#they made it bleed into bulgaria | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cherienymphe · 4 years ago

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Crave (Peter Parker x Reader)

WARNINGS: DUB-CON, NON-CON, vampire!Peter, bloodplay, mentions of animal cruelty, mentions of murder, mentions of X-Men characters

DNI IF THIS OFFENDS YOU

divider provided by @/k1tty4rk

summary: when Peter goes missing while on a mission, he’s not exactly himself when he returns. His appetite is a little different now, and you soon find out that he’s hungry for more than just blood

You should’ve known that something was wrong when your phone went off at nearly 3 in the morning. No one ever called you that late, not even Peter. Your best friend was more likely to slip through your window if he needed something. Groggy with fatigue, it took you a moment to realize that you had not plugged your phone up before going to sleep like you thought, and that it was instead in your sheets somewhere.

“Hello?” you finally grumbled, eyes still closed as you wondered just who in the world was calling you.

“Kid, it’s Tony. Is Peter with you?”

You were suddenly wide awake, blinking your eyes open as you forced yourself to sit up.

“No…? I thought… Isn’t he on a mission?”

Worry began to bleed into your heart, and it only increased at Tony’s words.

“He was, yeah.”

You threw the covers off of you, hurriedly sliding out of bed as you searched for some shoes.

“What do you mean ‘was’?”

The older man sighed, and you noted that his voice shook a little bit. You froze, heart dropping into your stomach as the severity of whatever was going on registered. Tony Stark was worried.

“He was supposed to check in 2 days ago. He was supposed to be back today. Neither of those things have happened.”

“Wh-what do you mean?”

Your pitch had risen, and you didn’t bother to mask your fear.

“I don’t have much time to explain. Capsicle and Robocop are coming with me to see if we can find him. We’re leaving shortly, but my coordinates show that he’s still in Bulgaria. That’s where we sent him. We just haven’t heard a word from him and can’t seem to get in touch with him.”

You could hear things going on in the background, and you figured that they were only moments away from leaving. Your stomach churned, and you felt like you might be sick. If Tony Stark with all of his gadgets and resources couldn’t get ahold of Peter, then something was really wrong.

“Look, I have to go. If he shows up there, let us know immediately.”

He hung up before you had the chance to tell him that you were coming straight to the compound. You stared at your phone for a bit, brows drawn together as you processed this news. You hadn’t thought anything of it when you hadn’t heard from Peter in a few days. He wasn’t a kid anymore, had graduated college alongside you only last year, so his presence on the team was needed a lot more. His missions were less juvenile, so losing touch for a week at a time was nothing new.

As you threw on a coat to combat the biting New York air, you tried not to dwell on the worst. It couldn’t be helped though, and as soon as you stepped into your apartment hallway, shoulder grazing your door, tears filled your eyes. If Tony could see where Peter currently was...and he wasn’t able to get in touch with him...then that meant he was dead right? You shook your head, locking your door and tightening your fingers around your purse. There could be so many reasons for that. It didn’t mean he was dead.

The entire drive to upstate New York was a quiet one. You couldn’t even find it in yourself to fill the car with mind-numbing music to distract you. Your fingers were tight on the wheel, legs so tense that when you finally arrived at the compound, they actually hurt when you stepped out of the car. You leaned your back against the vehicle, the warmth seeping through your coat, and you released an unsteady breath.

You had known Peter since high school, easily finding a place with him and Ned, and eventually, MJ too. When Ned and MJ took their college education elsewhere, you had remained. You told yourself it was to save money, a partial truth, but you never wanted to admit that it was also to stay by Peter’s side. You couldn’t imagine being away from him. It was pathetic really, but Peter was more than some guy you loved. He was your best friend.

“I had a feeling you’d show up here.”

The familiar voice reached your ears, and you looked up at Wanda just as she floated down next to you. Her auburn hair was ruffled with a gentle breeze, her eyes sympathetic as she reached out to pull you into her side.

“They will find him,” she assured you.

You could hear Sam on the phone as soon as she guided you inside of the compound, and he sent you a tense smile and wave, which you returned. You could faintly hear other voices as well, and you figured that everyone who stayed back was wrapped up in doing whatever they could to get in contact with Peter. You felt helpless.

“What can I do?” you asked Wanda, already knowing the answer.

“Just be here,” she told you, making you sigh.

“Wanda…”

You gave her a reproachful look, and she smiled at you.

“We know you’re worried just like the rest of us, probably even more than the rest of us,” you swallowed at her knowing look. “...but everything will be okay. The last thing we need is you putting yourself in harm’s way or bursting a blood vessel.”

You nodded, heeding her words. You made your way to your room with a heavy heart. You were far from being a member of the team, you could barely throw a proper punch, but seeing as you came over so often with Peter, sometimes in the dead of night, Tony decided to have you a room put in. Right next to Peter’s.

One of his old college sweatshirts was on your desk, still there from the last time you borrowed it, and without thinking, you got undressed and put it on. It still smelled like him, and with the scent of your best friend filling your nose, you laid down and sought out sleep.

The next day brought bad news. They had found Peter’s suit, but no Peter. It explained his stationary location and their lack of success with getting in touch with him. You had just stepped into the door of the room when Tony told them, his virtual face wracked with fear and worry, something you weren’t used to seeing.

You could tell that you weren’t meant to hear the news just yet by the way Nat’s eyes widened when she finally noticed you. The rest of the team turned as she hurriedly rose, making her way to you just as your face crumbled.

“Y/N-.”

“Wh-what does that mean? What does he mean?”

Tony’s voice faded as she pulled you from the room, and you almost tripped over your feet as your legs shook.

“Hey, Y/N, it’s going to be okay,” she said, attempting to calm you.

“What does he mean by that? Why doesn’t he have his suit- where is he?”

You were in your room now, and she shushed you as she guided you to your bed. You sat down, staring at your feet as your brain whirled. You hadn’t realized how fast your heart was beating, and your whole body shook as you fought to process this news.

“I don’t understand,” you mumbled, more to yourself than the spy before you.

She came into your vision as she knelt before you, her hands taking yours.

“Me neither,” she mumbled.

You fingered Peter’s shirt. You were still wearing it, just with some jeans, and Nat observed the movement.

“How long?” she quietly asked.

She didn’t need to elaborate. You knew what she was asking.

“Since…” you shrugged, releasing a heavy breath. “...practically since forever.”

“Does he know?”

You sadly shook your head. She pursed her lips, red hair framing her face as she studied you.

“We’re going to find him, and when we do, you can tell him. Okay?”

You nodded.

“Okay,” you quietly replied.

Nat didn’t stay for long, and you guessed that she needed to get back to the team to plan the best course of action. You barely left your room for the rest of the day, not having much of an appetite nor energy for anything. It was late in the evening when you found yourself making your way to Peter’s room. You lost count of how many times you slept in here, but Peter was usually with you, and if not, he at least showed up at some point. You liked waking up to the sound of his soft snores.

It felt weird with him gone, even weirder when you accounted for the fact that you didn’t know when he’d be back. If he’d be back. Your face almost crumbled at the thought, and you laid down, grabbing one of his pillows and hugging it to your chest, unable to stop the tears that spilled over, no matter how much you tried.

You slept in his room for days, and for days there was still no sign of him. The team was beyond worried now. You knew it, no matter how much they tried to portray otherwise. They were getting restless and scared. You couldn’t exactly say that you were any different though.

Sleep was hard to find, and even when you did, you found yourself tossing and turning throughout the night. Every time you woke up, you kept hoping that he’d be there, that you’d hear his voice. You were met with a dark empty room each time though, and it always broke your heart. After Peter had been missing for 8 days, Wanda finally came to you.

“I think you should go home,” she told you.

You were sitting cross legged on Peter’s bed, and she sat before you, hands in her lap with her feet on the floor. You frowned at her, wondering if you had overstayed your welcome, but she continued.

“It’s not that we don’t want you here, because you know we love having you around, but… You do not look good, Y/N.”

You squirmed under her concerned stare, clearing your throat.

“I’m fine,” you quietly argued.

“You’re not, and that’s okay. You just...you look exhausted and worried, and you’ve lost weight. A considerable amount in such a short time. What would Peter think if he came back right now and saw that you weren’t properly taking care of yourself?” she wondered.

Guilt flooded you, and you reluctantly nodded.

“I know that being here brings you some comfort, but I don’t think it’s worth the toll it’s taking on you.”

Your shoulders sagged, and you reluctantly admitted that she was right. You wanted to be near Peter in any way you could, but constantly waiting and listening out for any news was stressing you out.

“Go home. Sleep in your own bed. Get some rest. You can always come back,” she said.

“Okay.”

So, you did. You took a shower as soon as you made it back to your apartment, finding another one of Peter’s shirts he’d left. You forced yourself to at least eat something of substance, and when you had all you could take, you made a cup of tea. You had tried to watch tv, but funnily enough, the news was reporting on a crime that Spider-Man’s had helped solve months ago. Unable to stomach it, you turned the tv off and opted for bed.

Strangely enough, you were able to sleep better in your own bed. It happened quickly, and you didn’t toss or turn much. The first time you floated back to consciousness, it must have been around 3 in the morning. It was the longest you’d slept in days, and you knew that you’d be drifting back soon. However, you faintly noted that goosebumps had erupted over your skin, like you were cold.

Considering it was cold outside, you kept your heater blasting.

You blinked, staring at your window. It was closed, but the curtains were parted, and you could see that it was snowing outside. For the first time in days, a small smile tugged at your lips, and with a sigh, you rolled over. A dark figure was standing beside your bed, and the scream that you let out echoed through the apartment, filled with terror.

You fought back against them as they reached for you, struggling to get away and move further back on the bed. Their hands were cool, like they’d been outside for a while with no gloves. You were sitting up, pushing against them when they reached over and flicked on your lamp. When light flooded the room, your eyes widened.

Peter stood before you, dressed casually in dark clothes and looking completely unharmed. You sharply inhaled, all of your breath leaving you as your lips parted, eyes welling with tears. You blinked a few times, feeling like you might have been dreaming, but Peter remained. You reached out to him with shaking hands, and your vision had started to blur.

“Hey, breathe. Breathe, Y/N,” he softly ordered, brows furrowed.

You did as he said, and your chest burned as you moved closer. You slid off of the bed, moving to stand up, but your legs were unsteady. Peter caught you just as you fell into his arms, wrapping your own around him. You buried your face into his chest, your tears wetting his shirt, and he enveloped you in his arms as he shushed you.

You were shaking so much, and you just couldn’t stop. You couldn’t believe that he was here, and he looked perfectly fine. You sobbed into his chest, and you felt him tighten his arms around you. You clung to him, maneuvering to bury your face into the crook of his neck, feeling guilty about his shirt. You could feel him do the same, his nose brushing against your skin, and he took a long inhale, breathing you in.

“You’re okay,” you blubbered.

“Yeah...yeah, I’m okay,” he whispered.

You pulled away from him, roaming your eyes over him before meeting his own eyes.

“Where...where have you been? Everyone is looking for you,” you softly told him.

“I know,” he replied, looking sheepish.

“We have to call Tony,” you said, reaching for your phone.

Peter stopped you before you could, his hand tight on your wrist, and you found yourself wincing at his harsh grip. You looked at him with a frown, heart skipping a beat at his sudden dark countenance. He swallowed, and your eyes were briefly drawn to the subtle movement in his throat before he eventually let you go.

“I can’t...I can’t go back,” he told you, shaking his head.

Your eyes widened at him, and confusion filled you. What?

“What are...what are you talking about? Everyone is worried sick, more worried than I’ve ever seen them. Peter, they have no idea where you are or if you’re even okay! We should at least tell them-.”

You swallowed the rest of your words as you noticed that he made to leave.

“I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have come here-.”

“Wait, wait!”

You grabbed onto the back of his shirt. You weren’t any match for him, but you were thankful that he halted. You wrapped your arms around him from behind, your lips brushing his shoulder as you spoke.

“Stay. Please stay,” you whispered.

His shoulders heaved as he sighed, and you continued.

“I’m sorry, okay? We don’t...we don’t have to tell them anything. If you don’t want to go back that’s fine, but… I’ve been so worried.”

That last part was said so softly, it was a wonder he even heard you. He didn’t say anything, nor did he move for a while, but eventually he turned around, and you let your arms fall. When your eyes met his again, you watched the way they narrowed, forehead creasing just a bit. You didn’t understand why until he reached up to press his fingers to the skin beneath your eyes. You could see the disapproval in his eyes, and all you could offer was a shrug.

“I was so worried.”

Peter blinked, face falling before he pulled you into his arms again. You returned the hug and let your eyes fall closed, just basking in the feel of him. You could hear his heartbeat, so slow...and so faint, something that seemed impossible. You told yourself you were imagining it.

“You’ll stay, right?”

He threw you a small smile when you pulled back to look at him, and you watched the way his dark eyes ran over you, lingering on your neck a tad longer than the rest of you before his eyes met yours again.

“Yeah, I’ll stay.”

You smiled at him, pulling him towards your bed. You settled in, only just realizing how cold you had gotten, while Peter got in behind you. Your head hit the pillow just as he turned the light out, and you frowned when you noticed that he wasn’t completely laying down. He was on his side, facing you with his head propped up onto his hand.

“You’re not tired?”

His eyes trailed to your window, staring out into the night for a moment before he shook his head.

“No...not really.”

You chuckled.

“So you’re just going to watch me sleep?” you wondered.

He reached towards you with his other hand, brushing his fingers along your neck and collarbone, fingers cool against your warm skin. A shudder passed through you.

“I missed you,” was his only answer, and it made your heart soar.

You knew that he didn’t miss you like you missed him, but it made you happy to hear that nonetheless.

“I missed you too.”

He didn’t respond, and you closed your eyes, the feel of his fingers on your skin oddly soothing. He always made you nervous, but not tonight. You wondered if it was because you had gone without him for so long, unsure if he would ever return. Sleep was just within your reach, but something weighed on your mind that prevented you from grabbing hold of it.

“Why don’t you want to go back?”

Your voice was small in the otherwise quiet room, and when Peter didn’t answer right away, you peeled your eyes open. He had stopped touching you, fingers curling into the covers as his jaw clenched.

“They won’t want me back.”

You frowned, forcing yourself to sit up. You blinked at him a few times, lips parting as you processed what that meant. Why wouldn’t they want him back? Peter was part of the team, one of the most loved members of the team. Said team was practically sick with worry, had been for over a week. Despite the fact that Peter was right in front of you and seemingly safe and sound, worry began to take hold again.

“Why wouldn’t they want you back?”

Your best friend didn’t answer you, and your worry grew, heartbeat picking up. Peter’s eyes were on you now as he sat up too, so focused and intense.

“What happened on your mission, Peter? What happened in Bulgaria?”

Again, Peter didn’t respond, but the minute you moved closer to him, he snatched your arm. Startled, you almost fell over, but his fingers curled around your wrist and pulled you closer, guiding the palm of your hand right to his chest.

Where his heart was.

Again, like before, you noted that his heartbeat was so slow. And even fainter. It was almost nonexistent, and your brows crinkled. You had felt and heard his heartbeat many times before since he’d become Spider-Man, and you knew that this was no effect of the spider bite. You had a hard time wrapping your mind around what you were feeling, and you looked at him again.

“I have...I have to tell you something…”

You fought to keep your worry at bay, noting the way Peter’s voice shook.

“I may even have to show you...but you have to promise me…”

His hand tightened on your wrist, and he released a shaky breath.

“...promise me that you won’t be scared.”

Scared of Peter? He was your best friend, and you couldn’t ever imagine being afraid of him. Still, you felt like he needed this so you nodded.

“Okay.”

Peter’s side of the bed was empty when you woke up, and your heart lurched in a mild panic before you realized why. The sun shone through your window, bathing your room in the warm rays, and you swallowed as you wondered where he could’ve gone.

“I’m right here.”

You snapped your head up to find him standing in the hall, just outside of your doorway. He was out of the sun’s reach, and you slid out of bed to join him. He was watching you like he couldn’t anticipate your next move, and you sent him a smile to reassure him.

“Do you...need anything…?”

You didn’t come right out and say it, but you both knew what you were asking. He studied you for a moment before shaking his head.

“No. I...ate before I came here last night,” he told you.

You nodded and folded your arms over your chest with a long sigh. You could feel his eyes on you as you looked away.

“Look, Peter...I know you're not going to like what I have to say, but…”

You chanced a glance at him and found his dark eyes narrowed at you.

“I think you need to tell Tony.”

He briefly closed his eyes before letting them fall to the ground, hands shoved in his pockets.

“If anyone can help you, he can.”

Peter scoffed, a humorless sound.

“Help me with what? It’s not like he can fix this, Y/N. This goes past Tony Stark and all of his intellect,” he practically spat, frustration coloring his tone. “This is what I am now.”

You grabbed his hands, squeezing them as you moved closer.

“I know, I know. I just meant...maybe he can help you safely get what you need.”

His eyes met yours, albeit reluctantly.

“...and maybe he can help you control your appetite better. That way...that way you won’t hurt anyone else,” you quietly finished, recalling everything he’d told you.

Guilt passed through Peter’s features at the reminder of what he’d done. He closed his eyes, practically squeezing them shut as his shoulders heaved, a small sigh escaping him.

“Maybe...you’re right,” he hesitantly admitted.

You could see the war going on within him when he opened his eyes, conflict and guilt and self-loathing all passing over his face.

“Hey.”

He looked at you.

“You’re still you. You just...your diet’s a little different now, that’s all.”

He cracked a smile, a small chuckle leaving him, and you joined him.

“When the sun goes down, we’ll go to the compound, and...and everything will be okay,” you promised him.

He nodded, and hours later, when the sun was safely behind the horizon, that was what you did. You drove. Peter was still wary of his new strength, strength that far surpassed what he had before. Your wrist was still sore from when he’d grabbed you last night, but you didn’t want him to feel any worse than he already did.

Having called Tony on the way, he was waiting outside when you arrived. As per requested, he was the only one. You didn’t want Peter to get overwhelmed. You weren’t exactly sure of what he was capable of now, neither one of you really were, and you didn’t want to stress him out.

Tony had pulled him into a hug the minute he reached him, and your heart clenched for many reasons. You hoped that you’d made the right decision. Tony loved Peter. He’d help him, right? When he pulled away, the bearded man’s eyes flickered between the two of you with a frown.

“So you’re going to tell me what the hell this is all about?”

Before you could respond, Peter moved to pull him inside.

“It’s a long story, Mr. Stark…”

His voice trailed off as they went inside, and with a small sigh, you eventually followed. Neither one of them were present, and you figured that they went to the lab. You had a feeling that everyone else was there too, or at least not far off. They’d been worried sick and now Peter was back, seemingly unharmed. Of course they’d be concerned and curious.

Wanda was the only one who greeted you, and her eyes were wide as they met yours. They were a bit accusatory, even fearful, and you pursed your lips. She probably didn’t mean to, but it was easy to guess that she’d been inside of Peter’s head. She knew, and there was no telling what she saw.

“Y/N…?”

You shook your head.

“He’s still him, Wanda. Okay? Everything is going to be fine.”

She didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t argue as you moved past her to go to your room. You didn’t see anyone else the rest of the night, and you knew that they were all caught up with Peter. Figuring out how this happened, running tests, coming up with the best course of action. You were in and out of sleep when you heard Peter come into your room in the early hours of the morning.

He wrapped his arms around you as he slid in behind you, and even though he wasn’t as warm as he used to be, the familiarity of it all immediately relaxed you. You felt him bury his nose in your hair, taking a deep breath as he breathed you in, fingers brushing over the skin of your arms.

“Everything okay?” you mumbled, referring to Tony and the rest of the team.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “He wants me to drink pig’s blood, but yeah. Everything’s okay.”

You chuckled at that, sleep finding you once more as you smiled at Peter’s joke. However, it was the next day when you discovered that he hadn’t been joking at all.

“You’re serious?”

Peter nodded with a frown, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the counter.

“He wants to start weaning me off of human blood and start transitioning to animal blood,” he grumbled.

You noted that he wasn’t happy about that, and your curiosity got the better of you.

“Is that bad?”

“Not necessarily, no,” he sighed. “He thinks it’ll help me. That maybe I’ll...crave human blood less and it’ll lower my chances of losing control around someone.”

You blinked, wondering if you agreed with that.

“I mean, he doesn’t exactly know. This is all just trial and error, right now, because probably for the first time in Mr. Stark’s life, he’s stumped,” Peter said with a shrug. “...but it’s worth a shot.”

You felt like there was more to it, like he wanted to say something else.

“He doesn’t know that I already tried that,” he whispered.

You leaned against the opposite counter, watching as his frown deepened, eyes troubled.

“When I woke up...I felt like I had swallowed fire,” he murmured. “My teeth hurt, my throat burned, and my mind was going a mile a minute. I felt like I was losing it.”

He sounded angry as he glared at the floor.

“The only thing that even smelled slightly appealing was…”

He trailed off, shaking his head, a light chuckle leaving him.

“I must have killed at least 100 animals. Anything I could get my hands on… It was like an itch I couldn’t scratch, only 1,000 times worse. It wasn’t until...it wasn’t until I came across those hikers…”

He swallowed his words, letting his face fall into his hands. You neared him, resting your hand on his arm.

“It was the first time I’d felt okay in days. I could finally freaking think,” he said through clenched teeth, letting his hands fall. “There I was...covered in blood...surrounded by bodies of innocent people...and I was finally at peace.”

You pulled him into a hug as he recounted what he’d already told you. You knew that Peter wouldn’t ever forget that moment, but God, you wanted him to. That wasn’t who he was, you knew it, and you wanted him to know it too. He pressed his face into the crook of your neck, nose brushing over the skin, and his hands rested on your waist.

Your conversation with Nat weighed on your heart. Like she’d said, Peter was back, and you could finally tell him, but it didn’t seem appropriate. The man had been attacked and turned into something you thought only existed in books. This was a hard time for him, and it seemed silly to drop one more thing onto him, one more thing that could definitely wait.

“I wouldn’t get too close to him if I were you, Y/N. He might mistake you for a quarter pounder.”

You pulled away just as Bucky’s deep chuckle reached your ears, and you turned to see both him and Sam enter the kitchen. Sam seemed pleased with his little joke.

“You’re not funny,” you told him, completely unamused.

“It’s a little funny,” Bucky disagreed, and you huffed.

You felt Peter pull away, and by the time you looked over your shoulder, he was gone.

“Seriously?”

You threw them an incredulous look, and Sam shrugged.

“Look, we’ve got to find some humor in this okay? The kid’s got fangs and he lives off of blood now,” Sam said like it was the most absurd thing in the world.

Considering that you all were friends with literal Gods and even a woman who controlled the weather, you were inclined to disagree.

“This is hard for him, okay?”

You weren’t sure if they knew the full extent of what he’d done, but you heard Sam sigh, and Bucky at least looked a little sheepish.

“I’m sure he’ll joke about it when he’s ready, but please let him do it in his own time. His whole life has changed...again.”

“Yeah, well, welcome to the club,” Bucky sighed.

You rolled your eyes and turned away with a scoff.

“What’d I say?” you heard Bucky ask, but you were already making your way to Peter’s room.

You were surprised that he told you to come in when you knocked, and you slowly stepped inside. He was on his bed, hand behind his head as he scrolled through his phone.

“You okay?”

He let his hand fall, greeting you with a smile.

“Yeah, I’m good. They don’t mean any harm, so I’m not going to let it get to me,” he replied, reaching for you.

You joined him on the bed, laying your head on his shoulder as he told F.R.I.D.A.Y to turn on the tv.

“Want to watch a movie with me? As silly as it seems, all I could think about was curling up with you and watching a movie the whole time I was away,” he confessed.

Your heart fluttered, sure he could hear it, but he didn’t comment on it. His arm slid around your waist, pulling you closer, and you nodded.

“Yeah, I’d love to.”

His hand tightened on your hip as you figured out what movie to put on.

Every day, Peter went to the lab with Tony and Bruce, and every time he returned, he always seemed irritated. You tried not to comment on the harshness of his eyes and tautness of his jaw, but eventually, you had to express your concern.

“It’s nothing,” he told you one day. “They just keep treating me like some science experiment gone wrong.”

He played it off like no big deal, but you could tell that he was genuinely bothered.

“...and its this stupid diet or whatever you can even call it! It’s not working. It’s not satisfying or fulfilling, at all. I can’t taste a damn thing, I’m just drinking to get full? If that’s what you can even call it. It does absolutely nothing to satisfy me or quell this desire…”

He trailed off at your light chuckle.

“Alright, Edward Cullen.”

He threw you a hard look, and you swallowed your laughs. While he was finally making jokes about the situation himself now, you realized that now was not the time.

“Sorry…”

He heaved a long sigh, turning to stare out of the window.

“You wanna get out of here?” he suddenly asked.

You blinked at him.

“Now?”

He glanced at the clock, and so did you. It was almost 2 in the morning.

“I can’t think of a better time,” he replied.

You chewed on your lip.

“Where?”

“Anywhere,” he shrugged. “Just for a little bit…”

He hadn’t left the compound in weeks, Tony far too paranoid, and you could see how much he needed this.

“Okay.”

That was how 40 minutes later, you found your car parked near a small pond while you and Peter leaned against it, staring at the full moon. Neither one of you had said anything since you left, and you guessed that Peter was in his thoughts. You couldn’t blame him.

“You know, if I’d been bitten by a werewolf, we’d be having a totally different night, right now.”

You barked a laugh, and he joined you.

“If you were bitten by a werewolf, I’d be trying to play fetch with you,” you replied.

He chuckled again, and the two of you fell into another easy silence. Your eyes narrowed a bit as something weighed on your mind, and you suddenly crossed your arms over your chest.

“Why won’t Tony let you have any human blood? I mean, blood banks exist…”

Peter sighed, a frustrated sound, and you turned to look at him. The cool nightly breeze blew his dark hair around his face, and his jaw clenched.

“He thinks it’ll make me crave it more. Kind of like an addict, you know?”

You shook your head, disagreeing with that.

“...but...it’s not. This is part of your DNA, now, is it not? He shouldn’t be looking at it like a drug but instead like...food. It’s what you need to survive, now,” you explained.

“You’re right...but that’s blood I’d be taking away from people who need it. Besides, it’d be pretty messed up of me to…‘convince’ some stranger to let me drink from them and then alter their memory of the whole thing,” he mumbled.

“That’s right. You did tell me you can do that, now,” you mused.

“I’m pretty sure it’ll come in handy during missions. You know, if I ever go on one again,” he complained.

Your heart hurt for Peter. His entire life had been turned on its head again. He couldn’t go on missions, couldn’t even see his aunt, and on top of it all, he couldn’t even satisfy the craving his body had for what it actually needed. You pursed your lips and glanced at him again. You were positive he noticed before, but this time he commented on it.

“What?”

You glanced away from him, heart speeding up a bit as you wrung your hands together.

“What about me?”

He didn’t respond right away, and when you looked at him again, his eyes were on you. They were narrowed, hard, but you could see the spark of something in them that gave you hope that maybe this wasn’t such a horrible idea after all. Peter’s lips parted, his sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight before he snapped his mouth shut. He cleared his throat.

“You...you would do that?”

“Of course,” you said with a frown, turning your body completely to face him. “This is what you need, and you’re my best friend, and I’m willing. So you don’t have to let your morals get in the way.”

Peter stared at you for what seemed like a long time, eyes roaming over every inch of you. You watched as he swallowed, the conflict written all over his face. You could see that he was scared, afraid that he’d hurt you, but you could also see the fire in his eyes, the desire to take you up on your offer.

“Worst case scenario-.”

“You die?”

You rolled your eyes at him, stepping closer.

“You won’t let me die, Peter. We both know it,” you whispered, pushing your sleeve up and holding your arm out.

Peter’s dark eyes snapped to the bared skin, no doubt tracing the veins that you couldn’t see. Hesitantly, he grabbed your wrist, taking a deep breath before slowly lifting your arm as he bent his head. His breath, like everything else about him now, was cool against your skin. You watched as he closed his eyes, dark lashes contrasting against his fair skin, before opening his mouth. You barely got a glimpse of his sharp canines in all of their glory before they were sinking into your arm.

The reaction from you both was instantaneous.

A loud gasp escaped you, but not from pain. No. Your body heated up like never before, blood on fire as Peter let out an equally loud groan. An addicting sense of euphoria descended over you, and you felt your legs shaking, lashes fluttering as you struggled to keep your eyes open. Sensing this, Peter reached out with his free hand and tangled it within your hair, pulling you closer until your head leaned against his shoulder.

You could feel him moving forward, and he didn’t stop until your back was against your car. His hand tightened in your hair, almost painfully, but all you let out was a moan, your breath choppy and lips trembling as he pressed his leg in between yours. Your free hand clutched his jacket, attempting to pull him closer, and a low moan escaped his own throat as he pushed his thigh more firmly against your now heated core.

You faintly noted that this was a lot more erotic than you anticipated, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. He was still pressing your head to his shoulder, and your lips brushed the fabric of his jacket as you murmured his name.

“Peter...Peter…”

You couldn’t tell if you were asking him to stop or not, but considering this was the best high you’d ever been on, you concluded that you were not. Suddenly, all too soon, Peter practically ripped himself away from you, and you would’ve fallen to the ground if he hadn’t caught you. Your chest was heaving, so was his, and when you peeled your eyes open, his own wide ones were focused on you.

“Shit,” he cursed, looking like he was seconds away from getting in trouble. “Shit, shit, shit. I shouldn’t have done that. Mr. Stark is going to kill me…”

“Hey...it’s okay,” you panted, weakly reaching up to brush a dark strand out of his face. “I’m okay. How do you feel?”

He seemed stumped by the question, and he suddenly blinked, brows drawn together as he stared down at you. His lips were stained with your blood.

“I...haven’t felt this satisfied in weeks,” he whispered, looking at you strangely.

You weakly chuckled, eyes fluttering closed.

“Good.”

You had only been seconds away from falling when he caught you, and he finally straightened as he lifted you into his arms. You could feel yourself on the verge of sleep...or was it the verge of death? Either way, you were happy that Peter was happy. He gently deposited you into the passenger’s seat, strapping you into place. Your head lolled as he shut the door, facing him as he settled behind the wheel.

You could feel his eyes on you, and with difficulty, you opened yours again. He was staring at you with that look again, and you were sure he thought you crazy for putting your life in danger like that. The car was quiet, just the sound of your shallow breathing could be heard, and you thought to yourself that you kind of wanted to tell him you loved him. However, before you could, Peter leaned over and pressed his blood-stained lips to yours.

It was quick and soft, just the barest of touches, but it made your eyes widen nonetheless. You stared at him as he sat back and started the car, and you wanted to keep staring at him, wanted to ask him what the hell was that, but sleep finally got to you before you could.

It was days before you finally discussed what had happened, and that was only because it was days before Peter needed to “feed” again.

“I think I can go longer without when it’s human blood...because it’s what actually satisfies me. What my body needs,” he murmured one night while you were watching a movie you’d both seen a million times.

“That’s a good thing. Surely Tony will see that this is the best thing to do. This is what will keep you in control and allow you to go on missions again...see your aunt May…”

You had decided to keep what happened between the two of you, but you didn’t exactly feel right about it. Peter sighed and shook his head.

“No. I think he’d send me away,” he quietly told you.

You quickly moved your head to look up at him, your cheek on his chest as you stared at him with wide eyes.

“What are you talking about?”

“He’s been doing research, trying to find others like me. I think he has. I overheard him talking to the captain and Sam one day. He’s thinking about sending me somewhere I can learn to control my thirst and utilize my new…abilities or whatever,” he grumbled.

You fully sat up now, looking down at him with a stricken expression. His eyes finally moved away from the screen, and he smiled at you, rubbing your back in a soothing manner.

“I’m not going to let him send me away, Y/N, but he’ll definitely try if we tell him what happened.”

You nodded, forcing your heart to slow before you laid back down. Peter’s hand was still on your back, tracing patterns into your, well, his shirt. You listened to his slow heartbeat, the organ pumping what was left of your blood through his body. Your lashes fluttered when he dragged his fingers up to your neck, the appendages playing with the hair there. You found yourself humming when he tightened his hold there, and you looked up in confusion, prepared to ask him what he was doing when his other hand gripped your arm, and he pulled you up.

His lips met yours in a kiss that was nothing like the first one. You gasped against his mouth, and he wasted no time before taking the opportunity to taste the inside of yours. Peter moaned into the kiss, circling both arms around you now as he rolled the both of you over. He settled himself between your parted legs, and you sharply inhaled at the bulge you felt there.

Peter’s hand traveled to your neck again, grasping the hair at the nape, holding you in place as he dragged his mouth down. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he bit you, throwing your hands out to grasp anything you could. Your right hand hit the lamp on the nightstand, and it fell to the floor with a soft crash. Peter’s other hand pressed into your back, forcing you to arch your chest into his.

His hips were rolling into yours, his clothed member pressing against the most sensitive part of you so deliciously. You let out a soft moan, one hand clawing at his shirt, pushing the fabric up to drag your nails along his back. Peter had you completely pinned in between him and the mattress, every curve of his hips sending pleasure through you.

“Peter,” you moaned, reaching up to drag your hand along the headboard. “Fuck, Peter.”

You could feel your blood crawling past your neck, staining his sheets, but he didn’t seem to care. The bed shook a bit from his movements, and you hooked one leg on his waist as he continued to grind into you. You could feel yourself fading, and you welcomed it, and before you could, one particularly slow roll of his hips sent you over the edge.

You were a moaning mess as you came beneath him, his teeth still embedded in your neck. Your whole body shook, legs practically vibrating as they fell around him, chest heaving as he finally pulled away. He licked at your neck, and your arms fell to the bed, soft murmurs leaving your lips to which Peter chuckled at. He brushed his thumb over your lip before leaning back down, lips grazing your ear.

“Go to sleep,” he whispered. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You did, he was, and he greeted you with a kiss, further filling you with confusion as you wondered just what you were. You didn’t want to ruin it, didn’t want to break the spell by trying to make him define this. You simply wanted to enjoy whatever this was, and enjoy it you did.

Every few days or so, you found yourself squirming beneath Peter one way or another. Sometimes he simply pressed kisses along your neck as he rolled his hips into yours, sometimes his teeth were in you, and sometimes his fingers were in you, the sound of it so loud as he thrust them in and out of your fluttering core. The rest of the team was none the wiser as you both satisfied each other in more ways than one. It was usually in the dead of night when everyone else was asleep, and Peter was wide awake.

“Ngh, Peter,” you panted, fingers twisted into his dark locks.

You were completely naked before him, a first, as he swiped his tongue over your wet folds, another first. His own fingers were pressed into your thighs, holding them down in a way that hurt so good. The cool air hit the bite mark on the inside of your left thigh, and you hissed as Peter slid his tongue past your slick walls, tasting every inch of you that he could.

A thin layer of sweat covered your frame, and you realized that you lost track of how long Peter had been alternating between tasting your blood and tasting your lips. His mouth completely covered you, and you shuddered when he sucked on your little bundle of nerves, sharp teeth grazing your sensitive skin.

You could feel your...3rd? 4th? Or was it the 5th climax of the night that you felt approaching? You were so tired, but Peter didn’t seem to have gotten his fill of you, and his lips kissed along your mound before traveling to the space in the crease of your thigh before he swiped his tongue over your thigh itself, the unmarked one. It was dark in the room, and when Peter glanced up at you, dark promises in his eyes, you noted that they almost seemed to glow in the dark, like that of a feline.

He wasted no time before sinking his teeth into your skin again, and you pressed your hand to your mouth to keep from making too much noise. You knew that he’d ordered F.R.I.D.A.Y to soundproof the room, but it was a force of habit by now. Your climax crashed over you like a tidal wave, and that was how you fell asleep that night, with Peter’s face in between your legs, drinking from you in any way he saw fit.

“Look who decided to grace us with her presence,” Bucky sarcastically greeted as you walked into the kitchen the next morning.

Steve threw you a sheepish smile, visibly sorry on Bucky’s behalf for his behavior.

“Cut it out, Buck.”

“I’m just acknowledging that the princess has been holed up in her room more often than not as of late. If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve thought you went home, but I noticed that you’re still eating my cereal, the only other person who eats the kind I like, so…”

You rolled your eyes as he trailed off, and he reached out to pull on your shirt as you neared.

“What’s with the turtleneck, squirt? I know it’s freezing outside, but in case you haven’t noticed, it’s 77 degrees in here.”

You tensed at his words, and you ignored the way Steve eyed you over his mug.

“I just think I’m coming down with something is all. I’m a little chillier than usual today,” you lied.

He simply hummed, and that was when you finally noticed his attire. Steve too.

“Are you guys going on a mission?”

“You’d know the answer to that if you actually left your room once in a while,” Bucky grumbled, and Steve lightly shoved his shoulder.

“Yeah, the whole team’s heading out. Well...except…” Steve trailed off, and you nodded. “...but Nat and Sam are supposed to be returning from their assignment today, so they’ll be back later.”

You nodded at Steve’s words, not quite liking the way that he was studying you. You hurriedly poured your own cup of coffee, quietly telling them to “be safe” before moving to get out of Steve’s watchful eye.

Hours later found you and Peter on the couch, hardly paying any attention to the movie before you. You had the compound to yourselves, something you looked forward to, but Peter had other ideas than that of what you were thinking.

“You want to...leave?”

You frowned at him, unsure that you heard him right. Peter was facing you with his elbow on the back of the couch, propping his head up as his other hand traced your collarbone.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “Mr. Stark...I think he’s getting serious about sending me away for a while. I think he suspects us, but I’m not sure.”

You mulled over his suggestion, unsure of how you felt about it.

“They couldn’t even find me last time. I’d make sure they’d never find us,” he told you.

“I...I don’t know. I mean, I love you, but I’d miss everyone else,” you replied.

When you looked to him, he looked surprised, and his lips parted as he blinked at you.

“...what?”

Your brows drew together.

“What?”

He scooted closer, a slow grin forming on his pink lips.

“You love me?”

You scoffed at him.

“Of course. Peter, I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember,” you finally confessed.

You thought that it would’ve been obvious by now, but Peter just looked as if you told him he’d won a million dollars. Before you could register it, he reached out to pull you into a kiss. It was passionate and full of yearning...and hungry. You wrapped your arms around his neck and moved closer, Peter’s hand pressing into the small of your back. His lips trailed from your own down to your jaw, pressing kisses there and to your neck. You’d changed shirts as soon as everyone had left.

You knew what he wanted, what he needed, and you welcomed it as he pressed his teeth into your skin. A breathy moan climbed out of your throat as he laid you down. Your heart was going haywire in your chest, the realization that Peter returned your feelings finally hitting you. His hands ran over you, brushing over your breasts and down your sides before he hooked them underneath your thighs.

He pressed his bloody lips to your décolletage, nipping at the skin there before they grazed the swell of your breasts. He bit into the flesh that spilled over the top of your shirt, and you trembled beneath him, a loud moan escaping you. He growled into your skin, fingers pressing into your thighs almost painfully. You weren’t sure how long you remained beneath him, lashes fluttering and lips parted as ecstasy clouded your mind, but eventually, you felt yourself fading in a way you had never felt before.

Your vision blurred, and you could feel your heart starting to slow.

“Peter,” you worriedly murmured.

He seemed preoccupied with releasing himself from his jeans, fingers brushing over you as he reached underneath your skirt. You opened your mouth to protest, but all that came out was a choked sound, the sound transforming into a breathy gasp when he thrust into you.

“Peter,” you weakly called.

You could feel yourself fading fast, and Peter’s own breath was harsh as he drank from you, snapping his hips into yours with every thrust. You could faintly hear a door opening, and you wanted to warn him, but you could hardly move, let alone speak. Darkness creeped along the edge of your vision, and the last thing you heard before going under was a feminine scream.

You knew that you were in the infirmary before you even opened your eyes. The steady beep of the monitor next to you told you that whatever condition you had been in was pretty serious. You struggled to open them, but when your eyes finally peeled open, you noticed that the room was empty.

“Ms. Y/L/N, you’re awake,” F.R.I.D.A.Y noted. “I will inform Mr. Stark immediately.”

You cringed, squeezing your eyes shut at the mention of the last superhero you wanted to see. You just knew that you were going to get an earful, and you didn’t really care to hear it. You just wanted to know where Peter was and if he was okay.

Tony burst through the doors a lot sooner than you would have liked, and you avoided his eye. He didn’t say anything, and you knew that he was angry, because when did Tony Stark ever have absolutely nothing to say?

“Are you insane?” he finally wondered, and you sighed.

“Where’s Peter?”

“That doesn’t matter right now,” he snapped, and you finally looked at him as he stomped towards your bed. “You could’ve died.”

You shrank underneath his cold stare and harsh words, glancing away.

“Do you get that, Y/N? When Nat and Sam got here…”

He trailed off, face reddening as he was no doubt recalling what he’d been told, probably what he’d even seen thanks to F.R.I.D.A.Y. You watched as he swallowed, releasing a breath.

“Any later, and you would’ve been dead,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry,” you quietly told him. “I just wanted to help him.”

He heaved a long sigh, a tired and exasperated sound.

“I know you love him…”

You frowned at that, wondering if the whole damn team knew.

“...but he needs help from people who can help him. Help him to control himself, hone his new skills, help him so that he doesn’t kill you,” Tony finished, and you blinked back tears. “Go home and let us handle Peter. When the time is right, he’ll be able to see you again.”

The tears finally spilled over, and with a shake of his head, Tony left you. After a few more days in the infirmary, and several blood transfusions later, you did as Tony instructed. It felt strange to be back home after spending nearly 2 months at the compound with Peter. As you entered your room, sitting on your bed, you felt silly.

Tony had been right. You had almost died. You recalled the feel of your life literally slipping away as Peter drank from you, too lost in the taste and feel of you to notice that he was losing control. You had only wanted to help him, and you had ended up making things worse. Was Tony right to treat it like an addiction? Had you hindered Peter more than you helped him? You didn’t know. All you knew was that your actions almost led to your death at Peter’s hand, and that Tony’s actions had not.

You didn’t know where Peter was, but you had faith that he was alright. You hoped that Tony didn’t give him too hard of a time for what he’d done, but you knew that was unlikely. Nat, poor Nat, had literally walked in on him feeding from you and fucking you. There was no telling what the poor woman thought, and you hated the idea of them treating Peter like some wild animal that needed to be caged.

It was 3 nights later when you woke up to the feel of fingers ghosting over the side of your face as you slept. It took you a moment to register what was happening, but when you blinked your eyes open, you were surprised to come face to face with Peter as he stood over you.

“P-Peter?”

You struggled to sit up, and you rubbed your eyes, noting the way his own dark ones lingered on your neck.

“What are you doing here?”

“We’re getting out of here. C’mon,” he said, reaching for you.

You frowned at him, and you watched his own face fall.

“I don’t...I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you honestly told him.

He frowned at you, and guilt tore through you for more reasons than one.

“Don’t listen to Mr. Stark-.”

“Maybe I should’ve. Maybe...maybe he knew what he was talking about,” you said, cutting him off.

His hand fell to his side, and his dark eyes narrowed on you.

“You’re afraid of me,” he murmured.

“No! No...not really-.”

He cut you off with an angry sigh, and you folded your arms over your chest.

“I almost died, Peter!”

You watched the conflict on his features, brows furrowing ever so slightly.

“...and you would’ve never forgiven yourself...and I feel like it’s my fault…”

Peter stood over you, dressed plainly but darkly, chocolate locks kissing his forehead as he stared at you. He didn’t look happy.

“So you’re taking his side,” he surmised.

“I just think you should hear him out,” you whispered. “We tried it our way...and look what happened.”

He didn’t say anything, and neither did you. You sat there, and he stood there, both of you just staring at each other. You watched the way Peter’s jaw clenched, and he suddenly reached out to tangle his fingers in your hair, pulling you into a kiss as he neared. You pressed your hands against his chest, but Peter forced his way onto your bed, knees pressed into the mattress on either side of you as he moved his mouth against yours.

“Mm, Peter,” you protested, turning your head away.

“They think I raped you, you know,” he quietly said, the loud sound of tearing fabric filling the room as he ripped your t-shirt straight down the middle.

Your eyes went wide at his words, and he chuckled, the corner of his lips quirking upwards into a smirk.

“Oh, yeah. They think I coerced you with my new abilities or even just flat out bit you and took you anyway I saw fit,” he whispered.

The irony of the situation was not lost on you, and you desperately fought against him. Your underwear was next, and you were no match against Peter’s newfound strength as he batted your hands away, moving to remove his own clothes.

“They don’t know that I had you squirming beneath me, purring and mewling like a desperate kitten.”

His voice was husky, thick with the desire to sink both his teeth and cock into you. He gripped your legs, separating them like it was nothing despite your efforts to keep them closed.

“They think that you’re bad for me…”

It was embarrassingly easy for him to slide into you, your velvet walls giving him a wet welcome. He sighed out as he pressed into you, dark eyes somehow darker.

“...they think I’ve formed some supernatural bond with you, some kind of blood tie…”

A choked moan slipped past your lips as he started to thrust into you, and Peter leaned down to press kisses to the corner of your mouth.

“...and they might be right, but it only cements what we both know.”

His hands pressed into the sheets beside your head, his labored breathing reaching your ears as he pulled back and snapped his hips into yours again and again. Your head was spinning from the way he dragged his cock through your clenching walls, completely unrelenting in his pace. While this technically wasn’t the first time he fucked you, it was the first time you were coherent enough to truly feel what was happening.

“Peter,” you murmured.

His nose brushed against yours with every thrust, and he released a shaky breath.

“...and what do we both know?”

There was a desperation in his eyes that took you by surprise, and your heart clenched.

“Say it...for me…”

You swallowed, lashes fluttering as he slowed down his thrusts.

“I’m yours.”

His own eyes fell closed at the admission, slowly sinking himself into you, basking in the feel of you wrapped around him.

“You gave me your blood...your body…”

He leaned down to trail kisses along your neck, rolling his hips against yours.

“...and you’ll give me your soul. You’re mine in every way a woman possibly can be. In every way a human can be,” he purred, sharp teeth grazing over your warm flesh.

His words made your stomach flutter, walls clenching around him, and just then, your phone buzzed. Like that first night, it was in your sheets somewhere, and the continuous buzzing told you that it was a phone call. You had a guess as to who it could be and what they wanted.

They were looking for Peter.

You looked to him when he paused, watching as his face darkened. He wrapped his hand around your noisy phone before throwing it at the wall, the device shattering upon impact. His dark eyes met yours again, and he kissed you, stealing your breath away as he moved within you again.

“They want to know if I’m with you...if you’re safe…”

You could feel him smiling against your lips, and your nails pressed into his sides, hanging on as he pushed his knees beneath your thighs, widening your legs and forcing a guttural moan from you.

“They think you’re in danger around me...and they’re probably right, but not the kind of danger they’re thinking of.”

One of his hands fisted itself into your hair, pulling your head back, baring your throat to him, and you knew what was coming.

“You don’t know how much I fought with myself that first night...how badly I wanted to tear into you anyway I could,” he whispered, voice strained. “You were all I thought about when I was attacked...when I changed…”

His hips sped up, the sound of slapping skin filling the room as he pistoned into you.

“For your sake, I’m glad you gave yourself to me, because I planned to take you from the very moment I stepped into your bedroom.”

His teeth pressed into your neck, breaking the skin, and your climax washed over you, euphoria clouding your mind and senses as Peter drank from you. His thrusts didn’t stop, and one hand pressed into the headboard above you, blood staining your pillow as the bed shook from the movement of his thrusts. You knew that Peter was far from done for the night, finally claiming what he felt was rightfully his.

tags: @darkficreposter @xoxabs88xox @harryspet @readermia @opheliadawnwalker3 @nickyl316h @captainchrisstan @sebabestianstan101 @villanellevi @lokislastlove @notyourtypicalrose @coconutqueen21 @hurricanerin @hyoyeoniie @kellyn1604 @sherrybaby14 @cocoamoonmalfoy @mandiiblanche @gotnofucks @oneoftheprettynerds @doozywoozy @sapphirescrolls @threeminutesoflife @searchforanotherway @mcudarklibrary @ksjksjkv @darkficsyouneveraskedfor

#dark!peter parker #dark peter parker #Dark!Peter #dark peter x reader #peter parker x reader #marvel fanfiction #Dark Fic

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hazzoranstories · 4 years ago

Text

Damon Salvatore x Reader One Shot | Katerina’s Sabotage Part 5

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Includes: Violence, murder, harsh language, childbirth, and blood

________________________________________________________________________________

A/N: Italicized is when characters are speaking in Bulgarian

*Bulgaria; 1490*

Katerina's screams filled the room once more as her mother encouraged her to keep going and get this child out of her. All the Petrova's were panicking, rumbling in Bulgarian until they heard a baby's cry join her mother's pants. 14-year-old Y/N grinned at her sister, who had sweat glistening her face. The younger Petrova hugged her sister who's breathing began to mellow down.

"It's a girl," their mother announced and held up the newborn in her arms.

"A girl?" Both sisters questioned, and their mother nodded.

"Please, mother . . . . let me see her," Katerina begged and held out her hand for her child.

"Woman, don't! What are you doing?" Their father cut in, and the three women snapped their heads around. Mrs. Petrova quickly stood up and gave the baby to the man.

"Let Katerina hold her at least once . . . . just once . . . . at least once," Y/N pleaded to her father, feeling bad for her older sister.

"Forget it . . . . you have disgraced this family!" her father then ran out with the buddle of blankets in his arms.

"Father, please! No, father, no! No!" Katerina screeched and tried to get up, but Y/N held her back.

"No, Katerina. It's better for her! It's better for her!" her mother yelled, and Katerina clung onto Y/N's blood-covered dress.

"No, mother, please," the young girl sobbed.

"Let her go . . . . let her go, Katerina," Y/N whispered to her sister.

"Please, Y/N . . . ."

~:*:~

*Mystic Falls, Virginia: Hospital; Present Day*

Caroline was passed out in her bed with the humming of the tv show she was watching in the background. She then woke up with a groan and rubbed her heavy eyes. She turned around and gasped to see someone standing over her bed. "Elena?" she panicked, and Y/N tilted her to examine the blonde girl. She was so tired that the ancestor of her friend looked like her.

"Hi, Caroline," Y/N muttered, and Caroline sighed, covering her eyes in exhaustion.

"What are you doing here?" the Forbes asked with a sigh.

"My name is Y/N . . . ." Y/N walked closer to Caroline's bed, who suddenly tensed. "I was hoping you could give the Salvatore brothers a message for me," the Pierce snarled.

"What are you talking about? What message? Why do you look so much like Elena?" Caroline groaned, still thinking it was Elena and she was going insane.

"Game on," Y/N whispered before shoving a pillow into Caroline's face. The blonde screamed and began struggling under Y/N grasp on her. She tried desperately to get the pillow off her face so she could breathe but end up hitting her hand on the side of the bed. That was her last action before her body went limp. Y/N removed the pillow and looked down at the deceased girl. She shook her head at the stupidness of the people in this town and strutted out of the hospital.

~:*:~

*Mystic Falls, Virginia: Mystic Falls Carnival; Present Day*

As another ding rang from the bell near the arm wrestling competition, Damon chuckled as Stefan walked away from Mason Lockwood after he had just tried to beat him. "You didn't put in any effort at all," Damon commented.

"Yeah, actually, I did," Stefan whispered, and the older Salvatore raised an eyebrow.

"Come with me," the two brothers walked to a more secluded spot. "Is he-"

"No, no, no. It wasn't that kind of strength, but it was more than human if that makes sense," Stefan explained, and Damon groaned.

"What is up with that family? If they're not vampires, then what the hell are they?" Damon hissed.

"Ooh. Uh, maybe they're, uh, ninja turtles," a feminine voice came from behind them. Damon whipped around, and Stefan looked around his brother to see the younger Pierce sister.

"You're not funny," Damon spat at her, and she pouted.

"Or, no, zombies. Werewolves," she added and smiled mischievously.

"No comedic timing at all," the vampire barked, and Y/N huffed.

"Well, I'm working on it. But have you seen my dear friend Caroline? I'm looking for her," the Pierce asked, trying to look as innocent as possible.

"Since when do you know Caroline? Let alone be all buddy-buddy," Damon sniggered, and Y/N rolled her eyes.

"Look, I know you're bitter, Damon, because I snapped your neck but get over yourself. I don't love you anymore. So just shut up and point the way to Caroline. I need to make sure she drinks human blood," she replied, and both Salvatore's eyes popped out of their sockets.

"What?" Stefan hissed, and the Pierce glanced at them.

"Did you not know? I visited barbie in the hospital. She did not want to die," with Y/N rolling her eyes, she walked away with both Salvatores trying to stop her. Y/N searched for Caroline but eventually got too bored and uninterested to care. So instead, she played some carnival games.

She was in the middle of ring tose when she heard loud gasping coming from the carnival's outskirts. She glanced over her shoulder to see the blonde girl that is Caroline Forbes. The Pierce smirked and handed the vendor her cash before stuttering over to Caroline.

"Hey, friend, it's been too long!" Y/N exclaimed, and Caroline whipped around.

"Wha-what did you do to me?" she teenager cried.

"I turned you," Y/N said, and Caroline looked even more freaked out. "Okay, well, technically, you have to drink blood to turn, but that'll be easy. But! Based on the fact that I can't hear your heart! Oh, Caroline! You did it! I'm so proud of you!" the vampire jumped up and down.

"What am I?" Caroline sobbed.

"Here. Let me show you. Come on," Y/N latched onto the Forbes's hand and forced her to a picnic table where a man sat. Caroline grunted from hearing the blood being pumped through the man's body. The girls then noticed his nose was bleeding, and Y/N sneered.

"Can I help you two?" The man asked, and Y/N walked up to him.

"Don't scream and don't move a muscle," she compelled, and the man froze in place, his eyes wide. Y/N turned around and nudged Caroline. "Go on, blondie."

"No, no, I can't-" Y/N cut her off with a groan.

"Fine. I have to show you everything, I guess," the Pierce complained and went back to the man. She tilted his head to the side and, without hesitation, sunk her teeth into his neck. He didn't make a sound or even fidget. Y/N pulled away, and in seconds of Caroline seeing the blood, she jumped and began her feeding.

Less than five minutes had passed before the man died of blood loss and both Caroline and Y/N were full. Y/N was pleased while Caroline was crying her eyes to death. Damon then walked up to the two other vampires as Y/N dragged her thumb along the blood on her lip.

"He's dead. I killed him," Caroline sobbed. Damon gazed at Y/N with depressed eyes, but she showed no sign of emotion.

"We," Y/N corrected. Damon continued to stare at his past girlfriend, and she held up three fingers and mouth, "three down. Two to go." She winked at him.

It was a matter of time before the man was completely drained, and Y/N was getting ready to bury him. She was finishing up when Stefan and Elena arrived.

"Y/N! Y/N stop!" Stefan yelled.

"Oh, give it a rest, Stefan! Her switch is turned off. Do you really think she's going to listen!" Damon snapped, and Y/N stopped feeding for a minute. She knew she disappointed everyone by turning off her emotions and that everyone hated her now, but she would never imagine Damon giving up on her. He would hate her along with the others but would never lose all hope. That's not who he was. Or at least, who she remembered him as.

A nerve clicked. Y/N stood up slowly. Hopped off the picnic table. Ground her teeth together as tightly as she could without it being noticeable. And walked away without a single word. The man's blood still surrounding her mouth.

~:*:~

She couldn't stop her desperate sobbing and choking on cries. She also wanted to stand and head to a hotel, but she remained sitting alone in the woods. She was disgusted with herself. She killed an innocent girl for sport, turned her into a monster, and forced her to feed. She ruined this girl's life. Every other event in and outside the tomb was a blur except for the bad parts. She killed a teenage boy and a man. For what reason? She didn't know what. The worst part about being washed over with a tsunami of feelings was the ones she had for Damon.

He watched her do all those things! He watched her become a monster! She turned him into a demon and left him alone to figure it out. She ruined the time they had together. And she ruined their entire relationship. It was like a constant stabbing in her lifeless heart, and she couldn't stand it.

Through her screams of terror, she heard commotion going on where she and Caroline fed. With a stumble, she stood up and walked out of the woods. What she saw made her cry even more. A Bennett witch, no doubt, was glaring at Damon, who was holding his head in pain with a line of fire creeping up on him.

"Stop!" the Pierce screeched once the flames licked his black pants. Elena, who was for some reason still there, looked up from warning Bonnie. She saw Y/N run towards them with tears streaming down her face and held in a puzzled look.

"Please! Please stop! You're going to kill him! Please!" Y/N shouted to the witch, who never lost focus. Damon continued to thrash, which made Y/N sprint up to Bonnie and tackle her. She lost concentration and hit her head on the concrete, causing a groan to escape her lips. The fire immediately went out, and everyone looked over to Damon, who was struggling to get up.

"Damon," Y/N whispered and hurled herself off Bonnie to go to her lover. The Pierce went down to the ground and put Damon's face in her hands, trying to make him look at her. She kept muttering his name until his shocked eyes met hers. She let out a sob before crushing her lips onto his.

"Damon. Damon, I'm so sorry, please forgive me. Please, Damon," she pleaded, but Damon was too flustered to reply. "Say something. Damon, say something."

Once the Salvatore came back down to Earth, he saw the sparkle in Y/N eyes return even if it was covered with tears. "God, I missed you," he mumbled and reconnected their kiss. Y/N broke it and smiled, the tears still making waves down her cheeks. She placed her forehead against his and couldn't stop crying till the next morning.

A/N: This is the end of the mini-series cause I kinda lost motivation

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spreadyovrwings · 5 years ago

Text

Turn My Blue Heart To Red

Pairing: Roger Taylor x reader

Warnings: Description of injury

It was 02:34 when the doorbell rang. You knew this because as you shot up in bed, you had just enough sense to glance at the clock on your bedside table.

The only light came from the soft orange glow of the lampposts through your bedroom curtains and for a moment, you weren’t sure if you were still dreaming or not.

The doorbell rang again.

You sighed, pushing your fingertips against your closed eyes until constellations swam in the darkness of your room. You blinked them and the last remnants of your dream away, begrudgingly letting cold, hard reality take hold. You’d been drinking a piña colada by a pool somewhere warm. It was nice.

The bell rang yet again.

Your instincts told you to ignore it, to just turn over and go back to sleep. A few students lived on your floor and they often came home in the middle of the night, drunkenly stumbling towards home, giggling like idiots. It was probably just them.

You closed your eyes, taking a breath deep enough to slow your racing heart as you settled back down.

But then the doorbell rang again, more insistent this time, and under the noise, you thought you heard a voice calling your name.

“Christ,” You pulled back the covers. “This better be good or I swear to God, I’ll-”

You padded to the front door, grumbling under your breath. It was freezing, so you grabbed a jumper you'd lazily thrown over the back of the sofa just as the doorbell rang for the final time in three short bursts.

You were so annoyed that it didn’t occur to you to feel afraid as you pulled open the door.

Of all the people you expected to see standing in your hallway in the middle of the night, Roger Taylor was bottom of your list, right next to the Queen Mother and Uncle Bulgaria.

He swayed slightly but braced himself against the door frame, offering you a weak smile.

“‘ello, sweetheart.”

You sighed, shaking your head.

“Roger? What-”

It was dark out in the hall. One of the lights had blown weeks ago and no one had come round to fix it yet, so Roger was half in shadow. But when you opened the door a little wider, the low light from your flat lit him up and you gasped.

The left side of Roger’s pretty face was partially hidden by a crumpled up wad of serviettes he clutched as if his life depended on it, but what little you could see was twisted with pain. You looked again and noticed that the serviettes were spotted with blood.

Your hand hovered by your mouth, so shocked by Roger’s appearance that you were speechless for a moment. It was only when he let out a low groan that you snapped out of your stunned daze.

“Oh, my God. Roger, what happened to you?”

You pulled him into the flat, switching on the main light with your free hand. The shoelaces of his ridiculous sparkly pink trainers had come loose, tripping him as you guided him into the living room. Roger swayed close to you and under the delicious smell of his familiar cologne, you caught the spike of alcohol on his clothes.

You both blinked against the bright light. Roger groaned again, his one eye on show squeezing shut. It must’ve stretched the taught skin around his other eye because he hissed, the tip of his pink tongue caught between his teeth.

Now that the light was on, you could see that a deep line severed his soft bottom lip into two neat halves. Blood dribbled from his right nostril, clouding in the little crease above his mouth. His jaw was patterned with red and purple blotches, bruises that had yet to darken, and there was a half-moon scratch on his neck, like someone had thrust their pint glass into his jugular.

“Roger, what the fuck.”

That made him laugh but he cut himself off with a groan when his split lip stretched and began to bleed again.

You sighed and reached up to gently prod the puffy skin around his eye but he ducked away. You gave Roger a look and he heaved a resigned sigh. He leaned down and lifted his chin a little so that you could reach him without needing to stretch.

Taking care to be a little more gentle this time, you brushed your fingertips against the side of his face, over the bruises on his cheek, and down past the smear of dried blood on his chin.

“Looks worse than it is,” you said quietly. “But I wanna look at that eye. What happened to you?”

You took Roger’s hand and guided him to the sofa. He was still grumbling under his breath as he flopped down onto the cushions. You kneeled down in front of him as he moved the crumpled up serviettes away from his face.

You tried not to let your emotions show. The cut over his eyebrow looked painful but you were right, not as bad as it looked. Still, you couldn’t help wincing. Dried blood painted the left side of his face, collecting in his pale eyebrow and curling around his jaw where he must’ve wiped it away earlier.

Roger smiled a little at the face you pulled, letting his hand holding the bloody serviettes fall into his lap.

“Got in a fight in the pub. Didn’t do as well as I thought I would.”

You tutted, shuffling closer until you were settled between his knees.

“What did you do that for?”

“I wasn’t looking for a barney.”

“Oh, yeah, because you’re so shy and retiring.”

You rested your hand on his thigh to steady yourself, too worried to consider the implications of your touch. His black velvet trousers were soft under your fingers but that was all you registered as you leaned closer to get a better look at the long cut over his eye.

The concern on your face made Roger’s stomach twist, his heart pushing against his ribs, pulling him closer to you. Your hand felt warm against his thigh, even through his trousers, your fingers so gentle as they brushed against his face. He kept his eyes on you as you leaned closer.

“What are you doing here, Rog?” you asked, meeting his gaze for just a moment before you returned your attention to his injury.

“We were at the pub down the road.” His big grin made his skin smart but Roger didn’t care. “Thought I’d better come see my best girl.”

“Yeah, great,” you muttered, hoping he was in too much of a state to notice your pink cheeks.

You got up and Roger almost groaned at the loss of contact. You were so warm and soft, so gentle with him, he felt cold without you close to him.

You’d known each other for a long time, so long that he couldn’t even remember how you met, but he felt like he’d loved you for longer than that. Roger knew he would love you for as long as you let him, if you let him.

He sometimes caught you looking at him and he had to pretend he hadn’t noticed, but Roger’s face would always heat up at the soft look in your eyes. He’d allow himself to believe, just for a moment, that you might feel the same way. But you never said anything, and neither did he, much to the annoyance of all your friends.

You were such good mates, so good that he could turn up in the middle of the night, bloody and bruised, and know he’d be looked after. But Roger didn’t want to ruin that, so he had to pretend that your touch didn’t feel like sunlight on his skin, and that your smile didn’t make his day, and that the way you seemed to sigh his name, like you were always as incandescently happy to see him as he was to see you, didn’t trip his heart every time.

“You said I could pop round any time!”

When you came back into the living room, you’d tied back your hair and you carried a little green medical bag. Ever-resourceful.

“I didn’t mean at two in the morning,” You said, kneeling down in front of him again. “Tipsy,” You raised your eyebrows. “And bleeding all over my sofa.”

“‘m not tipsy.”

“Mm hm?”

“My second drink ended up in some bloke’s lap.”

“Right.”

Despite your tone and the unimpressed look on your face, Roger beamed.

Oh, god, he loved you. He loved you so much. You were just so beautiful, especially now, in a big jumper that was probably his once, your hair messy, your eyes dark and hazy with sleep. He felt bad for waking you up but he didn’t know where else to go.

“I knew you’d look after me,” Roger murmured.

You held his gaze. There was a little smile on Roger’s face. It made his cheeks bunch up, his eyes soft and gentle. Your heart drummed fast as a hummingbird’s as you returned his smile.

You finally pulled your gaze away and dug around in your rudimentary first aid kit, looking for anything that might be of use.

“Where did your mates run off to, then?”

“Hm?”

Roger watched closely as you rifled through the green bag. He could see that little determined look on your face, your forehead creasing in concentration. You were going to make everything alright.

He began to relax, leaning back against the sofa, but you tapped his knee without looking up, silently telling him to sit properly, and he did so with only a little complaining.

“You said ‘we were at the pub’. Why haven’t I got a house full of bruised idiots?”

You finally found what you were looking for and let out a happy little cry. You held up the bottle of iodine for Roger to see and grinned.

He laughed at the expression on your face, so happy to just be with you, he barely noticed the way his smile stretched his bruises.

“There was only me an’ Freddie. I put him in a taxi. He needed to go home.”

“And you don’t?”

“I have.”

You hardly dared to look up but when you finally summoned the courage, you were glad you did. Roger was gazing at you with such tenderness, it almost took your breath away. Your heart felt like it might give up altogether.

Biting back a smile, you pressed a cloth you’d found to the top of the bottle and turned it upside down a few times, then reached up and held it close to Roger’s skin. You warned him that it might sting before pressing the cloth to his cut.

Roger hissed but didn't try to move away, not wanting to make your job any harder than it had to be.

You dabbed at his skin, tentatively at first, but as soon as his expression softened, you allowed yourself to add more pressure. You watched Roger’s face constantly, the last thing you wanted to do was hurt him.

You didn't say a word as you cleaned up his wound, even when Roger’s hands came up to rest on your hips. You knew it was just to keep himself steady but you could barely breathe as you felt his fingers press into you. It was almost a relief when you had to turn away to reach for a plaster, and Roger’s hands returned to his lap.

Tongue sticking out in concentration, you stuck the plaster down with nimble fingers, just above his eyebrow, then sat back to inspect your work.

“There. How’s that?”

Roger carefully prodded at the tender skin around his eye.

“You ever thought of being a nurse?”

You gave him a look then delved back into the first aid kit, pulling out a cold compress and replacing the iodine. You raised the little blue pack for him to see, silently asking if you could treat his bruises.

Roger nodded so slightly that you almost missed it. You carefully pressed the pack to his jaw, apologising again when the ice cold compress made him suck in a sharp breath.

“What was the fight really about, Rog?” you asked quietly.

Roger sighed. He closed his tired eyes, his tongue darting out to feel the cut on his lip. He tasted copper and grimaced.

“This bloke was talking out his arse. Wouldn’t leave me an’ Fred alone, so I shut him up.” He laughed bitterly. “Or tried to.”

“What was he saying?”

He looked thoughtful for a moment. You couldn't help brushing his soft hair out of his eyes with your free hand.

“Fred?”

“No,” you laughed softly. “The bloke. What was he saying?” You moved the compress and it made Roger wince. "Sorry. Sorry.”

Roger just laughed.

“‘s’alright, darlin’.”

He could probably do this for himself but Roger was enjoying the proximity far too much to say anything. He hummed softly, already feeling infinitely better than he had when he arrived.

“So, what was it?”

“‘s not important.”

Your free hand came up to rest on his other cheek, keeping his head still as you moved the compress again. Your fingers lay across his jaw, your thumb resting against his cheek.

“Roger…”

He closed his eyes again with a soft sigh and leaned into your hand. He was tired too. It made you smile.

While Roger’s eyes were closed, you moved your thumb away from the compress and ghosted it over the split on his bottom lip, so light, he almost couldn't feel it. Almost.

Roger’s lips parted of their own accord, which was a little embarrassing. He wished his heart would stop hammering. It was so quiet in the flat, you were bound to hear it.

“He was just… He was saying things about Freddie, you know. And I wasn’t gonna have that, so…”

Meaning filled the silence that fell between you.

Roger opened his eyes and held your gaze, knowing you’d understand without him having to say anymore.

“Oh.”

It was all you could think to say.

You repositioned the ice pack for the final time and Roger didn't even blink. The pain had subsided. Hopefully the swelling would go down soon and he wouldn't end up with a black eye.

“What?” he whispered.

Roger was very close now. You couldn’t tell who’d moved and when, but suddenly all you could see were his china-blue eyes, the magic curve of his lips, and the cuts and scrapes he’d earned protecting his friend, so red against his soft skin.

“Just surprised,” you admitted.

“Why?”

“Just didn’t think you were so noble.”

Roger laughed. He leaned a little closer, visibly so now. Neither of you addressed it.

“I’m offended.”

“Oh, come on, Rog.”

“Well, I won’t be accused of being a scoundrel.”

His eyes weren’t on yours anymore. They were on your lips. You knew it. He knew you’d noticed. The tension between you was so thick you felt you could grab it in your hands and bend it into shape.

You dropped the ice pack, letting your hands rest on his knees as he leaned closer still. You found yourself almost stretching your body up to meet his.

Heart racing, you realised you could feel his warmth even though he was still a few inches away. His breath brushed the skin of your neck until a shiver ran down your spine.

Roger. The boy you knew would do anything for you. The friend you’d loved for too long. The man who made you laugh every single day, who looked after you, made you feel safe, always so gentle, and totally and completely yours.

“You are a scoundrel,” you murmured, glancing down at his mouth when he began to smile.

“I prefer ‘rascal’.”

His voice was so low, lower than you’d ever heard it. It rumbled deep in his chest, in his throat, and as he moved closer still, his hand reaching out to tilt your chin up the rest of the way, you felt it vibrate through you too.

“You’re an idiot,” you murmured, eyes sliding halfway shut.

It wasn’t very clever of you. You just wanted to have the last word of this little argument, but then Roger cradled your face with his long, delicate fingers, and all witty retorts, in fact, words of any sort, just left your head.

“No, I’m a rascal,” Roger murmured, still smiling. “I’m rascally. You like that I’m a rascal.”

You just had time to murmur his name, the beginnings of a retort that probably wouldn’t have amounted to anything, and then Roger was kissing you, soft and lingering. Electricity shot through your blood, your heart rising up and up and up in your chest.

You let out a soft moan, more like a whimper, when he pulled away, and if you’d been able to open your eyes, you would’ve seen Roger smile. Then his mouth was back on yours, your noses bumping as he kissed you.

It was soft and gentle and all you’d ever wanted, but the little noise Roger made as his mouth moved against yours made your stomach twist and you groaned into the kiss, pressing harder against him.

Roger made another noise, his nose scrunching up, and pulled away a little.

“Ow ow ow.”

You gasped, brushing your fingertips against the cut on his lip.

“Oh, God, Roger! I’m sorry!”

“No, ‘s’alright, love,” Roger laughed, brushing his nose against yours again with a soft hum, deep in his chest. “It’s worth it. You’re worth it.”

You beamed as his mouth found yours again. Roger’s tongue traced your lower lip until you gave him eager access, your hands on his thighs, your fingers digging into the soft material to keep him close.

You hummed against his mouth as he leaned further into you. Roger’s hands drifted down to your lower back, then your hips, keeping you tight against him as you held his face, his cuts and bruises rough against your palms. You could've stayed like that forever but you were worried about his split lip.

With a sigh, you pulled away, grinning when you saw the flash of disappointment on Roger’s face.

“I suppose you are pretty noble,” you murmured against his lips. “You staying here tonight?”

Roger grinned.

Another kiss.

“If you’ll have me.”

“Oh, I’ll have you.” You kissed him, quickly but carefully, not wanting to aggravate his cut. “You need any more painkillers?”

“No, don’t think so,” Roger tilted his head to the side, his eyes dark. “How about you just kiss it better.”

So you did.

Master List

#roger taylor #roger taylor fanfic #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x reader #queen #queen fic

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thecrescentcityrpg · 3 years ago

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“You drew stars around my scars, and now I’m bleeding…”

full name: Olivia Clarke

city of origin: Sofia, Bulgaria

age: 28

species: Witch

special ability: Empathy

occupation: owner of Rose & Co

faceclaim: Alexandra Daddario

⇨ B I O G R A P H Y

Olivia Clarke wasn’t the average girl next door. Her parents were both witches that hated vampires and werewolves alike, and her brother had skipped town the moment he turned 18. Olivia simply wanted to keep the peace. Better yet, stay the hell out of it. It wasn’t long before their lives got caught up in the madness going on around them, and she lost them both when she was far too young. Her father was murdered in Bulgaria for practicing magic, and her mother died in her attempt to take vengeance. Anger had done nothing but take the two people away from her that meant the most, and the only family she left long gone and nowhere to be found.

She was left on her own at 15, moving from group home to group home, eventually settling into a small town outside of Seattle and attempting to put her former life behind her. Coven life had never been something Olivia wanted, and her suspicions proved true when they sought only to end the vampires and werewolves within the city. There was far more that Olivia wanted than just violence, so she left quickly and never looked back.

Traveling became a large part of her young life. Alone at 17, she had nothing more than time and took odd jobs to make ends meet. Babysitting, cleaning, anything that could pay the bills. Her powers only assisted with keeping her safe, giving her insight into who intended her harm and who was safe, if there even was such a thing.

Five years later, she found herself in New Orleans, settling down and opening her own business. As much as she hated putting down roots, Olivia wanted some semblance of a normal life, despite the place she’d chosen to settle down in. She knew she could take care of herself, despite the other witches claiming she’d ‘need’ them. She’d never needed anyone before, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to start now.

New Orleans had proven to be fruitful for her, opening up Rose & Co after two years of saving and remodeling the shop from the inside out. When one of the witches was murdered, Olivia made a point to stay out of it. Not her family, not her problem. It seemed like every time she got involved with anything to do with the witches, it went badly for her most of all. It seemed as though they were starting a war that Olivia wasn’t totally sure they could win, but it was their funeral.

⇨ P E R S O N A L I T Y

+ intelligent, kind, accepting

- vengeful, short tempered, impulsive

#rp #rpg #town rp #vampire rp #city rp #olivia clarke #witch #alexandria daddario #all #taken

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romioneficfest · 5 years ago

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Lose Yourself

Title: Lose Yourself name: Prompt: Day 4: Quidditch / Hogwarts Rated: K+ / PG Brief Summary: Rose Weasley Granger is about to step on the biggest pitch of her entire life, one that she has been training for almost her entire life: The Quidditch World Cup Final. Before she is off at the starting whistle, she needs validation from the one person whose approval she desperately needs. Warning: Oliver Wood’s guest commentary. Tagging @weasleyisourroyalfamily for the headcanon inspirations.

“Rose Weasley-Granger, the star seeker for the English National team is a bit of a prodigy. Her Dad put her on her first broom a year old, way she tells it. Uncle Harry Potter coached her early on. He was a bit of a star during his secondary years until life got in the way,” the play-by-play announcer nodded in full understanding as most of the English population 40 and up easily recalled, “and later coached by her Aunt Ginny Weasley-Potter, who was an enormous star for the Holyhead Harpies in the UK Quidditch League and taught her so much, even though she was a Chaser by profession in the Quidditch Leagues.”

“She also started as Second Chaser for the English National Team in 2002 and 2006 before retiring after the tournament.”

“That’s right Oliver,” Lee Jordan’s voice crackled over the airwaves to the delight of all the fans. “Rumor has it that Weasley-Granger was tutored in the summer months during her years at Hogwarts by the Hall of Fame Seeker and family friend Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian National team legend who caught the Snitch in the 1994 World Cup match played in the UK, and then again in the 2014 World Cup final in Patagonia, Argentina. Krum retired after that last International match, participating only in charity matches in England and on the Continent, raising funds for the Prewitt Trust, the post-war orphan trust for children whose parents were murdered by the Voldemort regime in 1997 through May 1998.”

Wood interrupted. “Speaking of, there is the Bulgarian Legend Krum, in the minister’s Box alongside the others. His wife Natalia is present and their oldest, Sergei, attends Hogwarts now as a Fifth-year Prefect, and their older daughter Mina as well. All we are waiting on now are the Ministers for the UK and Mexico to arrive.”

“Back to Weasley-Granger, she made a name for herself starting while in secondary at Hogwarts, catching the snitch in every match she played starting in her second year. By the start of her fifth year, all the professional teams in the UK and a few abroad were recruiting her when she performed a Wronkski feint which turned at the last second into a sloth roll to catch the snitch that had flown under her opponent and sealed the win for her House team that year. At that match, the recruiting scout for the Chudley Cannons, of all the teams, was present at the match and not a week later they were sending owls to the Weasley-Granger residence trying to sign her - at 16.

“Her Mum, Hermione Granger, who had assumed the role of Minister earlier that term, forbade her from signing any professional contracts until the end of her sixth year after she’d turned 17. The day after the end of term, recruiters were desperate to sign young Weasley-Granger. And each one she turned down, telling all of them, “I bleed orange and Black and am a Chudley Cannon through and through. Sorry fellas,” as she went back to work on their property, using a scythe to clear the back yard of overgrown grass as her daily workout. But the National team, having already watched her first season as a seeker for the Cannons, immediately invited her out for the team before the end of her first year. She beat out 16 other Seekers to become the starter, being the youngest since Krum started for Bulgaria at 18 back in 1994.”

“She’s been nothing short of legendary at the National competition level. I’ve watched her and her vision on the pitch is astounding.”

“And there is Minister Curazon of Mexico and British Minister Granger, along with the entire Weasley clan arriving, lead by Patriarch Ron Weasley-Granger, co-owner of Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes. Also present is Rose’s younger brother Hugo, who is already a renown Rune translator and spell researcher. Arriving with them are the Potters including Lily Luna, the starting third chaser for the Tutshill Tornadoes. Wood, you’ve been a part of a friendly with the Weasley Potter Granger clan. How much fun is it?”

“Lee, I have to say it’s much more fun refereeing them than trying to keep up. Between Rose and Lily Luna Potter, few stand a chance. I’m sore for three days facing Lily Luna, much less her Mum and Rose.”

The music shifted again, sounding like a celebration.

Oliver Wood stood, looking out at the fans. “Ladies, Gentlemen, Distinguished guests,” his voice boomed over the stadium, still strong years after retiring from Puddlemere United, "I give you the Mexican National team. At Keeper, Miguel Gonzales; Beaters Julio Sanchez and Juan Carrasco; Chasers Alejandro , Jorge Hernandez, and Rafael ‘Lobo’ Vasquez; and Seeker Teresa Blanco-Calderon !”

Seven red, green, and white rockets took off from the portal, racing around the Holyhead pitch at breakneck speeds, before taking their places at the centre of the pitch, with Calderon circling high above.

“There’s Ron Weasley, standing tall in the Minister’s Box, with Minister Granger by his side, wearing the customary Home White Lions uniform with blazing red of the St. George’s Cross. I spy underneath his jacket, a sprig of Orange. I‘m guessing, under his Weasley-Granger National jersey on the back, was his pride and joy - his daughter’s replica Chudley Cannons team jersey.”

Ron ignored the commentary from Lee Jordan, focusing at his wife at his side at his wife, the current Minister of Magic who was officially off duty tonight and letting Oliver Wood handle the festivities. Tears were streaming down her face, completely oblivious to anyone who might notice. Ron glanced right and saw his sister, brother in law, Viktor and his remaining family standing there, all beaming with pride, waiting for the English national team. Ron leaned down to give his wife a peck on the lips, ignoring the hoots and catcalls around them.

“That’s Weasley for you. He prefers his wife over propriety.” Guffaws broke out around the couple before Ron kissed her again before turning back to the player’s tunnel.

The Mexican team finished their racing circuits of the stadium and they settled in, waiting.

A thrum started, like a heartbeat. Ever so slowly, a roar erupted, punctuated with chanting known all over the British Isles: 'Weasley is our Queen'

“And starting for the English National team, we have at Keeper Charles Wood; Beaters Marius Pucey and Aiden Flint; Chasers Zeb Smith, Khalil Reeves, and Mohammed Siddiq-Smythe, and last but certainly not least, Seeker Rose Weasley-Granger,” the announcer roared over the crowds watching the Ginger Wonder Woman, as the English Press referred to the Prime Minister’s daughter. Sure enough, panning the crowds to the Minister’s Box stood Minister of Magic for the UK Hermione Granger, along with 2002 English 2nd Chaser Ginny Weasley Potter, her husband Harry Potter, and the minister’s husband Ron Weasley-Granger.

All eyes turned to the lanky Seeker, wearing her home White uniform with blood-red boots and cape, and her name embossed in Red on the back. The smile on her face was as bright as the fireworks that announced the team, shining above everyone. Rose soared, feeling the brisk air as she rode the jetstream and raced down to the ground, pulling up from the ground a foot from the pitch to fly almost straight up above the stadium.

“Win or lose, Lee, this is her moment, the one she’s trained a lifetime for.”

Rose dared look down at the Minister’s Box and saw her family, including ‘Uncle’ Viktor. An entire sea of ginger-haired people was looking up at her, waving frantically, led by her Dad, her #1 fan. But she only had eyes for her Mum, beaming in pride up at her. Her breath hitched when she saw her Mum signing to her ‘Little Lion Queen, Fly Fast; love you' up at her. She signed back, 'Love you' before deciding to do one last reckless thing before the whistle blew. Rose took off for one sprint around the top of the stadium, weaving in and out of the portals, giving the blurry a faces a momentary glance of her before stopping at the Minister’s Box. Rose waved at everyone before racing to the top of the pitch, settling in next to the Mexican Seeker Calderon, meters above the lights.

Quidditch chairwizard of the International Quidditch Association Faed Zozimar came walking out, his hair completely white with a moustache that reminded Hermione of a certain famous Singer from the 70s and 80s stood at the centre of the pitch with the official ball box. He kicked it open, letting the snitch escape into the sea of colours along with the two bludgers. He mounted his broom and awaited for Wood to make the official announcement.

“Players, on the whistle,” Wood boomed before an ear-splitting whistle broke the silence of the stadium. The quaffle went up and the match was on.

The crowd roared.

Rose raced off in a rush, feeling like the first time her Mum told her she was proud of her.

#Romione FicFest 2020 #Fic Post #Romione #Ron Weasley #Hermione Granger #Submission #Queue Up for the Dragon #Rated K+#Ace Safe

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gadgetgirl71 · 4 years ago

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The Ultimate Betrayal Kat Martin (Maximum Security #3) Publication date: December 29th 2020 Genres: Adult, Romance, Suspense

To prove her father’s innocence, she’ll have to turn a killer’s sights on herself

When her father is accused of espionage and treason, journalist Jessie Kegan has no doubt the man she looked up to her entire life is innocent. Worse yet, before Colonel Kegan can stand trial, he’s found dead of a heart attack…but Jessie knows it was murder. Forcing aside her grief, she’s determined to use her investigative resources to clear her father’s name. But going after the truth means Jessie soon finds herself in the crosshairs of a killer who wants that truth to stay buried with her father.

Protecting Jessie Kegan is a job bodyguard Brandon Garrett can’t refuse. Jessie isn’t just a client at Maximum Security—she’s the sister of his best friend, Danny, who was killed in Afghanistan. With dangerous enemies gunning for Jessie from every angle, keeping her safe will mean keeping her close, and Bran finds their mutual attraction growing, though being Danny’s sister puts Jessie out of bounds.

With their backs against the wall, Jessie and Bran will have to risk everything to expose her father’s killer—before his legacy dies with his daughter.

Goodreads / Amazon

—

EXCERPT:

They ordered-in Chinese and Bran turned the TV on in the living room, but neither of them were in the mood to watch. Jessie knew exactly what she was in the mood for. She hadn’t thought about sex this much in the last three years. Now, every time she looked at Bran, having sex with him was all she could think of.

Everything about him turned her on. The cadence of his voice, the way he laughed, the way he moved. Just watching him amble across the living room sent a curl of heat into the pit of her stomach.

What would it be like to kiss him? Run her hands over all the lean, hard muscles she had seen and couldn’t get out of her head? What would it be like if he made love to her?

Would she ruin it the way she had when she had tried before? Start thinking about Ray Cummings and the intimate way he had touched her? Conjure images of the rape he had planned to carry out the third night if she hadn’t managed to escape?

Fidgety and unable to relax, she headed for the pool, Bran reluctantly accompanying her. Exercising in the warm water was the perfect stress reliever. She glanced over to where he paced the deck at the opposite end of the pool, tall and lean-muscled, blue-eyed, and built. Nothing better than swimming–except for hours of erotic sex with the man of her fantasies.

It seemed so outrageous she found herself grinning as she stroked to the far end of the pool. She was still smiling when she came up out of the water, dripping and adjusting her swimsuit, just a few feet away from him.

“What’s so funny?” Bran asked, as grumpy tonight as he had been the night before.

She looked into his hard, handsome face and some little devil made her say it. “If you really want to know, I was thinking what it might be like to have wild, uninhibited sex with you.”

Hunger flashed in his eyes so quickly she took a step back. “Is that so,” he drawled, his gaze running over her, assessing every curve her orange-striped bikini displayed.

Her whole body flushed with heat as she realized she wasn’t the only one who’d been thinking about sex.

She swallowed. “I was imagining what it might be like, but I… I know if we tried, I’d screw it up. After Ray, I’ve got, you know, hang-ups.”

His gaze grew more intense. “What kind of hang-ups?”

She picked her towel up off the mesh table next to a lounge chair and quickly dried off, then slipped on her white terrycloth robe. Fortunately, the overhead lights began to flash, signaling it was time for the pool to close.

“Time to leave.” She started walking back to the room, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut. By the time Bran opened the door and checked inside to be sure it was safe, she was starting to relax.

“What hang-ups?” Bran he as he closed the door behind them.

Jessie’s stomach instantly knotted. What had possessed her to mention it? But Bran had opened up to her yesterday, which meant she owed him the same courtesy today.

Trying to appear nonchalant, she shrugged. “You know, kissing’s okay, but if a guy starts touching me, my mind flashes back to Ray Cummings and I-I start thinking about the way he touched me, where he touched me, and pretty soon sex is the last thing I want to happen.”

Bran’s jaw looked iron hard. “He rape you?”

She swallowed and shook her head. “On the third day, just before he got home, I managed to get loose. I couldn’t get out of the basement, so I searched for a weapon.” Her lips trembled as the memory became all too clear. “I found a wooden box and pried a board loose. The board had a nail in the end so I held it like a bat, and I-I waited till he came down the stairs.”

“Go on,” Bran said so softly she felt a chill.

“He always wore this black knit ski mask with a red ring around the mouth, which made him look even more terrifying. Knowing what he planned to do gave me courage. The minute he stepped off the bottom step, I swung the board as hard as I could and smashed him in the side of the head. As soon as he hit the floor, I starting whacking him over and over with the nail in the end of the board. He was unconscious and bleeding when I took off running.”

“Finish it,” Bran said when she paused, more a demand than a request.

Her voice trembled. “The woman in the house next door let me in and called the police. Ray was still unconscious when they got there. Turned out he was a serial rapist. He had abducted four other women and locked them up just like me. Eventually, he released them somewhere, but they couldn’t identify him or the place he had taken them. I was the only one who escaped.”

She was shaking. She didn’t realize she had tears in her eyes till Bran pulled her into his arms.

Author Bio:

Currently living outside Missoula, Montana, Kat Martin is the New York Times bestselling author of over sixty-five Historical and Contemporary Romantic Suspense novels. Before she started writing, Kat was a real estate broker. During that time, she met her husband, L. J. Martin, an author of Westerns and high-action Thrillers. Kat is a graduate of the University of California at Santa Barbara where she majored in Anthropology and also studied History. She spends her winters in Arizona.

"I love to travel and especially like visiting the places where my books are set," Kat says. "I love history and enjoy spending time in museums and art galleries. My husband and I often stay in out-of-the-way inns and historical houses. It's fun and it gives a wonderful sense of a by-gone era."

To date, Kat has over seventeen million copies of her books in print. She is published in more than two dozen foreign countries, including Germany, France, Norway, Sweden, China, Korea, Bulgaria, Russia, England, South Africa, Italy, Spain, Argentina, Japan and Greece.

Kat is currently writing her next Romantic thriller.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Twitter / Instagram / Bookbub

GIVEAWAY! a Rafflecopter giveaway

Hosted by:

#Bookblitz, #BookBlogger, #Bookshelf, #BooksofInstagram, #BookStagrammer, #bookworm, #GoodReads, #instabook, #instabooks, #instagood, #Instagram, #MaximumSecurity, #XpressoBookTours, #XpressoTours

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fanficimagery · 6 years ago

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Imagine dating Viktor. A friend of his, Fleur Delacour, is getting married and he's taken you as his plus one. Even though a wedding is such joyous occasion, some people just didn't get the memo.

Author's Note: Let's just say that at the Battle of the Department of Mysteries (Order of the Phoenix), Harry + friends and the Order were able to take down Voldemort by some miracle. This is fanfiction so just go with it.

Viktor X Reader

Being invited to Fleur Delacour's wedding to one Bill Weasley left you feeling all sorts of excited. Viktor's friends in Bulgaria had become your friends, as had your friends become his friends, but these were completely new people you were to meet.

While you had unfortunately missed the wedding ceremony itself, you and Viktor managed to portkey in while everything under the marquee was being transformed for the reception. Fleur was a vision in her wedding dress and her dashing husband was of the friendly sorts. They were happy you and Viktor could make the reception, and after congratulating them one last time they were off to greet their other guests.

Viktor had left you alone to grab some drinks, but ended up getting distracted by a witch in a red dress. And while the witch in question is rather pretty, you are very comfortable in your relationship with Viktor and trust him immensely.

"Ruddy pumpkin head," someone grumbles from somewhere behind you. "Who invited him?"

As subtly as you can, you peer over shoulder to see what drama shall unfold. It's another redhead, plus an individual who can only be Harry Potter after you spot the telltale scar of his on his forehead. Following his line of gaze, you can only snort when you realize the redhead is glaring at Viktor.

Your snort catches the boys' attention, the redhead flushing as the dark haired wizard chuckles. "Sorry for eavesdropping."

The redhead gulps and tersely nods, and Harry sheepishly grins. "Are you a guest of the bride or groom? I don't think I've seen you around before. Ron here," he elbows his friend in the ribs for not introducing himself, "is the brother of the groom. And I'm Harry- a friend of the Weasley family."

"Y/N," you introduce yourself with a smile. "And I guess you can say I'm a guest of the bride. Only I just met her just today, but my date has been friends with her for a few years now."

"Oh yeah? Who's your date? Maybe we know him," Harry says.

Smirking at the opportunity that's just landed in your lap, you gesture over your shoulder and point. "I've been dating that ruddy pumpkin head for nearly two years now." Ron's eyes widen and Harry roars with laughter. As Ron tries to stammer out an apology, you wave him off. "It's fine. But by the glares and name calling, I take it the pretty witch my boyfriend is talking to is Hermione?"

"He tell you about us?" Harry asks, suddenly uncomfortable.

You nod. "Yeah. He was very fond of the friends he made when he visited Hogwarts for the tournament. Especially those who didn't fawn over him because of the quidditch star he is, but I don't blame him one bit. All the fake interest and constant questions must be annoying," you say with a wink and internally breathe a sigh of relief when Harry loses some of the tension in his shoulders. From Viktor you had heard how Harry Potter really wasn't the fame chaser some tabloids made him out to be, so you threw that little tidbit into the conversation so you'd let Harry know you weren't about to nag him about his Boy Who Lived/Conquered status.

The three of you are saved from coming up with other topics of conversation when Viktor and Hermione finally join you, and introductions are made all over again.

"It's so nice to meet you," Hermione gushes. "I've heard so much about you."

"You as well," you chuckle as Viktor proudly tucks you into his side.

The five of you then strike up a conversation as everyone is let back under the marquee for dinner, music, and the dance. As you and Hermione seem stuck in a conversation about your jobs, Viktor, Harry, and Ron take it to mean you don't want to be separated any time soon and find a table with enough chairs for the lot of you plus Harry's girlfriend as well.

Then over dinner, it comes to light that you work in the magical department of the Smithsonian National Museum of Natural History as a curator and cursebreaker, and Hermione is hooked. Ron eagerly supplies that his brother, the groom Bill, is a cursebreaker as well. Viktor then happily explains that you look over newly discovered artifacts, both magical and not, before they're cataloged. He's so proud to explain what your job entails and the fact that you've been offered a similar job in England which is why you're transferring at the end of the year.

"I've got a good chunk of money saved up," you say with a fond roll of your eyes. "This lug," you then say while gently elbowing Viktor, "asked me to move in with him and well.. I can't tell him no, it seems."

"I am her veakness," Viktor shyly admits, eyes glued to yours as he grasps your hand and kisses your knuckles.

"Just as I am yours, my love."

"Blimey," Ron mutters. "They're worse than Harry and Ginny."

"Shutup, Ronald," Ginny huffs before her expression softens as she gazes at the other couple in question. "They're cute."

"Adorable, really," Hermione muses.

"And totally boink like bunnies." There's a moment of silence before Ginny cackles and the three males at the table turn red at your words. Hermione is laughing as well, face hidden in her hands and you grasp Viktor's face in your hands while kissing his forehead in apology. "I couldn't help myself," you chuckle.

"Troublesome vitch," Viktor mumbles, his lips twitching in amusement.

You wink in response. "As if you'd have me any other way." Settling back in your seat, you also offer an apology to Harry and Ron who are still red around the ears, but both boys wave you off. Ginny is dabbing away tears, still choking down giggles as Hermione sips some water to hide her smile behind her glass.

Bill and Fleur soon make their way towards the middle of the dance floor, and the newly married couple open up the night of dancing by sharing their first dance together as husband and wife. The rest of the Weasley family and close friends make their way towards the floor to circle the happy couple, and you watch as a fluttering horde of butterflies encircle the married couple as they twirl while staring lovingly into each other's eyes.

Standing up from your seat, you scoot over and settle down in Viktor's lap. Wrapping your arms loosely around his neck, his arms encircle your waist as he presses a kiss to your chin. "Vould you vant somesing like zis?" He asks, gesturing the party around you.

"Is this your way of proposing, Krum?"

"Ne," he chuckles. "Ven I propose, you vill know."

"Oohh. When, huh? Not if?"

Viktor meets your eyes, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You know you are only vitch for me." He then quickly presses a chaste kiss to your lips, chuckling, and you bite back a squeal when you feel one of his hands smooth down the small of your back to lightly grab at your ass. "Love you."

"Love you too, you ruddy pumpkin head."

His head falls back as he barks out a laugh. You're smiling at him and thinking about summoning another drink when a sudden hush falls over the party. Viktor's immediately alert, as are you, and he grasps your hand as he stands before pushing passed several guests. In the middle of the floor is a hawk patronus. The moment it's beak opens to relay it's message, witches and wizards start to panic.

"Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley have been attacked. Prepare yourselves. They are coming. They are coming. They are-"

Cracks of apparition resonate all around outside the marquee before blue, purple, and green curses are suddenly flying.

Amidst the screams, witches start apparating children out of the place and the elder generation apparate out to safety. Numerous of others stay behind to fight.

Back to back with Viktor, your wand slips into the palm of your hand and immediately you erect a protective shield. You can hear Viktor sending off curse after curse, occasionally erecting his own shields to stop the spells being thrown at him.

"Fleur!" Bill's terrified shout distracts both you and Viktor in the lull you suddenly found yourselves in, and you watch as the newly married couple gets separated. Fleur seems to hold her own before her wand goes flying and then her hands are grasping at the skirt of her dress to make it more easier for her to run and dodge.

"Viktor," you breathe in horror when you realize two wizards in the old deatheater regalia set their sights on the bride.

"I know. Stay low," he tells you.

"Aim high."

You squeeze his wrist in reassurance before holstering your wand, and then concentrating as best as you can you kneel down while letting your animagus form take over. In your place remains a hissing black panther. Viktor erects a shield to protect Fleur and you lunge across the floor, your teeth clamping onto the wand arm of the wizard who first attacked. As he yells and you use your weight to drag him down, you then unsheathe your claws and drag them down his chest while sinking your teeth into his neck.

A cutting hex hits your ribs and you yowl angrily, but a large black dog- or is that a Grim?- tackles the other deatheater.

"Y/N!" Your head snaps up and you meet Viktor's worried gaze, your whiskers twitching. The commotion around you is starting to dwindle, so you don't worry about watching your own back as you paw around for Fleur's missing wand. Finding it, you gently grasp it within your mouth before walking it over to the rather astonished witch. As she cautiously takes it, Viktor kneels down and presses a hand to your bleeding wound. "You are hurt, my love."

Your ears twitch and then you're transforming back, sitting on your knees with a grimace. "Just a scratch."

"Blimey. That was bloody brilliant." You glance over your shoulder to see an older wizard standing between Ron and Harry, the wizard's hair falling to his shoulders in dark waves with the grayest eyes you've ever seen. "Sirius Black at your service, sweetheart."

Harry grins. "He was the shaggy dog who avenged you."

Huffing a laugh, you fall forward on Viktor while gesturing a wave behind your back. "Thanks for that. I'm Y/N."

As Viktor helps you up to your feet, Bill gently collides with Fleur as he hugs her to his chest. Pressing kiss after kiss all over her face, he finally tucks his wife into his chest while looking to you and Viktor. "Thank you. Both of you."

"S'what friends are for, Weasley." Viktor glances down at you, scooping you up in his arms within the blink of an eye. Your arms immediately go around his neck and you furrow your brow at him. "What?"

"You are slurring vords. Come. You need Healer."

You blink and belatedly realize just how slow you are to actually reopen your eyes. "O-oh." As Viktor hums and starts marching through the lingering witches and wizards to get you looked at, your head falls onto his shoulder. "When we g'married, deatheaters are not 'vited."

Viktor huffs an amused laugh. "Okay, love. Vatever you vant."

#fanficimagery #viktor krum x reader #viktor x reader #viktor krum imagine #viktor krum #harry potter imagine #hp imagine #hermione granger #ron weasley #harry potter #ginny weasley #bill weasley #fleur delacour #sirius black #imagine

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cooperhewitt · 5 years ago

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Revolutionary Design: The Cuban Film Poster

In recognition of National Hispanic Heritage Month (September 15-October 15, 2019), this week’s Object Of The Day posts celebrate Latinx designers’ works in the collection.

This post is written by Maeve Coudrelle.

The Cuban Revolution of 1959 brought major changes to the country’s cultural fabric. Less than three months after the new revolutionary state came into power, the Instituto Cubano del Arte e Industria Cinematográficos (ICAIC) was formed. Also known as the Cuban Film Institute, the ICAIC was part of an effort to educate the populace by providing access to the arts.It was founded under the belief that cinema is uniquely powerful in its ability to disseminate ideas to a popular audience.[1] ICAIC would come to be Cuba’s only producer of national films and sole importer and distributor of foreign films.[2] Starting in 1961 the cine móvil (mobile cinema) program sent mobile projection units to remote areas of the countryside, where the illiteracy rate could be as high as forty percent and many lacked electricity.[3] In addition to producing documentaries and films by Cuban directors, ICAIC screened avant-garde features from Western Europe, the U.S., Latin America, and Asia. Perhaps unsurprisingly, it demonstrated a particular affinity for films from Eastern European socialist countries, including Poland, Hungary, Bulgaria, Romania, and the Soviet Union.

Before the revolution, film posters were largely imported from outside of Cuba. Promoting films made in other countries, these mass-produced offset posters would offer close-up photographs of starlets, commercial script, and vignettes of stills.[4] In 1943, however, Havana-based artist Eladio Rivadulla Martínez began screenprinting film posters locally.[5] By 1960, ICAIC had opened its own screenprinting workshop, ushering in what would become known as the golden age of the Cuban poster.[6] ICAIC alone is thought to have produced over 1,700 original posters, in runs of 100 to 300 copies each.[7] These posters all conform to an identical vertical format, with distinct flat swathes of color—a uniformity of design that makes them immediately recognizable. These characteristics were in part the result of limited resources caused by the 1962 U.S. trade embargo, which dictated the size of poster print runs, the quality and type of ink and paper available, and the use of silkscreen rather than offset lithography.[8] The posters’ small 20 x 30-inch format allowed for their display in umbrella-like kiosks, known as paragüitas or sombrillitas, which held eight posters at once and were installed across Havana and other cities.[9]

Among the artists on the ICAIC staff was Rene Azcuy Cardenas (Havana, 1939–Miami, 2019), who became associated with ICAIC in 1960, and eventually produced more than 250 film posters for the agency.[10] Trained at the Academia de Bellas Artes San Alejandro and Escuela Superior de Arte y Oficios, Havana, Azcuy’s most recognizable posters include Testimonio (1970) and Besos Robados (1970). He was known for juxtaposing black-and-white photographic imagery, often characterized by exaggerated halftone patterns, with passages of striking flat red color.[11] Because ICAIC’s silkscreen workshop did not have the technology to produce photographic stencils, the halftone dots were painstakingly cut by hand.[12] In this poster, La última cena (The Last Supper), Azcuy uses the white of the paper, along with a printed black ground, to create the effect of a candelabrum glowing in the darkness. Instead of melting wax, however, the individual candles bleed an arresting shade of red. A strip of sans-serif text at the upper edge announces that this poster represents a Cuban film produced in color by director Tomás Gutiérrez Alea, and starring actor Nelson Villagra. At the bottom left, Azcuy’s trademark lowercase “a” identifies him as the designer.

La última cena is a 1976 historical production set in Spanish colonial Cuba. The film follows an eighteenth-century plantation owner who reenacts the Last Supper in an attempt to indoctrinate the individuals he enslaved. The film brings into sharp focus the religious and ethical hypocrisies used by the ruling class to justify slavery. The candelabrum that Azcuy selects as the primary symbol of the film features prominently in the central scene of the Last Supper reenactment, framing the protagonists throughout. The addition of the bleeding candles in the poster evokes the film’s violent closing scene and serves as a stark representation of the brutality upon which the Cuban sugar plantation system was founded.

In contrast to how we might think of film posters today – flashy advertisements intended to increase ticket sales – ICAIC posters did not need to act as commercials. Film screenings were immensely popular in Cuba, costing only one peso, and low attendance was not a concern.[13] Instead, ICAIC posters offered a visual representation of a film, often focusing on a single iconographic element, designed not as targeted advertising but poetic accompaniment to the film itself.[14] Designers offered their own perspective on the film’s themes and sought to train the viewer to interpret visual symbols and compositional cues. Perhaps inspired by the campaign to spread literacy across Cuba, ICAIC artists were invested in educating the public in visual literacy, especially the ability to interpret abstract rather than literal representations.[15] Cardenas’ poster for The Last Supper in Cooper Hewitt’s collection does this to remarkable effect.

Maeve Coudrelle is a PhD candidate in Art History at Temple University, specializing in post-war Latin American art.

[1] David Kunzle, “Public Graphics in Cuba: A Very Cuban Form of Internationalist Art,” Latin American Perspectives, 2.4 (1975): 91.

[2] Jorge R. Bermúdez, La imagen constante: El cartel cubano del siglo XX (Havana: Editorial Letras Cubanas, 2007), 130.

[3] Lincoln Cushing, ¡Revolución! Cuban Poster Art (San Francisco: Chronicle Books, 2003), 9; Carol A. Wells, “Hollywood in Havana: Five Decades of Cuban Posters Promoting U.S. Films,” exhibition brochure, Pasadena Museum of California Art, August 20, 2017–January 7, 2018.

[4] Wells; Cushing, 101; Bermúdez, 138.

[5] Wells.

[6] David Craven, “The Visual Arts since the Cuban Revolution,” Third Text 6.20 (Autumn 1992): 79; Cushing, 114. While Craven lists 1965-75 as the golden age, Cushing understands it to continue through the early 1980s. In addition to the film institute, several other agencies are also renowned for their poster production during this period: the Comisión de Orientación Revolucionaria (COR), the party’s propaganda arm, the Organization of Solidarity with Asia, Africa, and Latin America (OSPAAAL), a Havana-based NGO, and the Casa de las Américas, among others.

[7] Carole Goodman and Claudio Sotolongo, Soy Cuba: Cuban Cinema Posters from After the Revolution (Mexico City: Trilce Ediciones, 2011), 26. Slightly different counts appear in Cushing, 13 and Russ Davidson, ed, Latin American Posters: Public Aesthetics and Mass Politics (Santa Fe: Museum of New Mexico Press, 2006), 49.

[8] Alfredo Rostgaard quoted in Shifra Goldman, “Painters into Poster Makers: A Conversation with Two Cuban Artists,” in Dimensions of the Americas: Art and Social Change in Latin America and the United States (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994), 152; Félix Beltrán quoted in Eva Cockcroft, “Art in Cuba Today: An Interview with Félix Beltrán,” Art in America 68 (January 1980): 10.

[9] Goodman and Sotolongo, 25, 32.

[10] Other involved artists include Eduardo Muñoz Bachs, Rene Azcuy Cardenas, Antonio Fernández Reboiro, Antonio (Ñiko) Pérez González, Raúl Martínez, and Alfredo Rostgaard.

[11] Goodman and Sotolongo, 26; Levinson, 4.

[12] Goodman and Sotolongo, 15.

[13] Cushing, 10; Sandra Levinson, Cuban Poster Art: A Retrospective, 1961–1982 (New York: Center for Cuban Studies, 1983), 4.

[14] Goodman and Sotolongo, 14-15; Craven, 82-83.

[15] Bermúdez, 141; Craven, 90.

from Cooper Hewitt, Smithsonian Design Museum https://ift.tt/327LwmN via IFTTT

#cooper hewitt #design conversations

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inxbreakableheaven · 5 years ago

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↳ Oh, wow, is that NINA DOBREV? Never mind, it’s just KATERINA ANGELOVA, the 25/1300 year old BISEXUAL VAMPIRE QUEEN. I did hear that SHE is INTELLIGENT & WITTY but also really FLIGHTY & MISTRUSTFUL. In the great war, SHE is on the BLACKSTONE side. I guess we’ll have to wait and see. (ADMIN EMILY, 24, EST, SHE/HER)

Katerina was born an only child in 719 AD in Bulgaria. Her father was responsible for the fur trade in town and her mother was a housewife. Katerina was a sweet girl, very silly and full of ideas of love. She dreamed of finding her true love and filling a house with kids. She was married at the age of fifteen to Ivan Atanas, the son of her father's best friend. Katerina was convinced she loved him and tried to do the best she could to make him happy and fill the house with kids as she had once wanted to do. She gave birth to her eldest, Irina, at the age of 17, with her two younger sons following soon after. Irina adored being a mother and doted on her children. They lit up her life and she couldn’t see herself doing anything else.

When she was 25, she got into an argument with Ivan and left the house to clear her head. It was there that she was attacked by her sire and turned that night. Bleeding when she came to, she ran to her house, but couldn’t get in. Her husband’s friend came to see the family and she killed him, thus completing the transformation and she was no longer able to see her family. She traveled with her sire for decades, being repressed and resenting him for tearing her family apart and keeping her from being a mother to her children. In the early 1600s, she tore away from her sire and made her way to America. It was in Massachusetts that she befriended a witch and rescued them from the Salem witch trials. The two became best friends and they are still in her life to this day.

Soon after she turned, she was an out of control newborn who grieved the loss of her family. She found a kindly man (open connection) who took her in and taught her what it meant to be a vampire, that her new cards were a blessing and not a curse like she'd originally thought. She feels grateful to him for showing her things didn't have to be so bad all the time.

#tmw.intro

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alatismeni-theitsa · 6 years ago

Note

(part 1) Could go describe the greece thoughts on the war reparations that are asked of germany? I am stuck in a debate with my grandpa because of it. You see my town in germany is broke to the point where they have to cut public transport in order to have the money to repair and build other public transport that is more sustainable ( we have 3 types, only 1 that is cut is working ) and you can see a big hit to our economy coming as the biggest part of our tax payers are older people who want to

(part 2) go into early retirement, meaning cuts in the state retirement fonds and way higher taxes for the rest of us. (that is also why the elder genderation kinda looks down on south europe “they go so early in retirement, they don’t work as long as we do so ofc their economy is bad” ) that with the mentality of saving up for everything and the idea that we worked hard for our economic wonder after the war makes him think that greece is asking out of entitlement ? While in my age group it’s more like we want to help , one of my teachers even phrased it as helping out euopean neighbours helps us too , but at the same time have enough money left over so that the towns still can operate normally ( the city where the grandparents of my bff live didn’t have enough money immediantly to change faulty water pipes in a neighborhood ) and maybe it’s because we’re still in school so the number in the reparation seems really big. //

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Hello! :) To sum my big response up, I believe

reparations must be paid and that this is the most suitable situation for this

to happen. Germany has enough money to support its citizens and Greece. I believe with this is the majority opinion of Greeks on the matter. If any Greek wants to add soemthing, feel free to reblog and comment. For now, let’s analyze that a bit more.

To put a disclaimer here, I am not saying that Greece is the perfect state or that it handled its financial matters in the best way. Not all the blame falls on Germans. Greeks are to blame too, of course. We did some poor choices and we can be scumbugs from time to time. But enough blame falls on Germany (as well), enough to not give them the right to accuse Greece this way. At the same time I don’t support the “all Germans are bad” notion.

Point 1

As I said, reparations must be paid no matter what. And they should be paid especially in this situation because the German Nazi regime harmed Greece A LOT. (I am not implying that all Germans were Nazis, I am not implying that Germany wasn’t hurt by the regime and I am not implying you don’t know your own history. I will do the mention for the reason I just want to lay some numbers.)

The Great Famine was a period of mass forced starvation during the Axis occupation of Greece, during World War II (1941–44). Deaths estimated to 300,000 just from this. People who have survived this are our grandparents and their traumatic experiences bleed into our families. Also, imagine how many more died of sudden mass executions in villages and by opposing the regime. Let’s not mention the Greek Romani, Greek Jewish, Greek people with disabilities and Greek lgbt+ people were led to death camps. At least 80% of the country’s Jewish population, were murdered (that is tens of thousands). Bulgaria had taken the North with German blessings and there was more destruction on their part. So, what sort of “entitlement” is to get money after war crimes being commited onto your country?

Point 2

At the same time I recognize that simple people had to work very hard to bring Germany back to its feet after WW2. I am not denying that your grandfather and his generation are worthy of good pensions and rest. And, with the current economic state of Germany, I am sure they will take that money. See, Germany has become one of the most influential and powerful states in the EU, even the most powerful someone say. So much that countries like France and the UK are overshadowed and worried about “a German hegemony”. So we know that the government, at least, has the money. (I will elaborate more on that on Point 4).

Point 3

Now contrast this to Greece. Germans say Greeks are lazy. I say that Greeks have worked very hard to overcome the poverty their nation had. While Germanic kingdoms were thriving, Greece was under Ottoman occupation (which lasted for 200-500 years depending on the area). After 1825 Greeks slowly started getting freed and they had to gather money from level zero to build their new government and offices. Less than 100 years later the nation also suffered from a refugee crisis, as our Greek brothers in the Pontus region were going through a literal genocide so they run to Greece for safety. WW1 before that had brought nation to its knees. And then came WW1. And not to mention the Greek civil war afterwards. More poverty, more hunger for everyone. All we hear from our grandparents is poverty and hunger (unless you are descended from an old rich family, which, for the most of us its unlikely).

So, Greeks always worked to overcome this. We are not lazy but we had one “lazy” generation. It was in the early days of the Euro in the country when the government had money and chose to spend it immoderately on its citizens. The people who were in their prime in the in 80’s-00’s worked normal hours with an extravagant pay. And since they were paid well and the retirement funds were good, they went into retirement early. Other than that, Greeks never worked less, especially less than Germans. Even today, Greeks work the longest hours in Europe, while Germans clock the least hours, according to data by the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD) reveal. (article from 2018: https://greece.greekreporter.com/2018/01/24/greeks-work-longest-hours-in-europe/)

Greeks still work hard to overcome the crisis. Many households are bleeding and striving to keep the basic goods coming into the house. Most of our elderly don’t have enough to take basic medicine because of the extreme cuts in their pensions. And more cuts are on the way (https://www.politico.eu/pro/greek-mps-pass-further-austerity-measures-amidst-violent-protests/). People will retire after their sixties because if they go on retirement they won’t have enough money to even maintain a household. That is because the EU, with Germany as a leading force, put extreme meters of austerity for us and great taxes which grow every year even ten years after the crisis. To top that, Greece almost doesn’t have an industry at all because the EU has make us dependent on other countries (because of our debt). It’s not that we have a great amount of dept. There are countries with great industry that have a huge dept, see USA with its 20 trillion debt. It must be noted that the European countries were quick to put Greece into their debt since our revolution in the 19th century. Of course, I don’t expect anyone to just give Greece money. The problem is that we were put in debt for very small help. Sometimes it was almost like a scam.

Point 4

Moreover, Germany knows the situation in Greece and it’s profiting from it. For example, Fraport, which is majority-owned by state and local governments in Germany, bought 14 Greek airports in 2017. The European commission asked Greece to sell 40% of our state electrical production units. As you will see in this 2015 article, more sales were done. (https://www.marketwatch.com/story/germans-begin-the-looting-of-greece-2015-08-21). “the country must sequester 50 billion euros worth of public assets to sell off at distressed prices to mostly foreign bidders — with German companies first in line.” and “Other assets to be sold will include the ports of Piraeus and Thessaloniki and valuable waterfront properties for hotel and casino development. State-owned electricity and train operations are also targeted for privatization.”

Germany made billions from the crisis, as stated in this article. (https://www.thelocal.de/20180621/germany-made-billions-on-greeces-debt-crisis-berlin-confirms) Plus, the German newspaper “Handelsblatt” confirmed that Germany gained 368 billion euros, which is 10% of its Gross Domestic Product - GDP. And how could it not, since it’s buying everything Greece has and on top of it gives us loans with a very high interest rate. It’s obvious that Germany’s government is not here to see us thrive but to gain from our misfortune. If it wanted to see us thrive it would support Greece with investments, not robbery of its state assets. And I say robbery because, due to the crisis, they find the excuse to buy everything very cheap, as we depend on them.

Greeks feel like they are colonized by the Germans, since they just want to milk us and at the same time they treat the country as their vacation resort because our prices have gone down due to the bigger crisis they put us in. I am not ungrateful for tourism but you can see the messy social implications of that. See the 2017 article “Why Greece is Germany’s ‘de facto colony’” (https://www.politico.eu/article/why-greece-is-germanys-de-facto-colony/)

And I should comment on the irony of the situation, since, even with the way Germany treats Greece, Greece’s youth mainly migrates to Germany to work, as there are no jobs here. That means we give the country our knowledge and our labor and we work to advance the country for the benefit of all - while at the same time we are looked down upon because we are supposedly lazy. While having jobs in Germany. There is a chance I go to the country for work, and while with my degree I can help advance the technological companies of Germany, a lot of people will just name me “a lazy Greek” or they will name my parents “lazy Greeks” - my parents who almost pass out of exhaustion working multiple jobs to support the family. Or my grandparents, who opened four different shops (with great debt) because each one was failing and were always struggling to get by.

Seeing all the profit Germany made and will

make, it’s hard for me to believe that the country lacks money. It must be the

government officials that don’t want to give this money to the people. It seems so ridiculous that the state won’t give enough money to your grandparents’ community to do basic things. It’s exactly like the situation in Greece, but our government indeed doesn’t have the money :P In some places our buses are so ancient they barely hold themselves together and you can hear the sounds their metals do as it goes on the road. (And you can feel them, it’s like a Luna Park ride :P) Roads are not fixed, our state buildings (and university buildings among them) are literally collapsing… Like… not such a good situation.

Point 5

For the fake credentials fiasco: I don’t know how true is this but if it is indeed true, our politicians are scumbags. People who were not government officials at the time didn’t know about this and they didn’t support it. It was a previous government that did all this. Moreover, if Greece gave fake credentials, it was the job of EU officials to check them. It seems they didn’t do their job either, since they let us enter the EU. Or maybe they were as corrupt as our government at the time? And now they want to say they have the moral high ground? As I said, I am not well informed in this case but if it happened both parties are to blame, even in an unequal rate.

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Oook that’s it! If you want to add something, or ask me further my ask box is open! And thank you for supporting the Greek case! I think we should find a middle ground so neither German nor Greek citizens are harmed by political decisions.

#Greek politics #eu #germany #german politics #greece and germany #European Union #greek crisis #economical crisis

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phyripo · 6 years ago

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46 and robul?

46. “Hey, have you seen the..? Oh.”

Uhh… That looks like a humorous prompt, so have something… Creepy? It’s a mix of the fact that I played some Rusty Lake games again combined with the fact that I’ve started listening to Welcome to Night Vale again that spawned this, soooo… I hope you like it, sorry for the long wait!

Dragos is Romania, Stefan is Bulgaria, aaaand Luca is Moldova

Send me a pairing and a number and I’ll write you a fic

There was nothing unusual about the mist.

It had rolled in across the lake as it oftendid on spring mornings like these, greying out the little island Dragos livedon. The familiar trees were looming shadows in the fog, the old well a blurrymystery. But it was just mist, and the shadows were just shadows, so Dragoswasn’t sure why he felt so unsettled whenever he looked out of the windows.He’d lived here for years now, in this little refuge he and Stefan had built onthe island. It was safe.

“Stupid mist,” he grumbled at no one, shakinghis head and going to the next line on his typewriter with too much relish. “Ishouldn’t read so many books.”

Still, he was relieved when Stefan returnedhome after his work on the mainland, where he ferried wood back and forth. Hisshape was familiar in the fog, and he smelled comfortingly of the forest whenDragos kissed him quickly as he kicked off his heavy shoes.

“It’s cold out,” Stefan said, running a handthrough his slightly damp hair.

“Looks cold, yeah.” Dragos took his coat. Themist had lingered throughout the day, seemingly not lessening at all, althoughit must have—the news on the radio reported sunny weather on the shores of thelake. “It’ll probably clear out by tomorrow.”

Stefan hummed absently. Of course, he hadn’tbeen stuck in the middle of the white haze all day; he wasn’t as unsettled. Heusually wasn’t. Dragos was more prone to that. There was a reason they’d movedto this island, where no one could judge them because there was no one elsehere.

“Please tell me there’s something to eat, Dra,”Stefan was saying, walking further into their cottage.

Dragos laughed, going after him.

“Of course there is.”

The evening was pleasant in its ordinariness,spent listening to a record and reading or writing or filling in crosswordpuzzles. Dragos closed the curtains against the pressing darkness the mistbrought with it, and had nearly forgotten all about it when he went to sleepwith his arm draped over Stefan’s upper body.

It was all the more surprising when he woke thenext morning to an, if possible, even greyer world.

The fog curled against the small windows of thecottage as if asking to be let in, like a ghost knocking on the door. Dragosdrew the curtains again and told himself not to think about it, not to imagine thathe didn’t know the shapes outside or the muffled sounds of the water and theforest. He typed, ripping sheet after sheet out of his typewriter because thewords wouldn’t listen to him. They curled into unfamiliar shapes, his fingersstraying from the right keys without his permission.

When Stefan came home in the late afternoon, hestartled Dragos from a haze of terribly non-productive writing and brought agust of cold, damp air with him.

“It’s dark,” he said, quizzically, and made toopen the curtains over the dining booth.

“It’s—” Dragos leaped up from his chair andflung himself in front of him. “It helps me work.”

He gestured at the heap of paper lyingscattered on his desk, bathed in lamplight. He wasn’t sure what he had written, certainly not his next novel, but at least itlooked like he’d been doing something useful while Stefan worked.

“Alright,” the man said slowly. His eyes werebright in the gloom, their deep forest green a comforting color after nothingbut the grey outside, the orange of the walls, and the black and white of wordson paper to keep Dragos company over the course of the day.

It had been sunny on the shore, Stefan toldhim, taking his jacket off to reveal short sleeves underneath it. The slightestof tan lines were visible on his pale skin, if Dragos squinted.

There was nothing unusual about the mist.

Weird weather phenomena were not unusual,Dragos mentally repeated like a mantra when they went to bed, later, staring upat the whorls in the wood of the bedroom ceiling. His imagination wasoveractive and it would pass. It would all pass, and their island could go backto its usual unusualness—which was mostly just Dragos himself.

The next day was a Saturday, which was Stefan’sday off, and also the day Dragos’s younger brother always called, so that was agood excuse not to go outside no matter what Stefan said about Luca alwayscalling after three, which left them plenty of time to do something together,never mind the mist, Dragos, it’sjust water.

“I thought you were the smart one,” Stefan saidjokingly, shrugging on his jacket. He hadn’t shaved today, and his stubblescratched Dragos’s jaw when he leaned over to kiss him, when he laughed againsthis mouth as Dragos tugged him down to deepen the kiss.

While the ensuing tussle was playful and funand quite pleasurable, it only delayed Stefan’s going out into the ever-presentmist by half an hour, because he thought they would need more firewood soon,and the wood would need to dry if it was to be of any use.

“You’re a strange man, Dra,” he told himwonderingly. Dragos ran his hand through the man’s mussed hair, biting his ownlip.

“You love me.”

“Never said I didn’t. Guess that makes me alittle strange, too.”

Smiling despite himself as Stefan untangled hisbody and stood, Dragos replied, “Very strange. Be careful, alright?”

He gave a jaunty little salute and was off intothe fog, where he was nothing more than a shape no more familiar than thegnarled trees. Dragos frowned at it through the window for too long, but themist hurt his eyes and his head, so he pulled the curtain mostly shut again,leaving a strip of light to spill outside.

Just in case Stefan forgot his way back.

The phone rang promptly at three, and Dragoswent to pick it up in relief, leaning against the wall in the hallway where ithung.

“Hey, Luc!” he greeted.

There was a long, staticky silence in reply.

“Hello?” Dragos tried, his heartbeat ratchetingup.

More static. A sound like a voice speakingbackwards. Dragos bit his lip so hard it started bleeding, clutching the handsetwhite-knuckled.

“What’s going on?” he asked, voice unsteady andlouder than he intended.

The voice continued, pouring unintelligiblesounds through the telephone line. If the mist had a sound, Dragos imagined itwould be this, creeping around in his head, just syllables without meaning nomatter which way he turned them.

He slammed the handset back on to the base andwas on the verge of ripping the whole contraption off the wall, when the phonerang again.

“Get out!” he yelled into it, on the verge oftears. Something was wrong here, andhe hated it.

“What?” replied a seemingly perplexed Luca. “Dra,is that you?”

He swore. “I’m so sorry, Luc. I’m sorry.Something weird is—sorry.” The plastic of the handset creaked in his grip, sohe tried to ease it a little.

“Are you alright?” Luca asked. Dragos leanedhis free hand against the wall and hung his head.

“God, I don’t know.” He tried to breathesteadily. His mind felt fuzzy, but the feeling was subsiding little by little. “Probably.”

“That sounds reassuring.” Luca laughed alittle. “Is Stefan alright?”

“Possibly. He’s out.”

“Well, I hear the weather’s good for it over th—”

The line cut in a flash of static. Dragosdropped the phone.

He scrambled to grab it where it swung againstthe wall, bouncing. It was difficult to press the little buttons with hisfingers shaking, but he managed to dial his brother’s number from memory.

“Luca?” he whispered, and when there was juststatic in reply, he slammed the handset back down again and tried again.

Stefan found him sitting with his knees drawnup to his chest in the hall, the phone dangling next to him and his fingers inhis messed-up hair.

“Well, this doesn’t look good,” he said,kneeling down in front of Dragos. Tiny water droplets clung to his hair, hiseyelashes. His eyes were curiously mossy, and Dragos pressed himself tighter againstthe wall.

“Where’ve you been?” he asked.

“Out. I got firewood, remember?” Stefan reachedfor him, pushing wispy strands of light brown hair out of his tear-streakedface with cold fingers. “Maybe you should come outside for a bit, it’d do yougood.”

Terrified, Dragos shook his head as hescrambled to his feet.

“I’m not—I’m not going anywhere. Jesus Christ, Stefan, what is going on?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” hereplied calmly.

“Stef, Stef—” Dragos put his hands on the man’sjaw and searched his gaze, and he couldn’t even say what was wrong, but something was, and the front door wasopen behind him, which was wrong. Heleaped towards it, slamming it shut on the mist. As he leaned against it, hecould feel himself shaking.

“Hey, you should lie down,” Stefan was saying,carding his fingers through Dragos’s hair again. “I’ll get some food going,alright?”

Dragos wasn’t sure how he got from the hall tothe couch, but once he was there, he couldn’t bring himself to move, or even thinkabout what the hell was happening on his little, safe island. Against all odds,he fell asleep.

When he woke, the room was dark, but that didn’tmean anything with the curtains drawn and the mist most likely still heavyoutside. Silently, he sat up, cracking his neck and stretching his arms beforewalking over to the window and peering into the forest.

The trees stood silent in the fog. It mighthave been evening or it might have been morning. Dragos honestly had no ideahow much time had passed. He turned back to the room, flicking his desk lamp onand finding a sandwich sitting next to his typewriter. On the paper currentlyin the machine, a short message was written.

Dragos, you lookedlike you needed the sleep. I hope it helped. I’m going outside, find me if youneed me.Stefan

There was no indication of when the message wasleft. It was six, according to the grandfather clock over the desk, but Dragoscouldn’t say whether it was evening or morning. He felt rested, although stillwary.

Eating the simple cheese sandwich, he went overto the radio to turn it on, hoping to find out the time, but the speakers onlyblurted out more static, shot through with maybe-human sounds. With shakinghands, he tried to tune into a different channel, but everything else justbroadcast the static that was normal—they didn’t get great reception out hereand were usually only able to receive the one channel.

One channel that was now garbled nonsense.

He put the remainder of his sandwich away andwalked quickly to the bedroom. The bed looked unslept in, but Stefan’s radioalarm clock displayed a time of a quarter past six in the morning—the radioitself was broadcasting the garbled static.

Dragos swore.

“Stefan!” he called through the house,flinching at his own voice. There was no answer, and he wasn’t surprised.

This wasn’t to say that he wasn’t terrified.

Unable to swallow past the lump in his throat,Dragos paced back to the living room, then changed his mind and rooted throughthe bathroom and the kitchen, where he found nothing out of the ordinary. Thetelephone was still dangling from its cord in the hall, spewing static, andDragos shivered.

Was it cold or was that him?

He peered through all of the windows into theunforgiving white and grey that was the forest. Nothing moved.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted, dragging his hands over his face.

He’d have to go outside.

Although his heart was trying to beat out ofhis chest and his breath was too high to do any good, he managed to find hisboots, his duffel coat. He threw the sheets of paper that he filled with hisnonsensical words yesterday into his shoulder bag along with—he didn’t knowwhat he was putting in there, he had no idea what he was doing. Closing the clasps of the bag proved difficult with hisshaking fingers, but he fumbled until they were shut.

After one last desperate sweep of the cottage,Dragos took a deep breath and opened the front door.

The mist—felt like normal mist. It was cold,and damp, and clung to Dragos’s eyelashes and wispy hair.

Somehow, he felt the urge to hold his breath.He went back into the house and found a scarf to wind around his head, coveringhis nose and mouth. It felt marginally better.

Trying to be silent, he made his way frommemory to the shed where Stefan sometimes worked. Nothing out of the ordinarythere, either.

The trees were still as he walked past the oldwell, but he couldn’t shake the feeling they were watching. Maybe not him inparticular, but watching all the same. Sometimes, something seemed to move inthe distance, but he couldn’t tell whether it was human and didn’t know if hewanted to know.

The island was small. Dragos must have beenwalking in circles or time must have stretched out in weird ways, because itfelt like hours before he saw a familiar shape among the grey. Stefan wasstanding motionless between the trees, and although the trees were motionlesstoo, they had all stretched their branches towards him as if they wanted himfor their own, like Dragos had wanted him for so long now, like Dragos hadgotten him.

He was Dragos’s. This island was Dragos’s, mist or no fucking mist.

Trees didn’t move. Trees had never moved.

“I’ve never seen a tree move,” Dragos said tohimself, his voice barely a whisper but there. He took large steps towardsStefan. They couldn’t take him away from Dragos, nothing could.

Stefan stood silently, slowly resolving intoseparate colors as Dragos neared. His green, short-sleeved shirt, hisbellbottom jeans, the dark of his hair. His back was to Dragos.

“Trees don’t move,” he repeated to himself. Andthen, “Stefan, have you seen the— Oh.”

Because he turned, and his eyes were not theirusual, comforting forest green.

Dragos stumbled back, catching his heel on atree root that may or may not have been there before and flailing to keep hisbalance.

“Stefan?” he whispered, but he knew, as certainas anything, that it wasn’t Stefan. The man—being—looked like Stefan and heldhimself like Stefan, but his eyes, his eyeswere a terrible haze of barely-there green. It was as if the mist had settled insidehim, pulled itself over his eyes.

“Hey, Dragos,” not-Stefan said, and his voicewas a wisp.

Dragos ran.

He tripped over swirling roots, and the mistthickened until he couldn’t see his own feet carrying him across his island. Heran blindly, scrambling up when he fell, pushing his scarf over his nose. Hisheartbeat rang in his ears, or maybe it was the island’s heartbeat, the treesin their terrifying unison.

Eventually, the trees gave way to sand, and heknew he’d reached the shore of the island. He couldn’t see anything out on thewater, so Dragos followed the sand until he found the dock and could scrambleonto it, his boots slipping on the damp wood.

The boat, he needed their boat.

“Dragos!” he heard Stefan, or not Stefan, callfrom the edge of the forest, louder than he should have been able to when themist dampened everything. He panted in almost-sobs, trying to squint along thedock for the little boat.

“No, no,” he whispered when he couldn’t findit. He dropped to his knees to feel along the dock for the rope.

Footsteps crunched through the sand behind him.

“Dragos!” Stefan called again. He soundedclose. Dragos’s numb fingers grappled uselessly against the scaffolding. “Nothingis wrong, Dragos! Come, I’ll take you home!”

Dragos heaved a sob through his scarf.

Footsteps on the dock.

A dull, roaring sound farther away. Somewhereon the lake. Oh god, what was out there?

“Dragos,” Stefan said. His voice sounded ashazy as his eyes had been. “It’s just mist.”

The roaring became louder, and then the mistwas breaking open at the end of the dock to allow Dragos to see that what wascausing it wasn’t something even worse, wasn’t the lake itself rising up againsthim as well.

“Luca!” he yelled, leaping up and runningtowards the motorboat his brother was driving towards the shore. “Don’t dock!Turn around, now!”

“What—” Luca started, and behind Dragos,footsteps clattered across the dock. He didn’t dare look.

“Just turn! Fast!”

Luca stared at Dragos or what was behind himfor a long second before he abruptly steered the boat in the oppositedirection, racing back along the dock. Dragos kept running, and he didn’t evencare if he was going to miss the little boat altogether—he dove towards it thesecond it shot by close enough, crashing against the wood and rolling along sofar that they almost capsized, but Luca kept going until they were clear of thedock, now just a shadow in the mist.

“Where’s Stefan?” he yelled, but Dragos couldn’tspeak, his voice was stuck somewhere in his chest. He breathed in sobs, curlinginto himself on the dirty floor of the motorboat. “Should we go back?”

Dragos shook his head. There were tears on hisface, and they were scorching hot.

They broke out of the mist and into brightmorning sunlight as suddenly as if it had never been there. Dragos still didn’tdare look back.

“I thought I’d check if you were okay,” Lucawas saying. “What’s—what just happened?”

“I don’t know,” Dragos choked out. “I just… I justdon’t know.”

He looked over his shoulder, and there wassunny lake as far as he could see, from the coast to the mountains. His heartbeatrang in his ears.

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