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paleprincessturtle · 9 months

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Ruined Plan

I'm back again! Happy reading and please excuse any inaccuracies in my writing.

Pairing: Harvey Specter x Female Reader

Donna stared at her screen in disbelief and gasped. She closed her eyes and looked at the screen one more time and looked behind her, at her boss’ office. She printed the document on her computer and invited herself into Harvey’s office. She waited in front of Harvey’s desk while he was on the phone. Not long after Harvey hung up the phone and he raised his eyebrows at Donna. “Are you going to say something or are you just gonna stand there looking like fish out of water?” Harvey said as he jolted down something on a document in front of him. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Donna asked him in disbelief. “Tell you that I’m the best closer this town has ever seen? I think the world knows, Donna.” Harvey smirked and looked back down at the document. “If it’s a guessing game, we have to pen it down for another day. As you know, this case has been going on for far too long.” Donna didn't say a thing but instead slid the document she printed just minutes ago. Harvey peeked at the document and asked “Why are you looking through my bank statement?”

Donna rolled her eyes so hard, for a second she was scared it won’t get back. “To make your usual monthly financial report, Harvey. What else?” Harvey waved the page absentmindedly in the air. “And what am I supposed to do with this?” Donna leaned on his desk and pointed to a specific date. “Cartier? That much? On a lunch break?” Donna asked as she straightened herself. “You’re proposing,” Donna said matter of factly. Harvey grinned so wide that it scared Donna. “The thought was just so sudden and I thought why not.” Harvey shrugged. “And why didn’t you ask for my help to pick out the perfect ring?” Donna paced in front of his desk, looking like the world was about to collapse. Again, Harvey just shrugged. “The ring must be here. Show me the ring.” Harvey squinted his eyes at her. “Harvey, I swear to God if you choose not to show me the ring, I’ll turn your office upside down and nothing will stop me.” Harvey put his hands up in defense and retrieved a key inside a little compartment underneath one of his basketball cases and opened a middle drawer in his desk. He carefully took the box and handed it to Donna. With the same care, Donna took the box in her hand. “Let’s see if we can return this ring if it turns out to lo…” Donna said seriously and stopped herself once she opened the box fully. “Well?” Harvey stood up with his hands in his pockets and smirked.

Donna nodded and grinned “Wow, you’ve outdone yourself. This looks beautiful, simple yet elegant. And jeez, Harvey. Are you trying to blind anyone who looks her way?” Harvey’s smirks grew significantly bigger. “Kinda need to show everyone she’s off the market.” He said proudly and Donna burst into a huge fit of laughter at the prospect of seeing Harvey finally getting married and most importantly, happy. “I know this case is important and you’re swamped. But let’s take 30 minutes to plan the actual proposal. This is a very important matter, Harvey." Donna sat at the chair in front of Harvey’s desk and moved his laptop to face her.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sound of his own phone startled Harvey. He doesn’t remember when was the last time he looked up from piles upon piles of documents on his desk. He cracked his neck before he moved the documents around to find his phone. Harvey instantly smiled. “If it isn’t the most gorgeous girlfriend a man could ever ask for.” Harvey leaned back in her leather chair as he was immersed in the sound of laughter from the other side of the line. “Flattery won’t bring you anywhere, Mr. Specter.” Harvey smiled “But I’m known for my flattery and charm.” Harvey paused, “Is everything okay?” he suddenly worried as to why she called and it was not even 10 am. “All is well, Commander. Just asking if you could pencil me down for a lunch picnic today?” His heart heaved suddenly, Heaven knows how much he wanted to go and how hard it is to say no to her. But at least she wasn't here to show him the pout. “Oh baby, as much as I love the idea, I’m seriously swamped.” Harvey heard a big sigh and the sound of the fridge door closed. “Still?” he heard her pout. Damn it, Harvey thought. He thought not being with her and not seeing the pout will help. But now, he heard her pout. Great. “Unfortunately, still. I’ll make it up to you. Okay?” Harvey tried to reason with her as he thought of the getaway Donna and him planned earlier and smiled. “No worries, baby. Good luck with your case, okay? Don’t forget to ask Donna to bring you something for lunch. Don’t forget to eat lunch or I’ll send the SWAT team down there to shove a hotdog down your throat.” Harvey laughed heartily at her threat. “I won’t. Gotta go, the DA office called. I love you.” Harvey heard a cheerful I love you as he hung up.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Donna entered Harvey’s office exactly at 1.30 pm. “Your 1.30 appointment is here.” Harvey looked up, bewildered. “What appointment? I told you to clear up my schedule today. I’m busy.” Before Harvey saw her, he already smelled the mixture of vanilla and rose. “Even for me?” she said sweetly as Donna left the room and closed the door behind her. Harvey stood up immediately and walked up to her. “You’re too busy now for me, Mr. Naming Partner?” she smirked as Harvey enveloped her in his embrace. “Don’t worry, I won’t be long. I called Donna and she told me you refused lunch. So I took matters into my own hands and made you lasagna. I’ll only drop this.” she gestured to a lunch bag that he realized just now. “I thought you'd send a SWAT team? You’re damn pretty for I thought would be 10 bulky men.” Harvey said as he gently squeezed her ass and smirked before delicately pecking her lips. “Harvey!” she slapped her hand across his chest. “No fraternizing in the office!” she scolded, face all serious. “You won’t work here until at least another month. You’re here as my girlfriend. And maybe we could make use of the copy room? Or hmm, the file room?” She laughed though he earned another slap across his chest. “I thought you were busy? Come on, eat your lunch.” She separated herself from Harvey’s arms and he involuntarily frowned at the absence of her in his arms. She opened the lunch bag and laid down the food containers on another side of his larger desk for him to eat. “Come, Harvey. You should eat.” she frowned and she called for Harvey. He sat down and now he felt hungry. Between the sight and the smell of this lasagna, he realized that he has been working on an empty stomach. “That ain’t so hard, right?” Harvey nodded, mouth full of food. “Are these the files you've been going through since last night?” she gestured to the ones on the table and a few boxes near his desk. Again, Harvey nodded. “Won’t you eat with me?” He opened the lunch bag to find another lasagna for her. “Meh, I’ve had lunch at home. Thought I will just drop your lunch,” she said as she squatted beside one of the boxes. “I’ll take half of these files. You finished your lunch first.” She took a few boxes with her and brought them to his sofa. “Babe, you don’t have to. You’re not even working here yet, the merger isn’t yet effective. Go out and have a spa day or something. Thank you, but I have it handled.” Harvey said after he gulped a big amount of water. “I won’t have it, Harvey. I’m free to help and I won’t go. Well unless you call the SWAT team." They smirked at each other as she flopped down the sofa and started with the box on the very top. Harvey stared at her as he chowed down the last bit of his lunch. How come he scored such a beauty? She leaned her back, documents opened in front of her, as she pouted while fully concentrating on the task at hand. She folded both legs, hitched her summer dress, and revealed her smooth thighs. What a pretty sight, he thought to himself. Since 3 days ago Mike got sick, this is the first day he felt happy by the news. He looked down at his lunch and something occurred to him so suddenly. He just realized how devoted she is to him. Her bringing him lunch now wasn’t the first time. She’s taking good care of him. They had been together for a tad more than a year now since she was working with her previous firm, been living together for over 7 months now Even when she was busy working, he always got home to dinner. Sometimes even home-cooked lunches brought by herself to his office. The warm baths she always knew he needed without him saying anything. How she knew what to pour him. White, red, whiskey, or bourbon. How all his friends love her. Adore her even. That never really happened with his previous partners.

He had to make her his now. Scratch that, he needed to make her his now. He moved carefully to his desk, as carefully as he could without disturbing her. He took the key and opened the drawer. He checked the box and sighed in relief as he saw the ring still in place. He sat up straight and fixed his tie before walking up to her. She didn't even bother to look up, thought he must've needed something from one of the boxes she took. It then caught her attention when she saw him standing on one knee. “Harvey?” she looked at him quizzically. He pulled out the red box from his suit jacket and she gasped. She put her legs down, both hands covered her mouth as he opened the box. Exposing the ring. “This is not how I, actually me and Donna, planned it. We were supposed to be in Boboli Garden when I asked you this question. But I can’t wait that long. You are my life and I never loved anyone as much as I love you. You are the best thing that ever happened to me. Marry me.” Harvey looked at her sincerely and his eyes glistened. “Yes” her voice was just above a whisper. “Yes yes yes! An infinite amount of yes!!” She shrieked. Harvey smiled widely as he slid the ring down her slender finger. She put up her hand and admired the ring “Goodness, this is beautiful.” Harvey wrapped his arms around her waist and brought her up with him before spinning her around. Harvey stopped, her feet still hadn't touched the ground. Their foreheads touched as they grinned at each other. “I love you so much” she whispered as she closed their distance. “Not even in a proposal will Harvey Specter ask” Both of them laugh, as they kiss again. They separated in shock as Donna swung open the door so hard. She inspected the sight before her and screamed “HARVEY HOW COULD YOU PROPOSE TO HER IN YOUR OWN OFFICE?!?! WE'VE MADE A PLAN!”

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Author's note: Feel free to send me some story ideas. Thanks!

MASTERLIST

#harvey specter #harvey specter fan fiction #harvey specter fanfic #harvey specter imagine #harvey specter imagines #harvey specter x reader #suits harvey specter #suits tv

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xblackreader · 2 months

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SydCarmy Meets The Family <3

>>> The thought of Carmy being introduced to Sydney’s tons of Nigerian Aunties and Uncles is very humorous to me.

“And Here he is! I brought you my boyfriend, Carmen finally. So everyone leave me alone about it.” Sydney starts, once she has hugged everyone.

The ‘Please go easy on my white man’ is silent but they nod. Raising up to shake his hand and her littlest clingy cousin who greets her, stares him down like he’s an alien.

He sticks out like a blonde haired blue eyed sore thumb, but once he’s been greeted and given a general threatening message via all her uncles (in tight jeans and sandals, which lightens the threats) he is told to put down the things they brought in the kitchen.

“Nice firm handshake.” He hears an uncle comment as he leaves and he is elated. It’s small but it’s approval!

Once in the kitchen, the auntie’s crowd to greet him with hugs and get distracted seeing him for the first time, squeezing his muscles and touching his hair.

“Eh… nwa ocha ya di short mana sara mbara…”

“Ma o nwere big muscles!

“No! Yana min kyau! Cute!”

Carmy: “Uh, do… do they like me?”

Sydney: “Oh, they love you. They’re plotting to steal you away from me.”

“Big nose too!”

Carmy: “well… okay, that was English.”

Little cousin, David, walks up to Carmen as he chops vegetables. Pulling a little stool over and standing at his side, wordlessly. He stares first at Carmen himself then the vegetables the white man cuts so effortlessly. Little sticky fingers rise and reach for the knife and Carmen just laughs as he attempts to pry it from much larger stronger hands.

“Can I see?” David asks, confused on why his big cousins boyfriends thinks he’s so funny.

“Unfortunately, this is a knife. Too heavy and sharp for you to use.”

David is heavily offended that he is being underestimated. “I can chop! I chop for Mama everyday!”

“David!” He heard said Mama begins to scold him, “You raise your voice at guests?” David begins to tear up.

“Not at all, Auntie.” Carmen inserts, David cut off from his whine. “He’s just asking if he can help me cut vegetables. I didn’t know he had experience.”

David’s mother melts immediately and confirms that yes, David does chop carrots and garlic for her. “Oh, He’s very smart! Knows how to hold it and everything!”

So Carmen lets David help him ‘chop chop’ keeping a steady hand in his as the little boy is taught new techniques and tricks.

By day’s end, he is smitten with his new weird looking older cousin and makes it plain by crying when it’s time to part. Sydney is so proud that she lets him parade around as the new favorite cousin.

>> And Sydney meeting a couple other “less-than-woke” Berzattos? Older Italian people setting eyes on their introverted little nephew’s girlfriend?

“Che bellezza!” A drunk uncle of his screams almost immediately before Carmen can get her name out.

“Gambe piuttosto lunghe… You guys will have such cute babies!”

“Oh, mixed babies are the cutest!” Donna throws in.

“Ma…” Carmy warns.

“Oh, you’re so WOKE, Carmen. Chill out! She’s givin’ her a compliment!” His Uncle says before turning back to the game.

“Ya mother’s right, Carmen! See, my sista has the cutest little grandchildren! Remember little Joey, Carmen? He went and found himself a black girl too!”

Carmy: “Okay, Aunt Glo, thank you. Can we move o-“

“And they have just beautiful little caramel children! And their hair! Ugh! Ricci e belli!”

Sydney is just nodding and trying not to laugh at how mortified Carmy is. He looks over to her in apology, but none of these comments are particularly too inappropriate and they mean well.

“But she’s skinny…”

“Skin and bones! Let’s feed her then, come with me, sweetheart!”

Sydney: “O-oh, uh…” but her hand is captured and she’s being led into the kitchen to be fed by hand.

She tosses a help look to Carmy and he shrugs with a small smile.

“Hopefully this’ll make your hips wider… The Berzattos have large heads when they’re babies, unfortunately.”

Carmy: “Ma! Cut the baby talk!”

Fin.

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minispidey · 8 months

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02: Barbie and the Giftshopist.

Steven Grant x f!bimbo!reader. previous part. series masterlist. next part.

02. He's just Steven (and Marc, and Jake)

a/n: i'm not like fully knowledgeable of DID but i did some research! if u guys can give me some tips/ point out my mistakes, i'd be happy to hear it and edit. i just really do need some help 🙏🏻 i've never written a system before and i'd love to hear some advice

(series tags are open!) tags: @3zae-zae3

"Morning, Stevie!" you started calling him Stevie not even a week after you moved in. Sure, he hates it when Donna calls him that, but god did it sound so beautiful when you say it.

You two walk out at the same time everyday, bothered by some of the sellers on the street blocking the door "Excuse us." you say as they made way for you and Steven. A vintage pink corvette was your way of transportation while Steven chooses the bus, but you weren't in a rush today "Stevie! I'll give you a ride. Get in."

Steven blushed, shaking his head "No no, it's fine, love." hearing him call you love made you accidentally kick your leg up. You stared confused at your leg before turning your head towards Steven again "Come on." you pouted.

"I'm serious— oh, bollocks." he drops his keys by accident "I'm alright."

You drove by his side slowly "Stevieee get in. I'm not letting you take the bus when I have a car."

"It's just-"

"Is it because it's pink?"

"No! No, not at all. I don't want to be a bother, that's all." he sighed.

"Steven. Get in." you pull down your sunglasses "I'm not taking a no for an answer."

"Yes, ma'am." seeing you so serious had him flustered. Maybe it's a weird kink he developed after knowing you were a lawyer.

He sat in the passenger's seat and buckled his seatbelt. You smiled at him before fixing your sunglasses "Okay! First stop, the museum."

Steven knew everyone's going to stare at your pink car. He just never expected so many people turning their heads towards you too. You were beautiful and radiated beauty and sunshine, you were an attention grabber.

He just imagines you in all pink in your firm, in a room filled with blue and black suits. He thought it was cute.

"Do you have like, a license? You can take my car on my days off."

"You don't have to." Steven shook his head "Really, you're too kind."

"It's alright! Whatever makes your life easier." you flashed him one of your bright smiles "I can drop you off every day if you wanna. I'm not as busy anyways."

"Take the offer, Steven. Beats having to cramp in every day." Marc says from the reflection of the right side mirror. Steven shook his head before turning towards you "It's fine, love."

"Come on. Rent's hell. Let me save you some commute money, okay? I may be fashionable, but I can be such a cheapskate-" the car comes to a sudden halt as you snap your head towards a shop window. Steven was pushed forward but thankfully held by the seatbelt "What's wrong?" he breathed out.

"What time do you have to go to work?"

"Before ten. Why?"

"It's eight. Do you mind making a short stop with me?"

Shop assistants surrounded you as you worked your magic "Ooh, and this one. Do you have it in pink?" you giggled as you slipped on another heel "Okay so like, the trick is to ignore the assistants." you whisper to Steven "They'll sell you anything in full price. Head straight to the expensive ones before slowly going to the ones on sale."

Steven nodded as he listened to the advice you gave. He felt a bit nervous as you spoke to the shop assistants, you seemed so confident as well. In contrast, Steven felt fairly awkward and he was just observing how you interacted with the people around you.

He was very intrigued by the way you were trying on shoes, the way you were talking about it with the shop staff— he couldn't explain what exactly it was that he found attractive about you, and it was slightly annoying him.

"Chica está loca..." Steven looks at the full-length mirror, Jake was staring right back at him. He raises an eyebrow at Jake "She's crazy. I've never met a girl who wears so much... pink."

Steven was about to talk back when you pull him to the counter, swiping your card and taking your shopping bags "Okay, so like, I got fourty percent off. I have a loyalty voucher." you two made your way back to your car, stuffing your bags in the back "Thanks for coming with me, Stevie. Well, you didn't have a choice anyways."

"It's alright, really. It was... fun." he smiled at you, getting inside the car "Never really shopped with anyone before."

"Really? Not even with friends?"

"Don't have any."

"Aw, how come? You're so fun to be with."

Steven's heart skipped a beat. He stared at you with bright eyes as you drove. He felt his face heat up. When he turns his head to face the side mirror, he finds Marc judging him.

"You've just met her, huh?"

"Shut it..." Steven mumbled under his breath, looking away from the mirror. He watched you, still smiling as you drove. It was like you weren't real, like you were too good to be true. If he had known years ago a woman like you existed, he would've searched for you everywhere. But you landed right outside his flat.

"I don't think I can pick you up after your work, training interns and all." you stopped near the steps "I'll see you later, Stevie."

"You don't have to, it's really okay." he blushed "I'll see you around, love." he got out of your car, looking back at you as he walked up the steps. You pushed your sunglasses down and waved back before driving away.

After an exhausting day, you drove back at 1 am. You shoved your files in the back seat with your shopping bags and rested your face, your signature smile falling from fatigue.

The streets of London were quiet, only the crickets' mating call filling the cold air. You rub your eyes, some of your mascara rubbing off "So tired..." you sighed as you turned the car to the right.

Though your sleepiness immediately went away when you spot a ridiculous ugly-patterned shirt. It was Steven walking back.

"This late?" you whispered to yourself. You sped up a bit to catch up with him "Stevie!" your cheery voice halted the quiet night.

His head turned towards you, a scowl displayed on his face. Though his eyebrows softened upon realizing it was you.

"Don't they have buses out late? You poor thing. Get in." you smiled as you unlocked your car, allowing him to enter.

"I should've totally given you my number. If I only knew you'd be out late like me I would've picked you up." you let out a yawn before continuing "I'm not that busy, I swear. Like, I'm a lawyer but I know how to manage my time."

As you went on and on, Steven just sat there and listened to you.

You parked your car and stepped out, trying to get all your shopping bags in one go. But Steven stepped in and helped "Aw, Stevie, thanks so much!" Steven looked exhausted too.

You talked more in the elevator, detailing how frustrating your day was at your firm before walking to your doors.

"-and he was like no and I was like totes! And he was like noooo and I was like, definitely!" you giggled "Whoever said orange is the new pink is totally disturbed."

You unlocked your door and let Steven in to set your bags down. He went to step out afterwards when you pulled on his sleeve "Thanks so much again, Stevie. You are like, too good to me. We should totally shop again some other time! Goodnight!" you placed a kiss on his cheek before closing your door.

He froze in place, staring at your door before unlocking his own door and getting in. He breathed in the cold air before walking to his fish tank, feeding the two fishes before his vision focused, looking at his reflection on the glass.

"Marc! What was that?!"

Marc looked back at Steven "It's nothing."

"Back off. I really like her, okay? There. I said it."

"You kissed my wife and your crush kissed me on the cheek."

"I said I was sorry."

Jake spoke up, appearing from a small mirror "You like her? Dios mío, that woman wears a lot of pink. What is it about her? Is it because of the car? I have a limousine."

"No! She's- she's really nice."

"Be more specific, amigo. Nice isn't how you like someone."

"Enough." Marc shakes his head "Steven, if you like her then go ahead. But just don't get attached."

"What do you mean?"

"I have Layla— we have Layla. I'm married to her. You can have a crush on your little neighbor, sure, but it's not like you can date her."

"Marc... come on, I have my own life... we have our own lives. What if I decide I want to date her? What if I really really like her, you know?"

"I don't know." he sighed, scratching his eyebrow "It's gonna be complicated, you know that."

Steven let out a sigh, looking down "I-I know... but I just... I just really like her."

Jake on the other hand was deep in this own thoughts. Marc heads to bed when Jake fronts, taking over the body. He cracks his neck before walking out and knocking on your door.

You were just about to take off your makeup when you head his knock. Your fluffy pink slippers squeaked as you made your way to the door, opening it "Stevie? Did you miss me already?" you giggled.

"Do you want to go out with me?" Jake put on his best performance, speaking in a kind of shy British accent.

"Out? Like, a date?" you blinked twice.

"Yes."

Jake understood now. He saw the way your eyes sparkled and your blinding smile "Oh my gosh, yes!" you squealed before covering your mouth, looking side to side across the halls, worried you might've woken up your neighbors "Yes. Let's go out. Uh, maybe lunch? I'm free."

"That's alright with me." he nodded.

"Alright." you couldn't help but smile like a fool "Goodnight, Stevie."

"Goodnight..."

After closing your door, you silently screamed, jumping up and down in excitement. Your exhaustion suddenly disappears as you start planning out your outfit for the morning.

#moon knight #steven grant #jake lockley #marc spector #moon knight system #steven grant x reader #x reader #x you #x bimbo reader #bimbo!reader

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nat-20s · 3 months

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Seen people describe The Doctor and Donna's relationship as a sibling dynamic but I think that's only true for some Doctors with Donna so here's a definitive list of which nuwhodoctordonna pairs are and aren't siblings:

NineDonna: No. They are randomly assigned roommates that become the most annoying best friends in the world. Literally the worst fucking people in existence to third wheel for, you're in a constant state of "what the FUCK are you two talking about???"

TenDonna: No. Something much weirder going on for them. I once saw someone describe them as "whatever dr doofensmirtz and perry have going on but platonic" and that's lived in my head rent free ever since. Yes Ten WOULD physically strap Donna to himself in order to confront his parents and then when it went poorly they would watch the sunset and he would tell her that she was his rock. Also very gay best friend and woman on another one of their little adventures/ a lesbian and her favorite himbo. Who's the gay best friend/woman/lesbian/himbo changes on a whim <3 Truly the icons of sticking two freak bi people with unfettered adhd together and seeing what happens

ElevenDonna: okay Yes. that is her little brother that's like 30 times older than her and she is treating him accordingly. (so so so mean but will also kick people in the shins for being nasty to him)

TwelveDonna: Sort of. Less your typical sibling dynamic and more like stepsiblings that only became stepsiblings well into their 30s and have decided to unionize. In another life they would've been a vaudeville duo that are also conmen.

ThirteenDonna: No. Not a single soul knows whatever the fuck those two have going on between them, least of all them. Probably like. The somewhat healthier mirror version of whatever the fuck The Doctor and Spymaster have going on. One time 13 sighs oh so sadly and is like "i wish i could be donna's lap dog" and when the master asks, "Like in a horny way, or???" Thirteen replies, "I don't know I just think if Donna could carry me around everywhere life would be significantly better and I could have an easier time seeing beauty in the universe again." and the master is like. "have you maybe considered prozac" and the doctor says "WELL I WOULDN'T NEED PROZAC IF I WAS DONNA'S LAP DOG NOW WOULD I??"

FourteenDonna: no. QUEER PLATONIC SPOUSES OF ALL FUCKING TIIIIMMMMEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

FifteenDonna: Not quite. I think they more have the vibe of like cousins that go to family functions and always seek each other out bc they have a mutual case of "you're the only bitch in this room that I respect. You're the only motherfucker in this house that can handle me." Both of them volunteer to "chaperone" the kids table bc if Donna has to hear one more word from their uncle who won't shut up about how great brexit is she's shoving his face in the mashed potatoes and fifteen is just going to be like "you're doing amazing sweetie"

#doctor who #donna noble #the doctor

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rendezvouz-fling · 1 year

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Astro Observations #19

• I’ve noticed a pattern with Air and Earth risings and their dads not physically being there in their lives or being away for long periods of time and staying for shorter periods of time.

• People with Gemini rising and mercury at Leo degrees (5, 17, 29) or with their 3rd house in Leo tend to be very animated, expressive storytellers and are great at mimicking others! If they’re into singing then they might be good at imitating the original singer of that song’s voice.

• They’re also good at making impressions of other people.😂 Same goes for Leo rising with mercury in Gemini degrees (3, 15, 27) or people with their 5H in Gemini!✨

• Another thing about people with Leo in their 3H is that they WILL be over the top or dramatic when they see fit!! I have this placement and I literally pretended to faint when I saw my mom about to hit me while holding the pan she was washing with her other hand when I was a kid.🤣

• Capricorn moon kids aren’t the mini adults I see a lot of people stereotyping especially when they have Air/Fire in their charts. 🧐 Yes they might become very responsible as kids but they can also be the loud charming ones with the funniest laughs!😂

• Most 70s music/dance show hosts had prominent Scorpio/Libra placements with a dash of Aquarius energy! E.g. Dick Clark a 70s/80s show host from American Bandstand was a Scorpio moon/venus/rising & his sun was at 7 (Libra) degree while his rising was at 11 (Aquarius) degree!! And Don Cornelius the creator and show host of Soul Train throughout 3 decades was a Libra sun/mercury/venus with an Aquarius moon at 20 (Scorpio) degree!!🤎

• They also had inner planets at 28 degree!✨

• I’ve noticed some people with Fire venuses don’t get along with their dads that much, some of them had more of the ‘tough love’ type fathers.

• The reason most air moons seem to be emotionally aloof especially Aquarius moons, is because at some point in their lives they might’ve been shown that the only way to get by is by intellect and logic. They might’ve also been told as kids that they’re being too emotional and to stop crying/being upset.

• Another is because they’ve adapted to bottling up their emotions all the time that they might not know a way to express them openly and might just internalize it.

• Earth mars artists from the late 70s/early 80s were your go-to, classic R&B artists!! E.g. Patrice Rushen, Bobby DeBarge from Switch & Teena Marie are all Capricorn mars. Tommy DeBarge from Switch, Rick James and Donna Summer were all Virgo mars. Bunny DeBarge from DeBarge & Wayne Cooper from Cameo are both Taurus mars. 🍂

• If you feel like some placements in your composite don’t really add up with your relationship then check your Davison chart because I promise it’ll feel more accurate!

• Gemini suns with Sagittarius moons are very talkative and seem so feisty!😭

• Saturn doms have very attractive/prominent body shapes!

• Aquarius suns with Aquarius mercuries are funny without trying. ✋🏽😂

• Pisces suns with Aquarius mercuries and Aries venuses be literally taking the words out my mouth and say some of the meanest things!🤣

• Aries mercuries will literally say mean things before laughing and then hit you with the “What? It’s true.”😭🤣

• Fire mars men are built different!😭 Their height/weight might often trick people into thinking they’re soft but they are SO strong.

• Venus doms, how does it feel to get more beautiful every day?

• Mercurial risings kill me!😭 Virgo risings have a hilarious sometimes dry or more introverted humor while Gemini risings can be all over the place cracking jokes and exaggerating things lol.

• What’s with 5H suns and having a thing for verbal expressions. They’re literally the types to imitate a sound track when they’re explaining things.😭😭😭

• Some Gemini risings tend to have a signature laugh or people might point out/compliment their laughter often.

• They might also have them crazy laughs too and you’ll notice it specifically when you get close to them.🤣

• That one Aquarius moon family member 🤝 every other family member always going to them when they have problems with their technology or doing something online.

• Aries venus is that one cousin that will be spontaneous and very funny when you’re both good but will mean mug and say hurtful things to you/about you when you’re not on good terms anymore.😭

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nanasdumbworld · 11 months

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Lovefool pt.1 (Unedited)

Miguel O'Hara x Venom!reader (gender neutral)

Warnings ; Mention of death, desacration, blood and violence. Not a happy ending. At first the reader will be called by female pronouns and then neuter pronouns.

Summary ; After a fight, Spiderwoman is badly injured and left on the doorstep of a scientist that was looking for the perfect guest for her strange experiment. Miguel notices that (Y/N) doesn't show up the next the day at the headquarters.

A/N: I apologize if there's a mistake with the grammar, english is not my first lenguage. Thank you so much for reading, enjoy! <3

That night, Miguel planned to tell (Y/N) his feelings for her. He didn't know what they were. They looked at each other like they were husband and wife, they knew almost everything about each other. He always brought her food when she forgets, she always look after him when they went on a mission. They accidentally -not really- kissed once when they were drunk.

Well, that's what the people thought. What they had, was not a friendship. They slept together when they had nightmares, they felt that their heartbeats were very fast when they were together, healed each other's wounds.

He asked her days before if she wanted to had a dinner at his house. (Y/N) knew his intentions and she was excited. When the day came, he dressed decently, he tidied up his house and cooked her favourite meal.

"I don't know how to tell you this, (Y/N). But you are one of the most incredible person that i've met" he sighed and took a deep breath. He was practicing in front of the mirror. "Expressing my feelings is very difficult for me, is even more difficult when you are in front of me, looking as always, so beautiful and lovely. I can't find the words to tell you how much you mean to me."

He left his room and sat on the sofa in his living room. He expected his beloved to arrive and finally give her a huge hug.

But she never came.

He didn't know that at those precise moments she was dying at someone's door.

The woman was losing a enormous amout of blood. Breathing was complicated for her, her lungs were filled with blood. The two young man were in front of Donna's Diego door.

"She's dying, for god's sake. Ring the fucking bell" One of guys was holding her while the other was ringing the bell, they found her inside of a garbage can just a few minutes ago.

"That's what i'm doing but Donna doesn't open the fucking door" He knock the door three times. "Donna, please open up. We have just want you want, you won't believe who she is"

"I told you i didn't want animals, stupid idiots" a young woman opened the door, visibly angry. "Oh my god" she shouted and let them in.

When they entered the girl's laboratory, they laid (Y/N) down on a plank

"I can't believe it, i just can't" she covered her mouth. She quickly took off her mask and bandaged her wounds. "Holy shit, her face is almost unrecognizable" she smiled, her favourite person on the planet was just a few inches from her. She's been always a spiderwoman fan.

She knew how strong the woman was.

She was strong enough to survive the experiment.

Miguel was worried, she wasn't impuntual. He called her so many times that he doesn't know how many.

Something was wrong with her.

#miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderverse x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara fanfiction #spiderman x reader

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scintillyyy · 4 months

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a view at perceptions of dick's economic situation at the circus through the years

alright, we start at detective comics #38, the OG introduction. and, nothing is really said either way about what dick's economic station would have been, because really, the only thing it's there to tell us is that dick is an acrobat--which gives him the skills needed to fight crime by batman's side.

of absolute note to me, though, is the fact that his family was famous for their triple spin & what that potentially means for his upbringing. because, if you've been following this journey with me, means a lot. because we have a real life example of that to compare to get an idea of what may have been his childhood. i am of course, talking about the flying concellos && i did find another one and that would be the flying codonas (alfredo codona being the first man to land a triple somersault).

now, let's be clear--dick being the son of famed circus trapeze artists, especially ones who could land a triple, in 1940, means that he grew up the son of stars. they would have been center ring performers, and likely had amenities and pay that reflected that. now i won't deny that as circus performers they were likely 'othered'--there was likely a prejudice against what they perceived circus folk to be, but that does not likely completely reflect the actuality of what they may have had access to as a result of being entertainment stars. because they were othered--but at the same time, if they were famous enough for their skills, they were definitely adjacent to the rich and famous, not just poor, exploited workers. there was a lot of overlap between famous acts, longstanding families, and ownership. after doing...a lot...of reading on the most famous circus stars of the era of the 1920s & 1930s (especially alfredo cordona + his eventual wife lillian leitzel and the flying concellos), i think i've determined a couple of things:

one, these circus stars feel very akin to movie stars wrt their fame. and they were messy as hell. lillian leitzel in particular was a prima donna--she was the first circus star who was able to catapult her worth into luxuries. she was the first star to ever get her own private train car and personal dressing tent and was known to be the prima donna of the circus. she was also known for her temper--her personal maid would sometimes get fired and rehired several times a day. when she married alfredo cordona between acts in chicago, it was considered the royal wedding of the circus world. may wirth, a trick rider, was frequently in the gossip column of newspapers & had many, many admirers. lillian leitzel was voted the most beautiful woman in the world by american soldiers in wwi. like, these people were stars in every sense of the word.

two, these performers were not just meek, exploited poor people. with the right skills, they had power, they had ambition & they had money. they were center stage performers. arthur concello was huge in investing in and modernizing the circus--likely because of the money he made through the years of performing his act.

so frankly detective comics #28, and later batman #32, doesn't really delve into what dick's life experiences may have been on the circus--because that's not the point. the only thing those are their to do is establish dick as an orphan & and acrobat, and thereby skilled and motivated enough to work at batman's side.

but based on the era in which he was created and in comparison to similar acts of the time, it's easy to take a gander. because john & mary being able to perform a triple would have been huge. they'd be center stage acts, high in hierarchy. with mary being a young, attractive woman who could perform a triple, she may have had plenty of admirers & been in the gossip columns of the newspaper. her wedding to john may have been a whole thing to circus fans. i read a lot about those types of acts being invited to perform and star in european shows over the winters at old, respected circuses && they had enough international star power that they drew crowds there based on name alone. i know the impulse is to think that dick would have had no experience with the wealth of bruce's world, but conversely in that day and age and his parent's skillset it's highly likely he would have been exposed to the glitz & glamour of the famous high life. they may have been invited to do private performances for other rich & famous people & rubbed shoulders with them. alfredo cordona was in a few hollywood movies for his skills & arthur concello had connections to hollywood due to brokering the movie 'the greatest show'--is it out of the realm of possibility to believe that john would have had the same opportunities?

anyways, moving on. i find myself extremely intrigued by detective comics #484, which brings dick back to haly's circus. now there's some hilarity here in that dick has no clue if it's possibly the same haly's circus he and his parents worked for, and he meets linda--of the flying graysons! (get her ass for copyright infringement, dick). jk. linda is a very nice girl & it's just a stage name. dick confirms they were circle ring stars & says that haly's was the greatest show on earth (the ringling bros & barnum and bailey about to come for haly...)

now this issue is interesting because while it doesn't necessarily give us an idea of what dick's economic status would have been, it does establish that the flying graysons were famous enough that the evil stepfather conviced haly that by yoinking the name for his family they'd be able to draw in more customers based on name recognition alone & that the name would put him in the headlines/give him headliner credibility for his act and the circus to get sold to a bigger show & that he would be able to "ride the crest of the wave" and become very successful (and presumably rich). which definitely implies that the grayson name is worth something. now haly's circus is shown to be getting by with generous checks from bruce wayne, and i feel like here we start to get what i feel is a fairly consistent incongruency where haly's circus is often shown to be barely getting by (despite their full audiences), yet the flying graysons were famous.

so then on to secret origins #13, which has dick tell joey about his journey to robin, and...briefly goes into his childhood (he started performing with his family at 5), but again the focus is, as always on the acrobatic portion. there's an interesting opaqueness there about what his childhood was like. just acrobatics and loving parents. nothing is ever really suggested with regards to their fame, they're just vaguely famous & circus stars. nobody seems interested in interrogating that.

and then we get to year three & batman #436 and this is the first time we get any sort of nugget as to dick's potential economic status, and it's not bad? his dad references getting world series tickets and dick wants to go to a movie with harry so he can skip out on homework. the average price of movie tickets in the 70s (when this is implied to take place) adjusted for inflation would be equal to about ~11 dollars today and dick clearly doesn't seem to think this is a huge expenditure. i mean, i wouldn't say that they're rich here by any means (unlike the potential implications of his 1940 introduction), but they're clearly comfortable enough to afford small luxuries without worry. which, again, as a named, headlining act doesn't seem too out of the ordinary. as the headliners, they're probably making the most of all the acts, as they're the ones bringing in the crowd. mary is said to be a third generation circus performer, which. to me. implies some success, that the circus family continued on. a lot of the people i mentioned before were ostensibly part of circus families that continued the tradition as that's what they were raised in. alfredo was first brought on stage at 7 months. & i think the fact that dick was a part of a longstanding circus family that would have had deep ties not just to the community but also would have likely been very entwined and friendly with management due to the nature of a long work relationship together. there is a stability there that wouldn't necessarily be seen with. someone new, i guess?

anyways, honestly i feel like year three & later a lonely place of dying are really the stories that try not to stereotype circus life the most. there's no "wow circus people are so othered & weird", they're just normal people who work at a circus & are treated as such. even jack and janet stopping for a photo is treated like "let's show our son that these performers are just people like us under their costumes". which, honestly reads more like that time i was brought to a local haunted walk when i was like 7 and i was in tears because i was so scared and one of the performers took off their mask to show me he was just a normal guy underneath the costume.

devin grayson, of course, retcons this long-standing family history of his mother being part of a circus family in nightwing annual #1 and changes it to his father instead & is very, hm, married to the idea that circus workers are poor in her conceptualization of how she writes dick as evidenced by her interview in "dick grayson, boy wonder" where she says the following:

god. the racism. it's something. and now. i'll say i have no issue with the idea of clarifying dick as not necessarily white. i do have slight issue with the idea that because he was a circus performer, he was poor. because this is the first time someone i think has actually tried to take into account the childhood dick may have experienced, and she definitely inserted her own stereotypical biases into it. and is a bit at odds with how skilled, famous american circus workers who have his parents' skillset were treated back in the time of dick's conception. they traveled in the winter because they were stars and were invited to perform in prestigious european circuses due to their fame. i just. and i will point out that a lot of these famous circus performers were hot blooded and it had nothing to do with race and everything to do with the fact that they were stage divas. idk. obviously, conceptions of circus workers were likely not the greatest in the 90s. they were nowhere near what their fame was in their heyday. clowns were definitely starting to be seen as more creepy and by this point, circuses were far more criticized for their treatment of animals. but i feel like there's a bit of a leap here wrt devin grayson's assumptions of circus life because of the fact that they travel & doesn't do near enough justice to the worth of the skill of dick & dick's parents. because being able to perform a triple & a quadruple would have still been extremely rare and highly valued. so rare it wasn't performed until 1982 & can still hardly be achieved.

https://www.nytimes.com/1982/07/13/arts/a-quadruple-for-the-flying-miguel-vazquez.html

this article is a fascinating review of exactly how rare and dangerous it is. & hey, alfredo mention.

batman legends of the dark knight #100 seems to go along with this idea that a circus is a dirty and poor place.

and, like. okay so the graysons are still shown as an act important enough to have their own dressing/prep room, per usual, as expected for their skillset. haly's circus in modern day is usually shown in more modern comics to be a small traveling circus that's not doing...super well--at least in comparison to previously established show selling out lore, but the only thing i really take umbrage with here is that alfred describes it as decrepit. which. i feel like even if haly's is small and maybe not super profitable it should at least be shown as a well kept, nice place & the only reason for that is because if it was practically falling apart, there's no fucking way jack would have won the battle of 'let's bring our son tim to the circus' if it was falling apart. janet would have been out here on beyondthebump all 'help my DH wants to take our son to a circus and it's falling apart, located in a terrible part of town, and looks like it employs murderers, how do i tell him no?' and she would have been met with a chorus of 'stand ur ground girl, do NOT let him endager your baby like that!!'.

anyways, the new 52 also gives us almost nothing to go on either. dick's parents' trailer looks nice enough, indicating they do make enough money with their act to afford a semi nice trailer. john is an asshole, dick is out of character. lovely, thanks new 52. the secret origin is as least much better but does go into how the circus has no money--which, hm. doesn't really tell us anything re: the grayson's economic situation. the circus might be struggling and have to close down soon, but it doesn't mean a lot for what contracted rates they pay their acts. in fact, paying for an act as skilled as the graysons and not getting enough profit in return could be part of their money troubles.

and then finally we end with nightwing 82-83 by tom taylor, with the meili lin thing (and, while meili is nice enough, i must say i still don't like this whole thing because the point of zucco should not have been he had a longstanding grudge against the graysons, gdi-). which, again, all it confirms is that the grayson's were the star attractions and does nothing to interrogate what that might've been. it does focus a lot on the idea of they were free and happy, which. um. sometimes the focus on how happy people are is usually "despite the fact that they don't have x". then again i do feel like i will give tom taylor the fact that he also seemed to have just written the graysons as normal people, but he also doesn't seem interested in interrogating what dick being the son of the star act might have actually meant for him.

honestly, a lot of what i'm finding is that much like tim, dick's childhood is left frustatingly opaque--there's a lot of room for interpretation, honestly. it's not ever really said on paper if they struggled with money growing up. you have writers who have all but confirmed they wrote dick with the understanding that he grew up poor because he worked in a circus, but at the same time does ignore the fact that the grayson's had such a unique and special skillset that it's hard to say that makes sense. & is rooted in stereotypical biases. the only aspect of it that's ever considered is "dick's the son of the skilled, star performers and also has those skills ergo he has the skills to be a vigilante". they're cast in this light of famous & skilled!! but the circus they work for is poor and barely getting by, and you can only assume that because they worked for a poor circus dick was probably also living on the poverty line, wholly dependent on the success of the place they worked for because at times their wages were struggled to be paid (despite the fact that as a contract act, to underpay them would absolutely be a breach of contract). there's no confirmation or in-depth look at his childhood, only vague implications, throwaway lines & stereotypes. they want the grayson's to be probably the most skilled circus act in the world. they don't want to look at what that would realistically mean. because only the acrobatics is the important.

#anyways my deep dive into reading various versions of dick's origin really does show that dc doesn't really care #what his childhood experiences may have been #because they don't matter. only the acrobatics ever have #anyways i do think there's a lot of potential for dick to feel othered in his stories #his family would have been at the top of the hierarchy #he was used to fame but still was unable to fit in to bruce's world

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magiccath · 6 months

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A matchmaker of sorts

tenth doctor x GN!reader

summary: In which Donna is fed up with her love-sick, oblivious best friends.

Warnings: brief use of y/n

Donna had always known that her best friends were in love with each other. She wouldn’t call herself the most observational person, but it really didn’t take much to notice. She was honestly surprised that neither of you had figured it out by now.

The two of you were different in the ways that you showed your affection, but she had picked up on it.

The Doctor always looked at you with that big, stupid grin. He only ever smiled that much when you were around. He looked at you as if you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. She supposed to him you were.

He always made excuses to touch you, even in the slightest of ways. He would ghost his hand on the small of your back when you were in crowded areas, something he never once did with her. He was always holding your hand, and you were the very first person he hugged after any victory (no matter how small).

You, on the other hand, were always flustered around the Time Lord. You turned scarlet from his little touches, especially when he hugged you. When he got super excited he would sometimes pull you into a tight hug, spinning you around the room ceremoniously. She could have sworn she once saw you grin bashfully into his shoulder as he whipped the two of you around the room.

When he walked around the ship your eyes would always follow him. Even off the ship, you seemed to be constantly looking at him. You always managed to look away embarrassed before getting caught, though.

The two of you were clearly head over heels. Donna would even admit that you were good for each other. The only issue was that neither of you could seem to see the other’s feelings, no matter how glaringly obvious they were.

Donna was pondering this issue one afternoon when she got an idea. She could try and mastermind the two of you into each other’s arms. At the very least, maybe she could encourage you to admit your feelings. Mischievous antics were already brewing in her brain.

“Doctor?” Donna asked, walking over to lean casually against the TARDIS console.

“Yes?” He acknowledged, not looking up from his work. He was fiddling with the controls in front of him. You and Donna had stopped asking specifics beyond that long ago. Sometimes he just needed something to do with his hands.

“Let me set you up on a date,” Donna smiled cheekily.

“Not interested,” he grumbled, eyes still trained on the console. Maybe he actually was doing something purposeful.

“Why not? I know you’re lonely.”

“I have you.”

“Oi!” she gasped, slapping him, “not like that!”

“I mean, I have you to keep me company,” he sighed, taking his glasses off to pinch the bridge of his nose. “And y/n.”

“Don’t you want someone you can be with romantically though?”

“It doesn’t work like that,” he sighed, turning away from her, “I don’t age, I regenerate,” he said, a twinge of sadness riddled in his voice.

“That’s not a valid enough reason,” Donna put her hands on her hips. If that’s all the cause he had for never asking you out, he needed a proper whacking.

“I can’t spend the rest of my life with someone.”

“Can’t you just enjoy the time you can?” “Why risk it? It eventually ends,” he groaned, moving back to the console. He was clearly done with this line of questioning, but she wasn’t.

Donna knew the Doctor could get lost in his thoughts, but they usually weren’t this pessimistic. Self-effacing and anxious? Sure. But properly “glass half empty” wasn’t the Doctor’s style.

“What about y/n?” She gandered. She examined her nails as if her words weren’t carefully planned.

“What about them?” The Doctor raised his eyebrow in confusion.

“Why don’t you go on a date with them?” She clarified. The Doctor's eyes widened and he looked away with a scarlet flush.

“I- uh.”

“I see the way you look at them,” Donna poked, feeling she was getting somewhere.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, avoiding eye contact.

“I think you do!” Donna groaned, moving away from him. He could be so stubborn at times.

She started to walk away when the Doctor’s voice caught her attention. His gaze was glued to the console, so she wasn’t even sure if he was talking to her at first.

“What if I did?” He finally whispered. Donna looked back with interest, her eyebrows raised. “What if I did have feelings for them?”

“Do you?” She asked lightly.

“What if I’m so very in love with them and it scares me more than anything ever has before? What if I think about them all the time and the only thing I want to do is kiss them?” He shoved himself off of the console and started pacing, his hands raking through his hair anxiously. “What if they’re the most beautiful being I have ever seen and I want to spend as much time as I can with them?”

Donna stared at him wide-eyed and flabbergasted. She hadn’t expected him to admit his feelings to her.

“Hypothetically,” he added. Donna chorted. Of course, he needed some plausible deniability in the matter.

“Hypothetically,” she confirmed, smiling to herself.

“It really hurts, Donna,” He looked at her, pain etched into the features of his face. “Being this infatuated with them, and knowing it can never happen.”

Donna leaned her head sympathetically on his should, but before she could respond a crash came from the nearby hallway. Both Donna and the Doctor turned in the direction of the noise, clearly confused.

You cursed to yourself, bending down to pick up the book you had dropped. You had been walking down the hallway when you heard Donna say your name. You picked up that she was talking to the Doctor and didn’t want to interfere, so you just remained in the hallway. You hadn’t intended to eavesdrop at all. Once you started listening, it had just become a little hard to stop.

So much for subtly you thought to yourseld, moving slowly out of the hallway and into the room with a wince. Talk about awkward.

The Doctor looked at you with shockingly wide eyes before quickly averting his gaze. He acted as if you had just walked in on him admitting something horrible.

“Hi,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. The Doctor was still fidgeting his face bright red, refusing to look your way. You stared at him awkwardly, the tension in the room at an all-time high.

You wrung your hands anxiously, not sure what to do now. You hadn’t exactly thought this far ahead.

“Right!” Donna sprung up, her voice breaking the deafening silence. You stared at her in shock, her sudden contribution had startled you.

“I have things to do,” she lied, pointing to the hall. You nodded meekly, and the Doctor didn’t respond. Awkwardly, Donna made her way to the door. She turned back around to send an encouraging thumbs-up in your direction. You smiled painfully back at her.

The room remained silent for a few minutes after she left. It was an awkward and uncomfortable kind of silence.

You sulked over to the console to stand adjacent to the Doctor, but you didn’t know where to go from there. You settled on leaning back against the cool metal, your eyes focused on your trainers.

“How much of that did you hear?” The Doctor finally mumbled.

“Quite a bit,” you admitted, rubbing your arm absent-mindedly. You really hoped everything he had said was true, but a small part of you still refused to believe it. You’d been in love with the Doctor for so long, the thought of him feeling the same way was so far fetched.

“I- Uh, well,” He choked. You tried again to catch his eyes, but he averted his gaze.

“Doctor?” You asked, running your hands along the console next to him. Next to you, he stiffened.

“Just forget it ever happened,” He said, shoving himself off the console. He ran his hands through his hair aggressively, still not looking you in the eye.

“What?! No!” you gasped, shoving off the console too, “you can’t take it back! That’s such a coward move!” You snapped.

The Doctor looked at you, shocked. His mouth was slightly agape, and he met your eyes for the first time since you had walked into the room.

“Especially not when I feel the same,” you mumbled. Now it was your turn to avoid his gaze, your eyes settling on the floor.

“What?” He asked, stunned. He didn’t know what he had been expecting, but it wasn’t this.

“You heard me,” you whispered, deciding it would just be worse to double back on yourself.

The Doctor moved closer to you so he could delicately trace the lines of your jaw, guiding your face gently upwards. Your eyes landed on his and you had to fight the urge to look away.

“Do you really mean that?” He whispered, his breath dancing across your face.

“Yeah,” you gasped, voice hardly a whisper.

The Doctor smiled brightly before lightly gripping your face to guide it up to his own, his lips crashing into yours.

The Doctor kissed in a way that was so very him. He couldn’t stay still, his hands constantly moving in one way or another. They danced around your face, rubbing small circles into your cheeks, they tangled themselves in your hair, or ran elegantly down your sides. Every touch sent sparks through your body, a warmth spreading with it.

He wrapped his long arms around your waist, lifting you off the ground. Your feet dangled comically, and you couldn’t help but feel silly.

You hummed happily, sinking deeper into the kiss. You felt more at home than you ever had in your life, and you never wanted it to end.

The two of you were happy, the world only consisting of each other.

That was until Donna started loudly clearing her throat.

The Doctor pulled slightly away and lowered you down to the floor slowly. However, he didn’t remove his grip on you, still holding you gently against him. He wasn’t ready to let you go yet. Begrudgingly, you turned your head to look at Donna.

The fiery redhead stood with her hands on her hips, eyebrows raised in question. You felt a scarlet flush flood your cheeks, and you avoided eye contact.

“Been waiting for you two to stop being so thick,” she rolled her eyes exaggeratedly. “Now, if you two will stop snogging, I would like to go somewhere”

The Doctor threw his head back laughing, arms still lightly wrapped around you. After a minute, you joined in.

“Allons-y!” He cheered, grabbing your hand with a bright smile.

#10th doctor x reader #tenth doctor x reader #10th doctor/reader #tenth docotor imagines #The Doctor and Donna #Donna noble #doctor who #10th doctor #tenth doctor #doctor who fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #david tennant

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variousqueerthings · 6 months

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thing about rose, for me, is that she wasn't there first -- this in a "she was first in nu!who in the sense that this was the first person to travel with nine, and the first person since the timewar, and the last person that nine was with, to the point that ten was born out of that experience/modelled on her."

and in that framing, I am a big fan of her haunting of the narrative, because it start outs with her placing herself inside the doctor's ribcage and rebooting their ability to want to feel things, but unfortunately rose is still a human, like every human the doctor travelled with before, it's just that the doctor forgot how to steel themself against that inevitability because of the circumstances around meeting rose

this is The thing that I find tragic about martha, because I think she could have been that person, if she'd been the first person post-timewar to travel with the doctor, but because she's coming in during bleeding-heart times, she's got to deal with triage instead. and yes, there are wonders, and yes, there are good times, but for a lot of it, it's shrapnel, and I think if it hadn't been, she would have had a very different attitude towards *waves hands* space and time travel and aliens and the universe (one where she wouldn't be the person trusted with something like the osterhagen key)

and donna had a sense of that Space the doctor was in post-rose (she canonically stopped the doctor from dying in runaway bride) and stepped away from it, and didn't get back to the doctor until some of that hole-in-chest had been bandaged up, which martha did a great job of, but didn't get to really benefit from, and I think that's the sad thing about martha jones, is that she absolutely got a taste of the beauty and the splendor, but never without all the violence and heave weight that was put onto her

which, again, she seems to have been very aware of, considering she joined UNIT and Torchwood. her eyes were barely ever rose tinted (no pun here) during her whole journey in the story. martha really is in my opinion the most tragic companion (that I've met so far, I know Adric straight up dies, but maybe he had some fun times before that?), because yes, donna loses her memories and rose is in a parallel universe, but that's more tragic for the doctor -- they've both built lives

in donna's case there's probably a lot of imperfection in that life, but clearly a lot of joy as well, with her and her husband and her kid and her mum, and I'm sure she'd have preferred to be the donna who saw the universe and was splendid, but martha never gets to forget, and has to continue her life one step out of sync of everything she could have been

which, maybe her life is pretty flipping fantastic, but we really don't know, which is the biggest thing I side-eye about the first nu!who era. that whole weird ending with the sontaran and mickey is like... anti-character work, it answers nothing and it makes very little sense

all I know about her at the end is that she more than anyone saw the doctor's life and became a soldier (still a doctor as well, but...) because that was the work she saw needed doing, and she's the kind of person who does what needs doing. but is she... okay? youknow?

but going back to the original point, is that framing martha through the lens of rose is all well and good in the sense that rose is the reason the doctor is at that emotional point when he meets martha -- although donna absolutely had a very big hand in that as well -- but once we've established that, martha's arc is martha's arc, and it's dull to me to frame it as the "rebound" arc or even particularly about alloromanticism (including -- and this is why i get why people do it in fandom -- some shit said by rtd, which is just less interesting than what I get out of it, so shhhh)

she's got so much going on, and her relationship with the doctor changes the trajectory of her life, and it's in many ways a more interesting and far less straightforward trajectory of bad-to-better that many companions get -- it's a wonderfully complicated narrative that (and again, I get that some of this comes from within deliberate framings of the text, even though I think it's more than open enough to do more with, death of the author and all that -- but certainly not all of this is text either, some of it is ignoring what is actually there) is done a disservice by not going through the real messed up fascinating extraordinary shit that's going on during her era + arc in s4

but also... is she ok? I want to know. it's one of my top three burning questions, since we're getting a bit of best-ofs of the noughties DW era, some of your crimes can be righted by a simple bit of martha mr davies

#me wanting to see martha in the 60th just to confirm she's doing okay #pls 🥺👉👈#tbh im sure freema is doing Stuff but she shoulda been in at least one UNIT episode in m*ffat or chibnall era #martha jones #doctor who #dw #doctor who meta #this is very rambly #i think for example martha in sontaran stratagem is severely underrated because she gets captured and has to be saved #(she does stuff as well but also the above)#but it's a role reversal between her and the doctor in s3! she's constantly saving the doctor in s3 she's constantly saying I've got you #and in that episode the doctor saves her and says it back!#arghhhhh someone hold martha for me my love who always has to be so strong

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januaryembrs · 10 months

Text

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

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

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

Please reblog and comment for your authors!

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes- Sorry-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did I say about-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, after a few seconds, she laughed.

Loud and bitter, but laughed at her nonetheless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which technically he had.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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