#vam small

[radiovour]

kinda dig the--

chains as a physical representation of soul ownership... also kinda hate it so much

[just-aake]

Whispered in Russian

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha teaches you how to speak some Russian during your time together on a mission.

A/n: this was inspired from a request. Not sure if it was what you expected but I hope you'll still enjoy it.

Warnings: fluff, suggestive themes, cursing, Russian translations from google (because I unfortunately do not know the language)

Words: 3250

“Bron' dlya Nataliyi Romanovoy.”

Natasha’s Russian accent flows effortlessly, her voice smooth and confident as she speaks to the front desk receptionist. Her tone carries the ease of someone completely at home in the language. 

It’s a voice you’ve grown intimately familiar with—not just as her teammate for years but also as her partner.

Which also makes it easier to pick up and piece together some of the words, though you’re still far from being fluent. 

Reservation for Natalia Romanova, you translate silently.

The receptionist offers a polite smile, tapping away at her computer until she finds the reservation. With a nod, she retrieves a key card and slides it across the counter to Natasha.

“Dobro pozhalovat, gospazha Romanova. Vot vashi klyuchi ot nomera.”

You listen intently, trying to match the sounds to meaning, but the words come faster than you can process. Your grasp falters after the first few phrases. 

Welcome…Romanova…key

You almost have it, but the rest slips through your mental filter, lost in the quick flow of syllables. Before you can catch up, the receptionist continues in a kind but rapid tone.

“Esli vam ili vashey zhene potrebuyetsya pomoshch, pozvonite na resepshn, i my s radostyu vam pomozhem.”

At that, Natasha’s lips quirk up in a small, amused smirk. The expression is subtle but unmistakable, and it draws your curiosity. 

You glance at her, silently asking what amused her, but she offers no explanation, only thanking the receptionist with a graceful nod as she takes the key card. 

“Spasibo,” Natasha says, her voice as composed as ever.

Thank you. 

That part you recognize immediately, the basic phrase standing out like a familiar face in a crowd.

Natasha’s hand finds your waist as she guides you away from the desk, her touch grounding and affectionate. 

Still, your mind lingers curiously on the exchange. 

Once inside the room, you dive into setting up your equipment for the mission, carefully pulling out the listening gear from your bag. 

Meanwhile, Natasha checks the room methodically, her eyes scanning for anything amiss. She ends her sweep at the window, drawing back the shutters slightly to observe the building across the street—the one where the targets work at.

“What did the receptionist say to you at the end?” you ask, your curiosity finally spilling over as you adjust the calibration on the gear. 

Natasha glances over her shoulder at you, a glint of amusement in her eyes. She takes her time responding, watching as you work with meticulous focus.

“She said if we needed anything, we could call the front desk,” Natasha replies casually, her tone almost too neutral.

You pause, narrowing your eyes as you turn to face her. 

“That’s it?” you ask, skepticism lacing your voice. “Then why did you react like that?”

The smirk you’d noticed earlier reappears, tugging at the corners of her lips. Natasha steps closer to you, wrapping her arms around your waist and leaning in.

“Zhena,” she repeats slowly, enunciating the word with deliberate care. Her breath is warm against your skin as she presses a quick, affectionate kiss to your cheek. “It means ‘wife.’ She called you my wife.”

“Oh,” you reply, your heart fluttering at the thought. 

You fall silent for a moment, processing, before quietly repeating the word under your breath. 

“Zhena,” you murmur, practicing the pronunciation like a secret you want to keep safe. You say it again, slightly louder, trying to mimic Natasha’s intonation.

Natasha’s expression softens as she watches your reaction, her smirk giving way to a small, genuine smile.

Once satisfied with your attempt, you nod firmly, confidence growing. 

Your gaze shifts to the small table in the corner of the room, and something catches your eye. You gesture toward it, brow raised.

“Well,” you say, “that explains the bottle of champagne.”

Natasha follows your gaze, her chuckle warm and rich as she spots the chilled, unopened bottle perched beside two crystal glasses. 

“Hill said this was the only room available,” she replies, her fingers tracing soft patterns at your sides. Her voice drops slightly, the edge of a smirk returning to her lips. “Guess that means we’re playing newlyweds.”

You wrap your arms around her shoulders, leaning against her as you ponder the situation. 

“Alright,” you nod thoughtfully, “and it won’t look suspicious if we don’t leave our room much since, technically, we’re on our honeymoon.” 

Natasha’s smirk deepens, her eyes glinting with mischief. She tilts her head closer, her lips brushing lightly against yours. 

“Oh, that sounds fun,” she murmurs, her tone dropping into a suggestive lilt.

You roll your eyes, though the small smile tugging at your lips betrays your amusement. 

“I meant it’s a good cover for our mission,” you say pointedly, pulling back just enough to regain your composure. You gesture toward the gear on the table before raising a brow at her. “Or did you already forget the reason why we’re here in the first place?”

Natasha doesn’t answer immediately. 

Instead, her smirk shifts into something a little more daring as she tightens her hold on your waist before pulling you flush against her. Her lips ghost over yours again as she leans in, just close enough for her voice to drop to a whisper.

“I’m multitasking,” she teases, the husky tone sending a shiver down your spine before she closes the small distance between you two.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Some time later, after you two manage to refocus on the mission, you settle in to monitor the listening equipment. 

The two of you wait patiently, earpieces in place, scanning for the key information you need.

But after a few hours of static-filled recordings, indistinct conversations, and absolutely nothing useful, Natasha notices your shoulders beginning to tense with exhaustion. 

She rests a hand on your arm. 

“Take a break,” she offers softly. “I’ll keep watch for now.”

You hesitate, but the encouraging smile on her lips convinces you. 

“Alright,” you relent, stretching out your stiff shoulders before heading to the bathroom for a quick shower.

Once inside, the hot water works wonders, the steam easing the tension in your muscles. 

You feel the stress of the mission starts to melt away, but as you finish, you realize you’ve made a small mistake. 

You forgot to grab your change of clothes for the night. 

With a sigh, you wrap the towel around yourself, water still clinging to your skin, and step out of the bathroom.

The cool air sends a shiver through you as you pad quietly toward your bag.

Natasha’s back is to you as she speaks on the hotel phone. 

Her voice flows smoothly in Russian, soft but clear, and you catch a few familiar words—borscht, pelmeni, blini—dishes you’ve heard her name before.

As you rummage through your belongings, it hits you: she’s ordering dinner. You smile to yourself, amused by the domesticity of the moment, even in the middle of a mission. 

Not wanting to take any longer, you quickly grab what you need, tossing your bag back in its original position as you hear Natasha finish up.

“Da, prosto ostav’te—blyat…”

The abrupt edge in Natasha’s voice pulls your attention, her sudden exclamation making you look up in curiosity.

Her words have stopped mid-sentence, her lips parted slightly as her eyes roam over you. Her gaze lingers on the droplets of water still glistening on your skin, the curve of your shoulders, and the towel that clings just a little too loosely to your body.

It takes her a moment to catch herself. Natasha clears her throat, her voice steadier as she quickly finishes her conversation. 

“Prostite,” she mutters into the phone. “Ostav’te yedu u dveri. Spasibo.”

You pause where you stand as you attempt to piece together what she just said. Your limited Russian skills manage to translate fragments: leave…food…door. 

It’s enough to guess that she told them to leave your dinners outside the room so they won’t come in and see all your equipment set up.

But you also notice that there’s one word missing from the sentence—the one she exclaimed earlier.

It lingers in your mind, unaccounted for, and you try remembering how Natasha said it.

“Blyat…” you repeat, testing the word carefully, sounding it out until you nod in satisfaction, confident you’ve got it.

A low groan comes from Natasha, prompting you to look back at her. Her eyes are noticeably darker now.

“Bozhe moy…” Natasha mutters under her breath, shaking her head lightly in exasperation.

Your brow quirks in amusement at her tone, a small smile tugging at your lips. “What does it mean?”

“It’s a curse word—just something someone would say when they’re surprised or frustrated,” Natasha says stiffly, her voice a little strained, though she manages to seem mostly composed.

Her eyes eventually betray her, though, drifting back to the droplets of water sliding down your skin. 

“So what’s the translation?” you press, crossing your arms at her vague response. The motion inadvertently shifts the towel, loosening it further.

Natasha’s jaw tightens. Her gaze flickers to the towel, and she exhales sharply through her nose, her control clearly fraying. 

Even though she looks like she’s about to close the distance between you, it’s clear she won’t answer your question, which makes your expression fall lightly into a mock disappointed pout.

“You said you’d help me improve my Russian during this mission,” you remind her, your tone innocently light as you step closer to stand in front of her. 

The memory of her promise lingers in your mind—how she’d caught you practicing in secret and insisted you ask her for help whenever you needed it.

Her lips twist in hesitation, probably also remembering her promise, and for a moment, it seems like she might resist.

But then she relents with a sigh. 

“It’s basically like saying ‘fuck,’” Natasha explains, her voice low and even. She fixes you with a pointed look, her gaze burning as she adds, “As in, you surprised me, standing half-naked in the middle of the room like this.” 

A laugh escapes you, though your cheeks warm at the intensity of her gaze. You move to hover a hand above her chest, tracing a finger lightly against the edge of her tank top.

“Were you surprised…or frustrated?” you ask, your tone full of mischief. 

Natasha shoots you a warning look, one that says you already know the answer.

“I don’t think learning Russian curse words was part of your original goal here,” she counters, her voice tight.

“Who says I haven’t learned some phrases already?” you reply with a playful shrug.

Her eyebrows lift, intrigued. “Like what?”

You shake your head, refusing to elaborate. “I’m still practicing my pronunciation.”

Natasha smirks, leaning closer. “I can help.”

The listening equipment chooses that moment to beep suddenly, interrupting your conversation, as it signals incoming noises.

“Too bad we’re still on the clock,” you quip with a teasing smile.

Natasha’s attention flickers reluctantly to the gear, her expression briefly clouded with disappointment.

You take the opportunity to head back to the bathroom and finish up.

As you go, a smirk tugs at your lips, the Russian phrase you’ve been practicing simmering in your mind.

Just as you step through the doorway, you hum thoughtfully, your voice low and deliberate as you mutter under your breath—just loud enough for Natasha to hear.

“How did it go again...trak-hni…menya…trakhni menya…”

You don’t need to turn around to know the effect your words have. Natasha’s sharp intake of breath is unmistakable, and your smirk widens in satisfaction. 

Behind you, Natasha freezes, her lips parting slightly, her entire body going still as she processes what you just said. The weight of your casual tone and the boldness of your phrasing leave her momentarily stunned.

By the time she regains her composure, you’ve already disappeared into the bathroom, the door closing with a soft click.

A low, disbelieving chuckle escapes her after a moment, followed by a quiet grumble as she mutters to herself, “Of all the times to be on a mission…” 

Natasha shakes her head and exhales, grabbing the earpiece with a resigned sigh.

Sliding it back on, she tries to focus on the task at hand, her eyes scanning the equipment as if sheer willpower could drown out her thoughts.

But her gaze betrays her, drifting back toward the bathroom door.

It lingers there, her resolve wavering as the temptation to follow you creeps in, tugging at her self-control.

Her mind conjures an image of you inside—water still clinging to your skin and your voice low and teasing as you repeat the Russian phrase for “fuck me” over and over again. 

The imagination is enough to make her swallow hard, her grip tightening on the table’s edge.

With a sharp, frustrated exhale, Natasha forces her attention back to the mission, her eyes narrowing as if determination alone could block the distractions. 

And she does succeed in regaining her composure eventually, though, every now and again, your voice echoes in her mind—soft, playful, and full of mischief.

Each syllable you murmured is as clear as if you were still standing there, taunting her with that dangerous smirk.

The corners of her lips twitch despite herself. 

You’ve always told her how much you love hearing her speak in Russian—how the sound of it stirs something in you. 

Natasha had always found your words amusing, but hearing you just now, with your hesitant yet deliberate tone, she’s beginning to understand exactly what you meant.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

After dinner, Natasha takes it upon herself to continue monitoring the listening gear, insisting that you rest up first after the long trip here and the exhausting setup.

Her tone left little room for argument, so you relented, knowing how stubborn she could be about these things and the fact that she is more than capable of staying concentrated on the task for longer than you can.

Hours pass, the rhythmic static and indistinct chatter from the equipment blending into the quiet of the room.

Natasha barely notices how late it’s gotten until she feels your arms wrap gently around her shoulders from behind.

You lean in close, your warm breath brushing against the side of her head as you carefully remove her earpieces. 

“Poydem so mnoy spat’,” you whisper softly.

Natasha’s lips curve into a small, pleased smile at your perfect pronunciation. Turning to face you, she raises a brow, her expression amused.

“Did you learn that specifically for moments like this?” she teases.

You smirk back at her. 

“With how often you lose yourself in work, I figured learning how to call you to bed should be one of the first things I perfect.” 

Natasha shakes her head fondly, a quiet laugh escaping her lips. 

“Of course you would,” she murmurs, but there’s no mistaking the affection in her voice.

Obliging you, she removes the rest of the gear and allows you to pull her gently from the chair toward the large bed.

As she moves, her gaze flickers to the nightstand, catching sight of your tablet screen. The familiar display of the language-learning app you’ve been using to practice Russian glows faintly in the dim light.

Settling in beside her, you lie back against the pillows while Natasha props herself up on one elbow, her head resting on her hand. Her green eyes glimmer with a soft light as she looks at you, a small smile playing on her lips.

“You know,” she says, tilting her head slightly, “I’m sure I can teach you Russian better than that app.” 

Her comment makes you laugh lightly. 

“I know, but our free time doesn’t always line up for me to get a lesson from Ms. Romanoff,” you tease, smirking.

“It’s Mrs.,” Natasha corrects, her playful smirk matching yours. “Don’t forget, we’re technically married right now.”

You smile, your gaze softening as you look at her. 

“Right. How could I forget that you’re my ‘zhena?’”

The word slips out in a playful, teasing tone, but it has an unexpected effect.

Natasha’s heart flutters so much at hearing you call her your wife in Russian that she has to look away for a moment to regain her composure. 

Her expression is tender when she looks back at you, her other arm moving around your midsection and pulling you closer. 

“I have time now,” she offers, her voice low. “Anything you want to learn?”

You hum thoughtfully, tapping your chin as you consider. 

“Alright, how do you say…‘you look beautiful?’”

Natasha’s smile widens slightly. 

“Ty vyglyadish’ prekrasno,” she replies smoothly.

You repeat the phrase under your breath, scrunching your face slightly in concentration as you practice. Once you’re confident enough, you turn to her with a gentle smile.

“Ty vy-glya-dish’ prekrasno,” you say, your pronunciation close but not perfect.

Natasha chuckles softly in amusement when she realizes you just wanted to say the phrase back to her. 

“Are you trying to make me fall for you even more by complimenting me in Russian?”  

You smirk playfully. “Depends. Is it working?”

Huffing lightly, Natasha rolls her eyes, though there’s a clear fondness in her exasperation. She looks away briefly, but you catch her cheek gently, turning her gaze back to yours.

“How do you say…‘I love you?’” you ask softly, your voice tinged with both curiosity and affection.

Natasha’s expression softens further, her features open and vulnerable as she answers. 

“Ya tebya lyublyu,” she says, enunciating each syllable carefully for you. 

“Ya tebya lyu…blyu,” you repeat slowly, trying to mimic how her lips move, but the last syllable doesn’t quite land how it should.

Natasha chuckles lightly, her hand moving to cup your chin. 

“When you say ‘lyublyu,’” she explains gently, “you have to purse your lips more.”

You try again, adjusting your pronunciation, and then glance at her for confirmation. 

“Like that?” you ask innocently, unaware that you had said it perfectly, making Natasha’s heart beat a little faster at the sound of your voice saying those words to her in her native language. 

“Say it again,” Natasha murmurs, her voice soft. 

Focusing intently, you follow her previous instructions.

“Ya tebya lyublyu.”

Just as you say the last sound, Natasha leans in suddenly, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. 

Your smile grows against her mouth as realization dawns that she made you repeat it for her benefit. 

“Mmm, you’re teasing me when you're supposed to be teaching me,” you murmur lightly in reprimand.

Natasha pulls back slightly, her green eyes glinting with playful mischief. 

“Maybe I just love the way you say it,” she counters, her tone low and warm. 

You huff lightly, rolling your eyes in mock exasperation before scooting closer.

Natasha relaxes fully into the bed, letting you rest your head on her shoulder and tuck your face into the curve of her neck. Her arms wrap around you, holding you in a soft embrace.

After a moment of comfortable silence, Natasha’s voice breaks through, gentle and curious. 

“What made you decide to learn Russian?”

There’s a brief pause as you consider her question, and then you tilt your head to look up at her, your eyes filled with affection. 

“Russian is a part of who you are, Natasha,” you say earnestly. “Where you came from. To learn another way to connect with you…” You trail off, your soft smile widening. “Who wouldn’t want to do that?”

Natasha’s heart swells at your words, and for a moment, all she can do is hold you closer, her fingers brushing lightly over your back.

“Ya tebya lyublyu,” she whispers, her voice barely audible but still filled with the depth of her feelings for you.

You settle back against her, smiling into her shoulder, your voice gentle as you reply.

“Ya tebya lyublyu, too.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: got distracted by a cute request and made another little fluff fic. thank you for reading! Now I'll get back to working on my series. 😅

Also here are the translations below:

“Bron' dlya Nataliyi Romanovoy.” - Reservation for Natalia Romanova.

“Dobro pozhalovat, gospazha Romanova. Vot vashi klyuchi ot nomera.” - Welcome, Mrs. Romanova. Here are your room keys.

“Esli vam ili vashey zhene potrebuyetsya pomoshch, pozvonite na resepshn, i my s radostyu vam pomozhem.” - If you or your wife need assistance, please call the front desk and we will be happy to assist you.

“Spasibo,” - Thank you

“Zhena,” - Wife

“Da, prosto ostav’te—blyat…” - Yes, just leave it—fuck...

“Prostite, Ostav’te yedu u dveri. Spasibo.” - Sorry, leave the food at the door. Thank you.

“Blyat” - fuck

“Bozhe moy…” - My god...

“...trak-hni…menya…trakhni menya…” - ..fuck...me...fuck me...

“Poydem so mnoy spat’,” - Come to bed with me

“Ty vyglyadish’ prekrasno,” - You look beautiful

“Ya tebya lyublyu,” - I love you

[junkdrawerfics]

Hot Head

Request: Could you write something about him and a hot headed reader who has no time for anyone's BS? Maybe reader is friends with the wolves and gets both sides in line when it comes to talking about each other, none of them dares to make rude comments about each other in front of you, you may be human but you can be low key scary when angry

Words: 1332

Warnings: None really, Paul getting smacked down verbally, me not knowing how to right someone being scary or mean.

---

If there is one thing the wolves and vampires agree on, it is to not mess with you. Not after the incident with Paul.

You grew up in Forks, a close friend to the Blacks and Clearwaters, but also the Swans. You, Jacob, and Bella would play together in the forest as kids, making mudpies and pretending to be adventurers. You were always the brave one back then, the loud one, the first one to punch someone if they picked on Bella when her parents split up.

You still are that one. The hot head.

When the Cullens came to town, you, like everyone, were attracted to the strange, other than aura surrounding them. Unlike everyone else though, you were stubborn enough to befriend them. You couldn’t help but gravitate towards Jasper, with his quiet, gentlemanly charm.

Apparently he was equally drawn to your spit-fire, bold spirit. He always says the day he decided to “court” you was the day you tore someone a new one in the hall for spreading rumors about his family. Your anger was like a fire, destructive and all-consuming, but to him, it was warmth and light, sparked from how much you care for your friends.

Jasper evened you out in ways you never thought someone could. He could bring you down from any ledge with a single touch, sometimes a single look. Things felt softer around him, you felt softer around him.

Even after learning about the Cullens being vampires and some of the Quileutes being wolves, you never felt pressured to choose a side. Maybe it was stubbornness. Maybe foolishness. But you kept a foot in both worlds, unwilling to give up on the friendships you had all your life.

That being said, you couldn’t tolerate the animosity between the two groups, especially from the wolves.

“I can’t believe we have to work with the leeches.”

It’s quiet, you wouldn’t have caught it if you weren’t standing with Jacob, talking about the battle plan Jasper has come up with. Everything felt like it was going okay. The Cullens and the Pack had made a temporary pact to protect Bella, and you thought they were all okay with it.

Your brow furrows as you look over to where Paul and Jared stand off to the side with a very confused looking Seth. The smaller boy meets your gaze, dark eyes wide. You bite down a small spark of anger.

It’s Paul, you remind yourself. He’s never happy. All bark, no bite. It’s fine.

“You never know what kind of accidents will happen in the heat of battle, though.”

It’s like being doused in lighter fluid. Anger turns to rage. Rage into a burning urge to cause the shapeshifter ungodly amounts of pain.

Not fine. Definitely not fine.

“(Y/n)...” Jacob starts, discomfort clear in his tone. 

He heard it. They all heard it. And Paul has the nerve to wear a smirk like he’s proud of his poorly veiled threat. 

Your jaw aches from how hard you grind your teeth.

“I’m gonna kill him,” you growl, body surging forward, only to be stopped by a cool hand on your arm.

You flip, eyes meeting with a pair of calm gold ones. Jasper holds on to you gently, grip loose, thumb resting over your racing pulse. He must have crossed the clearing when he sensed your rising anger. He perks a brow at you, and for a brief moment, you feel the fire dull in your veins. 

A chance to think clearly.

You take a deep breath, frustration still crackling in your lungs.

You’ve had enough. Enough of the snide comments, the ugly whispers, the looks. You’ve had enough of all of it. It’s ridiculous that they can’t just get along.

“Let go of me, Jas,” you murmur, giving him a steady look.

The vampire nods, letting you go without hesitation, and takes a few steps back. Good. You really don’t want him getting in the middle of this.

You turn back to the small group of wolves, teeth practically barred as you bark out sharply, “Hey, Lahote!”

All eyes turn towards you as you stalk up to the burly man. Paul eyes you warily, the tension in the clearing rising as you come toe to toe with him. You may only be human, but even the wolves can sense the anger boiling the air around you. The sun might as well not be out with how dark the clouds hanging over your head are.

“What, (L/n)?” He has the gaul to sound irritated.

As if he has any right.

“You want to run that by me again?” You sneer, and you can’t help but feel a deep sense of satisfaction when he flinches minutely. “Accidents happen, huh? Is that what you said?”

“Well-”

“Shut it,” you snap, and his smile falters, lips pulling into a tight line. “Don’t make this worse by talking before you think, like you always do. You’d think the wolf brain would shift back with you, but I guess not! And you know, I’ve been working so hard to make you thick-headed idiots - not you Seth - see how ignorant you’re being. You’ve all been nothing but horrible to the Cullens!” Your scathing glare travels over the pack, and they all shift uncomfortably. “They have done nothing to deserve it. At least they try to be respectful, and they would never, never threaten one of you.” Your eyes land back on Paul, and the giant man shrinks back. “So why do you think it’s okay, huh?”

He doesn’t answer, doesn’t even meet your gaze. It’s like looking at a completely different person from the usually aggressive, quick to anger wolf. You can’t help but scoff.

“Yah, that’s what I thought. Grow up, Paul. I’m sick of you acting like a spoiled kid who gets away with whatever he wants. I expect better from Sam’s third in command. So why don’t you try to actually focus on your role for once so your idiotic ideas don’t get one of your packmates killed?”

By the end of your rant, your hands are practically shaking as you cross your arms over your heaving chest. It’s the only way you can stop yourself from hitting him, which wouldn’t do anything except make you feel better. 

It does help that Paul looks thoroughly kicked. His ears are tinged red, and he looks so, so angry, but also embarrassed as he just scowls at the ground. Sometimes a verbal beating is just as satisfying, this being one of those times. That done, you turn your attention to Sam. The alpha straightens up, apprehension flickering across his face.

“I better not hear anything like this again,” you order, “If you can’t at least be decent, don’t expect me to hold back. I have plenty to say, some of which I think the elders would be more than interested to hear about. Like-”

“I understand,” Sam quickly cuts you off, dark eyes narrowing as you smile all too smugly. Perks of growing up with them and knowing a lot of their secrets. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

With a satisfied nod, you feel your anger recede. It falls away just as easily as it appeared, leaving you almost unnervingly calm as you trot back to Jasper’s side. The blond watches you, eyes gleaming with pride.

“You know we can handle ourselves right?” He murmurs, amusement slanting his lips as he slips an arm around your shoulders. “Have been for a hundred years.”

You sigh and lean into him, “I know, but that doesn’t mean I need to stand by and watch them act like that. I’d do the same thing if any of you said something like that about them!”

“I’m sure, darlin’.”

“Are you teasing me?” You glare at him playfully.

His smile pulls just a smidge wider. “Of course not, ma’am.”

“I swear to God, Jasper-!”

---

I literally had no idea how to end this so I hope this works. I hope you enjoyed it! Love y'all, feels good to be writing again!

[princessanonymous]

When Night Comes

Platonic Yandere Vampire

Previous Part | Next Part

First Chapter

5. 𝓕𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓟𝓪𝓽𝓱

The estate gave off an aura of cold, darkness, and grandeur. Its many rooms and labyrinth-like pathways created an intricate and intimidating structure. The ground floor, beyond the imposing entry hall, boasted a dining room, a resplendent ballroom, lavish bathrooms, and the kitchen, which was connected to the quarters where the servants resided. On the second floor, there was a grand living room, and the master bedroom, along with an opulent bathroom and a study, was adjacent to (Y/n)'s room, which also had its own bathroom. Guest bedrooms adorned the opposite side of the second floor. The estate was equipped with a grand library, another ballroom that opened onto a balcony overlooking the entrance, more bathrooms, and a small reception room. An unassuming door on the ground floor led to a cellar.

The mansion was encircled by imposing fences and gates that remained perpetually closed, effectively isolating it from the outside world. By the same logic, it kept her in. The verdant gardens that stretched around the estate, bathed in the moonlight, held an eerie beauty. A nearby stable housed a few horses.

(Y/n) had to concede that the estate was undeniably magnificent, but her nocturnal existence within its gloomy halls only served to accentuate its gothic allure. It was a place of solitude and coldness, where even the servants, who were, like her, human, would cast fearful glances her way. Their wary gazes made her feel even more isolated. She often wondered what compelled them to stay in a household where they had at least some inkling of the master's unnatural nature. Yet, they remained, and they didn't seem to like it. They didn’t seem to like her either. Anyone capable of catching this monster’s attention must be as dang as him in their mind. She could not muster any form of bitterness towards them, since she understood their resonance.

It took her a while to get accustomed to her new sleep schedule. Sleeping in the day and living throughout the night was certainly not something she was used to. She had not glimpsed the light of day in weeks, as the heavy curtains remained perpetually drawn. She spent her nights trying to stave off the loneliness that haunted her. The absence of anyone her age to converse with was not entirely novel, but during her life with her parents, there had been opportunities to socialize when they ventured into town to sell their harvested produce.

She clenched her jaw and fought back tears, resolute in her decision not to cry. Mourning her parents would serve no purpose, and their murderer would respond to her grief with cold indifference. In this foreboding place, no one would offer her solace. No one would care.

The vampire continued to spend a significant amount of time with her. Their interactions were not always filled with conversation; sometimes, they simply coexisted in silence, as he engrossed himself in reading while she sought to fill the empty hours with activities. Her loathing for him remained unwavering, and resentment festered within her, burning brightly. Yet, her loneliness drove her to accept the limited interaction he offered. The girl took whatever she could get.

Tonight was one such instance. They sat in the study, where the vampire occupied a red velvet armchair, engrossed in a book. (Y/n) reclined on a plush sofa of the same pattern, her fingers idly fidgeting with a porcelain doll, arranging and rearranging its dress. It didn't really interest her much, but it helped to keep her occupied.

As she gazed upon the doll’s neck, the sudden recollection of that fateful night prompted (Y/n) to place her hand on her own neck, as if searching for a mark that should have been there but never was. She couldn't fathom how she had managed to forget that detail. The memory returned vividly now – the bite, the paralyzing sensation, the drowsiness that followed. She knew she wasn't a vampire; her pulse still throbbed, and her canines were just as they had always been.

"You bit me," she voiced her realization, her hand still lingering on her neck, even though she knew the wound was no longer there.

The vampire, his attention momentarily diverted from his book, nonchalantly acknowledged, "I did."

A surge of curiosity and confusion led (Y/n) to question further. "I'm not a vampire," she stated, running her tongue over her normal-sized canines. Her heart continued to beat steadily, and there was no insatiable thirst for blood. "How?"

He put the book down, seemingly willing to indulge her curiosity. "Becoming a vampire isn't a random occurrence, doll," he explained patiently. "The process begins with the vampire drinking the blood of a human, allowing the venom from the bite to spread through the mortal's body. The human must then die shortly after from the poison from the bite. They will eventually return to life, but to complete the transformation, they must drink the blood of their sire. And all of this must occur during a Blood Moon."

She tensed upon hearing about the Blood Moon. "What's a Blood Moon?" (Y/n) inquired, a hint of fear in her voice. She needed to understand the vampire's plans for her and how to avoid them.

"It's a phenomenon that occurs only once every three months," he explained. "During a Blood Moon, the moon takes on a red hue, which not only strengthens a vampire's powers but also turns their bite venomous, capable of transforming others. The paralysis and drowsiness you felt on the night I brought you home were the effects of a typical vampire's bite when its powers aren’t strengthened by the moon."

Her face displayed her discomfort as she recalled the night she had felt powerless and vulnerable, completely at the mercy of a killer. She couldn't hide her unease any longer and sought further clarification. "And is the ice power something common among vampires?" She remembered the eerie sight of ice forming on the vampire's hands.

"Each vampire possesses a unique gift," he replied cryptically. To illustrate, he picked up a glass of water from the table beside her. As he touched it, the water gradually transformed into ice, right before her eyes. Her expression shifted from unease to genuine astonishment. "You will have one too."

Her smile dropped, fear settling in once again. She had allowed herself to forget about that part for a fraction of a second. She chastised herself mentally for that mistake. She couldn’t afford to let her guard down here.

[bucky-fricking-barnes]

Someplace Like Home

Title: Someplace Like Home

Pairing: Nomad!Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 8.3k

Warnings: Canonical violence, minor injuries, minor blood, non-descriptive mentions of hospitals, mild language

Summary: Y/N owns a hostel in Croatia. When the very handsome Grant comes to work for her, she falls hard and fast for the new handyman.

A/N: This story takes place between Civil War and Infinity War, when Steve is on the run. There are a handful Croatian phrases/words used, which are translated at the end of this fic. Don’t ask me why all my Steve stories suddenly have foreign languages in them. As always, thanks for reading and supporting my writing in all the ways you do. Enjoy!

Dividers are by @firefly-graphics

Your morning starts off slow, like it always does, and after the handful of guests have finished breakfast and left to spend the rest of the day at the beach or in the mountains, you settle yourself behind the front counter and pull out your laptop. The dirty dishes can wait until later—Ana will be here in an hour, and she prefers doing the dishes over going over the books, so you have an unspoken deal that you’ll do the bookkeeping if she cleans up after meals.

You’re just opening up the software on your laptop when the front door opens. The bell above it jingles as a man steps in, bringing with him a warm gust of air. June has been unseasonably cool, but today is the warmest it’s been in weeks. You’ve kept most of the windows open all morning, even though it was still a bit chilly.

“Dobro jutro,” you greet. You carefully shift the laptop off to the side a few inches, being careful not to mess up the carefully arranged papers you’ve sorted out on the counter.

“Kako vam mogu pomoći?”

The man has a gray hiking backpack slung over his shoulder. He’s tall and blond, a dark blond that looks golden in the light from the outside but brown in the shadows. His thick beard and mustache are well-trimmed. You automatically open up the leatherbound reservation book and reach underneath the counter for a key. 

“Dobro jutro. Uh, govorite li engleski?” asks the man. He smiles politely, and you smile back, nodding.

“Of course,” you answer. “How can I help you?”

His eyes move to the pen in your hand, already poised over the next open spot in the reservation book. “I’m not here for a room. I’m here about the opening for a handyman.”

Surprised, you close the book again and tuck it back under the counter where it belongs, along with the key you’d grabbed. No one has come about the open position since you’d posted it months ago in the local cafe. Not even a sign outside the hostel has helped.

“In that case, my name’s Y/N. I’m the owner here.”

“Grant,” he replies, his hand already held out for you to shake.

You oblige with another smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Grant. Can I ask how you found out about the position? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around town.”

He nods once. “I just moved here from Italy, and from Switzerland before that.”

“So you’re making your way through Europe, then?” you ask. You’re not entirely surprised—he looks rugged enough that he could handle a long backpacking trip or several months of solo travel, unlike some of the college students you normally have traipsing through your village.

“In a way,” he answers. “Truthfully, I’d like to settle down someplace, but it’s been a rough few years. I haven’t quite found the place that feels like home yet.”

Secretly, as you listen to him explain the various European cities in which he’s lived, you wish that he’ll come to feel at home here. Brdonik isn’t large enough to be on any maps, but it’s been your home for almost a decade now, and you can’t imagine a better place. The whole community bands together, and people look out for each other. There’s enough tourism from backpackers and small cruises that you’re not totally isolated, but you’re still far enough removed that your daily life isn’t saturated with commercialism and the big city nonsense you often hear about through your guests. You’d experienced it enough before coming to Croatia, and you don’t ever plan on going back to the life you’d had before you moved.

“To answer your question,”—Grant’s gentle continuation pulls you from your thoughts—“I saw a flier posted in the cafe down the street. I stopped there for lunch.”

“What did you order?” you ask. You prop an elbow up on the counter and level him with your gaze.

“Is that important?

“If you want this job it is. You can tell a lot about a person based on what they order at a restaurant.”

He smiles a little. “I got the turkey sandwich.”

You consider his choice for a moment before giving him a nod. “Simple, but respectable. A clear tourist choice, but I like it.”

“You can’t go wrong with a turkey sandwich,” he adds.

“It’s a classic!” You smile back at him and then come around the counter into the main part of the lobby. You grab your clipboard from its hook on the wall.

“Let me give you a tour,” you tell him. “I’ll point out some of the things that need fixing, and then you can tell me if you still think you’re a good fit.”

Grant agrees, and he walks beside you as you lead him through the hostel. You show him the currently unoccupied rooms, as well as the common areas, and you give him plenty of time to inspect the stalled projects and major fixes that he’d been in charge of. While he looks around, you watch him carefully. There’s something familiar about him, something you can’t quite put your finger on, but he doesn’t set off any alarm bells in your head like some of the previous candidates had. He’s respectful of the property and the few lingering guests you come across, and Grant is polite enough to open doors for you as you approach them. He speaks softly and clearly, and his sense of humor is well-timed. Somehow, despite his hulking frame and obvious strength, you feel safe around him.

Eventually, you lead him to your office. Grant takes the seat in front of your desk and you close the door behind him, then sit behind your desk and pull a pad of paper from the drawer. He’s almost too big for the chair you normally reserve for college-age backpackers looking for a few days of housekeeping work. He’s relaxed, though, and he rests both arms on the thin wooden armrests as you get out what you need. You sneak a glance at him as you sit upright again. His eyes move slowly and carefully over the framed photos and documents on the wall, taking in each one of them individually before he moves onto the next—your college diploma from NYU, a photo of you with your family the last time they came to visit, a certificate of operation from the local government. His backpack is leaning up against the front leg of the chair and his left leg, and you briefly wonder how he’s afforded to travel so much. The bag looks brand new, and high-tech, too. Is he a tech mogul of some kind? A grown-up trust fund kid? Did he steal it, or is he just really good with money?

“You’ll have to excuse me, I don’t have any questions prepared for you,” you tell him as you reach for a pen.

He nods and looks back at you. “You weren’t expecting me to walk in today, I understand.”

“Either way, I have to say that so far, I’m very impressed with you.” You glance up again and give him a polite smile, then look back down as you write his name and the date at the top of the page. “What did you say your last name was again?”

“Carter,” he says.

Nodding, you add that at the top and make your first bullet point.

“Grant Carter. Are you named after someone? That seems a pretty traditional name for a guy your age.” You immediately cringe at the question. “I’m sorry, that was inappropriate. You don’t have to answer that.”

Chuckling, Grant shakes his head. “No, it’s alright. My mother was a big fan of Ulysses S. Grant.”

“The 18th president?” you ask, grinning wide.

He nods and lets out another small laugh. “That’s the one.”

“He’s not normally up there on peoples’ lists of favorite presidents.”

“She had her reasons, I guess,” Grant shrugs.

You hum a little with a smile and look back down at your almost empty legal pad. You have a million questions that you want to ask, and more that you know you should, but you allow yourself to think for a moment before you look up again. Whatever you ask has to be the right mix of the two.

“You’ve lived in a lot of really impressive places,” you begin, and Grant nods in confirmation. “Why come here? There are plenty of larger cities with more job openings. Better paying job openings,” you add.

“You sell yourself short,” Grant easily replies. He sits forward a little, his elbows sliding closer to the ends of the armrests. “Your town is beautiful. It’s comfortable, and a bit secluded. I’m looking for something quieter.”

“A lot of people are, but we’re not often what they want in the long run. How long are you planning on staying?”

Grant stares at you for a long moment before he replies, “Until I’m needed elsewhere.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That’s a bit cryptic, so I hope you don’t mind if I ask for a clearer answer.”

“I plan on staying indefinitely, but if it changes, I promise you’ll be the first to know.”

Not quite satisfied with his answer, you still scribble down the response and make a second point on the next line down.

“Do you have handyman experience?”

Grant shakes his head. “But I’m a quick learner and I’m stronger than I look. Whatever I don’t already know how to do, I’ll pick it up quickly if I can get the information from someone or somewhere.”

I highly doubt you’re stronger than you look, you think, forcing yourself to look down at the paper and write, rather than at him. You already look pretty damn strong.

“Do you have a previous employer I can contact? Or references?”

“I can have that information to you by the end of the day.”

You nod and keep writing, and you don’t look up as you say, “We don’t typically provide housing for employees, as we’re a small enough village that commute isn’t an issue, but given that you’re new to town, I’m going to assume that you don’t have a place to stay yet.”

“No ma’am, I don’t.”

“I can get you set up in a room here, if that’s alright with you. I won’t expect you to work outside of normal business hours, except in an emergency, but that’s the same even if you lived off-property,” you tell him, looking up. You don’t lift your pen, and it’s a little satisfying to see that Grant looks mildly surprised. He doesn’t seem like the kind of person who could be surprised by anything.

“You’re hiring me?” he asks.

“Should I not?”

He quickly recovers and shakes his head, giving you a small smile. “I was just surprised that you’re not waiting until after you’ve seen my references.”

“Are you a horrible person?”

“I don’t think so, no.

“Are you a terrible employee?” you ask, putting your pen down on the desk.

“I’m loyal to a fault.”

“Should I be concerned about criminal activity?”

Grant laughs. “I’m a model citizen, though I did steal a piece of cake when I was a kid.”

“I’ll be sure to inform the local authorities,” you tease, grinning. You slide the notepad onto your desk and stand, holding out your hand for him to shake. Grant obliges. “You’re hired, Mr. Carter. If you’re ready, I’ll show you to your room so you can get settled in before your first day tomorrow.”

“I’d like that, thank you,” he replies.

“I won’t take the room out of your salary unless it prevents us from taking guests, but I don’t see that becoming an issue, except maybe in mid-July,” you tell him as you move around the desk to the door. “The handyman position pays 800 euros a month. You’ll be paid bi-weekly in check or cash, whichever your preference. We don’t have direct deposit here. If you need an account in town, there’s a bank down the road.”

“Cash is fine,” he says. He picks up his bag and swings it over his shoulder before following you back out into the hallway, then out to the lobby. You make a pit stop at the front desk to grab a key before heading up the main staircase.

The private, single person rooms on the third floor are a little older, and you briefly worry as you climb the stairs if the beds will be able to hold Grant’s weight. You don’t use them as often now that you’ve finished transforming the old hotel into a hostel. There’s a thin coating of dust on the handrail and you make a mental note to give this floor a thorough cleaning tomorrow while he’s occupied, that way you won’t be intruding. 

You lead Grant to the end of the hall, where the rooms are slightly larger and the windows overlook the ocean. While the view is great, most of your summer guests only fill the dorm-style rooms, so you’re fairly certain you won’t be missing out on any profit by giving him this room.

“Here we are,” you say, and you open the door before stepping aside so he can enter first.

Grant ducks through the doorway and flips the light switch, then looks around in silence. You wait in the hallway, holding your breath as he makes his inspection.

“This is nice,” he finally says, looking back at you. He drops his bag at the foot of the bed. “You’re sure it’s alright if I stay here?”

You wave one hand dismissively. “It’s fine.”

Your phone chimes in your back pocket and you pull it out, quickly reading the notification. It’s only mildly urgent, but you can feel Grant trying to look occupied as he waits for you to leave, so you look up and gesture back towards the stairs with your phone. 

“I’ve gotta take care of something, but you’re in luck. Every Thursday night we host a group dinner for the guests. The food is all cooked by a chef from a local restaurant in an attempt to promote the local cuisine, so you’re welcome to join us, or I can recommend some other restaurants in the area, if you want to explore a little bit more. We eat at seven.”

Nodding, Grant smiles and crosses the room to pull the key from where you’d left it in the lock. “I’ll see you at seven. It was nice to meet you, Y/N.”

“You too, Grant. Welcome aboard!” You smile once more, then turn and head back down the hall. His door closes as you reach the top of the stairs, and suddenly, you can’t wait for dinnertime.

You occupy yourself for the majority of the day by compiling a list of projects for Grant, as well as contacting the references he sends you using the email address on the hostel’s website. He gets glowing reviews from each and every person on the list, though they all seem a little confused when you first ask about him. 

Grant comes down to the first floor at five minutes to seven, and you’re just greeting the first small group of guests to arrive back from their excursions when he steps down from the bottom step. You glance over and give him a quick, acknowledging smile before turning back to the guests.

“Dobor dan! How was your time at the beach?” you ask. They reply politely in a mix of English and their own native language. You vaguely recognize it as French. You’re about to tell them in English about the dinner schedule, hoping that they’ll understand at least partially, but Grant begins talking in rapid-fire French before you even open your mouth.

It takes everything in you to keep your jaw from dropping straight through the floor. None of Grant’s references had mentioned he was bilingual, and neither did he. It feels like it should’ve been obvious, however, given that every single person he’d talked to had mentioned his incredible intelligence and ability to pick up skills quicker than anybody they knew.

Still, you watch in stunned silence from behind the front desk and Grant chatters with the guests. He leads them from the lobby and into the adjoining sitting area, where you hear them sit down and continue to talk. Someone laughs, and then Grant does, too. It’s a deep, mellow baritone, and you catch yourself grinning before you manage to stifle it.

When the next group of guests walk in, you guide them into the sitting room with the others. Grant catches your eye as you turn the corner, and when he smiles, you swear that your heart stutters in your chest.

He’s your employee, you chide yourself, and you turn your back on the group on the premise of prepping a plate of cookies for the coffee table.

“Dinner should be ready soon,” you say as you set the plate in the center of the group. Grant translates for you, first in French, and then in a language that sounds almost Spanish, but you know enough of that to know that it’s something different. All the guests nod in agreement.

You settle against one of the heavy wood bookshelves and watch quietly as Grant chats with the guests, switching fluidly between languages whenever he turns to a new person. It’s amazing, so you simply stay silent as you listen to the flurry of foreign words in the sitting room. You’ve never heard the pre-dinner conversation so lively. It brings a new warmth to the hostel, and you can’t help but smile as you watch the guests come alive, even though they’re exhausted.

“Dinner is ready!” Ana calls. She pokes her head in the door, and she smiles wide when she sees the guests talking excitedly. Every seat is taken. When she turns to look at you, you only grin.

“What’s going on?” she asks, stepping closer so she can lower her voice. “Who is that?”

You lean in, whispering, “His name is Grant. He’s the new handyman, and apparently, he speaks multiple languages.”

“Apparently?”

“I didn’t know when I hired him! This,” you gesture with one hand towards the circle of guests, who have started to rise now that Grant has passed along the message about dinner, “was a surprise to me, too. He just started talking to them on his own. I didn’t ask him to do anything.”

Ana raises her eyebrows, giving you a meaningful look. Before you can scold her for trying to meddle in your love life, she slips away and Grant appears at your side.

“Who is that?” he asks.

Goosebumps erupt on your arms at the sound of his deep voice so close to your ear. He’s leaned down so you can hear him clearly, and though he’s not quite in your space, he’s still close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him. It should feel stifling in the early summer heat, but it’s comforting, and you turn towards him with a bright smile.

“Ana. She’s the manager when I’m not here. I’ll introduce you later. How come you never told me you spoke all those languages?” you ask.

Grant just smiles back at you. “You never asked.”

“I’ll make sure to add that to my list of questions for the next time I have to hire someone.” You gesture at the line of guests filtering through the doorway to the hostel’s dining room. “We should eat. Most of the guests have spent all day hiking or at the beach, and they’ll be hungry. Our local chefs are all amazing, so the food always goes quickly.”

“What’s on the menu?” Grant asks. He starts to walk and you fall into step beside him, noting how he angles himself sideways and stoops through the doorway so that you’re not squashed into the doorframe. It’s a miracle he doesn’t hit his head on any of the lowered ceilings or hanging decor in the building.

I’ll have to warn him about the lights in the rooms on the second floor, you note.

“Punjene paprike. Stuffed peppers,” you translate. You pause and watch as the guests choose their seats, silently making sure there are enough chairs. When it’s clear you’ve done the math correctly, you look over at Grant. “How many languages do you speak?”

He shrugs and surveys the long table filled with food. People are already piling their plates high and chattering with their friends and family, and the room is filled with amicable noise. The sun coming in from the windows is golden. The windows face south, which is one of the many reasons why you’d first purchased the building. It needs a lot of work, and it always has, but the view of the ocean from the dining room windows, along with the way the sun illuminates the whole room, helps make all the work worth it.

“This place is beautiful,” says Grant, quietly. “You’ve done well.”

You look over at him, surprised at the praise. It warms you from the inside out, and you smile when he meets your eyes. “Thank you. I’ve worked hard.”

He nods, and after a moment, he gestures towards the table. There are two empty seats beside each other, near the far end of the room. Ana has taken the seat across from them and she’s already begun to eat.

You follow Grant across the dining room, and you try not to act surprised when he pulls out the chair and helps you sit before taking the spot beside yours. Ana catches your eye as you reach for a dish, but you look away. You can’t risk having her embarrass you in front of the guests.

Or Grant, the cheeky little voice in your brain adds, but you quickly push the thought to the far reaches of your brain. Showing your hand—and your burgeoning feelings for Grant—right now is something you need even less.

“So, you’re from New York?” he asks.

You look up from where you’re pulling a napkin into your lap. “What?”

“Your degree. It’s from NYU, so I’m assuming that you’re from the States.”

Nodding, you allow him to serve one of the peppers onto your plate, and you heap an extra serving of rice onto the side of your plate before handing him the bowl. You don’t want to assume he likes anything, especially since he ordered one of the most American things on the menu at the cafe.

“I am. I grew up in Manhattan, and I decided to stay there for college. Once I got my degree in hospitality, I decided it was time I see more of the world,” you tell him. 

“Why Croatia?” Grant asks.

You shrug and pick up your fork. “Honestly? I don’t know why. I didn’t even mean to come here. I ended up on the wrong train and decided to stick it out. I figured it would be a fun experience either way, but I fell in love with it here. On my second day here, I saw that this building was up for sale and I had just enough money in my savings to buy it. It was a big risk, but I think that it was worth it.”

He looks around the room, listening to the conversations for a few moments before he smiles. “I think so, too.”

“Where are you from?” you ask. “You’re clearly American.”

Grant laughs at that, nodding. “I grew up in Brooklyn. When I was old enough, I served in the army for a few years, and since then I’ve just been… traveling.”

The army thing makes sense, and you file that information away for later. The two of you start to eat, exchanging a few more words throughout the meal. Grant offers to help Ana with the dishes. She’s giddy at the proposal, so you let them head into the kitchen as you help guests arrange their plans for the next day. You find yourself straining to listen for the sound of his voice during the quiet moments, however, but by the time the dishes are finished, Grant tells you that he’s exhausted and he wants to get a good night’s rest before his first day on the job. You wish him goodnight from the front desk, then wait for Ana to appear and barrage you with a million questions about the new handyman.

You learn quickly that there’s even more to Grant than meets the eye. He’d been telling the truth in his interview—he’s deceptively strong, and he really does learn quicker than anyone you’ve ever met. His Croatian improves leaps and bounds in the first few months at the hostel. By the end of the summer, he’s practically fluent, even if he does bumble through some of the more complicated phrases with a faint blush on his cheeks.

The longstanding projects for the hostel are all completed by the end of August, leaving you scrambling to keep Grant busy. When you can’t find anything to do, however, he busies himself by exploring the far reaches of the island, speaking with the guests in a myriad of languages, and keeping you company in the lobby or in your office. His presence, which had once seemed much too large for the old brick building, has settled. He seems at home in the armchair you buy for the corner of your office, and he’s become a fixture in the doorway of the lobby, where he likes to stand and watch traffic pass by.

It’s on one of the hottest days of the year that you first get a glimpse behind Grant’s ever-friendly facade. You’re behind the desk, going through the reservations for the upcoming week, when there’s a shout from outside. The front door to the hostel is propped open in an attempt to let in a breeze, and Grant has taken up residence in his normal spot. You’ve only just processed the shout when there’s an explosion. The floor beneath you shakes and shudders, and you grip the edge of the desk in an attempt to keep upright.

Grant whirls around and fixes his eyes on you. He’s scanning you, up and down, searching for any sign of injury.

“Are you okay?” he asks. You nod, swallowing thickly, and peer over his shoulder. There’s no sign of what’s happened outside, but you can hear screaming and shouting. There’s a gunshot and you flinch.

“Stay here, and stay hidden,” says Grant, and you know in an instant that it’s an order. “Stay quiet and don’t let anyone in. Okay?”

Nodding again, you drop to a crouch, then curl up on the floor with your back against the desk. You clutch your phone in one hand and listen as Grant closes, then locks the door. When he doesn’t appear behind the desk, you crawl over to the side and look out into the small lobby. He’s gone.

Your arms shake beneath you and you have to fall back against the desk for support before you fall flat on your face. Squeezing your eyes shut, you listen to the commotion outside. There are no more explosions, but you hear more screams and shouts, followed by a crash and gunshots. Your heart pounds in your chest as the noise gets closer and closer. You know that Grant was in the army, so he must have military training, but the thought of him outside—the thought of him in danger—makes you want to puke.

There’s a thud against the front door and you flinch. Your body tenses and you curl up in the fetal position, trying to maintain your breathing. It doesn’t work, however, and when there’s another bang, you scream.

“Molim! Molim, let me in!”

You look around the edge of the desk again. It’s a woman on the other side, and the desperation in her voice propels you to your feet and into the lobby without a second thought. You twist the lock and yank open the door.

A slim woman dressed entirely in black grins at you. Her eyes are a shocking shade of electric blue and her teeth are bright white—a stark contrast against the mask that hides the rest of her features.

“Sorry, dragi,” she says, and you gasp when she reveals the gun in her left hand. With the other, she reaches out and grabs you. “You’re coming with me.”

“No!” You fight against the woman’s grip, and when you lift your eyes to search for help from someone else, you can’t believe what you’re seeing.

Grant is lifting a car off someone. He lifts the car and tosses it aside with a heave and a grunt, and then he’s fighting someone hand-to-hand. The man in black is clearly trained because he gets in a few hits, but Grant never stays down for long. He’s slowly forcing the man back down the street, towards the beach, instead of towards the line of shops that’s on the other side of the hostel.

There’s a blast as another explosive goes off, this time in a restaurant diagonal from your front door. Stone and rubble flies in every direction. The street is empty of people, thankfully, except for the people Grant is fighting. Somewhere down the street, a car alarm is going off, and the light from the harsh midday sun is almost blinding. Your ears are ringing from the blast and the alarm. You think you scream at some point, but you’re not sure.

The man that Grant has been fighting has been thrown back by the blast, but Grant is still standing, as if he’s anchored onto the pavement. There’s a metal car door in his hand. He’s gripping onto a piece of the leather interior, and the red painted finish on the outside has been battered by the flying debris. His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath.

The woman drags you out of the hostel and onto the street. She wraps her arm around your shoulders and places the gun against the side of your head. You stop struggling then, and your breath catches in your throat as your heart begins to pound even harder. Your vision is going blurry along the edges, but not enough to miss the way Grant’s jaw clenches when he catches sight of you.

“Captain Rogers!” the woman shouts.

He throws a second man off of him and turns fully towards you and the woman. “Let her go!”

In your ear, the woman chuckles. It’s low and dark, and full of malice, and you shiver. You close your eyes and pray that it’s all just a bad dream.

“Not until you come with us,” the woman replies.

“Leave her and the others out of this.”

When you open your eyes, Grant is looking past you at the woman. The light reflects in his deep blue eyes, and it’s then that you realize what he’s been hiding from you.

How did I miss it before?

“Steve Rogers,” you choke.

He looks at you again. “Y/N…”

“You’re Steve Rogers.”

There’s a pause as he watches you with clear regret, and then the woman laughs, shocking you out of your revelation.

“How precious!” she exclaims. “Your little boss had no clue who you were?”

“Let. Her. Go.” Steve takes a step forward and the woman’s grip on you tightens. You can’t stop the whimper that escapes you when she pushes the gun harder against your head, making you crane your neck to one side.

Two new men in black come up behind Steve. He turns his head slightly, listening to their approach, but he doesn’t move. You can tell that he’s calculating what to do next.

There’s a moment of clarity as you watch them launch themselves at him. Steve fights like he was born for it—and maybe he was, you rationalize—and as he easily overcomes them both, you have a revelation that’s nothing short of a rock at the pit of your stomach.

Steve has to get out of this alive. So many people count on him, and they always have. Though you know that there are a lot of people all over the world who consider him a criminal, you also know that there are a lot of people just like you that think Steve deserves a place of honor for all that he’s done and all the sacrifices he’s made.

The safety on the woman’s gun clicks off and Steve freezes. The two men take advantage of that, and they grab his arms, pulling them tightly behind his back and pushing him to his knees. He falls with a grunt. One of the men grabs a fistful of his hair and yanks his head back until he’s looking at you and the woman from his place on the ground. He doesn’t fight back.

“Steve,” you plead. “You have to fight. You can’t let them take you.”

“I’m not leaving you,” he replies. He shifts his gaze to the woman without moving his head. “If I go with you, you’ll let her go?”

“You have my word.”

Heat swells in your eyes and you know that you’re about to cry. “No! Don’t trust her, Steve! You can’t believe her!”

The woman jostles you and you close your eyes on instinct. A tear slips down your cheek.

“Shut up,” she growls. 

You swallow thickly. At your sides, your hands and fingers have gone numb, and your legs are barely holding you upright. 

“Alright,” Steve agrees. “I’ll go with you.”

A sob bursts through and the woman releases you. She practically throws you to the ground, and you have just enough time to get your arms out in front of you before you hit the road. Pain shoots up both limbs and the pavement digs into your forearms. From where you lay, you watch the men pull Steve to his feet. He moves with them and doesn’t fight back as they drag him to a black cargo van on the perimeter of the blast zone.

“Steve!” you scream. Your voice breaks and your throat feels raw as you push yourself up and stumble in their direction. The movement sends pins and needles into your hands and feet, but you do it anyway. Your limbs feel completely out of your control as you attempt to go after them.

Steve looks back at you. He’s too far now for you to make out his expression, but you can see that he’s trying to tell you something. The man on his right shoves his shoulder and he’s forced into the van. 

“Let him go! Steve!” You start to sprint, running after the van as the back door slides shut and the woman, who climbed into the driver’s seat while you were getting to your feet, begins to navigate it through the rubble from the explosions. The tinted windows keep you from seeing Steve inside and your mind immediately goes to the worst.

“Someone help me! Stop that van!”

You run until you physically can’t. The van is long gone, and when you collapse onto the street, a crowd gathers around you. People are murmuring and asking you questions. There are too many hands, too many faces, even if many of them are familiar. Your vision swims as you’re rolled onto your back. The summer sun beats down on you harder, and you try to focus, but all you can manage is a mumble of Steve’s name before you lose consciousness on the pavement.

When you wake, the soft beeping noise is enough to tell you that you’re in a hospital. You open your eyes, expecting to be greeted by white walls and bedding, and maybe a wall of cabinets with a sink. Instead, there’s a slanted wall of glass windows, each separated by a pillar of concrete. Thin, almost invisible computer screens with golden text are scattered around your room, each displaying charts, figures, and data in a language you can’t read. Some are embedded into the walls on either side of the bed, while others float above white counters that look more like control panels for a spaceship. There are scans of someone’s body and brain—your brain, you realize after a long moment—that spin in circles on the floating screens.

A hiss makes you flinch, and you quickly look away from the brain scan to where a young, dark-skinned girl is walking in through a set of sliding glass doors you hadn’t seen before. Her white, high-necked sheath dress looks nothing like hospital attire, especially since it’s sleeveless and only has mesh to cover her shoulders and a few inches below her knees, but she’s holding a tablet and looks so serious that you wonder if maybe she’s not a regular doctor. After all, this doesn’t seem like a normal hospital. Where are you? Did the men in black come back to get you, too?

“Y/N, it’s good to see you awake. How are you feeling?” she asks.

Her accent is jarring, and you blink. When you go to speak, you have to lick your lips a few times. They’re dry, and your mouth feels so much like sandpaper that for a moment you don’t think you’ll actually be able to say anything at all.

“Where am I?” you finally ask in return. “Who are you?”

She smiles briefly and checks something on her tablet, then glances over at one of the floating screens off to the side. Seemingly satisfied, she locks the device and sets it aside.

“My name is Shuri. You’re in Wakanda. You will be safe here.”

You frown. “Wakanda?” None of the hospitals even remotely close to the hostel hold that name, not even in passing, but it sounds familiar.

“Yes. We’re friends of Captain Rogers. When we heard about his capture, and how you were involved, we brought you here.”

Tears burn hot in your eyes as the memories from the street outside the hostel come flooding back all at once. How long have you been in the hospital? Who’s looking for Steve?

“We have located him already,” she continues, and you inhale sharply, shifting in the bed as you reach up to wipe your face. “And the Dora Milaje has been sent to retrieve him.”

“The what?” you ask. Your voice shakes and you swallow hard in an attempt to steady yourself.

Shuri smiles again. “The Dora Milaje. They are our special forces here in Wakanda. Let me ask again, how are you feeling?”

You move in the bed a little bit more, testing your limbs for stiffness or pain. Surprisingly, there’s very little. “I’m… I’m okay, I think. Confused, mostly. Thirsty.” Your stomach growls, so you quickly add, “Hungry.”

She laughs and nods, then picks up her tablet. Shuri taps a few times before glancing down at something through the slanted windows. 

“Someone will bring you food shortly. I’ll also have someone come change the bandages on your hands and wrists. Your injuries are healing nicely. You should still rest a while longer, but I will make sure you’re notified when Captain Rogers has been safely returned.”

Nodding, you sit back against the pillows, but you quickly sit up again with a gasp. “The hostel! Ana!”

“We’ve sent someone to assist Miss Mitrovich in your absence,” Shuri soothes. She steps closer to the bed and you lie back as she approaches. “There were very few repairs that needed to be done to your building, but they are taken care of, and all your guests are safe. I have already dispatched a team of Wakandan specialists to help with the rebuild of Brdonik. We are also installing a security system in your building.”

You sigh in relief and close your eyes, swallowing against the dryness again. You lay in silence, listening to Shuri as she moves around the room and mutters to herself. When you finally open your eyes again, it’s because she’s greeting someone as the sliding glass doors hiss open for a second time.

“Grant,” you murmur, and he gives you a weak smile from just inside the doorway. You correct yourself, shaking your head. “Steve.”

“Grant is my middle name,” he quietly explains. “And Carter…”

“Agent Carter,” you finish. “I see the connection now.”

While waiting for your food, you’ve slowly been piecing together the different parts of Steve’s life that you knew, trying to get the full picture. You’ve known him personally as Grant, the quiet man from Brooklyn that is good with his hands, always knows exactly what to say when you’re in a bad mood, and is a hit with every guest that crosses your threshold. On the other hand, you also know him as Steve, the All-American super-soldier that’s plastered across every history textbook you’ve ever been given. He’s also the super-soldier that you’ve watched on the news, listening to reporter after reporter praise him like he’s a god, then publicly curse and shame him on their next breath.

Shuri quietly excuses herself. You stare at Steve as she leaves through the sliding doors behind him. There’s a cut above his right eyebrow, and blood caked in his beard, right below a nasty split in his lower lip. He’s standing lopsided, like he’s keeping the weight off his right foot, and he looks like he could use a shower and a long nap.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

He nods again. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For dragging you into this,” Steve answers. He sighs. “For getting you hurt. For putting you in danger.”

You shake your head and sit up a little more in the bed, allowing the pillows to prop you upright. “None of this is your fault.”

“It is, and—”

“And nothing,” you interrupt. You give him a stern look and he presses his lips together with a wince. “You didn’t know that there was any danger. If you had, wouldn’t you have left?”

After a second, Steve nods, and you continue,

“And if you’d been able to stop it from happening, you would’ve, right?”

Another nod and you smooth the surprisingly soft hospital blanket over your legs.

“Then it’s not really your fault, Grant. Steve,” you correct again, more firmly this time. You’re still coming to terms with the fact that he’s not 100% who he said he was.

“But you still got hurt. I still put you in danger just by being there. I shouldn’t have stayed as long as I did. I got too comfortable, and too close, and I was careless.”

You purse your lips and watch him for several moments. Steve stays still under your inspection, waiting for you to say something.

Finally, you tell him, “I don’t regret what happened, and if I had the chance to go back in time and change things, I wouldn’t. I’m not in mortal danger, and you’re safe again. The hostel is being taken care of. None of the guests got hurt. Tourism might be down for a couple months but…” You shrug. “It’s the end of the busiest season anyway, and I have enough savings that I’m not going to worry.”

Steve shakes his head at you, then turns to look at the screens. He doesn’t seem to be actually reading them, but he puts his hands on his hips as he stares at a spinning scan of your hand and wrist.

“Do you regret it?” you ask.

He turns back. He’s silent for a few seconds as he watches you fidget with the hem of the blanket in your lap. “No,” Steve finally replies. “I don’t.”

“Me neither.”

When he doesn’t move, you swing your legs over the edge of the bed. You’re not dressed in a normal hospital gown—someone has put you in leggings and a tunic of some kind—but you still shiver when your bare feet touch the floor.

“Y/N—” Steve limps towards you, holding both hands out to steady you if you lose your balance. You don’t, and he stops a few feet away.

“I don’t regret any of it, Steve,” you say. You start to close the distance between the two of you even more. “Not a single minute.”

“Volim te,” Steve murmurs.

You freeze, now within arm’s reach. “What?”

“Volim te.”

Your brain is working a mile a minute to catch up with what he’s said. Steve shifts in place, wincing as he transfers the weight to his injured leg. 

“You should get that checked out,” you quietly tell him, glancing down at his leg.

He stares at you, as if he was expecting a different response. You know he was, but you’re suddenly so overwhelmed by everything that it’s the first thing out of your mouth. 

“I—” You close your eyes and shake your head, letting out a small self-conscious chuckle. “I’m sorry. I love you too, Steve. I do. I love you. I don’t— I don’t know why I said that. I guess I’m just worried—”

He cuts you off by stepping into your space and cupping your face with one hand. His fingers thread up into your hair and he tilts your head back so he can press his lips to yours. Your arms fall limp at your sides for a second, but then your brain catches up. You close your eyes and reach up to put one hand on the back of his neck. The other slides around his waist, pulling him closer as he kisses you.

Steve’s body is warm and though he winces with pain, then pulls away slightly to touch his fingers to his busted lip, neither one of you actually moves away from the other. You stay close enough to feel the heat from his breath on your skin.

“You need to eat,” he murmurs.

“And you need a doctor,” you reply.

He smiles a little, more just pressing his lips together than anything, and kisses your forehead. You close your eyes again when he lingers.

“Don’t go,” he says as you step away. 

You frown and crowd close again, and you place both hands on his chest. “Steve?”

“No. I mean, you should go now, but…” He struggles for a second, trying to find the words he wants to say, and you wait patiently. “What I meant was: Don’t go back to Croatia. Stay with me.”

“What about the hostel? What about Ana and the guests?”

“I’ve heard you say a thousand times that she could probably run the place on her own. Plus, it’s the end of the busiest season, and after everything that’s happened, tourism will probably be low. You said it yourself.” 

Steve reaches up to pull your hands off of him, but he holds them and rubs little circles over your knuckles with his thumbs. He watches you carefully, giving you his full attention. His eyes are deep and blue, and the crinkle between his eyebrows has disappeared completely now that he’s sure you’re okay.

“So, what? I’d stay here in Wakanda? What would I do?” you ask, frowning. “They don’t really have tourists here, do they? It’s not like they need a hostel.”

“No, but I need a partner.”

“Don’t you already have partners, Steve? What about the Falcon? Or Black Widow? Or even your friend that you told me about—James? Isn’t he a superhero, too?” 

Shaking his head, he answers, “That’s not the kind of partner I need, Y/N. I don’t need a partner to fight with. I need a partner that I can live with. Someone to make a home with.”

You stare at him for a second, allowing your brain to process what he’s just said, and then you give him a slow, sly smile. Inside, you’re giddy and jumping up and down, but all you do is pull your hands in a little more so he has to step closer to you.

“Steven Grant Rogers, are you asking me to move in with you?”

“I guess I am.” His ears are starting to turn a bright shade of pink, and it’s beginning to creep along his cheekbones as well, just above his beard. 

Steve’s still holding your hands captive, so you simply raise an eyebrow. “Do you have a place to live here in Wakanda? Or are we going to be staying here in my hospital room until you find one?”

He shrugs and grins back at you. “King T’Challa gave me an apartment.”

“The king gave you an apartment?” You pull your hands away and step back. You can’t hide your disbelief, though deep down, you figure it’s very likely that the king tried to give Steve more. He’s a hero, even if most of the world doesn’t believe it.

“The princess was just in here going over your medical information, and you’re shocked that he gave me an apartment?” Steve asks, a smirk on his face.

You gape at him even more. “You’re kidding. Steve, that was not—”

“Princess Shuri. She’s made most of the technology around here, and she oversees the recovery of important patients. Like you,” he adds.

“If I’d known—”

He leans in and kisses your forehead again. “You don’t need to bow or anything. They don’t do that here, though I’m sure she’d appreciate a thank you the next time you see her. Maybe compliment one of her inventions. T’Challa says she likes that.”

“The next time?” you hiss. “Steve—”

This time, he laughs at you. It’s a full-bodied laugh, unlike the sparse chuckles you’ve gotten out of him since his return, and you relax. You smile, too, a real smile that makes your cheeks ache as you press your burning face against his chest. Steve wraps his arms around you. His body shakes as he laughs, but he quickly settles down and kisses the top of your head.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” you tell him, not letting go. In fact, you hug him tighter around the waist with both arms.

“Me too. Come on, ljubavi. Let’s go home.”

Dobro jutro = Good morning

Kako vam mogu pomoći? = How can I help you?

Govorite li engleski? = Do you speak English?

Dobor dan = Good afternoon

Molim = Please

Dragi = Darling

Volim te = I love you

Ljubavi = Love/my love

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please consider reblogging my work so that others can enjoy it too.

I do not consent to have my work posted, translated, or published to any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere other than my personal tumblr, Patreon, or ao3 accounts, it has been reposted without my permission.

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Forever: @aya-fay

Steve Rogers: @lipstickandvibranium​ @delicatecapnerd

[evolutionsvoid]

The ways of nature are odd and fascinating, creating creatures and spectacles one would never imagine! A single species on its own is already a complex thing, but imagine when it is all weaved together! Just think of what systems and relationsh are found out there in the world, with flora, fauna and entire ecosystems interacting with one an her to create something truly extraor ary! It is why it makes writing these entries hard some times, because nothing is separate. Yes, I can pick out one species and talk about it without end, but at the end of the day there is still so much more that I am missing. How they interact with other species, how their diet and behavior affects their environment and how it all mixes togethe ome cases, two specimens might be so interwoven together that it is impossible to talk about one without the other! The subject (or subjectS) of this entry shows this perfectly!

Just on its own, there is ry little to say about the Vampire Melon, save for its extreme name. Despite the "melon" in its name, and the similar look its plant form has, some may argue that it isn't a true melon. Yes, it is sort of oval, grows upon the ground and has vague stripes, but its internal anatomy may deem it a member of a different family. The debate is real, but most folk don't really care about that part. How could one focus on the "melon" part when you got "vampire" right there?! Vam lon?! Wh a name! That certainly grabs the attention and demands more explanation! What is the deal? Well, if we were to focus solely on this fruit and no g else, then the answer would be...nothing. It's a fruit. Nothing special about that. Oh, but w ou bring in their pollinators, then things get interesting!

The Vampire Melon is pollinated by a flying insect species fittingly called "Blood Wasps." Get one look at the adult version of these bugs and you could see why! Wicked black carapa ith red thorns, spiky looking wings and nasty points on both ends! To no one's surprise, they are a blood sucking species, using hooked claws to latc n and long proboscis to guzzle up its meal. On their own, they are a pest and irritation to any species with blood in its veins (lucky me), but their ties to the Vampire Melon are truly incre

Some may see the long spike at the tip of their abdomen and think "Egads! What a stinger!" But there is nothing to fear from this appendage, as long as you are not a plant (unlucky me)! This isn't meant to inflict pain or inject venom, rather it is an ovipositor. When the Blood Wasp wishes to lay its eggs, it seeks out the immature Vampire Melon and enters through a small opening in the bottom. In , it will find a fleshy cavity that is lined with tiny florets that may produce or receive pol The wasp will use this ovipositor to inject its eggs into the flesh around it, and then squirm its way back out once done. However, while doing this, they will get coated in pollen, whi ill be transferred to other melons as it goes about its journey! Thus, the Vampire Melon is pollinated and ready to grow! And th the eggs laid inside its flesh, the child he Blood Wasp are ready as well!

ruit swells and ripens over time, the eggs within will hatch, releasing tiny Blood Wasp larvae. These children will create burrows around them, typically making their home just under the thick rind. The flesh and juice of the plant will nourish them, while the tough skin protects them. However, these larvae are not conten o just sit about and mature. Like their parents, they too ha a taste for blood. They possess a retractable proboscis that is capable of piercing thro e fruit's skin, thanks to its sharpness and incredible thinness. This allows them to send their barb out while remaining safe inside the melon! Most of the time, this proboscis is retracted, waiting for the right time to strike. When mething comes in contact with the fruit, the movement causes the larvae within to react. In less than a second, these spines will come shooting out, piercing any flesh th in contact with the rind. The pain ke being stuck with a needle, but multiplied by a dozen or so, depending on how many larva n t area you touched. Though one will recoil in pain, the larvae will already have its prize, a bit of blood stolen from the victim. These precious droplets help the larvae grow, but also this bite ensures that few animals will come to munch upon their home!

When enough time has passed and enough growing has been done, the larvae will ev ally become full grown Blood Wasps of their own, and fly free from their fruity home. However, some may choose to return to this melon as long as it re s whole, as it still provides protection in a pinch. Thus Vampire Melons may be host to larvae or wasps at any time, though a good way to f they have young inside is the presence of red splotches upon the rind. It seems this color change is a reaction to the larvae burrowed within. So keep an ey ut when picking your melons, as it tells you which to avoid and which to harvest!

Now with these blood sucking bugs factored in, you begin to see why the Vampire Melon got its name! A fruit that seemingly steals the blood of those who touch it! And also able of vomiting forth nasty wasps! No wonder humans have grown supe itious of it! Old folklore claimed that it was the plants themselves that were taking the blood, feeding upon the humans who picked them. And it would certainly seem that way! Even after a melon is plucked, the larvae or hiding wasps within don't immediately leave or die. Rather they try to continue on as normal. But as the f begins to suffer the effects of being severed, the insects inside may seek new sources of nourishment. They will need more blood to sustain themselves, so the larvae or wasps may emerge at night in search of food. And if this melon taken to the home of a human, who now sleeps, the bugs may have found their meal! Folks with infested fruits in their houses may wake up with bites all over their body and drops of bloo sheets. All w the culprits have retreated back into their melon house. People feared that these fruits were possessed, or capable of spreading disease. And when Blood Wasps have been found to try laying eggs inside other vegetables, like pumpkins, folks feared an epidemic! What hor ations! What terrifying plants! Truly a thing of nightmares! And through all this I must sit here with utmost restraint, because I want nothing mor an to take a big ol chomp out of this juicy melon!

Humans may be disgusted by the Vampire Melon and its Blood Wasps, but dryads love them! That is because they are DELICIOUS! Oh, s succulent flesh! Such rich flavor! All while having plump little grubs inside, perfect for popping! I deed, while h ans shy away from these fruits, dryads go all in! They are a beloved treat, espec hen the larvae insi are bloated with blood! Oooooo, you just slic em open to get that bloody flesh inside and en take a big juicy bite! Saplings love em, and even we full grown dryads enjoy their flavor! Vam re Melons ar f med in dryad vil ges a food, and which certainly makes some humans wary of our ho es. Especially when they see th ad farmers "paint" their melons with animal blood few days be the harves is so that the l rvae within may feed and gr nice and big before is picked, be use any goo pire Melon has plump larvae inside! after harvest, bl d may still be used to ensure the insects inside re still in their prime. Drya s may leave a small cup of blood next to the fruits overnight, so that the larvae may co ut to feed if ne And once it is time to eat, ooo ummy is it ti AT! My mouth is water t the mere thought, which me s it is a good thing I got a Vampire Melon right here th I am enjo ng right now! What bet ay to write t is entry?

It i pleasure th hard to beat, tha for sure! Oh th nderful fla , that juicy flesh! I self a real good one here I must say! The thing is ursting with grub and blood! It blee like a f ly shot deer, you would think I gutted so thing w knife! But carve that su ce big we es and prep re for a decadent fe rich flesh, blood and juice spilling eve ainly isn't a fruit to serv formal din ers! I feel that is w y saplings love it fun to eat and reeeea essy! Mm mm! I can't get eno If you cou just ! The squis ping of juices! Th delig ul pops of larvae like l tle surprise trea O dig int ese like a raven imal! I a ing one ajor mes ow notice is ki a getti g o my notes. Oop No w ries, it isn't too much, ust got to ge to wipe this away bef t stains. Ah, n ropped one of the piec ight on my paper! I got it off ssible but my finge are a tad bit juic no, it ev ere! It is ju a proper mess. And its drip ace too! isaster this has turned into! At leas nly on this page! NO WAI IS ON EV Y PAG ! Chlora y ne ag ! Just wip is up ge t all p er loo fore Euce es t s! I n salva t! It w b fin

Ch ron

Dry ral Histo

A bloody mess is right, once I get my hands on you, you knothead! Of all the disgusting tattered scraps of paper you've dumped on my desk! You ate an entire blood melon while writing this- I AM GOING TO KILL YOU! AND I BET IT WILL STILL BE TEN TIMES CLEANER THAN THIS TRAVESTY CHLORA YOU BLIGHTED GALL BRAINED- E.R.

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

"Vampire Melons and Blood Wasps"

An idea and design done with @Lediblock2 in an attempt to make vampire fruit biologically feasible!

(Sadly, I must say copying this from DA to Tumblr kinda screwed up the formatting joke of this. Bummer! Well, check out my DA version to better see the mess Chlora made.)

[melabea]

Pyrumano

(pt: Pyrumano /end pt)

(ids: 2 rectangular flags with 7 equally-sized horizontal lines. colors in this order from top to bottom are dark brown, brown, light brown, tan, light brown, brown, and dark brown. in the center of the first flag is a white circle with a dark brown symbol in it. the symbol is a diamond with a small circle centered vertically and above where it would be if it was centered horizontally. below the circle is a vertical line with a horizontal line below where it would be if it was centered inside the diamond. from the horizontal line is half of a pill-shaped oval, the other side connected to the diamond. /end ids)

Pyrumano; a form of nonhuman tertiary attraction (Alteraffectis) that describes how a vampire feels towards a human.

etymology; (vam)pyr(e), (h)umano

for anon!

tagging; @radiomogai, @thecoffeecrew404, @kiruliom, @alteraffectis

[sam-oberg]

Small rant about the program I used bellow👇

So I've sort of become obsessed with VAM(virt-a-mate) which is an AMASING program! Sure, it's designed to make nsfw vr stuff but I bought it because it's just so easy to make and pose characters because it's sort of where they are half ragdoll and have very realistic movements and follow animations just loosely enough that it's not un realistic and it has a comunity that makes a lot of free stuff and plugins and lots of other stuff. I only made this to test it out a lill, and edited it a little in krita after.

I love this program and the porn is just a bonus on top lol

They are working on VAM2 and they might be realeasing a sfw version of the program because it's been so highly requested so I'm not alone in my love for it.

[persephone-s-moon]

Asian Lost Boys Personal Names!

Personal names tend to vary from culture to culture in terms of usage, but essentially it's someones "Asian name" as opposed to their English name. They're typically used by family members and, on occasion, very close friends because (in my experience) using them is intimate. The characters will still HAVE their English names, but The Lost Boys and family members (the Emersons and the Frogs) will Mostly refer to each other by their personal names.

DISCLAIMER: I'm Taiwanese, therefore I'm more savvy to East Asian cultures, particularly Chinese and Japanese. If anyone who is more knowledgeable about Filipino, Hmong, Thai, Indian, or Vietnamese cultures sees something they want to critique/has more culturally accurate suggestions, I encourage messages/comments/replies!

David: Huang Zhao-Yi

Culture: Taiwanese, of Chinese descent Loose Pronunciation: Hw-ah-ng Sh-ow-yee Surname: Huang, meaning "yellow, to fall through" Personal name: Zhao-Yi, Zhao meaning "bright, luminous" and Yi meaning "happy, joyful, harmony" Notes: I was originally going to name David "Hou Yi" after a mythological Chinese archer because OG Hou Yi destroys 9/10 of the original suns (long story) and there's a version where he and his wife Chang'e become immortal/gods, but there are so many different versions of the story that I decided against it. I also decided that I wanted him to be a Farm Boy™ and naming him after a god seemed a little strange imo.

Paul: Paolo FACUNDO LIWANAG

Culture: Filipino Loose Pronunciation: Pow-low FAK-OON-DO LEE-WAN-AG Personal name: Paolo, meaning "small" Surnames: FACUNDO meaning "talkative", LIWANAG meaning "light" Notes: A lot of Filipino names are Spanish or Italian with biblical roots because of colonization in the 1500s, so I wanted to keep his personal name semi-similar to his English name since it was already biblical. Honestly I could've left it as "Paul" but what's the fun in that? I'm not too sold on his surnames so they might change later and I may try to find a Tagalog name instead for his personal name, we'll see.

Marko: YANG Vam Meej

Culture: White Hmong, from Laos Loose Pronunciation: YANG Va Mae Clan name: YANG, associated with the ram and bear Personal name: Vam Meej, meaning "to prosper, succeed" Notes: Hmong names in particular are a Struggle for me since most of the Hmong people I know are second generation like me and either don't really know their personal names or we're not close enough for me to ask. I am familiar with the concept of clan names though. Marko's name is definitely subject to change in the future (I might pick a clan name more associated with birds just for fun who knows).

Dwayne: Khemkhaeng LUANG

Culture: Thai Loose Pronunciation: Kehm-key-ng LOO-ANG Personal name: Khemkhaeng, meaning "strong" Old personal name: Kasem, meaning "happiness, pure joy" Surname: LUANG, meaning "royal, venerable" Notes: It's common for Thai people to change their names after something either significant or bad happens to them, hence Kasem. I'm only making note of it to alleviate confusion in the event that I decide to do some stuff regarding backstories, no one will refer to him as Kasem otherwise. Also, surnames are still relatively new to Thailand and they were only introduced in the 20th century, so Dwayne gets a shorter surname in comparison to modern Thai surnames (which are required to be unique, hence the longer modern surnames) since I have him and the other boys being born in the 1880s.

Star: Ruchika Chawla

Culture: Indian Loose Pronunciation: Roo-chee-ka Chow-la Personal name: Ruchika, meaning "shining, beautiful, desirous, brilliance" Surname: Chawla, meaning "rice" Notes: I found the name Ruchika and immediately thought of Star ngl, I didn't even consider other names for her. It was like love at first sight. I think a lot of stuff with Star just clicked when I was doing research for her name and design, it just suited her so well. I did have her surname written down wrong in my personal notes so I'm glad I didn't post her character sheet immediately lmao

Laddie: Nino HALILI DEL ROSARIO

Culture: Filipino Loose Pronunciation: Nee-no HA-LEE-LEE DAY ROSE-ARI-O Personal name: Nino, meaning "little boy" Surname: HALILI meaning "successor", DEL ROSARIO meaing "of the rosary" Notes: I went so back and forth on his surnames it's not even funny, but I think I'm happier with Laddie's surnames in comparison to Paul's. "Nino" felt really obvious and clicked really well just like Star's name did, though I did consider a few other names that I don't have written down anywhere. Nino was just superior because he's simply a little guy.

Michael: EMERSON Manh Tien

Culture: Vietnamese Loose Pronunciation: EMERSON Man Tee-en Surname: EMERSON, inherited from white father Middle name: Manh, meaning "first-born" Personal name: Tien, meaning "fairy, celestial being" Notes: I'll be honest, the main contibuting factor behind Michael's personal name was how he was almost named "Moonbeam" during his mom's hippie phase. I have this idea where their dad was white and insisted on using exclusively their English names, and Michael wouldn't initially like his personal name because it feels girly to him anyway, but he'd grow to cherish his name and culture after meeting the lost boys <3

Sam: EMERSON Trong Binh

Culture: Vietnamese Loose Pronunciation: EMERSON Ch-ung Bin Surname: EMERSON, inherited by white father Middle name: Trong, meaning "second-born" Personal name: Binh, meaning "peaceful" Notes: I think overall for the Emerson family I was most concerned with meanings, which wasn't necessarily the case for the boys. Sam is the most peaceful in the sense that he discouraged the Frog brothers from killing Marko, even though he failed. Like Michael, I think his personal name is something that he grows into when he starts making friends, but would use his English name when first coming to Santa Carla.

Lucy: VINH Lan Huong

Culture: Vietnamese Loose Pronunciation: VIN Surname: VINH, meaning "glory" Middle name: Lan, meaning "orchid" Personal name: Huong, meaning "pink rose" Notes: Naming Lucy after flowers just felt right. Let it be known that I have serious beef with hippies, but I feel like she still had a well-intentioned hippie phase and this just adds to it. In Vietnamese culture, women don't change their surnames after marriage (as far as I'm aware) which I think would be a contributing factor in her divorce with her white all-American husband.

Grandpa: VINH Mac Dieu

Culture: Vietnamese Loose Pronunciation: VIN Mac Dee-oo Surname: VINH, meaning "glory" Middle name: Mac, meaning "nothing, nonexistent" Personal name: Dieu, meaning "mysterious, subtle" Notes: Grandpa! Needed! A! Name! He doesn't have one in the original! I'm basically saying he's not subtle about his knowledge of vampires and he's not trying to be subtle, it's just that no one ever asked. I think I tried to pick older-sounding names for him but it's been a little while since I picked these and I don't remember if I'm honest.

Edgar: Kaeru Matsuo

Culture: Japanese Loose Pronunciation: Keh-roo Mat-soo-oh Surname: Kaeru, meaning "frog" Personal name: Matsuo, meaning "pine tree, life" Notes: I named the Frog brothers after the famous Japanese poet Matsuo Basho because their English names remind me of Edgar Allan Poe, so I thought it'd be kind of funny. Matsuo is the surname of the poet, but I felt that Matsuo suited Edgar more than Alan. The surname I picked for the Frogs was obvious, I don't think anything else other than some variation of "frog" would've worked.

Alan: Kaeru Basho

Culture: Japanese Loose Pronunciation: Keh-roo Ba-show Surname: Kaeru, meaning "frog" Personal name: Basho, meaning "banana tree" Notes: Alan got the pen name of Matsuo Basho, who also went by "Sobo" and "Tose". I debated on giving him Matsuo's true given name, which is Kinsaku meaning "to be happy" but Matsuo Basho is better known as Basho and it's much funnier for this very serious 15-16 year old to be named "banana tree".

Sorry if the formatting is weird, I'm trying to make it as reader friendly as possible on account of my own dyslexia. Please let me know if the blocks of text blend in with each other too much lmao

[sanctaignorantia]

A few things I've been thinking about and find subtle links to Death Stranding

Chakras and Death Stranding

This text has content that I took from a book of Reiki handouts that my mother has, so the view of Chakras here is from the viewpoint of Reiki practice.

Chakras are round energy centers and in the East they are seen as whirlpools of energy, little cones (funnels) of spinning energy. They are large, shiny and translucent and, in normal human beings, have a diameter of five to ten centimeters, reaching 20 centimeters in diameter in spiritually developed people.

The size of the Chakras varies according to our energy and spiritual development and can vary according to the individual's energy (positive or negative energy). And each Chakra resonates with a color that derives from its vibration frequency. Each one vibrates with a sound or mantra that corresponds to a musical note and also relates to a natural element: earth, water, fire, air and ether.

In the Oriental view, each Chakra is represented by petals like flowers, depending on the complexity of each one. Ancient writings mention that we have up to 88,000 Chakras throughout our bodies, in other words, we have countless energetically sensitive points, but most of them play a secondary role.

But let's just talk about the 7 main Chakras through which the human aura is connected.

source

The Chakras are responsible for the energy flow in the human body and their main function is to absorb prana, which is the energy coming from the Sun, metabolize it, feed our aura and, finally, emit energy to the outside.

Knowing this, let's talk about Death Stranding, we know that Sam, when he dies in his baby phase, is repatriated by Amelie in his Beach. Amélie "seals" Sam's body with a mark and brings him back to life, causing Sam to gain a peculiar scar and live around without a navel. We're talking about the Umbilical/Sacral Chakra here, and according to the Reiki view this is the second Chakra.

We're going to talk about the other two Chakras that, for me, were also "affected" by the repatriate/shot mark, but let's start with the Umbilical Chakra first.

Name: Svadhishthana Location: Navel area Color: Orange Auric body: Emotional Element: Water Music note: D Mantra: Vam Number of petals: 6

This chakra is for the propagation of the species, in other words, reproduction. Its correct activity makes us love life. It is the Chakra that concentrates the qualities that have to do with sexuality, curiosity, the creative search for material pleasure, a taste for beautiful things, art, emotions and relationships with other people. This chakra is the seat of fears, ghosts and negative fantasies linked to sexuality and behavior towards another sex. If it malfunctions, it can turn life into a small personal "hell" which ends up being reflected in the people we live with and relate to.

Blockages in this Chakra usually result in physical symptoms such as illnesses related to body fluids (larynx, lymph, saliva, bile). Blockages in the sexual center often result in mental symptoms such as fear of physical proximity and disgust for the body, a mania for cleanliness, incomprehension, a mind that is too focused on reason, an excessive emphasis on impulsive feelings, rhythmic disorders, isolation, frigidity, impotence, lack of sexual appetite, fear of falling.

This Chakra together with the first are important and if they function incorrectly the other Chakras won't be able to function properly either.

I could say that due to the size of the damage caused by the shot, not only the Umbilical/Sacral Chakra was affected, but also the Base Chakra(#1) and the Solar Plexus(#2), because all three are located exactly in the center of our body's balance.

So let's look at a basic summary of the other two Chakras (first and third) to complete the analysis.

-> Basic Chakra (first)

Name: Muladhara Location: Base of the spine Colors: Red and black Auric body: Etheric and physical Element: Earth Musical note: C Mantra: Lam Number of petals: 4

It lies between the anus and the sexual organs, on the line of the pelvic girdle. This chakra is open downwards and represents the human being's connection with planet Earth, with the material and physical world. It is linked to our earthly existence, our survival. The more open and elevated this Chakra is, the higher our physical energy (disposition) will be.

-> Solar Plexus Chakra (third)

Name: Manipura Location: Mouth of stomach Color: Yellow Auric body: Mental Element: Fire Musical note: E Mantra: Ram Number of petals: 10

It represents the personality and concentrates the qualities of the rational and personal mind, vitality, the will to know and learn, the action of power, the desire to live, communicate and participate. It is the point of connection with other people. This Chakra is the one most closely related to our ego and therefore absorbs a lot of energy from the first two Chakras.

In summary, I find it interesting how I could find a little sense in the location of the Chakras in relation to Sam's injury, and in relation to what the mark of the repatriate represents for him. I don't know if Kojima did this consciously, but there is something that makes sense, for sure.

The center of the human body (CORE)

One of the funniest things for me was realizing that they chose Sam, a guy who doesn't have his "center" complete because of a brand. In other words, metaphorically speaking, Sam has no "balance" at all because his center has been "affected", and yet he is the Man Who Delivers, the guy who stacks things and needs to have good balance and core strength to do what he does.

How to "close the body" to negative energy

In my religion we say that if you want to go somewhere or meet someone and you want to protect yourself from any negative energy that the place or someone might inflict on you, you just have to wear an adhesive plaster on your navel, so this symbolic action will protect you from negative energies, because that's where we receive and donate energy, so it's an open field. There is the possibility of something or someone sucking this energy from us consciously or unconsciously, just as we can lose this energy unconsciously too.

This doesn't literally mean having a closed body, because the expression can mean another type of ritual that leads us to literally close the body, something much more complex than just "covering the navel", but technically it can be said that this is closing a door to things that can affect us.

[mostwretchedcritter]

Some revamped portraits of Elizabeth Bridewell. She, the art, & the writing in this post are all dedicated to the public domain.

Back in the day, she ran away to join the circus (mostly contortion, dabbling in trapeze, & of course making/maintaining costumes & props. Variety is the spice of life after all). Ended up briefly dying in a circus accident as one does, to be then transformed into the vampiric nuisance she is now.

Enough of the dusty old past! These nights she's concerned with keeping her finger on the pulse of mundane life, getting odd jobs bar tending, as a night stocker, or production assistant/ghost haunting a low budget horror flick. Immersing herself in the lives of her coworkers for a few months, maybe even years before whipping up some excuse to disappear, scampering off to another city.

In regards to her vam-peers, she tries to balance staying on good enough terms with local powers to come & go freely, with pushing everyone's buttons in all the ways etiquette permits. She has of course been banned from a few cities for justifiable reasons (though she would never admit that)

Elizabeth is the sort who simply cannot abide being bored & to prevent this keeps at least a couple small art projects to nibble on lurking in her purse. If you'd like to try one such project there's a companion post to this one with a printable oracle deck.

I was already pondering posting about the characters I come up with in a manner less obtuse than usual when @titleknown 's public domain challenge came up on my dash. Admittedly I'm not quite meeting the letter of the brief.

First, she's not a new character, I've been making art of her since 2021 (& she has of course been undead since the natural form era) Though, in the spirit of the challenge, all of the art in this post was brought to it's current state in the past week using said old work as collage fodder.

Second, is the fiction. Aside from the details in this post I'm offering the aforementioned companion post which doubles as an example of Elizabeth's art/writing & as well as the means to come up with more stories (whether about her or anyone else)

Her debut to the public domain was only a matter of time considering my many schemes & plots that concern her. A good holiday seemed like the perfect excuse for sooner rather than later. Any way happy public domain day!

[jackleopard]

wrapped songs + fave lyrics: 1. 6. 17. 22. 34. 49. 53. 64. 72. 81. 92. 😊

omg i am so so so so sorry I did not see this until today

1. Mía (Mine) - originally by Belén Aguilera but the one on my wrapped is Chiara Oliver's cover for OT -> los días en los que el reflejo del espejo me dolía, en los que contigo como arma me protegía (rough translation: the days in which the mirror's image hurt me, in which, with you as a weapon, I protected myself?)

6. chloe or sam or sophia or marcus - taylor swift -> your hologram stumbled into my apartment, hands in the hair of somebody in darkness named chloe or sam or sophia or marcus but also as the decades would play us for fools and you saw my bones out with somebody new but but also back to the moment i crashed into you like so many wrecks do, too impaired by my youth to know what to do BUT ALSO could it be enough to just float in your orbit, can we watch our phantoms like watching wild horses, cooler in theory but not if you force it to be... so like just really the whole song I know it's cheating but it's the most perfect song i'm sorry

17. Fortnight - taylor ft. post malone -> i touched you for only a fortnight but i touched you especifically because of the but here.

22. the last one - maisie peters -> either caught in a streetlight, a lost cause in levi's or if you're the Syd Barrett of the band, I'm the girl on the train tracks Holdin' your hand

34. i'm trying (not friends) - maisie peters -> like chloe et al., this is a case of a perfect songs, no notes, love every lyric but if i'm forced to choose I'm going with boy and a girl broke up, yeah it's two a penny today (tomorrow? who knows)

49. who's afraid of little old me - taylor again -> so I leap from the gallows and I levitate down your street, crash the party like a record scratch as I scream

53. fresh out the slammer - taylor -> honestly, any of the verses because the way all the words rhyme even internally/the way it all fits sonically hits son perfectly

64. seventeen going under - sam fender -> I was far too scared to hit him, but I would hit him in a heartbeat now 1000/10 lyric of all time, honestly song of all time, oh to someday be in a stadium screaming this alongside a thousand people

72. lokura (madness? insanity?) - julieta -> vull tornar una altra vegada a la nit en què ens vam conèixer (I want to go back again to the night where we met) I guess. It's not really a song where I would highlight any lyrics in particular, I just love how julieta sounds. btw if anyone's curious check out the gallery session of the song on youtube specifically.

81. I can fix him (no really I can) - by who else?... taylor -> the smoke cloud billows out his mouth like a freight train through a small town

92. la cançó del soldadet (the little soldier's song) - manel -> this is long so bear with me but: I fa un amén, poc convençut, el soldadet // I acaricia el seu fusell // Intentant no pensar en res // Des de proa es van fent grossos els turons // "soldadet, valor, valor // Que depèn de gent com tu la sort del món" // Però "si una bala enemiga creua el vent // I em travessa el cervell" // Es planteja el soldadet // "les onades m'arrossegaran // I mil peixos de colors // Lluitaran per devorar la meva carn" // I és quan pensa "jo m'amago // Quan no mirin, jo m'amago"

i'm going to do my best to translate this and to make it sound as pretty as it sounds to me in catalan: and the little soldier, unconvinced, says an amen // and caresses his rifle // trying not to think of anything // From the bow, the hills are getting bigger // "courage, courage, little soldier // because the fate of the world depends on people like you" // but "if an enemy's bullet crosses the wind // and pierces my brain" // wonders the little soldier // "the waves will drag me // and a thousand coloured fish // will fight to devour my flesh" // and it's then that he thinks "I'll hide // when they aren't looking, I'll hide"

[themculibrary]

Victorian Masterlist

A Clockwork Heart (ao3) - aprettystrangeao3 tony/stephen T, 18k

Summary: Doctor Stephen Strange, expert physician and rumored miracle-worker, just wants to eat his poorly-made biscuits and do his research in his cozy library in his empty home in the grey outskirts of Victorian New York. But his life suddenly changes, for better or worse, when a missing man arrives half-dead at his doorstep. What will he manage to uncover about his newest patient-- and what could he uncover about himself in the process?

A King for Christmas (ao3) - iam93percentstardust steve/tony E, 101k

Summary: In 1867, Tony Stark flees New York after refusing to marry the alpha his parents chose for him. His money runs out in the small kingdom of Dacia, ruled over by King Steven of the Rogers line. Somehow, and he’s not entirely sure how, he ends up accepting the position of nanny to the king’s four children: Harley, Peter, Sarah, and Morgan.

Tony bonds with the children easily but their father is harder to get to know. Steve is still grieving his wife’s death four years earlier. His continued mourning has turned the once bright halls into dark and somber shadows of their former glory. Tony isn’t entirely certain what he can do but he knows that he has to do something or else the whole country, so attuned to their leader, will sink into despair. He begins by reconciling the king with his young children.

Meanwhile, the children have decided that it’s high time their father fall in love again—and Tony is the obvious choice. They concoct elaborate plans to force the two together, hardly realizing that Steve and Tony are falling in love, not through their shenanigans but through the quiet moments they share bonding over the love they have for the children.

a white demon love song (ao3) - officecowboyy loki/mobius E, 12k

Summary: He should have killed him when he had the chance, should have taken that sweet-smelling blood for himself and rid the world of another foolhardy man thinking himself strong enough to kill a god.

BLACKOUT (ao3) - SalamanderInk loki/tony E, 77k

Summary: There's a moment in everyone's life, a turning point where everything that could be and everything that should be takes shape and becomes real.

For Prince Loki of Jotunheim, with a heart cursed to ice, that moment comes when he first meets Lord Anthony Stark of Midgard.

Collars of Ardor (ao3) - The_Nerd_Alert steve/bucky, peggy/angie, past bucky/alexander E, 135k

Summary: It is 1880 in London, and Captain Steve Rogers seems to be the ONLY man in the world who has not found his Consort yet. It is a global practice, to own a Consort before the age of 30, or risk paying Taxes into the Consort Union. But... Steve just has not found his One yet. If he is to have a Pet for life, he wants his to be perfect. So after a disheartening birthday party, and urging from his wife Peggy, Steve sets out to spend the evening alone... What he did not expect was to stumble upon his One and fall head over heels in love with the boy. Now, if only he could melt that Winter heart of Buchanan's and make him his...

Copper and Magic (ao3) - Saintduma loki/tony E, 11k

Summary: Tony Stark is an American in London, looking for an interesting companion for the night. When he finds a High Fey, fate takes him on a long and very unexpected ride...

Fear on Whitechapel (ao3) - Shinigami24 steve/bucky, jane/thor E, 10k

Summary: As the Victorian era continues, omegas that work the streets are hunted by a madman without empathy or fear. Bucky and Steve try to survive while putting an end to the rampage.

Forbidden by Time (ao3) - MaxxJacks (wcnderluster) steve/tony G, 1k

Summary: When Tony stormed out into the cold after an argument with his father, there was only one place to get out of the cold.

In the Dead of Night (ao3) - theicesculpture loki/tony T, 6k

Summary: The year is 1887 and Anthony Edward Stark is determined to get to know the guest neighbouring his hotel room. That guest also happens to be a vampire.

I only meant to stay a while (ao3) - ebeatrice loki/mobius G, 1k

Summary: “I thought we might share a dance,” says Loki.

Or, Mobius chases Loki down to Victorian London. His favorite variant has no intention of being caught, but he's not against spending some time with the TVA agent before running away.

Love Me Tender Like What Keeps You Well (ao3) - thiccbuckybarnes steve/bucky E, 24k

Summary: The estate was full to the brim with giggling ladies in tailored dresses and gentlemen in dress shirts and narrow jackets with velvet collars. The ballroom was lively with chatter, music, and dance, and the rest of his house had some form of merriment and gossip in one corner or another. - - Steve Rogers, an alpha, widow, retired army captain, and master of the Allaheim estate, is happy to welcome new neighbors next to his manor in his pleasant little village of York. He hopes to gain new friends to brighten up his lonely life, and ends up getting much more than he bargained for when he meets the son of his new neighbor, James.

Masquerade (ao3) - crankyfractal (upquarkAO3), sirsable steve/bucky E, 9k

Summary: Lord Bucky Barnes is tired of the dull repetition of the London social season. Every year, it's political games and stuffy suits and niceties so stiff it makes his teeth hurt. But this year is different. This year, he runs into a handsome stranger at a masked ball, and there's a chemistry there that neither can deny. Finally, some excitement in his life.

Of Broken Dreams and Mended Hearts (ao3) - Kellyscams steve/bucky, peggy/gabe, clint/natasha, pepper/tony, past bucky/brock M, 354k

Summary: When the House of Barnes is left in massive debt after the death of George Barnes, their oldest son and heir, Bucky, is forced to sacrifice his own hopes and dreams by entering an arranged married to Steve Rogers. Steve seems kind enough, has a prominent job in the government, and was even voted Society's Best Catch. But the House Rogers is significantly higher in status than Bucky's family, which means Bucky is marrying up in Society, and marrying up doesn't only come with rewards, it also comes with certain...expectations and losses--some of which Bucky might be willing to do anything to avoid. And those opportunities might come his way.

Unless, of course, he actually starts falling in love with his new husband...

On Ceremony (ao3) - CapandCarter T, 108k

Summary: In retrospect it was foolish of Peggy to anger the mayor’s son in such a personal fashion, however, she’d had no premonition of the death of one of the Unification Couple

And how that death would change her life forever.

——-

OR

Peggy is forced into a marriage she doesn’t want with a man she has no intention of loving.

Plot, enemies to lovers, angst, and fluff ensues.

reason and love keep little company (ao3) - thelilacfield wanda/vision T, 5k

Summary: She’s surrounded by rich men, men who could give her everything she could ever want, set her up comfortably in a manor to carry their children. Men she doesn’t want.

She could never love them half as much as she loves a poor gardener with the sky in his eyes and dirt beneath his nails.

Steady as the Stars (ao3) - ragnorakdad loki/steve, past loki/grandmaster, past jane/thor, implied thor/bruce T, 14k

Summary: The Social Season of 1890 has just begun, and Loki already despises every minute of it. At the first event that Thor drags him along to, Loki does not get along with one of the other patrons in the slightest. However, he soon finds out that this man, Steve Rogers, has moved around the corner from the Odinson villa.

Tally-Ho (ao3) - orphan_account loki/sif T, 2k

Summary: Sif was never one to really enjoy these sort of gatherings, none the more when Loki was supposed to play the host, but at least he was amusing to watch as he glid from a guest to another and skillfully avoided befriending anyone despite making everyone think that they had.

He had also skillfully avoided her the entire night, no matter how much her fingers had started to itch for his coat lapels. Just to throw the gaudy thing off and strip him down.

The Borders of My Realm (ao3) - boombangbing bruce/jane, pepper/tony M, 29k

Summary: In 1893, vagrant Bruce Banner and society lady Jane Foster are brought together in the home of the eccentric automobile inventor Anthony Stark.

The Counterfeit Courtship (ao3) - spinawren steve/bucky T, 8k

Summary: It was said by the best people in Society that good confectionary had the capacity to solve all of one’s problems. For all that Steven Rogers had a long and storied history of vehement opposition to Society, on this count he had found himself in reluctant accordance with its mores; so much so, indeed, that upon reuniting with a rather older and more vampiric friend it was the consumption of baked goods - soaked through with blood, naturally - which he’d recommended as the most curative activity he knew of.

The Curse of the Castle Keep (ao3) - velvetjinx steve/bucky, pepper/tony, minor bucky/tony, minor bucky/natasha, minor loki/mobius, minor sharon/natasha T, 61k

Summary: When Steve is seven years old, his mother becomes the governess for ten year old Tony Stark. Their move to Yorkshire and the big house will be the start of a new life for them, if Sarah can win round Tony.

A story of friendship, family, growing up, and love that will last - even beyond the grave.

[waloeders]

"malicious master of my destiny,

what is it that you want from me,

what is it that you seek?"

for.spoken si reveal! 🫶 AND i drew him, crazy!

lore- jupiter "jupe" arenshaw is a regular guy on earth until he encounters the newest tanta of athia, frey! unfortunately, he experiences some difficulties and finds himself dragged to this world, bound to the strange golden entity calling itself "vambrace" (definitely not cuff) - or "'brace" for short. in order to find his way back home to earth, he must work together with 'brace to find frey, who has apparently left to seek out the mysterious, long-thought dead rheddig...

okay now fun tibits-

jupe uses he/they and calls cuff/sus.urrus either vambrace, vam, brace, or later on 'rus or sussy (when hes really teasing)!

the song is the descent by polaris, that and annihilation by i_o are #1 songs abt them <3

he has some more items from earth than frey arrives with! including: a backpack with a blanket, teddy, some snacks, a compass and a notebook! they were on their way to a sleepover okay, some of it is just random junk i actually carry ahhsdjnskdmd

they're actually designed with the game in mind! so he has a fair few abilities, some of which overlap with freys but most are unique to him! its partly to do with that whole "bonded to sussy" thing that isnt supposed to work with non-tantas. also some of the items give him specific boosts (compass allows u to forage, blanket allows u to gain a buff after each rest and notebook is where all archive entries appear, as if he'd written them down!)

i kind of picture him like a dlc or small spinoff game post fs1 but before a fs2? ill make a separate post abt their abilities tho, dont want this to get too long :3

ref image for the pose (my sc from the game LMAO):

divider by: @.kgymz ! <3

taglist (ask/dm me n i can add/remove folks!!):

@keyblade-ships @selfshipper @sirius-to-pup @lostmanuscript @deadlock @sosawl @bannering

[dailyunstableeve]

Everyone's Tav has a back story, and I would like to introduce mine!

Well, I just use one of my old oc for this and I think she has a great fit for this (maybe) and it's for fun and get rid of my write blocks, don't attack me please

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Her name is Ade.

⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──⭒─⭑─⭒──⭒─⭑─⭒──⭒─⭑─⭒──⚝

I looked at the camp, with all the people around, Astarion, Shadowheart, Lae’zel, Gale, Wyll, Karlach and Scratch. We’re all here just because of the Tadpole, strangers but needed to survive so we stick together.

As Gale is preparing the dinner, I isolated myself in my own tent, having my eyes closed, letting the noises in. Thousands of cries and words flooded my mind immediately, only saying the same thing, “betrayal.”

A story that has never been told to anyone, about how one village just disappeared from the map, bloodless bodies only to be found.

The village of Vam, simple as it is. Every house is a small family of Vampires, natural born, some are turned. We had the power to turn anything to a vampire without needing an ascension ritual, to be able to create more. We made children by using half of our blood mixed in a bowl, using the bones of our ancestors and creating a new born child, the natural born Vampire ritual, with that it also granted us the permission to walk under the sun with no problem. It's a nasty ritual but I've seen it once when my sister, Jezebeth, was born.

I was the chief’s daughter, along with two brothers and a sister. Our talent was only good at hunting preys so we could feast on the blood, and protect the whole village.

Everything changed the moment I harvested my second power, the power to be able to twist one’s blood. I could use their blood as strings to puppet, and I can use mine to grow veins to tangle my enemies.

I loved my family so I told them about my power, hoping they will be proud of me but they never did, because my power can be the end of the family. I never understood why when I was a child, that my family would ask me for favors so that they could do it themselves. It went on for 10 years until I met a girl from the outskirts of town, V.

Hanging out with her made me realize a lot of stuff, mainly learning from how she interacted with her family. V’s family are lovely. I would run to their house every once or twice a week, at first I interacted with them with the manners my mother had taught me, well, taught me to treat her, do the house chores, serve the food, and only eat when everyone is done.

Through V’s family, I learn that the way my family treats me is wrong, so I tried to fight back, hoping I could have some ground to stand on but I'm always pushed away. Slowly, the idea of killing my family appeared in my mind, I tried to seek for V’s help but I was too late.

I saw Aqius standing in front of V’s house, as the house burned to the ground.

“What have you done?” Anxiety and anger rising inside of me, if anything happened to V and the family, I would do anything for them.

“Sister, mother isn't happy about how you always sneak out of the house, she has sent me here to teach you a lesson,” that hideous smirk appeared on Aquis’ face.

He killed V.

There's only one thing on my mind.

I will kill this bastard.

I never used my power on my family at all, because I believe they are my family, and I'm their daughter and sister, and family are meant to be together, forever and always.

Forever and always, foolish of me to think that.

I enjoyed the screams from Aquis as I slowly boiled his blood, turning it into tiny little sharp blades, cutting up his inside bit by bit. It didn't take him long enough to figure out I'm the reason he started to feel the ache, that his body would explode anytime, he started to beg, beg me to spare his life, trying to reason with me with all the good time we had together but all those good times were before I harvested my power.

“I will make you beg like how V begged for you to spare her,” I stared at Aquis with cold eyes, there was no sympathy at all, just anger, “you didn't spare her, so I should not spare you too.”

A snap on the head and it pops off from the body, blood spilling out like a fountain, beautiful. I held up Aquis' head, adjusting its view towards his body and I smiled.

Just like the fountain in the grand palace, elegant.

I turn my sight back to the burning house, telling myself that I'm going to avenge V, I'm going to kill everyone that stops me for killing my whole family.

Everything was a blur, really. It's nothing but me going on a killing spree, slaughtering everything that's blocking my way and how I enjoyed the moment. I never liked screams before but that day, it sounded like music that only I can create and it's a masterpiece.

I remember dropping Aquis' head in front of my family, mother were crying loud, father was furious, he even tried to drive a stake in my heart but he couldn't succeed with me controlling his blood, I turned to my second brother, Josh as I watch father fighting over my power but all he can do was just driving that stake in Josh’s heart.

Jezebeth tried to stop me with her knowledge with herbs, throwing poison at me causing me to fall back a little. Mother tried to take the opportunity to take me down but I had my father pinning my mother down.

I let my family die in their own talent, Jezebeth chugging down all the potions she made, 9 out of 10 are just purely poison. Father will hunt mother down as mother will try to hide, the hunting went quite long enough for me to drain all the blood from the whole village, stored in barrels, because my tiny sanity is telling me to change my blood intake to Vampires instead of Human. It's also the last promise I made with V that I would never take any human’s blood.

I watched mother dragging father's body back to the village which surprised me. I was hoping that father is the one who's dragging mother's body.

Mother looked at me with anger, saying that she will do anything to kill me right now but she knows she won't be able to reach me.

“I should've done this sooner, so V and her family doesn't have to suffer,” I said under my breath, taking control of my mother's blood, “you have taken away everything ever since I got this power, the love of the family. When I thought I would live in this darkness forever, V showed up in my life and showed me light again, I managed to find a family that is my own and wasn't like you all, only know HOW TO USE ME!” I bent mother's leg, having her kneeling in front of me, “you took everything from me, so today, everyone that died here, will be the price you paid for.”

While I left my mother sobbing on the redden ground, I left the village with the barrels of blood I got. Have them hidden away, only to be open if I couldn't fight off the hunger.

“Dinner's ready,” Shadowheart’s stood outside of my tent, letting out some short cough, “everyone are waiting for you.”

“I'll be there,” I took out my hidden stash of blood and had a few sips before I joined the party for dinner.

After I left the village, I had at least five years of freedom until I was captured by the mind flayers. Now I'm on a journey with the others, hoping to find a way to get rid of the tadpoles that are in our brain.

Little do I know, one day my mother will show up again, and my past will be told to the party. I guess I'll start worrying when my mother finally appears.

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[rosemochi]

Redamancy: Chapter 2 (FFVII, VinTi vampire AU)

Whatever small thrill Tifa might’ve gotten from their meeting is long extinguished by the time they leave the basement. Vincent’s eyes bore into hers with an intensity that borders on awkwardness, and his attention isn’t broken until Yuffie speaks up and asks him what his deal is. His answer—Shinra, Jenova Project, Lucrecia—are lost in the drum beat of Tifa’s half-dead heart, springing back to life as if she hadn’t spent the past few years subsisting off of crumbs. Only one word breaks through the deluge—Turks—and it immediately summons images of Reno’s exsanguinated corpse, rotting in one of Midgar’s many sewers. When Vincent’s eyes find hers once more, Tifa looks away, lest he somehow read her thoughts and discover her many, many sins.  They move to leave without him. Relieved, Tifa turns her back to him—and stumbles when he speaks up. He’s changed his mind for whatever reason, and she’s made to suffer the intolerable feeling of a shiver crawling endlessly up her spine as they make their way back to the surface, up the staircase, his ridiculous metal boots clanking heavily on the stone steps.  Of course, she might just be losing it. This isn’t the first time she’s doubted her reality. By the time they’ve made camp—outside of Nibelheim, because neither she nor Cloud are particularly keen on staying—she’s convinced herself that her unease is simply a figment of her imagination, and that Vincent is taking no interest in her at all. But every step of her well-rehearsed routine—taking a non-perishable item out of the food bag for dinner, ‘eating’ it in private, hiding the unopened item in her backpack to dispose of later—is suddenly called into question. Everybody else ignores her strange habits, but will he? Is he even paying attention? Why does she get the strangest feeling that he’s watching her? Their next stop is the Gold Saucer. The minute she and Aerith are alone in their hotel room, the question spills out of Tifa’s mouth. “What do you think of our new teammate?” “Who? The vam—” Aerith bites her lip. “Sorry.”

(Read on AO3!)