#IS THIS WHAT TURNS YOU ON DONNA MOSS

[januaryembrs]

LAST KNIGHT IN SOHO | Steven Grant/Marc Spector x Reader [3]

description: With Marc and Steven captured by Harrow's men, Layla has no choice but to work with her ex-husbands mistress to get them and the scarab to safety. But things take a turn when Seth comes to reap his reward. word count: 9.4k trigger warnings: GORE, blood, Dove absolutely wrecks the jackals I won't lie. Very explicit imagery used for their deaths. Swearing. Layla thinks Dove is the mistress and is angry, talks of dove not owning her body anymore, talks of having bodily autonomy taken away. Quick hint at Dove's dark past. main masterlist | series masterlist

authors note: I hate writing action scenes so if this seems rushed or bad I'm sorry, action is not my strongest point!

Please reblog and comment for your authors!

She watched as Steven was led in cuffs to the black BMW that gave away no hint at being a real police car, eager to scramble back into his apartment from off the moss covered rooftop that had her second death of the week written all over it. 

Layla was quick to hop back inside behind her, nearly shoving her out the way to get to her backpack. 

“They wouldn’t kill him, would they? Marc said-” The younger woman started, trailing after Layla like a lost dog. This was way out of her depth. The way Marc had described it made it seem like he had it under control. About as under control as Egyptian Gods and resurrecting dead people goes, that is. He had said nothing about his ex-wife showing up or Steven being taken hostage by police impersonators. 

Layla stopped at the sound of her husband’s name leaving the girl’s lips. 

“Mention Marc one more time and you are walking to wherever Harrow is taking him, you hear me?” Layla seethed, looking at her with eyes cold as ice despite being a beautiful, warm brown. 

Dove choked on her words for a moment, swallowing whatever she was going to come back with and instead choosing to nod once. 

“Yes- Sorry-” 

“Good,” The woman hissed, turning on her heel and heading for the front door. “And remember what I said about talking,”

“Gotcha- right,” She stammered in reply. Layla was more intimidating than Marc had been, more than Donna even. He was annoyed when they’d spoken, sure. Cold? Absolutely. But to Layla, she was actively a pest. A bug. A rodent that had crawled into her marriage bed and weaselled her way into her husband’s life. Which wasn’t true of course. But she understood that Layla had more than enough reason to be upset with her. 

Heading after the woman, hot on her heels, she bit her tongue the entire minute they spent in the elevator, neither of them willing to start a conversation with the other. Whether it be pride (Layla) or sheer wanting to avoid getting punched in the stomach (Dove), the two women stayed silent until the metal box dinged and released them from the horribly tense atmosphere. 

Layla set off for her moped that she’d parked on the road, unlatching the red leather seat upwards to reveal a spare helmet in the cubby. Shoving the smooth, maroon hard hat into the younger woman’s arms, Layla strapped her own onto her head and swung a leg over the caboose. 

Dove followed suit, hopping onto the back, her arms faltering slightly as she looked for some kind of handle to hold onto. 

“What now?” The driver’s annoyed voice snapped as she caught on to the fussing from behind her. 

“Where do I put my arms?” Said a quiet tone, hating the helplessness in her voice yet the embarrassment was too much for her to have asked otherwise. Layla rolled her eyes, grabbing the woman’s hands and bringing them around her waist.

“Just hold on,” She ordered, a hum of energy blasting into the engine as she kicked off the curb and set off. The motor jumped to life, and the two women were speeding after the fraudulent fed car in no time. She clutched onto the front woman for dear life; she had always hated amusement park rides, and she was sure Layla was at least somewhat tempted to stage an accident with the way their morning had gone. 

“I’m really not sleeping with Marc, you know,” She braved to speak, gripping tighter in fear the single comment would tip her counterpart over the edge. 

“What did I say about-”

“I know! I know!” She called, loud enough for Layla to hear her over the bustle of London traffic, “I just wanted you to believe me. You’re more than right to be unhappy with him. Truth be told, the one time I’ve met him, he’s not exactly been a charmer.”

That seemed to perk up his ex wife’s ears. “You’ve only met once?”

“Yes. Like I said, I work with Steven at the museum. I only met Marc this morning when he told me-” She cut herself off, unsure of just how much he would want Layla knowing. How much she already knew. She didn’t even know he had a dissociative disorder, it wouldn’t be wrong for her to assume his wife wasn’t privy to other things too.

Maybe that was why they were divorcing? But that was none of her business. 

“Told you what?” Layla pushed, which only caused the girl at the rear to sigh heavily. Layla didn’t need to know much. And besides, it was her burden to bear now, not Marc’s. She could tell her if she wished. Hell, perhaps Layla could even help her seeing as she already knew so much about the scarab. 

“He told me,” She paused, coming to terms with how insane she was about to sound if Layla didn’t know much about her husband’s second, well third, life. “He said I died being chased by one of Harrow’s jackals, and the only way for him to save me was to give my body up to Setekh in exchange for becoming his avatar,”

Layla was quiet for a moment, the car Steven was in not too far ahead of them as she hung back to avoid suspicion. 

And then, after a few seconds, she laughed. 

Loud and bitter, but laughed at her nonetheless. 

“I just told you I fucking died, and you’re laughing?” Her passenger asked, aghast, which only made Layla laugh again. “Well, fuck you too,”

“No, sorry, it’s just,” The woman shook her head, taking a semi sharp right in order to stay on their tail, “Trust Marc to meddle in someone’s life and end up keeping her around because he feels guilty,” 

Her face warmed. So Layla really did know her husband then. 

“His meddling saved my life,” She tried to protest, the image of Marc’s eyes softening slightly when she’d grabbed his hand that same morning flashing in her mind. Without Marc, she wouldn’t be here. She tried to pretend the idea he was only keeping her around because he felt responsible for her now didn’t sting. 

At least Steven wanted her around. For now, that is.

“Did it?” Layla asked, all remnants of humour gone, replaced with a cold seriousness. Not mean like she had been all day, moreso a sobering tone of reality, “My father told me every story there was about Seth.”

“He’s a historian?” Dove asked, curiosity winning over her bitterness that the woman had laughed at her. She thought now maybe it was out of disbelief, maybe even pessimism at hearing the nefarious god’s name.

“No, an archeologist,” Layla replied, “He said Setekh was once worshipped as a way of protecting crops and villages from the storms he created. He said it was thought because he was the god of foreigners he was responsible for all the oppressors attacking the people. He became the one who caused all the bloodshed, the evil, the barbarity. Every bit of chaos and violence was down to his hand,” The woman said, speaking with a passion for her country it was clear she had lived, slept and breathed everything her father taught her, “It was said while Anubis was the first God of the Dead, Osiris took the role during the later centuries. And when his brother, Seth, slaughtered him and scattered him in pieces around the world, he took on the title of God of the Dead,” 

“Glad I’m not invited to that family reunion, then,” The other girl muttered from her place at the rear of the bike. Layla smirked to herself, not willing to let the younger woman know she’d drawn a small smile from her.

“They were always at each other's throats. And when they weren’t, they were usually marrying their sisters.” To which Dove recoiled in horror. The BMW started slowing down ahead of them, which they were both quick to notice as it took a right hand turn into a less populated area. The sky had been quick to overcast shadows, the April air turning cold and darker fast. As if someone up there knew what was coming. 

“Lovely,” She mused, “Well, my family doesn’t talk to me anymore so I’m sure we’ll be okay as far as incest marriages go,”

Layla’s expression faltered. She hadn’t expected the quiet mouse of a girl to drop something so heavy, yet it was clear from her widened gaze she didn’t quite mean to say that so bluntly. To set off such a bomb on their already awkward ride. The striking woman wheeled up onto a curb around the corner from the narrow street the car had pulled into, trying to avoid the gazes of the few people they saw communing there. 

Cutting the engine and hopping off the seat, Layla held the bike steady as the other woman did the same, all but falling off the back of the moped with a newborn fawn-like grace. 

The two women looked at one another, the younger one handing the helmet over sheepishly. “Look, I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot,” Dove murmured, unable to quite meet the beautiful woman’s eyes, Layla’s lips neither drawn into a sneer nor a smile. More a mix between pity and as if she were still weighing up the girl who picked at the loose skin around her nails anxiously.

“It’s alright,” Layla said with a long huff, swinging her bag over her shoulder, “Marc tends to leave people to deal with the shit he gets them into,”

The girl bit her tongue, pleased that she didn’t seem to be on Layla’s hit list anymore. They had bigger things to worry about now, like the fact Steven was essentially kidnapped or that they had yet to find somewhere to keep the scarab hidden. 

She felt it burning in her pocket, as if it were buzzing with the glory of being what everyone had their sights set on; of being such a harbinger of trouble. 

“Maybe so,” She said, handing the jewelled bug over to Layla to keep it safe, “But trusting him is the only hope I’ve got right now. Marc said Seth will be coming for me any day now,”

Layla looked at her for a moment, dark eyes raking over her forlorn figure some few years younger than her. The girl's eyes were soft, new to the world and the shit storm that was about to hit her, but her hands were what gave away her condition. The slightest touch of her fingers to her own where she handed her the scarab and Layla was able to feel just how cold her skin had become. Dead. Corpse like. As if the life truly had been drained out of her ten times over.

She wondered how her younger accomplice would fare as an avatar. Though Layla had swore that once those papers were signed this was not her fight anymore, she couldn’t help worrying just how badly her ex had seemed to mess up this young girl’s life in the space of one evening.

Seth was not a god you wanted to upset. Nor was he one you wanted to be of interest to. If everything that Abdallah El-Faouly had told his sweet daughter was correct, then that girl, barely mid twenties as she was, was in for a lifetime of torment and pain.

“Well, if that’s true, I hate to be the one to tell you to run and hide as soon as you can,” Layla said, her voice empty of emotion but her eyes genuine, “If Seth is the one looking for you, I can guarantee you’ll wish Marc had left you for the jackals,”

“Where is the scarab?” Harrow and his followers cornered Steven, still as lost and dazed as he had been all day. He just hoped that wherever Dove was, she was safe and far away from this mess that his other self had dragged her into. 

“We have it.” Steven’s head whipped around at the sound of Layla’s voice, clear and commanding and filling the abandoned building. 

And sure enough, his sweet friend stood next to her, eyes wide and clearly thrown off by the El-Faouly woman’s plan to draw attention to them. 

“What the hell are you doing?” She whisper-yelled as the two women trailed through the crowd of Ammit’s followers, both of them watching carefully for anyone getting ready to attack them. 

“I’m drawing their attention, Marc will deal with them easily,” Layla replied under her breath as they neared the two men in the centre of the room. It seemed Harrow and his followers had renovated some kind of church or antique building to become a communal hall. Community food lay out on tables around, a projector playing an old documentary on the dusty wall. 

Harrow’s followers didn’t seem to have anything particularly off about them. In fact, they seemed like regular citizens you would see around the streets of London. Nothing about them screamed evil, yet that only served to make them more menacing. They could be anyone, anywhere.

Dove knew all too well villains and monsters didn’t look like Ancient Egyptian mummies or jackals. They looked like regular people, like the man sitting next to you on the train. Like your family friend. Like your milkman. Or your school teacher. Or the shop clerk. Or young, female gift-shoppists that had a hopeless crush on their seemingly married co-worker. 

It didn’t matter who they were, what they looked like, they were tainted to their core. 

“That’s a great plan, except he’s not Marc, he’s Steven,” The young girl hissed, as Harrow stared at her with a smug twinkle in his eye, holding out his rough hand to Layla. 

“You couldn’t possibly understand the value of what you’re holding. Let me have that, I’ll keep it safe,” Harrow asked calmly, though it was clear with the way his focus trained on the jewel that he wasn’t quite so relaxed as he was making believe. 

He was clever with his words, manipulative. Making himself seem honest and responsible to anyone who didn’t understand the scarab. But Layla did. She wasn’t like the ordinary woman Harrow took her for. She was smart beyond belief, and knew more about the legends than Arthur could ever learn from seeing into people’s souls.

“Summon the suit,” Layla ordered under her breath as they reached Steven’s shaken figure. Her almond eyes scoured around the building for the nearest way out as her younger accomplice shook her head in despair and picked at her nails with furrowed brows. 

“Sorry what?” Steven asked, just as Dove had suspected. He had no clue what any of this meant. 

Layla’s brown gaze cut to his, chagrin mixed with a hint of fear boiling up in her expression. “Summon the suit,” She said again, stepping closer to the man who gawked at her with a lost look.

“‘Summon the soup’? What are you saying?” 

“The suit,” She said again, shoving the scarab into his chest, before turning to where Harrow was reaching for his staff. “And keep this safe,” 

“So be it,” Harrow said tiredly. Deciding they were in too thick to continue this little joke of Marc’s, she reached behind her for the younger woman, dragging her towards the only available exit she saw. 

Layla’s frantic brain caught sight of a flight of stairs that led to the first floor: a wide ledge that overlooked the rest of the room and had tiny archways where passageways wove into the sandstone walls, scaffolding and more of the plastic tarp scattered over and around the steps. 

A quick loop around the top of the stairs took them to a second set of steps that led only to an upper ledge and a large arched hallway with natural light coming from the end of it. A fire escape maybe? An open window? Bingo. 

“Let’s go, let’s go,” Layla hurried, grabbing Steven on the way as one of the men lunged at her. She was quick to rip his hand off her arm, shoving him into a table so hard he went tumbling over the edge and knocking into another of his men. 

Forcing Dove ahead of her, Layla directed the young girl towards the first flight of stairs, ducking around the scaffolding that lead to the first floor seemingly still mid-renovation. Steven trailed behind them quickly with a gasp as he dodged another of Harrow’s men. 

Practically swinging around the railing on one hand, Dove felt her tired legs ache as she ascended quickly, the only thing keeping her from stopping being the two people behind her breathing down her neck, relying on her to keep going. The temporary staircase wobbled for a moment as the floor shook, small chunks of brick crumbling free from the delicate wall at the movement. A flash of amethyst purple light reflected around the building, filling the space with something odd; something tense that crawled up her spine, like a foreboding that cut her right through her gut. 

Reaching the first level, she was quick to stop in her tracks as a man ducked out from one of the tiny corridors woven into the stone walls, and lunged for her. She felt Layla dart behind her and start scaling the second flight of stairs to the open door that hopefully spelled freedom. The man was quick enough to grab her wrists, but Steven's arm was swiftly wrapped around her waist, holding her from being thrown off the edge of the barrierless ledge. 

She kicked at the man a few times, desperate for him to let her go. That is until she got one of her hands free and was able to grab him by the collar of his coat. 

Remembering how tightly she had been able to grip Marc’s arm that morning, she found it unnaturally easy enough to lift the man a solid few inches off the ground, the stitches of his clothes ready to give way at his body weight. The menacing look on his face dropped when he realised with a cold slap to the face that no amount of holding onto her arms could do anything seeing as she had him scruffed and held like a little dog that was misbehaving. 

He let out a sharp squeal as she threw him with ease over the edge and down the ten foot drop, not enough to kill but enough to hear a loud crack from his ribs and legs.

“How on earth did you do that?” Steven asked, his baffled breath rolling over her neck in a way that had her stomach churning up a storm. His arm still held her tight to him as he guided her the way Layla had taken off to, the warmth of his hand alone seeping through her top and onto her bare skin underneath that was still as cold as a cadaver. 

His touch gave her a taste of life again, of humanity.  Like she didn’t exist again in this world until he touched her. As if his hand alone could find her in the afterlife and pluck her back to mortality.

Which technically he had. 

“Come on,” She brushed off his question, urging him towards where Layla was now pummeling the shit out of another assailant that had tried to make a grab for her. She made equally quick work of the attacker, shoving him off the same way the other woman had and sending him flying off the building frame and into a pile of wood that cracked easily with his weight. 

Grabbing both their arms, Layla led the two stunned watchers through the open archway that luckily expanded into a long corridor. Tarp lay around the bottom of the huge windows, moonlight filtering in through the surprisingly clear glass panes being the only thing allowing them to see their way. 

The three sets of footsteps pounded down the stone hallway, Harrow’s chants chasing them through an echo, spoken in Coptic the younger woman had surmised. It seemed her degree in Ancient Languages wasn’t entirely a waste. She was able to grasp at bits and pieces of what he was saying despite the rushing of blood in her ears from her running. 

Something about Ammit’s wrath, eradicating enemies. Calling on the ancient goddess to help him carry out her justice. 

Then came the shriek. Familiar at this point, the vengeful growl that reverberated down the hall and harmonising with Harrow’s hex. 

Summoning pure evil. She caught that part easily as they skidded around the corner awaiting them at the end of the hallway, coming to a set of huge, varnished wood doors. She threw her shoulder into the left one, hearing it give a small creak of protest before it gave way and slowly swung open. 

Her heart dropped as she quickly realised they were at a dead end. It felt almost de ja vu like as they entered the room, her eyes frantic to take in any way out as Layla and Steven rushed to block the entrance off. A thick, brick wall complete with an old fireplace on the right, and two huge windows in front and to her left. By all means it was a beautiful room, but it was an enclosure. A trap. A casket. 

“Here. Bolt the door,” Layla ordered, heaving a metal bar through the handles to give them some sort of protection of whatever it was Harrow was conjuring. 

More tarp over the floors and piles of bricks, dust and building tools, the windows reaching higher than even the ceiling to the museum. Sarcophaguses piled around the room, some fake but most seeming authentic, as ancient as the exhibits she walked past regularly at work, yet they were just thrown to the sides of the abandoned room as if they were not priceless objects. 

A dirty mirror lay to her right leaning against the fireplace, white plastic wrap draped over half of the looking glass, ridden with dust and a deep crack that made it unusable, no doubt why it was dumped here with the rest of the pieces of history they deemed rubbish. 

Layla and her rushed to the windows, Layla taking the one on the left and her heading for the one opposite the door, each attempting to jiggle the bottom of the panes, looking for a latch they could flick open to give them an escape. But the glass was thick. Taking up an entire wall, meant only to let light in and keep air firmly out. Meaning there was no movement from any of the panes. The lit up buildings across the street laughed at her attempts in a silent mocking, the block of flats watching the desperate women struggle. 

“Oh my god,” Steven said with a tone of utter despair, “I’m going to die in an evil magician’s man cave,”

She would have laughed. Any other day and his words would have cracked her up. But she barely heard him over the desperate way she tugged at the white, chipped frames, urging the damn thing to come loose, her nails splinting painfully at the force she used to try peel the rusted metal from their seals.

It would be no use anyway, she realised. Looking down she realised they were up high, on the third floor to be exact, and the only way down was a long fall onto solid concrete. Seeing Layla turn away from the other window, she guessed she had no luck with that either, and cursed under her breath. 

Layla stalked towards Steven’s piteous frame, grabbing him roughly by the arms. “No-no. Hey, listen to me,” She started in a panicked voice, though it was clear she was attempting to be kind to him. The three of them turned to the door as the sound of scratching signalled that something big was out there, waiting for them. Long, sharp knife-like claws raked down the old wood, carving out channels in the barrier, the pieces of timber creaking with the weight of it, like a dog begging to come into the sitting room. 

A moment of silence, before the doors began shaking in their hinges with loud thumps. The animal threw itself against the doors, the metal bar jittering in its place at the sheer weight of it. 

“Your name is Marc,” Layla said calmly, holding onto his shoulders to keep his attention on her, “There’s a suit, I’ve seen you use it. You bring it out,” Her dark eyes pierced him with something cold and scared hidden in them, as his face flustered and his breathing picked up. 

“No,” He mumbled, shaking his head that dripped with sweat, feeling his chest constricting as she grabbed him harder. 

“Where are you? We need you to fight!” She yelled, shaking him now as if to hope to snap him back into his senses. 

“Let me in, Steven!” Marc’s voice came from the abandoned mirror, his reflection twisted into a cruel sneer as Marc watched him freeze in place, Steven’s bright eyes lost and scared. 

It was too much for Steven. He was expected to be something, someone, that he had no idea existed until a few days ago. This was no longer about waking up late or funny dreams, or sand around his bed and tape on his door. This was real. Real consequences. Two very real women depending on him to become this hero and save the day. 

They needed him to be Marc. But he wasn’t. He was Steven Grant. And that was all he’d ever be. 

“No, I can’t please. Stop it both of you,” Steven’s voice snapped Dove out of her focus on the outside, her fingers sore with where they gripped the window frames distraughtly. 

She saw his overwhelmed figure. The way Layla held him in an iron grip, her voice raising in distress as she kept asking him to snap out of it, to bring out ‘the suit’. She saw the way Steven’s eyes flicked between the woman and the mirror, his voice clogging up with unshed tears. 

Finally giving up on the windows as an option, she stormed over to where the two of them stood, grabbing Steven by the shoulder and pulling his arms away from Layla’s desperate grip.

“Cut it out, you’re scaring him,” She growled, feeling Steven make a grab for her hand as she confronted the woman. 

“He should be scared! If he doesn’t get the suit the three of us are going to die, do you not get that?” Layla’s voice raised, but even the younger woman could see her face was rigid with fear. It was fear causing her to be so harsh, not malice. Layla was only human after all. The memory of that thing that had chased her through the museum resurfaced painfully, a phantom stab blooming over her stomach that seemed entirely healed, as if it hadn’t practically ripped her guts through her soft flesh and spilled them onto the marble floor.

“Shouting at him isn’t going to fix that, it’s not his fault. We just find another way out, okay?” Dove snipped, shutting down any other argument Layla could give her, and turned to Steven with a soft expression, “Okay?” She asked gently.

Steven stayed quiet, but he nodded, tears welled in his eyes, his face just as scared as she felt inside. She was shitting herself, her muscles tensing up with every grunt that came from the creature on the other side of the door. But cornering Steven and asking so much of him when neither of them truly understood what was happening was only doing harm. 

“Alright,” Layla mumbled in defeat, her lush brows drawn into a frown, despair lingering in her hazelnut eyes as she headed back to the smaller, side window and peered out to the building below, “I can see a fire escape on this roof-”

But no sooner had the woman come to terms with the fact there was no hero coming to save them from this mess, the barricade had given way with a loud pop as the metal bar split clean in two. 

A single breath, a moment of pure silence where Layla’s head whipped from her fraught attempt at seeking an escape route, where Steven and Dove clutched onto each other just that bit tighter. The doors swung wide on their hinges, smacking into the walls with the force and crumbling the bricks into piles of red dust on the already dirty floors.  

A figure stood in the entrance. She could only think to describe it as a tall man trying to wear a dog’s body. Its limbs were gangly, skinny, mottled and rotted skin stretching thinly over them. Four feet at the end of boney elbows carried dagger like claws, thin wisps of white hairs poking from its spine. Its face was that of a possessed wolf, skeletal and gaunt, its mouth opening into a roaring snarl with two yellow-green eyes staring back at them with a haunting glow. 

The air escaped Dove’s lungs the second it let out a familiar hum of hunger. This was the thing that had attacked her. That had killed her last night. This was the thing that had plunged its hand into her stomach with no remorse, tearing her organs to shreds in a single swipe.

The creature, the jackal, looked ahead at the two of them, holding onto each other for damn near life, her nails digging into his toned arm at her sheer trepidation. Its jaws fell open, saliva dripping from its dead lips as it gathered its legs up and prepared to lunge. 

“Jackal, J-JACKAL” Steven yelled, his hands beginning to shake as he pointed at the creature. 

“Oh my god- Oh my-” His friend could barely get out her words, panic constricting around her heart that thudded through her ribs hard enough to have her choking on her sentence and stay quiet, mouth agape in disbelief at the sight of the thing. 

She much preferred when she couldn’t see the damn thing. 

The Jackal took a breath, and the girl set in its sights could have sworn she heard it laugh, before it bolted at them.

The two of them screamed, Steven shoving her to the floor as its lithe body made contact and sent both their bodies flying through the glass, falling, falling, falling down all three levels and onto the hard concrete. 

“Oh my GOD!” Layla shrieked, her eyes trained on the huge gap in the wall where her ex-husband had been thrown through by some invisible force, before they lowered to where his not-mistress was cowering on the floor after being manhandled away from the danger. She caressed her scraped elbow silently, her gaze also locked on the broken glass.

Realising the girl was in shock, Layla leaned down to a pile of bricks, grabbing one and promptly raising it above her head, bringing it down onto the side window harshly. The glass cracked slightly, before she hit it again a few more times and it gave way completely, scattering across the tiled roof on the other side. Throwing her jacket over the broken glass, she hopped over the window ledge and onto the slanted roof, careful not to skid on the smooth stone. Whipping back to the girl that had seemed to come to her senses and was now looking at her bewildered, Layla yelled a single “Come on!” through the gap in the window, before turning and heading towards the fire escape alone.

Steven. Not Steven, please not him. Steven’s gone. Steven’s dead, or at least he will be soon, no doubt his body crumpled on the floor, practically laid out as a buffet for that monster. 

He’d thrown her out of the way, given his own life for one so undeserving as her own. 

A man so kind and gentle, good, shouldn’t have rescued her, someone entirely not that.

Being dragged out of her daze at Layla’s yell, her head snapped to where she’d managed to create an escape, the woman looking at her expectantly before she turned and headed towards the edge of the roof. 

Steven could still be alive, she told herself, he could be okay. 

Holding that hope close to her chest, she pushed herself to her feet and ran towards the exit Layla had taken. 

Please be okay. Please be okay. I’ll give every life I have to give if it means you’re safe. 

Her hand was seconds from gracing Layla’s jacket when she heard it. Another growl. 

No, not a growl. A chuckle. Dark, deep and rolling, an amused laugh from a thick chest that was loud enough to fill the entire room with its timbre. 

And she knew. She didn’t understand how, but she knew. She knew who waited for her to turn around. To meet his black, inky gaze with fright. 

But she was frozen. Despite her body being cold for the past day, the chill that ran through her spine was enough to have every single one of her hairs stand on end. Her voice was gone, her chest tight, her throat closed up. 

“I know you’ve been waiting for me, my little monster,” 

His voice was a rumble, though a smile laced his words. His every syllable sent a thrum of horror through her veins, her body going numb. As if she weren’t here. She was watching a movie through her eyes, and the villain was coming, the story was ending. The credits were about to start rolling. 

She said nothing. Didn’t dare move an inch, praying to anyone listening that she could become as invisible as that jackal had been. Yet she felt him getting closer. His feet made no sound, but she felt him draw near. The same way a person feels they’re not alone in a haunted house. Like seeing shadows in the corner of your eye. Like feeling something watching you from the darkness when you wake from a nightmare.

A hand trailed down her loose hair, running long, slim fingers through her locks, he gave a growl of praise. “I’ve been waiting for you too,” 

She started crying. Her face got hot, her eyes stinging as she tried to hold the tears back, only for them to scorch her cheeks as they rolled down, her expression pulling into an ugly whimper. 

Closing her eyes, she told herself if she couldn’t see him he was just a voice in her head. If she didn’t look him in the eye he had no control over her. It was just a bad dream. A side effect of the stress. An auditory halluc-

“Oh, don’t cry,” A cold knuckle dragged over her cheek, swiping away a tear. His finger alone took up half her jaw. “I’m here to help you. I’m here to save you, little beasty,” His voice was dark, but gentle. As if he cared. As if he didn’t want her afraid. “Think of what we could do to Harrow, together,” 

She didn’t doubt he had ideas for what torture he wanted to rain down on the man. But that wasn’t her. She didn’t want to be feared, or to hurt people, or to kill. She didn’t want to be bad. Or to feel even more so that there was something crawling out of her soul, a demon that showed everyone just who she really was. What she really was. 

“No,” She whispered, shaking her head and taking a small step away from him. 

“No?” He asked, a deadly calm washing over his voice. “People have taken from you your whole life. Taken and taken for their own selfish needs,” Seth cooed, circling her with his behemoth frame as more tears flowed over her cheeks, her eyes squeezed shut with a frown, “I see your anger, your need for vengeance. To make them hurt the way they hurt you-” 

“NO,” She yelled this time, her hands coming up to grab at her hair, her body giving in to his words. He knew her. He knew her like an old friend, like he knew himself. Like she knew him. Like he’d been there for every bad thing that had happened to her. Like he was there for the whole of that time, he was there that day. 

That day. That body. What she’d done to him. 

“You hurt, little beasty,” Seth said, coming to stand in front of her. She felt his two huge hands hold onto her shoulders, one coming to her chin to tip it up to his face. 

If she opened her eyes now she’d see his sable black eyes looking down at her in an aching hunger. As if he revelled in the fact she was so pliant to his touch, that he could snap her neck within a flick of his finger and she could do nothing about it. She clamped her eyes shut harder, desperate to not fall for his gentle words, or the familiarity that came with his touch. No, he wanted this, he wanted her to concede, to trust him. To give into him.

No. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t.

“I see the way you hurt. I see the fear in you that came long before I did. That they’ll all see you as I do,” He said, caressing her jaw with his sharp claws, a single ounce of pressure too much and her skin would be slashed open. 

“Stop,” She begged, her face wet with tears, her throat closing with a sob that drew out her request like a child. 

“Stop?” Seth’s voice was different now. The semblance of kindness that had been there in a fleeting moment was gone, replaced again with a thunderclap of a laugh, “You poor sweet morning lamb. We’ve not even begun,” 

Her eyes opened for a split second when she felt her body tense up, the feeling as close to rigour mortis as she could imagine, as a dark flash of movement, a row of sharp teeth, and insidious black eyes were all she saw as he took over every part of her body. 

Death took her body for the second time, though this time she felt everything. 

Layla watched its jaws open as its head flicked to her, its deep grunt of annoyance echoing through the empty street, before it's long, slim arms were thrust outwards and grabbed the two of them by the jugular, boney, rough fingers wrapping around their throats and squeezing. 

Steven was lifted off the ground, Layla suffering the same fate after she had thrown an empty beer bottle at the demon’s head, the tiny shards of refracted light bouncing off the glass like a mirrorball and outlining the head of a monstrous creature. 

Layla felt the brick smack harshly against her spine as the thing threw her to the wall, the same way Steven was tossed against a parked car, the passenger window cracking from the pressure and the alarm wailing in protest. 

They both stood up again immediately, Layla’s eyes scanning the floor for anything to use as a weapon, before her almond eyes fell on the neck of the bottle she’d thrown, the jagged edge of broken glass sharp and fatal. Diving for the shiv, she swiped at the area she thought the creature could be stood, though her attempt only proved futile as her wrist was grabbed almost too easily and the weapon was ripped out of her hands. 

The woman made a sound somewhere between a yelp and a cry as she was tossed to the hard ground like a ragdoll, Steven being thrown next to her as he made a move to grab the monster as well.

The two of them gasped as the hands seemed to swipe them to the ground harshly, like a cat toying with its meal, dragging the torture out as long as possible before they gave up and submitted to being ravaged. The two of them looked at each other in alarm, Steven’s eyes a bright white behind the suit, as they felt the jackal grab their ankles and drag. Their bodies scraped against the pavement, the two of them kicking and squealing, writhing to get out of the monster's grip, only to be yanked into the air once more, the blood rushing to their skulls the second they were pulled from the concrete earth. 

“Steven, do something!” Layla wailed, her cheeks pooling a purple colour the longer they were held, though she never relented in her hits, her arms and free leg waving around for any soft tissue she could get at. 

“Marc’s the one who fights these shits, not me!” Steven called back, trying desperately to reach for his batons to inflict any damage he could. 

Layla felt her head building with pressure, her eyes becoming painful to shut as she blinked slowly, the darkened streets turned upside down in her mind. Her thick, dark brows furrowed, her eyes locking in on a figure standing at the other end of the wide street, unrecognisable to her dazed eyesight. 

“Steven?” Layla murmured drunkenly, her hand coming up to grab his arm that was still flailing around. 

“What?”

“Who is that?” The woman asked, pointing to the dark silhouette that stood and watched them.

Steven’s illuminated eyes followed her finger to see the figure still with statue-like grace, silent yet never relenting their dark stare.

His eyes trailed from their body, muscled and in a wide, casual stance, their arms resting at their sides. Their entire body seemed to be in some kind of black, chestplated one piece suit, pads of armour on their vulnerable parts, thin spindles of gold wrapping around the suit in a skeletal fashion. The armour spread over the backs of their hands, opening out into golden claw-like razors at the tips of their fingers that didn’t so much as twitch with fright at the sight of two strangers suspended in the mid air. 

A black muzzle wound its way over their mouth just above where the suit ended at their jaw, their hair falling over the back of their shoulders to reveal more of the golden weaves that fell around their neck and over their breastplate, accentuating the woman’s curves whilst also giving off the look they were wearing a set of bones on their armour. 

Two six-inch shells of armour protruded from their headpiece, curved yet in lithe points, like long dog ears, like a Whippet’s, high and alert. 

“I-I don’t know,” Steven murmured, though he found himself unable to take his eyes off the shadowed figure. He wasn’t even sure they were breathing at the way they were frozen solid, their head tilted slightly as if intrigued by the scene in front of them. 

It was then that it seemed the Jackal realised they had company. But this jackal wasn’t alone. It had brought friends too. 

The figure seemed to cut out of their daze as another of the behemoth beasts came stalking out of the darkness, as if to have been waiting for the scraps of the kill. But it had prey of its own now. This mystery woman. 

Steven’s heart fell into his mouth, which wasn’t too hard seeing as he was still being held upside down by the creature. 

“Run!” Steven called to her, though she seemed to take no notice of his cries, “Get out of here!” 

But the woman stood still, head snapping to where the jackal walked forward, slowly and with a hungry grin on its face as a deep growl rumbled from deep within its chest. This thing was going to rip her to pieces, Steven thought numbly. And it was going to be all his fault for not giving the body back to Marc. 

“Marc,” Steven said with a panic as the thing stepped closer to her still, her head tilting more at the sound of its approach, though that was the only inch she moved, “Marc- take the body- Marc- MARC-”

But he was too late. Steven winced as the jackal lunged towards her, jaws wide open and large enough to swallow her entire skull with one bite. He wanted to look away but his eyes couldn’t tear themselves off the scene, though he knew a blood bath was coming. He felt the bile rise already at the idea of it, though maybe that was the gravity talking.

But Steven’s heart practically stopped when his eyes caught another slight flicker of movement from the woman and he realised exactly what he was seeing. 

The Jackal’s jaws were pried open, stuck in the moment the creature had leapt forward. It took Steven a second to realise the woman’s hands were the ones holding them ajar, her sharp nails latching into its snout and chin, blood already running down her hands at the sheer vigour at which she held onto the dead flesh. The beast gave a whine, its body jolting forward as it tried to overpower her, only to have no luck. She didn’t budge a single hair's width. 

Steven’s eyes widened, the beams of light engrossed with the scene before his eyes. Who on earth was that? How could she see the jackals like he could, let alone wrestle one? 

“Steven, give me the body,” Marc demanded from inside his head, though Steven caught the trace of nerves that rang at his voice like a church bell on a silent morning. 

“Who is that, Marc?” Steven asked, his eyes widening when he saw the figure forcing the jackal to back down a step as she forced herself towards the creature, clearly stronger than the monster twice her size. 

“Steven, I will explain everything later, just please give me the body or she’s gonna get hurt,” Marc said with the same edge to his voice that he had before. The way Marc dodged his question had sirens wailing in Steven’s chest, louder than anything else the American man inside him had said. 

Steven’s voice cut out when he watched the figure grab the beast's jaws even tighter, yanking them apart with a sickening crunch as the joints popped out of their place. She didn’t stop there, not even as the creature gagged and squirmed, a yawp of pain echoing around the street as it scrambled to get out of her grip. But she was relentless. She tugged apart the lower mandible even wider, wider than could ever be natural, and a gut wrenching rip came next. 

The creature stopped moving. Stopped crying. Stopped everything. It slumped to the ground in defeat, the woman standing over its body with no mercy as she held the wad of flesh in her hand, blood running from her fingertips as smooth as water. 

The creature's lower jaw was thrown to the ground, its face a mush of exposed muscle, its throat torn cleanly open. It was then her gaze set onto the other jackal with a slow turn of her head and a low growl echoed through Steven’s bones.

It took him a second to realise it wasn’t the creature that held him that was making the sound. It was coming from her. 

Layla and Steven were dropped to the ground as she approached the creature, the two of them gasping for air, their heads spinning with the blood crashing around their brains. 

The jackal set its sights on her too, eager to avenge its fallen companion, the two of them circling one another for a moment. She made the first move, her black boots near silent against the cobbled street as she leapt with cat-like grace to tackle it to the ground. 

She was able to get her arms around its neck as it met her in the air, her muscled arms quick to begin choking the thing, squeezing until they heard the sound of its shoulder popping out of place. The jackal gave a yelp similar to the other one, only it dragged out into an angry snarl as its huge clawed hand grabbed onto her by the scruff of her neck. 

It threw her away from itself, desperate to get her strong hands off its body, and tossed her a good ten feet away, into the middle of a busy road where she bounced over the bonnet of a car and smashed its left headlight in. 

Steven was quick to jump to his feet as the monster’s head flicked away from the woman, back to where he and Layla stood. 

“Steven, you’re being dumb. Don’t do this, you can’t do this-” Marc protested, though Steven felt whatever bravery he had left collecting together as he clenched his hand together in a tight fist. 

“I think- I think I can,” He replied, the Jackal stalking closer to him with its three good legs. It stepped forward, its confidence shaken by the woman that was now getting back up and pacing her way over to the two of them much too calmly for someone who had been thrown so harshly. “You want some more do you, you mangy, Macedonian mutt?” Steven tried to taunt, though he could feel the tinge of fear still quelling at his chest at the sheer brute size of the thing even when wounded. 

The creature roared in response, gathering its hind legs up to lunge again, as Steven drew back his arm to swing. 

But he was too late. The woman had returned with a silent agility. Steven saw nothing but a flash of black and gold as she dived for the jackal’s throat, clawing and snarling at its chest as she took the thing down with her in one swoop. Steven watched with an agape jaw as she lifted the creature up as if it were nothing more than a sack of grain, and threw the jackal into the same parked car already cracked from where Steven had hit it, the opposite window getting the brunt of the attack as it smashed and the door caved easily. 

The creature lay still for a while, giving Steven time to confront the woman who had helped him, and hopefully answer the questions that Marc had dodged. 

“Oh my god,” Steven started, approaching the woman from behind where she was stood, barely out of breath for what had just occurred, “Excuse me, who exactly are you, you’re just bloody amazing-”

Raising his hand to touch the woman's shoulder gently, Steven practically had the wind knocked out of him as she turned on her heel in less than a blink of his two white eyes, and threw him to the ground as easily as she had the creature. Kneeling over him, his body mushy underneath her sadistic strength, he felt his knees go weak as she grabbed him by his collar and brought him to her face where her eyes trailed over his own face, a horrifically deep snarl emanated from her chest, shaking his lungs with its power. 

“WOAH, Woah wait. I’m not going to hurt you, though I supposed I should be more worried  about you hurting me-” It was then that he actually took in what he could see of her face. 

The colour of the hair that fell around her face as she leant over him, the shape of her face that wasn’t covered by the black muzzle that wrapped around her mouth and over her nose, thin and metallic and yet making her sounds all the more terrifying. Her eyes, the iris gone and replaced by inky black pits of darkness that blinked down at him with famine. 

But that face. He would know that face anywhere, he would know it in the thickest of fogs, the darkest of Winters. He could find her in any crowd, in any life. And if he was to go blind by morning, he’d know her by the way she breathed alone. 

And he did. Despite the fact her breath was laden with grunts, he knew her. He knew her. 

“Dove?” Steven muttered, hands coming to hold her face gently, his brows furrowed with confusion, “Dove, what happened to you-”

His hand had all but brushed her cheek, a gentle action that normally would have had her preening to his touch, had her snapping at the bit, and Steven was sure she would have taken his hand clean off had she not been muzzled like a rabid dog. 

Steven jumped back as she came closer to him, an even louder rumble of fury damn near bursting his ear drums as she warned him off of touching her. She was not his dove. Not the girl he knew. Not the girl he loved. She was a feral beast untamed and wild, eager to hurt him as much as she had attacked the jackal were he to get too close. 

“Dove?” Steven asked one more time, though he kept his hands in surrender as she manhandled him, pushing him to the floor more as she pinned him down, her black eyes empty and raw as she stared at him, “It’s me, Steven. Your Steven,” 

Nothing. He gained no reaction from her, not so much as a blink. This was not her. This was a savage creature that knew no such thing as gentle touches and loving words. 

She did nothing but stare at him, waiting for him to make a move out of line so she could tear him to shreds. And yet, Steven lay there as if to submit his body to her if she wanted to do such a thing. He couldn’t hurt her, couldn’t fight back. Could never lay an unkind hand on her even if it came to his last moments on the earth. He could die by her hands and he would still consider himself lucky to have been touched by such a creature. 

She raised a clawed hand up to bring down on his masked face, a strength in the hit strong enough to tear clean through the ceremonial armour and likely leave him disfigured, if not cleave his skull in two on the spot. But she didn’t get a chance to strike. No sooner had she raised herself up to end it all, the Jackal launched its beaten body at her crouching form, the two of them tumbling away from Steven’s shaking body and rolling amongst one another in a flurry of wails and growls. 

She flew off him spitting and yowling like a feral street cat, a sound no normal human should make as the creature bit down on her arm hard. 

Steven felt two arms dragging him upwards and away from the scene, Layla could only imagine what was going on as the mystery woman’s arm sprayed her own blood over the concrete with every swipe of her claws. 

“What is that?” Layla asked breathlessly, practically yanking Steven away as he trembled under her hands. She froze when Steven said her name, her name, the name of the girl she had left in that room to make her own way out. “What? Is this Harrow’s doing? Turning her into some crazy dog-woman?”

“I don’t know,” Steven said with a defeated tone, his chest aching at the way she had looked at him with no recognition of who he was. “I think…” Steven thought for a moment, “I think Marc will know how to help her,” 

Layla nodded at him, her eyes taking in his broken expression, patting him on the arm gently, “Okay. Okay, bring him out,”

Steven turned away from her, sparing a small glance to the woman who held his life so closely in her hands, who had been seconds away from ending it, who he gave himself to entirely were it to be that he saw her in his last few moments of living. She scrapped with the jackal, two wild beasts gaining on eachother, drawing blood whenever and wherever they could. 

“Marc,” Steven said, his eyes never leaving her blank face, spots of blood now sprayed over her nose like freckles. He felt his alter perk up at the name, his body already tensing up as Marc clawed at the reigns to take over now.

“Yeah, buddy?” Marc asked, though he could see everything Steven was seeing, and his heart already sunk at the unrecognisable thousand mile stare she had. 

This was it. Seth had her now. “Save her,”

authors note: I used an AI to create what I think Dove looks like in her suit and-

These are the vibes we’re going for! Please feel free to imagine her as ANY shape, ANY ethnicity and ANY height however, these were just what the AI generated!

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[muffinsin]

english is not my first language so sorry for language mistakes.

hello, i have been following you for a long time and now I want to actually request something from you.. i understand that this is a really weird request but i have seen your past requests and you have filled it in before. could you write a watersports fic about donna?. i have this idea where the reader and donna are exploring this huge cave and donna starts to get really desperate because donna misjudged how much water she had needed for the trip. the cave is Dripping so it further reminds her of her problem. at one point she tries to secretly hold herself while the reader isnt looking. eventually she cant hold it anymore and tries hiding against a rock to give her some reprise, and the reader asks her whats going on. she lies but the reader points out her bluff because she can hear her leaking. you can write further on from there (writer freedom). so sorry for the long ask and thank you for writing.

-macaroni anon

Some more Donna food for y’all? Absolutely! ;) hoping to be able to follow this up with some HCs for the sisters, or a Daniela x reader oneshot!

Masterlists

You huff quietly as you make your way into the cave, your footsteps echoing a little louder than you’d like. You can’t yet see the end of the cave, but can tell by its echo that it can’t be all that large.

Donna follows after you quickly, her cheeks flushed and a small curse passing her bitten lips when her dress gets caught on yet another branch.

“Cazzo!”, she curses under her breath, snatching the fabric back from the trees.

You can’t help but giggle slightly at the sight. She’s huffing quietly, but calms upon meeting your gaze.

“Winded?”, you tease, but reach into your pack and hand her your water bottle anyway.

Certainly, Donna is not quite in shape for climbing rocks and exploring caves. Still, according to her, the flowers and moss growing in this region would be well worth the exhaustion and time spent wandering around in the middle of nowhere.

You watch as she takes her bottle somewhat reluctantly and gulps the water down. Your eyes find her throat, moving with each bit of liquid that is gulped down.

You yearn to move your fingers across it, to hold and cup, gently grasp and take it.

She’s panting when she hands you back the bottle, her usually so still hand slightly shaky.

“How about a break? Have some more water?”, you offer, and before she can make a comment to either accept or refuse you, you already step into the cave fully and drop your large jacket to the ground. No need for it just yet anyway.

“Sit”, you speak, a soft spoken command.

She allows you to help you up into the cave and smiles as a cool breeze hits her exposed face.

She nearly forgot how uncomfortable the veil was, having worn it for so long.

Instead, she finds herself able to enjoy the light breezes and unfiltered version of the world, having merely half a masquerade mask covering the scarred side of her face, her scarred eye in particular.

And still, she yearns for it now, if only so you’d have a hard time reading her when she’s so very flustered. She knows, with her face on display you read her like a book. Not like you haven’t before.

Though, your sweet dollmaker has a single trouble on her mind;

She needs to use the bathroom; has had to use the bathroom, nearly since the two of you headed out. Of course, back then her pride would now allow her to speak up right after having been teased about likely asking you to go back for a bathroom break within ten minutes of your trip.

Yet..minutes turned into hours, and with your caring nature came your trait to keep her well hydrated, especially when hiking like this. Only did it relieve her for mere seconds, before it added to the growing feeling of her full bladder demanding her attention.

She sits down as instructed, her cheeks burning warm and pink at your authoritative tone when you ask her to sit and rest.

Her head spins when you hand her another bottle from the back.

In her mind, she curses her own misjudgment of how many bottles the two of you would truly need. Four was entirely too much, especially as she had gulped down three of them already in the two hours you were exploring.

You nod as she drinks again, satisfied, and turn to have a look at the cave. While certainly not the most beautiful, you find yourself impressed by its clean state. It seems, this one has not been used as a den by any creature just yet.

Donna inspects you quietly, her thighs pressing together sharply as she feels a sudden urge between them. Almost, she felt a little wetness drip out. She breathes out a sight of relief upon noticing that she was able to hold it in after all.

She shifts uncomfortably as you search the cave, your fingers darting and sliding across the stone.

You smile at the stony surface, untouched by humans up until this point.

“Do you truly believe there is anything worth in here?”, she whispers. She knows, you can hear her.

You turn at her words, a light chuckle passing your lips. “We only just got here, my sweet”, you reason.

You trace the shape of deep claw marks along the wall. A bear, maybe? Or was this perhaps even a lycan hideout? Your mind races at the curious possibilities, whereas your girlfriend’s mind is only occupied with one thing: the struggle of keeping it in and staying quiet as she does so.

Donna gulps. Yes, indeed. And yet, her bladder is all but begging her to return home.

She shivers as the pressure on her bladder increases. Each moment passes slowly, each minute feels like eternity.

She rises again, hoping that to walk about would help her handle the constant urge to let go.

Fisting her dress, she helps you search the cave. She figures the faster the two of you are done, the faster you can return home.

The dollmaker finds the vines tucked into cracks of the cave and can’t help but feel mildly intrigued, too. It is what they came here for, after all…

And so, she soon forgets about her drastic need to return home. She takes notes in the notebook brought by her and uses the camera you took to document all plants found in the cave.

Fascinated, she makes note of the small biome of plants existing in the cave only.

And yet, as time passes, neither of you notice the dark clouds pulling up at the sky until it’s too late.

Donna jumps when thunder startles her and echoes in the cave, then, dark eyes widen when almost immediately after thick raindrops fall from the sky.

She gulps down a whimper, having immediately been reminded of her bladder issue again.

Donna squirms slightly as you wrap your arm around her.

She wonders, do you notice her skin, the way she shivers already?

Do you know the struggle within her that’s tormenting her so very much?

She gasps when your other arm slings around you, your closed hand accidentally bumping and pushing against her bladder.

“Good thing we got in the cave, huh?”, you joke, but press a loving kiss to the side of her face and wrap your jacket around her.

Her face heats up at this, but unfortunately it does nothing to help her focus on her task.

The raindrops outside, falling from the sky and hammering against the cave, feel like a cruel punishment.

She leans back against you, her hands quickly slipping into yours and her fingers intertwining with yours as she pulls you away from her painfully full bladder.

“Do you think it’ll pass soon?”, you wonder out loud, but Donna can barely focus on your words. She’s shivering and can nearly feel a drip of wetness drip from her and onto her underwear.

“I would not bet on it”, she answers honestly, a string of dread evident in her voice.

Even Donna knows, she will not make it home in time…

The more time passes, the more anxious she becomes. She paces in the small cave, her entire face flushed a deep pink as you inspect other parts of the cave.

She can’t stand it anymore! She can’t!

Donna’s posture straightens instantly as she feels a splurt of wetness drip from her. In the cool cave, she feels the wind hit her wet panties even under her dress.

Her eyes widen and she scans the cave for you.

No, no- no, not there. There!

At last, she spots you, sticking your hand out at the opening of the cave and refilling your water bottle with the thick drops of water falling from the sky.

Perhaps, you’d be distracted enough…

Quickly, she disappears behind a rather large sets of rocks, and as she feels even more wetness drip from her, she hastily presses her thighs together and pulls her dress up to her waist.

With her normally so pale cheeks dusted a deep pink due to her embarrassment, Donna takes notice of her own wetness that now sticks to her panties and the inside of her legs.

She bites down on her lip to muffle a whimper. This is so humiliating…!

And yet, she feels her bladder is far from empty.

Pulling her soaked panties to the side, Donna cringes in embarrassment at their state. She moves her head to you, exhaling in relief to find you still distracted.

You’re kneeling still, the tip of your tongue sticking out of your mouth in concentration. The bottle’s halfway full already, and it only reminds the poor dollmaker of her full bladder.

Taking a shaky breath, she decides to, finally, let go.

She closes her eyes, embarrassment flushing her cheeks pink and heating them up again as she feels the wetness drip from her.

She hears it, too, the drip-drop as it hits the cave ground. She hopes, and prays, the rain outside is louder than her.

A little more, just a few more seconds.

She curses quietly and whimpers under her breath as she feels some of it run down her leg. Automatically, she spreads her legs a little wider.

She presses her eye closed a little tighter as she feels some run over her fingertips, soaking the black panties further.

Thankfully, she will be able to use the pouring rain to clean them, she figures, and rid her hand of the heavy scent.

Just a little more…

Donna gasps when she suddenly feels a hand at her chin and fingers lifting her head slightly. Momentarily, more leaks from her, before she forces her body to stop and cease this.

“It’s not what it looks like, my love!”, she pleads, a dark eye opening to meet your face.

The poor thing is trembling with her desire to let go and the struggle to prevent just that, and you can’t help but smirk at it.

“No?”, you hum. Donna can’t swallow down the whimper that follows in time.

“Because to me, it looked like you were making a mess of yourself, Donna”, you add. She squirms a little. Her face is bright and warm in your hold. You can practically see how hard she fights to keep it all in.

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice, Amorina?”, you coo quietly. She shivers even more, her bottom lip trembling. For a moment, you believe she will speak, but no words come from her.

No words, but a loud, helpless whimper, when she sees you raise the newly refilled water bottle to her lips.

“My love…”, she begs, pleads quietly. You have none of it, and only press a sweet, teasing kiss to her cheek, before your lips brush against her ear.

“Drink, doll”, you coo.

And, despite her full bladder, the submissive woman does as she’s told. She gulps down the water and whimpers as droplets spill from her lips and run down her throat as you lift the bottle a little higher.

For a moment, she believes she will burst, when her breath runs short and her stomach hurts slightly, when her bladder aches and wetness spills from her again. You keep going, make her drink it all.

Donna notices your stare, your eyes fixated on the wetness that drips from her exposed, wet pussy and splashes against the ground. She can’t help it anymore, and yet still tries to hold it in.

As the bottle is lifted off her lips again and she feels your hand cup her drenched pussy, the dollmaker squeals in surprise. You can’t help but laugh at the cute noises you can pull from her.

She feels your fingers move, but can’t spot them due to how close you’re standing.

A sweet gasp is pulled from her, then, when your index fingertip slides against her warm clit.

“Oh, caro…”, she breathes out, her chest heaving in no time at all. She’s shivering and moaning softly for you, quiet gasps and groans passing dark painted lips.

More drips from her. She’s so embarrassed, but can’t deny how good it feels to let go.

Your unoccupied hand returns to her bladder, and again you make her gasp, a little louder this time, as you press down.

Her eye snaps open, the look in it pleading you. What for? You aren’t sure. To stop? To keep going? To let her go? To pleasure her? To push your fingers in?

Donna moans as your tongue finds her throat, your teeth digging into the soft skin of her neck occasionally, before your tongue soothes the small bites placed on porcelain skin.

“Keep going”, you breathe out, a smile returning to your lips at the sound of her moans and the drip-dropping of the wetness between her legs hitting the stony ground.

She’s so close already, the pressure of her bladder, the pleasure of letting go and of her sensitive clit being rubbed nearly too much to bear.

“Ti prego, lasciami venire”, she begs. “Please”, she adds breathlessly. You merely coo at her. Yes, she’s so utterly adorable like this.

“I need it, please, I beg of you…!”, she whimpers. You lick broadly across her sensitive neck, chuckling as her hips buck and you add a second and third finger to trap her clit and rub it again. Such a vocal little thing, if only you play her right.

“There we go, Donna, keep going”, you urge.

She mewls helplessly. Thankfully, the pressure on her bladder is decreasing, yet the puddle between her legs only adds to the humiliation she is put through.

“Please”, she begs, again.

This time you grant the sweet dollmaker her wish.

[maddie-grove]

The Top Twenty Books I Read in 2023

Nineteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell (1949): I thought somebody would make me read this book in school, but no one ever did. Now that I've read it, let me just say...mark me down as horny and scared! No, I will not explain what I mean by that.

Prairie Fires by Caroline Fraser (2017): In this examination of Laura Ingalls Wilder's life and work, Fraser skillfully weaves a portrait of two complicated women (Wilder and her daughter/editor Rose Wilder Lane) with an overview of large swathes of American history. The examination of how Wilder and Lane adapted Wilder's life experiences into autobiographical fiction and why they made those choices is particularly interesting.

Demon Copperhead by Barbara Kingsolver (2022): This is a retelling of David Copperfield by Charles Dickens, transplanted to Appalachia in the 1990s-2000s. Kingsolver retains the warmth and the pathos of the original, and the narrative voice is great.

Song of the Magdalene by Donna Jo Napoli (1996): Miriam, a Jewish girl in first-century Magdala, finds her life altered by unexplained seizures, which she must keep secret, and a first love that ends in tragedy. Napoli often brings it when it comes to thoughtful portrayals of disability and unexpectedly weird sensuality, and this novel is one of her best.

My Sweet Audrina by V.C. Andrews (1982): Audrina Adare, a young girl with severe memory problems, lives in an isolated Virginia mansion with her domineering father and various deranged female relatives...and it gets worse. This is V.C. Andrews at her most deliciously perverse and lurid, and I was definitely rooting for Audrina to close the portal.

I Never Asked You to Understand Me by Barthe DeClements (1986): Faced with her mother's terminal cancer diagnosis and the unhelpfulness of most adults in her life, fifteen-year-old Didi ends up at an alternative school for truancy and finds a friend in Stacy, a would-be runaway whose home life is even more dire. This 1980s YA problem novel always gets me, thanks to the author's gentle, empathetic treatment of her messy teenage characters.

Black Swan Green by David Mitchell (2006): Jasons, a thirteen-year-old boy in early-1980s Worchestershire, copes with brutal grade-school politics, a tense home life, various small losses of innocence, and the odd supernatural event over the span of a year. My favorite stretch of the novel was where half a dozen scary/weird/sexually confusing things happen in the course of Jason taking one meandering walk through the countryside.

Cat's Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut (1963): I'd been intending to read a Kurt Vonnegut novel since he died in 2007, so don't say I never follow through on anything. This book is extraordinarily fun and absurd, which just enhances the horror of the eventual climax.

The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton (1905): Cash-strapped socialite Lily Bart struggles in turn-of-the-century New York society, mainly because she can neither fully commit to gold-digging nor figure out a viable alternative. Her crumbling state, both social and psychological, is horrifying yet fascinating to witness.

The Fell by Sarah Moss (2021): In November 2020, English waitress and single mother Kate breaks quarantine to take a walk through the countryside, with disastrous results. This short novel is lyrical, compassionate, and impressively stressful.

Old Babes in the Woods by Margaret Atwood (2023): This short story collection is split between vignettes featuring elderly couple Nell and Tig, and several standalones that vary wildly in tone and form. All are well-written, but I generally enjoyed the standalones best, especially the poignant "My Evil Mother," the chilling "Freeforall," and the thought-provoking "Metempsychosis."

Beware the Woman by Megan Abbott (2023): Pregnant Jacy goes with her new husband to visit his widowed father in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, but a pleasant vacation soon turns into a paranoid nightmare. Abbott's lush descriptions--kind of sexy and kind of gross, as always--enhance a truly disturbing thriller.

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald (1925): This is another book I assumed someone would make me read in school, but I think all my teachers and professors were like "yeah, yeah, The Great Gatsby, we all know what that is." What you don't get from the Baz Luhrmann movie and pop-cultural osmosis, though, is the exquisite secondhand embarrassment of watching Gatsby pursue a married woman who is actually more into her husband, or just how fucking bizarre that husband is.

How to Sell a Haunted House by Grady Hendrix (2023): Single mother Louise is pulled from San Francisco to her hometown of Charleston by the sudden death of her parents and has to coordinate funeral arrangements with her ne'er-do-well brother Mark...and it gets worse. This isn't the best or the scariest Grady Hendrix novel, but the sibling relationship is compelling and it features the incomparable Pupkin. I love that fucked-up lil hand-puppet.

Seventeen and In-Between by Barthe Declements (1984): High-school senior Elsie Edwards is beautiful, brilliant, and talented, but she's still plagued by the lingering trauma of childhood bullying, her terrible parents, and her complicated feelings for her long-term boyfriend (slightly older and jonesing to Go All the Way) and her male best friend (also trying to figure things out, albeit through working in the lumber industry in Forks, Washington). The Elsie Edwards trilogy is great overall, and Elsie's struggle to figure out how to move beyond her unhappy past is especially moving.

Don't Look and It Won't Hurt by Richard Peck (1972): Carol, the sixteen-year-old middle daughter of a poor divorced waitress, gets a front seat to her older sister's disastrous relationship with a scumbag, experiences her own first romance, and sorts through her feelings about her strained family and stultifying small prairie town. This is a sweet, understated early YA novel that offers a look into the last few years before Roe v. Wade.

I'm Glad My Mom Died by Jennette McCurdy (2022): In this memoir, McCurdy recounts her relationship with her controlling, abusive late mother and her dispiriting time as a child star on Nickelodeon. I really enjoyed her writing style--clear, conversational, and bracingly pissed off--and she offers some good insight into the acting industry.

Just Like You by Nick Hornby (2020): Joseph, a twentysomething black working-class Londoner balancing his musical aspirations with babysitting gigs and a job at a butcher's shop, stars a romance with Lucy, a fortysomething upper-middle-class white single mom and schoolteacher. This is a pleasant, easygoing love story with some insightful commentary on how ordinary people form political opinions.

The Fourth Grade Wizards by Barthe DeClements (1988): Fourth grader Marianne is distracted in class and adrift at home after her mother's sudden death, but she has a good friend in Jack, who struggles in class because he's hyperactive. You might ask why this list is so dominated by one 1980s middle-grade/YA author, and the answer is that I love her. Also, I did not read all that many new-to-me books last year.

How Do You Lose Those Ninth Grade Blues? by Barthe DeClements (1983): Elsie Edwards, no longer the emotionally battered class pariah she was in Nothing's Fair in Fifth Grade but not yet the maturing young woman she'll become in Seventeen and In-Between, starts high school with everything going for her...except her horribly low self-esteem and her still-terrible home life. This is definitely the slightest installment of the trilogy, but it still makes an impact.

[squidinkedcreative]

been working p hard on a new doctor who fic!!!!!!! it all started with an option in a poll somebody i follow posted about “which would you let into your home?” and listed some beings you normally wouldnt see appear on your doorstep asking for shelter for the night, and it’s spiraled so hard /pos

my beloved oc Vincent is making a return!!!!!!!! i finally got the prop of his head i made in 2022 back, so once he’s all patched up, i’m going to be doing some cosplay stuff with him :,)

im currently still fleshing out the plot (3k or so words into the fic……….. lmfao) but i have most of the world building done. for the plot, the tenth dr and donna arrive on [planet name tbd], a desolate city completely overrun by vines and moss and underbrush. the clouds don’t move and there is no breeze, and there is not a single living thing besides the vines/moss/underbrush to be seen or heard. as they explore the area, memories of seeing this before come back to the doctor and he starts piecing some things together about the nature of what happened here. both of them see faded keep out posters and graffiti depicting a specific being with an alarm clock for a head, which strikes a chord with the doctor, as vincent was a good friend of his he hadn’t seen in a long time. they explore more and find the seed(the “beginning” of the vine and plant growth), to which the dr explains his past knowledge about this planet eating parasite that lays waste to planets that are on a downward trajectory. theres nothing they can do to save the planet at this point, but the dr still feels tethered because of the symbols of his friend everywhere. they end up finding vincent, who was going to be consumed by the vines, and rescue him. the two of them reunite, and the trio sets fire to the seed anyway, even though it most likely wont bring the planet back. aaaaaand thats about all i got so far lmao

i havent named the planet, thought much about the life on the planet or the area that they land in, nor have i named the parasite either lmao but the gears are turning!!! i have some good ideas for vincent’s lore and how being on that planet affected the abilities he has(he gets randomly glitched from one planet to another, sometimes even dimensions and galaxies, without warning. so it’s not something he really enjoys or can use to his advantage) thought!!!

anyway, i just wanted to share loll i have a few different wips in different mediums for this idea specifically(fic, art for the fic, and paper dolls of vincent, ten, and the tardis) that i’m hoping to share more about soon!!!!

[twwpress]

Weekly Press Briefing #85: February 4th - 10th

Welcome back to the Weekly Press Briefing, where we bring you highlights from The West Wing fandom each week, including new fics, ongoing challenges, and more! This briefing covers all things posted from February 4 – February 10. Did we miss something? Let us know; you can find our contact info at the bottom of this briefing! 

Challenges/Prompts:

Do you have a challenge or event you’d like us to promote or know of one we’re missing? Be sure to get in touch with us! Contact info is at the bottom of this briefing.

@thefinestmuffin and @JessBakesCakes are hosting the 3rd Annual Josh/Donna Rom-Com Fest. Anyone can prompt or claim, and the fest reveals on February 14. Details here.

This Week in Canon:

Welcome back to This Week in Canon, where we revisit moments in The West Wing that occurred on these dates during the show’s run.

Season 1, Episode 14: Take This Sabbath Day aired on February 9, 2000.

Season 2, Episode 13: Bartlet’s Third State of the Union aired on February 7, 2001.

Season 3, Episode 13: Night Five aired on February 6, 2002.

Season 4, Episode 14: Inauguration: Part I aired on February 5, 2003.

Season 5, Episode 12: Slow News Day aired on February 4, 2004.

Season 6, Episode 14: The Wake Up Call aired on February 9, 2005.

Photos/Videos:

Here’s what was posted from February 4 - February 10:

Allison Janney posted the trailer to her new series, Palm Royale, which premieres on AppleTV on March 20th. 

Dule Hill posted a video of clips of himself with Hinton Battle, along with a touching tribute to the triple Tony-winner who passed away on January 30th of this year. 

Dule HIll posted a video of Martin Sheen endorsing a MoveOn.org petition to stay the execution of Ivan Cantu. 

Josh Malina posted a photo of himself with Nathan Salstone and Samantha Massell from Shabbat on Broadway. 

Josh Malina posted a screenshot of his Red Cross blood donation team’s stats.

Josh Malina posted a screenshot of the last texts from Hersh, an Israeli hostage being held by Hamas. 

Donna Moss Daily: February 4 | February 5 | February 6 | February 7 | February 8 | February 9 | February 10

Daily Josh Lyman: February 4 | February 5 | February 6 | February 7 | February 8 | February 9 | February 10

No Context BWhit: February 4 | February 5 | February 6 | February 7 | February 8 | February 9 | February 10

@twwarchive: February 4 | February 5 | February 6 | February 7 | February 8 | February 9 | February 10

Edits/Artwork:

#joshdonna: when donna falls in love <3 by @nacejisbon [VIDEO EDIT] chaotic joshdonna hours by @lisbonsteresa [VIDEO EDIT] 

Editors’ Choice: 

Last year, we recommended some of our favorite Valentine’s Day fics, and we’re coming at you with more this year! Be sure to share your favorites as well!

how i love the view when i’m beside you by JessBakesCakes | Rated E | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | Complete | When she asks her boyfriend – she’s still getting used to calling him that – what he wants for Valentine’s Day, he simply gives her a soft smile and says, I have you; what more could I ask for? It would be infuriating if it weren’t so damn endearing. He swears he doesn’t need anything, that all he’s ever wanted is her. So she’s going to take the guesswork out of it. For Valentine’s Day, she’s going to give him exactly what he asked for. //Josh and Donna on Valentine's Day; Chiefs of Staff era J/D this is our place, we make the rules by sam_writes_fics | Rated M | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | Complete | Their first Valentine’s Day—which, isn’t even their first Valentine’s Day, but rather their first Valentine’s Day together—starts out sweet and then takes a hard left turn somewhere around mid-day. Can they salvage the night, or do they call it a wash and try again next year? // prompt: “an unconventional valentine’s date” Sweet Nothings by electric_eel | Rated G | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | Complete | Valentine’s Day for Josh and Donna. 10 years apart. tell her to please put on some speed by JediAnnieScrambler | Rated G | C. J. Cregg/Toby Ziegler | Complete | He plucked her coat off the rack, holding it open for her, “Cmon, you like dancing.” stay little valentine, stay by jeaniecregg | Rated G | C. J. Cregg/Toby Ziegler | Complete | CJ and Toby celebrate Valentine’s Day.

Stay tuned for this week's fics in the reblog!

[collarbonekissesandasylumwitches]

hello hi, hope y'all are doing ok :)

this is just my take on this aesthetic, my personal brand if you will, so please don't come at me if it isn't completely accurate

(i do not know where a few quotes are from so if you do, please lemme know so that i can list them)

poetcore // chaotic academia // downtown girl

vibes: grocery stores, existential poetry, psychology/english major, iced caramel lattes, old bookstores, anatomical heart emoji, thunderstorms, wired earphones, art museums, dyed hair and a nose ring, vintage posters stuck on bedroom walls, blue hour, ink stained hands, latin curses, 3 am showers, voice notes, smudged eyeliner, cocoa lotion, choco chip cookies, silver rings that clink against ceramic cups, native language nicknames, annotated books, commentary videos on youtube, forehead kisses, candles, love letters, lullabies, sunlight through curtains, libraries at night, homoeroticism, angry girl music, pressed flowers, coffee cake and coffee eclairs, glitter pens, lipbalm, dog cuddles, super specific playlists, daily outfit pictures

fashion: small shirt big pants black nailpaint mismatched earrings signature perfume hair sticks black turtlenecks cardigans fingerless gloves nose rings high waisted jeans linen shorts lipgloss cotton dresses waist jewelry heart shaped locket moss coloured bralettes bandanas tank tops crystal necklaces white eyeliner oversized earth toned sweaters cargo pants vintage band tshirts charm bracelets and anklets crop tops smudged eyeliner harem pants claw clips fairy earrings tote bags doc martens with everything lots of antique rings

songs:

ribs - lorde

coffee breath - sofia mills

movies - conan gray

how long - hadestown

sunflower - post malone, swae lee

i want you to want me - letters to cleo

bookstore girl - charlie burg

sappho - frankie cosmos

achilles come down - gang of youths

girl from the bookstore - jack jones

poet - bastille

all too well 10 minute version taylor's version - taylor swift

artists: mother mother, bon iver, girl in red, arctic monkeys, daughter, florence + the machine, hozier, the neighborhood, taylor swift [folklore and evermore in particular]

movies: shutter island, dead poets society, lady bird, 10 things i hate about you, five feet apart, potrait of a lady on fire, kill your darlings, fleabag, perks of being a wallflower, all the bright places, loving vincent, call me by your name, eternal sunshine of the spotless mind

books:

crush - richard siken

a little life - hanya yanagihara

the song of achilles - madeline miller

ode to aphrodite - sappho

the bell jar - sylvia plath

and then there were none - agatha christie

envelope poems - emily dickinson

the secret history - donna tartt

the picture of dorian gray - oscar wilde

a room of one's own - virginia woolf

the robber wife - margaret atwood

the yellow wallpaper - sam vaseghi gilman

quotes:

what we love, we mention. - Marie-Helene Bertino

you said i killed you. haunt me then. - Emily Bronte

loneliness is still time spent with the world.- Ocean Vuong

let me stay tender hearted, despite despite despite.

that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. - Walt Whitman

i love you. i can't tell you. the sun on your face will do it for me. - tumblr user tturing

i will love you if i never see you again, and i will love you if i see you every tuesday. - Lemony Snicket

someone has to leave first. this is a very old story. there is no other version of this story. - Richard Siken

nothing ends poetically. it ends and we turn it into poetry. all that blood was never once beautiful. it was always just red. - Kait Rokowski

love is real. i saw it once outside my window and it stopped to look at me but kept on walking and i thought it'd come back but in the end maybe it was just passing through.

in ten years' time, i want to live in a house with big windows, i want the house to be large enough to have a kitchen table with four chairs but not too roomy to ever feel the depth of my aloneness. because i'll probably be alone. but i think aloneness won't feel so all-consuming with windows that protect me from the world but still let me watch it. - Maeve Wiley, Sex Education

male fantasies, male fantasies, is everything run by male fantasies? up on a pedestal or down on your knees, it's all a male fantasy: that you're strong enough to take what they dish out, or else too weak to do anything about it. even pretending you aren't catering to male fantasies is a male fantasy: pretending you're unseen, pretending you have a life of vour own, that you can wash your feet and comb your hair unconscious of the ever-present watcher peering through the keyhole, peering through the keyhole in your own head, if nowhere else. you are a woman with a man inside watching a woman. you are your own voyeur. - Margaret Atwood

take care, love love >3

[thebreakfastgenie]

For the WIP list game, tell me about all or any of your TWW fics! Bonus for 'donna moss fic 2' because that is one hundo how I name my files.

this got real long so I put it under a cut

so donna moss fic 2 is called that because many years ago I had a fic called "donna moss fic" that was supposed to be quick and ended up being 10k and taking like six months. that fic became Start Over. then in 2020 I watched the When We All Vote Special and two things happened. one, I rewatched the show and landed back in the fandom after drifting away because I basically could not watch it while Trump was in office. two, I noticed a detail in Hartsfield's Landing I had never really paid a lot of attention to before. Josh says the Flenders took Donna in and fed her, and that she was pretty pathetic. I realized this was in New Hampshire, probably right after she joined the campaign the first time. I once spent a night with volunteers who housed campaign workers, and I thought that would be a really fun story to tell about Donna.

and somehow this turned into doing the Donna campaign backstory fic, again. the full title is "donna moss fic 2?? why are we doing this" because why the hell I would that fic again after what I went through the first time, I don't know. but I do know. I can do it better now. it's not a rewrite of Start Over, it's an alternate version. some things are very similar and a few lines are exactly the same, but there are some differences. I revised the timeline and geography, for one thing. this fic drove me to the brink of actual insanity (it was lockdown time to be fair) trying to figure out the fictional presidential primary schedule. I also checked the actual color of the "Welcome to New Hampshire" sign in person (I was going there anyway lol).

the idea is that each chapter is a state Donna goes to, either with the campaign or on her own. there's a prologue about the end of her drive to New Hampshire, which is the only part that is strictly speaking "written." the chapters are New Hampshire, South Carolina, maybe South Dakota depending on if I think it needs another campaign chapter for pacing, Illinois, California, Wisconsin, New Hampshire (reprise) and probably an epilogue in DC, tying together the information we have from In the Shadow of Two Gunmen, 17 People, and Hartsfield's Landing.

when I wrote Start Over I kind of side-stepped the issue of Josh's father's death and this time I am attacking it head on. I should probably keep this to myself for maximum impact, but oh well, it'll be long enough for you to forget. the idea this time around is that she tries to leave before Josh gets back from his father's funeral, but he comes back early because of course he does and catches her in the act. I have a very heartbreaking scene planned. this is not a Josh/Donna fic because I can't stand pre-series J/D, but like most of what I write, it's written with the idea that these people do fall in love and get together a few years down the road. it's about the beginning of their friendship, with a few charged moments, but it's more about Donna as a person. I'm also trying to pepper in some backstory of how she ended up with Dr. Freeride in the first place and why she feels enough loyalty to go back. the scene where she actually does come back is so vivid in my mind. I can hear the exact inflection of "thank god, there's a pile of stuff on the desk."

the planned epilogue is the first "anniversary" when Donna gets flowers from Josh for the first time. I thought about folding in an idea I had for the transition, where Josh is forced by Leo to give Donna a job interview as a formality, but I don't think that fits here so it'll be on its own whenever I get to it. obviously the main relationship Donna has at this point is with Josh, but I want to show the beginning of her friendships with the other senior staff, too.

the original first scene, before I decided to add a prologue, was going to be Josh dropping Donna at the Flenders' house for the night, having called in a favor since they don't have a hotel room for her. the Flenders proceed to freak her out by serving some kind of local New Hampshire dinner and a full breakfast at 5am. that will all still happen, of course. basically I want to fill in the gaps!

here's a bit of the prologue. I hate writing opening lines, and this is one of my favorites because it's the rare one I actually like:

In Massachusetts, she almost lost her nerve. The broken-hearted rage that had propelled her across six states faltered as she waited to merge onto I-495 and it occurred to her, finally, how crazy this was. She could get off at the next exit, turn the car around, and go home. She could stay with her parents, hold her head high, grit her her teeth through the humiliation. She could do exactly what everyone expected of her.  A space appeared on the interstate; she nestled her dusty car between a shiny red sedan and an old silver van. Flying down the highway, she thought of the life she was leaving behind. Her dead-end job, her unfinished education, her tiny apartment, and him. She floored the gas, outrunning her doubts, her fears, her insecurities. 

I will be doing strawberry fields in another ask but just a quick (lol) rundown of the other two west wing fics:

the ellsberg variant

the ellsberg variant is called that because it sounds cool but it's also descriptive. Daniel Ellsberg worked at the state department and leaked the pentagon papers (this is in the movie the post) and in retaliation a group of guys better known for other work broke into his psychiatrist's office and tore the place up. either they were just trying to intimidate him, or they were looking for his file to find embarrassing information and just didn't find it because they were incompetent (the other work was Watergate). so I thought, what if that happened to Josh, but they actually did just get pictures or copies of the file and leave without evidence?

so in my imagining, burglars break into a psychiatrist's office in Virginia or Maryland because they know there are high profile clients, and just get photos and copies of any files they can, to sell to whoever might be interested. the Republicans plan to use the information to embarrass Josh during the hearings, like they did with Leo, but Bartlet takes the censure deal before they get the chance, so they end up dumping it in a tabloid in order to damage Bartlet's re-election campaign with claims that his staff is mentally incompetent and he's too checked out with MS to notice (the headline is "Bartlet's Loony Bin").

the White House finds out when an advance copy is delivered by messenger in a brown envelope to CJ's office. they try to figure out who warned them and why, as well as what they can do about it. CJ enlists Danny to help (without giving him the full story, but he figures a lot out) and he finds out about the break-in, which was downplayed by the security company to avoid embarrassment, meaning the patients (including Josh) were never informed their records may have been compromised.

I'm not sure where exactly it goes from here. the first scene is the delivery of the envelope from Carol's POV. I might have Josh call Mandy in as a personal consultant (I just want to give Mandy real character development) and Amy will probably be involved in some way too. there's definitely a conversation where Josh is worried about the Oval Office incident being made public, and Leo assures him the four people who were there (Josh, Leo, Sam, Jed) won't tell anyone, Josh points out they already did, they told Stanley. Josh tries to resign, naturally, but Jed refuses to let him. I know it ends okay, I just don't know exactly how, or have the intrigue plot worked out. I do have a backstory for the person who sent them the advance copy: an employee at the tabloid who can't afford to quit her job, but thinks printing the story is wrong. her father is a Vietnam vet with PTSD and everything. I don't know if the White House staff ever find out who she is, but it might be fun to end with a flashback to her sending the advance. there's also some exploration of Josh's trust in his therapist being violated and where he goes from there.

don't be a hero

I wrote almost all of don't be a hero on notebook paper during psychology class in college and a couple years ago I finally typed up what I have. in theory it just needs an ending, but I can write so much better now, I started rewriting it, and just haven't gotten around to finishing it.

in 2008, President Santos is giving a speech at a university and presenting an award to a professor who has consulted with the White House on counterterrorism work, when a bomb goes off in the auditorium. The target was the professor, who is Muslim (there had been an Islamophobic hate crime in the news recently when I started this). Santos breaks his arm, Sam gets some cuts when a light falls on him, but the Secret Service does their job and gets them out of there. Josh had stepped out to call Lou, who is back at the White House working on a critical vote, and Donna had gone to get him. Donna hurts her foot and can't walk, so Josh helps her out, and on the way out he thinks he sees someone trapped. While Donna is talking to the paramedics, Josh runs back inside to look for the girl he thinks he saw.

the girl is real and he finds her and is able to unblock the door that was trapping her in, but inhales a lot of smoke in the process and passes out. the girl runs outside and tells the firefighters what happened, and they go in and pull Josh out. the scene has mostly been cleared at this point, but Sam is still looking for Josh, and end up identifying him to the first responders, which contributes to the ensuing media circus when it comes out that the White House Chief of Staff ran into a burning building. Josh wakes up in the hospital and gets chastised by Santos and Donna and also most of the Bartlet era staff via phone. Donna also has a talk with him about how she's proud, but she was terrified. He also has a nice visit with Amanda, the girl he saved.

When I finish the rewrite, I'm adding a storyline where the White House communications staff suggest trying to control what Amanda says to the press, and Josh insists that she's 19 years old and someone tried to kill her, so she can say whatever she wants, but asks CJ to come in and advise her on how to handle the press, for her own wellbeing. Danny also tells Josh he thinks the media attention on the rescue is going to dig up personal history and find out about Joanie, so he should consider making a statement. He tells Lou about Joanie for the first time in the process of preparing that, and Lou wonders why he never told her before.

I think it will end with Josh and Donna's wedding a couple months later.

[maraczeks]

tww s4 rw thread pt 21

[its-deputy-caleb]

could you write how lords would react if Ethan killed the ray of sunshine lord you wrote earlier? how they would treat Ethan if they know that he killed their favourite person? will karl still propose him to team up? i really love these headcanons you wrote and i just want more <3333 plant soft lord is the best.

Firstly i want to say a huge ✨THANK YOU ✨ to the 500 followers i have, i seriously wouldn’t be able to do it without y’all and the love and support has been amazing!! Here is the plant lord and there’s already a part one so go and read that first bc these directly relate to it! also this is angsty af but i’ve left it open ended for some more hc’s to come :)) enjoy!

Alcina Dimitrescu

When Alcina learns of your death she is not the only one to mourn you. The whole Dimitrescu family is devastated and heartbroken at the loss of such a beautiful soul like you.

She’s filled with rage that some man-thing could just take away someone so powerful yet so kind. When her screaming finally stops, Bela can be heard crying in her room and at family dinner that night everyone is silent. It’s just not the same without you.

Alcina has a grave made for you, one with a large headstone and surrounding it she laid beautiful flowers from the indoor garden you all made together as a family.

While she grieves for you, Alcina notices how strange it was for moss to grow around the surrounding stones so quickly but grief had clouded her mind to really think or notice too much about it.

She becomes even more protective of her daughters, not wanting to see them suffer the same fate you did. Alcina promises you that she would kill Winters on sight if she ever ran into him again.

Donna Beneviento

Donna has never taken death too well and losing you was no exception. She feels completely empty without you, not even Angie can comfort her sometimes with how much she misses you.

When she saw what Ethan had done to you it felt like apart of herself died with you. Donna spent the next few hours crying into your chest, begging someone to bring you back but she knew it was no use when the flowers and grass you were laying on turned to ash underneath you.

With the help of her dolls she manages to carry you back to the forest where she lays you to rest under a huge willow tree. She places one last kiss to your forehead before she lays down the doll she made for you.

Donna spends a lot of time in the forest after that as a way of staying close to you. Somehow when the trees blow in the wind it feels like you’re hugging her.

In the forest, Donna finds little white flowers appearing all over, the exact ones you used to grow from your palm. She leans down to pick one and tucks it behind her ear as she remembers how you used to give them to her.

Salvatore Moreau

Your death was one of the most painful things Salvatore has ever felt. He can’t even bring himself to feel angry at Ethan when all he feels is numbness from your death.

His heart sinks when he sees the lush and green scenery around the reservoir being to rot and die, the view now resembling what it looked like before your arrival only somehow much more gloomy.

The trees no longer have leaves and are left hollow and dead inside. The grass that you used to spend hours laying on, watching the clouds together is faded and grey. All these things remind Sal just how much he misses you.

Salvatore often sits by your grave which is up on the hill overlooking the reservoir. You said it was one of your favourite places because at sunset the water reflected the pink and orange sky, it was only fitting that your grave be there.

He’ll often talk to you and tell you about his day while he sits there, a coping mechanism if you will. But it usually ends with him bursting into tears as he realises you weren’t there with him.

While he’s lost in his grief and tears, Sal fails to notice how the dead tree which you’re buried next to begins to grow its leaves again, with beautiful pink blossoms growing on the top.

Karl Heisenberg

Karl is fuming, absolutely enraged that Ethan Winters, someone who he was willing to trust and team up with could go and take away someone so pure and precious to him.

It actually pains him to continue his plan to get revenge on Miranda, not only do all his Soldats have your nature-like embellishments but you were someone he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

There’s so much of you around the factory that his heart breaks just looking at the flowers, the vibes and the moss that are scattered throughout the dark hallways.

He figures the factory, a place that’s so metallic and industrial is no place for you to be laid to rest so he carries you to your home in the forest.

After finding a nice quiet spot near a stream, he brings his large hammer into his hands and disassembles it using his powers. He reworks the cogs and pieces of scrap metal to make a large metal wreath. Karl would’ve been upset at losing his favourite weapon if he hadn’t lost you first, besides he could always make another hammer, you were special.

When he places the wreath down, little vines and flowers grow in between the crevices of the metal. The action makes Karl break down on the spot as he cries, the action bringing up so many memories of the two of you together in his factory which now leave him feeling empty and as lonely as ever.

[companionjones]

Who’s Y/n? (1/2)

Pairing: Josh Lyman x Reader

Fandom: The West Wing

Summary: The State of the Union is coming up, so Toby’s going crazy. He hasn’t had time to finish it because the White House has just gotten through what could’ve been an international calamity. With Toby working on that, there’s no one to work on a lesser speech that the President has to make. That is, until Donna recommends you.

Warnings: Anxiety disorder, pulling all-nighters

Author’s Note: In this story, Sam has already left The West Wing, but Will never took over for him. Also the ‘international calamity’ that I’m referring to in the summary didn’t happen in the show.

*******

    You loved your job. Some people thought it was tiny or insignificant, but you love it. You worked in the Communications Department writing small memos for tours gone wrong or thank you messages to elementary schools. Really, you just liked you could say that you worked for the White House. That, and you liked how utterly irrelevant you were to your coworkers. One of those things was about to change.

    “What the hell do you mean ‘They’re busy?’” You faintly heard the sound of the Deputy Chief of Staff, Josh Lyman, yelling at his personal assistant, Donnatella Moss. Though sudden and loud sounds normally bothered you, you had grown accustomed to people yelling in the West Wing. The sudden and loud sound of Josh Lyman yelling was mostly background noise to you at that point.

    “Oh my g--” Josh continued, annoyed, “Is there anybody in Communications that isn’t doing anything right now?”

    “Y/n isn’t doing anything,” Donna informed.

    Your heart dropped. You looked up from your work like a deer in headlights.

    “Who’s Y/n?” Josh wondered. Upon seeing which direction Donna was looking, he turned around and saw you. He introduced himself as he crossed the room to your office. “Hi. I’m Josh Lyman.”

    You were terrified. All you could do was sit there and stare at him.

    Josh was confused. “Uh...Donna told me your first name, but I’d also like to know your last. Do you possibly know it?”

    You snapped out of it. “My name is Y/n L/n.”

    He nodded. “Thank you. Do you write well?”

    “Um...I think so. I hope so--” you corrected.

    Josh cut you off. “The thing is, I need to know if you’re going to write a speech for the President.”

    You choked on your spit. “I’m sorry?”

    “The speech is tomorrow at 9am. You have 18 hours.”

    “I’m sorry?” You sprung out of your chair. “I’m sorry, Mr. Lyman, but I just don’t think I’m qualified--”

    Josh informed, “As of this moment, you’re the most qualified in the department.”

    “The whole department? What about everyone else? What about Toby?”

    Josh took a moment to respond, then pulled over a nearby chair and sat down. “Here’s the thing: The State of the Union is 3 days away, and Toby is only about three quarters done. He and most of Communications are in the Roosevelt Room right now trying to figure that out.”

    “How is that possible?” you asked, alarmed. It took you a moment to realize, “I haven’t seen much of you Senior Staff in the halls lately. There was something going on, wasn’t there?”

    Josh didn’t respond. You knew he wasn’t at liberty to.

    “Okay, so everyone above me is writing the State of the Union, so now I only have 18 hours to write a speech the President is going to say at 9am tomorrow,” you repeated everything just to make sure you had remembered.

    Lyman nodded, “Yep. It’s on Why Kids Should Go To College. President Bartlet is going to be speaking at a high school tomorrow. It’s nothing that major. Should only be about 5 minutes. Good luck.”

    And just like that you were left alone with your thoughts and all the stress in the world.

    Josh didn’t leave his office until 3am that morning. It had been a hard day, filled with more losses than wins and a lot of yelling, so Josh was grateful to finally be heading home. He walked past the Communications Department on his way out, so he walked past your office. Josh spotted you asleep at your desk.

    He approached you with all intention to wake you up as abruptly as possible. However, once he got to you, Josh saw your most recent draft laying next to your head. He figured there was no real harm in snooping, so he picked it up and read it.

    What you had was good. The length was about a full page, so you were about half way there, and Josh didn’t want to admit it, but there was a persistent feeling in the back of his head that your writing reminded him of Sam’s. But that was impossible. Sam was Sam, and you were just some person he found working in the back of the Communications Department. Anyhow, your work was certainly good enough to reward you with a nicer way to be woken up than Josh was planning.

    “Hey. Hey, Y/n.” Josh gently shook your shoulder.

    Despite the polite rouse, you reacted with alarm. “I’m done! I mean, I’m almost done. Oh my god. I’m sorry, Mr. Lyman. I didn’t mean to fall asleep, I swear. I’ll get back to work. I’m telling you, I was almost done--”

    Josh was barely paying attention to your rambling. He had only really noticed one thing since you had woken up. “Have you been crying?”

    Your face had been hidden while you were asleep, but now that he could see you, he could clearly notice the almost-dried tracks formed down your red cheeks. You must’ve not been asleep for very long.

    Speaking of red cheeks, your face got redder as you turned away from Josh and tried to clean your face. “It was nothing.” You didn’t see a way to deny it.

    Even gentler than he had been when he had woken you up, Josh put a hand back on your shoulder. “Hey.”

    That small gesture was enough for tears to prick your eyes again. You quickly dried them. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I know this isn’t very professional.”

    Josh shook his head. “Don’t worry about that right now.”

    “How can I not?” You chuckled through the tears. “You’re my boss.”

    Lyman shrugged, “Ehh...not really. Toby’s directly above you. The only people you really need to worry about are him, the President, and Leo. I don’t really get involved with the Communications Department directly.”

    “So were you supposed to give me this job?” you joked, despite your current state.

    Josh smiled back at you. “Like I said, don’t worry about it.”

    You chuckled, mentally tired.

    Josh looked you over again, worry growing inside of him. “What you have so far is good. It’s great, actually.”

    “Yeah, and that’s the problem,” you confirmed, “It’s what I have so far. I hit a block about an hour ago, and now I don’t know what I’m going to do. That block is what caused...well it’s what caused what happened earlier.”

    Josh knew you were referring to crying, and for some reason, as Josh thought of you reduced to tears again, it left a bad taste in his mouth. He didn’t think twice before offering, “I could stay with you. If you want me to, that is.”

    “What?” You weren’t sure you heard him right.

    “It’s only fair.” Josh explained, “I’m the one that stuck you with this job in the first place.”

    “But...Like you said, Josh, I was your only option.”

    He agreed, “Yeah, but that doesn’t make this suck any less.”

    You chuckled, “You’re not wrong.”

    Taking that as encouragement, Josh pulled over a chair and got settled. “Than I’m staying.”

    So, the two of you got to work. Actually, you got to work spewing your ideas to Josh while he voiced his yes or no. It surprised Josh how fast your mind worked compared to even his. Your mind worked so quickly, in fact, that at one point it worked you into another anxiety attack.

    “I can’t do this,” you stated, sinking into your chair. “You asked me to do this, and I can’t. I can’t do this.” You spoke again before Josh could respond. “Josh, earlier I said I wasn’t qualified. I meant not capable. God, I can’t even speak right now, how bad is my writing?” You started going through your notes and questioning everything you’d written up to that point.

    “Y/n your writing’s fine,” Josh comforted, then took hold of your shoulders when you weren’t paying attention. “Y/n. Look at me.”

    You did.

    Josh wasn’t entirely sure what to say. His mind was especially blank having someone like you looking at him like that. Finally, he had an idea. He glanced at your most recent draft. He picked it up. “Here. I’m going to read this out loud with the appropriate reverence your writing deserves, and you’re going to realize how amazing you really are at your job.”

    It took you a while, but by the time Josh was done reading, you had started to calm down. Josh continued, “Breathe with me, okay?”

    “Josh--”

    “--Just--please,” he calmly insisted.

    The two of you sat there for a minute and took deep breaths together.

    “Thank you, sir,” you said after a while.

    He insisted, “I’m telling you, don’t worry about it...And why don’t you call me by my first name?”

    “What?”

    Josh explained, “You call Toby and CJ by their names, so I know you know about the casualness outside the Oval Office, so why are you still so professional with me?”

    For a minute or two, you gazed at the man who was kind enough to stay behind with you and calm you down. It wasn’t the first time your eyes had lingered on him. You decided to come clean. “If I’m being honest, it’s because of my crush on you.” You have him a second to hear that. “But, I know I have that in common with many other people in this building, so--”

    “You’re not like them,” he suddenly contradicted.

    “Hmm?” You were caught off guard, surprised.

    “You’re not like them,” Josh repeated. “You’re different.”

    Despite the change in atmosphere at your desk, you were able to continue working with Josh next to you.

    And just like before, Josh was rendered almost useless. But that didn’t matter to Josh. He just enjoyed watching your mind at work. Or, he did, at least, before he accidentally dozed off.

    When Josh awoke, it was light outside, and it was 7:30 in the morning. He barely had enough time to get to the high school to see your speech in action. Josh didn’t think twice before grabbing his backpack and rushing out the door.

    “What took you so long?” CJ questioned once Josh showed up. She wasn’t reprimanding him. She was just curious.

    “I...uh...overslept...” Josh didn’t realize how truthful his statement was because his attention was on Bartlet already. The President had already started on your speech. Josh had missed the first couple sentences, but that’s was all. He started scanning the crowd behind the students, and found you listening intently to the President, and mouthing the words along with him.

    CJ spoke again, “Wow. Who would have thought Toby would go all out for a 5 minute speech?”

    That time, Josh had heard CJ, “It’s not Toby,” Josh informed, “Y/n wrote this.”

    “Who’s Y/n?” asked CJ.

    Josh pointed you out in the audience. “I found her in the back of Communications, working on low-level memos...I’m putting them up for Sam’s old job.”

    The speech went great. Josh found you soon after and picked you up in a hug.

    “You made it!” you happily exclaimed.

    “Of course I did. Why didn’t you wake me?”

    You shrugged, “You stayed up all night, helping me write this. You needed to sleep.”

    Josh shook his head. “I did help you write squat. Every word in that speech is yours. You did this, Y/n. Bask in the glory.”

    “Basking in glory is more your style than mine, Josh.”

    “You called me Josh,” he noticed.

    You just smiled at him. “I did.”

*******

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for reading! Fill up that heart and reblog if you liked it! I would also really appreciate a comment, if you have the time. If you would like to read more, I have more fics over on my page. You should check it out. Have a nice day, night, or whatever time it is for you! <3 <3 <3

[qvid-pro-qvo]

YOU WANT MORE SHIPS?!

josh x donna and josh being a besotted idiot because of COURSE

the original. the blueprint. josh lyman x donna moss.

donna looks good.

there’s a lot on josh’s mind, or at least there should be. their polling numbers are up but there are questions coming that’ll be sure to sink ‘em. but for some reason sam decides to say that, and any true cognitive thought leaves josh’s head as he watches sam for a moment.

“what’d you say?“

“i said that the speech looked good, but we still have some fiddling to do with the language.”

“oh.”

“yeah.”

josh’s tie suddenly feels right. a tie donna tied, a bow tie that’s managed not to fall apart. he pulls at it for a second, and thinks it might be the collar instead that’s choking him.

“because for a second there, i thought you said donna looked good.”

sam’s eyes widen for a second. turning to look at josh before glancing over to where donna stands with cj and charlie. “well, she does. but. no. i was talking about the speech.”

“that’s what we were talking about,” josh concedes. “right.”

“but donna does look good,” sam offers right back. “cj helped her find the dress.”

“how do you know how she got the dress?”

“they went shopping for it yesterday. when she was gone for lunch for an hour.”

“oh.”

donna looks good.

but she always looks good. she looks good at her desk when she’s bickering with him, she looks good at his door when she’s scolding him. she always looks good.

she always looks good.

there should be a lot on josh’s mind. but all that’s in his head is the fact that his tie’s come undone because of his clumsy fingers, and, well. he needs donna to tie it again.

[shadowjax]

Red Orchid

Silver Bullets pt.2 A03

{previous}

Donna Beneviento x reader/you

Series Summary: The head gardener has taken you under his wing and as you grew older you viewed him as a father figure. You and the young mistress grew close over time but due to mysterious events she shut herself out form the world. A childhood crush left inevitable yet impossible. Soon other servants and inhabitants of the manor began to disappear one by one. Eventually the head gardener left without a trace and yet you stayed, where would you even go if you ran? The night became more dangerous as the years went by, screams echoed through the night homes left untouched.

Warnings: little steamy/human experimentation, violence, paralyzation, heartbreak, self sacrifice, tell me if u missed anything  

*＊✿❀　❀✿＊*

The full moon had lit your path up well enough tonite. Your boots crunched in the snow as you clutched your machete tightly. The wind may have died down but the lycan numbers had only increased as you heard them all over. People shouting, guns firing, and blood spilling. An occasional fire breaking out here and there, the village had become a war zone. The most lycans you have seen since they started to appear, Miranda must be planning something. Best time to strike while she is busy making sure things go according to plan. You noticed an odd amount of birds in the trees, as if they were filling you. They probably were, knowing Maranda, she has eyes all over. Luckily the lycans had seemed to not bother you as you made your way through the village. An occasional villiger had pleaded for your help but you remained vigilant. No need to waste your energy. White snow had turned bloody red beneath your boots.

You finally made it to Miranda's building, your heart still tugged at you to get alway. Your last chance to turn back was right here.

You turned your back towards the permafrost outside and in the warm arms of another. A night of rest then waking up in a comfort you had been seeking out your entire life. The morning had crept its way like a gust of wind. Your lady’s arms protectively wrapped around your body, happy of your return. You watched her soft and steady breathing patterns, studying her sleeping unveiled face. A friendly face that has brought you joy as a child. Oh how those few pleasant memories can not outweigh the painful ones. You could simply escape into the first and start anew, but that would be frivolous. You knew what dangers lurked inside the village, who knows what lurks beyond the familiar area.

Miranda had answers you’ve been searching for your entire life. She was the cause for everything gone wrong in this village. For all the death and pain she caused you, the lords, and those dumb ass commoners.

The art of revenge, a quick poison that slowly kills the body as long as you acknowledge its existence.The answers to your questions are so close within your reach, you can’t stop now. Somewhere you knew even if you turned around right now things wouldn’t go back to the way they were before anyway.

“I’m sorry my lady, but a peaceful life was never an option for me as well as for you.” You whispered those words and kept your head low, eyes closed for a brief moment of silence before the chaos unleashed itself. You looked forward, eyes filled with determination as you stepped into Maranda’s hideout.

“I see you’ve come alone, what poor timing on your part.” You found her in the center of the room, raven wings on her back, a black moss had scattered around the room and was pulsating as if it were alive. She turned to face you, eyes dripping black ink.

“I’ve come for answers!” You clenched your teeth and held onto your machete as tightly as possible. “And you know that.” Before you could take a step forward something had latched itself on your throat and lifted you off the ground.

“I must admit you are one of my more successful subjects. Let’s see how that little parasite is favored?” Her grasp on your throat had tightened as you were pulled closer towards her.

Her gaze pierced through your bones, sending chills throughout your entire body. Heart pounding in your chest, catching fire. You tried to claw your way out of her grasp but she was too strong. You attempted to kick but not prevail. You gathered what little strength and used your machete to cut your way out of her grasp.

Miranda screamed in pain as you fell to the floor, gasping for air. “UGH why you LITTLE!”

She sent another black moss your way which hit your chest and sent you back flying into the wall. You could feel something breaking as you made contact. You fell onto your feet and knelt to the ground, trying to gather your strength again. Something inside if you tugged for release as your head began to pound. You did not fight as you felt your heart tighten and the pain slither up your neck, your right shoulder blade aching as something broke free from your skin. A bat-like wing sprouted itself out and spread open to stretch, blood dripping down your back. A surge of indescribable strength erupted throughout your entire body, setting it ablaze. The other half of your face becomes numb as the entity inside your body takes over.

“That’s it, let the battle commence. But do make things quickly, I’m on a tight schedule.” Her wings expanded and the ground beneath you began to shake. She remained in the center as her molds did her bidding, pushing you around and throwing you to the ground.

You shredded through the mold with ease, doesn’t mean she was going to make things easy for you. She was still stronger no matter what, though you were faster. You slid behind her with ease and landed a blow to her back, a mold winded itself around your ankle and launched you into the air and threw you to the ground. Spliteres pierced through your jacket and tore it to shreds. Before she landed another blow you rolled to the side, barely escaping. You managed to successfully doge a few of her attacks, only to be caught when something coiled itself around your neck and squeezed tightly and you gasped for air again. You were at eye level with Miranda again.

“Such defiance, you need to be taught a lesson.” Miranda said blankly as she crept closer. She placed a hand over your heart and something stirred inside you. This little bit of power you had inside began to eat you alive, crushing your soul. You screamed and squirmed like a dog for some sort of end to the pain. You felt your bones breaking from the inside, “You wish for answers, you’ve had them all along.” She let you go as you laid in the ground and another memory played in your mind. “We’ll, here is my gift to you.” Miranda spat before she flew off.

You had died the night you fell down the waterfall and Miranda had brought you back to life. Your father saw himself unfit to raise a child, unknowing Miranda was the reason his family had died to the lycans in the forest. He gave you up and hoped the people he gave you to would take better care of you, although the village had changed them entirely. They weren't the most grateful or nicest anymore, you had become a burden to them. They were glad to be killed by the lycans a few nights later, leaving you alone for the second time in your life. Your mind, unable to cope with being alone again, created the illusion of them still alive. You had forgotten who your father was and viewed these visions as your parents instead.

When some unknown feeling leads you back to the Benivento manor your father had noticed but did not reach out. You felt a familiar connection with the man but the entity in your body had not allowed you to remember. All you had ever wanted was a family, to be alone in this disastrous world and only experience loneliness had scared you to the core. Was this entity Miranda had planted inside of you the cause for your future connection with the mistress of the Benivento manor?

Tears pierced your eyes as smoke filled your lungs. As you regained consciousness you noticed a giant hole in the ceiling like someone broke it open. A fire had spread around the building and spread to the planks above, the mold clearly not comparable with fire. Your body refused to move, screams could be heard from outside of the building. You turned yourself around and attempted to stand up. Your entire body was aching and legs kept shaking as you slowly walked out of the building. But before you made it to the exit you heard a loud crash and looked up, then everything went dark for a moment.

When you came back the side of your face burned in agony and you were no longer able to feel your legs. You got a quick glance behind to see that your legs were trapped under rubble. You were free to crawl to the exit but your legs wouldn’t budge and it felt like you were ripping your body in half. It didn’t take long for your energy to completely diminish. Tears fell down your cheeks in defeat, you laid face down on the ground just waiting for your death. It was slow and painful while the smoke filled your lungs. Your last bit of strength was used to hold your wooden box close to you and you let the memory play out in your mind while your body slowly gave out and finally gave up.

“I’m sorry I could not be your white knight, my lady…..” The last words you had spoken before your world became dark and quiet. A quiet peace at last.

Your first kill is always the most memorable, especially when that was the night you stumbled upon the manor for the first time. 

Things at home weren't easy and you had to learn to take care of yourself from a young age. Begging had become a formality but eventually everyone began to turn their heads the other way. Stealing had become easy once the monsters at night began to attack at night, leaving stores empty while the owners were dragged away into the woods. Except for one particular night you had been spotted and fought for your life. 

You observed this small bakery/farm and the family’s behavior patterns throughout the day. Waiting for the right moment to strike when the night enveloped the skies. The family lived above the room their shop was in and when you successfully snuck in a few shouts from above startled you. Not a moment after you stuffed your makeshift bag and exited the building a body was tossed out the window and landed in front of you. The body of the mother had been torn to shreds and the image has forever been burned in your memory. You look back to the seceding floor like an idiot and make eye contact with the father whose body had changed in ways that almost made him unrecognizable. 

The 7ft mutant leaped from the broken window and landed in front of you, slowly making his way towards his next prey. A surge of energy rushed through your veins followed by a wave of confidence that came from nowhere. You grabbed a long glass shard from the cold ground and held it in your hand, getting in a fighting stance. Although this beast may be bigger than you, whatever this adrenaline rush was had made you faster. You were able to easily dodge his attacks and struck his throat that was left exposed when you slid underneath. The creature fell and your eyes locked on a young girl not much older than you whose eyes are filled with horror. 

In her hands were a small gun she pointed towards you, her hands shaking significantly. “You… you killed him… you took my family AWAY FROM ME!” 

Before you could move the sound of a billet echoed through the night. Luckily due to her inexperienced and unsteady grip she missed. You weren't sure what caused your attitude to shift but you felt no fear and took a step closer to the child. In a matter of moments another warning shot was fired, this time you managed to dodge the bullet as if knowing where exactly it would fire before it was lit. You had gotten terribly close to the barrel of the gun when the sound of screams could be heard in the distance. Mixed with the screams you heard barking as well, could spot hounds running your way. Being smart enough you decided to run as quickly as you could. 

You ran towards the edge of the village where you came across a familiar bridge you had never seen before. It was made of wood and ropes, not the safest thing but the only option. Howls could be heard not too far and you carefully made your way across the old bridge. Everything from your knees down had begun to feel cold due to the quality of your clothes, the fierce winds of the mountain piercing through your shirt. After a lovely trip through a path along the dark woods you stumbled upon a giant manor. 

The cries of the dogs echoed not far behind and you threw yourself at the gates blocking the manor’s entrance. The bars were too small to crawl through and the gates were too far for anyone to hear with the winds. To the side there's an edge leading towards the bottom of a waterfall, you wander towards the edge hoping that there’s another way around the gates. There isn’t much space between the gates and the very high fall above freezing water. The sounds of the waterfall overpower the dog’s howls in the distance, your hands hold onto the frozen bars for dear life. A familiar fear spreads throughout your body as you imagine yourself plummeting to the bottom into the water. When you finally reach the garden behind the manor you spot a small shed with a faint light. 

You run towards the building and kick against the gates. Your attempts to shout are silent when you feel a stinging in your throat. Not a moment later a figure kicks open the door with a shotgun and a lantern, quickly glancing around the area until the light blinds your eyes. The figure runs off to the side, unlocking the gates and gesturing for you to quickly follow. You attempt to run inside but your legs refuse to move, you can’t feel them anymore and you fall in the snow. Next thing you know you’re being wrapped in a warm blanket and being carried into a hot room. You assumed it was the mix of frostbite and exhaustion but something about this place felt familiar. The word father was on the tip of your tongue, must be the exhaustion causing you to hallucinate. 

The sound of the waterfall was comforting, you opened your eyes to find yourself standing near the edge between the entrance and the bottom. You attempt to remember how you got here, last you remember there was a fire… Something causes you to look down and you notice there is a tombstone in front of where you were standing. Your name was etched in stone, your body was translucent. No wonder you couldn’t feel the chill of the wind or the droplets of water fly in the air. 

“Gasp!” A familiar voice rang out and you turned to the left to find your lady standing beside you, her veil was covering her face but you could hear it in her voice her tears were filling her eye. 

“I have returned, my dear. Just as I promised all those years ago.” You shut your eyes and cracked a smile, hoping to lighten the mood. What you didn’t notice was a permanent scar of the cadu traveling up your neck was visible as well as a burn from when your face was hit, leaving a half smile. Flames dancing from your jaw to the tip of your forehead. 

Turning into a ghost didn’t really phase you after all you've experienced living in this village. You couldn’t exactly control when you’d appear and disappear, when you’d disappear it would lead to a dreamless sleep. One of the few times you appeared the sound of a gunshot echoed, fear spreading throughout your soul. You ran into the manor quickly to find dolls everywhere, some furniture was out of place and droplets of blood were tainting the floor. The sound of stone cracking came from above, when you saw what had caused the disruption you froze. There stood a tall man with a pair of scissors in his hand and a pile of broken stone. You brushed past the stranger as you surveyed the area and you spotted a familiar doll beside the rubble. 

Is this what had become of your lady, just a pile of rubble. You feel at peace for some reason clashing with a fiery anger bubbling towards the stranger who killed your Lady. You simply turn towards the stranger and launch yourself at him. Throwing him and yourself out the nearest window, landing on a pile of freshly fallen snow. You pushed yourself off the strange man and paced a few steps back while he took a moment to stand back up and regain his bearings. 

You reached out for something to come at your call and what came to your rescue was a bundle of vines sprouting from the ground and holding the stranger in place. They slowly climbed their way around the stranger and began to tighten around him. The more he kept struggling the more guilty you felt and once you regained your sense you let him go. Your lady was finally at peace, it was time for you to be at peace and join her. 

“Take out Miranda and all this will be over. Heisenberg is a decent person, he’ll give you what you need.” And like that the man scurried off into the woods. Moments later the sound of a growl and a gunshot rang in the distance. 

“Are you just going to stand there or are we going to go?” Pops appeared behind you, how you’ve missed his voice. 

“Pops?” Tears filled your eyes and you ran into his arms. “I never got to thank you for everything!” 

“Look how you’ve grown, I’m sorry I left you to fend for yourself. I had no idea that they’d treat you so terribly. C’mon, let’s get out of here. Wouldn’t want to keep the Lady waiting now do we?” The two of you walked back into the manor and a bright warm light filled the room. 

You awoke to the sound of someone calling your name, “…it’s time for you to wake up. Breakfast is ready and everyone is downstairs.” Her voice was recognizable and when your eyes adjusted to the light you remembered her form when you were younger. She was one of the first servants to disappear mysteriously. 

“I’ll be there in a moment.” You spoke instinctively. You weren't sure what room you were in, let alone who’s room. Elegant casual clothes were left at the foot of the bed and you tossed them on them and quickly made your way down the stairs of the manor. The smell of delicious food filled the room as you made your way down the stairs. It’s been years since the place had felt so lively, too long. You stepped into the dining room to find Lord and Lady Beniviento, a lady who resembled your lady but you didn’t recognize her, your father, and of course your lady were all sitting at the table. 

All eyes fell as you entered the room, “Morning sleepyhead.” Your Lady rose and kissed you on the cheek. She wore no veil and her hair was in a wavy ponytail, her eyes sparkled like you’ve never seen them before. She ran her fingers through your hair in an attempt to fix it. 

“My Liege, breakfast is served.” 

“I'm going to go help my wife in the garden, thank you for the meal.” Pops stood and headed out the door. Mom? 

“I think it’s time we head into the village dear, care to join us Claudia. Lady Dimitrescu is expecting us to present some samples.” Lord and Lady Beniviento and Claudia left upstairs as well, leaving you and your lady alone in the dining room. 

“So my love, we have the manor to ourselves today. I see Lydia choose your good outfit, care to join me for a picnic later.” She placed a hand on your chest while the other one massaged your scalp. Her eyes were beautiful, there was a light you had never seen before shine in her eyes. 

While gathering things for the picnic you spotted Vivian and Angie on a shelf in your shared room. Seeing Angie so lifeless you half expected her to jump out and something not appropriate. 

“You all set dear?” Your lady was waiting for you at the back door, her black sundress illuminating her pale skin. 

“Of course, my dear.” The two of you walked hand in hand into the woods. That eerie feeling you became familiar with had left and you felt a comfort you had been searching for years to find, Home. 

BONUS

Draft idea for the end:

“What happened to POPS?!” You begged your lady to answer, warm tears staining your cheeks. “He became one of Maranda’s experiments… I swear I did not know until afterwards.” “Is he that THING around Claudia’s grave?” “Yes… I’m so sorry.” You took a deep breath and signed heavily before speaking, “I know it wasn’t your fault. Let’s discuss this again in the morning,  I need to sleep on this' ' you kissed her goodnight as she fell asleep in your arms. But you weren’t able to sleep at all, something in the back of your mind nagged at you. You rolled your lady out of your arms, giving her one last kiss goodbye and paid a visit to mother Maranda. ~~~~ Thinking back on what made you so determined to seek her out wasn’t quite clear. You wanted wanted have a family, hoped to form a family with your lady. But that day won’t ever come. Your determination for revenge was stronger than your wish for something you searched tone whole life for, something that was never given in the first place. Maybe it was the repressed feelings whenever you’d push something aside, the cadiu in your chest, or a combination  of both. You wanted mother Maranda’s tournament to end, for the villagers and the lords who all suffered because of her. The battle didn’t last long, it ended in flames burning the thing keeping you alive. Your box holding the flower crown was the only thing that remained, underneath the ash for your lady to stumble upon. ~~~~ When you were little you died falling off the edge of a cliff and hitting the waterfall’s bottom. The gardener pleaded for his child to be saved and Miranda agreed if she would allow him to be experimented on. He agreed and she planted a cadou implant in your heart. Feeling unfit as a father he left you with some old friends of his in the village but they soon died due to lycan attacks. Your father thought you were better off without remembering him and the accident. Your mind and the cadou created the illusion your ‘parents’ were still there. Unable to handle the thought of losing two sets of parental figures, imagining and forgetting you were alone had been easier for you to adapt to as a child. ~~~~

Twisted alternate ending??

Miranda had complete control over your body, she was the host of the cadou. It was natural for it to follow her in the end. Your skin was devoid of all color and your eyes pale with no sole or will to fight left. Your soul is buried in the ash of the roof. The sight of becoming a soldier of her’s had deeply bothered the other lords and even if they wouldn't admit it the sight had terrified them. Your Lady had pleaded with Miranda to free you but knew this creature wasn’t you. You died in the fire, your body is just a vessel for Miranda to use.

What a nightmarish thought that came into your mind, luckily nothing along those lines came to be true. The fire had completely destroyed your cadou which in the end killed you. Things remained dark for who knows how long, the concept of time irrelevant. The sounds of the waterfall had woken you from what seemed like a bad dream. Although you found yourself standing by the side of the waterfall, you couldn't feel the snow beneath your feet. Or the wind that had blown the freshwater into the trees to form icicles.

BONUS

The art that started it all

[this-is-spn20]

Imagine… Taking a swim in the lake, inviting Dean but he refuses. You give him a little surprise.

A/N: Haha! Gotcha bitches! I bet you thought you wouldn’t see me for the rest of the year! I got some more inspiration and I’m taking advantage of it! Hope you guys enjoy this little imagine!

-Marissa

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

Being a hunter was stressful. Very stressful. You’re always on high alert, wondering if the people you interact with have ill intentions for you. Are they a monster? Are they just another hunter who doesn’t like you? Not to mention when you’re on a case. Jesus the cases. You have to go to the crime scene as some form of law enforcement, look at the state of the body, and see if the MO matches any of the monsters you deal with on a regular basis. If it is then you have to interview the victim’s family for clues, find out the last place the victim was at AND interview the people there to see if the victim left with someone. Oh and let’s mention the fact that you have to research the monster and see if it’s just one or a whole pack/team. Then you gotta figure out their hiding place and kill them, then skip town. It’s… a lot to say the least.

That’s why hunters needed outlets. Many of them resort to drinking. Some hustle some unsuspecting strangers in bars in a game of darts and pool. Some do target practice to blow off steam. Some even just resort to sex. Most hunters do all of the above. You wonder if that ever gets old to them. Now don’t get it twisted, you don’t judge hunters. It’s not like there is an abundance of things for them to do to forget about the life for a while. But, it must get old eventually, right? Ah, the glories of being a hunter. But despite all that, you get a few hunters that have actual hobbies like painting, maybe an instrument of some sort. But you personally loved swimming. In addition to being a fun way to stay in shape, it also helped you relieve stress. Swimming just sort of helped your worries wash away.

You didn’t get much time to yourself living with the Winchesters. Your boyfriend Dean didn’t exactly share your views on how to relieve stress. He mostly followed the hunter’s way while you opted to do some normal things for yourself. You and Sam shared each other’s views on normal hobbies. You and Sam would often find yourselves in the library reading separate books in silence while the distant sound of gunshots could be faintly heard as your eyes skimmed over the pages. You even got Sam to swim with you on a case while Dean was, as usual, on the side drinking a beer. You’d tried to get Dean to try things your way but he was as stubborn as the word is itself. Anytime you were on a case you’d try to find a lake or a local pool to hop into. Most of the time, you weren’t lucky.

One day when monsters decided to give you all a break, you went walking in the woods behind the bunker. I mean, it's not like Kansas has an abundance of swimming pools. You just wanted to get some air. You weren’t sure how long you were walking but eventually, you came across a beautiful waterfall connecting to a fairly small pond. It was beautiful, you couldn’t resist. You stripped down to your underwear and left your clothes on the small cliff and left your phone there so it wouldn’t get wet. Your heart was soaring, you felt alive. The shock wore off quickly as your body hit the water. You stayed underwater for about a minute before your lungs were screaming at you to breathe. Surprisingly, the water was crystal clear. You could see the bottom of the pond pretty clearly. You hadn’t been able to just float on the water and relax in a long time.

You had lost track of time, the sun was starting to set but you didn’t really think much of it. You knew the path back to the bunker. You hadn’t taken any sharp turns. It was almost a straight line back to the bunker. “A few more minutes won’t hurt.” You sighed and you lean back against a wall of moss. It’s not like the boys would freak out, they knew you could take care of yourself.

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

Sam and Dean were freaking the fuck out. You had said you were going for a short walk that morning. It’s almost nightfall and you hadn’t contacted anyone in hours. They checked in with Jody, Donna, Charlie, and just about everyone they knew. Dean was pacing back and forth. Sam was trying to think of a place you would’ve gone. Both trying to put a brave face on for the other but failing miserably.

“Where could she possibly be! She couldn’t have walked too far from here? Should we try driving around and see if we see her?” Dean stopped pacing and had grabbed his favorite pistol almost halfway to the door. Sam had caught up to him in the Map room.

“Dean wait for a few seconds. What if the simplest solution is right here? We haven’t tracked her phone yet. Maybe she’ll turn up that way. If not, then we’ll start driving.” Sammy, always the voice of reason. Dean nodded.

“Okay fine, let’s check her location. Hurry up though, it's supposed to be freezing tonight.”

Sam made the short jog to get his computer and start tracking Y/n’s location. The program spat back coordinates that were about 3 miles away from the bunker. Both boys looked at each other confused and worryingly when they saw the coordinates led to some unknown location in the woods. ‘What could she possibly be doing way out there?’ Dean thought.

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

You had just came up from your dive in a row when you heard footsteps and branches cracking under the weight up something. You stayed as silent as possible. You were just about ready to scold yourself for being paranoid when figures with flashlights came into your view. They looked like Sam and Dean.

“Sam! Dean!” You shouted from the water.

“Y/N? What the hell are you doing out here?” Dean shouted exasperated.

“I found this beautiful pond!. I couldn’t help it guys I just got excited. I’m sorry if I worried you guys.” You pouted slightly.

“You’re damn right we were worried! You-” Sam cut dean off. “It’s fine Y/N. As long as you’re safe, everything is fine.”

Dean sighed then nodded in agreement. “Sam is right. Now get out of there, it's getting cold out here.” You pouted.

“How about you two join me? Just for a quick dip! Please?” Dean shook his head while Sam looks on with a smile.

“Dean…” A thought had crossed your mind. “Would you mind helping me out of here?”

Dean nodded and reached his hand down for you to grab. When you grabbed his hand you pulled him down. Right before Dean hit the water he let out a big yelp. Sam’s laughter filled the area but soon died down when Dean glared at him. You kissed Dean on the cheek, knowing he could never stay mad at you.

“Yeah yeah laugh it up. I’ll get my revenge on you both when I'm warm and dry.” Dean grumbled.

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

A/N: Hope ya’ll enjoyed this little treat from me! Requests are always open! Expect more soon!

Spread Love

-Marissa

[sesamestreep]

your choice of West Wing characters for 47, "touching their elbow to get their attention"

Sam is startled out of his reverie by someone calling his name, but he still practically jumps out of his skin when he feels a hand clasp gently around his elbow.

“Sam, honey,” Donna says, when he turns around. Something about the way her eyebrows are knit together tells him she’s been trying to get his attention for a while. “They’re looking for you.”

“Oh. Right.”

“They need you for—”

“I know, I know,” Sam says, hoping he mitigates some of the rudeness of interrupting her with the weak smile he offers. He reaches into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and fishes out a packet of papers he’s folded up as small as he could. “You know,” he says, holding it out for her to see, “I was really hoping I wouldn’t need this.”

“You did everything right, Sam,” Donna says, gently. Normally it would annoy him—or maybe, he thinks, it would just annoy him coming from anyone else. If Toby or Josh or CJ took that careful, gentle tone with him, it would rankle. But this is who Donna is, always. She takes care of everybody. So it doesn’t hurt coming from her. “You made us all proud.”

“If I’d done everything right, I wouldn’t have lost,” he says, even though he knows that it doesn’t really work like that. This campaign especially had been an uphill battle from the beginning and no one had really expected him to win. Still, he had hoped, in some small, secret part of his heart, it would be a classic underdog story in the end. Like Rudy and Rocky before him, Sam Seaborn was going to beat the odds.

“‘It is possible to commit no mistakes and still lose. That is not a weakness; that is life,’” Donna says with the far off look in her eye that tells him she’s quoting something.

Sam tips his head to the side, considering her. “I like that. Where’s it from?”

“That…doesn’t matter. I mean, it’s true, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is. And I appreciate the sentiment,” he replies, sincerely. “Now tell me where it’s from or I’ll bug you about it forever.”

Donna waffles for a second, clearly debating with herself. “Star Trek,” she admits finally.

“Donnatella Moss, I would have never taken you for a Trekkie!”

“I grew up watching it with my brothers and I still catch the odd re-run sometimes,” she says with a shrug that is obviously faked for his benefit. “Don’t tell Josh,” she hastens to add.

“I won’t,” Sam says with a smile. His first genuine one in what feels like hours.

“Seriously, if you mention this to him, I’ll—”

“Your secret is safe with me, I promise.”

“Good,” she says, before taking his hand in hers. “I meant what I said before, Sam. We’re all really proud of you.”

“Thank you,” he replies and Donna really is the best, because she pulls him into a crushing hug before he can embarrass himself by crying in front of her, though it is ultimately a very close thing. She holds him like that, running her hand over his back in soothing patterns for he doesn’t even know how long before there’s the sound of someone awkwardly clearing their throat to get their attention. Thankfully, it’s one of the interns from his campaign staff and not someone brave enough to actually tease either of them about this. Still, Donna steps back to give him room, leaving a supportive hand on his shoulder.

“It’s time for your speech, Mr. Seaborn,” the intern says, hesitantly.

“Okay,” Sam says, running his hand over his face. “Tell them I’ll be there in a minute.”

The intern scurries off with a nod, leaving him and Donna alone again. He needs to go now, but he can’t quite get his feet to move in the direction of the stage.

Donna gives his shoulder a squeeze. “Do you need me to push you?” she asks, with a wry smile.

“No, it’s just—nobody ever dreams of giving a concession speech,” Sam admits with a sigh.

“They probably would if you were the one who wrote it,” she replies. “You have a real gift, Sam.”

“You’re just saying that to butter me up.”

“Well, obviously,” Donna says with an eye roll. “The sooner you finish your speech, the sooner we can all go get drunk.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, you didn’t hear it from me but Toby feels really guilty about not being able to save the campaign so he says he’s buying.”

“Oh,” Sam says, adjusting his tie. “In that case, let’s get this over with!”

Donna reaches over to straighten his jacket for him, getting his lapels to sit just right. “That’s the spirit!”

[lazuli-bloom]

Roses and Styx

Chapter 2 – The Man In The Rotting Suit

Beetlejuice x Reader

Word Count : 5051

You get to go home early, which is nice. Now if only you could shake that guy from the graveyard. It doesn't help that no one else is able to even see him. There has to be some way to get rid of him, right?

Last Chapter | Archive | Next Chapter

--=--=--

Deep breaths. Inhale through the nose, and exhale through the mouth. You're fine. Just ignore the man grinning at you seated in your passenger seat. Everything was normal and fine. He's not really there.

"So, where to, babes?"

You sucked a long sharp breath and glanced over to the delusion. He definitely looked at home in a graveyard, with the patches of moss on pale skin and sporting a frayed suit coated in dirt and grime. The man flashed you another grin showing off sharp teeth that likely have never seen a toothbrush.

You pinched the bridge of your nose and ignored the apparition while you get your shitty car started. A few minutes later, the car clanged and sputtered awake. You shoot whatever was in your passenger seat a glare before pulling out of the small lot and headed home.

The man next to you groaned after you passed the first stoplight. You glanced over to him. He crossed his arms, and wore a frown on his face. The green color in his hair dulled from when he was in the store. His tone looked to be a more purple hue.

"Come on, babes, I know you can see and hear me!"

You stayed silent and tapped your fingers on the steering wheel while stopped at a red light. He was right—much to your vexation—you could perceive him. In more ideal circumstances you'd seek professional help from a doctor or therapist, but that costs money. So you're forced to bank on the hope that ignoring the delusion makes him disappear.

He huffed and pouted more. "You have no idea how long it's been since anyone could see me. I ain't leaving so soon."

You press your lips tighter into a line and kept your eyes on the road. His peculiar wording bounced around in your head for the next few stops. Soon that bled into playing the events of the funeral. He was there, bugging the mourners and going unnoticed.

"Fine. What are you?"

You catch the dimmer purple wash away from his hair and brighten to a vivid green.

"Aw babes, I knew you'd come around!"

"Please answer the question."

"Oh, and so polite! Alright sweets, since you asked so nicely; I am a ghost!"

You spared a glance over to him as you turned onto the dingy road leading to your apartment. The skeptic in you wanted to counter and say that wasn't possible, but you doubted voicing that would magically make your unwanted passenger disappear.

"Alright then, mister ghost, why are you following me?"

"Already told ya, you're the first breather able to see me in a long time."

"So, are you planning to haunt me? Make my life worse than it already is? Because so help me god I'll kick your ass straight to Hell if you try."

You parked your car and turned, giving him a pointed glare. His citrine eyes lit up as his grin stretched so large it threatened to split his face.

"Feisty! I like that in a breather."

You grumbled under your breath and looked around the parking lot. Your car was one of maybe four parked there. There weren't any milling tenets out, either. Nevertheless, you weren't keen on staying out in your car the entire day talking to a ghost.

"I'm going inside. If you want to follow me, then you're going to have to answer my questions. Got it?"

"Anything you want, babes."

You breathed out through your nose and unbuckled yourself. As you stepped out you caught sight of the ghost floating out the front of your car where he waited for you on the curb. He stuffed his hands into his pockets as he rolled back, putting his weight on his heels. The ghost flashed you another grin, and you doubted any good could come from this.

No second guesses or weaseling out by that point. You told him to follow you as you made your way to the apartment. Up the flight of stairs and to the end of the hall, you were almost home free.

"Parker!"

The harsh rasp of a smoker shouted at you. Every fiber of your being tensed up, and you fought to put on a smile in front of the dragon. She marched up to you with narrow eyes locked on you.

"Hi Donna."

"Who the hell left your apartment yesterday? I swear if you're smuggling a roommate in there I'm going to raise your rent."

"That was my friend, Sam. They're moving and stopped by to say goodbye. Wait, how did you know Sam even visited? Didn't you go out last night?"

"I got complaints about you."

You keep your mouth shut for the moment. This was a conversation you preferred not to drag out. You simply nodded to her as you carefully thought over your next words.

"Sam only dropped by to say goodbye."

"And who is 'Cassie'?"

You tensed up to the point your muscles could turn to stone any minute. Your nails dug into the palms of your hands and you struggled to keep up a friendly act.

"They're a co-worker."

Donna huffed at you, followed by a sneer showing off tobacco-stained teeth. She waved you off and turned, pulling out her smokes as she left. Donna uttered an insult your way before descending the stairs.

"Ain't she a delight."

You whipped your attention to the gravelly voice and found the specter with narrowed eyes pointed at the landing. His brow and nose scrunched up as he glared and you noted odd flecks of red in his hair.

You got your keys out and unlocked your door. "She's a bitch, but this apartment was the best I could afford. Easier to just grin and bear it."

"You know sweets, we could help one another with our problems." He said. You raise a brow at him before you stepped into the apartment. While he didn't exactly need you to, you stepped to the side and held the door open for him. "Babes, you are adorable. I'd give ya a big ol' 'thank you' kiss if I could."

"Please don't," you said, closing the door.

He let out a hardy laugh and then winked your way. You frowned and leaned against the wall with crossed arms. He scanned over the apartment while you studied him. The ghost's ragged appearance gave the impression that he recently crawled out of the grave. His pale skin grew bits of moss that blended into his hair. Dark rings circled his amber eyes. And a layer of rot and grime coated his odd frayed suit.

"Like what ya see, sweets?"

Heat rushed to your face, and you furrowed your brow at that. "You could use a bath."

"You breathers and bathing. What's even the point of it?"

"Health. It cleans away dead skin, and any diseases stuck on you, helps with sore muscles and aches, and can just help improve your mood overall."

"Shit. I didn't expect you to actually have an answer."

"Had one or two school wide lessons back in high school telling the kids that body spray was not a substitute for a shower."

He blinked at you. He shrugged a moment later and took a step closer, with his hands behind his back. "Anyway, back to my point. I think we can help each other out."

"How?"

"You and me could get rid of that awful hag! Decapitation, eaten alive by rats, electrocution, I'm open to suggestions!"

"Real casual with murder, huh? Yeah, no, not interested."

"Wait! Okay, it doesn't have to be murder. I could scare her so bad that she runs off and never comes back! We can workshop that later. But first I need you to say my name!"

"What would saying your name do to 'help'? And I don't know your name, you never said it."

The nameless ghost rolled his eyes and heaved out a sigh. Did the dead still need to breathe? That didn't seem right.

"Right now I can't affect much of anything. You saw how that guy walked right through me, right?"

You nodded.

"But if you say my name three times, I get my powers back and won't be stuck being invisible." There was a certain excitement in his tone when he said that. One that lit up his amber eyes with... something.

Your lips twitch downward as you mulled over his words. He said earlier you were the first person to see him in a long time. How long you couldn't be sure without asking, but truly any stretch of time sounded so lonely. However, you couldn't just let him have free range to do whatever he pleased. He already proposed murder as means of dealing with your landlady. This ghost could be impossibly destructive if unleashed.

"I don't know. How can I—"

A vicious yowl made you jump. It came from the other side of the wall.

"Shit!"

You rushed around the corner and opened the bathroom door. A white blur ran past you to the underside of the coffee table. Aqua colored eyes glared at you, only to shift focus in the ghost's direction.

You ignored that for the moment and instead turned your attention to the bathroom. The smell hit you first, the acrid scent of cat piss. You groaned as you looked over the state of the bathroom. The toilet paper shredded in tethers on the cheap linoleum, food and water bowls flipped with contents scattered, and a yellow puddle next to the litter box. Fantastic.

"Why was your cat locked in the bathroom?"

"I'm pet-sitting for a friend, and I can't have pets in the apartment," You said while you dug out the cleaning supplies from under the sink. "I'm keeping him mostly confined to the bathroom, so it's not obvious a cat's here for two weeks."

"Why are you pet-sitting if you can't have pets here?"

"Because my friend couldn't board their cat anywhere else. They promised me a couple hundred bucks to do it too, so I bit the bullet."

"If you're hard up for cash, I know an easier way to get it."

You glanced back at him with a raised brow but kept quiet to focus on cleaning. A minute later, once cleaned of Rigel's mess, you tossed the toilet paper in the bathroom trash and asked, "And what method would that be?"

"Just taking it! I won't get caught, babes, and even if I did, there's nothing a breather could do about it. Come on, all you gotta do is say my name three times in a row!"

You stay quiet for a minute as you washed your hands. You dried your hands and turned to face him, saying once more, "I don't know your name."

"Well, I can't say it."

"What? What do you mean?"

"I'm cursed. I can't say my own name."

"Is it... Rumpelstiltskin?"

"Sweets, that hurts. You really think my sexy self could be that little imp?"

"Well, other than taking more shots in the dark, how else would I figure out your name?"

"We could..." He trailed off, scratching the stubble on his chin. His face lit up a moment later as he said, "We could play a game or something so you can figure it out!"

His grin stretched wide as he wore an earnest hope on his features. It was rather sweet, strangely enough, and made the notion of turning him down seem harsh. You mulled over your decision. While you didn't want to say no, you weren't keen on agreeing either. If you said yes, he'd expect you to say his name afterwards.

"And if I figure out your name, then what? Setting you free doesn't seem like a smart idea."

He instantly deflated when he heard that. Smile gone, brows furrowed. Even the vibrancy of his green hair looked like it dulled to a blueish purple. He looked crushed, and knowing you caused it struck you with a bit of guilt. You couldn't blindly trust him, but you didn't want to see him so hurt.

"Look. We just met. How do I know I can trust you?"

"Cause we're BFFFFs Forever!"

"B-F-F—... You want to be friends?"

He nodded vigorously, with a glimmer of hope rekindled in his eyes. Your guts twisted into tighter and tighter knots the longer he gave you the lost puppy look. If he truly was alone and unseen for any stretch of time, then desperately wanting a friend made sense. And for whatever strange reason, you were the one able to see him.

"Okay. I'll make you a deal. We can be friends, but I won't free you until you've earned my trust. If I feel like I can trust you by the end of the month, then I'll say your name."

His grin reappeared, showing off sharp yellowed teeth. His hair also grew to a vibrant green. "Aw babes, you're the best! We are going to be great friends!"

You gave him a half smile, finding his excitement endearing if not a tad contagious. You finished up with cleaning the rest of the mess, and while doing so, you threw out a few more guesses of what his name might be. They were all wrong, but "Cthulhu" got a laugh out of him.

Once done with tidying the bathroom, you check on the furball under the shoddy coffee table. The devil cat hissed at you and swiped a clawed paw at you for daring to get so close. His eyes were thin slits and seemed to shift between yourself and somewhere behind you. You followed his gaze and landed on the ghost. You even asked him to move and the cat's gaze followed him.

"Huh. Looks like Rigel can see you."

"Rigel?"

"The fuzz-bucket of pure rage over here. His name is Rigel."

"Like the star in Orion?"

"Yeah, actually. The bright white star, that's why Sam named him that."

"Do you know any other stars in Orion?"

"Not off-hand. Why?"

"Eh... can't say."

You raised a brow at him. You wanted to find out the other stars in the constellation after he asked that—but with no internet access at the apartment or even a smartphone, you couldn't do that. All you owned was a cheap little prepaid flip phone straight out of the early aughts.

You shrugged it off and made a note to search that the next day on the store's computer. In the meantime, you sat down on the couch, kicking your shoes off to pull your feet up too. You didn't want to take the chance of that cat getting ballsy and going after you.

"So Mr. Whatsyourname, how am I going to figure out your name?"

He floated down to the other end of the couch and shrugged. You pressed your lips tight and hummed in thought as you worked out a means to find out his name.

"Well, playing twenty questions is getting us nowhere. Then again, throwing out random guesses isn't how you play that, but whatever. You can't spell it out, can you?"

"No, I suck at spelling it. And I can't, cause that would count as telling you it."

"Hmm, do you think you could use pictures to 'spell' it? Like using—a fly, a car, and a dog, to get the result of a flying carpet?"

"That might work, but I can't affect things, babes."

"But I can. Give me a sec, I'll get some paper." You rushed off to your bedroom and come back with a pencil and sketch pad. You took your seat back on the couch and turned to sit side by side with the ghost rather than facing him. "Alright, you tell me what shapes to draw."

You flipped to a blank page, skipping the older pages filled with various sketches and doodles. Once you got to a clean page, you held the book at an angel he could easily see.

The first thing he said to draw was a rectangle, a narrow one standing upright. Then a shorter and much thinner one at the top of the first. Followed by a third the same size as the second but connecting with it at an angle.

"Is that a juice box?"

"Nix the box."

"Juice?"

He nodded with a Cheshire grin. "Great! Now draw a circle on the front of the box."

You did so, as well as draw the six lines going out from the circle like he asked.

"Bug?"

"No, more specific. Draw lines on it in a 'T' shape."

You drew the segments on the bug, which gave it a distinct head and a line along its back. You look over the drawing and ask, "Is it a beetle?"

"Yes!"

"Beetle... juice?"

"Yes! You got it!"

You hum to yourself and look over the picture more. Such a strange name. Was that his name in life, too? Or did he get a new name upon death? Does everyone? Can you choose your name?

"I can see why your name's Art."

You shook out of your thoughts and jerked your head to the ghost—Beetlejuice—sitting beside you. You huffed a small laugh and closed the sketchbook.

"That's not my name."

"But that guy at the store—"

"I don't put my real name on my apron."

"Okay, Parker—"

"Not my name either."

"What? But that bitch called you Parker."

"I don't want people knowing my name. So, I don't give out my real name."

"Not even to your BFFFF Forever?"

"How about instead of telling you, you try to guess it? No hints either."

Beetlejuice groaned and whined at that, but you didn't budge. You instead gave him a sly smile of your own. He puffed out his cheeks and glared at you, and you did your best to not break into laughter. How was that disheveled ghost able to look so cute?

"Babes, tell me! You know my name now, I want to know yours."

"I had to play a game to figure out your name, only fair you have to do the same to learn mine."

"I'm cursed though. I can't say my name. Well, my middle name anyway."

You blinked and tilted your head as you processed his last comment. His middle name? How odd. You shrugged at him and said, "You can either try to figure out my name or maybe if I end up trusting you, I'll tell you. But for now, you don't need it."

"Then what the hell am I supposed to call you?"

"You've been doing just fine with nicknames like—babes, sweets, and breather."

"Fine. But I want to know your name at some point."

"When I'm more comfortable, it's a personal thing. What about you, though? Can I call you by a nickname?"

"Sure! You could use—sexy, or handsome, or hot stuff."

"Or none of those," you said, shaking your head. You did your best not to crack and laugh. "How about Beetle, or Bug? Simple and sweet."

"You think I'm sweet?" He asked with a purr that caused your face to burn.

"I think you're weird, and strange, but not the most terrible at least."

"I'll take it!"

There was that bright smile again. Wide and full of sharp teeth. This ghost was a very perplexing being. The more you saw his smile, the more your own lips curled into a smile of your own.

"Okay, so if you're going to hang around here, we should set up some ground rules and get other things squared away. Like—I don't want you going in my bedroom unless I invite you in and stay out of the bathroom too."

"Aw, that's no fun."

"Do you sleep or anything?"

"I can, but I don't need to. Same goes for food when I'm not stuck being invisible."

"Can you affect anything while you're like that? Lights? Electronics?"

"No. The air gets cold around me. Other than that, can't do much of anything while invisible."

You nodded with a small frown. That must be so boring—stuck watching the world go by, unable to affect anything or even seen by anyone. That experience didn't sound pleasant. As much as you wanted to keep a low profile, you couldn't bear to be that level of unnoticed.

"Well..." you said, getting your thoughts back on track, "If you don't need to sleep, what do you want to do while I'm asleep? You want me to set up a movie for you in the living room? Or I guess you could go snoop around the other apartments and see what everyone else is doing. Lord knows there's always someone awake in this place no matter the hour."

"You're giving me a free pass to spy on your neighbors?"

"You said you can't affect anything other than making it cold, so I don't see a problem. Hell maybe if you annoy enough people with cold spots Donna will have to deal with a bunch of complaints. Maybe she'll even waste money trying to fix things, that'd be fun."

"We are going to be such great friends."

You huffed out a small laugh. As strange as he was—and maybe a little too gung ho with murdering your landlady—Beetlejuice seemed like he would make for... interesting company.

You checked the time on your phone. Five in the afternoon. Only an hour left of your shift. Well, if you hadn't left early. You tossed your phone on the coffee table with a clatter. Your action earned a venomous hiss from Rigel.

"So, um, if you don't need to sleep but can, do you want me to set up the couch as a bed? I don't have anywhere else to set one up and if Donna thinks I have other people living here, she's going to be pissed."

"Good thing I'm dead."

You pursed your lips and rolled your eyes. "Well yeah, technically. Existing here then, which dead or alive; you do exist. And that would still piss off Donna."

He huffed and narrowed his eyes, but glanced away from you. "I know you said you want to trust me first, sweets, but I could do a helluva lot more than just annoy her with cold spots. Just give me a chance!"

"I don't know... I don't like her but I don't think that would be a good idea." You sat looking blankly at the couch cushions as you hummed in thought. Even if he had good intentions going in—or more accurately, intentions that benefited you—things could go wrong and land you in a worse spot. Good intentions paved the road to Hell, after all.

"Babes, please, I'm begging. Ya gotta let me do something! I can even hold back on hurting her if that's what you want! I'll just scare the shit out of her!"

You thought over the proposition, and it sounded enticing. You tapped a finger against your cheek as various scenarios of Donna, scared out of her mind, played out. "That does sound fun, maybe later—Wait! It's October!"

"It is? Huh. I thought it was still July."

"Wait what? How...?"

"When you've been around for over a millennium, you stop bothering to keep tabs on time."

"A millennium? That's, holy crap. Okay, I have questions, but first what I was originally saying; It's October. So that means at the end of the month is Halloween. So, what if, if things go well and I trust you by then we plan a big scare for this All Hallows' Eve?"

The ghost shot up, bouncing on the couch. The sudden movement freaked out Rigel enough for him to scurry off to another hiding spot. "Hell yes! Babes, you're the best!" This ghost vibrated with barely contained excitement and you could have sworn he was glowing green.

You held up your hand to hold in a laugh. Beetlejuice radiated a pure joy that was not only endearing but also infectious. While precious to see him so happy, you asked him to compose himself and sit. Incorporeal or not, it’s difficult to carry a conversation while a ghost jumped on the furniture.

He sank back and sat on the couch, though he chose the arm of the couch as his seat. He faced you, still sporting a grin and vibrant green hue, and you couldn't stop smiling at this happy dork. Wanting to keep your discussion going, you cleared your throat and picked things back up with a question.

"You said you've been around for a millennium. So does that mean you lived during the... eleventh century?"

"I was around then, but I've never been alive. I was born dead."

"Born dead? Do... you mean like a stillborn?"

"Not in the way you're thinking. I'm a demon straight from Hell."

"You're a demon-ghost? Ghost-demon?"

"Both, yeah. But enough about me, as great as I am. How'd a pretty little breather like you end up in this shitty apartment?"

You frown and grabbed at your sleeve, not wanting to look him in the eye anymore. "It's kinda complicated and I don't want to go into all of it. I'm just... scraping my life back together and this place is the best I can afford right now." You stayed quiet for a moment before looking back at the ghost. The vibrant joy on his features faded drastically. Guilt stung in your heart for dampening the mood and offered the best masking smile you could muster. You weren't sure it looked all that convincing.

Beetlejuice stayed quiet a moment longer before a smirk pulled at his lips. "Well, now you know who you can call if ya need help dealing with a few problems."

"The ghostbusters?" You asked and cracked a genuine smile.

"Pff. Them? Nah, babe, the ghost with the most! Just gotta say my name three times, spoken unbroken!"

The self proclaimed "ghost with the most" puffed out his chest in a bid to look impressive. It earned a soft chuckle out of you.

"I'll keep that in mind."

A low growl filled the room. Heat seared your cheeks as you wrapped an arm over your stomach. Lunch wasn't as filling as you had hoped. You sighed and stood with a stretch. If you didn't make dinner soon, you'll end up nauseous from hunger later.

Your new familiar spirit stayed put sitting on the arm of the couch. However, when you glanced back at him, his head turned around to face you. It unnerved you, and the longer you looked at him the worse the feeling got.

You shook it off as best you can and headed to the fridge, which hid behind a wall jutting out to separate the living room and kitchen. And right then doubled as a divider that blocked you from view of the couch.

Once you dug out the mixed vegetables from the freezer, you turned and caught sight of a large blur on your counter. You seized up, knees locking, and heard a loud laugh bellow out.

"Aw babes, you should've seen the look on your face."

Beetlejuice wiped away some tears, then snapped his fingers. You blinked a few times, unsure what to think of seeing your face on his body. He twisted his—your? features into an expression of shock before cackling. Your mouth hung open, but you couldn't find any words. So you just shook your head and carried on making dinner.

As you worked on getting your dinner prepared, you pick back up the conversation. You and Beetlejuice took turns asking questions to get to know one another. Beetlejuice opened by sharing about his banishment—no clear details, just stated the fact it happened. He also said he got a kick out of the spread of the bubonic plague through Europe.

You grabbed a bowl and poured in your steaming dinner. The savory flavoring of the noodles mixed with the thawed vegetables and wafted in the air. Once you turned the stove off, you sat back on the couch. In between bites, you divulged a few minor details about yourself, like how you've worked for Mr. Turner close to a year and a half, and your hope to one day work in a haunted house attraction. That topic piqued Beetlejuice's interest.

"So, you get to scare people. As a job?"

"Y-yeah. I've thought being a haunted house actor could be a lot of fun. But there's no acting job close enough willing to pay the rate I'd need to make it worth it. And it's seasonal. So it's gotta stay a dream job."

You ate your noodles and mixed vegetables, allowing the specter to take over the conversation and regale you with various stories. One of his stories got you to laugh so hard you ended up swallowing wrong. It took a minute of coughing and sputtering before you stopped choking on your food. You cleared your throat with a short groan and fought to stop laughing.

After you finished dinner, you checked the time. It wasn't too late, but with everything that happened, drowsiness gnawed at the edge of your mind. You tapped your fork against the rim of the bowl as you walked through the mental checklist of what you needed to do before bed. Beetlejuice asked what you were doing and frowned when you told him.

"You're going to bed already?"

"I have work tomorrow and you gave me a few good scares today. I'm getting tired."

He pouted, but you noticed he cracked a smile, hearing that he scared you. You rolled your eyes and got up to put your dish in the sink. When you returned, you pulled several movie cases and set them on the coffee table.

"Pick whichever one you want, I can put it on for you before I go to bed."

You give him a small smile and leave to get ready. A few minutes later, once in your pajamas with your teeth brushed and the cat wrangled back into the bathroom, Beetlejuice picked out a movie. You got it started and tidied up the couch for him.

"You don't have to clean on my account, babes. I don't mind the mess."

"I don't mind, you're my guest, and I want things to be nice." You said and gave him another smile. "G'night, Beetle. See ya in the morning."

[twwpress]

Weekly Press Briefing #77

Welcome back to the Weekly Press Briefing, where we bring you highlights from The West Wing fandom each week, including new fics, ongoing challenges, and more! This briefing covers all things posted from December 10 - December 16. Did we miss something? Let us know; you can find our contact info at the bottom of this briefing! 

Challenges/Prompts:

There are no open challenges/prompts that we know of this week. Do you have a challenge or event you’d like us to promote or know of one we’re missing? Be sure to get in touch with us! Contact info is at the bottom of this briefing.

This Week in Canon:

Welcome back to This Week in Canon, where we revisit moments in The West Wing that occurred on these dates during the show’s run.

Season 1, Episode 10: In Excelsis Deo aired on December 15, 1999.

Season 3, Episode 9: Bartlet For America aired on December 12, 2001.

Season 4, Episode 11: Holy Night aired on December 11, 2002.

Season 6, Episode 9: Impact Winter aired on December 14, 2004.

Photos/Videos:

Here’s what was posted from December 10 - December 16:

Allison Janney posted a promo still from Palm Royale, which premieres March 20, 2024 on Apple TV. 

Josh Malina posted a photo and translation of an ad placed in a Yiddish-language paper by his great-grandfather in 1919. 

Josh Malina posted a photo of chicken fried rice that he made. 

Josh Malina posted a photo of himself with a racket and pickleballs. Josh Malina posted an image and lyrics from Candide.  

Peter James Smith posted a selfie with his hotel coffee.

Peter James Smith posted photos from his final full day in NYC.  

Peter James Smith posted photos of the sunset in NY and the sunrise in LA. 

Peter James Smith posted a 2023 year in review slide show. 

Rob Lowe posted a photo of himself surfing. 

Donna Moss Daily: December 10 | December 11 | December 12 | December 13 | December 14 | December 15 | December 16

Daily Josh Lyman: December 10 | December 11 | December 12 | December 13 | December 14 | December 15 | December 16

No Context BWhit: December 10 | December 11 | December 12 | December 13 | December 14 | December 15 | December 16

@twwarchive: December 11 | December 16

@JanneyUpdates: December 12

Edits/Artwork:

#joshdonna: safety net by @nacejisbon [VIDEO EDIT]

Editors’ Choice: 

This week brings us the anniversary of the first airing of Impact Winter. Here are some of our favorite fics based on that episode. Be sure to share yours that we didn’t include!

and what have you done by sam_writes_fics | Rated T | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | Complete | It's the first Christmas Day without her in five years, and the silent vow made in a cold and empty apartment to fix this. To fix them. Even if he doesn’t know how. //’tis the season The Harsh Impact of Reality by GinnyK | Rated M | Abbey Bartlet/Jed Bartlet | Complete | Post Ep Impact Winter Two Weeks by Jennifer Wilson [archived by westwingfancentral_archivist] | Rated M | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | Complete | This is set the day Donna quits and takes a hard turn away from canon after the words, 'I quit.' Thanks to the Watermelon Martini by LizaCameron | Rated T | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | Complete | Post-ep for Impact Winter. Josh finds it within himself to be a "man" and goes after Donna. someone like you, a desperado like me by popmart (tambsi) for onekisstotakewithme | Rated G | Josh Lyman/Sam Seaborn | Complete | things you said with too many miles between us

Look out for our reblog with this week's fics!