#its not that donna was alone without him. its not that she had no one else there to support her.

[quietwingsinthesky]

do you think fourteen has a breakdown one day about just how much time with donna he lost. it was that easy, the whole time, for the metacrisis issue to be resolved, and instead of him ever figuring that out, he lost years and years of a life he could have had with her. he stood on the outskirts of her wedding. he wasn’t there when she was pregnant with rose and wasn’t there when she had her. he wasn’t there for a thousand little moments where he could have made her laugh. every time she looked for him without remembering who she was looking for could have been a time he was standing next to her. and he’s never going to get that back. time machine at his fingertips and yet somehow the one thing he never has enough of is time.

[bootlegramdomneess]

The Bear Season 2 thoughts

After watching The Bear season 2 and letting things marinate, I think I’d like to share my thoughts. First, as a therapist, for me this show perfectly depicts trauma and its effects in its most raw form. It was so uncomfortable and heartbreaking to watch at times, I felt like one of the themes of this season is sacrifice. What are you willing to sacrifice to A. Discover your purpose and B. is it worth sacrificing so much for success? I saw this theme numerous times throughout the season particularly with the Star convo and from Chef Luca when Marcus asked if it is all worth it and the convo Carmy had with uncle Jimmy about the story of failure

 The Xmas episode: This was hard to watch. I had to keep pausing it. Donna is so dysregulated and disturbed. But what I really want to discus and Mikey and Carmy’s dynamic. Mikey is so troubled. He is so unwell. Mikey is Carmy’s hero, but I think Carmy doesn’t see how deeply troubled his brother is. Mikey admires Carmy so much because Carmy was brave enough to get away from the family to pursue his dreams. So heartbreaking.  SO MUCH DYSFUNCTION.

 Claire- Her character wasn’t fully developed, but I feel like maybe it was done purposefully. We are seeing her through Carmy’s eyes and Carmy doesn’t seem to really know how he feels about her, or know her.  He says he’s in love after being forced to choose a feeling, but really he’s only just connected with her. I think perhaps he is equating that feeling of enjoying being with her with love, or maybe even having sex with her with love. He latched onto Claire because she is good at comforting him. Many people who come from dysfunction struggle with this and will latch onto people who appear to be good at this.  He’s with her because he thinks, oh, this is fun and normal. He used the term seeking “FUN” but he is searching for normality without a clue as to what normal is. Even deeper, he’s searching for a true path to becoming a healthy adult.

  Carmy: I empathize with him so much.  I do see Carmy has made some progress. His insight has improved a bit as he recognizes how much trauma he has experienced and how it has manifested in his adult life.  He is trying. He is seeking to change. He has recognized the need to be less emotionally inhibited. His judgement is a little impaired though. He sort of thrives In Chaos. That’s why the alarm going off wasn’t bothering him. That’s why he created this entire scenario by getting in a serious relationship with a stranger. He is so emotionally inhibited: The excessive inhibition of spontaneous action, feeling, or communication, usually to avoid disapproval by others, feelings of shame, or losing control of one’s impulses. inhibition of Positive impulses (e.g., joy, affection, sexual excitement, play); (c) difficulty expressing vulnerability or communicating freely about one’s feelings, needs, and so forth; or (d) excessive emphasis on rationality while disregarding emotions. I think this is his main Schema. Yah boy is messed up and needs some one-on-one therapy. I can go on and on about this. There’s so much. Carmy’s actions are pretty on point for someone coming from trauma, dysfunctional parents, and alcoholic parents. He behavior breathes asshole, but really, he has a deeply wounded, lonely, angry, abandoned and abused inner child and his adult self needs some serious healing.  

 Sydney: I love how they wrote and expanded her character this season.  I love how vulnerable they showed her to be. How hard she worked to deal with the growing anxiety. I felt her loneliness when she was eating that giant sundae alone, but I also loved seeing her in her element. Her dad is an ace. She has such a grounding, funny, hardworking energy.

 Carmy and Sydney: my babies. Their dynamic is so sweet. So genuine. So raw and real. How many times has he had a panic attack and thoughts of Sydney grounded him? Like..sir. I also feel he’s trying to protect Sydney in a way, and I see this in the star conversation. Underneath his words he is saying: I had to give up so much to get this and I don’t want that for you. It’s hell. It’s fucking terrible pressure. You don’t want this, but also not saying it because maybe he doesn’t want to shatter or shit on her dreams and ambitions. The foreshadowing of the growing anxiety she’ll likely face in the next season with the receipt machine going off in her head was telling. I think this is what Carmy is warning her about. I love when she jokingly teases him. I appreciate how he notices things about her: “you like making people happy.” I like that she calls him out and communicates her needs to him. This is a slow burn. They’re so awkward. They want to hang out. I don’t think they realize they may have feelings yet or if they ever will. They are so much a like in certain aspects but so different in how they view the world because of how they were raised.

Lastly, Richie is the MVP for me this season. I have a soft spot for him.

[chucapybara]

reference. [a donna beneviento x maiden short, part ii]

speedran the second part, oop! it's much longer than the first, so enjoy :) for reference the first short ended at 900 words and this one stretched to 2.3k haha! heisenberg is mentioned in this one but does not appear himself.

bringing the tray up the lift is an easy enough feat on its own. after having spent a number of years in your lady's company, the motions are, in essence, routine: a pattern in your mind already drawn by your thoughts before you so much as act upon them.

that ease would be the case, of course, were it not for the presence of a certain doll pestering at your ankles. grabbing at the fabric of your trousers and scaling the back of your blouse, angie swiftly makes it her business to climb you like a tree.

and, well, to a degree, it was angie's business. that, you couldn't argue. after all, it was by her suggestion that you were occupied by all this preparation in the first place, with your journal tucked in your pocket—awaiting an opportunity for the 'real thing', as angie had put it.

“miss angie, please don't test my balance,” you say, as you elbow the up button. “it would be a waste of tea if all this fell over.”

angie grunts with effort as she settles onto your shoulder, the folds of her dress stealing a third of your vision. “angie!” you sigh, holding tighter onto the tray. the elevator doors click into place, gears rumbling as the car rises up the shaft.

“it's a good view up here! all the better to see your faces!” angie cackles, jaw clacking while she wraps a metal-jointed arm around your face. you grumble a futile protest, going unheard by the doll obscuring your view.

once upon a time, being in such a confined space unsettled you. the gate, when shut, almost felt a cage, and you worried that the age of the manor would inadvertently show itself while you rode alone in service of the lady's wishes. but not long after your arrival to house beneviento, a man had come by as you worked the gardens.

'gear-gnasher', angie had called him. when you rose to your feet to welcome the visitor, sunglasses and trench coat and fedora and the stench of cigar smoke and machine oil and iron steel on him, he'd introduced himself as lady donna's brother—lord karl heisenberg.

he was friendly, if not a little overly so: hand on your shoulder, firm pats on your back that you swore almost dislocated your ribs. glad to see that his sister finally had some manner of company that wasn't just her crafted creations, heisenberg found joy in getting up close and personal, taking great interest in the beneviento's new maid; and while you tried to reciprocate out of respect to the lord, you found a little trouble in doing so with his smoky breath so close.

the fragrance of orchids and roses broke the two of you apart when a fourth, looming presence presented herself. it was a scent you had since come to love and associate with your lady, and justly so, as it seemed that donna herself had come to collect heisenberg.

angie told you later that day of the lord's work, while you smoothed out and cleaned her dress. he was to maintain and repair some of the mechanisms around the home to ensure its occupants' safety, all arranged by the head of the house.

(and then angie proceeded to whine about how such measures were unneeded, considering herself and donna had no problem getting from one floor to another with the rickety elevator as they were—but it was the first time you'd ever known such a gesture of rather affectionate precaution, made on your behalf from the lady beneviento. throughout the years, you found, it was certainly not to be her last.)

you take great care in balancing both angie and the tea tray as you exit the lift on the main floor. angie prods your face, her legs swinging, dubious acts you can't help believe are meant to displace your steps; you hold fast, however, almost disappointing angie when you manage to make it out the front door without spilling a drop.

”angie.” a voice chides, soft. your heart skips simultaneously with angie's disgruntled grumble, and the cool sun is once again made visible to you as angie hops down from your shoulder.

donna sits at the porchside, one of her smaller fabric projects cradled in her lap. her veil is abandoned on the table beside, and while a soft fluster colours at her pale skin as your eyes meet hers, the ease in donna's gaze and the slightest curl of her lip speaks much regarding the comfort your lady has found in laying her face bare for you to see.

“some tea, my lady?” you offer, placing the tray on the table. with the afternoon temperatures moderated well by the waterfall on the rearside of the manor, you well look forward to the peace of having a break, made better with donna's company.

”thank you, mio dolce.“ donna says warmly, and peers at the plated snacks. you can't help puffing up with joy; it isn't often that donna speaks, even around you, and so every gently spoken phrase is nestled in your heart heart, cradling it there with the same delicacy that donna now holds angie in her lap. “what are these?”

“croquettes! i made pancakes, too,” you smile as you take your seat opposite the pair. angie has already taken one of the treats, chewing on it—you've come to simply accept giving yourself the benefit of the doubt as to where the food goes. it's a wonder that angie hadn't snuck one for herself while on the elevator.

(or maybe she did, and her dress in your face concealed the crime from view.)

donna is more mannered, forking one of the croquettes and bringing it close for a bite while you pour tea for the two ladies. you fail to notice her inquisitive glances, as though wanting to raise a query to you.

“you've… become quite the cook,” lady beneviento hums. she clears her throat, gratefully taking cup and saucer and lifting them to her lips. you can't help studying every graceful motion, delicate movements, committing each detail to mind.

“i'm glad you enjoy it.” you beam. you're fixated on the curve of donna's jaw, the bumps and marred skin of the scar that has claimed her right eye, the lines connecting the whole of your muse's image together.

many times have you done this, as subtly as you could—but each occasion has never made your sketches of donna any easier, as though the picture of your lady in your mind and in reality is simply beyond what your hands could ever recreate.

(after all, what mortal hands could ever come close to sculpting a portrait of the divine?)

you've yet to take from the plate of treats you've made, or sip from your own tea. you reach into your pocket, keeping your journal in your lap under the table, out of donna's sight.

perhaps this would be your chance to capture that long-awaited accuracy you've been desiring for some time.

though you aren't the best of actresses, neither is donna, and the longer you have the pages propped open under the table, the more you begin to feel that donna is suspecting your intentions with the snacks and the tea.

these breaks are a regular part of your routines, of course: a precious time away from your work and your lady's to spend in one another's company, a welcome breather from the monotony. yet, with all the knowledge you keep on one another, it isn't so difficult to discern when something has shifted in the air.

you spend so long staring hard at the pencil lines that you hardly register movement across from you, in the form of an ebony dress skirt rising from a chair, its figure drawing close. it isn't until you hear a curious gasp from your side that you startle, pencil almost flying from your grasp as you snap your head upwards.

it's too late to shut your journal closed, but you do so anyway with the fury of red-hot embarrassment warming your cheeks—and donna's, you find.

(not like you were making a point to be overly secretive, anyway. angie has been biting her non-existent tongue from remarking on your shared glances, not so different from skittish lovebirds.)

“were you… sketching me?”

donna wrings her hands together, and for a moment, the curiosity in her eye flickers between a sudden apprehension. you set your journal and pencil on the table, and reach to cup donna's palms in yours.

angie takes this moment to make a sound not at all unlike gagging. she swiftly excuses herself from the premises; “when i come back, you better draw me too!” angie demands, words you can only laugh at with the predicament you've shoveled yourself into.

“yes, i was,” you can't help the sheepish smile on your lips as you squeeze donna's hands. neither smooth nor too rough, a part of you knows that this touch you cradle are those of a most experienced dollmaker, an artisan—even as your heart whispers, 'an angel. you hold your lady, a lady of creation, someone incandescently wondrous, in this village of mold and the craven undead.'

“i could never get it right the previous times. it drove me up the wall! so i thought i'd take the chance to sketch you while you were busy with the snacks.” the warmth of your shame does not vanish from your features, but you cannot do any less than smile for your lady. “you look positively beautiful, my lady. forgive me. i can rid of the sketch if you wish—”

“no, no.” donna shakes her head. she releases your hands, and for a moment you find yourself aching to hold them again, to bridge the distance between artist and muse.

donna reclaims her seat, to the muffled sounds of what is surely angie messing about inside the manor. your lady straightens up, posture rigid, as though preparing to be painted, as she once had been with the portrait of herself and angie on the foyer wall.

she's posing for you, you realise; and once more does your heart skip a single pace, as donna's own countenance colours a darker rose.

you chuckle again, a sound lacking malice or mockery, as you bring your pencil back between your fingers. “oh, be at ease, donna,” you murmur kindly. “this is not so formal. do as you like, and don't mind me at all!”

returning to the hastily-enclosed page, you begin a second time, more aware now as donna slowly relaxes, ashened iris centred on you.

from one artist to another, being under donna's visage this way makes you feel almost like the object of study. not that you minded, of course.

there's a clatter of donna's fork preceding the bump of something bready against your lip, and you look up, noticing how your lady holds out a croquette. with another smile of thanks, you close your mouth around it, plucking the treat off the tine.

(lady beneviento was quite right, indeed. your cooking has improved.)

you eat as you sketch, your lines more confident now as you pencil in the dark of donna's dress, her sleeves, her bunned hair. you have some trouble with her scar, with the current angle of her face.

reaching across, your fingertips delicately brush against donna's cheek, tender and gentle. “my lady. excuse me,” you whisper, nudging her chin with the intent of getting a better picture of donna's face—but instead, your hand lingers, as if not wishing to let go.

you can feel donna's warm breath on your palm, the surprise in her expression softening, as she seeks out more of your touch. there's a whisper on her tongue, and you vaguely think it is your name, glued as you are to donna's eye, and then to her lip.

you brush your thumb, there. your throat tightens, just the slightest bit.

“perhaps,” your lady voices, and it moves you from your reverie with a fluster, “i could persuade you to let me capture your likeness, as well.”

“in a doll?”

“in whatever you would like it to be.”

“and how would you go about such a thing, my lady?”

though you make to withdraw your hand, to return to your sketch, donna's grasp is firm around your wrist when she tugs you back. the table clutters with the movement, and even with the lady beneviento's gentle hold, you have almost forgotten the power of this spell donna wields over your heart.

your faces are close, too close, but you care little for the way the tablewood digs into your hips. all you know, all you see here, is her.

“i have my methods,” donna muses, and she nudges her lips to yours.

petals harken her name, flourishing under delight and sun and mist as donna beneviento kisses you, and it is as true as it is indeed divine. eyelids fluttering shut, you will yourself to her command, sighing with the fluttering beat of your ribcage, thrumming in your ears.

in parting from her comes a wish of wanting, but you steel yourself, before greed takes hold of you any further. the cool air barely suffices in restoring the breath taken from, shared with you, and it's easy to forget what you were even doing before it.

donna adorns an expression more shy than it is bold, an irony considering her forwardness mere seconds ago.

“does that suffice to convince you?” she asks, amused in her tone.

you move your chair closer to her, an elated grin plaguing your face.

“oh, more than, my lady.”

”FINALLY!“ a triumphant, high-pitched bellow echoes, as the door slams open. out trots angie, having returned for her demand. ”is it my turn now? it's my turn!“

you laugh, and with donna's own melodious joining, you cannot quite remember why you were so worried in the first place. to be closer to your muse, after all, rewards the most accuracy—and how could you ever think of being any more farther apart?

[borrowedtimeandspace]

Picking Up the Pieces

1 | 2 | 3 [here]

AU: A Patient, and Time (Donna AU)

~~~

“Donna? I was just going.”

“Yeah. See ya.”

Such an absentminded goodbye from Donna sent something cold right to the Doctor's chest. After all they'd been through, very little would feel like a satisfactory farewell, but this…

And as he walked away, listening to her mundane phone chatter fade into the background, he reminded himself that he was lucky to get any sort of goodbye from Donna at all.

His remaining companion didn't even have that luxury.

When he poked his head back in the bedroom and took a quick glance around, he didn't see Zepheera right away. That was to be expected, as she was meant to hide. So he gently called out, “Zepheera?” and waited for a response.

None came, at least not directly. If he hadn't lived with someone so small for so long, he might have missed the quiet sound of sniffling. And it wasn't coming from the nightstand.

The Doctor approached the bed with measured steps, and he hesitated only a breath before leaning down to gently pull back one side of the pillow. Having long since sensed his movement, Zepheera was just pushing herself up to stand as she scrubbed at her cheeks. It took her a few ineffective steadying breaths before she brought herself to lift her chin and lock eyes with the Doctor.

He felt the slightest bit of his resolve to stay strong for everyone here crumble away. Those tiny violet eyes were no longer full of the anger towards him that they had when he left the room. Without it, all that was left was the hurt that the Doctor knew he shared with her.

With one hand holding back part of the pillow, he lowered the other to lay palm-up next to Zepheera. She stepped up onto it stiffly, shoulders squared and chin held high. The Doctor recognized it as her attempt to put up a front the way he was, as she remained motionless while the Doctor's fingers curled into a living railing beside her.

Her hastily built walls shattered once the Doctor lifted her away and drew her in towards himself. Despite moving slowly and smoothly, he felt her weight shift and her usually impeccable balance waver in his hand, and he froze. He watched her knees give out from underneath her as she collapsed in a heap at the base of his fingers. She leaned as heavily as her slight frame would allow against the lower segments of two of his fingers, and the Doctor felt more than saw her tiny hands clinging to one of them as she shook with barely restrained sobs.

A tightness in his chest made the Doctor aware of the breath he'd been holding, and he forced himself to give one long inhale and exhale. Still, he couldn't bring himself to break. Zepheera needed him.

So he carefully lifted his free hand to curl its fingers around Zepheera's back, gently resting on it in case she rejected the gesture. She didn't, and any remaining weight she carried leaned into their touch. With that acceptance, the Doctor let his fingers reach further, all but surrounding the borrower in his hands as he drew them into his chest.

It wasn't exactly a hug, but it was the closest they could come to one in that moment. Though the Doctor couldn't do the same for himself, he let Zepheera grieve and work through the emotions he kept inside.

“Doctor?”

Wilfred’s gentle voice, filled with concern, drew the Doctor's attention. Seeing the state the Time Lord was in, he glanced between his hollow gaze and the curled hands he held close. 

“I'll walk you out,” offered Wilf, wishing he didn't have to.

The Doctor nodded, finally dragging his feet to move out of Donna's room. Out of her house. Out of her life. For the last time.

At least he wasn't alone.

[reddogf13]

scene from fanfic in progress "pride & ruin"

its an alpha/ omega one, but without the usual domestic violence lore or the anatomy swappage. has way more fluff and on the lines of hurt/comfort. i call it alpha/omega for vanilla people or alpha/omega "diet flavor". this scene was also written down out of order, so some bits may change, but overall i like how it is.

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

Alcina stared into the destroyed mirror. The glow of her eyes caught in the reflection of the glass. Looking back at her miserable self sitting alone in the dark. Why am I not enough? Looking over her knuckles left bleeding from punching the vanity mirror. Was it worth it? … Well, Heisenberg is gone. Softly smiling about it. Her lovely landscape view was always tainted by the black smoke of Karl's running factory, but now no longer. No more meetings with him, or anyone. No one can call me useless, worthless, a disappointment. These are my lands now and I doubt Donna will challenge me for the title. She sighed at the dreadful feeling sinking in again. Ethan was still here, she wanted him to leave already. But wasn't about to chase him out. Why bother, to make the position available? Could I find another omega out there? Should I take the time to travel? She shut her eyes until a plik noise had her look down. Growling at her bloody side dripping down to the floor. Great, hate getting blood on the carpet. She stood from her small stool, Heading out into the darkened hall down to the large cleaning closet. Grabbing a handful of gauze rolls to return with.

Ethan had been wandering the dark castle for not too long. Having no goal of where to go, but hope his buzzing thoughts would be silenced. His sleep had been thrown off since after Miranda's death. Questioning weather it was anxiety or for other reasons. Alcina had left him alone since Donna gave his official rejection. He was expected to move on eventually, it be rude not to. Hogging an important omega position that another could take. He wanted to, it'd be better for him and rose if he did. Yet, a part of him was regretting his answer. Her scent was gone from the omega den. He missed the bonding talks, her gentle care to calm his nerves. He felt alone, even with the girls still happy to hang around. He avoided the alpha for as long as he could and now all he wanted was her attention.

He tossed and turned in his bed for hours. Moving rosemary to the nursery, thinking. No point in both of us going without sleep. Tossing and turning alone under the layers for a while longer. Tired of that he left the room to wander the castle. He stopped at a crossing hall when he heard her approaching steps. Shrinking slightly against the nearby wall when she came into view. It was the first time he'd ever seen her in more relaxed presentation. A short sleeved buttoned up nightshirt of varying grays that draped to her hips. Matching baggy pants went down to cover a pair of simple black slip on shoes. Her hair flowed down loosely into wavy curls ending at her shoulders. Her beauty captivated him, as always, into staying speechless. Keeping quiet when her eyes flicked onto him. A golden glow from them catching the minimal light.

Spotting him immediately in the darkness between them. She stopped to ask. “why are you up?”

he swallowed before answering. “couldn't sleep. … why are you?” trying not to over step in asking. He cast his eyes down from hers. He didn't know how she'd still be taking the rejection.

“Bandages. ... Do you need anything?”

“No, I'm fine.” Ethan studied her hands without their usual gloves for cover. He saw the start of her sharp black nails along with the oddity of her finger tips being black as if frost bitten. Maybe ts just an illusion from the shadows. Concerned about the fresh blood on her knuckles, but he didn't ask about it. carefully glancing over he did spot another concerning issue. The edge of a large bloody patch at her side. From his angle he couldn't tell exactly how big. A plip noise hit the cool marble floor, now marked by a drop of blood. Following where she came from he could see a small trail highlighted by the moonlit windows.

She glanced back just as he did. Scowling at the mess she was trailing. “you should return to bed.” stepping past the crossing halls to leave Ethan alone.

leaving the way she was had Ethan's anxiety spike. She cant be left like that. “can I help?” he offered before she got too far.

She stopped to looked back. “If you wish.” giving him the grace of catching up to her side before continuing.

[companionjones]

My Job

Pairing: Josh Lyman x (She/her)Reader

Fandom: The West Wing

Summary: After a heroic but tragic act, the Senior Staff waits for you to come out of surgery in a hospital waiting room.

Warnings: Surgeries, some cursing, major angst, about as violent as West Wing can get on its worst days

This story is inspired by @fanficfanatic1997’s story Fresh Bruises. If you’re a West Wing fan, I highly recommend you read this. It’s a multi-part story, and it is very beautifully written.

*******

    The waiting room was quieter than it should’ve been. Of course it was. A member of the United States Senior Staff was currently being operated on. CJ was leaning her head on Toby’s shoulder as the two sat on a couple chairs. Sam and Donna sat, quietly talking. They didn’t know what else to do with themselves. Josh was who sat alone. No one knew what to say to him.

    Leo walked in then, setting everything into motion. “How is she?”

    Even though he wasn’t the President, mostly everyone else in the room stood when Leo entered.

    Sam started filling in the Chief of Staff. “She has one stab wound in her abdomen, the other in her shoulder, pretty close to her neck.”

    Toby kept his voice down, in light of Josh. “It doesn’t look good. She lost a lot of blood.”

    CJ, as always, was the voice of compassion. “She fought him off. I don’t know how she did it. She fought off an assailant of the President and won. The guy went down.”

    Donna asked, “Do we know who he was yet?”

    Normally, Leo couldn’t have told a secretary such secretive information, but it wasn’t sensitive anymore. Really, it wasn’t sensitive as soon as you killed the attacker, but it definitely wasn’t sensitive by then. Most of the news stations were already reporting the whole story. Leo informed, “His name was Carl Henrikson. He was acting alone. The last stimulus apparently wasn’t enough for him to keep his home and job.”

    “Like he deserved them,” Donna remarked as CJ got on the phone.

    The Press Secretary apologized, “I’ve stayed here too long already. Toby, you’ll keep me updated?”

    “Yes,” he confirmed.

    “And not just for--”

    “--Not just for the job, I know. I know you care about her just as much as the rest of us, Claudia.” It was one of the rare moments Toby Ziegler had softness in his eyes.

    CJ nodded in sincere thanks to her friend, then took her leave.

    Leo did the same, except instead of exiting the room, the Chief of Staff went to sit next to his deputy. “She’ll be alright,” he told Josh. “You know Y/n. She’s the best fighter there is. She’ll make it through this.”

    For the first time since you had left his arms, Josh spoke, “I don’t think I can do this without her.”

    “Do what?” Leo wondered.

    “My job.” Josh’s voice cracked when he answered. He looked so empty. “I don’t think I can do anything without her.”

    “Mr. Lyman?” a doctor suddenly interrupted, approaching the Chief and his deputy.

    They stood, and so did everyone else in the room.

    “What’s the news on her?” Leo inquired, knowing Josh was too far away in his head to really pay attention.

    The doctor gave her spiel, but all Josh really got was that you were still unconscious. “Can I see her?”

    He alone was granted visitation. Josh was shaking so much on his way to you. When he finally saw you, Josh thought he died because his whole body froze up. Maybe he was only dreaming. Maybe you weren’t actually laying there, in that be, barely breathing and looking entirely lifeless.

    “You look horrible.” Josh’s tentative jibe barely did anything to break the suffocating silence of the room. Josh thought he was going to throw up when you didn’t reply with a slight in kind. “What were you thinking, taking that guy on? Did you think you were some bulletproof superhero that could kick everyone’s ass? God, you would need to be a real idiot--” He cut himself off then, finally realizing that he was taking his anger out on you. “I-I’m sorry. I know you didn’t deliberately take him on. I know he tried to shove his way past you, and you probably just reacted...” Josh took the steps needed to get to the side of your bed. “...Though, knowing you, it probably wasn’t just a reaction. You were protecting the President. I probably would’ve done the same, but I’d probably be in worse shape than you if I had...If there is a such thing as worse shape...this really isn’t your best day. Maybe it’s your hair?...” Josh shook his head. “You’re killing me with this ‘not answering’ thing...You gotta wake up. You’ve gotta wake up, and then we’ll go home, and then you’ll force me to go to bed even though I’ve got work to do at home like I do every night...Just...wake up...please?...Come on, babe. I need you to wake up for me. God, when I saw you go down, I don’t think I’ve breathed since then. And when I had you in my arms, an-and your blood...” There was that feeling of throwing up again. “God, they couldn’t have brushed your hair or something--?”

    “Would you shut up about how I look already?” sounded your weak, scratchy voice.

    Josh’s heart simultaneously dropped into the pit of his stomach and jumped into his throat. “Y/n? Y/n, oh my god. I’ll ring a nurse.” He pressed the button above your bed. “How are you feeling? Do you need water?”

    “Yeah,” you rasped.

    Josh turned his back to get you some but when he turned back, he barely thought to put the cup on your bedside table before lunging for you. “Y/n! Don’t try to sit up now.”

    You sighed, laying back down. “It was worth a try.” You took the straw Josh offered you in your mouth. As you took a few sips of water, you saw Josh staring at you. “What?”

    “You’re just--so beautiful.”

    That got you to snort. “Nice try at a save, honey.”

    He was smiling with all his teeth. “Doesn’t matter if you believe me or not. It’s true.”

    “Yeah, yeah,” you chuckled.

    A few hours later, your room was buzzing with people. All the Senior Staff were there. Even CJ made it back about an hour after you woke up. There were happy reunions, and everyone refused to leave you and planned to stay by your side until the nurses threw them out. Only Leo had to head back to the White House, and he reluctantly did so after asking you several times if you were okay with it. Of course you were.

    By then, you were all doing your jobs, despite the late hour of the night. There had just been an assassination attempt on the President, after all. You had begged everyone, especially Josh, to give you some work. What else were you supposed to do? Josh was still a little hesitant about putting you under any sort of pressure, but have the reason you wanted to work was to annoy your partner. You chuckled at Josh when you finally got your way.

    “Who the hell gave Y/n a laptop?”

    Everyone in the room sprung to their feet. “Good evening, Mr. President,” was said by everyone almost at the same time.

    “Good evening, Mr. Prez--” Josh took his turn to say, but then he caught sight of you out of the corner of his eye. “What are you--?”

    CJ saw you almost simultaneously, and she worriedly sprung toward you. “Y/n!”

    Nearly everyone else voiced their alarm as well, and several others tried to stop you from standing up in the President’s presence.

    “Y/n, are you crazy? You’ve just been stabbed! You don’t need to stand up for the President.” Josh reprimanded you, only fighting a small smile.

    President Bartlet backed up his Deputy Chief of Staff, “Y/n, I promise I won’t be disrespected if you don’t stand. Hell, after what you’ve done for me tonight, I wouldn’t feel disrespected if you threw a tomato at me every time I entered a room.”

    “Yeah, but I would,” notified Dr. Bartlet as she entered the room with Zoey and Charlie behind her. “The stains would be hell to get out.”

    The President jokingly rolled his eyes. “When was the last time you had to do my laundry?”

    She raised an eyebrow. “I’m still surprised I had to do it at all seeing I met you when you were already old enough to vote.”

    Ignoring her parents, Zoey walked up to you and kissed your cheek. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you so much for what you did for my father.”

    You didn’t know what to respond with either, so after an affectionate smile to Zoey, you referred back to the 'trying to stand up when you were seriously injured’ thing. “Sorry about that, Mr. President. It’s a force of habit.”

    President Bartlet’s brow raised. “Oh boy, I hope you’re not apologizing for saving my life earlier.”

    “Of course not, sir. I just--”

    Dr. Bartlet stepped in to save you. “You don’t need to clarify, Y/n. My husband was just trying to be funny. Which he really has no room to do because he likely wouldn’t be standing here without you.”

    “Oh, I doubt that, ma’am. There were tons of secret service--”

    “But you were the one to take him down, Y/n,” Abbey cut you off to say. “Thank you. Thank you so much for what you have done for us. We are truly in debt to you for this.”

    The President nodded, “That is true, Y/n. There is nothing I could possibly do to get you back for this.”

    “With all due respect, that’s not on the table, sir, ma’am.” You clarified, turning back to Jed, “You are the President of the United States. It’s my job to protect you. Although, I never thought I’d be doing it in such a direct way.” You tried at a joke, then quickly grew serious again. “And...you being the President really had nothing to do with this, sir. I look up to you. Just like everyone else in this room. I did what I felt was right in the moment, and I got lucky.”

    “And thank God you did,” Jed thanked you sincerely. He took your hand, kissed the back of it, then clasped it in both his hands. You shared a moment with the President, then he placed your hand back at your side.

    President Bartlet then noticed Josh, whom Jed realized had been staring a hole into your forehead pretty much since the President and his family had entered the room. Bartlet rescued the Deputy Chief of Staff. “Alright, everybody out. It’s well past midnight and all of you need some help.”

    Although a couple of them looked disappointed to leave, they all, of course, followed the President’s casual order. Everyone had a quick personal goodbye to you, save for Toby, who only gave you a quick nod on his way out. You knew he wasn’t really one for sentimental words.

    Josh was the only one who didn’t move from his spot, and he gave a look to President Bartlet that said he was sorry for disobeying his sort-of-order, but there was no way Josh was leaving your side for a long time.

    Jed nodded, “I understand, Josh. I got everyone else out so the two of you could be alone for a little while.” He said the last part much lower, “And I am truly sorry for all of this. What this must have triggered for you, and nearly losing--”

    Josh couldn’t heart that said out loud. “I’m just happy she’s okay, Mr. President.”

    Bartlet understood. “That’s right. You two have a nice night.”

    “I should be back at work in about a week or so, sir. If you don’t need me,” Josh notified.

    Bartlet smiled at that. Leo must have told the President what Josh was thinking about doing. “Take all the time you need, the both of you,” were his last words before taking his leave.

    Josh turned his attention back to you. “Yeah, I’m not letting you back in the White House until a month after the doctors give the okay.”

    “You’re not gonna let me,” you laughed, “Yeah, okay. We’ll see how that goes...You’re staring again.”

    Josh grinned, “If I tell you why, you’re gonna yell at me again.”

    “Maybe I won’t this time. Try it,” you encouraged.

    His smile grew. “You’re beautiful. You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met, and you only get more beautiful every day.”

    You snorted, “Yeah, right.”

    He raised his eyebrows. “It’s true. I’ve never said anything more true in my entire life.”

    You chuckled, “Get over here and gold me so I can fall asleep.”

    “Yes, ma’am.” That dopey grin was back. Josh climbed into your hospital bed with you and you settled into his arms. The two of you rested in the silence for a moment before Josh said in a more serious tone, “I really did miss you.”

    “I know.”

    “I was terrified that you were--”

    “I know, but I’m still here.”

    “I know,” Josh swallowed, and pulled you closer to him. “I know.”

*******

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 West Wing stories over on my page. You should check it out. Have a nice day, night, or whatever time it is for you! <3 <3 <3

[jonmyblaze]

Uncle Wilson theTerminator.

Slade Wilson wasn't even looking for the girl, he was just on a kill mission but NoOoo...

apparently this little teenage blue haired twerp just TELEPORTED right in front of him after he sliced up another one of his targets.

Crap and now she's crying to.

And Christ the lungs on her. Not even Joey had that's strong of a lung

Oh look a whole minute. And now she's taking a breath.

----

Lian Harper remembered the Pain, she hated the teleportation, the heartache of being ripped away from her family

oh she fucking hated it it took her years but she hated it. She had finally gotten a chance to hug her father(see Green arrow 2023 #1)

But now she was ripped away again. Fuck.

Not even 10 minutes not even 10 fucking minutes that she could have with her own fucking dad without disappearing to God knows where, with blood and death and it looks like a meat grinder went off and killed everything in its path.

Her life was hell.

She just wanted to be with her family dad Uncle dick Donna! Ollie Wally conner. Anybody

Even mom. Fuck she forgot to tell Mom. Shit she dropped the mask.

She was alone. And Mom couldn't even find her. all because she wanted to hug her father.

------slade

It took the girl 10 minutes to finally calm down from crying. But still she knew how to wipe off the blood in less than a minute. That was strange. She even made sure to have none of the blood on her clothing.

"Who are you kid"

Slade wanted to know, no normal teenager would just teleport directly in front of his Carnage without some reason of being here.

"My name is l-Lian. " The girl with blue hair answered, almost unsure that was her own name.

"Well Where the hell did you come from Lian." That ignited something defensive in her it seemed.

"what's it to you? What, are you a cop? "

"So that I could send you back. To wherever the fuck you came from"

"Why the hell would you do that? Are you Fed? Black ops? cop? "

Because I don't want to deal with extra terrestrial bullshit. "

slade Wilson knew that if some random teenager teleported in front of you it's better to deal with their issues and then forget about that entire adventure it was best for his own sanity.

" Ha! Good luck with that." She smiled a bitter smile." I'm cursed"

Cursed kid? Sheesh

Kid I deal with the supernatural and mortal realm, I think you're exaggerating things

No! I'm not ! every time I'm with in my family I just get teleported to another part of the fucking Earth. I can't even hug my own damn father without being violently thrown across the planet."she was breaking again, she was going to cry slade did not want that.

He already had dealt with her for 10 fucking minutes of crying, pathetic ugly subs.

he did not want to be in that position again.

""I I just wanted to be with my family. Just want my dad. I'll take Mom even."

It was said on that day, The mercenary's heart grew three sizes that day. Or shrunk six sizes and just wanted to deal with the child and get her out of his hair. Depends on how you look at it.

Deathstroke removed his mask

+------

Lian looked at the man, he was grizzled old and with gray hair, wearing an eye patch.

A grizzled old pirate assassin? Just her fucking luckz, can't get a good education because teleporting can't be with Dad because teleporting, can't be with Grandpa Ollie because he's fucking dead, can't go to Dinah can't go to Connor Lian was fucked and all she has was this damn fucking old assumingly assassin.

Why in all that is holy was she cursed to have such a life of pain and misery what did she do?, At least she could fucking remember what her dad looks like. At least he remembered her name now.

Something's going on with the timelines she did not know but this was her fucking life, and if she has to use some grizzled asshole to get uncursed or find Mom she would use them.

Turning Real tears and fake tears into bargaining power against mercenaries was one of Lian's top skills. Even if that was only against mother.

-----

"I'll make you a deal child,

You give me information on your family names, addresses and stuff like that that I could use to hunt them down and then once we get this whole teleporter situation under wraps then you could be with your family happily ever after..

You'll be safe alive with your family in no time."

-----

Lian was desperate where was she to go, this wasn't Gotham this wasn't any other cities she was used to,

It was some kind of bunker in the middle of nowhere, she already looked around the premises and everything like Mom would have wanted her to. Like Dad would have wanted her to. And there was nothing.

If this will get her home this would be the only chance she has

------

*"You mean it?"she asked with a false innocence. She had to get home she couldn't take it anymore. No more teleporting no more bullshit.

"I promise I'll do everything in my power to ensure that you return home to your family"

Slade Wilson thought this would be easy.

Oh how he wished it was easy

[imasimpforstevengrant]

THRICE (Chapter 4)

Summary: Steven Grant was begotten from Marc's need to deal with emotional pain. Being a fraction of the same person and the living shield of a mercenary has its toll on his already frail psyche. Did Steven actually live a happy life as Marc intended him to?

Warnings: angst and comfort, lovesickness, DID, existential crisis, violence, death, fluff, sexual themes and smut (flashback), unsafe sex, breeding kink (kinda)

WC: 10.663 (I know it's too long, I hope you don't get bored!)

Note: This is basically a retelling of the series (chapters one to four). I hope you don't get bored, I wrote it as entertaining as I could.

Note²: Some of the lines and scenes (post-Moon Knight) are taken from:

• Marc Spector: Moon Knight (#27 - #31)

Note³: sorry for any typos. As you know, English is not my native language (Chilean spanish FTW)

Chapter four: Unworthiness

Life had never been easy for Marc Spector. 

After his mother's passing, his mind digs through the rubble of his shattered sanity, desperately searching for a sliver of stability. Unable to grieve the woman who made his life a living hell, Marc spawns a new self from the shreds of his soul. One who would live a simple, happy, and peaceful life, far from the problems that gnawed at his mind. One that took all the good things in his life to build a better man than Marc Spector could ever be. 

Steven Grant was what Marc Spector wanted so badly to be. He was the innocence that he no longer had, the sweetness that had already turned sour in his heart, the tenderness which he used to see in life before having become the executioner of his brother without wanting it.

Steven is sweet, meek and honest. He is plagued by insomnia when he tries to sleep, he works in a gift shop at the National Gallery of Art. Grant dreams about being a tour guide, even though Donna - that insufferable boss who was always hurtful towards him - always insisted on shattering any illusion of becoming one. He sometimes didn't quite understand why he was ignored or looked at as a freak.

He wakes up in his flat, alone as always, shielded by big pillows, blankets all over him and a restraint around the right ankle. Having sleeping disorders - if he ever managed to have a decent sleep - made him foster a self-care routine: he unties the restraint, steps head toward the door, taking off the blue adhesive and chain lock.

He then feeds his one – finned goldfish, whom he endearingly calls “Gus”, talks to his mom, tries to compensate for the lack of sleep by an even more dulling lethargy that ends up in awkward situations in public. Steven cannot understand the reasons behind the frequent mental and physical fatigue. That week had been so strange and stressful. Almost falling asleep in a bus, arriving late at work and a pretty, smiling woman who just passed by near him.

"Hello," she greets him. 

"Hellooo," Steven answers playfully, waving his hand. 

"How's the sugar trade going?"

"I don't know what this has to do with Egypt, really… they didn't have that back then, did they? No."

She stares at him.

"They liked figs and dates, and…" but she made a clear sign that something else was on the way, rushing to the end of the chat. 

"My next tour's here but just checking. We're still on for seven tomorrow?" She asked. 

Something else than perplexed, Steven mumbles:

"Seven… tomorrow?"

"Best steak in town"? Her frisky tone suggests him to stop playing as if he had forgotten it. 

"Oh, yeah… yeah, right…" Steven is unsure of the situation. She steps out of the Giftshop, but Steven follows her through the limited space behind the desk and display.

"What?" 

"Sorry… but… are you asking me out?" Steven almost whispers, as if such a thing was forbidden.  

The mysterious woman just laughs and comments how much of a funny guy he is. Donna walks by, witnessing the scene that had Steven Grant dazzled and confused. 

"Stevie, you absolute rascal. I didn't know you had taken a crack."

"I didn't know either."

"Hang on, did she say steak? What in the world's a bloody vegan gonna eat in a steakhouse?" 

"I don't know, Donna. Salad? Bread?" 

The disgust in her eyes was more insulting than any coarse comment she had darted at him that day.

"Yeah, I can see why she went for it. Real catch you are." 

Steven stuck with the good part: at least he had a date!

-----

How many times had he been the object of ridicule in his work for his fascination with ancient Egypt? Steven always found it nice to talk, given his deep loneliness, even though the weirded out looks of people killed any intention of further chatting. Despite this passive mistreatment by people, he always strove to make the environment pleasant and bearable. After spending the week in the inventory, he bids farewell to the guard, who cannot even remember his name.

"It's Steven… with a V," he gasped, a bit exasperated, accelerating the pace to get out of the place as soon as possible. 

Steven doesn't know it, but missing that day on a Friday evening would turn out to be much more than just an unfortunate loss. Once he's back in the flat, he proceeds to do the usual: sand in the floor to see if he had been up during night, blue adhesive tape to seal the door, chain lock securing the door and finally, the ankle restraint. 

Those nightmares. Those fucking nightmares that lately had been gnawing his mind. Nightmares where he was covered in someone else's blood, where his hands broke bones, smashed skulls with gushing flesh. It always ended with a dreadful Steven jumping off the bed, preventing a further run thanks to the restraint, anchoring him to reality. The initial pain of having his face smashed to the ground relieved his fears of a severe sleepwalking episode. 

This is a common theme he talks about with a living, golden statue in the square near his flat, the only company he manages to get. 

"Honestly, it's like my body wants to get up and wander about, you know, like it has to get the 10,000 steps in," He takes a bite of the vegan burrito he holds in his hand. 

"You know? I don't even know about it until I wake up. That's why I try to stay awake at night. What do you think? Nah, you're right. I mean I guess there are stranger things that people do, but… 

"No? Well, I think it's a bit…`` Suddenly, Steven turned around as if he had remembered something very important, taking a few chocolate bars for the time spent. 

"Extra pralines for the man himself." 

Steven continued the conversation - or more like a monologue -, mentioning the girl from work. 

"Anyway, if I am gonna have a girlfriend, at some point, obviously I can't have ankle restraints on my bed, can I? That's like the definition of a red flag, isn't it?"

The man knows what Steven means. Oh, yes he does. 

"I better jog on. Nice catching up. All right, laters."

-----

He repeats the routine once home. 'Staying awake' is on the phone, while solving a Rubik's cube, engulfing himself in the messy mountain of books about Egypt over his desk. Many things can be said about Steven. 

Being uncultured is not one of them.

Not being in control was something he had come to accept, though he always wondered why such a thing happened to him. His mild mannered ways crashed so much with the adrenaline of near death experiences seen in dreams. 

Searching for answers, Steven Grant spends countless hours, and even entire nights with his gaze upon books, filled with pictures illustrating dreams in vivid colors, mostly blue. Rain and hot chocolate were good company, while drifting away in long paragraphs. It all started with a nightmare. One bloody nightmare to make the lines between reality and dreams become blurred. He suddenly wakes up in a vast green field, far away from home. 

Perplexity becomes fear as he tastes the iron flavor of blood and the pain of a dislocated jaw. Disoriented and unsettled, Steven gets up to watch the beautiful yet unknown landscape before his eyes. 

"Go back to sleep, worm." 

Steven turned around, scared. 

"You're not supposed to be here," an angry otherworldly voice suddenly rang in his ears. 

"Yep. I completely agree… where are you?"

"Surrender the body to Marc!" the voice demanded.

Marc? Who the hell was Marc?

"Sorry, what? 'The body'? Wha—?" Steven answers puzzled, much to the presence's chagrin, "'surrender the body?' What body?" 

"Oh, the idiot is in control," there was a profound disappointment in his observation. He realizes there's something in his pocket. A golden scarab, more precisely. A quick move puts the object back safe in his jacket. He sees a castle-like edification behind his back. Two men peek out for Steven to wave his hand at… just to be greeted by a gust of bullets. 

"Don't you stand there! Run!" The voice screamed to an startled Steven, who didn't think twice before running for his life. A village was nearby, barely populated. Steven seeks refuge behind the walls of the unpainted facade and later, in a curious diaspora. 

People congregate, waiting for something or someone. His doubts are resolved when a man makes his way through the crowd, who admires him with unspoken hope in their expressions. People gather around him. Steven got the impression that he was a preacher, a spiritual guide. The man, leaning on his cane, begins to speak.

"What a beautiful day. It's like we're in Heaven. Only it's not Heaven, is it?"

The group of people grew larger as the man spoke about darkness, and how it hid in the heart sometimes. 

"We are here to make the Earth as much like Heaven as possible." Steven tries to go as unnoticed as he can, getting closer to have a better look of the curious scene.

"Who'd like to go first?"

He had a bad feeling about this, but he kept silent. A man steps forward. The leader praises his bravery to submit his soul to judgment on behalf of a dormant goddess. 

'What on earth is going on here?' he asks himself. 

The stranger and the leader place their hands above the other's.

"I judge you in Ammit's name with but a fraction of her power". The cane starts to oscillate. 

Ammit? Like… the first boogeyman? Steven was anxious to know how this situation would turn out, squinting to catch a better sight. The cane stopped balancing and the leader pronounced the verdict:

"This is the face of a good man".

The crowd rejoices silently. A few clap when the first one hugs the judged one. Steven turns around just to see the same two men who previously chased him in the hills near the gathering. He had to be out of there as soon as possible, but another willing individual got his attention again. An old lady pleads with the leader to repeat the process, just with her instead.

"Call me Arthur. Come" he offers his hand generously, "will you accept your scales, regardless of the outcome?" to which the lady gladly agrees. Steven slightly crouched down, fearing the worst when Arthur pronounced the ominous verdict.

"I've been good my entire life" the lady tries to rebuff.

"I believe you. But the scales see everything. Perhaps it's something that lies ahead".

Much to his horror, the body fell with a loud thud. Her skin turned into an unpleasant, pale gray shade that betrayed her death before their eyes. An armed man steps beside Arthur to whisper something he cannot hear clearly, due to his attention being completely drawn to the two people carrying the corpse of the lady away.

He then got up, shouting words in ancient Egyptian. The crowd immediately knelt… except for Steven, who mimicked the action way too late to go unnoticed this time. 

"Oh, bollocks," he sighed.

"You…" Arthur hissed, with an accusatory tone, "I know you."

"Me?" He gasped, inaudibly, pointing at himself and seeing no other option than to step up.

"Mercenary." Arthur spits. 

"No, no. I'm not a mercenary," Steven chuckles nervously, especially when the whole crowd turns around to see him. He futilely tries to explain his job in a Gift Shop, his name, where he lives. But nothing seems to change the hostile expression in Arthur's face. 

Chaos ensues when the cult leader demands the golden scarab to be returned. 

"You will give him nothing," The voice growls with an angry threat. 

Steven tries to obey Arthur to set himself free from this confusing situation. But it only leads to the cult chasing him to seize the object.

Then he blacks out. And everything goes downhill from there. Steven doesn't know, but once he regains conscience, all of those who tried to corner him are dead.

Horrified by the sight of blood, he drives a muffin van, escaping through the solitary highway with frantic despair. Scene gets more difficult when that voice again threatens to kill them both, displeased at his incompetence.

But how could he succeed when he was nothing more than a gift-shopist? Steven was no mercenary. Then he blacked out once again. The man he had attacked with a muffin fell through the open back doors. But he tried not to panic, especially when he was surrounded by two cars with armed men after dodging a truck. 

A third black out ended up with Steven driving in reverse and just when he thought this couldn't get any crazier, the people chasing him were crashed by falling logs from the truck he had avoided earlier. How was he alive? He doesn't know. 

Then, chuckling, wakes up in his flat. Steven falls on his back over the bed, unaware of what awaits him that day.

_____

Discovering Gus wasn't Gus anymore - the fish had its two fins - was the beginning of this spiral of insanity. When going to the pet store, the clerk explains that he had gotten another goldfish. When? He doesn't remember it. 

He then sees the clock. He had a date he couldn't miss. Though he thinks he looks like a knob, Steven Grant does his best to look acceptable for his date. He rushes to the steakhouse in a dark suit, patiently waiting for her with a box of chocolates and a bouquet of red roses. Minutes pass by and she's nowhere to be seen. Soon Steven finds out that the current day is not Friday, but Sunday. Her tone is angry and resentful when Steven tries to explain himself. 

"Come on, no. I think Friday still comes after Thursday, doesn't it?"

"It doesn't change the fact that today is Sunday, which means 'lose my number'. Cheers'. She ended the call. To ascertain this, he asked the waiter. He just confirmed what he feared. 

Bloody Sunday.  

_____

Steven leaves the steakhouse, broken hearted and ashamed. The failed date would be the least of his problems when he finds a key and a flip phone hidden in an upper corner of his flat. There are dozens of missed calls from the same person.

Layla. 

The device starts ringing, startling him. Who was Layla? Why were there so many unanswered calls? He jumps off his seat and revolves to answer the call. 

"Yeah?"

"Oh, my God, you're alive!" 

"Yeah, all right" is the only thing he can reply.

"That 's it? I've been texting you and calling you for months. You couldn't give me any sign that you were okay? I thought something happened to you. Where are you? Where have you been?" The woman asks, with certain exasperation.

Who was this lady? Why did she call him 'Marc'? 

"Steven." A male voice echoes, "Steven… you need to stop."

"Who said that?" 

"You're gonna get yourself in trouble."

"Oh, no, no, no, mate… someone's having a laugh." Steven wanders over the flat, looking for the origins of that mysterious voice. He goes to the bathroom and sees his reflection in the small, circular mirror hung on the wall. 

"Bloody hell…" he mutters but his reflection shakes his head. Terrified, Steven turns on the lights.

Nothing. 

"Steven. Stop. Looking" the same voice hisses. The electricity starts buzzing, a rumbling noise caused by his books falling prompts him to leave the place with phone in hand. He shelters in the elevator, pressing the buttons frantically so the sliding door can shield him from whatever threat may be after him. 

Only then, Steven sees an ominous presence at the end of the hallway. It was a beaked, mummified creature. He huddles against the mirrored wall, squirming like a prey being cornered by a predator. The flickering lights just made him more terrifying. It caws and keeps appearing, even on his way to work in the bus, for more shame. 

Steven didn't mind the weirded out glares, he just wanted to run away from that ghastly presence. His mind starts questioning his sanity but everything crumbles down to horror when he catches the sight of that man with long, grayish hair and cane. 

The same man who judged people in the name of Ammit in his dreams was just a few inches away from him.

What could possibly go worse now?

_____

The air feels heavy that night. The notion of persecution grows stronger. It's harder to focus but Steven tries to protect himself at any costs from this dangerous visitor.

"I'd assumed Steven Grant was an alias. Imagine my surprise to find you here." 

He steps back, telling the guard that he has been following him. But he rolls his sleeve, flaunting a tattoo of a scale.

"Praise Ammit." The guard says. 

Steven freezes. He then turns to face Arthur.

"Mate, I don't have your bloody beetle. I swear. I…" 

Arthur makes him know that the golden scarab doesn't belong to him, but to Ammit. The force that punishes the evildoers to protect the innocent, shaped by the Egyptians as a creature that merges the head of a crocodile, forequarters of a lion and hindquarters of a hippopotamus. These three animals are the ones Egyptians regarded as the largest "man eating" creatures. A beautiful way to combine fierceness and supernatural aspects, Steven thought. But even in beauty lies the horror. He tries to escape but many visitors besiege the entrance. 

How many people were part of this crazy cult?

He was convinced he was dead, until he repeated the process of judgment. Steven remembers that woman in the Alps, dead at Harrow's hands. The scales tattooed on his right arm start moving… but they don't offer a clear verdict.

"There's chaos in you" Harrow sentenced. The leader allows him to escape, but just to keep the cat and mouse game, since his uncertainty was a thrilling characteristic.

_____

The waning moon hardly enlightens the night. Almost like a prelude to the horror Steven is about to witness. Once he finishes registering the small gifts and souvenirs, he grabs his bag to lead home when he hears a distant squealing. He mistakes it for a dog, trying to lure the animal out of its hiding place. 

"Where are you, little bugger?" 

Steven walks by a mirror that reflects not one but two images of himself that just stare at him, perplexed - maybe - for his bravery to face this alone. A shadow behind a statue goes unnoticed for the mild mannered man, who keeps his unfruitful search.  

With the lights off, Steven finally sees what lurks within the shadows: a growling, menacing jackal. He hides behind a display containing a golden statue. The loudspeaker rings with a jolly marimba tune before Arthur speaks a warning like an omnipotent being:

"Steven Grant from the gift shop, give me the scarab and you won't be torn apart." 

It 's useless. Steven just throws his bag to earn time in his escape but the beast is faster: it hounds him towards the restroom, where there was no escape. 

He sees the mirror again, beholding the man whose voice he recognised from earlier:

"Steven… I can save us. But I can't have you fighting me this time." 

It was himself, with a more determined expression in his face. His attempt to find another way out was thwarted by the man who insisted on being given the control. 

"No, what? Control of what? What are you talking about?" 

"That thing's about to break through the door, we're out of time!" He exclaimed, pointing at it, "hey, listen to me…"

"Damn it, no!" Steven slaps his face to daunt the nightmare away, "you're not real!" 

"This is real. I am real" but Steven refuses, "you gotta give me control, it's the only way".

"I'm gonna die… I'm gonna die…" he repeats out of his mind. 

"You're not gonna die," Marc says firmly, "let me save us."

With the monster getting closer, Steven finally allows him to take control of the body. He feels a vertiginous depersonalization that soon flourished with his form summoning a suit. 

The hellish creature made its way into the ruined restroom, only to be greeted by the ruthless fist of Spector, dragging it back to finish it when it tried to escape his grasp. 

Even if he wasn't Steven, he was glad to finally fight back.

After his first confrontation with Harrow in London, Steven is determined to find answers to his questions. Tracking down the location through the key found with the flip phone, he heads to the cellar. 

What he discovers in that place leaves him speechless. There was a stretcher, a bag of guns stuffed with wads of cash, that damn gold beetle… and an American passport with that bloody name on it.

Marc Spector.

He appears in a reflection, finally clearing things up. The revelation of Marc Spector as a servant of Khonshu only leaves him even more confused. Steven disbelieves his situation, attributing his recent instability to having eaten a steak while he was a vegan. Convinced that his mind was playing tricks on him, Steven rushes out and does the right thing: report this the authorities and load himself with pills.

But when he flees from the place, he realizes that the existence of that deity is true. It approaches him threateningly, hissing angrily:

“Give it back, you fool.” 

But all Steven does is run away, carrying the bag with him. The heaviness of it causes him to trip on the sidewalk. A vespa almost runs over him, but then the most wonderful thing happens:

A woman with a familiar voice tilts her head, looking down at him. 

"Marc?"

Amazed, Steven Grant realizes who she is.

"Layla?"

_____

Steven is deeply deprived of touches. This harsh reality hits him like a bus when Layla appears in his life, envisioning his failures to go on simple dates, to hold small talks without being seen as a freak. Her first interaction with Steven is not precisely positive, though. She's angry and frustrated at him, complaining about his British accent and an abrupt disappearance he couldn't explain, much less understand. 

Things take another turn when she doesn't oppose nor protest when Steven wraps his arms around her waist, bringing her closer to him. Steven is so thunderstruck to speak even a word at this sudden closeness. He can have a feel of her body, battling the dichotomy of guilt and enjoyment for holding a feminine figure for the first time… as he could remember. 

"Do you see the spiral you put me through?" She asks accusingly… and heartbroken. Steven squints, without Layla noticing.

"It's not okay, yeah? I'm still your wife."

Wait. Steven's mind stopped working, overriding at the last word. He tried to get his thoughts back together as fast as he could to catch a break. 

"By the way, this would be a great time for you to say something. Anything. Just in case it's not clear."

"Sorry, sorry… Did you say wife?" Nervousness and amazement got his words correctly articulated, resulting in a disbelieving stammering.

"My… are we married?" Steven voiced, completely taken aback by a revelation that just crowned an insane week. His whole world had turned upside down in just a few days. Several seconds flew by for Steven to dimension the magnitude from being a mentally ill, recluse loner, buried in books to learning that there was a woman who took the time to know him, love him and marry him. 

Steven desperately begs her to take them to their flat, so he can explain everything that has been happening lately. It manages for her fury to ease down, though her harsh looks haunt him through the reflection.

_____

Steven cannot take his eyes off her, watching every small thing she does. Who was this mysterious, lovely woman who claimed to be nothing more than his wife? 

Layla, ignorant of the stormy thoughts dwelling in his mind, stares at the goldfish. Marc's reflection appears in the diaphanous glass of the aquarium. It doesn't take long for the mercenary to berate Steven for letting her inside the flat, demanding him to get her out. 

She wanders over the place, inspecting it. She insists on calling him for that bloody name. 

"It's Steven," yet she doesn't listen to his plea. 

"Are you living here with someone else?" Layla questions him, frowning at him after seeing the restraint. 

"No, this is my mum's flat" he rushes to answer. Layla keeps checking the place, and a book gets her attention. 

"Marceline Desbordes-Valmore?" 

"Yep" Steven nods, and not caring if he embarrasses himself he starts reciting in perfect french:

"I am sad, I want my lights put out…" but something wonderful happens, relieving the tension between them: Layla joins him, reciting the rest in perfect french and unison. 

"Summers in your absence are as dark… as a room." 

"Oui, Oui" Steven says, amazed and quickly adds, "she's my favorite poet." 

"Um… no," a puzzled Layla stutters after a few silent seconds, "she's my favorite." 

Not letting speechlessness overcome his newly found interest.

"That 's mental".

She now leads her steps to the desk, noticing the amount of books. Her anger is still there, but Steven follows her despite it.

"So, you're learning French and hieroglyphics?" 

"Yeah, well… that's not that impressive, really" and then again, he needs that awkward need to explain what he has learned in those insomniac nights. She knows about the topic and Steven sees the perfect opportunity to ease down her fire with his poised politeness, "it's not like hieroglyphics are a whole language, it's more like a…"

"Like an alphabet," she finishes. Steven's expression beams with interest. He's so dumbfounded that it takes a couple of seconds to answer. 

"Yeah… and… well, you still have to know ancient Egyptian to read it."

"Sure," she nods, coming closer to see the book Steven tries to teach her.

"Like this one here."

"Funeral rites," she asserted. 

If Steven wasn't fascinated before, he's now. His impressed eyes stare at Layla, marveling at her intelligence and beauty. He cannot help but let a wide, happy smile enlighten his face. 

"Well, someone knows their unilaterals" his playful comment tries to get a smile off her, "you."

He manages to, and he continues.

"That's amazing." She chuckles, hiding her face and the smile on Steven's face fades away, "sorry, I don't mean that in a creepy way–"

"No, I'm sorry. I'm not buying this, Marc" she scoffs, exasperated, "use whatever accent you want." 

Layla leaves his side.

"Let's just get this over with" she reaches for her bag and takes out a form, "you sent these papers but you never signed them." 

"Did I? Uhh…" everything is so confusing. Layla hands him the papers.

"This is what you wanted. After everything, you told me that we needed to move on" He finally had a look at the papers with his reading glasses on. 

"Divo… divorce?" He says it, not believing it.

"Yeah, we're doing this or not?" Layla asks him. 

Steven eyes the documents to comment, flirting:

"I would never divorce you," Steven is dying to know more about her. He hears a frustrated, stressed out sight from Layla. 

"What are you doing?" 

Steven Grant takes off his glasses, cherishing her figure with his eyes. He looks utterly lovestruck, too stunned to speak. 

"Look…" Layla is appalled by his gaze, staring at her as if she was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen in his life, "you seem absolutely lovely," his tender praise tries to soothe the evident pain Marc has put her through. He then turns to the small, circular mirror to face Spector and his abandonment. 

Once again, his words widen the abysmal gap between them. He tries to explain everything to Layla, despite his fear to be seen as an insane, desperate man. He doesn't expect her to believe him, since Steven himself cannot believe it. Marc's plea to let her out of his fall on deaf ears. Steven intends to show her what's in the bag, until the mercenary screams in his head to stop it.

"You're gonna get her killed! You hear me?!" 

The frustration in Layla grows even more when she sees the golden beetle. She spits at him, calling him out for his lies before the mild mannered man can form a reply.

"This whole one-man who is just what? So you can keep it for yourself?!" 

"No, I swear…" Steven tries to explain himself but her anger corners him like a wounded animal. 

"Just stop! I'm supposed to believe anything you say with this shoved in a gym bag?"

"Take it! Take it! You can have it, I don't want it!" Steven opens his hands, so Layla can trust his words, "I don't want it, I swear… have it! 

Layla keeps silent, not missing him out of her sight. 

"I am not Marc Spector. I'm Steven Grant. I work in a gift shop… well… I used to work in s gift shop and I think I'm in real danger… and I think maybe that you might be the only person that can help me!" Steven breaks down, scared.

She looks at the golden scarab, as if looking for rational explanation of that something he cannot understand wholly. 

"Please" he whispered, to which she asks him if he really doesn't remember the reason of why they have been looking for the small treasure. Steven shakes his head, completely flabbergasted at the thought of not only being a husband, but having a whole story with her. 

"Oh, God, I wish I could" he gasps, lost in her eyes. 

_____

Things get crazier after meeting his wife. That night he would know how fucked up the situation was. Starting with a kidnapping, Steven learns about Spector's dark past.

"We've only got ourselves a full-blown international fugitive" were enough to spark panic in him. He wished he was committed to an asylum so he would never harm anyone again. 

But it wasn't him. 

Then the corpses. Covered corpses of people tied and shot in the back of the head. Steven huddles against the seat, feeling like a deer before a hunter. Being handcuffed just worsened his anxiety. But the horror just begins when he realizes not only was taken to an unknown alley, but it was inhabited by more of Harrow's cultists. Then the fugitive mirrors in the glass of the window.  

"You don't need to fight me, Steven. Surrender control."

"N-no, no. I saw what you did to those people."

"It's not what you think–"

"I am never giving you control again. Ever. Do you hear me?" Steven hisses defiantly at the mirror. 

But another voice comes out of the radio. 

"I hear you loud and clear, Steven Grant from the gift shop."

Next, he is finally out of the car. It doesn't take long for Steven to learn that Ammit's avatar had orchestrated this. Harrow welcomes him, stating they needed a chance to better understand his situation. He mentions the scales, his chaos, voices in his head… everything feels so confusing.  

"It must be very difficult having all those voices inside one head." 

He introduces him to his creed, trying to persuade Steven to embrace it, defending the idea of what was, basically, mass genocide. It was dark and sinister. Harrow strikes back with a powerful argument, also mentioning his former servitude to Khonshu, who doesn't hesitate to manifest his wrath by throwing and pushing objects. 

'Cutting evil from the root', is what Ammit intends. Harrow compares her sense of justice to Khonshu's. A comparison Steven knows too well the latter will lose, surprised at Harrow's boldness to mock the deity right in front of him. He then persuades Steven to give the scarab, so Ammit could be free to make humanity face her judgment. With his firm refusal to tell, both wanting to protect Layla, Harrow speaks to Marc but Steven defends his denial by pointing out what could turn into an innocent bloodshed, refusing to give the scarab no matter how much the crowd and the leader himself tried to intimidate him. 

Much to his surprise, Layla showed up in the most unexpected moment, object in hand. She doesn't think twice to get him out of that place, though she insists he can fight back by summoning a suit. Layla doesn't hesitate to beat the hell out of the guys trying to prevent their escape. All Steven can do is stare at the man falling down, open-mouthed.

"That was awesome," he gasped, as Layla ran to grab his arm and drag him out of the place. But Harrow sends another hellish jackal to hound him. Steven feels his sanity slipping out, before Layla's insistence on calling him 'Marc', pushing him to fight, her voice echoing with Spector's own to surrender the body manages to break him.

But once the great, ebony door was opened, Layla saw nothing. Steven was panicked for something only he could see. 

The beast doesn't have any mercy on him, throwing Steven from the window. Khonshu speaks then, in a last desperate attempt to make Grant abandon his usual passiveness.

"Summon the suit!"

Being a few inches away from becoming a corpse, Steven finally screams. He lands lavishly, now donning a fancy white suit, which frustrates Marc enormously.

"Oy, Steven. What the hell are we wearing?" But he doesn't know Spector meant the ceremonial armor from Khonshu's temple… Though he thinks the suit makes him look pretty sharp. 

The jackal, of course, ruins his new appreciation for himself. Steven doesn't think twice to save Layla when it attacks her, even when his stubbornness cannot handle the danger. He lures the creature away from his wife, acting with a defying confidence that caught Layla unprepared. 

"Fly like a butterfly, sting like a bee, my name is Steven with a 'V'!" He exclaimed, stepping back so the jackal would follow him… just to end in the floor again, now with people mistaking him for a drunk man. Marc knows he's right, and his proud, witty remark just convinces Steven to give him the body to finally end this fight. 

_____

Steven doesn't like to be outside of his body. He can scarcely move. For his part, Spector is furious. The scarab was probably in Harrow's hands, closer now to doom mankind to Ammit's judgment. The panic can be felt in the air and the tension between the two just increases. 

"The one who controls the body has become stronger." 

Marc's futile words to appease his anxiety just cause uncertainty in Steven.

"The reflections help but most of the time, it takes all your willpower just to be a fly in the wall."

"You can't do this" Steven pants, horrified as he felt like a ghostly entity, "you have no right." Marc listens to his furious rant, pointing at him as the one to blame for all his misfortunes in his life. It doesn't seem to carve any guilt on him, limiting himself to hear everything he had to complain about. 

Marc reassures him with the promise of never being seen or heard again once his debt is repaid with his servitude, the one that leaves him covered in blood. 

"Everything you touch, you ruin. You hurt people, you abandoned your wife. You left her stranded!" 

This last remark was enough to light the fury on the mercenary, who turns around to clarify the matter.

"I am protecting her. You don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you did. I saw–"

"Khonshu has his eyes on her. He wants her as my replacement. I'm never gonna let that happen, you hear me?" Marc hissed, upset. 

"You're a liar. I don't believe you. I don't trust you. You hurt people!"

"I'm never letting him near her, just shut up!" but Steven's voice overlaps over his, rapping him out.

"I won't let you hurt anyone else ever again, I will never give you a moment of peace, I swear!" He promises, with avid vehemence. A bell tolls, almost as if wanting to go in tune with the mess in his head.

The noise becomes unbearable, sparking a violent reaction from Spector. His foot breaks the mirror where his reflection berates him, obtaining a few seconds of silence before Khonshu appears in the heights of the church nearby. A strong gust of wind serves as an ominous warning of his closeness. 

Marc feels trapped. It wasn't wise to awaken the lunar deity's wrath in such a crucial moment, especially knowing that the scarab would point at Ammit's ushabti. The final battle would be unleashed not there, but in the cradle where his crusade had started: under the scorching Egyptian sun, a half naked Marc drank a bottle of whiskey, resigned to another bloodbath while a fearful Steven just beholds from the mirror the mess he had done in the room. 

_____

Knowing how to get to the map that would lead to Ammit's ushabti, Marc goes against time. He fears he only has a few days left to avoid it. Harrow is restless and after an useless chase through the streets of Cairo. Marc doesn't remember the killing spree he carried on the top of a roof and near a cliff, away from the city. 

How much time happened? He didn't know. He was horrified by the three men who were alive and fighting just seconds ago. Marc cannot bring himself to believe when he is more disgusted by the noise of blood squelching… and the uneasy sight of blood. But the mission is the same: to find Harrow.

His last resource for knowledge comes from a kid who barely made it alive. Despite Khonshu's order to take him to the ledge to scare him away, the kid just ends up killing himself, saying a final praise for Ammit.

Khonshu decides to send a message to the gods. One that they will not ignore. In order to delay Harrow, the deity manipulates the sky, astonishing everyone with an unexpected solar eclipse. Marc knew this was a bad idea, but deep down he had to give him credit for how bold the move was. The vulture is smart. It manages to summon Marc to the council, located in the Giza pyramid. Steven feels like a kid in a candy shop as he is privileged to see it from the inside. Whenever the Ennead should gather the avatars, from all around the world, a portal presents everywhere. 

The last time Khonshu had spoken to the gods, it resulted in his banishment. The case against Harrow must be indisputable. Marc was unsettled, for he must respond for what Khonshu had done. The god doesn't even bother to explain how this would work, leaving him to his own devices. The attendance was concurred by Horus, Isis, Tefnut, Hathor and Osiris to hear Khonshu's account. 

The open contempt from Osiris just bittered his antipathy for his garishness, threatening him to a petrous imprisonment if he dared to manipulate the sky one more time. 

Marc then yells at him, shattering the silence.

"Spare me your self-righteous threats! I was banished for not abandoning humanity, unlike the rest of you".

Osiris responds with polite calmness that the abandonment came from humanity's side, letting the avatars carry on with their purposes unnoticed. It wouldn't do, since the whole Ennead needed the might of other gods.

"Return from the opulence of the Overvoid before you lose this realm!" Khonshu furiously demanded, outraged by their indifference that could unchain an apocalipsis.

Just as Marc had finished screaming Khonshu's wrathful words, a tear fell down his cheek. He never thought that being used as a messenger through his body and voice could hurt so much. 

"For the last time, Khonshu, the avatars that remain here are simply meant to observe. We decided long ago we did not wish to meddle in the affairs of man."

The council then asks him to speak about his purpose. Khonshu points out Harrow, mentioning his conspiracy to release Ammit. Arthur then enters the room, already suspecting the nature of the meeting. Khonshu explodes against his former avatar, tired of him playing innocent.

But he goes straight to the point.

"Do you not seek to release Ammit from her tomb?" Khonshu accuses him so violently that Spector's whole form shakes with its choleric roar.

"I was in the desert. But if visiting the sands were a crime, the line of sinners would be longer than the Nile" he then accuses Khonshu of searching said tomb in the times he was his avatar, mentioning jealousy, paranoia and—"

"HE'S A DECEIVER!!!" Marc howls until his vocal cords are torn, but Harrow doesn't let his former master to mortify him.

"Khonshu is unhinged and his servant unwell," to which Hathor asks to explain it.

Harrow calmly replies:

"This is a man who literally does not know his own name."

Marc began to panic. He gulped, trying to fight the feeling of helplessness and vulnerability. But he doesn't stop there: Harrow also mentions his marriage certificate as Marc Spector and employment records under the name "Steven Grant"

"Liar!" Khonshu roars, then Marc pleads, "stop!"

"I've seen him speak to himself…"

"Shut up!"

"...threaten himself…" and then he chuckles, trying to deal with how twisted Spector's illness was, "I have no idea how many personalities he must possess. The man is clearly insane."

That last sentence fueled his fury, ready to tackle Harrow but he's immediately reduced by a psychic onslaught coming from Osiris. Marc shuts his mouth, trying to recover the strength.

"It brings me no pleasure to tell you that this is a deeply troubled man." 

Marc cannot defend himself, feeling his vocal cords bleeding at the least effort. Even breathing makes his chest hurt, as Harrow is speaking the truth about his servitude to Khonshu. He is then allowed to speak, being asked personally by Horus.

"I am. I am unwell. I need help… but that doesn't change the fact that this man is–" but he cannot bring himself to verbalize Harrow's intentions.

"This is a safe space for you to tell us if you feel exploited by Khonshu." But then Marc bursts out:

"This is not about my feelings! I'm not the one on trial here. He is! This is about how dangerous he is if you would listen for a second". 

"He has committed no offense," Osiris sentences, "this matter is concluded." 

Marc stays there, defeated, humiliated. But once everyone is out of the hall, Hathor's avatar comes closer to him and tells him another way to get into Ammit's tomb. The location was recorded by a Medjai called Senfu, whose sarcophagus was stolen and sold in the black market. The task was done in case the gods ever changed their minds, if they decided to show mercy.

_____

This was where the real adventure began. 

Much to Spector's displeasure, Layla showed up in Egypt just in the moment when he was in the market, asking for Senfu's sarcophagus to merchants. Layla offers help, and both embark to meet Anton Mogart, an antiquities collector. Once Layla went with Marc undercover (using a fake identity), the map was recovered… but it requires an expert insight to decipher the location of the tomb.

However, Harrow has kept watching Spector. His disciples had told him the couple's plan to find the crypt, attempting to turn Mogart against them and if that wasn't bad enough, that maniac dares to reveal his involvement in the raid that killed Abdallah El-Faouly. Once out and with Mogart dead, Layla confronts Marc about Harrow's words about it. The mercenary gets nervous, and pretends he doesn't know. He tries to convince Layla that Harrow just looks to divide them. 

"Every time I learn something new about you, I think that's it. There can be any secrets left between us. And then something else pops up and it's like I've not known you at all."

Marc tries to end the conversation bottling up.

"Yeah. You haven't" he looked at her in that cold way that shattered her heart, "you don't." Just as intended, Layla ceases the talk, driving in tense silence. Both leave their differences aside to put the pieces of the starry map back together to know the exact location of Ammit's tomb.

They had been like this for like an hour, and Marc is getting frustrated with the lack of results, slams his open palm violently over the bonnet. Layla pleads with Marc to let Steven front, since he might know how to handle this.

"Marc, we can't wait" she mutters sweetly, but it doesn't soften him a bit, "it's okay… just...let go."

Marc sighs and runs his hands over his hair to cope with the stress and snatches the mirror off the jeep, taking the tape and the pieces of the map. He walks a few feet away from his wife and looks at the reflection.

"All right. Go ahead, you're in." 

And in a couple of seconds, Steven is back on his body.

"Cheers, thanks a lot" and sets his hands to solve the problem. Layla sees him, walking towards him with caution. Steven jolts and smiles at her. He has that look of pure love in his eyes. How is it possible for a man she has been married to for years, a man (she thinks) she's known for so long can look so different? Steven's skills finally recompose the map… just to realize the stars drift over time, making it impossible to find the exact location in the present. 

But Khonshu doesn't stand there. As the god of the night sky, he had power over the celestial vault. He would do something way bolder than a simple eclipse in broad daylight. Steven wished to be prepared for the wonderful spectacle Khonshu conjured in order to locate the tomb. The deity doesn't take long to ask Steven for help, which causes that white, elegant suit to appear again. With the skies stirring in violent motion to catch the exact alignment of the stars, Layla finally obtains the location while Steven and Khonshu slowly begin to weaken.

He realizes the god is disintegrating, asking him to tell Marc to free him. 

But he cannot act fast, since his own energy has been drained with Khonshu disappearing. Layla tries to wake him up with tender impatience. His eyes remain closed and Layla sees no other option than to take matters in her hands. 

Or that was what Steven could deduct once he regained consciousness. She never ceases to amaze him. All those people… Layla took them down by herself. 

"We can't lose more time. Harrow must be headed back to the tomb. Look, if he is, we're gonna need Marc, yeah?" 

"Exactly. See, she gets it," Marc quips from the mirror. A few seconds of silence follow before Steven replies: 

"No."

"No?" Layla turns around to look at him. 

"No, see… the thing is… we made a deal, Marc and I" he swallows, "that when he was done with Khonshu, he would disappear for good–"

"But that deal didn't involve you getting Layla and us killed, did it? That's not gonna fly with me."

"You guys made a deal? That he would just disappear from my life?" She stared at him, with silent outrage, hot tears filling her eyes, "and you didn't think that maybe I should've been made aware of that?" 

"Oh…well, hadn't he disappeared from your life already?" 

"Yeah, I mean…" Layla shook her head, not taking her eyes off the road, "Whatever. His suit was his best feature, wasn't it? Didn't have that anymore."

The awkwardness boils Marc's patience. 

"Steven. Give me the body right now. This is a suicide mission." Layla keeps complaining about him, and his loner nature. 

"It's not happening. We're not gonna do that" she said, determinedly. Maybe expecting to piss off Marc. 

"We are not," Steven also said with determination, "it's just you and me and the open road–" but Layla stopped the car abruptly. 

"We're gonna go on foot from here."

*Yeah, all right."

It took them a long walk to arrive, but Harrow's men were already there. It was necessary to beat them to get to Ammit's tomb. Descending from the canyon, the couple find an empty camp, with cars left with open doors. Only camels were there to greet them. Both go for supplies, and Steven finds plenty of them in one. Marc insists on fronting, mentioning Steven's inexperience as a liability. He doesn't, though and takes a lantern, rummaging through documents like photos, reports and maps.  

"Without Khonshu there is no more suit, no more healing, no more power–"

"Yeah, no more you, I thought. It's what you said, innit? But I guess… believing anything that comes out of your mouth just shows what a plonker I am."

Marc sighs, understanding his discontent. 

"Look, I wish I could just disappear. I really do. But unfortunately, I'm still here. If you're gonna go through with this, you gotta be smart, for least for Layla's sake. I've in situations like this before—"

"So have I. It's the same body, innit? It's in there, somewhere. Muscle memory and that." 

"I'm not sure it works that way. Just—"

"Whatever," Steven cuts him off, with an uncharacteristic sassiness that surprises Marc.

"I'm here. You're not alone" Marc calms him down. It finally snaps Steven's patient ways with him turning around with defiance against Spector's reflection.

"I know I'm not alone! I know I'm not bloody not alone, I've got Layla! She's got my back!" Steven spits, heading to walk off the place.

Hearing him talking about Layla with such vehemence fueled a choleric jealousy from Marc, who didn't think twice to growl at his alter for his affections:

"Are you in love? You're in love with my wife?!"

Steven turns over once last time. 

"Look, I appreciate your concern, mate. I really do… but we've got it from here." He mutters, confidently despite Marc becoming more and more furious.

"You lay one finger on her… I swear to you– Steven!"

"If I need a recipe for a protein shake or something, I'll call you," Steven went out to find Layla, not caring about Marc's growing wrath. It made the situation even more hilarious. 

"I'LL THROW US OFF A CLIFF!"

_____

Steven feels the thrill of closeness as Layla puts the harness on him. Having those hands on him, treating him gently had an hypnotizing, euphoric effect. The thoughts of her doing other things while kneeling caused an impish grin tracing his lips, fighting those naughty fantasies of his.

"I have to say, I feel like I've been waiting for this my whole life…" he then looked down at her, adding with a glint of guilt, "the adventure… I mean."

Layla gets up, smiling at the flirty grin Steven gives her. She doesn't keep her hands off him, concealing her wish for a greater closeness through "accidental" nuzzles, talking in breathy whispers. Steven shrugs, not knowing how to handle this heated tension boiling inside his chest. He cannot take his eyes off her lips as she becomes dangerously close to his ear, swearing she made a soft groan, which immediately sparked Steven to ask himself what he could cause Layla to make those sounds… he wonders things. He longs for contact. 

For her contact. 

From the first moment he had seen her, where he remembers the pleasant embrace riding the Vespa back in London, dark eyes shining like tourmalines. 

Her tender expression reminisces of Marc at his warmest. 

"You smell like him," she mutters, "I mean… why wouldn't you?" Layla stares at his mouth. Steven feels his heart racing when her lips attempt to crash with his mouth in an impulsive move, desperate to feel Marc, whether it was through Steven's skin… or whoever dwelled in there. 

But his nobility is greater and before their mouth make contact, Steven rushes to say:

"Marc's trying to protect you from Khonshu" her warm expression faded, clearly upset. 

"What?" 

"That's why he's been pushing you away. He thinks Khonshu wants you for his avatar and he won't let that happen" Steven finished. As he sees it has no positive response from Layla, he rushes to explain further:

"It's all right… I just felt like you should know that." Layla grabs a glove, as Steven apologizes for being so imprudent with such delicate information. 

"Why are you telling me this now?"

"I don't know. I.just thought you deserved to know." Layla puts on the glove to distract herself. 

"It wasn't his call to make. I don't need protection", she muttered, "What I need is honesty."

"Yeah, I get that."

"That's more of a 'you' thing, isn't it?"

"What? Being honesty?" Layla laughed at his sweet clumsiness. 

"Yeah. Being honesty" she nods, instead of laughing at him. It makes the love he feels for her to reach unthinkable dimensions. 

Confidently and sure, Steven grabs her shoulders with gentleness, leaning with delicate precision to reach her lips. An astonished Layla shuts her eyes off at his daring gesture, doubtfully keeping up with the famished and impatient kiss Steven insisted to captivate her with. He's too bewitched by the full, warm lips he didn't know he had kissed in another life. 

He first caught her upper lip for a few seconds, partially breaking the kiss to catch her lips with his, wishing to devour or at least, have a better taste of them, aroused by the sound of their mouths breaking their caress, which he delayed as much as he could.

Moved by the desire for more touches, Steven refuses to give her personal space after their impulsive kiss, smiling with genuine happiness with his forehead against hers. It warms and breaks her heart how grateful Steven was with a simple gesture. How deprived of touches had (Marc) Steven been? So many questions demanded so many answers that couldn't be solved at this moment. 

Layla goes down the excavation, and doesn't get to see an absolutely enamored Steven looking at her completely in love, haunted by her kiss…

…Nor Marc punching Steven, to then throw him down the tomb, accomplishing his threat for touching his wife. 

These were the things Steven remembered most fondly, before dying at Harrow's hands with two shots in the chest. 

Until that night. 

Until that fucking night. 

_____

He never imagined that a trip to Egypt would change his life so drastically. He returned to London far from the meek, jumpy man he used to be before these incidents. But not even that prepared him for what fate had in store for him. 

Steven didn't want to be impertinent in Marc's relationship. But during that night it was impossible. Steven didn't even remember how upset he was for missing a date because of that mercenary using his body to save the world from a genocidal maniac, knowing he was married to a lovely, intelligent wife. It was as if that failed date with Dylan had never taken place.

Even when Steven had been begotten to be better than Marc Spector, not even he could escape the searing feeling of envy when Spector got to be with Layla in that way. 

Seeing her in all her nude glory, first imprisoned in Marc's arms, impaled relentlessly, and then above him, loving how Layla trusted him enough to lock her as if she was his and his only. 

He then realizes a sad truth; Layla wanted to kiss him because he had the face of Marc Spector. Layla loved Spector, not Steven. 

Steven now looks at her, elevated to a goddess, naked and sweating while her moans delight his ears. He feels like a pervert for spying on her through the aquarium reflection but he's just too marveled seeing Marc's body being ridden with raw, brutal fury. He felt as if he was witnessing a privileged mortal making love to a goddess.

Though he was happy to see them together once again, he cannot stop wondering how his name would sound if she'd screamed it with him beneath her.

As much as he struggles to keep his eyes and ears covered, curiosity overcomes his modesty and what a sight he gets. To Steven, Layla had ascended from crush to a reborn Aphrodite right in the moment he saw her getting up to place herself above him. How he wished to be Marc at that moment.

It wasn't the fact of sex itself, being naked or close to each other… It was the climax and its meaning what mesmerized Steven, the vestiges accusing their union, watching it ooze from her while she moans for more. He may not have the full satisfaction of it, but he's more than glad to see the body being loved and taken care of. 

Steven diverted his gaze, ceasing the tortuous illusions of intimacy. He tried to focus on other things but those scandalous moans of hers made it impossible. Those things she was whispering, it was like a mermaid tempting a sailor to follow her. He'd give anything to experience what it was to be buried deep inside her, with nothing except him occupying her mind to cry his name. He had never felt so undesired and miserable in his life, especially when Marc howls his lungs out when the peak hits him. The moment was followed by a dead silence.  

Suddenly a dizzy, incorporeal sensation numbed his muscles. His vision became blurred, just like when he regained… 

Hearing how her calm breathing changed to a sharp cry aroused him to the point of insanity, not just the wet, tight flesh practically latching around him so abruptly, not just having that beautiful female nude still impaled on him. It wasn't the fact that Marc had surrendered the control to him. He couldn't understand why but he couldn't process everything that happened in that moment, not having time to ask her out loud about their situation. His sobs finally got Layla to look down at him. He felt cornered.

"Steven?" She whispered, just as mesmerized as he was. Steven writhed and shook while pleasure stuns his strength, trying to break the physical bond to avoid any more problems, but Layla insists on retaining his body underneath her. How was it possible to be like this now? When not too long ago he had been admiring her from afar, yearning silently for her body.

Why did Marc feel so vulnerable being with her? 

Maybe it was the shock of seeing her, of feeling so helpless when she loved him like this. Steven tries to focus but his body speaks for him: he moans loudly as he watches several, thick threads of himself falling down their sexes, looking to adhere even more tightly to each other. 

The explicit image does things to him. It is the physical reminder of how her body stirred under his touch. Wishing to see more of it percolating between her thighs, Steven thrusts up, shaking her whole body again, observing with respectful and immense fascination a pleasure-drunk Layla, who doesn't seem to care that Marc wasn't there to finish what he started. 

Steven moans her name and smiles at the sight of her breasts and curls bouncing. They look so lovely, begging to be touched, kneaded, pampered. 

He didn't decide what to do next, though he doesn't miss the chance to squeeze them to calm down his aroused enthusiasm. Layla starts straddling his hardened length once again, until Steven has an idea: He obeys his instinct to wrap his arms around her, to then roll over the bed sheets so he was above Layla, who latched at his neck, desirous to obtain more of him, not caring if she was on control. Steven never thought this loss of individuality would be so magnificent. And then, he sees that look in her eyes. Layla stares up at him. 

Her gaze is nothing but fire.

His voice undoes itself in praises and desperate claims, melting each other's mouths in heated kisses that left their tongues tangled in a desperate dance.

Steven felt her hands running down his ribs, reaching his hips to scratch his back to then caress it. It made the mild mannered man push as deep as he could as a harsh response, breaking the kiss to moan while genuinely convinced he could feel every vein, every inch of hers melted with his.

He looks down her body by mere instinct, and finds more lustful evidence of their act between her legs, more pearly creeks gushing from their differences. It moves him to gather strength to drag himself out of her just to slam back inside, reviving the sensation of sweet captivity within her depths, feeling those pulsating walls hardly containing him, despite Layla seemingly wishing more of Steven inside of her. 

Neither of them would get to see it, but the reflection showed a delirious Steven Grant taking an euphoric Layla with him over the bed, making their bodies move in perfect unison. 

"Keep going! Fuck, Steven… just like that" he panted against her ear, groaning when he feels her thighs pressing his hips, "I want it dripping off me, Steven. Will you be good to me and give me that?"

"Yes! I will! I'll be good-- I'll be so good to you!" Steven pushes as deep as he can without thinking, making sure to comply her wish. 

Layla liked that, sliding her hands down his chest, heart hammering with war-like fury. Steven was too desperate to repeat that deep feel of wholeness both experienced a few moments ago, too immersed in the pleasure the narrow, hot embrace gave him but also too stunned too form a coherent sentence. Layla tenderly caresses his hair, and Steven gently leans his head to bathe in those kind touches. She kisses his jawline, brushing her lips against his ear. 

"Don't hold back," Layla lovingly whispered, knowing their climax was close. Steven looked down and saw that again between their legs, stopping for a moment before the glorious end. Layla reminds him that he was the one who stole a kiss from her back in the desert, enjoying to see Steven Grant turned into a sex crazed mess, so far from his fancy, polite manners, fighting against the constriction that he knew, would overcome him. 

He had never been so happy to lose a battle as he did with this one, in particular. He increased the pace, making the bounce of her orbed parts even more intense. Steven weeps of pleasure when he cannot bring himself to resist it anymore, pouring all of his seed inside her, delighting in the falling strands accusing the violence of the orgasm that shuddered Layla's body. 

He keeps completely still, loving the intimacy between him and Layla. All he can think about is never letting her go. He loves her. Steven loves her more than he loves his own life. This is how it feels to be seen, cherished, loved. He wishes this precious moment to never end. And there she stays, cradling his tired body. Steven hides his face in her neck, repeating that he could never leave her, much less after what happened between them. 

Layla runs her fingers over his hair, caressing his back up and down, grateful to have her husband sleeping in her arms once again, away from danger and blood for good. She lovingly lulls him, despite Steven being asleep (or passed out, who knew?) so he could know in his slumber that she would be there to care for him… and love him.

[elianamarie-blog]

I was wondering if I could request Hyde x reader with the reader sneaking into his room in the basement in the middle of the night because she has trouble sleeping without him and Kitty catches her in there but decides to let her be because she realizes how safe her daughter feels with him?

Hell yeah!! This wasn't as good as the others and I am so, so sorry. It's late here and I'm super sleepy but I wanted this done. I'll rewrite it if you don't like it!

Caught

Thunder roared in the pitch-black sky over Point Place. The midnight summer downpour was usually enough to help Y/n relax and fall asleep, but on this particular night, her mind couldn't stop racing. Anxiety flowed through her veins with the knowledge of being a freshly graduated high school student with no paved path for her next move. Her big brother, Eric, had gone off to Africa so he could get his credentials to be a teacher, her oldest sister Laurie was...well, wherever the hell she was, but regardless, living her life. While she, Y/n Forman, stayed at home with everyone else who she all continued to hang out with.

Donna had left for Madison shortly after Eric, Kelso was in Chicago, and Fez and Jackie were in Jaimica. The only one left was Steven Hyde, who stayed behind to run his record store that he so happily ran.

She would be lying to herself if she said they hadn't gotten closer these last recent months. While they knew each other well within the group, they never got the chance to hang out alone. With everyone gone, it left them just the two of them. She came to learn just how gentle and soft he really was. He showed her a side to him that not everyone had the privilege to see. And oh, how she loved it.

Another thing that wouldn't stop running through her mind was her confusion of her feelings towards him. Was she looking at him differently now that they had grown closer? Or was their friendship simply tighter? She had always thought of him as handsome, but never looked at him that way until recently. Was she only looking at him this way because everyone had left?

But she noticed he'd been looking differently at her too. She'd catch him looking at her a bit longer than usual, his hand lingered on her shoulder or her back longer than a friendly touch, and sometimes when they would watch TV together, their thighs would touch causing her heart flutter and race.

And the worst of them all, she kept having dreams about him. Some innocent and sweet, some romantic, and others not so sweet and innocent. She found herself daydreaming of him constantly, always wondering what his lips would feel and taste like against hers. What it would feel like to be in his embrace. To be let in to his most delicate and vulnerable side.

Then she'd kick herself for feeling this way. She could never allow herself to feel for someone like Steven Hyde. And he sure as hell would never have feelings for her. Given their history, it would be taboo at its best.

A clap of thunder pulled her out of her thoughts as the lightening lit up her dark room. She felt so lonely now in that house knowing her brother wasn't next door. Or that her best friend wasn't in the house next to hers. In fact, the Pinciotti's weren't even in the same house at all. Bob moved to Florida and for now the house laid empty for the next buyer. She missed those two so much, it would make her heart clench and tears fall.

She wished she knew what she wanted to do with her life like Donna and Eric did. She was afraid that she wasn't going to be able to impress her parents like Eric did when he left. As much as Kitty cried and expressed how much she missed him, she saw the sparkle in both her parents' eyes of pride. Then she saw how that sparkle would die when spoken about Laurie. And she was terrified of that happening.

She wasn't even sure what she liked. She liked mechanics and helping her dad run his shop, but she wasn't sure if she wanted to get into that field. She liked science a lot, but wasn't sure if she could make it. English was her worst subject in school, so anything to do with that was out of the question. She didn't have the patience to be a teacher. She did like music, but knew she wouldn't get the support or approval from her parents. Animals were her other passion, but she wasn't sure if she wanted to go to school for so long or have the heart to put them down if needed.

Another clap of thunder shook the outside, startling her.

"That's it," she mumbled and threw the covers off of her. She tiptoed passed her parents' room and down the hall. She managed to make it to the kitchen without a peep...until she tripped in the dark and slammed her hand against the wall to catch her fall.

She stood still, holding her breath waiting for any movement. After a moment, she released her breath and continued on down the stairs to the basement.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she quietly padded her way to Hyde's room. Pushing the door open slightly, she saw his peaceful, sleeping form. He was faced away from the door on his side.

"Hyde," she whispered. When he didn't even stir, she tried again. "Hyde."

His soft snores answered her. She huffed and shuffled closer to him and tried again.

"Hydeee."

A sharp snort filled the air as he jerked his back to look at her. "Y/n? What are you doing? What time is it?"

"It's almost one...can I sleep here tonight?"

"Can you...what?" he asked, blinking away the sleepiness and turned around to face her.

"I-I know it's a weird request, but I can't sleep and I, um, feel a little lonely...but this is weird and I'm so sorry to wake you. I'll just, uh, I'll just go--"

As she turned to run out, Hyde stopped her. "Wait, no, Y/n come back here. It's fine."

She turned back to face him. "Really? I'm not bothering you?"

"You can never bother me," he responded sleepily and scooted over. He opened the blanket for her. "Come here."

She nodded and climbed into the cot with him. It was surprisingly warm.

He covered them both up and laid on his back with his arm above his head. He closed his eyes but didn't fall back asleep.

She laid there on her back, feeling awkward, wide awake, and her heart pounding hard.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He hummed. "Any time."

She rolled to her side away from him, guilt settling in. She should've stayed in her bed instead of waking him up.

"Can't sleep?"

She sighed. "Not really."

"Got a lot on your mind?"

"Something like that."

"Well, try to get some sleep. You have to get up in a few hours so you can go back to your room without Red seeing you."

She chuckled. "Yeah, we don't want that."

A few moments of silence past before she heard his deep breathing. She closed her eyes and could feel her mind slowing down when she felt an arm slither its way around her waist. He pulled her close and she swore her heart stopped beating. She cautiously rested her hand on top of his where his fingers intertwined with hers. A small smile spread across her face, feeling the comfort that she had been craving.

"What the hell is going on here?!" a familiar, shrill voice broke through the air.

The light had been switched on so fast, it gave them whiplash.

"Mom!" Y/n cried out, covering her eyes. "It's nothing!"

"Really? It doesn't look like nothing!" she responded.

"What are you doing down here anyway?"

"Don't try to change the subject, missy," Kitty said. "I heard a crash down here and I thought I'd check it out. Now, you answer my question. What's going on?"

"Nothing," Y/n responded. "I just couldn't sleep and just...didn't want to feel alone."

"Steven, is this true?" Kitty asked.

"Uh, yeah, sure," he replied, still tired, rubbing his eyes. "She came in here and said what she just said."

Kitty turned back to Y/n. "Set an alarm."

"What?" Y/n and Steven asked together.

"Set your alarm," she repeated. "You're going to want to be back in your room before your father gets up. Because if he finds out about this, I won't be able to remove his feet up your asses without medical instruments."

"Oh...thanks, Mom...?" Y/n asked confused.

"Don't thank me yet," she responded. "It's one in the morning and I'm too tired to continue this conversation. No funny business, alright?"

"Yeah, you got it," Hyde said absentmindedly and plopped himself back down.

Kitty looked at them for a moment before turning the light back off and left.

After a beat of silence, Y/n turned back to Hyde. "That was weird right?"

[mishwanders]

Chapter Five {Saint}: In Hell I’ll Be in Good Company

Pairing: Karl Heisenberg x GN!Disabled Reader

Summary: You await Lord Heisenberg to join you on the journey to Lady Beneviento’s domain. You find out a little bit more about each other on the trek there.

Warnings: ghosts and religious talk.

Read On AO3 { X }

It was early the next morning, and you found yourself in the chapel near the village graveyard, lighting candles, placing them on the tin trays to keep the wax from getting all over the table runners, as well as making sure they wouldn’t burn the place down when left unattended. You were often here alone in the early mornings, so you always took it upon yourself to light the candles, providing some ambiance for worship and a bit of warmth for when the other villagers came in to find solace from the cold winds. You found it rather comforting being in this small building, even if the wooden pews could not provide you with physical comfort. Regardless, your mind was able to find clarity in here and you felt at peace.

When you finally lit the last candle, you placed the one in your hand back down on its tray and looked happily at the finished product. The light flickered and danced against the icons of Mother Miranda and the Lords held above the altar. Your eyes glanced over each one, saying a small prayer for each until you settled upon the last icon to the right of the altar. You gazed upon the image of Lord Heisenberg, seeing his face partially shrouded by the brim of his leather hat, hiding his eyes away. But you could still see his dark brown hair peeking out from underneath, his dark beard almost blending into the black background behind him. Even in this picture he exuded a strength that was unlike the rest of men in the village, it was no wonder Mother Miranda had chosen him to be one of the Lords. He was powerful, handsome in every regard. He truly had grown into his own after all of these years, fitting the mold perfectly made for him.

You were startled out of your thoughts when you heard the creaking door open behind you, the sound of heavy boots knocking against the wooden floor. You turned around to face the new visitor, only to find Lord Heisenberg standing in the doorway with his hands in his pockets, looking at you through his mossy glasses.

“Ready?” He asked

You nodded and made your way over to him, leaving the altar, the chapel far behind. The two of you made your way through the still sleeping village and over to the gate that led to the Beneviento Domain. That’s when you remembered - or rather, noticed - that he was missing a piece of his ensemble. He’d left his hammer back at the factoring. You found it rather odd that he would, because you’d rarely ever seen him without it throughout the years.

“Didn’t need the hammer today?” You asked, walking beside him.

“You’ve never been to Donna’s before, have you?” He asked

“Well, no, but what does that have to do with it?”

“The terrain to Donna’s is a bitch to get through with it, but I knew I was going to need both my hands to help you get through it all in one piece.” He replied

You eyed him from your position, seeing the gentle grin on his face as he kept his eyes on the road ahead. You couldn’t believe that he was insinuating that he was going to put his hands on you - this man…

But he wasn’t wrong, the trek was difficult being made up of a very small path with quick turns, large shrubbery that tried to cover it, and the thick fog that hung heavily in the air. As you made your way through, you noticed all of the dolls Donna had placed throughout the place, laying on the ground, hanging in the trees. You also noticed quite a few bouquets of fresh flowers left at each headstone.

“Is there a reason she places these things out here?” You asked

“No clue.” Heisenberg replied, “I’ve never truly understood Donna’s motives, but she doesn’t get in my way, so I don’t get in hers.”

You listened to him, realizing just how much it seemed that the Lords didn’t care for the other. Had they always been like this? They didn’t show it in the family meetings, having more banter amongst them. Was Heisenberg like this with Moreau as well? You knew he was disgruntled about Alcina, the only one he openly bickered with, but did he also look down upon the other Lords or did they just never have the time to truly get to know one another outside of the cathedral?

You guessed it didn’t matter that much, it wasn’t your place to speak on the matter.

The two of you continued to make your way through the winding woods until you came up to a rickety bridge that spanned across the chasm. You stopped in your tracks, looking down over the edge. The fog was thick below the bridge, covering any sight of what lay below. It felt like you were looking down into a bottomless pit, one that led down forever, where no one would ever be able to find you if you fell. You felt the fear rising within you, wrapping around your throat, taking hold of you. You swallowed hard, your knuckles turning white as you gripped your cane. Heisenberg turned around to see your frozen state, obviously noticing the fear in your eyes. He held out his hand to you.

“Don’t worry, I’m stable enough for both of us. I’ll make sure you won’t fall.”

You looked up at him, the fear still evident in your eyes, but looking upon him, the fear settled a bit. You knew you could trust him, so you silently nodded and took hold of his hand, sliding it up his arm for support. The two of you slowly stepped onto the rickety bridge and you gripped onto him tighter, looking down at the bottomless pit below.

“I’ve got you.” He said, “Just watch your step.”

You slowly trailed behind him, feeling the bridge sway gently with the added weight and the wind. You desperately wanted to close your eyes, to back away to safer ground, but you knew better - you knew you had to make it across. All you could do was watch your step and trust in Heisenberg’s patience and ability to keep you standing until you finally reached the otherside.

When your feet finally found a place on the semi-solid ground, you let out a breath that you had been holding in, feeling your heart pounding in your chest from the fear. Your heart was pounding in your chest as your finally stepped foot on the cold snow, back on semi-solid ground. You were grateful that Lord Heisenberg allowed you to hold onto his arm, finding him still doing so.

“Thanks.” You said, relieved.

“No problem.” He replied

You could see the faint hint of a smile on Heisenberg's face as he spoke. Did he like that you were scared? Did he like having you rely on him? It had to have been the latter, right?

Right?

He pushed forward down the path, allowing you to continue to hold onto his arm as you both walked down the path, slowly making it down the uneven stone steps, all the way to the gravesite. You both stopped in front of it, taking a moment to look at the headstones. It was a very small plot for so many to be in, but the one that stood out amongst the rest was the one for Claudia Beneviento, Donna’s late older sister. There were many yellow flowers surrounding it, which happened to give off a subtle golden glow. It looked as if the sun had found its way through the clouds and tree branches to bless this resting place.

You leaned against Heisenberg a bit more, shifting your cane to the opposite side.You pulled out your notebook and jotted down a few key things about the flowers. You knew Heisenberg was watching you over your shoulder, taking in the details before you proceeded to put it back in your bag and repositioned your cane back to the other side of you.

“Find something interesting?” He asked

“Those flowers are annuals in the summer - yet they still persist through the winter. I read that her gift consists of manipulating flower pollen and I want to see if these were the ones she worked with or if this was just the power of the black god reaching all the way out here.”

You couldn’t see Heisenberg roll his eyes from behind his glasses, but you could feel his disdain for your words when let out a chuckle, shaking his head in disapproval.

“What is it?” You asked

“Nothing.” He replied

“Don’t lie to me Heis, I know you better than that.” You told him

“Heis? Going by old nicknames now?” He asked, grinning at you.

You’d realized that it had slipped. It had been a long time since you’d called him that, so long that he probably thought you had forgotten it. But it was no name for a Lord - especially one that practically required it the respect.

“I - I -” You stammered

“Don’t worry about it, Saint. I won’t hold it against you.” He replied, saving you the breath. “It’s just that we see this damned thing very differently.”

“How so?” You asked

You could see him thinking about his answer, and you couldn’t help but wonder how much more he knew about the black god. You and the rest of the villagers knew that anyone who was chosen to be a lord had to go through a series of tests, one of them being they would have to consume the black god. You always had a sneaky suspicion that the night he left you out in the snow was because of it. You wonder if it spoke to him, if he heard its voice or if it was just silence on his end. Regardless, you couldn’t help but feel just a bit of jealousy because of it. You hoped that one day Mother Miranda would allow for you to be blessed. Maybe you’d be more useful, maybe the black god would speak through you.

Oh what a wonderful day it would be.

“I see it for what it is - mold with a strange affinity for messing with the nature of things. You see it like the rest of the religious nut jobs in the village.”

You looked at him in shock at the insult. You couldn’t believe he would call the villagers that, much less you.

“They’re not nut jobs, Heis.” You informed him, “They’re good people who just want to show their love and appreciation to the god they serve.”

“And what about you?” He asked

“What about me?”

“You didn’t lump yourself in with the others. Do you not see yourself like them or are you just on a different level of crazy?”

“What - that’s -” You stuttered, taken aback by his words.

Where was all of his coming from? Why was he being so rude?

“I’m not a nut job and no, I don’t see myself as different from them. I honor the black god.”

“So you don’t see yourself as a good person then.” He stated

“I -It’s not that.” You replied, “I feel useless in every sense of the word because of my condition. The only thing I’m good for is what I’m doing now and that will only last for so long.”

Now he was taken aback by your words, completely unaware of how you saw yourself. But it was the truth, you felt like your existence created a nuisance for others, especially in a village with its difficult terrain, unable to help in the daily activities, unable to participate with the others, just unable to keep up.

You let go of his arm, moving away from him, from his eyes, and made your way over to the metal door that was laid between large stones, blocking the path ahead. You looked at it all, eyes catching the glimmer of the golden plaque on the stone that read “Give up your memories” beside it. You rummaged around in your back for something to put in the slot to open the door, but you Heisenberg came up beside you. He placed his hand on the metal door, bringing one hand up to your chin and forcing you to look up at him.

“You’re not useless.” He said, “Not to me, not to the others. Hell, even Mother Miranda has seen something in you. I know that you wouldn’t be in the position you’re in now if she didn’t.”

You bit your lip in an attempt to keep the tears back. All of your life you’d felt useless and the day he left you out in the snow made you feel like an absolute nuisance to him - knowing he didn’t want you around.

So why was he saying all of this now? Had the other just been a lie or was he just trying to not hurt your feelings again?

Why did every interaction with this man have to be so damn confusing?

You could get the words out, couldn’t say anything, so all you did was nod in response. Only then did he open the door, his powers forcing the heavy metal open. You looked inside to see the path led through a darkened cave that was only illuminated by the dim orange light of candles lining the floor on the stone path. Heisenberg pushed forward ahead of you, and you were about to follow him, but you heard the crunch of the snow behind you.

You turned around to see what had caused the sound and you froze in your place, mouth agape and unable to call out to Heisenberg.

It was the phantom visage come back to haunt you once again. Why was it here again? It shouldn’t have appeared this soon - in the daylight no less? What did it want from you?! You wanted to scream at it, to tell it to go away. You hated seeing this version of you, unsure of what it all meant and why it wouldn’t stop pointing at you. What did it want from you?

But no matter how much you wanted it to leave, no matter how much you wanted to stop looking at it, you couldn’t. It felt like it was pulling at you, drawing you into it like water. You could easily get lost in those glazed eyes, feel the roots running along your body, inside your skin. You could feel the large root wrapping around your neck, holding you tight, constraining your breathing like a snake.

You gasped and stumbled backwards, beginning to fall to the stone below. Heisenberg caught the sound and quickly ran back, catching you before your ass hit the ground, pulling you back up.

“You alright?” He asked

“I- I - do you see that?” You asked

There was a moment of silence between you two as he looked up in the direction of the phantom. But he looked back at you, more confused than he had been before.

“What are you talking about? It’s just the headstones.”

You bit down on your lip, trying to hold the tears back. You felt like you were going crazy - you were the only one who could see this damned thing, clearly standing right here. You felt like it was playing games with your head, making you see it, forcing you to feel things that weren’t even truly there on your body.

“Close the doors.” You whispered

“What?” He asked

“Close the doors, please.” You begged

He hesitated for a moment, but did as you requested, forcing the doors closed from where you both stood. You let out a sigh of relief watching the grotesque image of you being hidden away from your sight, knowing that it would not follow.

“Thank you.” You said, feeling relieved.

Before he could even ask what was going on, you turned around and made your way down the dark cave hall, all the way to the elevator. You waited there shortly until Heisenberg joined you. He pressed the button and the two of you stood in silence as it lifted you up onto the next level. You walked through another darkened tunnel and out into the open air. You could see the steep drop over the side of the ledge and gingerly stepped back, away from it. You stayed close to Heisenberg, hand finding a place around his arm again. The two of you continued your way until you finally reached the Beneviento abode. You took in the sight of the two story manor, its gray coloring in comparison to the dark stone behind it. The only signs of life here were the plants that you found springing up through the snow along the cobblestone path.

Very unusual for this time of year.

The two of you walked up the concrete steps and Heisenberg knocked on the door. To his surprise, you both were greeted rather quickly by Lady Beneviento and her companion Angie, who allowed you inside. The two of you spent a good portion of the day with the woman and her doll. Lady Beneviento led you both into her sitting room that was connected to the office and dining area, allowing you to rest comfortably as you discussed her work with the cadou. You asked her the purpose of their implantation in each doll, how it worked in tandem with the beautiful flowers she had in place around her home, around the graves. After that you took to inspecting the cadou that was given to her by Mother Miranda, taking note of its movement in her eye socket. You were also able to take a look at Angie’s, which was the other half that belonged to Donna’s. The doll allowed you to use a screwdriver to open the faceplate that was covering it.

Well, she allowed you to do so after she yelled loudly like a child.

“Did I hurt you?” You asked in a worried tone.

Angie giggled on the coffee table, kicking her wooden legs into the air.

“No, I just wanted to scare ya.”

You heard Heisenberg give out a sigh at the doll’s response, knowing he was already sick and tired of her little games. But you didn’t mind it too much, she was very child-like, so you treated her with the same care you would have any other child. When you finally got it removed you saw the tendrils emitting from the cadou, stuck to the faceplate. You made note of that, seeing how much the gift did not like to let go of its possessions - what it felt belonged to it once it had gotten attached. When you were done with your inspections you put the faceplate back and screwed it into place. After that Angie took off from the coffee table, proceeding to fly around the room with her other doll friends, singing and giggling away with them.

A few more hours passed as the three of you spent time together, and you could tell that even Heisenberg was finding some form of enjoyment in the conversation, especially when he heard that Donna was making what he liked to call “attack dolls”. She said she made them for defense against intruders, but considering how hard it was to get here - you wondered if the intruders would ever make it. Regardless, the day was coming quickly to a close, and you knew you both needed to get back before the sun set.

The two of you bid your farewells with Donna and Angie Beneviento, and made your trek back through the harsh and winding terrain. You continued to keep your hand around his arm, and he didn’t seem to show any anger about it, and didn't seem to care about being seen with you so close to him. Maybe he did care about you, maybe you weren’t a nuisance to him after all.

You both finally passed through the gates, down through the village, making your way all the way back to where you started, the chapel.

“Need any help getting home?” He asked

“No, I should be alright.” You said, regretfully removing your hand from his arm.

“I plan on going to Moreau’s tomorrow, would you mind accompanying me then as well?”

“Same time?” He asked

You nodded in response.

“Same time.”

“Well, alright then.” He said, grinning at you.

“Don’t be late.”

Chapter Four: Act of Approach

Chapter Six: Pressure Cracks

[starlightbelle]

7, 12

Oooh, yay! Thanks for asking; I’m gonna have fun with this one! 😃

7. One DC death you’d like to make permanent — or alternatively, one you’d erase so it never happened?

Hmmm…tough one. I’m not usually a fan of permanent character deaths tbh. Especially with my faves. But even with other characters like…they’re someone’s fave, y’know?

I guess maybe I’d say Solomon Grundy?? Granted my only exposure to him has been in JLU but I was so…bored?? I’m not a fan of the “giant hulking characters who no speak good” trope. So I guess I’d write him out 🤷‍♀️ Sorry that’s the only thing that comes to mind rn

It’s definitely not Jason. That’s who it’s not

Although the “death by fan-vote” is kinda a crummy thing, at this point in the narrative it is kinda fascinating having him brought back. It has evolved to be synonymous with his character so I don’t know whether or not I’d erase his death from comics canon. The storytelling potential is too immense 😅

Last-minute addition:

Oh! I’d make it so that Aquababy (Artur) never dies. Killing him off is dumb and I hate it, so I’m reversing it.

12. Pick up to 7 characters to star in a Teen Titans ongoing (any era or generation you like). What tone do you envision for this series?

Okay I pondered this and I think I found a lineup I’m comfortable with:

Dick Grayson/Nightwing

Koriand’r/Starfire

Wally West/ Kid Flash

Donna Troy/ Troia

Artemis Crock/ Artemis

Jaime Reyes/ Blue Beetle

Jason Todd/ (??)😉

Dick, Kori, and Wally I knew immediately. My dream team is not complete without these three. Donna has been left out of so much for far too long, and she’s Dick’s other best friend, and I just like her character.

After that it becomes a bit dicey because I have to narrow it down to seven…

I elected to have Artemis (Crock) with her YJ-characterization. I like her in the show and she’d fill the archer role since (sorry, don’t hate me) I’m not making Roy a draft pick, lol. Plus she and Wally are great together and I like her friendship with Dick.

I’m putting Cyborg on the Justice League, so he won’t be a member of the Titans. Having Garfield without Vic feels off somehow, and having Raven without BB also feels off. I like Jaime so that could be fun, plus I liked the idea of him and Kori being on a Team together (since she showed up in his comics run recently).

My last pick…might be unexpected?

I feel like most of the run would center mostly on these six. With a side-plot-turned-main-plot tying in another antagonistic figure (Red X/Red Hood) who ends up being Jason Todd. In the end of the first arc, Jason ends up joining the Team (he maintains that he works alone, yadda yadda…but he definitely joined the team 😅)

I’ll ramble a little more under the cut. I have more thoughts but don’t want this post to be too long so I’ll abbreviate it here 😁

The tone would probably be somewhere between the Young Justice and Teen Titans cartoons. I’m a big fan of YJ’s first season especially. I also like the anime influences TT had.

Maybe something similar in tone to My Hero Academia? It can be lighthearted at times but isn’t pulling its punches when it comes to the action/storytelling aspects.

I’m giving this run the “Titans” title since I don’t envision this being a teenagers story. They’re probably mostly young adults.

Dick has been friends with Wally and Donna for a long while already. Maybe Kori at the point has been on Earth for a couple years? Artemis has been close with Dick and Wally especially for several years. Jaime is the last to join the Team (until Jason) which feeds his insecurities at times. Kori is more than eager to help him through those feelings (which is how their friendship blooms)

All-in-all, I want this to be a very close knit group. I’ve always liked the idea of Kori and Wally being friends too, and Donna is canonically one of her best friends, too.

It would probably be a largely urban setting, as only one (arguably, two?) of these characters is not native to that landscape.

I think other settings could be possible at some point, teaming up with someone from Atlantis, for example. (Part of the reason why I didn’t choose an Atlantean to begin with was I was torn between classic Garth or YJ Kaldur)

Anyway this was fun!! Thanks for asking! 😅

[regenderate-fic]

Back Home Anew

Fandom: Doctor Who Ships: Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler Characters: Tenth Doctor, Rose Tyler, Donna Noble, Wilfred Mott Rating: General Series: Eight Nights of DoctorRose (link goes to ao3 page) Word Count: 2,708 Other Tags: Hanukkah, Holidays, Post-Episode AU: Journey's End, Rose Stays

Read on AO3

Summary: Reunited with Rose, the Doctor promises to come to dinner with Donna-- and then accidentally launches the TARDIS six months into the future.

NOTES: i said this was going to be a short little thing just so we had SOMETHING for night four and then it turned into the longest fic in the series. god. also writing tenrose makes me miss my girlfriend oh my GOD i need help. or possibly gay kissing 🤔😳

anyway the au here is that tentoo doesn't exist and donna is fine and rose is still in this universe. you all can substitute the events of your favorite journey's end au fic as explanation for how that happened. also i stole delia's jewish donna headcanons

“Will you stay for dinner?” Donna asked, looking from the Doctor to Rose. “Grandad’ll be thrilled.”

The Doctor looked at Rose, standing next to him, her hand so very warm in his. “Rose?”

“Er— yeah, of course.” Rose nodded. “I’d love to.”

“Right.” The Doctor took a breath. “We just ought to— calibrate the TARDIS— she’s had quite the shock, you know. We’ll just pop her a minute into the future, and then we’ll be right out.”

“I’m holding you to that, spaceman,” Donna said. “One minute.”

“One minute,” the Doctor repeated. He squeezed Rose’s hand and led her back to the TARDIS, pushing the door open so they could step through together. The second they were back inside, everything felt quiet: the last day or so had gone so quickly, everything happening at once, a crowd in the TARDIS, a world-ending threat, and now it was just the Doctor, back in the TARDIS with Rose. 

He turned to Rose. For a moment, they just stared at each other: he took her in, the face he’d thought he’d never see again, her searching eyes, her blonde hair. And then he couldn’t hold back any longer. He reached for her, pulled her close to him, wrapped her up in the tightest hug he could manage, and her arms around his waist felt unimaginably right. He didn’t know how he’d gone without Rose for nine hundred years— didn’t know, either, how he’d survived the last two-ish in her absence. Even though he’d only had her back for a few hours, it was impossible to imagine ever being without her again. This is dangerous, some part of his mind reminded him, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“We don’t actually have to go to Donna’s dinner,” he murmured. “If you’re not up for it.”

“No,” Rose said into his chest, “we said we’d go. Can’t back out now.” 

“Right,” the Doctor said. “Then I suppose I’d better get on with the calibration.” If he was being honest, the TARDIS calibration could have waited— the TARDIS had been damaged, but not so badly that it needed immediate attention. But he hadn’t gotten the chance to really check in with Rose, and he’d needed the excuse to spend even a few seconds alone in the TARDIS with her, just to make sure she was really there, and okay, and with him. 

Rose released her hold on the Doctor’s waist, and the Doctor wasted no time in taking her hand before stepping over to the console. She came with him, her head resting against his arm, and he looked down at her with a little smile. 

“You all right?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah,” Rose said. She looked up at him, and her smile hit him right between the hearts. He felt his own smile turning into a goofy grin, and she grinned back, and for a second he got lost in his own happiness, looking at her. 

She squeezed his hand. 

“Calibration?” she prompted.

“Calibration,” he repeated. He forced himself to let go of her so he could start the process, running halfway around the console and back, hitting buttons and throwing switches and running back to Rose as the TARDIS started up its sound. He found her watching him, still smiling, and he stared back. “What?”

“Missed this, is all.” She leaned her head against his arm again, and he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her in. 

“You ready?” he asked.

“‘Course.” 

Together, they walked to the TARDIS doors and stepped out. Immediately, the Doctor got a sinking feeling in his chest: it was cold, colder than it had been a few minutes ago, and when he looked around he could see twinkling fairy lights wrapped around the lamposts.

Before he could say anything, though, Donna came running out of her house, red hair half-hidden by a knit hat, already yelling, “One minute? Is that what you call one minute? You go in there and say you’re going to pop a minute in the future, and now it’s the fourth night of Hanukkah!”

The Doctor lifted his free hand to scratch the hair at the back of his neck. “Hanukkah? You never said you were Jewish.”

Donna stared. “That’s the takeaway here?”

“Well—” The Doctor looked at Rose, but Rose was laughing, grabbing at his jacket to keep herself from doubling over. 

“You still can’t drive,” she wheezed.

“Oh, you mean he was like this with you, too?” Donna looked at the Doctor. “And she came back for you?”

“First time we met,” Rose said, “he told me he’d brought me back twelve hours later. Turned out it was a year.” She burst into laughter again. “And I stayed with him anyway!”

“D’you know,” Donna said, “he used to talk about you, like, all the time, and I’d sit there wondering, who in the universe would stay with him?” She looked Rose up and down. “But you seem all right. Even if you do have terrible taste in men.”

“I can’t help it,” Rose sighed. “He had me at blowing up my job.” 

Donna laughed. “Well, can’t help that it’s been six months, but d’you still want to come for dinner? Only, Grandad and I were just about to light the menorah.”

“We’d love to,” the Doctor said. He glanced at Rose. “Right? We’d love to?”

“We’d love to,” Rose repeated with a nod.

The Doctor and Rose followed Donna into the house. Immediately, Wilf’s voice met his ears, calling, “Donna, was it him?”

“Yeah,” Donna called back. “Him and Rose. You remember Rose?”

Wilf came into the hallway. “Rose! You found him!”

“Yeah.” Rose smiled. “Good to see you again.”

“You too, love. Are you staying for the candle lighting?”

“They are,” Donna said. 

“Oh, good!” Wilf smiled. “I’ve been learning to make latkes, you know. And we’ve got those pastries— Donna, what were they called again?”

“Sufganiyot,” Donna filled in. 

“Right,” Wilf said. “Those. I’ve eaten three already today.”

“He’s eating us out of house and home,” Donna said. “Come on, you two. Menorah’s this way.” She ushered the Doctor and Rose into the living room. “Grandad, do you have the matches?”

“Give me a second,” Wilf replied from the hallway. 

“We’re still getting used to this,” Donna explained. “Haven’t really celebrated Hanukkah since I was a kid. My dad’s thing, you know?”

“Ah,” the Doctor said. “Your mother’s not—”

Donna shook her head. “She’ll light candles with us if she’s not out,” she said. “‘Course, she’s started going out more and more on Friday nights, but—” She shrugged. “Grandad’s a good sport, though, isn’t he?” 

Just then, Wilf came back into the room, holding a box of matches. “Put them in the kitchen yesterday. Don’t know why, considering.”

“Well, we’ve got them now.” Donna took the box in one hand. “Everyone ready?”

“Just to check,” the Doctor said. “This is just candle-lighting, yes? Bit of prayer?”

“What does it matter?” Donna asked.

The Doctor shrugged. “Got to know what I’m supposed to be ready for, don’t I?”

Rose nudged him. “Being rude.”

The Doctor rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, I like her,” Donna said. She nodded to the window, where a simple gold menorah sat on the sill. “C’mon.” 

The Doctor, Rose, and Wilf followed her to the window. They took their places around the menorah. 

“Don’t suppose you know the blessings already,” Donna said to the Doctor.

“Er— they might be in here somewhere. But people tend to use different tunes, don’t they?” It had been a while since the Doctor had attended any religious event, really, if you didn’t count all the times he’d almost died on Christmas. 

“Well, I didn’t remember the tunes my dad used,” Donna said, “so I’ve stolen them from the synagogue.” She shrugged. “Oh, well. Either you’ll work it out or you won’t. Not my problem either way.”

The Doctor snorted. “That’s one way to think about it.”

Rose laughed.

Wilf, it turned out, was the one to carry the prayers: Donna sang, and Rose and the Doctor knew a few words each, but Wilf’s deep and enthusiastic voice seemed to fill the room. After a blessing, Donna lit the shamash and used it to light the four candles to mark the fourth night, and the Doctor drew Rose closer to him as Donna and Wilf started singing again, all four of them swaying in front of the menorah.

“All right!” Wilf exclaimed, once they were done. “Let’s eat!”

It had been a long time since the Doctor had sat around a table with a family, celebrating a holiday. If pressed, he would probably say the last time was immediately after his regeneration, eating Christmas dinner with Rose and Jackie and Mickey, pulling a red crown out of a Christmas cracker and putting it on his head— this reminded him of that, except he and Rose had gotten older, and he had newer friends, too, to celebrate with. The biggest family on Earth, Sarah Jane had said. Maybe it was true. 

Once they’d eaten, they moved back into the living room, where the candles still flickered on the windowsill. Wilf and Donna each took an armchair, and the Doctor and Rose took up much less of the sofa than they technically could have, Rose leaning against the Doctor’s shoulder. 

“You all right?” the Doctor asked her, keeping his voice low. “You’ve been quiet.”

“Just tired,” Rose said. 

“We can go,” the Doctor said. “If you like.”

“No.” Rose nuzzled closer into his shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around her. “This is nice.”

“Suppose we could’ve made it a ‘welcome back to the universe’ party,” Donna said. “If we’d had any warning at all, that is.”

“I said sorry!” the Doctor exclaimed.

Donna shook her head. “He never changes.”

The Doctor rolled his eyes.

“Sorry,” Rose said. “Next time I’m making him let me pilot.”

“You don’t even know how,” the Doctor scoffed.

“Oh, yeah?” Rose lifted her head to look at him. “In the last two years, I helped Torchwood figure out how to jump across universes. You give me long enough, I’ll figure out how to take your TARDIS wherever I want to go.” She let her head fall back to his shoulder with a contented hum. “Besides, she likes me.”

“That she does.” The Doctor let his fingers trace up and down the leather at Rose’s shoulder. He must’ve been giving her some kind of sappy look, but he only realized when Donna started making exaggerated gagging sounds from her chair. 

He shot her a look.

“You try spending two years thinking someone you care about is stuck forever in another universe,” he said. “See how you behave.”

Donna rolled her eyes. “Whatever, spaceman.”

“How do you two even know each other?” Rose asked, and the Doctor realized suddenly just how much he had to catch Rose up on. It filled him with excitement, somehow, the idea that he could talk to her now— the idea that he could tell Rose about every time he’d done or seen something and thought, I need to tell Rose about this. 

“Just after we said goodbye,” the Doctor said. “Remember that? Burning up a sun?”

Rose pressed even closer to him. “I try not to think about it.”

“So do I,” the Doctor agreed. “But that was when Donna showed up in my TARDIS. In her wedding dress. Turned out her fiance was filling her with Huon particles to help a giant spider make her into a key.”

Rose hummed. “You’ll explain what all that means when I’m more awake, yeah?”

“‘Course.” The Doctor smiled. “Point is, we got each other out of trouble, and then I asked her to travel with me, and she said no, and I bounced around with Martha for a bit—”

“He was borderline mean to Martha, from what she told me,” Donna interjected. “All hung up on you—”

The Doctor winced. “I’ve had finer moments, it’s true.” 

“I liked Martha,” Rose said. “Seemed nice.”

“She’s very nice,” Donna said, directly to the Doctor. 

“The point is,” the Doctor said, “Donna and I found each other again, traveled together for a bit, and here we are now. Happy Hanukkah.”

“And I’m sure I’ll get more of that story later, too,” Rose added. 

“I’m an open book,” the Doctor promised.

They talked a while longer— Donna updated the Doctor on what she’d done in the last six months, which seemed to involve a decent amount of work with UNIT and a worrying amount of contact with Martha, Sarah Jane, and Captain Jack, and she and the Doctor both told Rose about a few of their adventures. It was halfway through talking about Pompeii that the Doctor looked down and realized Rose had fallen asleep against his shoulder, her breath coming out in soft puffs against his jacket.

“Think maybe we’d better go,” he said softly.

“All right, then,” Donna said. “Take some of the sufganiyot with you, will you? There’s no way we’ll eat them all on our own.”

“No way you will, maybe,” Wilf protested.

“Take them anyway,” Donna said. 

“You’re not coming with us?” the Doctor asked.

“Nah.” Donna winked. “Have your honeymoon. Come back for me when you’re ready.”

The Doctor let out a laugh. “Thanks.” He nudged Rose. “Rose?”

Rose’s head lifted. “Mm?” She fell back against him immediately, and he prodded her harder.

“Rose.” He moved his arm from her shoulders to her waist, trying to keep her upright. “C’mon. Let’s get you to bed.”

Rose jumped, then looked around wildly. “Wh— Doctor?”

“Shh,” he murmured. “I’m here. Let’s get back to the TARDIS, all right?”

“Okay,” Rose whispered, her body relaxing. She let the Doctor pull her to her feet, still leaning against him as they moved into the hall. It was like she fit into him, her body taking up his negative space. He’d forgotten what it could feel like, having her here. He took the box of pastries Donna handed to him and hugged her goodbye, and then he and Rose walked slowly back to the TARDIS, Rose stumbling over her own feet.

“When’s the last time you slept?” the Doctor asked.

“Dunno,” Rose replied. “Three minutes ago?”

The Doctor laughed. “Before that.” 

“Oh.” Rose paused. “Not sure.”

“Well, you’ll be glad to know your room is still waiting for you.” The Doctor pushed the TARDIS doors open. “TARDIS didn’t touch it.”

Rose waved a hand at the console. “Thanks.” There was a gurgle from overhead, and the Doctor smiled. 

“C’mon.” 

They found Rose’s room quickly. The Doctor hesitated at the door, still not sure whether Rose would want him to come in— he’d slept in here with her a few times, and a few more times stayed awake while she slept, but those had all been special circumstances: particularly hard days, instances of illness or injury, moments of emotional need. And it had been a few years: maybe something had changed, between them. Maybe things were different now, or they’d need time to get back where they once were, or—

“Don’t be stupid, Doctor,” Rose said, tugging at his arm. “I want you to stay.” 

“All right, then.” The Doctor stepped into the room, looking around. It looked just the same as it always had, with the messy bed and clothes strewn about, the pictures tacked up on the wall, the vanity at one end and wardrobe at the other. Rose stepped away from him just long enough to peel off her jacket and kick off her shoes, and he did the same, sitting gingerly at the end of the bed until Rose came back to him, sitting at the head of the bed and tugging at his arm until he joined her. She wasted no time in curling up against his chest, her arms around him, and he carefully wrapped his own arms around her waist.

“Stay with me,” she repeated, her words already slurring with sleep.

On instinct, he bent his head down to press a kiss to her hair, marveling at her softness, her presence. “Forever,” he promised, and he meant it with every cell in his body. He never wanted to let her go.

[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

[thelightningthatjumpsbetween]

Thirty One

RE8 | Wintersberg | Romance, Slow Burn | Action, Sci-Fi

Sequel of Winters and the Beast, a Resident Evil: Village Story

Table Of Contents

The prospect of being alone with Rosemary in such a large, quiet house unsettled Ethan.  So too, perhaps, did the realization that summer was on its last legs.  He opted to go into the back gardens with his daughter, an outing that she always appreciated.  Ethan brought his camera, but found that his usual attentive focus on photos was gone.  He felt restless and on edge.  

Rose’s goat bounded along the trails and wildflowers happily, as if trying to show Ethan how to have a good time.  But he could only manage a small smile at the pair, who played without his input.  While Rose was busy talking to-or babbling at-a beetle, Ethan’s gaze wandered out over the cliffside and to the mountain range.  Snow still blanketed the tallest mountaintops, but the rest of the range was green and full of life.  For now. 

He felt as though he were on the edge of the world in the south part of the mansion property.  Ethan could not see the remains of the village from this direction, or the silhouette of the castle across the broken valley.  The road to town was in the opposite direction, as was the road through the haunted forest to Maricara’s village. It was as though this precipice of garden was the edge of everything he’d ever known at all.  

As he pondered this, he realized he could sense that there was an actual edge.  An ending…a boundary? 

Ethan frowned and with another glance at Rosemary, he shifted his stance.  As he often did when he was uncertain, he paced.  There was mold growing under them, he simply knew it somehow.  He could pick up on it, like the buzzing of an electrical field.  Ethan felt similarly “empty” vibrations when he was away from the property, as he had been much of the week.  

Not as empty as the dead lake, which apparently had given him Miranda-esque inner turmoil…but the outside world, the world without Mold, was quiet.  The manor was not.  It buzzed along with him, Eva, Rose.  And now, Donna and Moreau.  

As he stepped farther from the home, the buzzing quieted.  The blond stared curiously at the large, singular tree that grew almost at the cliffside.  There was a tall garden wall several feet past it, hiding the sharp cliffs from view–he supposed the original Heisenberg family who built the manor were also at least conscious of their children’s existence–Ethan paced under the tree as if trying to decipher something.  

The tree was a very old linden tree.  It was still fragrant, even this late in the summer, and he heard bees buzzing overhead.  Ethan paced, then crossed his own path to pace again.  There was something else here.  

What was it?  He supposed he was asking the voices.  But there was no answer.  The hairs on his arms and neck stood, and Ethan got the very distinct feeling of being watched.  However, he realized it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling, rather an almost protective one. 

When he turned to look back at the blackened windows of the manor, he shivered.  

Ethan moved away from the spot, still feeling uneasy, and he remembered early in the spring, watching Karl stand under the tree.  Ethan actually smiled to himself when he remembered his own disgust at watching the other man; he appeared to get electrocuted, his own magnetic field falling with a sharp flash of ozone.  

Ethan could not wield magnetic fields to see other things, but he could go into the liminal space.  He closed his eyes, realizing his heart was beating rapidly.  What the hell was he afraid of?  He’d never seen anything more alarming than Eva in that between-place ...well, Miranda could appear in it too, but not in any corporeal form.  There was nothing to fear from visions.  Right? 

He opened his eyes and heard Rosemary as she turned her attention from the bug, to lecture Ethan.  She’d moved into the space with him, and blew a raspberry.  “Dadaaa….” she warned, in a tattle-tale voice, “No.” 

Ethan couldn’t answer; he blanched at the strange sight in front of him.  

It was clear he was correct about the mold ending in this area; the garden in front of him looked pale, translucent even.  There were strange shapes beyond, as if this imprint of the real world relied only on human memory.  Maybe it did.  The sky was stark white.  Colors faded, and then ended abruptly at the marker of the boundary–the tree.  

But that eeriness wasn’t what struck him.  There was a woman under the tree, frozen, staring.  She too was translucent, shimmering silver, with no other discernible colors.  Her hair floated around her face as if she were underwater, along with the flowing robe she wore.  She seemed to stare past Ethan, toward something behind him.  Her eyes were empty.  

Hurriedly Ethan closed his eyes, then reopened them.  He was back to staring at a harmless linden tree. 

Rose had now approached, pointing her finger at the man with all the intended intimidation in the world.  

“Dada, no!”

“I heard you, sweetie,” Ethan exhaled, and he wiped his palms on his thighs.  He was trembling.  He turned to stare at Rose and gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile, but fear now swelled across his whole psyche.  “Lesson learned.  Do you want to go play somewhere else?”

“No,” she said simply and sharply, and then toddled off to pet the goat.  Ethan sighed, and shivered despite the sun beating down on him.  

—------------------------------

Per Rose's request (demand), they stayed outside.  Eva, then Karl, arrived back at the home.  Even after Rose went with Karl to feed and take care of Sage, Ethan sauntered through the garden trying to work out the strangeness it seemed to contain.  

The whole village had been a mystery that unraveled in the end, in the most terrible way.  Each place he’d explored, its own mystery as well.  But those had all ended in death and destruction.  He couldn’t let this place suffer the same fate.  He found himself caring about the mystery of the home, if there was one.   

His brooding was interrupted when Karl exited the manor alone, his coat flowing behind him.  His pace always looked a bit like a spirited horse, with a long stride and a wide arm swing, his hair always tossed back with those shakes of his head.  Maybe it still intimidated Ethan, but he smiled anyway at the sight of the brunette.  Karl took his hat off as he neared, exposing the mostly-grey hair to the evening sun. .  

“What’re you doin’ out here, Buttercup?”

“Enjoying the view, I guess,” Ethan lied lamely, and he rolled his eyes at his own poor attempt.  As Karl’s eyebrow arched behind the glasses, seeing right through the fib, Ethan tried again, “I noticed today that I can feel the boundary that you mentioned.” 

“Hmm,” Karl said, and passed by Ethan to sit on one of the marble benches nearby.  Ethan had a whole rant prepared on how ‘hmm’ was not a reasonable human response to such a revelation, but when Karl gestured to sit, the blond uncrossed his arms and sat in a huff.  “What’s up?”

Karl took off his glasses, squinting angrily at the sun, and tucked them in his pocket.  Then he began digging by the pouch on his hip, presumably for a cigar.  Ethan studied the sunset light across the scarred face.  He’d never seen Karl so serious, not even during the night of Eva’s ceremony, when he’d turned pallid at the sight of Miranda.  Ethan frowned, and the frown only deepened when the engineer unclipped the old military flashlight that he often wore.  

Then Karl flipped the hinge of the metal box, and Ethan’s frown faded to a blank stare at the sight of a pile of crumbled crystals.  

“I uh…after.”  Karl gestured, and then held out the entire box to Ethan.  The blond took it reluctantly.  “Thought you might want to bury, you know.  Give Rose a place to…visit her mom.” 

This last sentence caught Ethan off guard and he smiled as his vision blurred.  “That’s really sweet of you,” he choked out, not recognizing the sound of his own voice.  He pushed the lid closed and put his palms over the light as if embracing it.  He felt cold metal under his fingers, and nothing else.  The faint smile he’d shown over gratitude for Karl’s consideration melted into a glower at Miranda’s gall.  

Karl was studying Ethan’s face with a mixture of his usual lighthearted curiosity, and something else.  This intensity was too much for the father, who exhaled, “You mean, you don’t mind…if it’s here, your…land?”

“You plan on stayin’ around?” 

“Well,” Ethan began, raising his own eyebrows as if in disbelief, “I was moved around so much after Dulvey that I didn’t…think about it much,  I guess.  Didn’t get my hopes up.  Every time I think of going somewhere after all this is over…” he shrugged.  “It feels like I could visit anywhere, but only come back here.”  He seemed to decide on the spot, and gave a curt nod.  “This…this is home for us.”   

Karl’s wry smile was enough to make the blond’s heart flutter.  Karl could feel the change in his heartbeat, he realized with a rush of embarrassment, though he didn’t know quite how–was he that attuned to electrical fields?  

When Ethan blushed, Karl chuckled and pulled away as if offended.  

“Your heart’s always done that around me.” 

“I thought we agreed to try not to get into each other’s heads,” Ethan scowled, but his voice betrayed his humor.   

“Heart’s always done it” Karl said adamantly.  

Ethan countered again with, “Yeah, because you’re a fucking psycho.” 

After Karl was done laughing and Ethan was done attempting and failing to scowl, Karl nodded behind them, toward the tree.  He stood, donning the hat again.  

“Might be a good place, up to you though.”  

Ethan raised a brow, standing as well, turning the box gently in his hands as he surveyed the tree again.  Despite the strange…vision? Apparition? The tree felt almost sacred somehow.  It felt safe.  The woman, or whatever it was, in the liminal space, almost felt like some kind of silent guardian.  He was contemplating it, Ethan realized.  

God, was he losing it, was he going to start ranting about moonlight on midnight wings and whatever the hell else the villagers went through after breaking morning bread?  Ugh.  

“It feels special,” Ethan mumbled, still staring over his shoulder.  

The engineer’s eyes trailed over the tree.  “Family crypt used to be past the garden, had a path down the cliff.  Lost most of ‘em in a landslide back in the 20s.” 

Ethan’s eyes widened at this; he looked at the very ominous, tall stone wall that hid the jagged edge of the property.  Jesus, what a way to have your body go.  Well, still better than being sacrificed for a mold hive mind, he supposed. 

Karl exhaled.  “But, I buried my mom there years after that.” 

With this, he turned on his heel and moved toward the manor without another word.  Ethan stared dumbly after him, his head spinning.  

Why was nothing in this reality ever fucking simple?  

[acacia-may]

Melting Snowman

Description: 9-year-old Langris Vaude has never liked the cold and would much rather spend his winter days curled up inside by the fire. Thanks to his snow-loving brother and cousin, however, Langris finds himself roped into a day of snowman building, snowball fights, and snow angels. But maybe that isn’t the worst thing ever... 

Rating: G

No Warnings Only Fluff Here! 

Fandom: Black Clover

Genre: Family Fluff 

Characters: Langris Vaude, Finral Roulacase, & their cousin Alina (a lovely OC belonging to @delirious-donna​ who requested this story) 

Part of the Friendsgiving Event 2022 Series, But Stands Alone

Word Count: 2,596

Link to original post on AO3.

Note: All OCs belong to Donna without whom this event would not be possible. Thank you dear! I hope you like this! 💖

Langris frowned and ruffled his hand across his head, trying to shake out some of the snow that gotten caught in his hair. He should have worn a hat rather than earmuffs, but he wasn’t about to leave his brother and cousin alone in the snowy garden to go switch them out. Alina was only six, after all, and even though Finral would be eleven next month, he still acted like he was only six. Who knew what kind of trouble they’d get up to if he wasn’t around?

“Wow! It’s so pretty!” Alina’s eyes widened with wonder as she flittered around the snowy garden making trails of footprints.

“You almost don’t want to step in it and mess it up,” added Finral, his warm breath making a cloud in the icy air as he talked. The heavy snowfall had lightened to a soft sprinkle of snowflakes that tumbled around in the air getting caught in scarves, mittens, and—frustratingly enough—hair. Langris huffed and crossed his arms.

“Maybe we shouldn’t and should just go back inside.” He couldn’t stand the cold, and they’d only end up getting wet and possibly even sick from being out here. Sure, it was pretty enough, but couldn’t they just enjoy it from the indoors where it was warm?  

“Oh, come on, Langris. It will be fun!” said Finral, draping an arm over his shoulders. Langris wrinkled his nose and bristled—shaking free from his brother. If he had learned anything in his nine years, it was that he and Finral had vastly different ideas of what was ‘fun.’

Before he could begin to protest, however, Alina slipped her gloved hand into his and smiled up at him with rosy cheeks and a chapped-red nose. “Please Langris. Let’s play!”

Frowning, Langris crossed his arms, but he twisted his mouth to one side as his cousin stared up at him expectantly. He wrinkled his nose and sighed. “Alright, but only for a little while. Then we should go warm up inside by the fire.”

His advice seemed to go unheaded, however, as his brother began immediately gathering snow into a large sphere chuckling, “I know—let’s build a snowman!”

“Yay! Can I help?” asked Alina practically bouncing up and down.

“Of course!” he said with an enthusiastic nod. “You too, Langris.”

Langris huffed. “I don’t—” he began to say, but he stopped as he watched Alina’s face light up as Finral used his spatial portals to stack the spheres of snow that they had gathered into the body of their snowman. Her eyes were wide with wonder, and she had never looked so happy. Langris twisted his mouth again. Alright fine… “Maybe we can use branches for its arms…”  he suggested as he went to gather some sticks that had fallen from some nearby trees.

Finral positively beamed at him before he added, “I can get some buttons for its eyes too.”

“And a carrot nose?” Alina suggested with a bright smile.

Nodding excitedly, Finral pulled a carrot and a handful of buttons out of a portal followed by a red scarf. “A scarf too. So he won’t get cold.”

Langris crossed his arms with a huff. “He’s a snowman. How is he going to get cold?”

As Finral merely shrugged his shoulders, Alina said, “Snow is cold, and he’s made of snow so he’s cold too, right?” Langris blinked. He couldn’t quite argue with what his cousin had said, but he still didn’t think it made that much sense.

His brother, of course, was no help and suggested, “Maybe he needs a hat too” before pulling one out of a portal and handing it to Alina. Alina nodded very seriously before she triumphantly put it on the snowman’s head. As she took a step back to admire their work, she tilted her head.

“Can we make another one? So the snowman won’t be lonely and will have someone to play with?”

“Of course. How about a snowlady?” Finral chuckled. “They can be the Lord and Lady Snowman.”

“Or a snow prince and a snow princess!” suggested Alina as she started to gather snow for the snowlady. Langris didn’t think the snowlady looked much different than the snowman, but Alina insisted she was much prettier and Finral, naturally, agreed.

As they put the finishing touches on the snow princess, Finral bowed to their snow people with a gracious, “Your Highnesses” which caused Alina to burst into giggles. His brother looked ridiculous, but Langris’ mouth still twitched in the corners before he frowned again.  

“This is silly…” he began to say even as he twisted branches together into a crown of sorts for the snow princess, but Alina cut him off, chuckling behind her gloved hands.

“Look, Langris is frowning just like the snowman.”

“Langris is an awful lot like our snowman isn’t he?” Finral teased.

Flushing, Langris crossed his arms and frowned. He supposed his brother had a point, though Langris would never admit that Finral was actually right about something, of course. Langris scowled as his brother smiled at him. “It’s better than being a soft marshmallow like you,” he huffed with a tint of pink in his cheeks.

Finral, however, just laughed. “Marshmallows are warm—which means I can melt you.” Playfully, he flung his arms around him and pulled him into a hug—even as Langris bristled and wriggled, his cheeks blushing an embarrassing red all the while.

“I can too!” exclaimed Alina also wrapping her arms around him. Despite the warmth in his face, Langris frowned and rolled his eyes.  

“Is it working?” chuckled Finral.

“No,” Langris blustered. “Now would you two just knock it off? You’re both ridiculous.” He shook free of his brother and his cousin’s hugs with a pointed glare at each of them that only seemed to cause Finral and Alina to giggle.

“Maybe we should just settle for making one of them smile?” Finral suggested with a bright smile of his own. As Langris glowered at him, Alina laughed harder. “It’ll probably be easier to make the snowman smile, huh?” his brother teased as he pulled a few buttons out of a portal and added them to the snowman’s mouth so it curved in the corners.

“But we can make Langris smile too, right?” asked Alina, blinking back at him with earnest eyes.

His brother’s eyes seemed to twinkle playfully before his brow furrowed thoughtfully. “It might be really hard, but I think I have an idea of how we can do that...”

Langris bristled, but he tilted his head almost haughtily at his brother. “Oh really?” he asked with a dry sarcasm. “And just how do you plan on—?”  

He didn’t get to finish his question, however, as in the flash of a spatial portal and movements too quick for him to keep up with, Finral had hit him square in the back with a snowball. Alina laughed and clapped her hands as Langris glared pointedly at his brother who was stifling laughter. “Oh, do you want to have a snowball fight? Is that it?” he huffed, crossing his arms. Finral could no longer contain his laughter, and Langris shook his head slightly, wrinkling his nose. He debated whether or not he should stoop to his brother’s level and start a snowball fight like a child. He was nine years old and a proper noble boy after all—too dignified for such things, but when Finral threw another snowball at him, he scrambled to his knees and started making snowballs to throw right back at him.

“Eep!” exclaimed Alina, and Langris stopped. He blinked guiltily at the splotches of snow on her coat, evidence that the poor girl had gotten caught in the crossfire.

“Are you okay?” Langris asked, but Alina just giggled and threw her own snowball at him—a small one that mostly fell apart in the air, Langris noticed, but it was a start. His mouth began to curve into a smile. The one she threw at his brother was much better.

It wasn’t long before the trio were running around the yard—squealing and giggling as they threw snowballs at each other. Finral and Alina were positively beaming despite being cold and wet, and even Langris himself couldn’t quite stop the smile that tugged at his lips when he managed to hit Finral square in the back of the head when he wasn’t looking. His older brother shook the snow out of his hair and began chasing him around the garden—eventually running into him and an unfortunate Alina who just so happened to be nearby. They all landed in a laughing heep on the snowy ground.

As Langris shook himself free, he laid back and stared up at the snowflakes falling from the sky. It really was pretty, he thought, even if it was cold. He threw out his arms and, surprising even himself, waved them back and forth in the snow.

“Snow angels! That’s a great idea, Langris!” said Finral as he and Alina began making their own angel patterns in the snowy ground.

Langris shrugged, but the tips of his ears turned pink. “Well, I just thought since we were already on the ground anyway…”—he frowned—”thanks to you…”

Chuckling lightly, Finral rubbed his hand across the nape of his neck. “Sorry about that…”

“It’s okay. It was fun!” Alina insisted before she sighed and sank even deeper into the snow. “Can we always do this—whenever it snows? Even when we grow up?”

Sitting up, Langris shook some of the excess snow off of him and crossed his arms, “We’ll look silly if we play in the snow when we’re grown ups.”  

“But we’ll have fun,” insisted Finral. As Langris frowned, his brother chuckled but nudged him, “Admit it, you had fun today!”

Langris’ cheeks grew hot. “No.”

“That’s a lie. You smiled,” teased Alina. Langris crossed his arms with a huff, but he could feel that flush of red in his cheeks. That seemed to be enough for Finral and Alina who both laughed with triumphant smiles on their faces. Wrinkling his nose, Langris glowered at them. His cousin and his brother were ridiculous.

“Let’s go in,” he said standing up and turning to head back into the house. “I’m getting cold.”

“But I want to play more,” pleaded Alina. Finral, however, put a gentle hand on her shoulder before standing up himself—brushing snow off of his coat and hair. “I think Langris has a good idea. It’s getting really cold out here, and it’s going to be dark soon too.” Alina’s face fell, and Finral added hurriedly, “But don’t worry, we can definitely do this again someday. Right, Langris?”

Finral turned to him—blinking with his widest puppy-dog eyes. Langris crossed his arms before Alina scampered up from the ground and ran after him begging, “Please. Please, Langris!” Her pleading eyes met his, and he bristled as she took his gloved hand. As Finral threw in a few “Please”s of his own, Langris felt that warmth in his cheeks again despite his best attempts to frown. He shook his head slightly, but his mouth twitched just barely in the corners. They really were so ridiculous…

“Maybe,” he conceded at last to jubilant cheers from Finral and Alina that only made his blush deepen. “But I’m not making any promises…”

*-*-*

Epilogue:  

From between the archways, Langris watched the snowflakes swirling around in the air—a constant, gentle shower that added a fluffy, powdery coat to the already snow-covered garden. Langris sighed. He had never liked the winter weather, even as a child, but his dislike had only grown stronger as he aged and collected a slew of injuries from his years as a magic knight that had the awful habit of aching in the cold, despite having been long-healed. He supposed that was a good excuse, but most of his dislike for the snow was just due to personal preference for curling up next to the fire in a cocoon of blankets rather than catching snowflakes like his brother and cousin were doing now.

If Langris was being honest, they looked rather silly running around and playing in the snow at their age, but Langris supposed he could let it slide, if only because it was for their families. Finral was laughing—running around after his giggling children and Lina’s girls as well while they dodged in and out of the bushes and trees in a flurry of snowballs and spatial portals. Langris shook his head at the dissonant chorus of laughter and playful “Dad!” s, “Uncle Finral!” s and “I’m going to get you!” s. His mouth twitched in the corners. His dumb brother.

“Aren’t you going to play too?” teased Alina as she walked over to him.

Langris sighed. “I think you and Finral have it covered.”

“Oh come on, Langris, it’ll be fun!” she insisted with a playfully pleading face.

“You and I have never really agreed on what ‘fun’ is, Lina,” he said with a tilt of his head.

Alina crossed her arms. “You promised me that we’d still play together in the snow even when we were all grown up.”

“I made no such promise,” he insisted. “In fact, I distinctly remember saying that I wasn’t going to make any promises.”

“Don’t be such a stick in the mud,” called Finral who had paused to catch his breath and to scoop up his youngest who had lost his hat in all of the running around.

Huffing, Langris crossed his arms. Before he could say anything in retort, however, Finral portaled over to them, draping an arm around both Langris and Alina. “Come on, Langris. For old times’ sake.”

Turning from his brother to his cousin, Langris frowned pointedly. “It’s not fair that you’ve ganged up on me like this. I’m not going to—” He stopped as he felt a tiny gloved hand slip into his. His brow furrowed. “Sera?”

Seraphina was Lina’s youngest, and even though she was only his cousin, he considered her as much his niece as any of Finral’s children. As she had been the baby of the extended family for the past couple of years, everyone had quite the soft spot for her, even Langris who couldn’t help but see her mother in her—especially as she stared up at him with familiar wide eyes and begged, “Please play.”

“Yes, please play ‘Uncle Langris,’” echoed her mother who blinked at him with much the same expression in her eyes.

“How can you say no to that?” said Finral as he playfully shook some of the snow out of his hair and onto Langris’ coat. Langris glared at him, but his mouth twitched in the corners as his brother’s attention was pulled away by the delighted squeals of his children. Turning back to Sera, Langris quirked an eyebrow and held a finger to his lips before he gathered some nearby snow as quickly as he could—throwing it at Finral when he wasn’t looking.

Gasping, Finral whipped around towards Langris as he shook the snow off in mock offense. “That was a cheap shot,” he protested, but a beaming smile spread across his entire face.

Alina burst into laughter, and Sera giggled—shouting, “Run!” as she took off towards her sister and cousins.

Langris twisted his mouth. “Alright fine,” he conceded with a slight shrug of his shoulders before he smirked at his brother and took off after his niece. After all, what was a little cold to a melting snowman?

[chayacat]

Remember, My Love. (25)

Fandom: Resident Evil 8 Village

Lycan Karl Heisenberg x Female Reader  

Rated M for Violence, language and Smut

***

The sky was dark. As if the night had suddenly fallen on the village. The atmosphere was becoming heavier and the tension was at its peak. Chris and the rest of the group were completely confused. They thought they had gotten rid of Miranda, and unfortunately for them, that wasn't the case at all. On the contrary, she was still alive, she had "mutated" if we could say that, thanks to or because of the mutamycete, she really looked more like a witch than a human being. Her voice was of a nameless monstrosity, mixed with her natural voice. She laughed out loud when she saw the faces of her enemies. Karl could barely stand, in fact, if Aria didn't support him, he would be sitting against a wall, without any strength to stand. Don’t forget that he was kept on the ground by silver chains, depriving him of his energy. He needs time to recover.

“Damn it... we will never get there, she will pursue us to hell.” said Karl, exhausted.

“We are already in hell.” responds Chris.  

“What do we do now?” said Angie.  

“She is even more powerful than ever. Even all together... nothing can be done about it. We're all going to die.” said Alcina.  

“Poor of you. If you had obeyed kindly and got rid of Redfield... all this would never have happened. Now it's too late to go back! I will destroy this village and you will bury with it! You can thank this dear Chris Redfield! instead of saving you all, he will all lead you to death! HAHAHA!” said Miranda.  

Miranda raised her arms to the sky, creating some kind of fireballs before throwing them at Chris and his group. The latter began to run to safety, unfortunately, it was the houses of the villagers who paid the price. Fortunately, the latter had been sheltered, by Alcina helped by the Duke. Aria run while holding Karl, who tries to keep the same pace as the young woman. If only he could fight... but he has not yet regained all his strength. It still needs time. Just a tiny bit of extra time.

Chris looked in all directions, looking for something that could help him defeat Miranda. It was then that he saw his team's helicopter in the distance, totally ignored by Miranda who was focused on killing Chris and his group than on them. He took cover with the rest of the group, grabbed his headset and turned it on to contact his team.

“Here’s Alpha! does anyone receive me??” said Chris.  

“Here’s Umber eyes! We receive you 5 out of 5 Captain! What's going on???”

“Miranda is not dead. She mutated! and she targeted us! we are completely stuck!”

“What can we do ??” asks Lobo.  

“For now, stay behind! you will be needed for extraction.”

“Got it! Hang on! Don’t die now!”  

“I don’t intend to.”

Chris hung up and watched the group, analysing the situation. They are practically exhausted. Karl barely stands, Alcina and her daughters had scratches everywhere, Angie and Donna were exhausted. He's going to have to fend for himself. He can't ask Aria to help him. She can't fight. But facing Miranda... alone... it is suicide. Unfortunately, he has no choice.

“Stay safe. I take care of Miranda.” he said.  

“We can still fight Redfield. We are not on the verge of death.” said Alcina.

“No. I was the one who put everyone in this situation. It is up to me to repair the damage. Stay here to protect Aria.”

“You can count on me Redfield.” said Karl.  

Chris loaded his gun and pulled out his head slightly to spot Miranda. She was at the entrance of the underground, a twisted smile on her lips, thousands of "brambles" coming out of the ground that spread in the village. If she was not stopped as soon as possible, She would destroy the whole village without the slightest effort. But how to do it? Chris' weapons are useless, if he shoots her, she will regenerate immediately. He has to do it the old-fashioned way. With fists. And everything he will find. He still kept his weapon loaded to carry, better to prevent, than to cure. He is alone now. He must succeed.

“Well, well... you finally understood Redfield? You can't escape your fate. NO ONE can!” said Miranda.  

“You won't escape yours Miranda either. And I'll make sure of that.” said Chris.  

It was then that the fight between the two began. Chris rushed at Miranda to hit her, but Miranda pushed him away with disconcerting ease. The latter attacked in turn, but Chris used the rubble and everything he found on the ground to protect himself. Each struck the other, delivering equally powerful blows. The brambles surrounded the two fighters before locking them in a dome cutting them off from the outside world. When Chris realized this, he took a violent blow from Miranda, sending him waltzing against rubble. He coughed, coughing up some blood and tried to get up before being violently pinned to the ground by Miranda. The latter couldn't help but laugh and using her "brambles", she lifted Chris before taking his face with one hand.

“You are pathetic. So that's the hero of the BSAA? You are not even able to defend yourself to a simple woman. I told you; NO ONE can kill a God. Goodbye Chris Redfield, I would make sure that the whole world forgets you until the first day of your existence.” said Miranda, laughing, ready to give the final blow.  

As she raised her hand, creating a fireball, to deliver the final blow, she froze sharply and stopped laughing. Her expression had changed. She and Chris looked down and both could see that an ice spike pierced Miranda's body. The latter let Chris to the ground, and slowly turned spitting black blood, to see Aria, whose half of her body was... frozen. But she moved normally and lowered her frozen arm, violently removing the ice spike from the witch's body. She fell to her knees moaning, the frozen hole not closing and the ice beginning to spread all over Miranda's body.

“It's over. You will never hurt anyone again, Miranda.” said Aria.  

“...All...All I wanted was...to see my Eva again. To have her...with me again...” Responds Miranda.

“Eva was too young to die... she should have lived, grown and fulfilled her dreams. But unfortunately, we can't predict the future... and no one changes the course of fate. I lost my family... 2 times. I know how it feels to lose the people you love. But to sink into madness, and to do what you did... what you HAVE done to ME. Today... if... if you hadn't killed me, I would have been 125 years old. An age that I would never have reached because I would have died long before but... I would have lived the best life with those I love. But you ruined everything. And now it has to stop.”  

“I...” replied Miranda, her body almost completely frozen before seeing something... that she never thought she would see again. “...Eva?”

“Mommy? What are you doing?” said the little girl.

“My little Eva... If you knew... how much I missed you...”

“Me too...but I'm here now. Can we go home? I’m tired...”

“Of course, sweety...I’m...coming...we’re...going...Home.”

And these where the witch's last words before her entire body were frozen, her arm outstretched and a calm look on her face. Aria stepped back a few steps, when the ice statue that was Miranda fell into a thousand pieces to the ground, making everything disappear leaving the sun again delicately warming the village. Aria looked sadly at the pieces of ice before looking up at Chris who was still on the ground.

“Chris!” She said, rushing to him to help him getting up. “Are you okay??”

“...Ha...haha...I am. You did it...thank you Aria.” said Chris.

“...it was nothing.” she replied with a smile on her face.  

“Aria!” Said Karl.  

The young woman turned her head and smiled towards Heisenberg and once Chris was able to stand, she ran into the arms of his love. The latter held her close to him, a hand in her hair, a gesture she returned to him. They kissed, again and again and refused to leave each other's arms. The nightmare was finally over. They were going to be able to live in peace now. The helicopter landed in the wheat field not far from Louiza's house and Chris' entire team goes down to join their captain, who reassured them of his health. Several hours later, the villagers saw the damage while Chris received the last care. He was sitting near the helicopter watching the villagers already organize for reconstruction.

“Well, they are motivated. it's nice to see.” said Aria standing right next to Chris smiling.

“With everything that has happened... yes, they are motivated. It's impressive.” responds the latter.  

“How are your injuries?”

“I have experienced much worse believe me. That's not what will kill me.” he replied making Aria laugh. “And you? How are you?”

“I’m...Fine. And relieved that all this is finally over. Karl and the others are doing very well too, they are recovering from their injuries. Some Lycans are... dead... but the losses are not too great. The only thing we lost... it’s Moreau.” responds Aria with a small smile.

“I’m sorry.”

“Salvatore had made his choice. He was completely blinded by Miranda. Nothing could be done for him anymore. You know... it doesn't excuse what she did... but I understand what Miranda wanted to do. Everything she did... this is what any mother would do to see her child again.”

“Maybe. But we can’t break the laws of nature. We can’t bring the dead back to life.”

“We have to believe... that I am an exception to the rule?"  

“Haha...true.”

“Chris...thank you.”

“Why? It’s you who killed Miranda.”

“Yes... But if you hadn't come to this village... all that would not happen. And in the end... Miranda would have performed her ritual... without anyone suspecting anything. And who knows what she would have done next.” Aria said, looking at the villagers. “What are you going to do now?”

“Go home. Make our report. While lying about the Mutamycete. What about you?"

“Rebuild the village, try to resume a normal life, and maybe try to evolve this village towards the 21st century? and who knows one day we may see each other again?”

“Maybe.”

“Captain! We'll have to go!” said Tundra.  

“I’m coming.” responds Chris.  

“Ahem.”

Chris turned to see Karl standing in front of him, arms crossed, his glasses, his coat, and his hat on him. Aria took his hand and stood against him, who made him smile.

“Then? soon the big departure?” he said with his sneaky smile.

“Yes. The world is still in danger against bacteriological weapons, each more dangerous than the next. We don't stay here too long.” responds Chris.  

“No rest for the brave huh?”

“Absolutely.”

“... it's going to hurt me to say it but... Thank you Redfield. I'll give you that back one day.”

“Make sure that no one discovers mutamycete and you will do me a great favor.”

“You can count on it.”

Chris reached out his hand to Karl, who after a few seconds of hesitation, sighed and squeezed him before letting go of him laughing. Chris said goodbye to everyone and boarded the helicopter. Lobo started the latter, pushing back all those who were close including Karl and Aria and took off. Aria broke away from Karl and raised her arms to the sky to say goodbye to Chris one last time. The latter from above smiled at her and returned the gesture. And it was on a beautiful blue sky and a sun brighter than ever, that Chris' team left the village that now, will be able to live in peace forever. He's going to have to continue his fight against Umbrella elsewhere, but he's sure that one day they'll see each other again. As for the evolution of the village that Aria was talking about... He will give them a little help, as a farewell gift. In the meantime, it's time for everyone to turn the page.

Mission accomplished.

***

(Do you have the trailer for the Movie Super Mario Bros? Frankly I am amazed! I can't wait to see what happens in the theatre! I grew up with video games and more specifically with the great classics such as Mario and Zelda and sometimes I still enjoy Mario games like the latest Paper Mario: The Origami King. It's only coming out next year but I can't wait to go see it in the cinema! I hope you enjoy this chapter! Have a great week everyone! See ya!)