Ten years ago, a beautiful fiend stalked and slaughtered half of Commander Bond’s crew while on a mission in Venice. In the years since his survival and subsequent retirement from naval service, Bond has scoured the continent for information about the creature and become something of a hunter of its blood-sucking ilk.
In the present day, Bond resides in a modest, rented townhouse in London, enduring the reputation of a superstitious eccentric. Upon a friend’s recommendation, Bond hires the brilliant young solicitor Quirrelin Quimby to help organize his affairs…and Bond is quickly smitten. ‘Q’ is a rational man of the law and numbers, and much as he rolls his eyes at Bond’s many idiosyncrasies, Q is always pleased to sit and listen to Bond’s tales from his naval service and his time hunting vampires all around the Mediterranean.
As the weather turns cold, Q’s already-pale complexion wanes, and he seems frailer by the day. But Q says he’s always been prone to illness, particularly in the winter time, and Bond believes Q’s assurance that he’s in no great danger…until Bond spots Q out on the town with his new client, a foreign countess of great means who only rouses herself for evening appointments. One look at those cold, dead eyes, and Bond recognizes the fiend he’d foolishly left for dead in Venice. Little did he know at the time…vampires can’t be drowned, not even when you chain their coffin shut, plunge it into the canal, and sink a building on top of it.
Across the crowded street, she lifts her eyes to Bond, smiles knowingly, and turns away, leaving Q standing dazed on the sidewalk.
Bond seizes Q and interrogates him, but Q is under her thrall. The puncture marks on Q’s neck—hidden by his cravat for how many days?!—leak a sluggish trickle of blood that Q is oblivious to, and he won’t hear a word said against the beautiful countess. Bond knows her appearance and targeting of Q are no coincidence; she rose from the watery depths and came to London to find Bond, and now she’s toying with Bond’s dearest acquaintance as part of her sadistic revenge. How can Bond keep Q safe while he hunts her…and what chance does Bond alone have against the vampire when it required four men to beat her back the first time? None. Bond sends out letters requesting aid and makes plans to flee London immediately.
Desperate to protect Q, Bond forces Q into a carriage at dawn and makes a frantic dash to get them as far from London as possible before sunset, in the hope that distance could break her spell over Q. If they can survive their first night on the road, God may see them through to Skyfall before the second sunset. Behind the walls of Bond’s ancestral home, Bond and his few remaining allies will make a stand against the vampire to save the man he loves from death or eternal damnation….
Today in ‘Stories Sam Isn’t Writing,’ here’s a 00Q vampire!AU outline inspired by the addictive Re: Dracula podcast/audiobook. With a bonus moodboard! I’m obsessed with this image of vampire-Vesper rising from the waters of Venice, eerily flawless and blue-toned, as she comes to seek her revenge on James Bond….
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Scavenger hunt #46 For 007 Fest Prompt no.46: Pick 2 or more characters. Using this generator, generate a set of dialogue. Use it in your fic or artwork.
Come one, come all, to celebrate a day of crossovers! Maybe you love fusion AUs, maybe you wish Benoit Blanc and James Bond had to solve a case together, maybe you wonder if Eve Moneypenny is secretly Calypso, maybe you think Hob Gadling from Sandman would make a great 00, maybe you’re into James Bond and Captain Kirk having a friends-with-benefits relationship. Whatever the canon, whatever the crossover, we’d love to see how you mix things up with Bond!
Ways to participate:
Post crossover headcanons
Draw crossover fanart
Write crossover ficlets
Make crossover meta
Rec crossover-centric fancreations
And any other crossover-related activities!
If you haven’t filled these yet, then Crossover Day is the perfect day for having fun with these Scav Hunt items: #7, #8, #46
Did I miss the crossover day?? TT Anyway I just want to drop more doodles of this two bastards cuz why not :))) although the clothes swaps of this pair has been done by someone but I want to try too ;;;
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The Anglo-Irish Agreement had just been signed. The River Thames was dead. In the east, the Berlin wall stood strong (it would soon fall); in the west, the Northern Ireland peace walls towered high (they would not). Cold war, civil war, world war — wherever you turned, violence was desperate to weave itself back into global politics.
Untouched, The Ivy sat in the center of West Street.
Old money had their own problems to worry about.
Artemis Fowl I was young and invincible in a sea of men guided more by money than they were by convictions. Tonight wasn't his fête, but it might as well have been — it was impossible to even tell who the original host was when the guests fawned over him, hanging on to his every word. He was the golden boy of the night, and his last name loomed larger than life.
How could it not? When the world seemed on the precipice of a terrible, unknown future, a name that spanned centuries, that spanned a history of every unthinkable era in humanity's past, was a life-preserver. The name Fowl was well-worn and bloody — yet it persisted.
It survived, and that was enough.
Artemis Fowl I was young.
The night was ebbing into the dawn, and Artemis had grown bored of the chattering sycophants that had encircled him as the party grew livelier.
He was drunk, but he wasn't drunk enough to believe that the socialites at this party truly believed his every joke to be funny to the point of uproarious laughter.
Stepping into the cool air of the night, he breathed in the soft, salty air.
He frowned, shuddering despite himself.
"Too much to drink?"
Artemis started, jolted from his thoughts as though clumsily waking up from a dream.
There was a woman leaning against the alleyway. She chuckled at his confusion, covering her mouth with a hand demurely.
"No," he said, a tad brusquely. The woman didn't even flinch, taking it in stride.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to pry," she smiled, her wide, brown eyes twinkling in the gloom of the street lights.
He found himself staring.
"I don't believe… we've met," he attempted, remembering his manners. She tilted her head, her smile deepening.
"You would be correct."
Shaking his head as if to sober up, he refocused his gaze on her. There was a slight chill in the air, but not nearly enough to warrant a full fur coat like the one draped about her. Stranger still was the jewelry she was wearing. Perched fetchingly around her neck was an unusual pearl necklace — even with his hazy vision, it was clear that each of the pearls was distinctly different from the others. Soft pinks, baby blues, and light grays adorned the asymmetric and lumpy beads. Those were fishermen's pearls, Artemis thought, admiring the way they caught the moonlight. When he was a boy, his father had cracked open a small series of oysters from down by the docks to show him the difference between the shape of the natural pearl and the polished counterpart on his mother's brooch. In the fading light, Artemis found he couldn't remember the point of that lesson.
He opened his mouth, at a loss for words. "I-" he began, furrowing his brow in thought. "What's your name?"
"Angeline," she responded, and the name sounded almost like a secret.
He swallowed.
"Oh," he said feebly. "I'm…Artemis."
"A hunter, then," Angeline raised her eyebrows.
"A Fowl," he stressed. She looked at him blankly.
"Pardon?"
Deflating a bit, he shoved his hands in his pockets. "I'm Artemis Fowl," he specified, trying to be nonchalant.
Seemingly understanding that she was missing something, Angeline laughed. "Good for you!"
Whether it was the alcohol or the night air, Artemis found himself laughing with her. Boldened, he reached for her hands, clasping them in his. "Tell me that you'll come dance with me," he requested.
She cocked her head. "Is tonight that sort of party?" she glanced through the windows of the restaurant, trying to spy inside.
He shook his head dismissively. "No. Dance with me anyway, though."
"Alright, Artemis," she said, offering him her arm. Delightedly, he took it, leading her inside the restaurant.
He ends up stealing her cloak off the coat rack when she wanders off to grab a drink.
Artemis didn't quite know why he did it, but the fur of the garment is soft in his hands as he haphazardly shoves it at the Major, ordering him to hide it.
Perhaps she'll try to meet him again in order to find the cloak, he reasoned back in his hotel that night.
It was a private affair, which is what you'd expect for a couple half-composed of an individual who, on paper, at least, didn't exist.
Angeline, he thinks that night as they lay in bed. Watching the moonlight dapple over her sleeping form, he gently moved a honey-colored curl away from her face. Angeline Fowl.
When he finally drifts off to sleep, he dreams of the sea.
For the first few years of their son's life, Angeline and Artemis Sr. trade off each night to tell their son bedtime stories. When he is older, Artemis Fowl II will recall his father's story of the fae fondly, giving it the high title of being his favorite story.
The tale of the leprechaun was his father's story, but his mother had her own favorite tale to tell.
Tucking her son into bed, Angeline reached to turn the light down low. Despite the fact her voice was soft as she spoke, he listened, wide awake.
"A human will take a merrow's cloak and keep them on the land for a few years," she whispered, tracing swirls over the duvet almost dreamily. "But the merrow always, always finds their cloak."
Her son blinked, his deep blue eyes wide. "What happens after that?"
"They go back to the sea."
"Are they not angry with the human?"
"No. If a merrow doesn't want to be caught, it is all too easy to plunge deep into the ocean and never reemerge," Angeline explained gently. "They let themselves get caught. After all, you sometimes must give up a little to get what you want. The merrow will stay on land for a brief while with the human, and when their time is up, they will return to the sea, taking the human with them."
"So they drown them, then."
She brushed his hair aside fondly. "You are so smart, Arty. But I'm afraid there is still much you do not know. A human body cannot breathe under the sea, but souls are hardy things, and that's what is important."
He furrowed his brow, clutching the covers of his bed. "That's what's important?"
She nodded. "Even so, before diving back into the sea, the merrow will make sure to wrap the soul up carefully in a spider-silk handkerchief. After that, they'll put on their cloak, put the handkerchief into their pocket, and swim back down into the depths. The sea is much nicer for the soul than land is, anyway," she pinched his cheek, and Artemis wrinkled his nose.
"Are you saying that the soul just… stays in their pocket?"
"Oh, of course not," she looked at him in confusion. "Souls aren't meant to be kept in pockets — that'd be barbaric. They're kept in shipwrecks."
He sighed stubbornly, letting go of the covers. "I don't see how that's much better."
Angeline looked at him as though he'd said something quite silly, grinning indulgently. "It just is, my dear."
The sea can be convinced to change its mind, however, and Artemis Sr. was spat back out amongst the dirty water of the wreck, flailing and choking on the fumes of the burning ship and the sickly sweet smell of the cola spilling out into the Russian gulf.
He would live.
The water knew that miles away, years away, his son would come to these shores to drag him back home.
When he awoke years later, he was in the Helinski hospital surrounded by a tearful Angeline and a guilty looking son. Moving slowly due to the haze of the pain medication, he tried to sit up. He nearly careened forward, and a nurse rushed to his side, steadying him.
Artemis Sr. peered quizzically down at the sheets, feeling unbalanced.
His leg.
He inhaled shakily, grasping at the sheets blindly. He was missing a leg.
Breathing heavy, he looked at his wife and son. Artemis refused to make eye contact. Shaking his head, Artemis Sr. closed his gaping mouth.
"My son," he choked out, forcing himself to smile. "You've grown so much — oh, Arty, come here."
Artemis all but flung himself at his father, embracing him. Artemis Sr. held onto him tightly, as though he was afraid he'd lose him.
"Father," his son breathed, and Artemis Sr. could feel wetness upon his shoulder. They stayed like that for a moment, and the hospital room fell silent.
Suddenly, he felt a hand come to rest on his other shoulder. Artemis Sr. looked up, finding himself eye-to-eye with his wife.
"Angie—?"
"My pirate king," she said softly, gently bringing his chin into her hands and running a thumb over the stubble of his cheek. "You've come back to me."
Umbrella Academy AU where there are two more kids, Number 8 (Holly) and Number 9 (Artemis). Holly I imagine has healing powers and Artemis can do something with molecular/atomic manipulation (lead into gold, anyone?) Holly starts a PI business in the 60s with notorious ex-burglar Mortimer “Mulch” Diggums and ex-smuggler Doodah Day, and is later joined by Artemis.
I haven’t prepared anything for Crossover Day. But I do sometimes like to imagine or write about Artemis & Co meeting The Doctor. I feel like Butler and the Ninth Doctor would understand each other very well and get along nicely. I also think Holly and Rose Tyler would get on well, they’ve both got a certain determination.
