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Maarten van Heemskerck - The Rest on the Flight into Egypt. 1530
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Luc-Olivier Merson (France 1846-1920)
Rest on the Flight to Egypt 1880
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Charles Poërson (French, 1609-1667) Rest on the Flight into Egypt, ca.1640 The Cleveland Museum of Art
#Charles Poërson#french#french art#christian art#european art#1600s#art#fine art#classical art#europe#european#oil painting#fine arts#europa#mediterranean#rest on the flight into egypt#classic art#traditional art#angel#christian#christianity#catholic#roman catholic#catholicism#france
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Rest on the Flight into Egypt (1880) | Luc-Olivier Merson
#art#fine art#painting#aesthetic#dark#rest on the flight into egypt#luc olivier merson#religious art
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REFUGEES ARE WELCOME x Rest On The Flight Into Egypt by Hermann Kaulbach (German, 1846-1909) (my edit)
#refugees are welcome#refugees#asylum seekers#Nativity#holy family#Christmas#baby Jesus#flight to egypt#rest on the flight to egypt#mine#honey bee shepherd original#uploaded#I should make this into a tshirt
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Dear Friends, My family has faced an unimaginable tragedy over the past four months, subjected to a genocide that has taken away our loved ones and the roof over our heads. My sister, now residing in Rafah camp, is enduring conditions no human should ever have to face, especially after recently giving birth. Alongside her husband and three children, they are caught in a relentless cycle of sickness, starvation, and the terror of ongoing bombardment. Their home in North Gaza was destroyed, and despite our best efforts, accessing basic necessities remains a daunting challenge due to the brutal situation in the Gaza Strip. I am reaching out to you in desperate need of your support to rescue my family from this relentless nightmare and ensure their safe evacuation before it's too late. Your contribution could be the lifeline they desperately need. We are seeking funds solely for the purpose of their safe passage through the Egyptian border. The financial barrier is steep, with costs exceeding $5,000 per person, but your generosity could make all the difference in their world. Please, consider extending a helping hand to my family in this critical hour. Your donation could be the key to their survival. Thank you for your compassion and support.
Reham has managed to escape to Egypt but now faces a new daunting challenge
Dear friends, Thank you for checking my campaign. Whether you're a previous donor or new to our cause, your kindness has brought us closer to safety and reunification. I'm reaching out today to provide an important update and to ask for your continued support as we face the next critical steps in our journey. I am working to raise the necessary funds to help my sister and her family reunite with the rest of my family in Belgium. After the generous and inspiring support, you showed in funding her evacuation, she now lives in Cairo, away from the genocide committed against our people in Gaza. Reham is one of 100,000 Gazans who have crossed into Egypt, where they lack the necessary papers to enroll their children in schools, open businesses or bank accounts, travel, or access health insurance. In addition to that, the Egyptian government has recently increased the fee for refugees to $2,000 USD, making matters worse. Her family has been asked to seek asylum in another country, but we have exhausted all avenues to get them to countries that grant Palestinians asylum and a chance to restart their lives. We are currently exploring possible routes for her family to reach Belgium or Oman. It is urgent that we raise the necessary funds for travel expenses, including visa fees, flight tickets, and basic living expenses during the initial days of transitioning to a new home country as refugees. We urgently need some relief to help them get through the next 4-6 months required to finalize their travels. We are asking for $16,800 as essential relief for the five-member family, who have lost their income, their home, and belongings and depleted their savings during the brutal war. Your help will make a tremendous difference in ensuring their well-being now and in the near future. We understand that the funds might seem steep, so here is a breakdown of everything we would need it for: $4500 towards housing (750 per month). $2000 towards flight tickets. $7000 towards travel documents such as visas and other government-mandated paperwork from various ministries, including financial proofs and statements.$800 for GFM fees. $2500 essential living expenses. Your support is crucial in helping Reham and her family find safety and stability. Thank you for your kindness and generosity.
This GFM hasn't received a donation in 2 months. Please boost. Donate if you can
#yemen#jerusalem#tel aviv#current events#palestine#free palestine#gaza#free gaza#news on gaza#palestine news#news update#war news#war on gaza#palestine donation#palestinian donations#palestine fundraiser#palestine gfm#aid for gaza
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With You part 10
<-prev next-> || Fic Masterlist || My Masterlist
Summary: Married, back in London, Jake comes crashing back into your life
Pairings: Marc Spector x reader, Steven Grant x reader, Jake Lockley x reader. Gender neutral reader. No use of Y/N. Reader is married to the system.
Word Count: 3.6k
Warnings/notables: A n g s t, complicated relationship stuff, cursing. Alcoholism, violence, injury, blood. Lmk if I missed a warning. inaccurate DID, based on the show. Not beta'd
PREVIOUSLY, on "With You"...
Leaning down, he brushed his lips over your cheek in a tender kiss... the softness of you electrifying him utterly.
"I'll never let him near you," he vowed, his fingers reaching up to trace his lips where your skin had touched. "And I'll never let him take Marc away from you."
“Read to me, husband," you purred into Steven's ear, curling close to his side.
His eyes cut over to you and he grinned, reaching to lace his fingers with yours. You sighed, your heart overflowing as your fingertip traced over the gold band he now wore.
"Long flight, darling. You sure you don't want to rest a bit?" He suggested, gazing at you adoringly.
"Maybe I will if you read to me," you teased, pulling your intertwined fingers to your mouth, your lips grazing his ring.
You may have been on an airplane, but it still felt like your own little world.
After a few chapters about ancient Egypt, and a long nap, you awakened to your husband watching an 80's action film on the screen on the back of the chair in front of him.
Marc.
Latching on to his arm, your fingers found his again, just to toy with his wedding band.
"Hey, baby," he softly greeted, kissing your temple. "Steven bore you to death reading about the pyramids?"
"Absolutely not," you playfully defended, "I just find the sound of his voice soothing."
"You know what's soothing?" He pointed to his screen with a grin. "RoboCop."
You groaned. "How much longer till we land?"
"We're not even halfway," Marc replied, glancing at his watch.
"Maybe RoboCop will put me back to sleep."
Your honeymoon was magical.
All your hard work, saving and planning paid off, and you and your husband had the time of your lives. Sun-drenched days, passion-filled nights, nothing but relaxation in paradise. Playing games with Marc, reading with Steven, delicious food (and a delicious husband).
It was just the refreshing reset you needed to kick off married life.
Truthfully, you wondered about Jake - you missed him, and the tiniest part of you hoped nothing would interfere with your little bubble of temporary heaven.
Everything seemed fine - you made it back to London refreshed and ready to proudly sport your wedding band everywhere you went. You didn't care if it seemed a little old fashioned. You were proud and thrilled to have a wonderful, dreamy husband.
Steven transitioned into summer session classes at uni while you contemplated advancing your nursing career. Marc seemed steady, albeit a little quiet. Not brooding quiet - more like...observationally quiet.
The two of you had discussed what he might like to do. After all, he had spent years as a man of action. But he insisted he was content in his current role, making sure Steven got the education and credentials he deserved.
Still...something about him seemed a little off. There was no evidence of him drinking, and, even in his darkest times, drinking was never something he hid from you. It was a bit difficult to hide anyway, but he never even attempted to. So you didn't suspect alcohol as the culprit.
After insisting he was fine for a few weeks, he finally admitted how hard he had been trying to communicate with Jake. You were a little surprised at first, but only at first. After all, Marc had never enjoyed the feeling of not having control - whether over himself, his life, or just in general.
By now, an eternity had passed since you last saw or spoke to Jake. When Marc admitted that he had spoken to Jake quite a few times since your wedding, you had to bite your tongue to keep from asking, 'Did he ask about me?'
You already knew the answer. Jake was not interested in all things you. Besides, this wasn't about you anyway - it was about Marc as a system. Instead, you asked Marc why he didn't say something sooner to you about speaking to Jake.
"I didn't want to upset you," was his explanation. Fair enough.
Instead of starting an interrogation with questions like, 'Does he still work for Khonshu?' and the like, you kept your focus on your husband and asked, "Is that why you've been so quiet?"
Chewing on his lip, he waited a minute before replying, "Maybe. Just trying to figure some stuff out."
The look on your face clued him in to the fact that he was being vague at best. So he knelt down in front you as you sat in Steven's reading chair, took your hands and said, "I'll tell you more soon. I'm working really hard to figure out how we can all be happy - how we can all coexist and really be safe, and free of Khonshu for good."
Oh.
If Marc was working on something Khonshu-related, then his contemplativeness tracked. He was so earnest in trying to confess this little piece to you, that you decided to believe him and not prod too much right now. Just for now.
The very next night, you came home from work a little late - a night quite reminiscent of the one when you had found Marc drinking - to find your flat dark and mysteriously quiet.
Calling your husband's names, you headed to the bedroom to get changed when you heard a thump and a groan from inside the bathroom. Panic shot through your body as you bolted through the door, shoving it open to find...Marc? slumped over the closed toilet, shirtless, clutching his side and groaning in pain.
"Baby - what happened?" You gasped, kneeling down and switching into triage mode. That's when you saw blood pooling around his hand, oozing through his fingers.
What the hell...
"Shit, you're bleeding," you cried, stating the obvious while jerking the nearest towel off the rack to press to his side.
He grunted, reluctantly dragging his crimson-coated fingers away, hissing as you pressed the cloth into his side to staunch the bleeding.
Tears burned your eyes at the sight of your wounded husband, but only for a second, as your medical training kicked in. You noticed right away that his knuckles were bloodied, as if he'd punched a wall. His lip was split, his eyebrow was cut and there were even a few angry scrapes across his cheek.
"Hold this here for me, baby, I need to get the first aid kit," you sniffed, pulling his hand back over the towel covering his bleeding side. Most of what you needed was in the bathroom with you, so as soon as you were ready, you sat down and reached for his fingers.
"Here, let me see," you instructed. You gasped at the deep, angry gash in his flesh. "Okay...okay, I need to stitch this up, honey, it's deep." Pausing for a moment, you realized it was a horrible idea to tend to your husband, especially with tears stinging your eyes.
"Actually, here," you pushed the cloth back over his wound, making him groan in agony. "Come on. We need to get to A&E - "
"No," he firmly protested. "You do it."
You shook your head. "Marc, listen, I really should-"
"No," he repeated, his eyes finding yours. "Too many questions. No police."
Shaking your head in frustration, you grabbed your first aid kit, which was really a small medical bag, containing enough supplies to be useful in an emergency.
You would do anything for Marc, but right now, you were confused and growing more worried by the moment. "What were you even doing? How did you get hurt?" You huffed, gathering the supplies to mend his wound.
He didn't answer, and that pissed you right off.
Pausing just for a moment, you glared at him, before gathering some clean towels. Without a word, you hurried to the kitchen to set the kettle to boil, just in case you needed to sterilize anything the old fashioned way.
When you returned to your husband, you had calmed down a little.
Pulling the bloody towel away from his side once more, you started to clean the angry gash, attempting to get ready to close the wound.
A few minutes later, you instructed Marc to move to the bed. You certainly weren't going to stitch him up on the bathroom floor.
Pausing for a moment, you granted him a reluctantly sympathetic smile, brushing his sweaty curls away from his forehead.
"This is going to hurt. I don't have anything to give you - anything to numb the pain," you carefully explained. "Are you sure you don't want to go to A&E?"
He nodded once, but still wouldn't speak to you.
"How did you get hurt, Marc? I thought you still had...healing armor or whatever. From Khonshu." And why was he acting so weird?
The instant you had the thought that Marc really didn't seem himself was the moment you knew.
Staring into his eyes challengingly, you whispered his name. "Marc?"
Swallowing hard, he drew a trembling breath. "Not Marc."
All the blood drained from your face. You blinked rapidly, completely blindsided and so confused.
"Jake?"
Averting his gaze, he gave you another nod.
Despite all your medical training, you froze. Lips trembling, you reached up to his face, carefully minding his scrapes and cuts as your fingers traced his jaw. It had been so, so long...
"You're hurt," you whispered, as if it were new information. In a way, it was. Because a moment ago, in your mind, Marc was the one hurt. That was bad enough, but now, after weeks on end of hearing nothing...
"I'm sorry," he murmured, his eyes drifting closed at your touch. "Please help me."
Releasing his jaw, you covered his hand with yours, squeezing gently before nodding.
"This will hurt, Jake," you reminded him, as if he wasn't there a minute ago to hear your warning.
"'S okay. I deserve it." Closing his eyes, he laid his head down and waited for the pain.
You were going to fucking kill someone. Either Jake, for asking you to stitch him up rather than go to A&E while you were reeling, having not seen him for so long. Or Khonshu for honestly being a giant pile of dicks. Maybe even Marc. You weren't sure why you were mad at Marc, but you had a feeling he was involved in this steaming pile of shit somehow. The only one who might get a pass was Steven, unless he was in on this Khonshu bullshit too.
Jake could feel your anger. It was rolling off of you, electrifying the whole bedroom. But your hands remained steady, tender and professional, dancing over his wounded flesh. The dichotomy of your righteous anger and your healing mercy made him burn for you.
Each stab with your needle felt like a consequence for how he'd failed you. Failed Marc.
It was silent torture, but finally you finished, cleaning and bandaging the wound. You had thought he might pass out from exhaustion or pain, but he simply stared at the ceiling and said nothing.
Not one fucking word of explanation, or even a cry of pain.
With a sigh, you left the room to wash up and get rid of some of the bloody dressings and instruments. The sutures were not your best work - after all, you didn't stitch people up on a daily basis. But it would have to do.
Feeling exhausted in every way, you readied yourself to tend to the rest of Jake's injuries, bracing yourself for stone cold silence. It fucking hurt, but he was more than clear on the matter of not communicating with you.
Returning to Jake's beside, you said nothing. You simply lifted his hand into your own, carefully cleaning his bloody knuckles. You thought about making a joke along the lines of 'I should see the other guy, right?' but ultimately decided against it. It seemed pointless to even try.
Grabbing a couple extra pillows from your side of the bed, you handed them to Jake, who had been watching you warily.
"I need you to prop up so I can take a look at the cuts on your lip and over your eye," you explained.
He obeyed, shifting the pillows into position before protesting. "You've done enough, cariño, you don't have to - "
"Like hell I don't," you snapped. "My husband's body is hurt..." you exhaled shakily, squeezing your eyes shut for a second. "You're hurt, Jake. I'm doing this."
At first, he wouldn't look at you. You tended to the cut over his eye first - it was the worst one. "You'll need a bandage here...and it might even leave a scar through your eyebrow."
"I'm sorry," he repeated his apology from earlier. He didn't know what else to say.
"For what exactly?" You questioned, cleaning the scrapes along his cheek. You were close to him now, fingers brushing, eyes flickering, gazes locking. His breath ghosted over your hand.
"For everything," he offered, his own hand stretching out to grasp your elbow.
You jerked away. "That's really fucking specific, Jake. Thanks."
"Mi vida -" he started.
"Don't!" You bit out, glaring at him, your chest heaving. "Don't call me that. Just...just tell me how you got hurt. Tell me why you're not healing. Is Khonshu gone?"
Jake shook his head. "No. But our armor is."
"Why?" you gasped. "How can you...do your job if he doesn't protect you? I thought that was all part of the avatar package."
Jake didn't exactly feel comfortable with this line of questioning but he honestly didn't know what to do anymore.
"I think..." he started, clearing his throat. "I think it's...punishment."
Every negative and intense emotion coursing through your body narrowed to one. Terror.
"What?" You cried, placing your hands on his bare chest. "Khonshu did this to you?"
"No. He did this to Marc."
If there was anything Jake hated, it was causing you pain. He had made a sort of strange peace about staying out of your daily life, to protect you and Marc. He viewed returning your unopened letters as a mercy - as a way to let you off the hook.
But as you lay your head down on his chest, grasping his hand desperately, your warm tears flowing onto his bare skin, he knew he had utterly failed and completely misunderstood what you needed. After endless weeks of silence, it took one choked sob and desperate plea from you for him to break.
"Why would he hurt Marc?" You pleaded, clinging to Jake like a child would to a parent after a bad dream. "Please...please tell me what he did to my husband."
Jake smoothed his hand over your shoulder, rubbing your arm in a small attempt to comfort you, electrified by the nearness of you.
"I...um," releasing a shuddering breath, he decided you deserved to know. "Marc has been...talking to me. And Khonshu."
Jake went on to explain how Marc had been staying up late, attempting to maintain control of the body. How he had even gone out at night and summoned the suit -several times, in fact.
"Why?" You sniffled, leaning into Jake's embrace.
"I think he's trying to negotiate our freedom," Jake explained. "But...I don't want him to."
"Because it's your job," you spat, accusingly.
"No, mi amor," he gently corrected you. "Because the first night he put on the suit, he completely panicked, and almost bought some liquor."
You cried harder. What the hell was going on with them?
"He didn't drink," Jake clarified. "I was able to take the body after he started walking home. And the reason I don't want him doing all this is because I can't protect him if I'm not Moon Knight. If I'm not in control. If Marc is out there, and gets hurt, Khonshu doesn't care. He doesn't care if Marc drinks - in fact, he probably prefers it that way."
Easing his arms around you, Jake hissed at the stretch he felt in his stitched injury.
"Khonshu doesn't want me distracted," Jake explained. "By Marc or by you. He wants someone completely devoted to being his fist - to watching over the travelers of the night."
"That's bullshit," you argued, though most of your ire had given way to a form of despair. "If he was protecting people, he wouldn't have done this to Marc. He wouldn't have hurt him."
You and Jake lay on your bed, completely wrapped up in one another. He had tried to stay away for your sake, but if you needed this from him, he would gladly give it.
"He didn't hurt Marc directly," Jake went on. "He just..." blowing out a sigh, he mustered the courage to tell you. "He told Marc he was a worthless weakling and that he would pay for interfering. So..." Jake couldn't go on for a moment.
"What?" you whimpered, nuzzling your face into his neck as if you could hide from the horrible ancient deity.
"Khonshu waited until Marc was in the middle of a fight - he was trying to save a woman from...it was three men. Assholes..." His jaw clenched in fury. "Khonshu decided then to take away his armor. So...they beat the hell out of Marc and...they stabbed him. Cut him with a piece of glass. That's when I took the body." Too fucking late, as it turned out.
You broke down. You couldn't take it anymore. When would your husband ever be free of this torment?
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Jake said mournfully. "I tried so hard to protect him. To protect you from exactly a moment like this. I'm so sorry, mi vida."
He held you for a while, soothingly rubbing your back, thrilled and bewildered by the chance to hold you like this. To be able to give you some measure of comfort. To bear the injury Marc had sustained.
"Why do you call me that?" You softly questioned after your sobs had quieted. "Mi vida? Mi amor? I'm not."
Ouch. Jake's heart splintered.
But you went on to explain. "I've respected your choices, Jake, and your life on your own. But why do you call me those things if you don't even want to know me?"
"I told you - I do know you," he reminded you, his voice filled with conviction. "I think about you every day."
Propping up on one elbow, you peered down at him. "Then why won't you let me know you? Why did you return my letters?"
"To protect you," he insisted, wincing as you rolled your eyes. "From Khonshu. From everything. It was my fault Marc was drinking again. All of this pain, everything was because I wasn't doing enough - "
"Then let us help you, Jake," you pleaded. "Let's figure this out together."
"Marc tried and look what happened!" Jake fired back, flinching away from you. "He got hurt. He could have gotten us killed!"
Trying to sit up, Jake hissed in pain, his skin burning as your hands fussed over him, trying to help him.
"What happened tonight is exactly what I've been trying to prevent. No one is listening to me!"
"Because you don't fucking say anything!" You cried, climbing off the bed, scrambling around to stand in front of him. "All you do is play the martyr - lay down every piece of your existence on this sacrificial altar to a spiteful god! You don't talk to anyone, you don't know anyone, you don't do anything here but sleep!"
Tears streaked down your face as your lip trembled. "No one can listen to you because you've made yourself a ghost! You can't hear a ghost, Jake. You can't see or know a ghost. You can't love a ghost..."
Wiping your cheeks with the back of your hand, you whispered woefully. "But I love you anyway. I'm here and I'll listen to you. You just don't say anything. And I know it's because of me. I know you can't stand to be around me - I guess you despise me - but you could at least try harder with Marc and Steven - "
"What did you say?" Jake breathed, his voice cold. With tremendous effort, he pushed himself off the bed and stood before you, eyes wet with fresh tears. "You think I despise you? How can you..." He trailed off, raking his fingers through his curls. "You really have no idea, do you?"
Shaking your head mutely, you stared up at him, so sweetly broken.
"You're right," he finally said, his head dropping in shame.
With a small whimper, you started to sniffle again, thinking you were right about how he couldn't stand to be around you.
"I haven't said anything to you. I've tried so fucking hard not to."
"Why?" you whispered. "What did I do wrong?"
He completely melted, reaching out for you. "Nothing, mi alma. Not one thing, ever."
Still confused, you shook your head mournfully. "Then why don't you..."
Murmuring your name, he brushed tender fingers over your cheek. "I was trying to keep you out of this - to keep you safe - to set you free - but I can see now - I only made everything worse."
Touching his forehead to yours, he wrapped one arm around your waist. "De verdad lo siento, mi amor. Por favor perdóname. Te amo."
He normally only spoke English with you, simply because that's what you spoke with Marc and Steven. But in his overflow of emotion, that's what came out.
"I'm sorry, I..."
"I understand," you whispered, your eyes wide, with a sliver of hope. "But you can say it again."
Tracing your lips with his thumb, he tried to show you everything inside his heart. He didn't deserve you, but he couldn't live without you anymore.
"I'm so sorry," he translated, brushing his lips over yours. "My love... please forgive me." Rubbing his nose against yours tenderly, he breathed against your mouth. "I love you."
next->
@stormydaysxx @laaundromat @kindlover @deezisnotreal @stevenknightmarc @imonmykneessir @marvelouslovely-barnes @evilbubu @usualsworld @rivalriotrenegade @wordacadabra @this--is--music @i-still-dont-like-your-face @avengersinitiative2012 @lockleywife @poppyflower-22 @thursdaywritings @scoliobean @spxctor @flyesvenustrap @spxctors @cicithemes2000
#moon knight#steven grant#marc spector#mcu#marc spector x reader#with you fic#steven grant x reader#jake lockley#jake lockley x reader#moon knight x reader#steven grant x you#marc spector x you#jake lockley x you#marc spector x gn!reader#steven grant x gn!reader#jake lockley x gn!reader#moon knight fic#moon knight fanfic#moon knight fanfiction#oscar isaac fic#moon boys#moon knight system
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Rest on the Flight into Egypt by Joachim Patinir, 1518-1520.
#classic art#painting#joachim patinir#flemish artist#16th century#renaissance#northern renaissance#mannerism#christian art#biblical art#flight into egypt#virgin mary#baby jesus#landscape#trees#farmwork#buildings
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Rest on the flight into Egypt by Hermann von Kaulbach (1846-1909)
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Rest
Pairing: Steven Grant x gn!reader
Word Count: 750+
Summary: a sleepy cuddle with Steven
Warnings/Tags: just some cuddling fluff that I think about all the time, not really any description of reader, reader also doesn't talk, trying to keep it as neutral as possible, I don't think there's anything else but let me know if I've missed something
a/n: two posts in one week omg, Happy Holidays bbys😘
・☆: *.☽ .* :☆
There is no sound throughout the flat, only occasionally is the silence broken by pages turning or scribbling of notes. Another evening of research had turned into being up until the early hours of the morning. Steven was hunched over his desk, hyper-focused on researching for a new exhibition that had been announced at his work. Since he’d finally settled back at home—after everything that happened with Marc, Egypt, Khonshu, all of those things that had been addressed—he’d been dying to get back to the museum. Unfortunately, Donna still worked there and everyone still remembered he’d trashed a perfectly good bathroom for no particular reason but luckily London had many, many museums. Steven felt like his luck had finally begun to change when he came across a part-time tour guide position at another fancy museum. Then the manager had loved his enthusiasm and knowledge so much that they’d offered him the job there and then. Now he's been working there for a few months but he was still set on making a good impression, that and he just found learning all of the knowledge therapeutic. There was a deep-seated comfort for Steven in reading over history books, especially on days like today when the streets of London are covered in snow and the flat is so cosy. He is so lost in his reading that he jumps when the floorboards creak, his head whipping around to your shadowy figure. Steven’s entire body softens, his fight or flight instincts calming down when he sees that you’re wrapped up in a blanket, standing a few feet away sleepily looking at him.
“Hi, little star. What’re you doing up?” Steven reaches a hand out to you, while his other removes his glasses and places them down on the desk. You quietly walked toward him, rubbing at your eyes with your blanketed hand and he can’t stop a smile from forming. As soon as you’re close enough Steven wraps his arm around you, looking up at you fondly, “you okay?” You only nod to the question, the memory of sleep still evident in your brain and Steven knows it’s late, so late, and that he should just allow you to drag him back to bed with him but he’s almost done with this chapter. Then you let out the quietest little whine and he almost gives up there and then, “I just have a few more pages love and then I promise I’ll come to bed. I swear.” Of course, you just pout and whine a little more and again he considers just leaving the rest for tomorrow but he’s so close to being done. He just looks between you and the desk a couple times before the idea pops into his head, “come sit with me till I’m done.” You don’t even take a moment to think about it, immediately climbing into Steven’s lap. With his help, you’re straddled in his lap facing him and he’s cupping your face in his hands, thumbs rubbing the tops of your cheeks while he takes a moment just to admire you. He gives your cheek the gentlest kiss as he allows you to make yourself more comfortable, your arms along with the blanket wrapping around his shoulders and your head resting to the side, tucked against your own shoulder and his face. Steven allows himself a minute to just hold you like this, he hadn’t even realised he was a little cold until your warmth was wrapped around him. He appreciates the comfort before he starts to realise how tired he actually is and now he has to fight his drooping eyes as he picks his book up again.
In no time you've dropped back into a slumber cosied up against Steven and he's struggling now. The urge to finish the chapter slipping from him, maybe he's learned enough for one night or maybe he can just rest his eyes for a moment and he'll find the energy to finish. He decides he'll just rest for a minute and he'll be fine. So, he ever so gently nuzzles his head into your neck, the book he'd been so absorbed with abandoned on the desk in favour of wrapping his arms around your body. Then within minutes he completely succumbs to sleep, research forgotten, now all he thinks of is you. Of how warm you are and that you smell so good and that all he wants at this moment is to stay like this forever. To always be this close and comfortable.
#moon knight fluff#moon knight fanfiction#moon knight x you#moon knight x reader#moon knight fanfic#moon knight#steven grant fanfiction#steven grant fic#steven grant fluff#steven grant x you#steven grant x reader#steven grant#steven grant x gender neutral reader#steven grant x gn!reader#steven grant x y/n#moonknight#marvel fanfiction#marvel fic#marvel fanfic
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Gerard David - The Rest on the Flight into Egypt. 1510
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Here's a lil Venus for ya:
Moon Knight trio (although this feels the most like Jake) x plussize!reader (obv)
With the prompts "If I see you again, I swear to God I won't hesitate to kill you" into "Just shut up and kiss me"
Love your work and love you 💕
hahaha I am so sorry that this took so long, I hope you like it anyway though.
Jake Lockely x reader
word count: 1.1k
You can’t believe that bastard left you. The biggest fight of your life and he left you in the dust to go play hero. Jake Lockely was dead to you.
Meeting Jake was one of the best things that had ever happened to you, bumping into him in a corner store in Washington Heights was like fate. You had clicked right away, becoming fast friends and occasionally more. Neither of you thought that labels were necessary but you knew that he meant a lot to you and you meant a lot to him too.
It was strange when he invited you to Egypt, he said he had business he needed to take care of but that when it was over he wanted to show you the city, and all the nooks and crannies he had come to love during his visits. Why the New York cabbie would have business in Egypt you really didn’t want to know and you honestly didn’t care.
You thought that weekend getaways were more of a couple-y thing than your relationship warranted but when he told you that he would be covering the cost for the whole trip you couldn't pass up the offer to visit such a beautiful city with such a rich culture and history.
You never would have said yes if you had known it would end like this. Things were going well, he was showing you the nightlife of one the beautiful city when all of a sudden he just got really stiff. People started running around you and screaming could be heard in the distance. The sky darkened in an instant and you’re not a liar so you’ll admit that you were pretty damn scared.
“I have to go.” He was monotone and it kind of scared you.
“What do you mean you have to go? What could you possibly have to do right now that is so important?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Bullshit. You can’t drag me halfway across the world and then leave me alone Jake that's fucked up!”
“Carino. Trust, I would not leave you if I did not need to.”
“Jake, if you leave me right now, I’ll never talk to you again.”
His face flashed with the hurt before it was slated over once more.
“I’m sorry.” He looked you in the eyes and turned, walking towards the chaos and leaving you.
"If I see you again, I swear to God I won't hesitate to kill you Jake Lockely!”
He didn’t turn back.
You spent the rest of the day navigating the confusing streets of Cairo amidst the chaos and danger that the streets seemed to be crawling with. Maneuvering your way through the rag-tag milita that stalked the streets you managed to find shelter. You booked the first flight back to New York and resolved never to speak to one of your best and only friends again.
That resolution lasted all of three days before he showed up on your doorstep practically begging for you to talk to him. Well, he was begging as much as Jake ever does which admittedly is not very much. But he brought flowers which you think means that he really cares. Jake was a hard man to read, he always had been.
But now, standing on the stoop of your doorstep is the grown man equivalent of a kicked puppy, his hair was raked through, and you could practically feel the way his fingers combed through them. His eyes were bloodshot and his normal mask of annoyance was replaced with something much softer, much more open.
“I’m pretty sure I told you that if I ever saw you again I’d kill you.”
“I would not blame you.” He pushed the admittedly beautiful bouquet of flowers towards you.
“Jesus, Jake what do you want? You fucking left me. Alone. Halfway across the goddamn world right as shit started to get messy. That’s not something that I can really forgive and forget.”
“I do not expect you to forgive me carino, I just want you to know that I am sorry. I would not have left if I did not have to.”
“Why Jake? That’s all I’ve been asking myself since the moment you walked away.”
He looked off into space, his held titling and his eyes glazing over. All in an instant it seemed he was miles away from you. You stood there confused and a little hurt, it was like he was walking away all over again, leaving you alone. Except this time instead of walking down a dimly lit street wrought with chaos he was folding into his own mind, going somewhere you could never hope to follow.
“Carino, I wish that I could bear everything for you, more than anything but I can��t. Not yet.”
“Jake, you’re shit at apologies has anyone ever told you that?”
‘I have never had to apologize to someone before, I have never wanted… needed to keep someone in my life as much as I do right now.”
You’d hate yourself in the morning for caving this quickly, but you’d yell at yourself for the rest of your life if you let this man go.
“Jake, you’re a mess. An emotionally stunted and unavailable man who tapdances on my last nerve all the damn time. But you’re also my best friend. I don’t know what's going on with you and as much as I’d love to force you to tell me I love you too much to do that. So instead, I just need you to promise me that you won’t leave me again. Because goddamn it Jake you have my heart, and when you walk away you take it with you.”
Your chest heaved with the breaths you took, your cheeks flamed with emotions and you looked anywhere but at the man you practically just confessed your undying love to.
Jake didn’t let you get away with that, he grasped your chin between his fingers and lifted your head just a touch, enough to meet his eyes as he spoke.
“Mi Vida, know this. I was not made for love, I was made to protect, to defend at any cost. I did not know that I could care for anyone as much as I care for you. I’ll spend the rest of whatever time I have on this earth protecting your heart, it; 's the most precious-”
“Just shut up and kiss me.”
And he did.
#plus size reader#plus size!reader#fanfic#x reader#jake lockely x reader#jake lockley#moon knight fandom#moon knight x reader#moon knight fanfic#requests open#requests wanted#fantasia's galaxy quest#oscar issac characters#marvel fanfiction
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Antonio Allegri, known as Correggio (Italian, 1489-1534) The Rest on the Flight into Egypt with Saint Francis, ca. 1520 Uffizi Museum
#antonio allegri#correggio#art#fine art#classical art#italian art#italy#italian#the rest on the flight into egypt with saint francis#european art#virgin mary#christian art#christianity#christentum#Christendom#catholic#catholicism#jesus#saint francis#saint joseph
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Dunes & Waters, part 21
PART 1 • PREVIOUS PART • NEXT PART
The letter arrives as they eat breakfast. It’s not at their usual time, on account of the late night, and Remus feels a bit groggy and stretched out thin. Sirius doesn’t seem to have the same issue (he’s got the cat on one knee, an open book on the other and a quill tucked in behind his ear. Seems to be largely ignoring his toast), and when the bird swoops in through the perpetually open kitchen window, he runs to greet it, dislodging Ziggy from his lap in the process.
It’s a beautiful, towny owl. It nuzzles its beak to Sirius’ knuckles before offering up the letter attached to its foot. “It’s the Potter’s owl,” Sirius is a whirling excitement. Calls the owl to the table and offers it ham from his plate. “Alright if she stays the day? It’s such a long flight from England.”
“Don’t know how the hotel will feel about us starting a menagerie in here,” Remus jokes and Sirius reads straight through it. Feeds the owl some more and beacons Ziggy back to himself. Remus would be worried about their proximity if not for the way Sirius has with the animals.
Sirius tears into the envelope. Remus thinks about leaving the kitchen, giving him space, but he’s loath to get up. The sun shines through the windows in that perfect orange glow, his tea had turned out just right, and Sirius makes the prettiest picture of happiness.
“They didn’t believe it,” he says, looking up from the letter, like it’s a surprise. Remus never met the Potters, but you don’t raze the Ministry for someone you don’t have trust in.
It’s a long letter, pages of a chicken-scratch script Remus doesn’t try to make out. Sirius reads, at first elated, relieved, then confused. “That’s strange.”
Remus hums at him around his tea. Go on. I’m listening.
“James says Pete - he’s a friend of ours, Pete – has gone missing. He was here with me in Egypt, there’s no reason why he’d be gone,” he pales, “you’ve read the report, right?” Urgent eye contact, “did I… was he there? Was he one of them?”
“No wizards,” Remus rushes to tell him, as if that’s enough to make it better, “only Muggles, and they’re all fine by now.”
The rest of Sirius’ ham goes half to the cat and half to the owl. He shreds it into pieces, feeds them absentmindedly. Goes to his window and takes out cigarettes. Remus hasn’t seen him smoke in days.
“Want to go to the post office? Maybe the local birds will have better luck finding him.”
They do that. Sirius sends a letter with a smart-looking pharaoh eagle-owl. Asks Pete to get in touch, explains where to find him. “Maybe he’s hiding. If he saw me… Pete never had the strongest constitution. And I wouldn’t blame him, really.”
Sirius chain smokes as they walk, lights up the cigarettes with a click of his fingers when they’re out of view. It’s not the kind of magic Muggles pay attention to anyway – too small to raise eyebrows, too likely to be considered a trick of the eye.
NEXT PART
@tealeavesandtrash
@moon-girl88
@hoje--aqui
@cocoabutterandbooks
@onion-sliced-apples
@prancingpony42
@digital-kam
@remoonysiriusly
@sweetstarryskies
@a-sunset-outside-my-window
@procrastinatingstuff
@annaliza999
(let me know if you do/don’t want to be tagged!)
#wolfstar#remus lupin#sirius black#marauders#fanfic#dead gay wizards#remus x sirius#marauders era#dunes and waters
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The Rest on the Flight into Egypt, Tiziano Vecellio, called Titian
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Never Say Goodbye - Bonus Track #2
Pairing: Dean x Female Reader
Summary: The first time you and Dean sensed each other’s thoughts and feelings, you were just kids. It would take years to realize that you both were bonded for life, and even longer to finally meet. [Soulmate AU] (18+)
AN: Did I say two parts? I meant three lol. (It got too long, I’m sorry.)
Word Count: 4,300 Tags/Warnings: Angst, supernatural shenanigans, death…
Bonus Track #2: One Last Hunt
“Okay, try not to panic,” Sam said. Dean had him on the phone while he sped through town in the Impala.
“I’m coming now, but I won’t get there for a few hours,” Sam said. “My flight leaves in 20 minutes.”
“Thanks, man, but I can’t afford to wait,” Dean said. “She fucking disappeared. I don’t see her anywhere…I’m gonna have to start at her job. That’s where she first took off from.”
“How did she seem this morning?”
“Fine, I guess. I left before she woke up,” Dean said. He still felt guilty about the fact that he didn’t bother waking you up to say goodbye.
“Okay, yeah, start at the museum,” Sam said. “Let me know what you find, and I’d loop in Bobby. Probably Jack too.”
“Bobby’s meeting me there…but we don’t need to bring in Jack yet.”
“Dean, he’s her dad—”
“This isn’t his thing. It’s ours,” Dean said firmly. “If it’s a demon, I’m gonna find her and exorcize that son of a bitch.”
Sure enough, Bobby met Dean at the museum where you worked. The old man was worried, Dean could tell, even if he wouldn’t say it. But he knew the drill: now they had a job to do.
“I’ll go in first, flash my badge,” Dean said. “Meet me in the library.”
“Roger that,” Bobby agreed.
Dean had a decent rapport with your boss, Jerry. When he explained that you were actually missing, Jerry was concerned for your wellbeing instead of irate that you’d taken a very valuable book from the museum.
It gave Dean a theory to lie about on the fly: that you’d been mugged and taken hostage, presumably by someone who might’ve wanted to steal the ancient text.
“How ancient are we talking exactly?” Dean asked.
Jerry gave him a look. “Ancient Egypt.”
He showed you the inventory log on the new shipment you were supposed to compile into the system. The title missing from the rest was called The Eye of Ra.
“All right. Thanks, Jerry,” Dean said. “Anything else you can tell me about this book?”
“It’s a recording of the great deeds of the Ancient Egyptian gods and goddesses,” Jerry explained. “It was said to be touched by Ra himself.”
Touched by Ra, Dean mused. Ain’t that just fucking swell.
Whatever happened to you, Dean knew it was because you touched that book.
For the next few hours, Dean and Bobby worked together on deeper research in the library. Now that they had a starting point, Bobby was able to find some intel.
“The Eye of Ra was actually a nickname,” he said, earning Dean’s attention. “For Sekhmet, their goddess of war.”
Dean’s brows furrowed at that. “Why’s it never the goddess of peace and fucking tranquility?”
“Among other things, she was the daughter of Ra,” Bobby said, raising a wry brow. “And she was known as the bringer of plagues and death…and sometimes healing. Go figure.”
Fucking hell, Dean thought sourly. This was getting worse by the minute.
“Okay, what does this have to do with the book?” he asked. Though he had some idea.
“Well, she ain’t been alive in a millennium. But she had a husband. The god Ptah, a craftsman,” Bobby said. “According to this, when he was eventually killed, she sealed her soul away until she could find a way to rescue him from the underworld…I’ve gotta think she sealed it in that book.”
Dean sighed, rubbing the now aching spot between his brows. An ancient Egyptian goddess was most likely possessing his fiancé.
And it was much worse than it sounded on paper.
“Okay, which means she’ll be looking for a way to bring back her husband,” he said. “So how do we find her?”
Just then, the police radio buckled to Dean’s belt sounded off. When he listened closely, his eyes grew wide. It was a report of five murders committed at a nearby gas station.
Dean pulled up to the local 7-Eleven. Bobby was on the way, but he’d been caught up in traffic while Dean was allowed to use his police siren to his advantage.
He then used his badge clearance to get behind the yellow tape and over to Jack, who was still on duty.
Dean stepped inside the gas station and surveyed the brutal scene: the nice old man who owned the place, plus four patrons were lying dead.
Their skin was covered with boils.
Jack wore a disconcerted frown along with his crossed arms in his police jacket.
“It’s almost…biblical,” he remarked.
Dean knew just how right he was. Jack seemed to know that too when he glanced over.
“Is this your kind of thing?” he asked.
Dean nodded. “I might know what’s going on here. Let’s check the security footage…but no one else can see it but you and me.”
Jack nodded, leading Dean to the back of the store. Jack was shocked by what he found in the footage. Dean watched grimly, but not surprised as you came into the frame. You tilted your head at the owner, who seemed to ask you something.
You raised a hand, and with a flare of magic, everyone in the station was cowering and screaming as a plague of boils covered their bodies, and eventually ended their lives.
“Christ,” Jack gasped. “What the hell—”
“It’s not her,” Dean told him. “She’s being possessed. I’ll handle this, Jack. Just make sure this footage gets buried, along with whatever prints she might’ve left behind.”
Jack barely had time to agree. As if that kind of thing was so easy. He called after Dean as he took off out of the station.
Dean didn’t see Bobby yet when he got outside, but he didn’t have time to wait.
However, he did spot someone familiar hanging out in front of the department store across the street. Dean jogged across and raised a hand to flag down Jessie Deluca.
The kid was gnawing on what looked like a melting Butterfinger. He groaned in annoyance when he saw Dean coming.
“Not you again,” he muttered.
“Yeah, me again,” Dean said. “You been standing out here long?”
“Look, grandpa. I’m just chillin’ here,” the kid sassed. It sparked Dean’s irritation, as well as his impatience.
“I don’t give two shits if you’re contemplating the great Butterfinger Heist of 2008, all right?” Dean pointed back to the gas station. “You see that?”
Jessie’s expression faded from some of its assholeness, becoming more solemn. “Yeah, I heard someone died or something.”
“That’s right,” Dean nodded. “Did you see anyone walk out of the station?”
“No,” Jessie said. But Dean could tell it was a reflex, not the truth.
“Listen, Jessie. I need your help,” he said, more earnestly. “I’m trying to find someone. So if you know anything, I need you to tell me right now. Please.”
Dean stared down in the kid’s brown eyes. Eventually, Jessie relented.
“When I came out of the store here, I saw some business lady walk out. I think, after it had all just gone down,” Jessie confessed. “She looked fine.”
Dean sighed and nodded. “Okay. What’d she look like?”
“Uh…black skirt. Great legs,” Jessie said, his lips curving a little. Dean raised a brow.
“Anything else?” he asked wryly.
“White blouse, heels…actually, she kinda looked familiar,” Jessie added as he thought harder about it.
“Good. Now tell me what direction she went in,” Dean said. Jessie nodded and pointed him down the street.
“I think she went down there. I saw her turn the corner.”
“Where? What street?”
“Dude, I don’t know!”
“Then show me,” Dean insisted. He grabbed Jessie by the shoulder and guided him forward. The kid looked annoyed, but he begrudgingly agreed to lead him down the street. The two of them walked brusquely, with Jessie trying to match Dean’s longer strides.
Dean glanced over at his companion, who was still working on his Butterfinger.
“When’s the last time you ate something that wasn’t covered in chocolate?” he asked. Jessie didn’t look at him when he shrugged. His winter jacket hung off his skinny shoulders, making him look ten rather than thirteen. Dean’s heart twinged.
“Listen, next time you’re itching to knock over a department store for KitKats, come by the station,” Dean said. “Find me or my partner Jody Mills. Or even my boss, Jack. We’ll get you a burger or something.”
Jessie briefly looked up at him, but all too soon, his gaze returned to the ground.
“What do you care?” he said.
“Maybe I know something about having to fend for yourself,” said Dean. “Sometimes going hungry, not knowing when somebody’s gonna come back for you.”
Jessie’s jaw clenched. He didn’t answer, but Dean hoped he’d gotten through to him.
Jessie led him around the corner at the street he thought he saw you turn down. He and Dean didn’t have to walk too much farther before he found you through the window of a bakery, of all things.
“What the hell?” Dean muttered.
He pulled Jessie to the wall by the window for safety, but both of them snuck a peek inside.
You were once again wielding magic to spread a plague of boils across an entire room of screaming, agonized patrons just trying to get their donuts and cream pies.
Jessie started to utter a cry of alarm, but Dean quickly covered the kid’s mouth with his hand and pulled him back to his side. Dean waited, stock still, until the screaming inside the bakery subsided.
He looked down at Jessie and raised a finger to his lips. Though he was scared, Jessie nodded. Dean led him around the corner into an alley beside the bakery.
“What…the fuck was that?” Jessie hissed.
“Keep your voice down,” Dean warned.
Then suddenly, it donned on the kid as he looked up at Dean. “Oh, shit. That’s your freakin’ girlfriend.”
Dean let out a sharp sigh. “It’s not her…exactly.”
He knew Jessie didn’t understand. Dean sighed again and grasped Jessie’s shoulders.
“Look, you’re right to be scared. There’s something evil in there…that’s why I’ve gotta save her,” he said. “Now you, you’re gonna run. And don’t look back until you’re home, got it?”
After a moment, Jessie nodded shakily. Dean nodded back, patting him firmly on his shoulders.
“Good man,” he said. “Okay, scram.”
Jessie seemed reluctant, like he felt some type of way about leaving Dean behind. But at Dean’s encouraging look, Jessie took off running. Dean hoped he headed straight home.
Then, rolling his shoulders, Dean braced himself. He drew his gun, which was filled with silver bullets. He didn’t think it would work on an Egyptian goddess, nor did he want to pull a gun on you. But for the threat of it alone, he would have to draw it with the safety on.
He entered the bakery, where you were perusing the selections with a dispassionate look. All around you was death.
But you perked up when Dean entered, eyeing him curiously in recognition.
“Feelin’ a snack?” he asked.
“I have been asleep for a very long time,” you replied, holding up a pastry. “What is this confection?”
“Cherry Danish,” Dean supplied. “You’re Sekhmet, right?”
Your lips twitched. “You know of me?”
“I do now,” he said, carefully stepping further into the bakery with his gun pointed down, avoiding stepping on the bodies. He noticed the book you left closed on the counter. The goddess saw him noticing. Her gaze cut to him in amusement.
“Why’d you kill these people?” Dean asked. “Didn’t bow down at the right angle?”
“Among all of my brothers and sisters, I alone was favored by my father,” she said, “because my job was to balance the world, between life and the afterlife.”
Sekhmet brushed her fingers against a glass case, and with a small spark of magic, the glass cracked into thousands of fractals, but didn’t shatter.
“And I did exceedingly well at this,” she said. “Though I see that my work has been undone. This world is rife with imbalance.”
“Mass genocide. Nice,” Dean quipped. “But that’s not all you want, is it?”
Sekhmet’s head tilted at him with reluctant interest.
“I heard you’re looking for your husband, who went an offed himself,” he added.
The goddess’s lips pursed and she slapped a hand on the glass counter, making it shatter. Dean turned and shielded his eyes with his arm. By the time he recovered, Sekhmet was coming around the counter. He took a few cautious steps in the opposite direction.
“My husband was unjustly slain by the very people who once worshipped us in droves,” she said, her tone exacting and harsh. Her eyes, however, were heavy with fury and pain.
“He was an artist. A creator in purest form…his talents were wasted on this abomination of a world,” she said, with disgust at her surroundings. But as soon as her anger came, it diffused into exasperation.
She picked up a glazed donut and took a bite, crossing her arms. She hummed in delight, making Dean’s brows raise.
“Well, I can help you find him,” Dean said. It was a bluff, to be sure, but it still earned Sekhmet’s attention.
“Can you?” she asked in amusement. She didn’t believe him. Yet. But she drew closer to Dean, tilting her head just so. All the while, Dean inched towards the far end of the counter where The Eye of Ra had fallen to the ground.
“And after, you let my girl go,” he said.
“You know of a way to reach the Underworld?” Sekhmet’s gaze roamed over him in disdain. “Unlikely.”
“Well, I’d call it a gate to Hell. But same difference, right?” Dean quipped.
The second he tried to reach down for the book, however, Sekhmet pinned him in place with a vibrant amber coil of magic. Dean grunted as she forced him to the ground, onto his knees between the bodies of a young man and woman, likely a couple.
The goddess stopped in front of him, looking down at his face with interest.
“Dean Winchester, as you are called. I understand why you continue to display such reckless judgment, all but throwing your very life at my feet,” she said. Her lips curved knowingly. “I hold your lover, correct?”
She harshly grabbed his cheek in her hand, and Dean glared in response. She seemed to ponder something as she considered him.
“Soon to be your wife,” she realized.
And Dean had a feeling she was in your head, sorting through your thoughts and memories like any demon would. He didn’t know what was worse: the thought of you being awake in there, unable to fight this bitch’s hold, or if Sekhmet had completely taken over your body and shut you away.
“Just let her go,” Dean said, almost pleading. “You can have me. I won’t even fight you.”
“Such self-sacrifice,” she said. “The only noble act humans are capable of.”
Before she could decide whether to kill him, or keep him for further amusement, the front door of the bakery swung open.
Bobby came in first, followed closely by Sam and Eileen.
Bobby was holding a damn crossbow, which he aimed and shot off at Sekhmet. It was a warning shot, just grazing her shoulder. But it burned her with a sting of flesh that made her hiss in pain. She glared up at Bobby, and after grabbing the book before Sam could, she disappeared in a whirlwind of magic.
The coil holding Dean in place shattered, allowing Dean to catch his break and get to his feet, with Sam’s help. Dean had to admit, it was good to see his brother.
“You okay?” Sam asked. Dean reached over and pat the other man’s shoulder.
“I’m good,” he said, though with a sigh that belied his weariness. “Hey, Eileen. Thanks for making it to the party.”
The pretty brunette offered him a sympathetic smile, rubbing his arm. “We came as soon as we could.”
Dean nodded and turned to Bobby, who still held his crossbow. He wasn’t happy about the old man shooting at you, but he recognized that it had saved his life.
“Why’d that thing hurt her?” he asked.
“The arrow’s dipped in a potent mix of salt from the Dead Sea…and Egyptian wine, among other things,” Bobby replied.
Dean frowned in confusion. “Why the fuck?”
“According to the lore, Sekhmet could be subdued with alcohol,” Sam explained.
“Great, we’ll just get her drunk and all our problems will be solved,” Dean quipped dryly. He grabbed the radio from his belt. His gaze returned to the dead bodies on the floor with dismay.
“I’ve gotta call this in. Bobby, get the security tapes.”
After Dean finished calling in the deaths to his precinct, he shared a disheartened look with Sam, who grasped his shoulder in support.
“We’re gonna find her, all right?”
They regrouped at Bobby’s house once Jack took over at the bakery. Now the three men and Eileen were congregated in the living room, trying to decide on their next move.
“You told her about the Hell gate?!” Sam said incredulously.
“Damn it, Dean!” Bobby slapped the coffee table in exasperation.
“All right, lay off! I was improvising under fucking duress,” Dean snapped. “At least we know where she’ll probably go next, assuming she finds out where the gate is.”
“She’s a goddess, Dean. One of the oldest and most powerful in ancient history. I’m sure she can figure it out,” Sam said, rubbing at his tired eyes.
And, as Dean remembered, Sekhmet was rooting around in your head. She’d find the gate for sure.
Eileen looked between the brothers, clearly worried. Sam had told her about what you, him, and Dean had gone through to close that damn gate to Hell last year.
“So how do we stop her?” Dean asked. Without hurting you, was implicit. Bobby heaved a sigh.
“We gotta burn that damn book,” Bobby said. “But we’ll need to be smart about it.”
So that was how the four of them ended up driving to southern Wyoming. They stopped along the crossroads by the train tracks, and ventured in on foot into the very clearing where their final battle against Yellow Eyes took place.
Dean thought he’d be able to put his past behind him, but the universe clearly liked to kick him in the balls.
Evidence of this came when he saw you standing at Samuel Colt’s gravestone. Or rather, the goddess Sekhmet.
She was expending large forces of magic to try and open up the gate to Hell. The book that bound her soul lied on top of a nearby headstone.
Dean gestured for Sam, Eileen, and Bobby to hang back and fan out, while he stalked forward. He’d changed out of his police uniform in favor of his familiar jeans, shirt, and a red plaid shirt, hoping that at least would help you focus on him, wherever you were deep inside your mind.
But he called out to Sekhmet from a (relatively) safe distance away.
“Are you stupid or something?” he mocked.
Sekhmet paused in her magic wielding. She craned her head over her shoulder at him in annoyance, with amber rings illuminating her eyes.
“There’s only one thing that can open up that gate, and I’ve got it right here,” said Dean.
He pulled out the Colt from behind his back.
Sekhmet’s gaze narrowed on the gun, then at Dean with a slow smirk.
“Why, by the gods, should I trust your foolishness?” she asked.
“Because we’re about to make a trade,” Dean said. “The gun for my girl. You let her go, or you’ll never see your husband again. In this world, or the next.”
Dean pointed the gun at her and cocked the safety back. She didn’t have to know the barrel was empty.
“You cannot harm me, even if there was ammunition in that weapon,” Sekhmet replied knowingly.
She turned to him and reached out with a magic-fueled hand, but before she could grab Dean, Sam shot his own gun.
It deployed a net of rope that twined around her frame and held her in place. It was soaked with the same concoction Bobby shot her with in the bakery, and it made her fume with outrage.
It didn’t completely weaken her though. Her hands were still free to fling Sam and Bobby away from her with magic.
She then turned to grip Eileen, who was nearly able to steal the book. And the goddess sent Eileen across the clearing, breaking a headstone as she fell.
Sam had been trying to pick himself up from the ground, but he gripped at his chest, feeling his soulmate’s pain. He scrambled over to her prone form on the ground and checked the cut along her hairline.
“Eileen,” Sam called, pressing his hand to her cheek. He had one eye on her, and another on his brother.
Because meanwhile, Sekhmet had broken free of the ropes holding her captive with a cry of fury.
Just in time to grab Dean by the throat when he tried to surprise her from behind. She forced him down to his knees and smirked in satisfaction as Dean struggled against her hold.
He called your name, trying to reach you through the goddess’s hold on your mind.
“She is gone from this world,” Sekhmet taunted. “This is but a vessel for my eternal soul.”
“I don’t fucking believe that,” Dean choked. “If she was gone, I’d know it. Deep in my bones I’d know it.”
Her mouth twitched, but she seemed to enjoy the idea of slowly choking him to death. Or maybe, something was holding her back. Dean could only hope it was you, trying to break through.
He looked into your eyes and tried to find you through the cold disdain of a goddess.
“Whatever happens, I’m not letting go,” he gritted out. He held tight to your wrist, on the hand wrapped around his throat.
“I love you, you know that?” he said. “From the start…you closed the door in my face when I tried to kiss you. Teased me. Never took my shit. But you never left me either. No matter how hard it fucking got, you kept my feet on the ground. You never called it quits…‘cause we never say goodbye. Right, baby?”
Slowly, slowly, Sekhmet’s hard exterior faded. The amber rings of magic receded from your eyes, and the woman he loved was there again, softening your face into shock and horror.
You released your grip on Dean. He stumbled to the ground as he coughed and gasped for precious oxygen.
He straightened enough to grab your hand. You reached out for him instinctively.
“Dean,” you said with shaking effort.
“I’ve gotcha, sweetheart,” he said. He turned back to see his brother helping Eileen to her feet. “Sam, the damn book!”
Sam snapped to attention and quickly looked for The Eye of Ra. It had been knocked over from the headstone onto the ground. He grabbed it and fished out a lighter from his pocket.
Dean’s attention turned back to you when you squeezed his hands.
“I can’t hold her for long,” you said tremulously. Your whole body was shaking. “She’s so damn strong…”
“It’s okay, we’re gonna fix this,” Dean said, brushing your hair back from your face.
You closed your eyes and gasped. But when you opened them once again, they were hard, and glowing with magic.
Sekhmet tossed Sam away from the headstone.
Dean tried to hold her back, but she backhanded him hard. Sekhmet followed where he fell. She reached out and gripped him by the neck again, this time choking him with a vengeance.
But then she gasped, as if in pain. She turned her head and found Sam with the book in one hand, and a lit match in the other. As the book started to burn, Sekhmet weakened.
Dean caught her before your body could hit the ground.
Sekhmet released a shaking breath; she gazed into the dimming sky, painted in its golden, amber hues, and knew that her soul was dying. Hot tears slipped down her cheeks.
Dean almost felt sorry for her. Or maybe it was the sight of your pained, weeping face that tugged at his heartstrings.
“You’ll just have to join your husband this time,” he said.
Sekhmet’s lips trembled, but she nodded. “This world was never made for us…but we shall soon be together for all eternity.”
She looked up at him with a rueful smile.
“You understand,” she said. “A soul bond can never be destroyed.”
And with that, the haze of magic drained from your eyes as your body went limp.
Dean’s brows furrowed with worry as he called your name. Behind him, Sam helped Eileen draw near with a limping Bobby. All three watched with worry at Dean’s side…until your eyes opened, revealing their natural hue.
You took in a tremulous breath. “Dean.”
His eyes burned with emotion, but he closed them as he held you tight. All he could do was press his lips against your forehead in relief.
You clung to him right back, for as long as you needed to.
AN: Fun fact — According to Egyptian mythology, the only thing that could stop the goddess Sekhmet from ending humanity with bloodshed was by getting her drunk on beer, which had been dyed red to simulate blood (which she also liked to drink, apparently).
Egyptians (the survivors) would drink beer mixed with pomegranate juice and get drunk to celebrate not being killed dead. (Woo!)
Anyway, let me know if you enjoyed Part 2! All the fluff is coming in the finale of Part 3, very soon…
Next Time:
Dean brings you home. The two of you figure out how to move on from here...
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