#ghost-blood

[starlightsoulwriting]

Ghost-blood//Revenant: 2

Khonshu, Marc Spector, Steven Grant x Fem!Reader

Maybe some Layla x Reader later if you guys are as Bi as I am

AO3

Chapter List, Including Prologue

Rating: PG-13/T, for cursing and later violence

Warnings: None

Summary: Steven meets a certain someone at the museum.

A/N: Being an Art Courier is a real job, and it's really cool! My dad met one on a plane during a business trip, and that's the only reason I know it exists. So thanks to That Guy for making this meet-cute chapter happen lol.

“C’mon, Scotty, I told you they’re getting the new pieces set up in there.” J.B. sighed as he looked at Steven, getting his name wrong for the nth time and simultaneously crushing his hopes.

“The memo said employees could watch if they wanted to.” He gives the security guard an uneven smile while gesturing to the sign and ropes stating that the exhibit’s currently closed while the new displays are unpacked and installed. “I’m an employee.”

“I’m pretty sure they just meant the curators and such, but have at it.” J.B. shrugged, but unhooked the rope anyway. “Seems boring to me, bruv.”

“Well… that’s your opinion.” Steven muttered awkwardly even as shoulders slumped with relief that he hadn’t come in off-shift for nothing, and hurried into the room just to find it unexpectedly quiet despite the crowd, an increased security detail and a  number of guides and curators surrounding the perimeter of the room, all staring tensely at the knee-high crate in the center of the room that hadn’t yet been opened as the curators surveyed it for any signs of damage, little clipboards in their hands as other set up a variety of tools and trays on a little other off to the right, and still others exchange paperwork and cheek kisses over laughter.

So he hadn’t missed it!

He shuffled his way as close as he could without intruding on the wide bubble surrounding the team that included the head Egyptology Curator and -

And a woman that gave off an aura unlike anyone he’d ever seen, wearing a multicolored, fine-woven scarf around her neck, held together by an intricate golden scarab pin, feathered wings outstretched wide to either side. Her hair lit up from behind because of the extra lights brought in for the job, making her look otherworldly, like a halo forming around her. An angel.

An overwhelming wave of mixed emotions hit Steven all at once, something familiar and warm and longing overtaking his chest at the same time as a horrible, throbbing ache. That alone was nearly enough to make his step falter, but - “Don’t go anywhere near her, worm.”

Truth be told, he let out a girlish, embarrassing scream as his left foot landed wrong and he couldn’t catch himself in time to stop him from eating tile.

…Silence interspersed with chuckling was all he heard for several moments.

“Are you okay?” Gentle hands lifted his shoulder from the ground as he groaned, pain radiating through his face, even though his hands took the brunt of the impact, stinging in the back of his head. Though, the last dregs of his morning tea had been splattered over the glossy floor, almost to the feet of the installation crew.

Except for the pair of comfortable-looking shoes that rested in the spillage, right in front of his nose as the owner helped him up.

Oh. It was her. As if he wasn’t blushing enough.

“Yeah,” he said weakly, the word half-way lodged in his throat. “Good thing the crate wasn’t open yet, yeah? I heard from Teresa you have one of the only intact depictions of the Daughter of Neith?”

“Well, they’re safe and wrapped up in plastic, but yeah,” She graced him with a cheeky chuckle as she pulled him to standing, nodding to one of the people around her to get a towel or something. She smiled at him, and his heart sped up in his chest. “Wouldn’t have been good if I’d been inspecting them.”

    “You’re the handler?” His breath stopped. "So you've studied Egyptian art at a real university, then?"

God, he wanted to pick her brain so bad.

She nodded, head lifting in slight pride. "Yup. Two Masters from Columbia." Her face dropped slightly and she looked at him apologetically. "I do need you to take a few steps back though."

The words brought him back to himself much the same way ice poured over his head would. "Right. Sorry, you must be busy."

"No problem." She shook her head and patted him on the shoulder. "It's not your fault you fell." She leaned in conspiratorially, tone laced with humor. "Darn invisible rocks just don't know when to get out of the way, do they?"

"Oh, yeah, never." At least it sounded less like she was making fun of him and more like she was trying to make him feel more comfortable. "Out to get me, really."

“You can call me Iris.” She giggled at his response, telling him a name that didn’t match the one on her visitor's badge. Iris. As in the Greek goddess of rainbows? "Talk to you more later?"

!!!!

"What, me?" You plonker. "I mean sure. Totally. I'm Steven. With a V."

Oh, stuff it, she doesn’t care how you spell your name!

She gave him a cute wave goodbye, other hand happily flapping at her side before she turned to return to her work.

The rest of the unpacking and installation went smoothly after Iris took the crowbar and cracked open the crate herself, taking out each of the stone tablets with delicate touches and gloved hands, inspecting each carefully for signs of transit damage, a sweet smile overtaking your face as she told the assistant next to her that they were in the same condition as when they left New York.

It took only a little while longer for the curators to set up the displays in the center of the room, on a pedestal that allowed guests to see both the front and the back.

The room broke out in applause when they lowered the glass, and declared them officially installed.

He tried not to be crushed in the small crowd that encircled the new arrivals, instead waiting in the wings of the room as Iris laughed and playfully shoved at her crew.

A bit of him welled up with envy - at the ability to relax and socialize so easily with people he’d never met. He had half a mind to just leave right then and there, the ache of loneliness settled in long ago driving him to want to hide in his flat once more. After all, why would she want to talk to him anyway? She was probably just being polite. She seemed busy.

Still, his feet wouldn’t move, even as he shuffled his weight awkwardly from one to another.

Wait, she’s walking over to him, why was she walking over to him?

And she smiled wide, and his breath halted in his lungs.

“Why don’t I buy you some more tea and we can talk some more? I have another few days in London until I get shipped back home, mind if I pick your brain for some good spots?”

How is this happening? He could only nod. “Not at all. I don't mind some brain picking.” He cringed at his phrasing but your lips just lifted wryly. “There's this place around the corner from here that has good pastries…”

“Well, then, lead the way~” She gave him a theatrical bow and held her elbow out for him to grab.

“I told you to stay away.” He gingerly gripped the crook of her elbow, jumping as the deep voice in his head returned, an unnatural wind flowing through the halls of the museum and ruffling at his hair, and even worse when they stepped outside, but Iris didn’t seem to care, simply placing herself between him and the brunt of it.

Well, mysterious voice, you can stuff it. He thought, an unfamiliar tang of spite and rebellion coursing through him.

I’ve got a date with the pretty art courier.

Don't forget to comment/reblog if you liked it! It helps a lot!

Things might slow down a bit as my summer classes start, but I'll still be working on it :)

[pythosblathers]

This isn’t cute. Lesbians only draw their favs as medieval knights when they’re catastrophically smitten

[beebeedibapbeediboop]

Spooky season is almost there...who you gonna call?

[wombywoo]

aftercare ❤️‍🩹

[bluegiragi]

bloodsucker.

early access + nsfw on patreon

[hualianschild]

tumblr should have a pin comment button but shoutout to this one <3

[bi-writes]

can't stop thinking about dark!simon with a sunshine!curvy!fem!reader, it's gnawing at my brain. (18+)

greeting him when he comes home in a little apron with dough smeared across your cheeks. you're bouncing in the kitchen, giggling as you wrap your arms around his neck. one burly arm hooks around your waist as he palms one side of your ass, and you kiss his lips over his blood-soaked mask again and again as you coo, "missed you so much, made you chocolate chip..."

you talk and talk and talk and talk. you're always talking. you're always whispering in his ear and chattering as he drives and telling him some story about something he missed while he was gone as you tidy up the flat. you never stop talking, never run out of things to tell him, and despite the monotone voice and the lack of response, he hears every single word that you say, and he forgets nothing. when he makes his way back on base, johnny is waiting, eager to hear an update about the receptionist at your work and if she is actually sleeping with your manager.

you wash his clothes without even blinking. you're at the sink, a bucket of cold, suddy water there as you scrub at his shirt. there's peroxide at the side, and you use a delicate hand as you scrub at the stains on it. ghost watches from the doorway as you hum to yourself, in a little pair of shorts with your hair tied up as you rinse the shirt clean. blood runs down the drain, and his shirt is clean as new.

you always find some kind of weapon around the house. you bend down to brush crumbs off the kitchen chairs, and you scold simon with a glossy pout because he left a bloody knife taped under the table. you whine when you find a grenade sitting in the same drawer you keep your tampons in. you complain when you take out the jar of rice to make dinner, and there's a small handgun hidden between the grains. but your face always softens when he cups your cheeks with two big hands, kissing you warmly, muttering, "gotta keep y'safe, luvvie...know there's a bloody line waitin' for a taste of y'r cunny, baby."

you visit him on base once in light wash denim and a white tshirt, sneakers hitting the linoleum and purse swinging as you wave at him. he's standing in front of a line of privates, watching them do jumping jacks, and his eyes light up a little when he sees you waving at him enthusiastically. when he finally makes it to you, he shoves you into the nearest supply closet and tugs your jeans down just enough to fit his cock between your thighs. when he's walking you out, the boys watch as you cling to simon's arm, a lovesick grin on your sweaty face as you flutter your lashes up at him.

he loves when your manicured hands touch him. scratching along his scalp, tracing the edge of his jaw, cupping the bulge in his pants. you're so sweet, the most giggly girl, and he loves tasting the strawberry of your gloss as you make him cum with your hand, cooing against his lips about how strong he is, how much you love him, how you would do anything for him.

he loves it most when you see him for what he really is. when he comes home battered and bruised, bloody clothes sticking to him, a snarl to his voice and the adrenaline of an op still pumping through his veins. he loves that nothing about him scares you. that even like this, you lean up on your toes and kiss him softly, that you get some of the blood and dirt smudges on the pink of your pajama pants, and you don't care, that he strangled a man with these very hands only hours ago, and you still want him to touch you.

he loves that you love him. that when he feeds his cock into you that night, in nothing but your baby pink lingerie, that you barely need any prep at all from how wet you are. thick thighs spreading apart, sticky slick shining on your skin, cunt nice and ready for him because you have missed him that much. he loves that no matter how ugly he feels, you always find him attractive, that no matter how many people he tells you that he killed tonight, all you do is smile and pucker your lips, and tell him, "it's okay, teddy bear, they deserved it, didn't they?" and yeah, they did, cause it is kill or be killed, and there is no universe where ghost does not fight to get back here, to get back to this pretty pussy, to get back to the bed he shares with you so he can watch those pretty tits bounce every time he fucks his cock into you.

ghost loves his pretty girl. all smiles. all soft, so cute, just perfect. ghost casts a shadow over the room, and you just brighten it right back up. ghost tracks blood into the house, and there you are to cover it all up with citrus and soap.

yeah. always just sunshine and smiles at home.

[bribinart]

hear me out hear me out hear me out..... dracopia but it's the dracula (1992) rendition (prints!)

[chestnutroan]

waking up

[soupdweller]

tw blood⚠️

:')

gitm belongs to @venomous-qwille [speedpaint under cut]

[starlightsoulwriting]

Ghost-Blood//Revenant: 3

Khonshu, Marc Spector, Steven Grant x Fem!Reader

Maybe some Layla x Reader later if you guys are as Bi as I am

You and Arthur are gonna be Worsties with a side of Conflicting Emotions

AO3

Chapter List, Including Prologue

Rating: PG-13/T, for cursing and later violence

Warnings: None

Summary: You make a big step in your career. Marc, meanwhile, is having a Time.

A/N: Note that Khonshu’s voice is only bolded and italicized when he is speaking as a disembodied voice.

“Marc, make the Worm break up with the artist.” The hollow socket’s of Khonshu’s skull bored into his soul as the god clutched his staff in a vice grip.

Nighttime blanketed the city of London in a pretty pitch of deep blue-grey, even if the light pollution washed out the number of stars, leaving the sliver of the moon that hung in the sky far lonelier than it normally should be.

But Marc paid no attention to that, focused instead on the wind in his hair, and the gauze-wrapped moon god in front of him.

This was fucking ridiculous.

“They video call a few times a week,” He raised his eyebrow at him with an unamused huff and crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s not like she’s moving in with him.”

All the things being Khonshu’s avatar had taken from him (including his wife), and now he wanted to mess with one of the few people in Steven’s life that actually paid him any attention?

Yeah, no, Marc wasn’t letting that fly. (And he wasn’t going to let himself admit that he found himself fond of you, as well. You made Steven happy, and that went a long way in his book. And besides that, you were a total catch. If he’d been the one to meet you first, he would’ve asked you out without hesitation, if he wasn’t still so hung up on Layla.)

But he wasn’t going to think that right now. Instead, his expression hardened as he shot Khonshu a firm glare. “What’s your problem?”

“That’s not your concern.” Khonshu shook his head in a way that reminded Marc of an offended cockatiel, leaning forward so his beak was all up in his face, slamming the staff down on the floor and making his hair blow back from his face. “Your concern is making sure that you and your alter stay far, far away from that woman.”

But Marc was used to Khonshu’s tantrums at this point.

“I’m not messing with Steven’s relationship.” He said firmly. “I don’t know why you care, but it’s not keeping me from your errands. So it doesn't matter.”

Khonshu let out a low growl, and held his gaze for a solid moment before he let out a huff. “Make sure you keep it that way, Spector. Or I’ll be forced to go elsewhere for an avatar.”

“I’ve got it under control.” Marc scowled at him, but nodded. “Now let’s get to work finding that scarab before Steven loses too much sleep.”

---

“Steven, I don’t think I can do this.” You groaned exaggeratedly, leaning back in your desk chair, face in your hands. You’d probably ducked out of your camera’s view by accident and given Steven only a partial view of your face in the video call, but you were too nervous to care, heartbeat hammering in your chest like the beat of hummingbird wings, and nausea swarming in your stomach.

“Aw, come on, love, there’s no way they could turn you down.” He said softly, and you peeked in between your fingers to see him smiling encouragingly in the corner of your screen, just about the cutest thing you’d ever seen in his too-big sweatshirt. God, you wanted to hold his hand for support right now, but a literal ocean stood between that. “And… I know it’s not working with Dr. Jackson, but you could still be a courier from London if you’re serious about moving here. But you can’t make a plan if you don't open your mail.”

“Right.” You sighed, clenching and unclenching your hand repeatedly.

Getting Steven on video call for moral support was the right choice, even as nerves choked your chest in a vice-grip.

You wanted this research position so bad. And it would let you move to the same city as your quasi-boyfriend of three months, Steven. And he was right, you could move to London anyway. A big change, but one you’d intended on making for years but never had the opportunity to follow up on. No matter what happened you could move anyway. You would be devastated, but you could still be in the city you’d want to.

But still, you don’t know how you would recover from the blw of being rejected from your dream position managing and analyzing items sent back fresh from dig sites. Sure, Dr. Jackson had been a mentor to you from a distance for years, but that didn’t mean you would get accepted automatically.

“C’mon, you can do it.” Steven prodded.

“Yup.” You popped the ‘p,’ eyes returning to the screen and hovering your mouse over the email sitting innocently in your inbox, unaware of your inner turmoil. Mocking you. You squeezed your eyes shut, and clicked it. “Just tell me if I got in or not, please.”

“Iris!” Steven gasped, almost a holler, sending a lance of panicked shock through you as you opened your eyes. “You got in!”

Holy shit!

You practically screamed, hands shaking back and forth in the air in happiness. “Steven, I got in, I’m moving to London! Oh my god!”

“I am sending you the biggest virtual hug, congratulations!” Steven’s face was radiant, eyes shining in the low light of his apartment. “You deserve it!”

All you could do is squeal in delight, your whole body moving now. “Not as big as the hug I’m giving you when I see you again!”

---

“Is this the last of it?” Steven’s voice sounded from your right, in the meager kitchen of the little studio apartment you found yourself in just about a month after that fateful video call. It’d been so hectic that you’d hadn’t been able to talk as much as you’d wanted, but now that you were in the same city, you had high hopes your long-distance thing with Steven could turn into something more substantial - if he was ready for that.

But there was no need to rush. You could wait for him to be ready as long as it took.

“Yeah, that’s everything.” You smiled softly to yourself, surveying the room. It would take a bit until you felt at home in the space, but already you could see the possibilities. “Oh! And just you wait until I get the kitchen set up, my friend Baran taught me a bunch of vegan recipes I want to try to make for you, do you have any preferences?”

You turned around to face him with a smile, just to see him stock-still, staring at your fallen-open sketchbook with an expression you couldn’t decipher, looking half-way to nauseated.

…”Steven?”

His eyes shot to you, like he hadn’t realized you’d been talking, swallowing thickly. “What’s this?”

You tilted your head, but came up behind him all the same to see what had him so rattled.

Oh.

It was one of your drawings of The Knight, as close as you could remember.

“A nightmare.” You said simply, taking it from its spot in the pile and closing it, and pressed your lips into a thin line. “It started after my car accident freshman year of undergrad.” The one you’d never gone into much detail about.

“Oh.” He faltered, playing with his own hands. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You just shrugged, turning away with a tight feeling in your chest.

“There’s not much more than what you already know. It was dark, and raining warm summer rain, and a deer darted into the road.” You closed your eyes, fingers digging into the fabric of your shirt, and took a deep breath. “It took four hours for emergency services to find me, but by the time they got there I was already out of the wreck, curled up underneath an umbrella. The thing is, I remember someone pulling me out and waiting with me. But whenever I try to think of their face, all I see is wrapped linen and glowing eyes.”

You pressed a hand to your face and shook your head. “I guess that’s what happens when you get head trauma after anthropology class, huh?” You cracked to lighten the mood, opening your eyes to look at Steven again. “Hallucinated that a mummy’s your savior?”

He looked abysmal.

“I think I’m gonna be sick.”

And he darted to the washroom before you could see the evidence that he was right.

All you could do is stand outside the door and feel guilty as the wind outside picked up.

---

“Okay Khonshu, time to fess up, who is she? Why does she remember Moon Knight saving her, huh?” Marc paced back and forth as the god reclined casually on Steven’s couch.

“Because Moon Knight saved her.”

The simple response made him still. “Before I was your avatar.”

“Correct.”

He closed his eyes. Okay, kind of fucked up, he could give it that, but that still doesn’t explain why Khonshu was acting so fucking coy about you. It’s not like you knew enough to risk their identity whatsoever, and as bad as he felt about making Steven puke in front of you, he knew Khonshu didn’t give a rat's ass if he embarrassed him. Fucker probably thought it was funny.

“You going to tell me why you're protecting her?” Marc settled on saying, eventually. Because he had to be. It was the only explanation for his hissy fits, when combined with the fact he’d had Moon Knight save you in the past.

“That’s none of your business.”

“She’s not like, your long lost freaky demigod baby or something, right?”

And Khonshu laughed at him, and laughed, and laughed, and called him stupid.

[dotswithbrainrot]

They are the light-

In eachothers darkest moments.

[tiggerriot]

[turnipoddity]

reunion

[transmascsimonriley]

vamp mactavish or something

[autisticrosewilson]

While we're on the topic of De-aging AU's I wanna talk about Jason and Damian if Jason was 14 again real quick.

Do you guys think that Damian looks at this version of Jason, so different from the version he knows, nothing like the person he was told Jason was, and feels uncomfortably seen?

Damian was always told that Jason died because he was reckless, because he disobeyed orders, he was fired as Robin and he got himself killed. A cautionary tale, not a threat to his position. He dismisses Jason because Bruce does, because Dick does, because sometimes even Babs and Alfred do.

That's not the kid that he's looking at now. This Jason is happy, and smart, and full of love that has not yet soured into grief. He hangs on Bruce's every word, trains until his hands bleed and his body gives out to perfect the moves Bruce teaches him. He looks at Bruce with stars in his eyes and he calls him dad.

And Damian can't help but think, that this is the perfect Robin. The perfect son. And if Jason - sweet, loving, strong, Jason - can be fired, can die and have his room locked away and his pictures torn down, can have his last memory as Robin be as A Good Soldier, how could the rest of them ever compete? What could Damian do to stand a chance?

Jason will never grow out of the shadow of Robin, like the rest of them did. As long as Bruce, and Dick, and Babs, and Alfred look at him and see a dead kid who came back wrong, he will never get to be anything else. He will not get to be looked at through who he is now without the shadow of a dead boy looming over him.

And the worst part? Jason is exactly the same person he was back then. Bitter, sure, angry, justifiably, but he is still the boy with too much love in his heart and righteous fury festering in his gut. He is exactly the same boy who threw himself in front of an explosion to save his mother.

(The lines between the mother that betrayed him and the father that disgraced him are so very blurred. Fire or blade or crowbars or fists it does not matter. It ends the same way it always does because Jason Todd always dies, in every universe, in every timeline, Jason dies and crawls out only to be killed again and again and again.)