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allmyocsarebritish · 2 months

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A passion for exploration

(Known in my notes as ahkaeology)

Pairing: Ahkmenrah X reader

Warnings(?): Grave robbing

A/N: okay okay I know it's really odd that a wednesday blog is now posting for natm but I went down a rabbit hole and I'm afraid I lost the entrance. History nerd has shown through well and truly :')

Also my first multi part fic :D

Title is courtesy of my mate Abi using AI

Ch 1

Grave robbing

Was desecrating the tombs of these once honoured, omnipotent kings of Egypt really something you were willing to do? Had the circumstances preceding the grave robbery been less bleak, the answer would have undoubtedly been an definitive no. These rulers commanded the uptmost respect in life, and here you were, excavating the only memory that remained. There wasn't a day that went by during your expedition in which guilt did not infiltrate your mind, suffocating your conscience and depriving you of any sleep, even before you came close to finding an ancient tomb. But it wasn't like you had any other choice.

Pushing down your gnawing feelings of dread, you trekked on through the Egyptian desert. Rough sand brushed against your lower legs beneath your simple, calf-length skirt, chafing at the skin. You were the only one of the troupe resigned to walking, as the youngest and the lowest class. Astride camels, the two men had a better view of the surrounding plains, though the blank, barren flats stretched on long beyond the horizon.

"The valley of the kings shan't be too far from this place" called Lord Carnarvon, map still in hand.

You held back a scoff, rolling your eyes as you knew he wasn't looking at you. If only he would admit none of you knew where you were going. The only clue you were given was that the gold rich landmark was announced by a grand pyramid at the end of a hollowed valley consisting of a multitude of others. What a shame that this was the Egyptian desert.

Filled with pyramids.

Days and days stretched on of travel, and eventually, you stopped counting the sunrises, resigning to the fact that this would only stop when the valley was found, however long that took.

As with most great things, the discovery of the valley occurred at a time when you least expected. You had taken advantage of a small oasis, resting for a few hours and permitting the camels an indulgent drink. Howard Carter dozed beside you, hat pulled low over his face, in order to shield his resting eyes from the blazing fire of the sun. Carnarvon had taken his liberty and ran off, or so you had hoped. No, in fact he was continuing the investigation alone and on foot, clutching a worn, shoddy map, which was twinged a grimey brown with years of filth accumulated around the edges of the paper. He never strayed far, though attempted to work out his bearings, using the wind or some pretentious bullshit you never bothered listening to. No, you were perfectly content drawing in the sand with a stick you had found and claimed an hour or so prior.

You were more than unimpressed when the sketches you had so tediously etched into the sand were scattered by Carnarvon sprinting back to the small camp. Jolted awake, Carter sat up sharply, alarm etched across his features.

"Blimey, good sir! You gave me quite the fright!" He exclaimed as you nodded in agreement.

"Are you alright?" You asked, though your eyes may have given away your disinterest (had either man been paying an ounce of attention).

"Shh!" Carnarvon interrupted your pleasant concern, to which you rolled your eyes and began attempting to recover your drawings. "Carter, good sir! I dare say I've found it. I've discovered the pyramid!"

A bold statement, and not the first time either. No, twice prior you had been dragged into the colossal ancient skyscrapers, only to find they were far from your true destination. Empty of any treasure or historical worth beyond the buildings themselves, you continued on, fruitless. Grand structures were quite an obvious goldmine, and previous grave robbers had left the tombs void of, well, anything.

Though of course, it was more than worth it to explore this fresh discovery, not taking any chances.

Time was of the essence, or so you were told. Camels saddled up in record time, you were hoisted up from your seat on the floor by Carter, borderline dragged up.

"Come, young Y/N, you heard his lordship. We may have found the Valley. Hurry on, now" his words were gentle, still treating you as he had done in your childhood, despite the fact you were now 19. It was something that you both appreciated and hated simultaneously. Howard was kind to you, much more so than Lord Carnarvon, who cared as little for you as you did for him. The mutual disinterested made for some long, awkward silences, and many threats to leave you in an unknown grave.

Still dragging you by the arm, Carter began to untie his camel, before finally letting go of you. The rush was honestly needless, you had been expeditioning for months at the least, what harm would a few mere minutes cause? But the men were adamant, and there was no arguing, especially not from a useless child as yourself.

"Can I at least keep my stick?"

Recieving no reply from Carnarvon and an incredulous stare from Carter, you concluded the answer was yes.

The journey from the oasis to the pyramid was shorter than anticipated, though still rather long. Another day passed, spent entirely wandering through the desert. Exhaustion washed over your entire body, and it was a war every minute to keep your eyes open. But, alas, you must continue, and eventually your trek drew to a close as with further examination, it became clear this pyramid was not what you were searching for.

Disappointment and rage filled Carnarvon upon the realisation that this was, in fact, not the Valley of the Gates of the Kings, but rather a singular, sandy pyramid. "Why, there must be some mistake!" He complained impetuantly, always one to shift blame elsewhere. You exchanged a look with Carter, who for once was willing to admit the incompetence of the troupe's leader. After all, what were the chances that a random pyramid would mark the infamous, esteemed valley?

From a distance it appeared mighty, though in fact that was more than likely a mirage caused by the monochromatic nature if the desert. Upon further examination, however, the pyramid was far from the grandeur anticipated by Carnarvon and Carter. Huge gashes and rifts in the brickwork jumped out from metres away. Crumbling brickwork was cratered, resembling a sponge with many holes, as dusty gravel avalanched down the sides of the architecture at every other interval. Overall it was worn and aged, therefore more likely to be looted and barren.

"I do say it's worth taking a look around, my lord." You spoke, addressing him clearly. Carnarvon waved his hand dismissively, wishing you out of his presence.

"Yes, yes. Go ahead child." Did you expect that? No. Did you need to be told twice? Also no. A small grin gracing your features, you took off into the pyramid.

Racing across the gravely surface of the desert, the sand provided a slight level of resistance. Nevertheless, you persevered onwards, stride refusing to falter. Basking in the glorious heat of the warm Egyptian sun's rays casting down on your face, you closed your eyes as you ran, chin tilted upwards. Naturally, this obscured your vision, rendering you blind, and therefore leading you to miss the gaping hole in the ground.

A short squeala of surprise passed your lips as you suddenly found yourself unexpectedly falling through the earth. The drop was rather long, and you landed in a heap on the floor of the dugout with a large thud. You weren't aware of how long you were unconscious, but judging by the severe lack of any source of light, sunset had passed. Pain shot through your body, coarsing through your veins and ricocheting off each of your bones in turn. Head pounding, you groaned slightly, trying to work out what in the hell just happened to you.

Darkness continued to fill the room, prompting you to fish within one of your pockets, pulling out a match and striking it aflame. The hidden chamber was large, that much you could tell even despite the dim lighting. Blinking twice as you began to, very slightly, register your surroundings, you noticed the sheer obscurity of this interior. You'd heard of the saying 'paintings that seemed to follow you around the room', but this gave a new meaning to those words.

No, wait.

Those paintings were moving, and not metaphorically. Eyes widening, you began to notice everything in the tomb writhing like a cluster of cobras. Onyx black cats prowled upon shelves, worn linen bandages slowly unfurling from being bound around each of their limbs. Animated drawings of men, deities and horses alike moved naturally, as though it were a perfectly normal occurrence. Shabti servants, the colour of oxidised copper and ranging from 5-30cm tall formed an army scattered throughout the tomb. Then, slowly, as though delaying the inevitable, your eyes trained upon it.

The sarcophagus.

Shuffling away rapidly, your back hit the decrepit wall of the hidden grave. The embodiment of terror plastered over your face, you watched in horror as the coffin began to violently shake. Your blood ran cold as bangs from the inside began to echo across the acoustic chamber. The rusted hinges were worn and flimsy, and the bolts began to unscrew from their holdings. Padlocks had become frail with ages and popped open, one almost smacking you square in the forehead, to which you responded with a short yelp. For a moment, all movement ceased, as though whatever was inside had begun to listen to the intruder in their grave. You took liberty of the fleeting moment, and began to craft a way out. The quiet was short lived, however, as, with one final, mighty heave, the final lock was broken.

The sarcophagus had been opened.

Your breath caught in your throat, the air thick and suffocating as you watched a wrapped hand emerge from the tomb. The coffin lid was ajar, though it didn't take much pushing to be removed almost entirely. Almost at once, the creatures residing in the grave marched forward, crowding their newly awoken master. Hidden in the shadows, you froze, hoping to remain unseen and ignored, and thus leaving unscathed. Soon enough Carter and Carnarvon were bound to find you?

Right?

A huge open grave couldn't be subtle, you only missed it as you eyes were closed. A stupid decision really, and you mentally cursed yourself.

You remained rooted to the spot on the freezing floor, as the reanimated corpse continued to rise from its grave. Surely this was an affect of your concussion; for all you knew this was just an unconscious dream. Besides, with all the travel in the desert, dehydration had undoubtedly left you delirious. It was at that split second of slight relaxation (if you could call it that) in which you spied the piles of treasure sloping at every corner of the tomb. What could you say - you were a grave robber. Carnarvon would be so proud - if you returned alive that was.

It began to claw at the ancient, frayed linen covering its face, causing your heart to race: it thumped so hard you swore you'd be given away. Praying you didn't go into cardiac arrest, you continued staring bug-eyed as the bandages unfurled in front of you, like the dramatic unveiling of an innovative new invention. Closing your eyes for the second time that day, you winced, raising your arms to shield your face from the horrors you were undoubtedly about to witness. Bile rose in your throat as your mouth drew dry. Images of rancid, rotting flesh peeling off bones flashed through your mind, prompting your whole body to tremble.

'I'm just delirious. Any moment now I'll open my eyes to be met with a chamber of riches.' You thought to yourself. Awoken mummies were the stuff of fairytales, and despite what Carnarvon and Carter believed, you were most certainly not a child.

Your internal monologue was cut short however, interrupted by the gentlest of touches placed on your arm. It prompted you to flinch away instantaneously, a soft whimper escaping. Eyes shooting open, you came face to face with the pharoah himself. And he was not what you had anticipated.

He wasn't the scary mummy you were expecting, he was a teenage kid.

Kind, cerulean eyes rimmed with a smoky black eyeliner stared into your own, azure oceans plagued with concern. Concern for you. Such a colour must have been pricelessly rare, sapphires amongst stones.

His golden, tanned hand had felt cold and lifeless against your arm, yet the heat it had radiated was electrifying, continuing to shoot jolts throughout your entire body. His skin was soft and smooth, betraying the fact that this royal had almost certainly never worked a day in his life.

Slightly unruly brown curls and a toned slender figure - he was actually rather cute.

"Are you alright? You seem a little... Lost?" He queried, to which you seemed unable to form a response.

"I- what.. who? What's going on?" You managed, stumbling over your words as your voice cracked slightly.

He gave a small smile, clearly sympathetic of your utter confusion, before gesturing at a golden tablet, as though that were supposed to help you in any way. Noting your expression of utter bewilderment, the undead Pharaoh elaborated.

"That's my tablet, blessed by Khonsu himself. It holds the power to awake the dead at night," he gestures to himself and the cats, who stared at you, blinking and unsure whether it would be safe for them to approach. Then, he pointed to the paintings in the walls and dragged his finger towards the mass of shabti dolls, both of which watched you with the same confusion. "Along with anything else resembling a life form that finds it's way into the presence of the tablet."

"Right." You answered, holding your head and still in shock.

"You needn't be afraid, you know. I'm not going to hurt you."

"Thank you, that is a relief." You swallowed thickly.

He hummed in response, smiling with an amused frown at the fact you feared him.

"So, who exactly are you?" You asked after a short yet not uncomfortable silence.

His lavish outfit betrayed the royal status he claimed in life, only accentuated by the Red Crown, or Deshret supporting a golden snake - the symbol of monarchy- resting atop his sarcophagus. Around his neck fastened a Usekh collar, adorned with teal and umber jewels and beads, and topped with golden accents. Sleeves of cloth draped over his arms, the fibres of the fabric woven with pure gold. The metallic shine of the element was evident in the chromatic sheen of the cape resting over the Pharoah's shoulders. At his waist there hung a Shendyt kilt, fastened with a cloth belt, also elaborately decorated. Beautiful gold jewellery decorated his figure, your eyes drawn in particular to the stunning gold bracelet cuffs he supported on either wrist, encrusted with gemstones, potentially aquamarine or topaz. Once again your attention was drawn to his face.

"I am Ahkmenrah, fourth king of the fourth king. And you are...?"

Stunned into silence for a moment by the regality of the ancient king before you, you blinked and paused briefly before answering.

"Y/N. Y/N L/N."

"So, Y/N, what are you doing in my grave?" Ahkmenrah asked you, barely trying to surpress an amused smile. Your cheeks flushed as you tried to form a lie. This ruler seemed nice, and regardless, you couldn't exactly tell him you were intent on raiding his tomb for riches.

"It was an accident. Really, it was. I was running, and, well, I wasn't exactly looking where I was going."

"Clearly." He smirked. "Why were you in the desert though? Forgive me if I'm mistaken, but you don't appear to be Egyptian."

"What? Oh, no I'm not. I'm English. I came out in an expedition with two other men; Lord Carnarvon and Carter. They're archaeologists." You winced at the manufactured truth. It wasn't entirely a lie, that was what the men claimed to be. Though all your troupe really planned to accomplish was glorified tomb-raiding, a fact that made you sick.

"And they left you here?" Ahkmenrah questioned incredulously, unable to fathom why on earth they would abandon you like this.

"Well, no. Not exactly. They allowed me to go check out the pyramid about 10 yards south, but, as o said, I fell down a hole." You blushed again, this time due to your own stupidity and clumsiness. This was not how to earn the respect of an esteemed king.

Ahkmenrah frowned. "So how long have you been down here?"

"Uh. I don't actually know, I was unconscious for a short time. Or possibly a long time, that I'm not sure of either."

Concern once again crossed the young Pharoah's face. "You poor thing! Are you alright? You're not concussed, are you?"

"Probably." You shrugged, further alarming him.

The next few hours were spent talking to Ahk, discussing everything from the legal affairs of ancient Egypt to the cats that accompanied him in his tomb. Over the course of the night, the two of you had grown closer, both in terms of friendship and literal distance. Most of the other inhabitants of the grave had deemed you safe, returning to their regular routine, and the most curious of the mummified cats, an (aptly) Egyptian mau apparently named Tivali, had become rather taken to you. Eventually, the exhaustion of the day had caught up with you, and you slumped against Ahk's shoulder. Revelling in his presence, contentment washed over you as, for the first time on your quest, you relaxed, finally at ease. Perhaps it was delirium, but in your sleepy state you swore you felt his fingertips grace against your cheek, the ghost of his lips pressing gently against your temple.

"Sleep well, my dear."

#night at the museum #natm #natm ahkmenrah #ahkmenrah #ahkmenrah x reader #rami malek #rami malek x reader #egypt #ancient egypt #history #egyptology #archaeology #natm fandom #natm fanfiction #natm fic #night at the museum fanfic #natm au #egyptian pharaoh

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kujakumai · 11 months

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Always funny to me to see fanworks place characters like the Ishtars or Shadi near Cairo. YGO canon aggressively namedrops like 80 different Egyptian landmarks, and all of them are in Ancient Thebes/Modern Luxor (which tracks, since that was the capital during the dynasty canon assigns Atem to). We can literally pinpoint on a map the very real location where Atem ruled and was buried and where all of the tombkeepers were born and raised. It is approximately 700 kilometers/400 miles away from Cairo, on the other end of Egypt.

#Giving your fanfic an F in geography #i assume this is because Cairo is the only place in Egypt most people can name but c'mon. read a few wikipedia articles.#canon names real places!!! you can google them!!!

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derkhue · 6 months

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megamind 👾

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souredfigs · 5 months

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Me,a starstruck 15 year old reading the Odyssey for the first time : *sighs* wish I was born in 12th century BCE so I could see Troy and-

The fucking Sea people: BRING US THE GODDAMN WARSHIPS

#pLEASE #the sea people theory haunts me in my dreams #keeps me up at night #their origins are highly disputed and we can never put exactly where they emerged from but they wrecked HAVOC #towards the end of the bronze age #egypt under ramses iii was only able to defend itself theres an entire depiction of the battle that was found #they basically destoryed so many major cities including troy #we know this becuase theres a layer of charcoal in thr ruins of troy #when you think about it actually #its very easy to see how homer wrote the illiad and odyssey #because he grew up during the dark ages of 400 years where he was surrounded by these ruins #and he was like “fuck it might as well write a fanfic”#okay #i will shut up #homer #the illiad #the odyssey #bronze age civilisation #12th century bc #sea people theory #and vampy ranting about history

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starboardharpy · 2 months

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So.. latest chapter, huh??

Drew this a couple weeks ago and it felt right to post this now

+ a lil doodle :> he most likely stayed there until the sun came up

#alduade YOUUU #[shakes you half violently half lovingly]#***YOOUUUUUUU***#>:'(#let them be happyyyyyy #digital art #fanart #fanfic fanart #the black phone #artists on tumblr #robin arellano #sketches #denial is a river in egypt #mako's art #art

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inkyray · 4 days

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i thank god every day that i was born and raised in the east coast holy moly. like god damn i could NEVER imagine having my childhood anywhere that isn't nj

im going back 2 america soon but i know damn well ill still b soo homesick 4 egypt, life b so hard when your heart belong in two different places 😭😭

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randomfoggytiger · 8 months

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The X-Files: Son of Egypt

First fic of all time (barring dabbles in my younger years off the internet that don't count.)

All credit goes to @television-overload's intriguing idea-- Samantha adopts and raises William Mulder-Scully (post here)-- with a Prince of Egypt-esque twist~.

Will Van de Kamp couldn’t remember how old he was (and couldn’t begin to take a guess now) or even what he'd said when his mother’s wistful, yearning look stopped him in the middle of a protest. “Your father said that to me, too,” she’d murmured, before quickly walking them away from the conversation. It was then he understood: Samantha Van de Kamp was his mother, Carl Andrew Van de Kamp was his brother, but the man he called “dad” was not his father.

~~~~~

He had just turned twenty-two when Will was finally allowed to join the raids.

Their base's Consortium quarters had been quiet, eagerly quiet as the Van de Kamp men represented their request. Will may have felt aged in his soul-- a cobweb weighed down with dust and filth and dead parts-- but he was young in their eyes; and against this fading generation, who had seen wars and brokered peace before their species was extinguished, Will had to prove he could handle the great risk, the heavy responsibility, the implied future work this one task would set him up for. That was easily done as he parroted back their secrets-- a young boy with a quick mind and a listening ear could learn a lot, particularly when firmly transplanted from his childhood farm into the middle of a Syndicate compound. And a boy who could turn that threat of exposure into a boon for his lords and masters was a gift to be cultivated and groomed. He was approved. In passing, a few half-remarks (“Perhaps he should have been left on the farm. To know so much of our inner workings and with so much history--”, “It was necessary. There was no other way to keep Mulder from--”) snagged at his mind, vaguely recognizing a few names and situations mentioned before; but his attention was caught by Van de Kamp’s reassuring grip and a few curious members striding over to weigh him in the balance for themselves. Later.

Later came sooner than expected.

The raid had been going smoothly. It wasn’t even a raid, Will discovered, but a routine drive-by meant to intimidate a specific helper or informant: a preening “you’re still in checkmate” boast. Elevated desperation reeked from their current victim, choking Will as thickly as Van de Kamp and Henderson’s ruthless satisfaction did. The interrogation ended badly: Henderson was knocked aside and Van de Kamp warned away from his charge by the muzzle of Henderson’s gun. Will Van de Kamp had his own weapon out and aimed at the man’s chest before he could become a hostage; but Will could not pull the trigger. The background noise faded out as both opponents faced each other, equal fear in their eyes. Then the man jerked the gun away, swiftly putting a bullet in his own skull.

Another half-remark haunted Will’s footsteps from the scene. “Can’t change a Mulder,” Henderson hissed under his breath, hand wrapped around his twisted fingers.

~~~~~

The Consortium appreciated the concept of genius but withdrew from his own. Bad blood on all sides, Will assumed; the dark, overcasting shadow of his late grandfather providing contrast to the spark of his intelligence. Eidetic memory was a negative in this den of bloated jackals, gluttoned as they were on easy power and declaring victories when they hadn't even fought wars (though against whom or what no one could point to.)

When Van de Kamp had told the family they were moving permanently on-base, everyone had assumed it was because Andrew had caught the Syndicate's attention. Cunning was prized by a group who had to lick their own wounds one too many times; and Will’s older brother had it in spades. It was ridiculously easy for him to spin anything to his advantage with everyone except Will-- the two brothers knew each other too well for those games to be ended between them in anything other than a fight, a good laugh, and another adventure. Andrew's harsher struggles trying to live up to his grandfather's legacy in the Consortium was harshly contrasted by Will's greater negligence in the name of freedom; and both brothers grew closer and further away as the group's requirements necessarily pushed and pulled at their relationship. There was love, Will knew; but suspicions this intense could only be dealt with alone.

“What’s eating at you? We all don’t take that first shot, it doesn’t mean--”

“Teach me to hack in, not get caught.”

Another tussle, another patch up, another bargain.

Will only gained fringes of information from slipping into those dangerous territories (most of the information having been kept offline since an incident in 1995, he gleaned); but two important pieces were worth the risk: former Special Agent Fox W. Mulder (recently exonerated) had continually entangled himself in Syndicate business while on a madcap search for his sister; and that sister was Samantha Mulder. Samantha Mulder, Samantha Van de Kamp.

He had to find those files.

~~~~~

It took longer than Will was willing to admit to recall where Van de Kamp stored his important documents, cds, and drives. Nocturnal adventures were not unusual for him, even with a mother who quaked with worry and a father who quietly guided him back to his room any time after 10 PM. With the tiniest flashlight he could find in one hand (being invisible was an essential skill to survive when surrounded by betrayals layered with suspicions) and a phone in the other, Will picked his way through the attic, recognizing various names or codes from his notes. Eyes growing strained in the darkness, he finally found a promising box: folder piles, papers filed together, pictures, notes… the X-Files. Or copies of them.

Will flipped around, brusquely set aside, and grabbed for stack after stack until he found his mother’s file. Although she was younger in this photo than any in the house, they still reassuringly shared the same nose (pinched at the bridge, widening out at the tip.) For a brief moment he wondered what his uncle’s nose looked like; but the word “Found” arrested his attention. Everything froze with him in shock, coming back to life only after he sputtered on a choked, belated gasp. Closed… found… 2000… died…starlight. Died.

He clutched as many files and cds as he could; then a box of them; then set everything aside, shaking, as he ruthlessly sorted between importance and paramount importance. Remaining undetected was the goal: it wouldn’t matter how much evidence he collected if he were caught.

~~~~~

Uncle Fox, Will discovered, was a fascinatingly transparent opponent to the Syndicate. He'd never hidden his motives or intentions, often defying the shaved-down FBI report regulations to get "the Truth" out-- conferences, interviews, even an odd media appearance (Cops was one of the notes he underlined.) The smaller, more humanizing details of his life were gathered through safer searches, having been expunged from the Consortium record for their unimportance. Special Agent Fox Mulder (Uncle Mulder) was always accompanied by his partner, Special Agent Dana Scully. And, fittingly he assumed, when Will saw them both for the first time it was together: his uncle’s wide smile and her serious frown captured on-site of one of their cases.

Former Special Agent Dana Scully was still being monitored by her enemies (likely a more indirect way to monitor her former partner): now a doctor at an Our Lady’s Sorrow hospital, her hair was longer and her face relatively unchanged, if the newest articles about her work were to be believed. It was a short leap from those articles to the sensationalism rags about her past, and an even shorter distance from that to tumbling into revelation after revelation: exoneration in 2008, fleeing the law with her partner in 2002… and adopting-out her son, also in 2002. William Mulder-Scully.

The thought flitted and was brushed aside; then slammed back with ringing clarity. Will scrambled for baby Mulder-Scully’s birthday and breathed a sigh: he was born in 2001. Five years too young to be himself, but a cousin nonetheless. He hoped wherever the boy was that it was far from where he was.

But “Closed… found… 2000… died.” wouldn’t leave his mind. Samantha Mulder was buried in North Carolina with a Teena Mulder; and, to Will’s shock, was briefly joined by Uncle Mulder himself for three months. The files he had on hand confirmed the public report, which left him shaken and reeling.

Closed… found.. 2000… died…. Resurrected?

And if closed, found, 2000, died, resurrected was a possibility, then there was an equal chance that born, adopted, given a new identity could be true as well.

A frantic, thorough, and looping search confirmed it: the Will Van De Kamp born to Samantha Van de Kamp existed only after William Mulder-Scully was adopted out. Thinking back, Will couldn’t personally prove his existence after his alleged birth in 1996. The life they lived had never allowed for natural curiosity or too many questions with silence so easily bought and paid for. Until now, he assumed “the work” was dangerous and fearfully weighty, something to be talked of obliquely or not at all. Now he wondered what sort of kingdom he and Andrew were being raised for.

~~~~~

Clones and hybrids and tortured children and harvested women and broken men.

That was their empire.

His mother, a tool of the Project. Carted out against her knowledge and against her will for her father’s (her creator's) means and goals, paraded before a brother she thought she had and married to a man that may or may not know she was inhuman. A string of children lost and born and dead before Andrew survived to carry on her creator's legacy. Complicit in the lie of Will's birth and parentage.

His brother, a tool of the Project. Elevated as its prince, honed to a weapon, and all-but-in-writing handed the keys of the Conspiracy. Immune before immunity was no longer required. Cunningly grasping for that power and for Will, unable to keep both but refusing to lax his grip all the same.

The Project: fruitless lies upon lies that saved no one, having merely benefitted from two opposing alien factions’ war and stalemate. Bullies left with too much aimless power and ashes at their feet.

Will knew he needed to leave. Soon. Immediately.

~~~~~

Andrew was furious Will was leaving without warning and almost without a goodbye. Their ensuing fight was left unresolved-- perhaps forever-- with the punctuating slam and screech of an angry driver venting his pain on the road. Will wondered if his family was doomed to be continually torn apart; and if Andrew would ever start or never stop looking for him.

His mother, Samantha, simply stared, silent tears marking the many years she'd chosen ignorance over truth. A soft then more desperate hug said everything for her; and she quietly slipped into the backroom, giving him time to grab what he needed and leave.

Van de Kamp barged in before Will left, breathless with pain. He, too, was silent; and he, too, allowed his son to leave.

Will knew all three wouldn’t betray him; but how much of that was motivated by love, loyalty, or a twisted sense of duty he couldn’t say.

~~~~~

Doctor Dana Scully was easy to locate but harder to follow, the Consortium’s search for him making it nearly impossible at first. Her frown was still serious and her hair was still long, but her spark was gone. He could only watch this new mother from afar, drifting in her wake-- hungry as she ate, parched as she drank, exhausted as she slept. He couldn’t approach her, the bereft ache in his last mother’s eyes always on his mind, foiling his best attempts to forget. Perhaps former Special Agent Dana Scully and he were not meant to be, or perhaps meeting her in person would turn her from a figment into flesh. Until he could be certain, he waited.

Former Special Agent Fox Mulder was nowhere to be found.

It was a week before Dana Scully led the way to her second home, a ramshackle abandoned house in the sticks. Will knew about this property, even came to scout it out once; but it looked dead from the road, and he’d hurried back to his previous task. By now, he should have learned that appearances are deceiving.

He left his car in the woods, slinking up the porch easily by crouching under the tall grass. The house was still dead-- no hum from the power, no creaking of the pipes, and no shuffling from the steps inside. Half remarks, easy to recognize from a lifetime of training, trickled outside; and Will inched closer to catch them.

Dana Scully’s voice-- harder to hear from where Will was positioned-- was softer than he’d imagined, especially when contrasted with the solemn expression that settled perpetually on her face. “...out here… this house… alone.”

“Well, you know me, Scully,” Special Agent Fox Mulder’s (Uncle Fox, Mulder, Father's) voice rang out, falsely cheerful. “You predicted how this’d go years ago.”

Will caught a mournful murmur.

“‘Catatonic schizophrenia’, I believe you called it.”

“Mulder.” He heard that loud and clear: no nonsense endearment. Amused and trying not to be.

“Though I think our story ended better than theirs. Though not by much.”

Although Dana Scully’s (Scully's) heels clicked close, Will could tell she was only drawing closer to Agent Mulder (Mulder.) There was a long, deep silence, a few deep reassuring breaths, and what sounded like affectionate ruffling.

“You’ll find your way back, Mulder. I believe that.”

Retreating from this intimate moment between two sad, broken people, Will felt fifteen years old for the first time in his false twenty-two.

~~~~~

Will didn’t leave Mulder’s house. He spent the next week or two losing track of time in the rhythm of Mulder’s world: quiet except for the wind moving through the trees, the grass, or slamming up against the lifeless windows. Food was easy to forget when he subsisted on various nonperishables; and the hours were whittled away plowing through various copies of unredacted files. Low profile didn’t seem to have existed in Mulder and Scully’s orbit, with more and more press and eyewitness accounts to corroborate or validate the various outlandish claims they’d both signed their names to.

It also gave him time to think. Losing his family was concrete and understandable even if it was gut-wrenching and grueling. But to have stripped him of his identity, of so large a factor as his age, was as baffling as it was appalling. Will had lived through each milestone, had graduated, had taken other secondary education classes and courses; and now he was left to second-guess everything he thought he knew. Tutelage tempered with lies under the Syndicate could mean anything: how effectively was he taught? Did he even graduate? Likely not, since a fifteen year old brain could not fit the knowledge required for a twenty-two year old collegiate. Had the Consortium fallen so far that they were sloughing off a piecemeal education on their next generation, not caring if they learned so much as they obeyed? If so, the whole structure would collapse within a generation; but then, what structure did they have left to uphold? The selfish men who bought and sold for power were dying out, and the next generation might be willing to take what they could from the scraps. But then why--

And underneath all of those thoughts was the one Will was trying to isolate from but kept finding over and over in the files, typed up plainly in Dana Scully’s neat sentences: “...if it’s only by knowing where he’s been that he can hope to understand where he’s going, then I fear Agent Mulder may lose his course; and the truths he’s seeking from his childhood will continue to evade him, driving him more dangerously forward in impossible pursuit.”

~~~~~

Mulder stepped out of the treeline, gun in hand.

Will realized, as he stared at this man chiseled by regrets and promises, that he had been disappointed in his father a week or more ago. He’d wanted to respect him, had even thought he loved him in a way; but had still withdrawn from the concreteness of his father's weakness, just as his father had. The Mulder standing before him was every inch the former Special Agent Fox Mulder he'd read about: danger in his stance, fire and fairness in his eyes. He’d never met Fox Mulder, but Will was glad to have him back.

Mulder stopped his string of succinct commands when his eyes fell on the files, breath catching as he looked erratically from one copy to the next before flying back up to Will’s face. There was fear in his eyes-- good fear, alive fear-- and his words caught a few times before he asked, “William?”

Fox Mulder, Mulder. Dana Scully, Scully. Will Van de Kamp, William Mulder-Scully. He could live with that.

There wasn't anything to say, so William did what Samantha Mulder had taught him, letting his smile say everything for him. Mulder's face split into the exact same, wide-open beam: he, too, had taught William in his absence. And William knew-- he just knew-- that Scully had passed on her ability to read the layers of emotions dancing across his father's neutral expression. And he could live with that, too.

William watched his father's smile slip as he swallowed back crashing emotions. "I tried looking for you, years ago. When you were a baby. And later, when...." Mulder paused, miserable in his failures.

There was only one thing left to say. "You did."

~~~~~

Acknowledgements: Thank you to @television-overload for coming up with the original idea and for naming Will's older brother. ;)))

Thank you to @ghostbustermelanieking and @o6666666 for creating short, beautiful AU fics that ultimately helped me flesh out the format for this one.

Thank you (in no particular order) @baronessblixen, @welsharcher, @agent-troi, @dd-is-my-guiltypleasure, @suitablyaggrieved, @pianogirlxf, @samucabd, @herdingcats12, @cecilysass, @amplifyme, @slippinmickeys, @enigmaticdrblockhead, @annablume, @spidey-is-tired, @two-microscopes, @spidey-is-tired, @mariaann, @chavisory, @medicaldoctordana, @ibringyouasong89, @cyb3rpeach, @mindibindi, @two-birds-alone-together, @invidiosa, @jessahmewren, @living-in-unreality, @mollybecameanengineer, @tossingmyglossymane, @demon-fetal-harvest, @settle-down-frohike, @storybycorey, @thescullyphile, @scullys-scalpel, @perpetually-weirdening, @teenie-xf, @captainsugarcane, @frogsmulder, @paperheartsarts, @unremarkablehouse, @cutemothman, @my-spookybunnies, @lindz-dude, @sonictacocat, @freckleslikestars, @kiivitaja, @today-in-fic and more for always being willing to engage with my work (and enjoying when I engage in yours.)

Thank you to every single one of the fic writers out there. Your work nudged me gently along to this point; and without your leaps I wouldn't be making these steps.

And thank you to each and everyone of my mutuals and lurkers-- keep on keepin' on~!

Thank you for reading~

Enjoy!

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bookworms-pov · 7 months

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Oscar Issac what a fine actor you are!!!

I watched Moon knight (ik a little late but better late than never right?). I am truly impressed by the depth he depicted in his characters. Playing two completely different characters side by side is not an easy job but Oscar did it. You could literally differentiate between Steven & Marc just by looking at his expression. And the ACCENTS oh my god. He made both the characters loveable. No one would've played this role better than him. I want Season 2 ASAP.

Who did you like better? Steven or Marc?

I personally liked Steven. Steven is such an adorable human being. Despite being caught up in all this mess, he decided to help & bring justice. I loved his British accent. He's a funny character.

#i honestly can't wait for season 2 of moon knight #will there be a season 2 #moon knight #steven grant #marc spector #marvel #marvel mcu #mcu #oscar isaac #books & libraries #cinemetography #ancient egypt #superhero #fanfic #british man

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non-cannon · 4 months

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Me coming up with new ways to say something has an ancient Egyptian aesthetic, but isn't necessarily authentic ancient Egyptian (in less words) for fic reasons: Egyptian looking, Egyptianized, Egyptian style, Egyptian version, Egyptiany...

Egypt no longer looks like a word.

#house of anubis #egypt #ancient egypt #fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic writing #writing #words #my apologies to egyptians #hoa

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daphnefisherofficial · 8 months

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bugna: TAKIPSILIM | destiny's twilight

PROLOGUE

Pairing: MCU Moon Knight System (Marc/Jake/Steven) x Avatar Fem!Reader

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PROLOGUE - A KISS OF INTERTWINED DESTINIES.

YEAR 900 circa, FIRST NIGHT OF THE FULL MOON. Tribes of Maynila - Archipelago of the Philippines in the Pre-Colonial Period

The night was draped in a silver shroud, illuminated by the radiant glow of the full moon. Its ethereal light cascaded down upon the tribal lands of Maynila, casting long, sinuous shadows that danced in the gentle breeze. This territory rich in culture and ancestral heritage was the heart of the Philippine archipelago, where the lush green canopy of the rainforest embraced the emerald waves of the sea.

Amidst the crickets' serenade and the leaves rustling in the balete tree, you lay in your mother’s bosom, so tiny and fragile. Haliya held you closer as your small fist closed gently around her forefinger. The dark brown eyes of your iloy (mother), the punong babaylan (head priestess), were filled with both love and a profound sense of protectiveness. Beside her was Rajah Bagani, your baba (father) and the leader of your tribe, his face etched with a mixture of pride and hope.

As future folklores will soon tell, your birth was no ordinary one. You emerged into the world not alone but accompanied by a twin unlike any other - a small serpent of silver and gold coiled around your small arms, its scales glistening like stars. The people of Maynila saw the kambal-ahas (snake twin) as a great omen, a symbol of true unity between the terrestrial and the divine.

Yet, destiny, like the shifting tides, has not always been kind.

On the eve of your first birthday, as the moon ascended to its zenith, you were taken ill. A high fever surged through your tiny body like wildfire, threatening to extinguish the light of your young life. Your father’s loyal uripon (servant) found you in your fevered state and rushed to inform your mother, Haliya, who had been tending to her sacred duties as the head priestess.

She and Rajah Bagani immediately rushed to your abode and abandoned their duties, all accompanied by a group of your mother’s alabay (priestess apprentice). The tribe's handmaidens watched over you with a mixture of sorrow and helplessness, for no remedy concocted by your mother’s apprentices seemed to quell the relentless fever. Panic immediately gripped your parents' hearts as they found and watched you wither away in your crib.

Desperation finally drove Haliya to her knees as she knelt and raised both arms to the sky, turning her gaze to the full moon above. With tears streaming down her face, she started whispering fervent prayers to their pantheon gods and goddesses residing in the heavens above. She beseeched them to spare your life, her precious daughter, in exchange for your eternal servitude. As Haliya's words filled the night air, the heavens themselves seemed to respond.

Among the celestial beings who heard Haliya's desperate plea, none held more sway than the Philippine pantheon goddess of the moon herself. From her celestial perch, Mayari beheld the heartache of a mother's love and could not help but take pity. Her ethereal beauty was matched only by her boundless compassion. With a resolute look, the goddess then knew what she had to do.

The moon, glowing brighter and more radiant than ever before, began to descend from the sky. It hovered above the tearstricken Haliya and her ailing little girl, its ethereal light bathing them both in a gentle, silvery glow. The villagers and the leader of the tribe were seemingly frozen in time as Mayari herself finally descended from the heavens in a cascade of silver beams.

The moon goddess was a vision of divine beauty, her luminous form casting an otherworldly radiance upon the gathering. Her silver and black hair was flowing freely with the night breeze, and her luminous right eye casted a curious look around her surroundings. Her left eye may be scarred and blind, yet it still held the same powerful gaze as its counterpart.

“Mahabaging Bathala”, Haliya managed, her tears even more prominent as she almost prostrated herself before the moon goddess. “Diwatang Mayari, ako ay iyong matapat ng lingkod”

By the grace of Bathala! Mayari, my goddess, I am your most loyal servant.

“Narinig ko ang iyong pagsamo, Haliya”, Mayari’s gentle voice spoke as both her eyes fell to you this time, the child whose bugna (true destiny) is yet to be seen. “Maging ang mga umalagad na nagbabantay sa iyong anak sa pamamagitan ng kanyang kambal-ahas”

I heard your pleas, Haliya. Even the ancestor spirits watching over your child through her snake twin prayed with you.

“Isang tagna ang nasisilay ko sa mga guhit ng kanyang kapalaran”, Mayari continued, addressing the head priestess directly. “Kaya’t tumahan ka na, Haliya. Hindi pa ngayong gabi magwawakas ang buhay ng iyong anak”

I foresee a prophecy written in the lines of her fate. So do not weep no more, Haliya. Your daughter’s life will not end tonight.

With a soft, tender kiss, Mayari bestowed upon your small forehead a gift beyond mortal comprehension. Your eyes, previously dimmed by illness, now glowed with a radiant white light, a symbol of Mayari's life force and divine power coursing through your veins. You had been reborn before your tribe’s eyes, fully transformed into the living proof of your mother’s divine oath - a promise of eternal servitude in exchange for your life.

"You shall be called Mira," Mayari declared, her voice a soothing melody. "And as my avatar, you shall serve me for all eternity until I release you. Until you fulfill and answer the calling of your bugna through my lead and my guidance"

Word of this miraculous event spread like wildfire in the neighboring tribes of Maynila, and even in the outlying territories. Little did your parents know that the trials you have surpassed in your infancy were only the beginning of your journey towards spiritual growth and enlightenment.

With Mayari's divine blessing, you grew into a child of exceptional abilities. Your very strength, agility, and durability surpassed that of any mortal. Your skin becomes impervious to harm, making you nigh invulnerable.

You underwent rigorous training in the ways of the babaylan (priestess) under your mother’s tutelage, serving as an alabay (priestess apprentice). At Haliya's guidance, you honed your abilities in spiritual guidance and mediumship. You also practiced with the tribe's babaylan (priestesses) elders in the art of healing, herbalism, and divination. With each passing day, you felt more of the moon's power coursing through your veins, its silver light guiding your path.

With unwavering dedication, you slowly climbed the ranks of the babaylan order, eventually assuming the mantle previously occupied by your mother as punong babaylan (head priestess) in your own right. You have then stood alongside your father, Rajah Bagani, as his right hand and equal in the protection and guidance of your people. Your entire family ruled with wisdom and compassion, and under your watchful gaze, your father’s banwa (tribe) prospered as your lands grew and prospered with each passing season.

But time, unrelenting and inexorable, took its toll. Like all mortals, your parents, Rajah Bagani and Haliya, succumbed to their mortal limitations, leaving you as the last vestige of their once-proud lineage. As you mourn their passing in their deathbeds, you then realize the true magnitude of your mother’s divine oath.

As the avatar of Mayari, you were untouched by mortality. You now share the immortal life of your patron goddess when she breathed your second life into your lungs that fateful night. At this discovery, you know that your life has then changed forever.

You left your late father’s banwa (tribe) to the rule of your siblings and lived as a nomad. In your solitude, you became more attuned to the celestial rhythms that governed the world. Drawing strength from the moon's luminous embrace and Mayari's guidance, you slowly unlocked the secrets of moon sorcery, mystical arts, and witchcraft. By harnessing your newly discovered powers, you managed to cast a strong illusion spell on yourself, concealing your true identity through the ages of the world that will come.

Time flowed onward like a river, carrying you through centuries and across continents. For over a thousand years, you fulfilled your duty as Mayari's avatar, protecting her travelers of the night. Your presence was a beacon of hope in the darkest of nights, guiding lost souls to safety and warding off malevolent forces that sought to harm your people - Filipinos - both faithful believers and non-believers of the old pantheon faith.

But your bugna (true destiny) wasn’t written in the stars yet, until a thousand years later.

YEAR 2025, JANUARY 13TH, FIRST NIGHT OF THE FULL MOON.

Guildford, Surrey - Carter Family Estate.

The year was 2025, a distant time far removed from the world you once knew - your humble beginnings. The world has changed beyond recognition since the days of your youth, yet you remained an unwavering presence in the cosmic dance. An unchanging constant in the ever-shifting tides of history.

You stood upon the weathered balcony of your late husband’s ancestral house in Guildford, Surrey, the centuries-old stone beneath your feet a testament to the passage of time. The old chateau was a far cry from the tropical beauty of your birthplace, but you will never trade it for anything else. After all, Darius Carter was the only man you’ve ever loved.

And he has and will always be your home.

Your thoughts swirled like the distant constellations, memories of a time long past. Centuries have passed, and you have witnessed the rise and fall of empires, the ebb and flow of civilizations. You even witnessed the world welcome all forms of life outside its circular corners, from distant galaxies and realms stretching out to the cosmos.

You stood beneath the same moon that had watched over you since your first breath. Casting its silvery glow upon the world, today marks a moment of celestial convergence.

A tagna (prophecy) waiting to be fulfilled. Your bugna (true destiny) is finally being written.

Clad in your ceremonial robes from your olden days as the punong babaylan (head priestess), you’ve made the necessary preparations to perform a spell. One that would reveal the hidden location of the ushabti of Anubis, the ancient Egyptian god of the afterlife. You started chanting the incantation, allowing Mayari’s celestial powers to flow through you as your eyes glowed white.

But just as you began to invoke the moon’s magic, an ancient and powerful celestial presence intruded upon your thoughts, abruptly interrupting your focus.

"Mira, Avatar of Mayari and daughter of the moon. Hear my voice”

Your glowing white eyes faded slowly as the Egyptian god of the moon started materializing before you. A towering figure dressed in white ceremonial robes of his people, Khonshu’s large bird skull head looked down on you with his hollow eyes. You closed your eyes for a moment, trying your utmost best to gather your thoughts before acknowledging his presence.

"Khonshu, you old bird" you whispered, your voice carrying a weight of barely contained anger waiting to be unleashed. "After your betrayal, I’m surprised you’ve still got the balls to seek me"

“I will let your insults pass, you insolent wretch”, Khonshu’s voice boomed, but you stood your ground and merely smirked at his outrage. “The only reason I did seek you was because I have been left with no other options”

“I’m the very last resort, I see”, you raised a single eyebrow before folding your arms as if waiting impatiently for his next words.

“Enough! There’s no time, little one”, Khonshu impatiently bellowed, prompting you to stick out your pinky finger before him to rub your ears clean. “I swear that by enlisting your help tonight, I will make it worth your while”

“Speak then”, you sighed heavily, surrendering to his plea. “What do you require of me?”

“You have the power to move the heavens, Mira”, Khonshu said as his next words sped up your heartbeat. “Lend me and my avatar your power as a fellow wielder of the moon’s prowess”

“Why would you need to move the heavens, Khonshu?” you inquired, shaking your head slowly as you finally sensed the gravity of what he’s truly asking of you.

“Arthur Harrow leads a cult that follows Ammit”, Khonshu explained, his tone growing heavy by every second. “They seek to release her from her thousand-year exile, and we need to move the heavens at the very night where the very stars pointed at her last resting place. I need to find Ammit’s tomb first and prevent it from happening. At any cost”

You slowly connected the dots, realizing the implication of aiding him in a task of cosmic proportions, one that would shift the very heavens themselves. Khonshu’s plan would incur the wrath of the Ennead, the Egyptian pantheon of gods, and they would punish him by trapping his ethereal form in an ushabti—a god's divine imprisonment that would render him powerless.

“The Ennead will punish you”, you couldn’t bring yourself to utter the rest of the words, the painful memories of grief and loss surging in great waves. “They will imprison you in –”

“The ushabti, Mira”, Khonshu finished the thought for you. “And Moon Knight, my avatars, will then lose their lives. The same way he lost his”

In the recesses of your mind, you saw the face of Darius Carter, your late husband, who had been the avatar of Anubis. You saw glimpses of your shared memories together — his smile, his laughter, and the tragic day he was taken from you. His death had been a consequence of the very ceremony that Khonshu is now doomed to repeat and subject his own avatars to, and the memory of his sacrifice weighed heavily on her heart.

“Lisanin mo ang aking lingkod, lapastangang diwata!”

Leave my servant alone, you disrespectful god!

Mayari’s powerful voice echoed as she descended at your side, her eyes blazing as she eyed the Egyptian moon god distastefully.

“Huwag mo siyang pakikinggan”, Mayari warned as you felt the weight of your own goddess's disapproval. “Mayroon na tayong planong nabuo, kaya’t di mo siya kailangang sundin”

Do not heed his words. We have already formulated a plan, so you don’t need to follow him.

“My avatars”, Khonshu spoke, his voice resolute as he addressed you directly. “Are intertwined with your destiny closer than you think”

“Kasinungalingan!” Mayari bellowed, attempting to shield you from Khonshu’s view. But his words intrigued you greatly.

Lies!

“Hayaan natin siyang magsalita, mahal kong diwata”, you said, breathing heavily as you looked inquisitively at the moon god.

Let him speak, my goddess.

“What do you mean by those words, Khonshu?”

“Before Anubis was imprisoned by Set, he tasked Taweret to perform a ritual and allow his avatar’s soul - his essence to be reborn into this world”, Khonshu confessed, his revelation rendering your eyes wide with disbelief. “His soul may have long passed the Field of Reeds, but Taweret succeeded with reincarnating Darius Carter into this life once again”

Tears immediately fell from your eyes as the overwhelming emotions of pure longing threatened to overwhelm you. Your patron goddess, Mayari, watched you sadly as you struggled to form your next words.

“It can’t be”, you shook your head as it filled up with even more questions left to be answered. “Your avatars?”

“See them for yourself”, Khonshu said before placing his large hand over your head, casting a spell of his own before disappearing from your sight.

Your eyes glowed white once more as the combined powers of Khonshu and Mayari flowed through your veins, your consciousness traveling with the Egyptian moon god as he commanded.

He resurfaced once more at the familiar deserts of Cairo in Egypt, with your astral form landing elegantly at his side. You swiftly scanned your surroundings for any sign of Khonshu’s avatar, your eyes trying to find evidence of his preposterous claim of them sharing fragments of your beloved’s reincarnated soul. But when you finally laid eyes on Khonshu’s avatar, his Moon Knight, your knees almost buckled.

His face - every facet of it - is an exact carbon copy of Darius Carter. Your long lost love buried beneath the sands of time - literally and figuratively.

Although, the man standing before you carries himself very differently. His white aura shines like a halo swirling around him, and he was situated beside another young woman of Arabic Egyptian descent who you do not recognize. You notice his eyes were directed at where you stand, but you realize that he couldn’t see you. He was currently looking at his patron god, his master.

“I remember that night”, Khonshu spoke, addressing his avatar’s latest words. “I remember every night”

Steven Grant eyed the god inquisitively, wondering what he was on about. You, on the other hand, couldn’t help but hear your own heart thundering inside your chest as your beloved’s reincarnation neared.

I beseech you, Mira. Khonshu’s celestial voice now echoed in your own head. Lend half of your life force to them. Save my avatars.

Huwag mong gawin ito, Mira. Mayari’s own voice resonated as she implored you. Hindi magugustuhan ng mga kapwa diwata ni Khonshu ang gagawin mo, at tiyak kong hindi na nila nanaising tulungan tayo. Hindi ba’t gusto mong maipaghiganti ang pagkamatay ng pinakamamahal mong si Darius?!

Don’t do this Mira. The Ennead won’t like you aiding Khonshu, and they will no longer be keen to help us. Don’t you want to avenge the death of your beloved Darius?!

Mayari’s vehement protests and Khonshu’s urgent pleas fought valiantly in your thoughts, one vital decision being analyzed and weighed against another. Yet as you stood at the precipice, you couldn't help but see your beloved’s reincarnation closely for the first time. A deep sense of responsibility welled up within you, and you knew you couldn't stand idly by and let history repeat itself.

You could not bear to see Marc Spector and his alters—Steven Grant and Jake Lockley, suffer the same fate as your beloved late husband.

With resolve in your heart, you made your decision.

“I’ll help you, Khonshu”, you spoke, much to Mayari’s disappointment. “I will help you move the heavens and share my life force with your avatars. And upon my aid, you will owe me a celestial debt”

“Thank you, Mira”, Khonshu nodded. “I will let you collect when the day comes”

“Khonshu?” Steven spoke, reaching out to his god.

“With your help, I can turn back the night sky”, Khonshu said, speaking to both you and Steven Grant.

“How?” Steven inquired.

“It will come at a heavy cost, and I cannot do it alone”, Khonshu explained, repeating his previous words to you for Steven to hear. “When the gods imprison me, tell Marc Spector to free me”

As Steven’s ceremonial suit enveloped his body, you summoned your own powers as Mayari’s avatar. Your astral form started to slowly ascend as your eyes glowed white, your moonlit robes trailing behind you.

“Do what I do”, Khonshu said, demonstrating to Steven how they will move the night sky.

You also extend your hands towards the moonlit sky, waving it around in sync with what Steven Grant and Khonshu is doing as the celestial skies start to dance at your command.

“Whoa, this is mental”, Steven spoke in awe at the swift shift of the constellations above him. You allowed yourself a small smile as you continued shifting the skies, his child-like wonder greatly reminding you of Darius. Your connection to Mayari surged, and the power of the full moon flowed through you as you aided Khonshu and his avatar.

“This is the night”, At Khonshu’s command, you finally stopped at the night sky that the Egyptian god was seeking.

“It’s surprisingly painful to hold, Layla”, Steven grunted, feeling the weight of the heavens on his shoulders. “Now I understand how Atlas must have felt.

“It’s working”, The Arabic-Egyptian woman who Steven Grant calls as ‘Layla’ gasped, pointing her electronic tablet towards the sky. She then attempts to scan it on her app to find out the location of Ammit’s tomb.

I can feel it. Khonshu whispered in your subconscious. The Ennead is starting the ritual.

You started to panic at his words, your life’s worst memory threatening to resurface once again as you saw Steven’s mask dematerialize before your eyes. Khonshu then knelt as he felt the ancient Egyptian spell taking its effect.

Taking a deep breath to calm and recollect yourself, you allow your hands to rest on either side of your body. You then summon every bit of strength you can muster as small beams of moonlight start to collect at your palms.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this”, Steven gasped, his own strength from Khonshu’s power draining from his body as he tried his might to keep the night sky on hold.

“Tulungan mo ako, Diwatang Mayari”, you pleaded to your patron goddess. “Ipagkaloob mo sa akin ang iyong lakas at kapangyarihan”

Help me, my goddess Mayari. Lend me your strength and power.

Sa pagkakataong ito lamang, Mira. Mayari spoke, her motherly love for her avatar winning over her divine anger.

Only this once, Mira.

You then felt an immense power surge through your astral form like you haven’t experienced before. It was like Mayari herself channeled her divine energy and prowess directly within you as the front strands of your hair turned white as a result of the goddesses’ power residue.

“I’ve got it”, Steven’s companion, Layla, exclaimed as she finally pinpointed the coordinates they needed. “29 degrees North, 25 degrees East”

Steven then collapsed with the last of his strength, his hands planted firmly in the desert as Layla tried to catch him to support. Khonshu’s form, on the other hand, was slowly withering away like sand swaying with the strong wind. The last of his divine essence left his avatar as he foretold, prompting Steven Grant and his slumbering alters to lose consciousness.

Layla was panicking at this point, repeatedly shaking Steven Grant and Marc Spector awake to no avail. You then shook your head as your own powers briefly subsided, witnessing the gut wrenching scene unfold before you.

“It cannot end like this” you whispered, determined to fulfill what you were meant to do that night. “I will not let you die - any of you”

Summoning your moon powers once again, one wave of your hand rendered Layla El-Faouly unconscious, their bodies then floating lightly upon your command as you tried to get them to safety. You enveloped them in a protective shield using your magical talents as bullets started to fire from oncoming vehicles headed towards your direction.

Your hands slowly raised in midair, your eyes glowing bright white once more as your magic commanded the blasphemous vehicles to float. You crushed them with your fist in a terrifying grip, the moon’s power surging through.

As your astral form descended, the auras of Khonshu’s avatar swirled before your eyes. Hues of white, gray and black enveloped the unconscious body of your former lover’s reincarnation as you took a few steps near. Finally kneeling before him, your hands hovered directly above the unconscious form of Marc Spector who lay on the ground, his alters Steven Grant and Jake Lockley locked in a fragile balance. You began to chant in an ancient, melodious language, your words carrying the weight of centuries of moon magic.

Whispering a silent prayer to your patron goddess, you pressed a gentle kiss on Marc’s forehead. And as your lips slowly hovered over his, an oath was sealed beneath the full moon's watchful gaze.

"Arise, Moon Knight," your voice echoing as a soothing lullaby in the deep corners of Marc Spector’s shared headspace. "With the power of the moon, I grant you half of my life."

With the magic that flowed through your veins, you breathed life into his lungs as your lips finally connected. A surge of energy coursed through Marc's prone form, his eyes fluttered open as it glowed white like yours. A crescent moon tattoo then slowly inked itself into your respective jugular notches, symbolizing your intertwined destiny with Khonshu’s avatar.

You then opened your eyes to see Marc looking directly at you, seemingly recognizing his other half even in your astral form. He sees you - they all do.

And as the events of that night finally took a toll on your body, your astral form was pulled back to your waiting body in London. Your eyes then felt heavy as a powerful sleep spell overtook your being, collapsing in the arms of your patron goddess. The last whispers you’ve heard were of a heavenly voice, seeking your forgiveness as she places a spell before you surrender your mind to the promise of good dreams with Darius Carter and his reincarnation, the Moon Knight, beneath the full moon’s eternal light.

“Patawarin mo ako, Mira, sa aking gagawin” Forgive me, Mira, for what I’m about to do.

END OF PROLOGUE.

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chrissymorgan9700 · 9 months

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Once I Called You Lover

Luigi franticly palmed his way through the unusually darkened Koopa Kingdom and toward Koopa Castle, determined to see the king, plague of darkness be damned. Potholes the size of washtubs pitted the ground around him, nearly causing him to trip over as he grew ever closer to his destination.

Bowser was going to listen to him this time, he will make sure of it!

He just had to.

There was too much at stake if he refused now.

For him and Luigi both.

He sighed as he felt his way towards the main gate. The Koopa guards had long abandoned their posts when the fourth plague came in the form of a swarm of flopters, so there was no fear of being stopped for trespassing. Luigi knelt down and felt around the ground before finding an abandoned torch before venturing closer to the lava moat and dipping one end, lighting it. Though the darkness still obscured his view, the glow of the lava moat and his new torch allowed him to make out the extensive damage the castle took from the bob-omb sized balls of fiery hailstones from two plagues back. Chunks of obsidian stone were missing from the castle's battlements, dashed to pieces by the fiery balls of ice. Stone statues of the gargantuan Koopa we're missing limbs if not completely smashed all together. As he turned his gaze from the building, he felt his heart constrict with sympathy. Whatever damage Bowser's castle had sustained was nothing compared to the absolute devastation that his citizens' homes endured. The few he was able to see had irreparable damage, ranging from nearly being burnt to the ground to being almost crushed by an giant hailstone, or both. Many of the citizens who lost their homes had to take shelter in one of their gaming arenas, leaving the streets completely empty.

So much destruction. And for what?

He placed a hand over his face before taking a shuddering breath.

How did it come to this? He thought to himself.

What was supposed to be a simple plumbing job with Mario to "save Brooklyn" had turned into a few months of a dream turned waking nightmare. And all because of a certain king whose selfishness was going to get others even more hurt.

Including himself.

Suddenly, the castle gates were opened, causing the timid man to jump. He looked down as Kamek, the royal Magickoopa and one of Bowser's closest advisors, glared at him through his thick coke-bottle glasses.

"What do you want?" He sneered, his beak turned up in a snarl.

"I... I need to speak with Bowser," Luigi stammered, holding the light closer to himself.

Kamek scoffed, "Oh, do you now? What else could you possibly have to say, hmm? What? Was turning our only water supply into lava not enough? What about the frogs? Or our moo-moos dying? Hmm, maybe when you gave everyone shellpox?"

"Kamek-"

"Oh wait, maybe it was last time when the swaphoppers destroyed the rest of our crops after the flying balls of fiery hail burnt most of it to a crisp?"

" C'mon-"

"Let's not forget about the skeeters and flopters! Although, I might be speaking to someone else entirely, considering it's so dark here lately, I haven't been able to see my own beak in front of my face!"

Luigi went silent for a moment. He couldn't blame the elderly mage in the slightest for his anger. But the more time he spent with Kamek, the more time was running out.

"Please, Kamek," Luigi begged, "He needs to hear this. If he doesn't, this next plague will destroy us!"

Kamek paused.

He very well knew what Luigi meant by "us".

He growled.

"I swear, if any harm comes to my grandson-"

"That is what I'm trying to prevent!"

Kamek stared at the young human. When he first arrived in the Darklands, his son had just finished conquering almost all of the known kingdoms after Princess Peach rejected his marriage proposal for the last time and fled to Sarasaland, which was currently under siege. He remembered the way that Bowser's obsession of the Princess seemed to melt away in an instant after locking eyes with this green plumber. The two of them connected in a way that he had never seen before, and he could see just how much his very presence brought out the best in him. He was able to make him laugh (and a real laugh, not the hollow-sounding cackle that he adopted during his conquest), he would stay in the library and learn everything that he could about Koopa culture in order to better understand the things that Bowser held near and dear to him.

But what had really won him over was the way Luigi bonded with the Crown Prince.

If Bowser was in love with Luigi, then Junior seemed to worship the ground he walked on. Every waking moment of the day, Junior wanted to spend it with the green clad man, no matter how boring the task. And who could blame him? In the few times that Bowser kidnapped the princess, Peach would sulk in her room and refuse to let anyone inside, even to give her meals. And though she was never cruel to the poor boy (at least not intentionally) the few interactions she did allow were filled with an apathy so palpable that after a while, Junior stopped asking for her altogether.

But then Luigi arrived.

Soon, the halls were filled with the little prince's laughter as the two of them drew together, played video games, went karting around the castle courtyard, and baked delicious treats together. And with the happiness of the prince, the king's happiness was doubled.

Happiness that the scrawny human brought.

It wasn't very long until Bowser was writing love poems and ballads dedicated to literally sing his praises and three months in, he had commissioned an engagement ring for him.

What a shame that it didn't last.

Without another word, he opened the door wider for his supposed-to-be son-in-law to let him in.

"Thank you." Luigi whispered. The elder nodded his head as he passed, but not before calling his name.

"Luigi."

The green plumber turned around to face the elderly Koopa once more. The weariness from the plagues caused him to slouch and lean against the heavy door.

"Convince him. I don't know how much more of this we can take."

With a nod, Luigi ventured further into the castle, the atrium growing darker as he carried the torch inside.

Luigi breathed in the familiar scent of smoke and brimstone that permeated the castle, his heart aching. This was his home. All he had ever wanted was right here. The man of his dreams, a child to call his own. Everything that his heart desired was right inside this castle.

But the ends can't justify the means.

In the absence of the normal hustle and bustle that used to echo in these halls, the sound of a mournful piano concerto filled the air.

Bowser.

Following the sound, he walked the empty halls as memory after memory played like a broken record in his mind.

The awkward first meeting, when the Koopa spun him around in an attempt to interrogate him.

The room he was given after staying in the dungeon for all of 30 minutes before the little prince came and broke him out in order to play with him.

Their talks in the library.

The first dinner date where they talked long into the night and into the next morning.

Bonding with Junior.

Their first kiss.

The proposal.

The night they shared after.

He stopped outside the music room door, the piece nearing its end as he tried to quietly open the door to not disturb him right away. Bowser poured his heart out over the music willing the plumber to both stay rooted to his spot on the floor and to run into his arms as the crescendo rang out of the instrument and slowly began to fade, much to his dismay.

"Bravo, mio Re. Bravissimo." Luigi whispered.

The Koopa king was startled, his claws causing the piano to create a cacophony of mixed up notes. Luigi had ended up right at the base of the floating stage. He growled as he caught sight of his former lover.

"Oh, let me guess. Greenie wants me to 'let the kingdoms go'?" Bowser spoke, sarcasm lacing his words.

In the poor light, Luigi was still able to make out the king's hulking frame as he hunched over the piano keys. A golden goblet sat right on top of the piano as he paused to take a gulp from it.

"I... I was hoping to find you here."

"Get out!" He barked, chucking the half-full goblet at the voice.

Luigi quickly dodged as the cup shattered on the floor next to him, the sheer force behind that throw causing a dent in the obsidian stone floor.

"Bowser, we need to talk."

He slowly inched his way closer to the piano before Bowser let out another snarl.

"Oh really? What else do we need to talk about that we didn't discuss the last nine times you were here?"

With a heave, he got up from the piano bench and stomped past him, nearly toppling Luigi over with his spiked tail.

"Now leave. And don't let the door hit you on the way out."

Luigi breathed out a sigh as he tried to keep up with the fleeing Koopa, his gigantic strides causing him to jog to the throne room after him, torch in hand like he was in the opening ceremony for the Olympic games.

If it weren't for the situation, Luigi would have chuckled at himself.

Bowser, meanwhile, was getting agitated. The green man was the one person he most definitely didn't want to see right now. Or ever again, for that matter.

Liar. His heart seemed to reply.

He finally got to the throne room doors and tried to quickly open and close it before Luigi could follow him in. He didn't care if the room would be pitch dark. In fact, he would actually prefer it at the moment. But the presence of a tiny glow of firelight that lit up the dark room made him aware that his efforts of keeping him away were in vain. Luigi had already found a fire pit nearby and threw his torch into it, lighting the pit into flames for the both of them to see each other better.

With a defeated sigh, he stumbled his way towards the throne, slouching and folding his arms with a pout. It took all of Luigi's willpower to not just go up there and kiss that pout away, just like they used to, but there was too much at stake now.

"Well? Get on with it! Tell me how awful I am and how I am such a monster." Bowser interrupted his thoughts.

The human glanced at the Koopa, a hurt expression on his face.

"You're not a monster."

Bowser scoffed.

"Oh really? Then why did you leave, huh? I get the fact that you would have been startled by my plans for world domination, but to up and leave like that?"

Startled? Luigi thought, That was an understatement.

"Did you know that I had to try and explain to Junior why his Mama was missing? Why every time I looked for you, I could never find you? He was crying every night for two weeks straight!"

Luigi was stricken dumb as his heart sank. He never intended to hurt the little prince. Junior might as well be his own heart, he loved that little boy as if he was his own.

And that's why I got to convince him!

"I-"

"And then, you just decide to show up after abandoning us!"

"I didn't -"

"And then-

"WILL YOU JUST LET ME TALK?!"

Bowser jumped in shock, shutting up immediately. No matter how angry he was, Luigi had never yelled at him like that.

He didn't know whether to be scared, pissed, or aroused.

And he didn't know which one he wanted to feel more.

"Bowser, we both know there is no other option. Your people are suffering; the plagues are not going to stop unless you do what's right and let the other kingdoms go."

And... The feeling's gone.

Bowser huffed at that.

"If that is all you have to say, then you might as well see yourself out. I'll take my chances with the plagues."

Luigi growled in frustration. If he had the power to yank this Koopa around and shake him until he had some common sense, he most absolutely would.

"Stars! Why must you act like such a-"

"Like a what?! Go on, say it!"

After a moment of silence, Bowser huffed again, deciding to be petty.

"Well, at least I am not someone's pawn!"

Luigi felt his blood boil at that.

"You take that back!"

"Why?" Bowser sneered, " Does the truth hurt?"

"At least I actually care about what happens to your citizens! You're so willing to let your people get hurt 'cause of what?! Some... stupid sense of pride?!"

"Do you think I like this?! That I like to see the people I love so much suffering?!"

"Then why don't you just let the other kingdoms go, tu... tu esasperante tartaruga?!"

"Because I will not allow myself to be weak again!"

Luigi was stunned into silence. Bowser slumped back onto his throne, emotionally exhausted. It was no secret that Bowser was a very passionate king. It was regarded as his best (and worst) quality, as Princess Peach had attested when he ran to Sarasaland. His love was just as deep and consuming as his rage and both resulted in something breaking.

Or someone.

Luigi sighed. This was getting nowhere, like the other nine times. Suddenly, he had an idea.

"Why don't we just...talk?"

Bowser did not reply, avoiding eye contact with him.

"No arguments, no fighting, just a regular conversation."

Silence. Bowser was not going to budge, not one bit.

Nope.

Not by a long shot.

Let him stew in his-

"I'm sorry for not saying goodbye."

Bowser looked up at that. The plumber stood still, green cap in his hands, his eyes casted towards the floor as he spoke.

"I'm sorry for hurting you like that. For hurting Junior like that. No matter what I saw, what I heard, I should have at least left you a note. But I... I knew that if I didn't go then and there, I would never leave."

Bowser still didn't reply.

Luigi sat down at the foot of his throne, his back turned to the Koopa before he heard him grumble.

"I didn't know where you were. I thought something bad had happened to you and that you were gone forever. And when you came back, I was so relieved. But then..."

He stopped talking, unwilling to speak on that moment.

The day his world seemed to crash and burn.

He wouldn't admit it to anyone, but he himself had spent many a restless night sobbing his eyes out. He never had romantic feelings about anyone in his life. Even with Peaches from before his takeover, which he had now understood as an obsessive infatuation. But Luigi was different, even now.

Luigi was the first and only person he had ever truly loved that wasn't his adopted father or his son.

And the first and only one who truly loved him back.

I highly doubt he loves me now, the Koopa King thought.

Luigi felt his eyes well up with tears of shame. He truly didn't take into account just how much his disappearance affected them. Sure, he knew that Bowser would be upset, maybe even feel betrayed, but he didn't mean for him to worry.

"I meant what I said, y'know. When you first came back."

Luigi looked up and met the king's amber eyes as he stared directly at him, watching his every move before he continued.

"You were my everything. The best thing to ever happen to me. And, to be honest, you still are. Even if you don't love me anymore, I still love you. And whatever I did to loose that love, I'm sorry."

The silence was deafening as Bowser laid his heart bare for the plumber. Luigi's own heart seemed to mend and break as his feet seemed to take a mind of their own. He sprinted up the throne steps, climbed atop the throne armrest and hugged him as best as he could before speaking.

"But that's the thing, amore. I never stopped loving you."

It was then that Bowser felt it.

The fluttering of his heart that he tried to ignore as he took Luigi and held him closer.

"Just as beautiful as the day I lost you," Bowser whispered as he cupped Luigi's face with his paw.

He closed the space between them in a kiss. Time seemed to melt away at that moment and it was just the two of them and eternity. The weeks of pain that they went through was inconsequential, it was just them, that moment, forever.

The kiss broke all too soon as they touched foreheads, their eyes closed.

"I love you, mio Re. Tu avrai il mio cuore per sempre." Luigi whispered.

He felt Bowser set him down on the floor him as he opened his eyes, gasping at the sight before him.

"Then stay. Please."

Bowser was on one knee, a heartbreakingly hopeful expression on his face, and in his claws was a golden ring set with emeralds and a large ruby in the middle.

His engagement ring.

The same engagement ring that Bowser proposed with all those months ago in the castle courtyard.

The same engagement ring that he wore when he ran to Sarasaland to meet up with his brother and Princess Peach.

The same engagement ring he wore when Rosalina, Princess of the Lumas, commanded him to go to Bowser and demand for the freedom of all of his conquests.

The same engagement ring he gave back when he returned the first time.

"I-"

"Mama?" A small voice interrupted.

The couple turned around to see a little Koopaling carrying a flashlight in one claw and a teddy bear in the other.

Junior.

Junior couldn't believe his eyes. His Mama was back home where he belonged. Dropping the stuffed animal at the door, he took a running start at the plumber before taking a flying leap into his arms. Luigi caught him and twirled him into a bear hug.

"I missed-ed you!" The little boy sobbed, dampening the front of his denim overalls.

"I missed you too, il mio Principe." He nuzzled the Koopa prince's fiery locks as he held him closer to him.

Bowser looked on as his two greatest joys reunited, his heart ready to burst. Junior had most definitely taken Luigi's disappearance the hardest. His crying and tantrums were loud enough to tear the paint off of the walls, and he even resulted to that when he learned that his Mama came back, demanding his father to let him see him.

And now his wish has come true.

Settling himself into Luigi's arms, Junior nuzzled his face into his shoulder, taking in his smell.

"You're home! I missed-ed you so much and I don't want you to go again! We can go see the new artwork I made for you and Papa and go round on my clown car and...and..."

Bowser laughed, ruffling his boy's head.

"One thing at a time, Junior. Mama just got back, but you have plenty of time to show him everything once he's all rested. Right, Luigi?"

Luigi's smile slowly began to fade, regret shining in his sapphire eyes. Junior, sensed his Mama's hesitation.

"You are staying this time, right Mama?"

With a shuddering breath, he hugged him closer.

"I'm sorry, tesoro. But I can't stay... Not this time."

Bowser felt his mind do a record scratch halt.

After all of that, after he had handed the plumber his battered and bruised heart once again, even after their declarations of love, Luigi had crushed it in his hands, like it was nothing. And now he has broken their son's heart in return.

"B-but, why?" Junior cried, tears forming in his crimson eyes.

Luigi was silent as Bowser gave a mirthless chuckle.

"Y'know, Luigi? You really had me there for a second."

"Bowser, I-"

"All those declarations of love you just spewed out, just gotta hit 'em where it hurts, right? So go ahead Luigi," Bowser baited, "Tell us. Why?"

"Because... because what you're doing isn't right and you know it, Bowser."

"Right? And what is right? Before I took over, those kingdoms were rife with war and famine, both with us and with each other! The citizens of those other kingdoms were treated unfairly, their leaders did nothing to help the poor and marginalized, so I instilled order by dethroning their corrupt leaders. And I don't know what "Princess" Peach or your nuisance of a brother tried to sell you about what the Mushroom Kingdom was like before, but it was not some happy-go-lucky utopia. In fact, her forefathers had once enslaved my entire kingdom for centuries. Enslaved, Luigi! Treated us like the scum of the earth! Made us fight to the death for their own wars and amusement!"

"And how is that any different, Bowser? How is taking over kingdoms by force any different from what the Mushroom Kingdom did to yours?"

"Because at least I can protect them just like I protect my own kingdom! Or at least I did, until you came along and brought these plagues down upon us!"

Here we go again! Luigi mourned.

"I'm not, Bowser. You are. The more you resist, the worse the plagues will be. If you would just please listen-"

Luigi reaches out his hand to touch his golden scales, but the king flinched away, his temper growing less and less restrained.

"I will not be dictated to. I will not be threatened. I am the morning and evening star. I am Bowser! King of the Koopas!"

"Something else is coming, something much worse than anything before. Please, let go of your contempt for life before it destroys everything we hold dear. Think of our son!"

Bowser looked down as Junior clung onto Luigi's overalls, terrified but unwilling to let go of his Mama as he placed a gloved hand on his tuft of red hair. A moment ago, Luigi's claim to his little boy would have softened his heart, but now all he felt was rage. With a roar of betrayal, he punched his throne, hearing the distinct sound of metal being snapped in half and gems crushing under his palm.

"I do." He growled at last, "And fuck me for not doing this before."

Luigi felt his breath hitch in fear.

"Bowser? Bowser, what are you-?"

"Kamek! Get in here, now!"

With a pop, Kamek appeared on his broomstick, a worried look etched into his face.

"Yes, Your Wrathfulness?"

"Call the troopas! Tomorrow, we attack Sarasaland and destroy all who stand in my way, once and for all! Starting with Mario!"

He turned to the love of his life, a hateful sneer gracing his maw.

"And there will be a great cry throughout all the kingdoms, such as there never has been or ever will be again!"

Luigi's blood froze in his veins as he felt his knees sink to the floor, his grip on Junior growing tighter.

Bowser briefly stole one last glance at his family before glancing down at the crushed ring in his hands, a flash of regret and pain shining in his eyes before stomping past them as he and Kamek made preparations for a full-on ambush. .

The elder mage and the young man gave each other a horrified, knowing glance before the plumber broke down into sobs as king and advisor left.

He was right about one thing: tomorrow, there will be a great cry throughout the kingdoms.

But both his and Bowser's sobs will echo the loudest of all.

You failed. The words buzzed around his mind like an angry swarm of hornets.

"Bowser," He whispered sorrowfully, hugging their scared son for what would be the last time, "You have doomed us all."

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