachelor pod, though not much is actually known about distinguishing the sex of mers. From what we can see and guess from how their morph presents, they’re all male.”

“They’re gay?” The same man barked, offended.

“Maybe!” Chrissy cheered, “Nothing is known about mer courting rituals or mating practices, so it’s equally likely that they are or they aren’t, but they do make a cute couple!”

Chrissy gestured over the starboard side of the boat, where Babble could be seen hanging off Bullet’s dorsal fin, making the orca morph tow him around. Bullet was darting about and doing tight barrel rolls, to the seeming delight of Babble. Chrissy wasn’t sure if Bullet was doing it to indulge Babble or to shake him off.

“Is that the last of the questions?” The guests looked around amongst themselves, then looked back at her, there was a smattering of shaking heads and shrugs, “Perfect!”

The engine kicked back on under their feet and the boat started pulling away. Chrissy glanced over the side, spotting Bullet and Babble bobbing in the waves, watching them leave.

Letting them leave.

Chrissy shook herself free of that thought and started the closing spiel. Thanking people for visiting, and making sure to mention the countless ways and places that the guests could donate their money to one of Alpetsha’s many wildlife programs.

Thank You For Reading!

I just really wanted to write mer au stuff for cod okay??

As you probably guessed Babble is Soap, Bullet is Ghost, Hoss is Price, and Houdini is Gaz.

Gaz earned the name Houdini by breaking into boxes and stealing stuff of the boats, the more they tried to secure it against him the more determined he was to get into it. He's a smart boy and he uses those smarts for evil and evil alone.

Minke whales are baleen whales and walruses eat like clams and stuff, so I had the idea that Ghost and Gaz will kill big stuff then bring it back and rip it into small pieces for Soap and Price. Price eventually got his hands on a knife to do it for himself, but Soap loves having Ghost do it for him.

I also had the idea that Ghost is blind in his right eye, hence why he's looking at the boat with his left.

PekoeHoneynCream's Masterlist

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missmonsters2 · 2 years ago

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Request: Hi I'll need ❤️‍🩹 for Wednesday. I need it to be angsty as hell but you can make it a happy ending if you'd like. Thank you @mindingmybidness12

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Fem!Reader/OFC

Warnings: angst. reunion. alluded secret relationship. wednesday is very mean :') no hea

Masterlist | Library Blog | AO3

Note: hey are you okay 😧 (sorry i accidentally posted your ask too soon & needed to get creative LOL)

Count: 0.8k

Reminder there's no taglist but you can follow my library blog for notifications 💘

Please do not copy, repost, or translate my work anywhere else.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Destined to be alone—that's what Goody told Wednesday.

"Isn't it so exciting!" Enid squeals loudly at the table, causing Wednesday to wince at the happiness in her roommate's tone. "Oh, there she is!"

Wednesday knows she shouldn't look. She should keep her head straight down—better yet, she should leave.

"Wednesday, where are you going?" Enid asks, but her roommate has already stood up and walked off.

There's a briskness in Wednesday's walk even if she doesn't know where to go.

Her room?

No, it is too likely that Enid will bring you by.

The bee farm—no, there was too much of a chance of you visiting.

Wednesday only briefly considered Xavier's studio, but then she'd have to deal with his incessant questions.

How annoying, Wednesday thought. Everything in this forsaken penitentiary was already a reminder of you when you were gone. She couldn't roam a single hallway without your memory invading her mind.

"Wednesday."

She freezes in her steps. Even now, you were an unwelcome thought that distracted her from an ambush.

This was why—

"It's been a while," you say hesitantly. "A year in fact."

Wednesday turns around and immediately feels something constrict in her throat. You look mostly the same, but there's a growing maturity to you that's been blooming since the day Wednesday met you. Your eyes lack the dark circles and look lively, and your cheeks fuller.

You look happy, Wednesday realizes, something that you rarely did when you were with her.

Her fists remain clenched at her sides as she remains passive. "I suppose it has. Why have you returned?"

"Ouch," you say, laughing lightly, and the sound makes Wednesday want to bolt. You're pinching the side of your skirt, an obvious sign of your nervousness, and Wednesday wonders why you even bothered to call out to her.

You look around the empty hallway out of habit before looking back at her. "I told my parents I wanted to come back and finish my senior year. I'd like to graduate from Nevermore, and their recommendations to colleges really help."

College.

Wednesday feels the distant memory of you talking about it with her, only for her to give a noncommittal answer. You wanted to know where Wednesday planned to go, if she was even planning to go, just to see if you could follow or at least apply somewhere nearby.

But it looks like you've already decided your next path.

Something bitter builds in the back of Wednesday's throat, but she swallows down the acid. She doesn't have the right and will be damned if you make her a hypocrite.

Wednesday lets out a heavy sigh from her nose. "I see," is all she says before she turns and walks again.

"Wait, Wednesday—"

"What?" Wednesday turns around sharply, her tone callous and impatient.

The hurt that flashes across your face makes Wednesday feel humiliated, but it's all she knows how to do to keep you at a distance. If you stay away, then you can remain how you are now—happy.

"I just—" You swallow. "I just want to know that you're doing okay...that you're happy now."

"I don't feel anything," Wednesday narrows her eyes at you. "Did you come here to confirm something so ridiculous?"

"Yes," you put on a brave face even if you know that Wednesday is purposely being hurtful, "because I still care."

You watch carefully at Wednesday's face. Her eyes, her jaw, her lips—any sort of indication for something.

"Then you're a bigger fool than I thought," Wednesday finally says. "All I've ever been capable of bringing you misery."

"That's not true—"

"Isn't it?" Wednesday says haughtily. "I kept you a secret, made you invisible as you stayed beside me. I brought you along on all my investigations to the point where you were seriously injured."

"It wasn't that bad," you tried to say, but Wednesday scoffed.

"Don't take me for an idiot. I can still see your limp."

You clench your jaw, heat rising in your cheeks, but it's not like you can deny it.

Wednesday looks at you coolly, her expression aloof as she builds walls upon walls with spikes to keep you out. "And because you're so pathetic, you walked around suffering silently all the time but couldn't say it to my face. Even Enid had more guts than you."

There's a sharp breath from you, and Wednesday honestly thinks it's more torturing to see you try to put on a brave face in front of her. It's the same way you've always held back your tears around her.

You were the one thing Wednesday treasured the most, but it was obvious then and now that she was only capable of ruining everything she touched—that's why she was destined to be alone.

"So, as you can see, I'm perfectly fine," Wednesday turns away from you, beginning to walk away. "And if you want to be as well, stay away from me."

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday addams #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega imagine #wednesday addams angst #jenna ortega angst #mm: my fics #mm.drabble.wednesday

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aspoonofsugar · 23 days ago

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Any thoughts on what Oscar’s semblance will end up being? Since Oscar’s magic has come from Ozma and is more in line with “destruction” as a contrast to Ruby’s eyes which are tied to “creation”, I’ve often thought that it would make sense for Oscar’s semblance, as a means of self-affirmation to be something that also represents creation/preservation, which would make him more like Ruby and also find his own sense of who he is as a person. After all, if Oscar/Ozma are supposed to achieve a balance by the end then he should possess elements of both, no?

That said, the most common headcanon/theory I see for Oscar’s semblance has been for him to create barriers for defense… but not only can he already do that with Ozpin’s magic, I feel as though Jaune is actually the character who is more set up to have a defensive evolution for his semblance. There was the flash of light in V1 and his “it’s like a forcefield!” line, Vine’s comment about extending his aura, the shield grenades he used in V8, and just his general tendency to leap in front of people using his shield or body to protect people.

So, to me, this would be a bit of an odd choice for Oscar’s semblance and just make the existing overlap between Jaune and Oscar’s progression as characters more confused. Do you think I have the right idea with the theming of Oscar’s semblance? Or do you think it’ll come from a different place altogether?

Hi!

It is very difficult to say, cause there could really be many things that fit Oscar.

I agree about both Ruby and Oscar ending up having elements of both creation and destruction, as they are two philosophical children.

When it comes to Oscar's semblance, I think it will be worth the wait, since:

It will appear toward the end and there won't be time to slowly develop it, like Blake, Weiss or Ruby's

Ruby kind of told us so tbh, as she said when Oscar gets a semblance "everyone will be jealous" ;)

I think most semblances tie with the characters' allusions too:

Ruby is super fast cause she is Little Red Riding Hood, so she rides

Weiss's glyphs allude to the Snow Queen fairy tail, but progressively become more Snowhite-like (her summons are characters in Snow-White)

Blake's shadow is symbolic of the beast, as in jungian terms the shadow is also called inner beast

Yang's power has her become too hot, with her hair catching fire, like Goldilock

Jaune gives his aura (his spirit) to others to heal them (he makes miracles), which ties with his Jeanne d'Arc allusion (I agree with the fact he will become a barrier warrior to an extent btw)

And so on...

So, tbh the majority of ideas for Oscar's semblance seem to tie into this theme:

Some theory think his power will tie with time, as time is a recurring motif for him and Ozpin

Other theories (I think this one is @misstrashchan ) instead think he will get the ability to make an astral projection of himself, in a tie in to the Little Prince (the little prince dies, so he leaves his body behind). This could also be used to separate his own soul from Ozpin's

These are my two preferred theories, but again it is impossible to say for sure. I don't think there is much foreshadowing as to what Oscar's semblance will be, differently from Jaune's.

Thank you for the ask!

#rwby #asksfullofsugar #anonymous #oscar pine #semblance of the soul

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v3nusxsky · 8 months ago

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Whispers of Seduction

*Authors note~ introducing Larissa Weems to Sinful souls. I wonder what kinks she’ll have ;) also can’t wait to get more into the storyline with the next few instalments smut coming soonnnnn*

Trigger warnings~ more harsh Leonora, shh jealousy is serious persistent Larissa club things overall teasing etc mentions of smut

Tag list

Nevermore continued to flourish and naturally the stress of having an Addams present ensured that the blonde shifter needed a break from being principal. Of course anything too close to the grounds of the school was off limits. As much as the woman deserves her own personal life, it seems most of the parents keep close watch on her time off grounds. Would that stop Larissa Weems from relaxing like she would in England? Absolutely not.

Attending Cambridge University taught Larissa many things, one being that despite her ability she too deserves pleasure. Naturally her dominance radiates in every aspect of her life, so that was how she found herself in a club one night, where the drinks were good and well, where she discovered who she is. In actual fact, Sinful souls looks similar to that club, luring her in with its tasteful, elegant style. The perfect location to unwind and be Larissa and not Principal Weems.

Settling into a booth in the back of the club her eyes instantly landed on you. You were manipulating your body up and down this pole with an unmatched elegance and skill. The six inch heels highlighting your gorgeous toned legs as your skimpy top caressed your beautiful pillowy balls of flesh as they spilled over the cups dark emerald cups. Your chosen song being buttons by the pussycat dolls adding to your addicting performance.

“Girl, I'm a freak, you shouldn't say those things” blared as you spam around the pole, practically seducing everyone watching with just one look with your beautiful irises. To say Larissa was drawn to you would’ve been an understatement. Promiscuous happened to be a regular song that clients asked for you to dance to, that’s why it’s okay fitting it’s the first song Larissa had the pleasure to watch. From there on she was hooked, ordering a tall glass of red as she settled In for the night, eagerly awaiting for Delicate Doll to return to the stage.

Larissa Weems is a stickler for routines which is her reason for returning to Sinful Souls every night after hours of Nevermore Academy, always managing to secure the same seat that provided her the best view of the stage. Of you. You’d had a particularly slow night the first time she tipped you, Slumber Party blaring through the speakers as your audience seemed to be predominantly sapphic allowing you to be a bit more flirtatious in your moves. And when her slender fingers reached up to tuck a twenty into your waist band her cheeks flushed red as you winked at her. You’d noticed her for the past few nights now, always there and always stunningly put together. Alluding dominance and elegance with every sip of the ruby wine.

From there Larissa would always secure private dances with you and only you, always tipping you well above the going rate and always complimenting you and trying to get to know you personally. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t cause your heart to flutter and your stomach to drop at her intense gaze and shy smile whenever she learnt something new about you. She made you feel like the only girl in the room, as if you weren’t a barely clad dancer in her lap, more like you were her lover.

Leonora prided herself on her awareness of the goings on in her club. Therefore, it should’ve been no surprise to you at all that she’d spotted the same blonde with you night after night. You also should have expected her to become colder, more harsh with your training and her comments on such things. See Leonora didn’t know why, but you affected her in this way, and Leonora wouldn’t stand for it. Every beautiful woman that worked their way into her sheets never seemed to compare to you. Often, she’d imagine you instead of them and on the odd occasion she was alone to satisfy her needs, it was your name on her lips, your eyes peering down at her blown pupils as she clenched around the fingers in her pulsing core.

If was you that the raven haired woman wanted on all fours pathetically begging her to make you cum, screaming for her as she tailed you into oblivion with her strap, her hands in your hair as she panted praises in your ear. You giving her the dances in the privacy of her room, for free. Yet, she also craved being the one you wake up next to, the one you smile up at, you being the one attends the club on her arm. Hers. And hers only. Not that pesky blonde woman you are constantly all over. No. You were her doll in her mind. Yet it seemed she now had some competition, and if there’s one thing she’s good at, it’s winning. Little did you know, you were the prize for both women. And little did they know you wanted them both in the most confusing yet beautiful ways.

#anon answered #v3nusxsky answers #fanfic #sinful souls series #v3nusxsky sinful souls #sinful souls #Leonora x Larissa x reader

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midnight-melancholiaaa · 5 months ago

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a hasty follow-up to my earlier post, where i questioned why sol had told fake-osha that he was ready to come clean to the jedi council about what happened on brendok, and yet switched off his comms and jumped into hyperspace to avoid the incoming jedi team. doesn’t seem like coming clean to me…

few key things here 1) sol made those remarks to somebody he believed to be osha, and now he knows it wasn’t her, his priority has switched to finding her, rather than post-mission exposition on coruscant. 2) we’ve already seen sol’s frustration at the jedi regrouping in meetings instead of pursuing an urgent ongoing situation. sol is likely avoiding asking for permission he knows he won’t receive, so he can find osha and qimir as soon as possible. the fact that he does this by avoiding the jedi altogether, inadvertently placing even MORE suspicion upon himself as a fallen jedi, is….. ouch………

so why restrain mae and monologue to her? i’ve seen posts arguing (very well) that his incoming explanation of brendok will be a self-centred emotional unloading, rather than anything useful for or considerate of mae. i totally agree there’s an element of that at play, but i think there’s something else going on as well, linked to sol’s mission for the rest of the show.

a couple lines stick out to me. “you and i have work to do” is, i think, a fairly obvious statement that mae will be roped into helping sol rescue osha. but the other is hiding in an earlier scene: “you found him”. as i explain in my other theorypost, i think this line is said after sol has realised mae is pretending to be osha. within a double meaning, it could allude to mae’s relationship with the master. she’s found qimir once — why can’t she do it again?

so yeah, i don’t think it’s super out there to say that sol is planning to recruit mae and use her to find qimir, and osha along with him. why the table restraining then? on a purely practical level, he’s keeping her cuffed until he feels in control of the situation and as though he can rely on her allyship. and getting to that allyship? sol’s going to try his damndest in this explanation monologue to convince her onside, and he doesn’t want her struggling or arguing until he’s said that full pitch.

i think all this really speaks to the level of desperation sol is experiencing. he’s just watched the other jedi he cares deeply for get massacred in front of him, and failed to save any of them. and it turns out the one person he thought he’d saved, osha, is still in danger, and that he’s failed his ex-padawan again. no wonder his responsibilities to the council fall by the wayside when sol, a person clearly motivated by love for those close to him, has one final chance to do right by ANYONE in this clusterfuck situation. sol also feels extremely out of control in this series of events, so is grasping for whatever control he can salvage — hence his desperation to do whatever it takes for his mae-saves-osha plan to work and his… questionable methods in accomplishing it.

the implications for sol giving into fear and a need for control like this are certainly juicy. dude is on the struggle bus lately, and this particular struggle bus has a few dark-side-themed stops. also, the irony of sol behaving like this indirectly digging his grave re: the council’s inclination to believe in his dark-sidedness…….. makes me want to lie in a ditch for a while. can’t wait for next week where my theories will probably be proven wrong and also i get to cry on the floor!!!!!!! i <3 the acolyte!!!!!!!

#the acolyte #the acolyte spoilers #the acolyte theories #sol patrol #master sol #sol the acolyte #top ten characters i am currently Normal about <3 #midnight meta

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lonely-eli · 3 months ago

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Trippin' On Hallucinogenics - Chapter 6

“Bartemius!” his mother cried when she saw him, she went to hug him almost immediately. His father stood a little behind his mother.

“Bye, Barty,” Pandora said from behind him. He waved bye to her and Evan, who was already playing with his wand before it was snatched away by his father, who glared at Barty’s mother and father.

“I missed you,” his mother mumbled in his hair. Barty smiled.

“Missed you too, mother,” Barty replied smoothly, the words almost sounded robotic in his mouth. He had missed his mother, but he hadn’t missed home, and him.

“Why did they choose to have the Express in a place with muggles alludes me,” his father muttered beneath his breath as they were leaving the station. He hadn’t said a word to Barty, which was the first hint that something was wrong. He hadn’t even berated Barty for growing out his hair, despite the fact that Barty had no idea where he would get it cut. He hadn’t gotten mad at Barty for his muggle clothes, and didn’t say anything about him speaking to the Rosiers.

Filthy.

“Well done at getting Ravenclaw,” his father said to him while they were in the car.

I wanted Slytherin.

Barty nodded, “Thank you.”

“Sir,” his father corrected. Barty grit his teeth.

“Thank you, sir.”

They didn’t say a word the rest of the ride, just stared at each other while his mother continued to fuss over Barty.

By the time that they got home, Barty was on edge, just waiting to know what his father was going to say when they were alone. And like clockwork, his father stopped him when they entered the house.

“What did I say about Rosiers?” his father hissed.

“I— don’t know what you’re talking about,” Barty answered, as honest as he could make it. His father raised his hand, but like always didn’t bring it down. Barty still flinched though, then berated himself for it.

He was some pitiful house elf, punishing himself for doing nothing wrong.

“They’re dark wizards,” Bartemius Sr. added, he grabbed his wand and waved it at Barty, “Maybe you’re one as well.”

Barty looked to his mother for help, but she just looked away. Then he glared at his father, who answered it with, “Are you giving me attitude?”

“No sir—” Barty spat, more angry than he was wanting too. But he didn’t get another word out as his body locked up. He fell to the ground and writhed with his arms and legs locked together. His father looked down at him coldly.

“Never raise your voice at me,” he snapped. Barty grunted, his lips glued.

He stared at his mother who stared back, panicked. She looked like she was going to say something then stopped, her hand halfway to Bartemius Sr.’s shoulder.

“You’re grounded, Bartemius,” his father finished, “Come on, dear.”

Barty tried to call out, but it was muffled. His father and mother stepped over him and continued onwards, deeper into the house.

This is what you deserve, whispered Barty’s mind, You knew not to associate with those wizards.

They’re my friends, whispered another part, They wouldn’t leave me on the ground.

I deserve to starve, here on the ground.

They’d wonder where I was.

Barty watched the sun set outside the window, he watched his mother and father continuously step over him, not even sparing him a glance.

The sunset and the sun rose.

I’m hungry.

Let me go.

Asshole.

Filthy.

You deserve this.

Die now.

In the morning, Barty’s father bent over him and whispered the counter-curse. Barty felt his limbs unlock themselves, and he took in a gasp of air.

“Have you learned your lesson?” Bartemius asked.

“Yes sir,” Barty responded, stomach grumbling.

“Then leave my sight.”

Barty scrambled away to the kitchen and dug into whatever the house elves could prepare for him.

“What’s wrong, young master Crouch?” asked the same house elf who had woken him up. Barty paused to look at her then looked away.

“Nothing,” he said, leaving the kitchen.

His father was prowling the halls, so Barty quickly ran to his room. He stayed there the rest of the day till his mother came knocking on his door, “Bartemius? Dinner is ready.”

Barty followed her downstairs silently until they reached the dining room, where his father was already sitting. His father glanced at Barty, then didn’t address him for the rest of the night, instead he simply told Barty’s mother about his recent escapades with Dark Wizards. He glanced at Barty whenever he mentioned the Rosier’s, as if to drive in a point.

***

Christmas morning, Barty was awoken to an owl tapping on his window. He opened the window and let the owl in. It flew to his lap and dropped two letters and a {insert size of package based on present} package in it, then flew back out the window and away.

Barty yawned and picked the letter up, eyes widening as he saw the words “Evan Rosier” written on the first letter then “Panda” on the next. Barty opened them carefully and took out Evan’s letter.

It was one word.

Dear Barty,

Bitch

- Evan

Pandora’s was much longer.

Dear Barty,

I hope your mother is well. They didn’t seem too happy when we said goodbye to you on the train. I miss you, I know that it’s only been one day, but it’s been fun at Hogwarts together hasn’t it…

She went on to rant about Xenophilius Lovegood and how she couldn’t wait to see Barty again, the letter ended with her hoping that he enjoyed the gloves.

Barty set the letters aside and ripped open the package. Inside was a book and a pair of fingerless gloves. They were knitted blue and black. Barty slipped them on and then grabbed the book that was titled “Basic Hexes for the Busy and Vexed”, he opened the book and on the front page was another note from Evan.

Dear Barty,

You’ve been hexed.

- Evan

Barty fell back on the bed, clutching the gift to his chest, and feeling warmth pool in his stomach. Then the house elf entered his room with a crack.

“Master Crouch, oh!” she said, seeing that he was already awake.

“I’m up,” he said, jumping to his feet, he couldn’t wait to talk to Evan and Pandora. He needed to get them presents, along with Regulus, but as he entered the hallway all of those thoughts fell away.

The hallway was dark and endless, and seemed dead. Barty paused and then returned to his room to hide the book under his bed before exiting again. He picked at his gloves.

In the living room, his mother and father were sitting at the couch, a pile of presents at their feet.

“Merry Christmas, my love!” his mother announced.

Barty smiled at her, and opened all of his gifts. It was things that he hadn’t liked since he was seven, he felt on his toes the entire time, making sure to smile and thank his parents after every gift. He glanced at his father periodically to see if he was smiling, but his face had never moved.

“Thank you, mother, father,” he said once he opened the final present. It was a book about dragons with 3d elements. He was actually quite excited about it, but made sure to keep his face straight.

“Take it to your room,” his father said, waving his hand at all of the presents.

“Yes, sir,” Barty replied, grabbing them all up in his arms and hauling them up the stairs, he didn’t bother to say anything about the house elves taking them. He knew that that wouldn’t end well.

He managed to get through lunch and dinner with his parents before he couldn’t take it anymore, and every moment with them felt exhausting and smothering. He hated his father, and he was angry at his mother for allowing him to do that.

Finally, Barty was dismissed back to his room, where he quickly wrote a letter to the Rosier twins and sent it on its way. He took out Evan’s book and flicked through the pages, he couldn’t do magic right now since he wasn’t at Hogwarts, but he could practice.

He twirled his wand in the motions that the book said to perform the hexes, angry fueling the movements, but no magic being put into it. It was a delicate balance that he was walking, but it was one that he was willing to risk for some escape.

The next day, Barty snapped at his father accidently when he was berating him for his hair. He was left on the ground until his stomach was rumbling so loud that his father got annoyed.

Barty screamed into his pillow that night, making sure to be quiet.

He awoke frozen and locked together, only being able to watch his father rip apart his room, finding everything that was out of place. Posters. Little trinkets that Barty had collected, and he threw them away. He grabbed the poster with Barty’s favorite Quidditch team on it and frowned before tossing that as well. His mother just stood in the doorway watching with a sad look on her face.

She was the one who had gotten Barty that poster.

“He’s just loving you the only way he knows,” his mother whispered, trying to hold him, despite him leaning away from her, “He does love us.”

I don’t care. The realization was cool as it washed down Barty’s spine, he couldn’t actually care if his father loved him. It still hurt.

His father could never find the book, which Barty had taken to hiding under his pillow, he hadn’t even questioned the gloves.

Because they’re Ravenclaw.

It felt nice though, to have a piece of Pandora with him to cheer him on as he woke up again under the Petrificus Totalus charm. This time he was already used to it, and didn’t writhe or scream. He just sat there until his father was finished and decided to let him free.

The hardest part was not being able to do anything. When an owl arrived with Pandora’s and Evan’s response, he couldn’t read it as the owl dropped it on his chest. His father found the letter a few hours later and snatched it from Barty. He forced Barty to watch as he burned the letter away.

You deserve this.

They’re my friends.

The week went on very slowly. Until he finally was allowed back on the train.

He ran to find the twins and Regulus, searching for them cart by cart. He found Emmeline Vance in a cart by herself. And accidently opened the cart on Sirius Black and his friends. James Potter stared at him.

“Do you need—”

“Where’s Regulus?” Barty demanded, looking around the cart like he might find Reggie stuffed away somewhere.

“How should I know where my brother is?” Sirius said with a roll of his eyes.

“You’re useless,” Barty frowned, running away and searching the other carts.

He finally found Regulus in a cart, looking at his arm before quickly covering it as Barty entered.

“Reggie thank god,” Barty said, collapsing next to him and tossing his feet into Regulus’s lap. Regulus looked down at them with a sneer and pushed them off.

“Evan, I found them!” screeched Pandora suddenly from the open doorway. She sat down across from Regulus and grabbed Barty’s hands, “You’re wearing the gloves!”

“Yeah,” Barty replied, “Thanks for them.”

“It’s made of a material that guards from evil,” Pandora said, serious all of the sudden, “Sybil told me—”

“You shouldn’t listen to everything Sybil tells you,” Evan interrupted. He was wearing a knit beanie over his curls.

“Awww, adorable,” Barty cooed. Evan flipped him off.

“My mom knitted us some things,” Pandora grinned.

“We can all see that.” Regulus said.

“You’re not wearing your scarf, Reg,” Pandora noticed.

Regulus reached into his bag and pulled out the scarf, he stared at it for a second before wrapping it around his neck. Pandora squealed.

“You look so good!” Pandora clapped her hands happily.

Barty sighed and leaned into Regulus’s shoulder, Regulus glared at him though so he pulled Evan into the seat and leaned on him instead.

***

“Rosier?” Barty asked after everyone else in the car had fallen asleep.

“What?” Evan grunted.

“Nothing much,” Barty answered with a yawn, closing his eyes.

“I hate you. Go to sleep.”

“Ok, Rosie. Rosie Rosier,” Barty sang softly, not wanting to wake anyone else up, “My dad is an asshole.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

“He did attack my cousin.” “Which one?”

“Eh,” Evan shrugged, “I just overheard my parents talking about it.”

“Hmm, my mom doesn’t talk about much.”

“Except for how helpful your dad is.”

“She tries.”

“Mhm,” Evan didn’t sound convinced.

“I spent most of Christmas break— nevermind.”

“What? Okay.”

“‘Night, Rosie.”

“Goodnight, Barty.”

#rosekiller #evan x barty #barty crouch jr #evan rosier #pandora rosier #marauders era #regulus black #bartys mom #shitty dad

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annabtg · 7 months ago

Note

You portray Sirius as this stud muffin that everyone was tripping over. It’s kinda vain as a women. Sirius not being able to recognize that his best friend/brother was in love with Lily Evans? Bruh, please. The whole fucken school knew. Sirius doesn’t have tattoos and he’s pretty much asexual in canon from what we know. Not in your fics because he’s fanon and not canon.

I shouldn't even publish this ask, because people will laugh at your lack of reading comprehension, but you started it and I love talking Sirius so here's a breakdown of your seven deadly sins:

1. You completely failed to understand the assignment. Fanon doesn't mean "written by a fan". Fanon means a prevalent version of a character or event which is not supported by canon. Fanon Sirius is a very specific phenomenon, ranted about by @artemisia-black here and summarized by me here. You have failed to provide any examples from my writing that allude to such a portrayal of Sirius.

2. Instead, you complained about my portrayal of Sirius and called it fanon, providing (a pathetic excuse of) examples that aren't anywhere in the fanon version of Sirius and are in fact much closer to canon Sirius. You might have been trying to call my Sirius OOC, but you're probably like twelve and have yet to learn your fandom terminology.

3. "You portray Sirius as this stud muffin that everyone was tripping over" that's canon actually. JKR goes out of her way to tell us how handsome and attractive he was pre-Azkaban every time it comes up:

His face wasn't sunken and waxy, but handsome, full of laughter. (Prisoner of Azkaban)

Sirius was lounging in his chair at his ease, tilting it back on two legs. He was very good-looking, his dark hair fell into his eyes with a sort of casual elegance neither James's nor Harry's could ever have achieved, and a girl sitting behind him was eyeing him hopefully, though he didn't seem to have noticed. (Order of the Phoenix)

Sirius stared around at the students milling over the grass, looking rather haughty and bored, but very handsomely so. (Order of the Phoenix)

(I'll stop here because I don't have my books with me and digging up the quotes is proving difficult.)

4. "It's kinda vain as a women" Can You Even English, Bro. Are you saying that I describe Sirius as a person who is as vain as a woman? If so you're not only incorrect, but also sexist.

5. "Sirius not being able to recognize that his best friend/brother was in love with Lily Evans?"

We're talking about My Best Friend's Girl, right? Here's the quote you've been searching for:

Sirius had sometimes thought that James might fancy Lily. He had caught him staring at her, he had noticed something particular in his tone of voice when he spoke to her; and yet, every time he had asked him, James had vehemently denied it.

And because I can't shut up about this story, here's another quote from that same scene:

“D’you think she likes you?”

“We’ll find out.” He grabbed another handful of beans out of the packet in his backpack and stuffed them in his mouth, watching James intently. He had returned to his studying, but he looked vexed. “D’you think I shouldn’t?” he asked.

“Who am I to stop you?” James muttered, his eyes still on his book.

Sirius shrugged to himself. If James insisted on taking it all in stride, he wasn’t going to miss his chance with a beautiful girl on a hunch.

Sirius is not stupid. He knows James has a thing for Lily. But it's not his place or his responsibility to do anything about that for a James that won't so much as acknowledge it to his best friend. And he definitely doesn't think that, just because James likes Lily, Lily shouldn't go out with anyone. She's a free girl and she can like a boy if she wants to, including one whose best friend has a crush on her. Bad luck, Prongs.

(I could talk at length about everyone's behaviour in this fic but I'd rather do that in a separate post and not in one addressing a rude anon.)

6. "Sirius doesn't have tattoos" Still waiting for any quote from any of my stories where he has a tattoo.

7. "he's pretty much asexual in canon from what we know" lack of a sexual relationship ≠ asexual. Your interpretation is not the only valid one.

Final grade: L for LURK MOAR.

#rude anon #sirius black #anti fanon sirius #my best friend's girl

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cas-backwards-tie · 6 months ago

Text

Chapter Three: Fate Rewritten

The Missing Title

Helmut Zemo x Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: After bumping into Sharon, you're escorted back to her apartment in High-Town. What lies in wait is way more than you'd anticipated in store for your night.

Words: 6.4k

Warnings: Partying, Alcohol, Power Dynamics, Semi-Smutty, Inferences toward sex, Age Gap

Mentions of: Government, Betrayal, Treason, Hypocrisy, Grief

A/N: I've been waiting so long to get to this part! Ahhh, I feel like this is really when things will start to change, considering the reader's backstory and her growing relationships with the guys. Not to mention that some of the main plot points are finally being set in motion. I decided to not fully wind up writing them together since the chapter got so long, but I'm sure it'll def pop up in flashbacks later on down the line.

It's safe to say that you're more than a little out of it by the time you guys get into Sharon's vehicle. She insists on driving, and the guys need a good view of Zemo to make sure he's in check. That leaves the three of you in the back: Sam, you, and Bucky. As your journey takes you back a similar way you'd come, you can't help but still be fascinated with the lights. What's Sharon got in store for you all? What's her plan? While you're not super familiar with her, you wonder what she was doing in Low Town Madripoor in the first place. Surely, she hasn't been following you all this whole time.

Once she parks outside a luxury-style apartment, you follow Sam out the back door and follow Sharon into her place. "Woah," you whisper, taking in the fact that not only one security guard--slash--doorman stands out front, but two. Through a big metal sliding door lies an art exhibit, glass containers lined with neon blue lights illuminate different sculptures and craftsmanship. Real antique and pricey-looking things.

"Looks like breaking all those laws is treating you well," Sam comments as he walks beside Sharon alongside the containers. Whatever she'd been going through when you'd first had your run-in has clearly dissipated as she seems to come to life upon Sam's teasing.

"Well, at some point I thought if I had to hustle, might as well enjoy the life of a real hustler. You know how much I can get for a real Monet?" She asks, gesticulating with her arms as she explains her situation. While Zemo lingers a few steps behind you with Bucky trailing, you can't help but slow your steps upon this information.

"Easy, deactivate your hustle mode," Sam warns, "You sell fake Monets." He wants to clarify. While Sharon might pretend to allude to a profited criminal life such as Zemo, Sam clearly thinks she's a goodie-two-shoes.

"No, she means real. This gallery specializes in stolen artwork. Monet. Van Gogh. Classics," Zemo explains nonchalantly as he follows Sharon, continuing to round the exhibit.

"So it's true then? What they say..." You ask them, eyes shifting from Zemo onto Sharon, then finally Bucky who stands a few feet before you while Sam occupies the space by your side.

"It's true. You know, half the artwork in museums like the Louvre is fake. Real stuff sits in places like this," Bucky answers, eyes still taking in the pastel-dotted canvas.

"There's no way," you whisper to yourself, voice trailing off as you take in the scenery. Heading down the two steps, you approach Bucky's side, eyes scanning over the Monet painting before you. You've seen his other works in museums, though now you know they were fakes. Regardless, you don't think you'd be able to tell the difference.

"Okay, guys, I see what you're doing. You're more worldly than good old Sam," your friend complains, still stationed where you stood a few moments ago.

"Yeah? What's Google say?" Bucky asks, a playful tone curling around his words as he physically rounds Sam. This elicits your attention as you shift your gaze onto Sam, glad he's now enlightened onto the, well... not-so theory of conspiracy you and Bucky both seem to know about.

"No shit," Sam exclaims, clearly bewildered by the thought. In all honesty, you can't blame him. To think people would do something so greedy and frivolous? Useless? It takes seeing it firsthand to really believe, and it seems Sam's eyes are finally opening to that aspect.

"Come on, guys-" Sharon calls from the stairs, Zemo waiting a few steps behind her as they stare in your general direction. "You need to change. I'm hosting clients in an hour," She informs.

While you don't question her, you are curious as to what sort of clients and business she does... besides selling art, that is. There's a world of art, of course, yet you know that there's only so much a lifestyle of it can afford. Following the group upstairs, you're taken aback by the fact that this whole place is starting to seem like Sharon's.

"Of course, I've got all this stuff out here for you guys-" Sharon eyes the men, "-but I've got a few things you can borrow for tonight. Come with me," she commands.

Following Sharon through a series of archways and pristine doors you find yourself in a massive bedroom. Intricate patterns are embroidered on the comforter, and through an open doorway, you can see that there's a walk-in closet. It's precisely where she's led you, her hands gesturing for you to follow. "I know. Nice right? Every girl needs a walk-in," she comments before chuckling to herself.

Taken aback by the wide array of shoes on the shelves, purses on hangars, coats, dresses, pants, and shirts all hang neatly in their place, their own rack for each category of piece. Though you aren't sure where to even start, let alone if you even want to. Everything is too expensive, you couldn't possibly use them. Sharon speaks up.

Her fingers run across the fabric, only stopping once she spots something, though her back is to you and therefore your view is obscured. "Try this on, I have the shoes to go with them and together? I'm sure you'll have a great night!" She says over her shoulder before winking. With a quick hand she tosses the hangar to you, which you scramble to catch. "I'll see you downstairs, then."

The dress is a plain black fabric, a halter top cut, two slits on either side of your hips at the start of your thighs. It's a little more exposing than what Zemo had picked, though with everything that's happened tonight, you feel for some reason that you can't bring yourself to care. If someone sees something, it's not like it's the end of the world. Besides, with this dress you could wear a thong or panties. Though the panties would have to be matching or sexy, intentionally meant to be seen as a fashion statement. Deciding to just go for the dress, no bra needed and your panties already discarded, you're glad for the comfy snug fit the fabric offers. It's far more stretchy and accommodating than Zemo's. The shoes you have on work, the only thing left to do is to put your hair up. Finding a claw clip on Sharon's vanity, you figure she won't mind if you borrow it for tonight. After all, it's a lot less intimate than a dress.

With a wet wipe from the bathroom, you're all good to go. Makeup is natural enough to pass as anyone, hair is different, so is your dress, and while the shoes may not be, with the darkness of the gallery you're sure no one will notice. Especially not if there's going to be drinking; and no good party lacks a variety of drink. Heading back to the foyer Sharon had originally brought you to, you find the guys settling in nicely.

Taking in the intricate pieces placed throughout the room, you inspect each one carefully. "Much better," Sharon comments, heels clicking against the wooden floors announcing her return.

"What's going on, Sharon? You don't ever wanna come back home?" Sam asks. The shuffle of fabric and the faint tinkling of metal tells you he's changing his shirt again! Trying to find something suitable for him is practically impossible, and this, you swear. Out of your peripheral vision, you see Sharon place something on the arm of the couch while Zemo stands by the bar.

"They'll lock me up if I ever step foot back in the States. Madripoor doesn't allow extradition," She informs.

"Good to know," you joke to yourself. Fingers running along the smooth wood of the desk behind the couch, you don't notice how the comment seems to have everyone's eyes lingering on you for a moment before Sam chuckles and shakes his head.

"Look, sorry I didn't call, but after the Blip and the chaos, I just..." He attempts. This piques your interest, not initially intent on eavesdropping, though this sounds like something a lover might say. Did Sam and Sharon-? You don't wanna know... do you?

"Look, you know the whole hero thing is a joke, right?" Her tone softens, a genuine question reaching out to form some sort of connection. An attempt to regain a friendship, you think. "I mean the way you gave up that shield, deep down you must know it's all hypocrisy."

Eyes rising from the necklace displayed by the clothes rack, your eyebrows furrow in surprise. Wasn't Sharon CIA? To join the government so outright, then denounce it only a few years later? Something's fishy about it and eerie in a way you don't like. Even if what she's saying elicits a subconscious subtle nod of your head.

"He knows. And not so deep down," Zemo comments with a raise of his drink. This garners everyone's attention for a moment. You can't help but stare as you linger on him. Curious... Questioning.

"By the way, how is the new Cap?" Sharon asks, hands in her pockets. You aren't CIA by any means, but you know how to read body language. She's clearly got her guard up, but for what? You're not sure.

"Don't get me started," Bucky groans.

"Please, you buy into all that stars and stripes bullshit," Sharon argues. You round the room, peeking through the windowed panes of the glass doors into surrounding rooms to see what goodies lie there. If the rooms you've seen so far are anything to go by, you're sure the rest of the apartment complex is loaded with treasures. "Before you were his pet psychopath-" it doesn't take looking to know she's referring to Zemo, considering her positioning and emphasis, "-you were Mr. America! Cap's best friend."

Although you don't comment, you can't help the way your lips curl inward in a silent attempt at holding back any sort of chortle or chuckle from emerging.

"Wow. She's kind of awful now," Bucky comments. While you might guess he may be joking sarcastically, you can't be sure. Is he just insulting her? Being passive-aggressive? You can't tell.

"Karli Morgenthau and at least seven others have taken the serum," Sam informs, passing you as he rounds the couch the other way and sits across from Bucky.

"You guys really should steer clear of all this for your own safety," Sharon warns. Being in Madripoor and clearly in a position of wealth and selling artwork underground, she must know the rumors.

"We know it's a risk, but we won't leave until we find the person who cracked the code," Sam responds, unfazed and defiant of her advice. Elbows on his knees he leans in closer.

"We got a name. Wilfred Nagel," Bucky discloses. Sharon gets up and crosses Bucky to get to the bar, Zemo gets out of her way and walks toward you to sit in the lone chair by the side table.

"Nagel works for the Power Broker," Sharon replies. A dissatisfied hum rumbles in your chest. You don't want to think about the past, nor worry about how you're going to find the Power Broker to stop the supplier.

"We need your help, Sharon. I can get your name cleared," Sam offers, all the men's eyes intent on her as she pours a drink. Fingers running over the edge of a tapestry hung on the opposite wall, you listen intently.

"You haggling with my life?" She asks, tone sounding genuine to you.

"Not like that," Sam corrects.

"I don't buy that," She responds, and really, you can't blame her. "You pretending like you can clear my name."

You have to admit that Sharon is starting to grow on you in some sense. She's smart, that much is clear. While you don't outwardly boast the things you know will be demonized, she does, and you can respect her for that, if anything. Though you haven't weighed in much, you've been listening. Of course everyone has their judgments and suspicions, and while you may be leaping to conclusions, there's a fishy suspicion brewing in your mind. You only wonder if anyone else is catching onto what Sharon is putting down. Eyes flickering over to Zemo for a moment, you notice him meet your gaze. Immediately looking back to Sharon, you can't help the tiny smile that snags at your lips, blush forming on your cheeks. Originally intending to gather intel, for some reason you couldn't handle the pressure of his gaze.

"-I'm willing to try if you are," you zone back in on what they're saying. "They cleared the bionic staring machine, and he killed almost everybody he's met," Sam points out. A chuckle escapes your lips and you shrink in on yourself, not having expected that.

"-I heard that," Bucky comments to Sam, though his eyes and dissatisfied look are aimed at you. You don't even have to see it from your peripheral to feel his stare, the sense of it sending an internal sort of shiver down your spine.

"I don't trust charity," Sharon posits, intent on finishing their conversation.

"All right, a deal then. You help us out, and we get your name cleared." Sharon accepts Sam's extended hand and they shake on it. Downing her drink, she places the used tumbler aside and starts toward the door you'd entered from.

"Well, I sell to some pretty connected people. Lay low, blend in, enjoy the party. Try to stay outta trouble. I'll see what I can find." With that, she's out of the foyer and onto whatever business it is that she's doing.

"Trouble," Zemo repeats playfully with a shrug of his shoulders, a mischievous look in his eyes.

"Yeah, that's what you better not be," you warn. Eyes meeting his, you can't help but find that his playfulness has spread to you, even if you know you can switch into gear and act in accordance with the mission if need be.

"Well, you know me," Zemo taunts. With a swig of his drink, he lays the finished glass atop the coaster on the table beside his chair.

"That's the problem," Bucky quips, standing as Zemo moves to follow where Sharon had gone.

--------

You have to admit, with wherever Sharon stands in your likes, she can throw a good party... that much is clear. Originally determined to view all the authentic art pieces lingering around the gallery, it hadn't actually taken as long as you'd have thought. With a drink or two offered along the way, you can feel yourself start to loosen up. Hors d'oeuvres are littered throughout the party, and with Sharon being such the great hostess, you hardly feel the usual sense of guilt for indulging when it comes to fancy parties. It also doesn't help that they're really good and you hadn't eaten a lot, really, since Zemo's jet was scarce of in-date snacks. Eating expired foods wasn't really a risk you were willing to participate in today.

As the night goes on you find your way to the dance floor after a little persuasion from Sam. While you all might still be focused on your mission, the excuse of blending in is one of necessity. It's not really a party if there isn't dancing, right? The Avenger eventually decides to ditch you in favor of making small talk with some of the other partygoers. He's most likely trying to seek information, knowing him.

Dancing with Sam was different than dancing with Zemo. You hadn't anticipated for this to happen, but considering he's maintained a central viewpoint for the boys, that just so happens to be the dance floor. He's discarded his jacket at some point clearly as his chest is in full display in the plum sweater he's donning. It'd started off friendly, simply busting out your lamest dance moves for fun in the same vicinity. Yet, as the songs played on and you grew closer in distance to make conversation, the vibe between you shifted.

There's a reason they say not to mix drinks... and now you know why. It takes a matter of a half hour for your resolve to break, the inner dialogue, the constant fighting of the comical angel and demon on either shoulder bickering with one another. Overall, the devil had won- there was no use in denying what you want, that you have a plan, and are pursuing it. You're going after what you want. Using any chance to get closer, any excuse to feel his hands on you. the recent memory of his hot breath fanning across your neck, the spark when your lips met... it's still heavy on your mind and hot in your blood.

"You should know this one," you joke across the few feet between you as you sway to the music, the beat of the music ramping up, the bass and beats getting faster and faster toward that familiar climax you all know so well. 'There's not a soul out there-' bouncing to the rhythm, you let your hips sway as your arms find their way above your head.

'Give Me,

Give Me,

Give Me A Man After Midnight~'

It's a remix, the techno music is very different from the original, however, you can't deny you enjoy the song. It's fitting if nothing else. If anyone were to ask why you want this, you couldn't explain it--not rationally--and looks aren't a good enough reason, you know that better than anyone. While there are certain characteristics that could be said of his mannerisms and personality, you wouldn't dare to compliment or lead to the ego of a madman overextending its peace. Many would argue it already had, after all.

He doesn't seem to mind either. Whether you're simply keeping up the act, even if it's unnecessary here, you both find yourselves indulging in the ambiance around you. Breath heavy with the adrenaline of dancing and the higher temperature of lots of bodies on the dance floor, you're being bumped and jostled by the people around you. His hand extends at some point, loosely wrapping around your waist as the two of you draw nearer to one another. Over all, it's safe to say that Sharon may just have predicted your 'great night'.

As it draws closer to the wee hours of the morning, Sam makes his way around to advise you all of making it an early night. Tomorrow is supposed to be busy, so it makes sense. While the four of you head upstairs in a staggered manner, you find that once you're changed and sat on the bed that you still don't feel ready to officially end the night. Eyes drawn to the red dress and accompanying apparel you'd borrowed earlier, you can't help the thoughts that follow. However lewd they may be, it doesn't stop your mind from drawing up a vague plan.

Part of you knows it's a bad idea, that you shouldn't do this, but then again... what's the worse it could lead to? A one night stand? There's no reason that leads you to believe, rationally, that any of the same thoughts are going through his head at all. Therefore, you continue your trapse down the hallway. The wooden floors creak every so often, and you don't miss the way that Sam's clicking fingers on the keyboard come to a momentary halt before returning to its previous pace. It'd go unnoticed if you didn't know better, but you know he's well aware of your presence, just as you are of his.

You'd already thought this through--the excuse--the lie. It's a shame, really, to have to lie to a friend whom you love dearly... yet, you know there's no telling the truth in this circumstance. Yet, there is... isn't there? After all, you know it'd be taking a play from Zemo's book, you're sure, no doubt, but anyone who's smart knows that all lies hold some semblance of the truth. Hence, your excuse; smooth and comforting material weighing your hands down by your stomach, you're about to walk past the back of the couch when his soft voice stops you.

"You're going to visit him?" It's a reasonable question, a check-in. Something to note, since, he is a criminal... a dangerous person. Someone to be kept in check. Unpredictable, as they'd said.

"Just returning these," you answer, lifting the bundle of clothing and the accessories of your disguise for Sam's viewing.

"I'm sure he could care less, but, by all means-" Sam extends his hand in the direction of the hallway. "If he tries anything-"

"-call out, I got it. I'm only planning on dropping this off. Maybe asking him something if he's up for conversation. But it shouldn't be too long. Don't worry," you attempt to reassure him. "You should get some sleep soon, too, you know? Especially if we're to do this in the morning," you shift the topic, intent on reminding him of what you hope is tiredness showing, even if the bags under his eyes grow heavier with the hours.

With a nod in your direction, Sam lets his attention drift back to the computer screen, intent on whatever work it is he has waiting within the digital world. Though you'd like to say this relieves you, lifts a burden from your shoulder, it only makes the weight on them sink further into you. Whether it's dread, guilt, or shame at all of the incredulous scenarios that run through your mind in possible what-ifs of the conversation to play out between you and the Baron, you can't do anything but shake your head in an attempt to dissuade them. Bare feet padding across the wooden floor, you notice how the dim light that peeks from under the door gives your heart a reason to speed up. Really, its the realization that you've never truly been alone with this man since you've met. The rumors, perhaps, the danger they claim he holds... the possibility of a supposed madman snapping at any point is equal parts exhilarating and yet, still terrifying. At least when you let yourself truly contemplate this fact.

With a hesitancy at the door, you lift your small fist up to the carved oak, lingering... debating. While you'd thought all resolve had fled the moments after you'd downed your fifth shot... the buzz of alcohol has long since seemed to dwindle away from your mind, the accelerating carefree feeling emptied from your veins and replaced by the cautiousness of someone who Sam would tease is entirely, all you. Determined to defy the limits of the box your closest friends place you in for one reason or another, you gently knock on the door.

There's no response. Something you'd expect, if not for the way that there's a shuffle of fabric and then a sigh on the other side. "Come in." Cold golden ornate knob within your grasp, you turn it and push the heavy door open enough for you to slip inside before quietly closing it behind you.

"Hi." It's the first word that comes to mind, the only thing you can think to say, to break the silence between you as he takes in your bare goosebump-riddled legs and the satin robe you have on.

"Hello," he returns the sentiment, unmoving from his position, torso upright against the headboard as he lies in bed, legs outstretched before him. "What a surprise to see you, Schön. Though I should've guessed from the light footsteps and quiet knock. James would certainly not allow me a moment of privacy, nor Sam." Sitting up a little straighter, his hands clasp in his lap. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Swallowing your shyness, as you can't simply stare at him forever--that'd be far too embarrassing--you lift your arms a bit for emphasis. "I thought I would return these to you." There's a wooden chair with a striped pattern of cloth covering the cushiony seat standing by the vanity. That's where you place the pile of folded clothing and shoes. Although you're no longer facing him, you can feel his gaze lingering on your figure. When you turn around again, he has his head tilted, no doubt thinking about something.

"You can keep the clothes, Schön, I don't need them back. However, I'm sure you knew that. Why are you really here?" He questions.

"What if I really was just here to return the clothing?" You offer, mirroring him unconsciously with a little tilt of your own head.

"Then I'd say you're courteous, and ask how you liked the outfit I picked out for you," he retorts. Even from across the room, you can spot a flicker of something within his irises. Whether he's playing with you, toying with you, or testing you, you're unsure. This question, however, puts you on the spot. A bemused smile graces your lips and you don't try to hide it. Taking in his state of wealth, you decide not to comment on how expensive you thought everything was, as you'd rather not know. It's better to play on his level.

"I... thought it was very nice. Not something I'd normally wear, but for a nice evening out, I think it was a good pick. The shoes were cool, the gems on the back," you recount.

"The color suited you wonderfully. Brought out your features, just as I'd predicted," he comments with a somewhat smug look upon his face. Seemingly half-placated with the notion, though there's still something gnawing at the seams of his resolve. "There's another reason you're here, whether you're willing to admit it or not." This is a test, you're well aware.

"Mmm," the hum leaves your lips before you can even begin to think of a retort. Turning on your spot, you can't help but run your fingers along the carved wooden back of the chair, walking your fingers along it and taking a step further into the room as you think. "Am I?" You stop moving, offering a look in his direction. "What if I said that you intrigue me? That I wanted to ask you how you do it?" You posit.

Tongue sneaking out to wet his lips, the Baron listens intently. Though he silently chuckles to himself at you returning his question with another question, the second half of your thoughts elicit a narrowing of his eyes. This notion has caused pause for his own thought. "Do... what, Schatz?" He plays along, subconsciously leaning a little closer despite being across the room.

Though the various thoughts and moments from tonight race across your mind, there's one theme that you can't bear to continue reliving. One thought, one realization that you know will have you getting nowhere in the coming days. Jaw threatening to clench down on itself, you can't help but sigh as your hands ball up into fists by your sides. "I... tonight, I just noticed how... in every instance, no matter what seemed to be going on, you... didn't seem scared. Like nothing fazed you," it comes out a whisper. Those final words. Though you'd been trying to search for the right words, everything came out how it wanted to, yet in the end you couldn't help but whisper the truth. It seemed like nothing fazed him. Meanwhile you... were downright terrified. Scared in a way no one has made you feel. Ever. And the worst of it is that you know it's not over. Tomorrow you will get up, alongside the rest of your friends and acquaintances and get geared up and ready to face a man who's only haunted your past.

"Oh..." Zemo responds, your name falling off his lips as if you were simply a child, a silly girl that he feels pity for. Something shifted in his demeanor by the time you finally raise your eyes to meet him again, not sure when you had dropped your vision to the floor. Possibly too embarrassed to admit the truth.

It's this moment... that's when things changed, you think. Time settles in the space between you, the air thick and heavy with confusion and a cluster of effervescent emotions bubbling up and out of you both into the air, a swirling and confusing domination of raw emotion. There's no denying what's there; the truth, the matter of your age held right before you in time like a reflection of your souls. While you'd both endured a heaviness of trauma encumbered in your life time and time again, there's no denying that he's the older man, that he's experienced more... seen more, done more, lived more. And you... well, let's save the stereotype for literature digests, will you?

"Don't-" you warn, the rise of embarrassment hitting you like a brick wall as you begin to march toward the door with a speed that leaves him in a whirlwind. What surprises you both, however, is the way that as soon as your hand is reaching for the doorknob, his is roughly placed atop it. His hand effectively trapping yours underneath. You hadn't even heard him get up, yet you can feel the heat coming off his body only inches away.

"Come," he beckons, "listen." With gentle hands he peels yours away from the knob as he guides you over to the side of the bed, simply sitting. A pat of his free hand on the empty space beside him lets you know what he wants. Really, you'd want it too... if it weren't for the conflicting emotions in your stomach making you want to tear up.

He seems to pick up on your hesitance as he stands once more, hands tentatively moving to ghost over your shoulders, tacitly asking for your permission. When you don't push him away, he places them on you, hands encompassing your satin-covered shoulders. "You have to understand, Meine Süße," he starts, voice holding a softer tone than you've ever heard him use. "I joined my country's military as soon as I was eligible. From the time I was a recruit to the time I eventually became a Colonel..." Zemo sighs as he tears his gaze from you, the motion eliciting your gaze on him in turn. "The point is, I have been through more, seen more, than you and anyone will ever know. And despite my training, the truth still remains... disregarded by most."

Soft hand sliding down your shoulder to your wrist, his long fingers gently wrap around it as he guides you toward the bed. Sitting, you follow suit beside him, shoulder to shoulder as his arm winds its way around your shoulder. "As I see it, there is only reason to be afraid of death if one feels they have something left to live for. Would you agree?" While speaking you'd noticed his gaze, even if no longer stationed on you, become more far off and glazed over. As you silently ponder on his words, his eyes find your face, gauging you no doubt.

"Yeah, I suppose so... though are you saying you don't have anything left to live for?" You prod, eyes shifting between his as you attempt to read him, the two of you finally making eye contact once more.

"I did, once, yes. Though your friends would most likely also claim my recklessness only provides evidence for this theory," he answers. Zemo may not mention it explicitly, but you know that he's referring to his family. You'd heard the stories from Sam, the details from Bucky. That's why he tried to destroy the Avengers. Or did, considering the rift he'd created.

"Maybe... but you know that most people would argue that when you don't feel you have a reason to live anymore, that's an opportunity to find a new one, right?" You offer. Brushing your hair behind your ear, your vision drifts from his face toward the wall before you both. "And don't get me wrong. I understand. I do, really... I'd be lying if I said that I felt I had any sort of reason right now, but... I also think there's a certain cynicism in giving up hope. Maybe it's my naivety... my lack of experience in life comparingly... but I believe there's hope for everyone."

He hums in contemplation, "Perhaps." It's the only answer you receive, his eyes still lingering on your face for a moment before he, too, finds his own spot on the wall across from the bed. Neither of you move, still stuck in quiet consideration.

Held safe within his warm arms, there's a relaxation that finds you in the blue. You hadn't anticipated the night going this way, and yet... you wouldn't change it for anything. The answer was unexpected, but you can't deny that you'd gotten an answer. Heart thumping steadily in your chest, you finally take in a deep breath before leaning back just enough to peer up at him from underneath your thick lashes. "Thank you, Zemo," you whisper. There's no reason to be loud, not when the night is so quiet, so still, and there's only so much room between you.

"Helmut," he offers, a slight nod of his head downward in your direction, a squeeze of your hand in reassurance.

"Thank you, Helmut," you repeat, teasing slightly as you use the name he'd offered. An amused smile graces your lips and his grip on you loosens, glad to see you're no longer feeling beaten down. Unbeknownst to the both of you, while his grip has loosened, the distance between you is increasingly closing. In a matter of seconds, you can't help but jump off the ledge you'd been teetering off all night long- diving into the ocean that is Helmut.

Pressing your lips to his gently, the shocked gasp that resonates through his closed mouth easily turns into a hum as he returns the kiss, then draws out into a growl as his hand roughly finds your cheek, gripping it tightly with a desperate need. A whimper involuntarily leaves your throat as this happens, unsure what you've unearthed. Slowly forcing himself to pull away, his forehead rests against yours as you both breathe deeply, in need of the oxygen that streams into your lungs and filters through your blood. "Why?"

It's a question you hadn't anticipated receiving from him. An answer that you weren't prepared to give. Even if you both knew of the inklings and sparks that'd been building and dancing around you all night. "Because you were right," an airy laugh echoes in the space between you, "earlier. I did want something else, even if I wanted this, too." A smile stretches upon your lips, and the contagion spreads, Helmut mirroring it as an amused smile of his own tugs at the corners of his lips. The moment is short; a brushing of your noses against one another as you breathe in the same light-hearted air. Each of you tempting the other to be the first to lean in and capture a kiss from the other. Some unspoken instinctual game, perhaps.

Lips darting in for another peck, you're not surprised when his hand moves from cupping your cheek to rounding your head in search of a hold, a grasp of some sort. His hand winds into your hair, fingers gripping it tenderly. Pulling you in with his lips, he draws back, making you careen after him in search of his lips. Yet the instant he lies back, hands moving mindlessly down to your hips to help you straddle him and stay steady, the spark is interrupted. Helmut lies on the bed, a look crossing his face that leaves you knowing.

How can one read a stranger like they're a book they'd left open on a coffee table, passed by dozens of times? The heat where your clothed sex meet his undeniable erection. a spark sated in nips and kisses you'd been teasing each other with all night, yet there's something unsaid. "We don't have to," you voice it. "I don't want you to do anything you don't want to." The hand that's not secured on his chest and holding you up runs down the front of his robe, the thick and cozy material running beneath your fingertips.

"I want to..." his voice trails off, "I just..."

"Don't want to offend her. I understand," you answer for him. Lips pursing into a thin line, the upward tilt of the inner corners of your eyebrows betray that semblance, showing your empathy. Even if to him it might appear as some sort of pity. "Though... if I may?" You inquire.

"You may," he encourages, curious to hear your thoughts. Warm splayed hands lie on your thinly robed hips keeping you steady and preventing you from grinding down on him and teasing further, even if you aren't presently doing so. A precaution, nonetheless.

"I know I didn't know her, and I've only heard a little, but... if there's anything I can say, I'd think she'd want you to be happy." The sentiment lingers in the air, and you offer him a saddened smile, quickly intent on clarifying. "And I'm not saying that to get you to sleep with me, I just... I think you should know. If anyone hasn't said it, I think any wife that truly loves her husband would eventually want him to find happiness again. However, it may be."

Silence settles in the air for a moment, and his lack of response elicits a spike of anxiety as you continue to voice your thoughts. "I know it probably doesn't mean anything coming from me, a stranger, but I still do believe in what I said," you chuckle, "and that includes people some may otherwise consider criminal, but... I believe there's hope for you. To find another reason."

"Verdammte Hölle," he curses. One of the hands on your hip squeezes for a moment. "I know," he acknowledges, "I just..."

"Haven't since?" You question, noticing the slight pinch of his brows. It's a guess, a posture in relation to the circumstance you both come from.

"Exactly," he affirms. Searching your eyes, you leave him no room for doubt as you lean down so you're chest to chest.

"Then we'll take it slow. If that's what you want," you reassure him, eyes searching his for some sort of clue into his thoughts.

"Yes, just bear with me, Schatz. It's been a while for me," He reveals, a hint of red tinging his cheeks. Whether it be from blush, embarrassment, or lust, you can only think of how handsome it makes him look in the golden light pouring from the bedside lamp.

"Me too, don't worry," you reassure. Hands resettling themselves on his chest, you both lean in, lips easily finding their way back to one another.

~~~~~~~~

translations:

Schatz = treasure, sweetheart, darling

Schön = lovely, beautiful, nice

Verdammte Hölle = fucking hell.

Meine Süße = my darling, sweet, dear, honey

forever taglist: @ohdamnadam , @safarigirlsp , @jynzandtonic , @moonlightsolo

tmt taglist: @wheres-mylove , @ashy-kit

#baron helmut zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #tmt #the missing title #the missing title series #my series #my writing #mcu reader insert #marvel reader insert #helmut zemo x reader smut #tfaws reader insert #the falcon and the winter soldier reader insert #read tags on top

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