#headers ethan winters

[itsatoyboat]

the resident evil headers are back, baby.

first stop: shadows of rose.

if you save it, give me a like.

[unrequited-belladonna]

ʀᴇꜱɪᴅᴇɴᴛ ᴇᴠɪʟ: ʙɪᴏʜᴀᴢᴀʀᴅ

𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒂𝒏'𝒕 𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒂𝒑𝒆, 𝒇𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒔.

[cillirishan]

RE8 Shadows of Rose | Rosemary “Rose” Winters

[saradika-graphics]

Masterlist Headers + Matching Divider Sets

AESTHETICS

— Ace (Moon/Stars)

— Alchemy

— Bakery

— Blush Romantic

— Burgundy & Gold

— Constellations (Blue/Green)

— Cottagecore / Dark Academia

— Fallout

— Fire

— Forest-themed

— Halloween

— Hyacinth

— Jujutsu Kaisen

— Maroon/Purple Witch

— Misty Forests

— Neon

— Orange-themed

— Purple/Blue Space

— Seasonal Aesthetic

— Skulls & Lace / Skeletons

— Stars & Space: Sun

— Strawberry | part ii

— Sun

— Taupe and Teal

— Winter/Christmas

— Yellow-themed

FANDOMS

Star Wars

— Andor (The Eye)

— Bi-Pride Colors

— Dark Blue (& R2D2)

— Din Djarin

— Din Djarin & Boba-themed (Star Wars)

— Endor (Forest)

— Golden-themed

— Pastel Colors

— Pink/Mauve (Star Wars)

— Poe Dameron

— Red & Orange-themed

Marvel/DC

— The Batman

— Blue Beetle

— Bucky Barnes

— Deadpool & Wolverine

— DC

— Marvel Inspired

— Loki Inspired

— Miguel O’Hara

Games/Series

— Astarion (BG3)

— Lae’zel (BG3)

— Call Of Duty

— House of the Dragon

— The Last Of Us

— The Witcher

Movies/Books:

— Ballad of Songbirds & Snakes

— Ezra/Prospect

— Lord of the Rings & matching Navigation

— One Piece (Zoro) — Scream / Ghostface | Ethan Landry

✨(Everything was made in and using Canva - so check that app out if you’re looking to make your own! Credit is not required but a reblog would be great if you use! 💕) ✨

[kxedeharas]

✩ · ─── resident evil masterlist; here you will be able to find ── icons , headers , and wallpapers for resident evil characters (in alphabetical order)

𓂃 ࣪˖ ADA WONG ─── ⋆⋅ ♥ icons ♥ wallpapers

𓂃 ࣪˖ ALBERT WESKER ─── ⋆⋅ ♥ icons

𓂃 ࣪˖ ALCINA DIMITRESCU ─── ⋆⋅ ♥ icons ♥ wallpapers

𓂃 ࣪˖ ASHLEY GRAHAM ─── ⋆⋅ ♥ icons ♥ wallpapers

𓂃 ࣪˖ CARLOS OLIVEIRA ─── ⋆⋅ ♥ wallpapers

𓂃 ࣪˖ CLAIRE REDFIELD ─── ⋆⋅ ♥ icons

𓂃 ࣪˖ DIMITRESCU DAUGHTERS ─── ⋆⋅ ♥ icons

𓂃 ࣪˖ ETHAN WINTERS ─── ⋆⋅ ♥ wallpapers

𓂃 ࣪˖ JACK KRAUSER ─── ⋆⋅ ♥ wallpapers

𓂃 ࣪˖ JILL VALENTINE ─── ⋆⋅ ♥ icons ♥ headers ♥ wallpapers

𓂃 ࣪˖ KARL HEISENBERG ─── ⋆⋅ ♥ icons ♥ wallpapers

𓂃 ࣪˖ LEON KENNEDY ─── ⋆⋅ ♥ icons ♥ headers ♥ wallpapers

𓂃 ࣪˖ LUCAS BAKER ─── ⋆⋅ ♥ icons

𓂃 ࣪˖ LUIS SERA ─── ⋆⋅ ♥ icons ♥ wallpapers

𓂃 ࣪˖ MOTHER MIRANDA ─── ⋆⋅ ♥ icons

[maraxp]

this is a multifandom blog meaning that i favorite certain fandoms/characters so there will most definitely be more writings for certain characters and fandoms.

please don’t be offended if you send a request for someone and i don’t fulfil it, sometimes the inspiration is lacking for certain characters. i still wish to write though so i will continue to post.

requests are open so you can send them whenever you want !

DO YOU HAVE A MASTERLIST?

my masterlist is the [ 🏴‍☠️ ] at the top of my blog in the navigation, it can also be found on the left hand side of my blog when viewing on desktop.

ARE YOUR REQUESTS OPEN?

please check my masterlist [ 🏴‍☠️ ] for request details, I always try my best to keep it updated.

WHAT DO YOU WRITE FOR?

smut, angst, fluff, age gaps, poly/threesome+, reverse harem, dubcon, noncon, yandere, toy play, cheating (to an extent), blood play, knife play, bdsm, breath play, violence, gore, hunter/prey, praise and degradation, power imbalance, supernatural, choking, mommy/daddy kink. (wrap it up !)

WHAT DO YOU NOT WRITE FOR?

rpf, necrophilia, incest, daddy/little play, age play (basically pedophilia), spitting, bimbo!reader, foot fetish, animal play, race play, watersports, miscarriage, any kind of abuse, child fics, any ocs, i avoid the pet name ‘kitten’ like- it’s just.. no.

WHAT DO YOU USE FOR YOUR HEADERS?

i use canva and sometimes ibispaint x. i get most of my images from pinterest.

WHO DO YOU WRITE FOR?

MARVEL

miguel o’hara, hobie brown, gwen stacy, miles morales, tony stark, peter parker (all variants), doctor strange, wade wilson, eddie brock, kate bishop, mary jane

STRANGER THINGS

eddie munson, steve harrington, henry creel, jim hopper

THE WALKING DEAD

negan smith, rick grimes, daryl dixon, maggie greene, glenn rhee, abraham ford, carl grimes, morgan jones, shane walsh, michonne hawthorne, ezekiel sutton, gabriel stokes, eugene porter, rosita espinosa

RESIDENT EVIL

leon scott kennedy, chris redfield, claire redfield, ashley graham, ada wong, luis sera, albert wesker, jill valentine, carlos oliveira, rebecca chambers, sherry birkin, ethan winters, helena harper, alcina dimitrescu, karl heisenberg

MODERN WARFARE II

simon riley/ghost, john mactavish/soap, john price, kate laswell, phillip graves, kyle garrick/gaz, alejandro vargas, könig, gary sanderson/roach, farah karim, valeria garza, rodolfo parra

DO NOT INTERACT IF YOU . . .

are racist, homophobic, bigoted, zionist, islamphobic. judgmental to what people enjoy writing/reading. copy or repost my fics without permission. follow me if you’re problematic. send your full fic into my ask box, i will not post it. —  if you fit the average dni criteria you will be blocked.

PLEASE KEEP IN MIND THIS IS AN N[SFW] BLOG. I ASK THAT MINORS BLOCK THE +18 TAG: 📓. mature - THANK YOU.

[saintsofwarding]

WE SHALL BE MONSTERS

Header by @keltii-tea

Chapter 28: Epilogue

"Hey. Boss."

Chris Redfield looked up, his mug of green tea half-raised to his mouth. Tundra- Emily- stood in his office doorway, her forearm braced against the frame. Her dark eyes flicked up and down, taking in Chris's hunched position over the desk, his tea, the thin laptop he'd been staring at with brow furrowed, the stacks of papers heaped all over the desk, and the shelves, and the floor.

"Am I interrupting something?" she said, after a beat.

"Someone's always interrupting something," Chris said.

"Something important, though?"

Chris's mouth quirked in a smile. "What have you got for me?"

"All business, Chris." She stepped into his office and immediately crossed to the window to pull open the blinds. Chris squinted in the wash of gray sunlight, weak and rain-filled though it was. "Jesus, boss, this plant is barely clinging to life."

She'd turned toward the struggling money tree set atop an overflowing filing cabinet in the corner of the room, giving its dry leaves a flick.

Chris groaned, finally tearing his eyes away from the laptop in front of him. "Take it if you want. There's not really room for it in here."

"Nor water?"

"No water. Only caffeinated beverages and protein shakes."

"You need a life."

"Find me the time, and I'll get one. Come on." He beckoned to her. "Show me what you brought."

Emily kicked the door shut with her boot heel, cutting the sounds of the BSAA European HQ down to a murmur. The huge glass-and-steel edifice was uncomfortably modern, and made Chris feel like he was in some kind of biohazard research facility, or, God forbid, an Umbrella lab. But he'd got used to it, like he'd got used to a lot of things. He had to.

The work wasn't over yet.

Six months had passed since the events of the village. The second events, specifically, and one had to be specific when dealing with the BSAA bureaucracy. Chris longed to get back out in the field, dispense with this endless paperwork, but it was necessary for this latest project, this latest mission. Its parameters were simple:

Locate Rosemary Winters, the second host of the Romanian megamycete.

Easier said than done. Once the dust settled and the sphere of impenetrable mold-roots Rose had summoned around herself and the other Lords collapsed, it was empty.

Not surprising. She had found her family. She probably wanted more than anything to be alone with them. Time would tell whether that was a good thing- or an apocalyptically terrible one. Still, Chris reasoned, she'd been able to keep Heisenberg in check, albeit by a thread. As for the others...well. At least she wasn't Miranda.

The BSAA was there within a few hours, called in by Hound Wolf Squad to evacuate the townsfolk from the neighboring valley. They swept the area, the destroyed village, the great pit his bomb had blasted into the landscape. Chris hadn't seen Mia Winters amongst the Lords. Most likely she was dead, murdered by Heisenberg or one of the others in retaliation for her crimes against them. Or, knowing them, just for fun.

That was probably the tidiest solution, but Chris sure as hell hoped it wasn't how it had gone down with her. Mia had done terrible things over the course of her involvement with bioterrorism, and not to mention withholding Ethan's death and resurrection from him, but she'd still been his friend. They'd shared experiences. They'd shared grief. And in the end, all she'd wanted was to get Ethan back and maybe-

Maybe-

Begin to make things right.

And had she? Chris commandeered Hound Wolf Squad as BSAA choppers circled overhead, had searched the village ruins and delved down into the pit, lycan activity at a low thanks to the oncoming day. Ethan's remains would be down there, if they were anywhere, and he searched the crater all day, through the evening, past moonrise, into the beginnings of another night.

Nothing was there.

If Ethan's body had somehow survived the blast, if it had somehow lingered in some extant form, it- and he- was now long gone.

***

Emily tugged a chair over and sank into it, leafing through the thick file in her hands. It was bursting at the seams with documents, smaller folders, photographs and faxes and print-outs. All the compiled evidence from their operatives also on the mission, as well as documents sent from other, smaller BSAA hubs.

"Where shall I start..." Emily's red brows shot skyward. "Aha. Here's a good one. Okay, get this. In the underground alternative and industrial music scene of Berlin, Germany, a woman reports having seen a band play with- and I quote- 'supernatural skill and mesmerizing sexuality'. She goes on to describe the lead singer, bassist, and drummer: a very tall woman, a young blonde, and a man covered in scars who reportedly made the entire sound system levitate, much to the delight of the audience. And here's the kicker: this band's name? Black God Death Cult."

"False lead."

"Huh? Really?"

"Claire's seen them. Multiple times. They're clear."

"Oh. Uh, okay, then, still on the subject of music-" She ruffled some papers. "How about this. A black metal band in Iceland called Gear Torture whose aesthetic revolves around rust, decay, horror imagery-"

"Nah."

"What about Iron Stallion Sixty-"

"Em, I don't think the Four Lords are going undercover as a metal band," Chris interrupted.

"Iron Stallion Sixty-Nine isn't metal, Chris," Tundra said dryly.

"Please move on."

"You sure you don't want to hear about-" Her voice dropped into crime-show-announcer tones. "-the Monster Catfish of Lake Baikal, Captured on Video? Could be the fish-man. There's a YouTube link."

"No."

"Right. So here's an interesting one. An entire convent of nuns in Samokov, Bulgaria described to one of our operatives their strange and entrancing visions of dead relatives that plagued them for hours before dissipating. Their water supply tested clear, as did their food, but a peculiar organic particulate lingering in the air raised questions with the investigation team whether young Lady Beneviento had come to call."

"A convent of nuns."

"That's what this says."

"Had a bunch of visions."

"Correct."

Chris leaned back in his too-small chair, rubbing his hand down his face. God, he was tired, and the green tea wasn't doing shit to change that. Maybe he should swap back to coffee. Maybe he should go have a cigarette. "Maybe they should call an exorcist."

"Boss, are you taking this seriously?"

"Yeah, yeah. Sorry, Em." He let out his breath and straightened up, reaching for his now-lukewarm tea. "Keep going."

She watched him through her lowered lashes, fox-like eyes sharp as ever. "Do you even want to find her?" she asked, quietly.

Chris met her gaze. The silence between them lingered. He could hear the rain beating against the window, the traffic twenty stories below, the hum of the building around them, the conversation in the hall that grew louder and faded as it passed his door. This place, this world. All the people in it, alive and breathing because so many like Emily and the rest of Hound Wolf Squad- like him- like Piers, and Ethan, and all the others who had given their lives- had sacrificed so much to keep the monsters back. To keep them from the door. To decide, sometimes in extremis, where the line must be drawn. How far he had to go to keep the darkness at bay.

And six months ago, whether he liked it or not, he'd crossed that line. Rose had become...he didn't know what. A new Miranda? He hoped not. A new host for the megamycete was his official take, but he knew it was more than that. The megamycete...the Black God...was more than that. Archival memory, spanning thousands of years. Power he could scarcely fathom. Power that organizations like Umbrella, like the Connections, like Ouroboros, for all their dreams of conquest and grandeur, could only scratch the surface of.

Sparrows, thinking because they felt the sunlight on their wings, they knew the true heat of the sun.

Rosemary had made her decision. She had stood with the other mutants, open to his fire. He should have taken her down. He could have. Cult leader or not, she was flesh and blood. But he hadn't. He'd lowered his rifle.

He'd let her go.

And even now, he couldn't be sorry about that. He thought of Heisenberg, of all people, and what must have transpired in the days after the village's original destruction to make him into what he had become. A far cry from the great Lord who'd served Miranda, that was for damn sure. When you can't bend, you break. And he couldn't deny Heisenberg and Rose were survivors.

And, maybe, though it chafed to admit it, though it went against everything he'd fought for all these years-

They were people, too.

Time would tell if they became decent ones.

So he looked at Emily and shrugged. "'Course I do," he told her. "Any more cryptids in that file of yours?"

"Nah. That's it for now. I'll come back when there's more."

"I'll take a look. Make sure Black God Death Cult isn't a front for Karl Heisenberg's newest cyborg army scheme after all."

"Sure thing, boss." She tossed the file onto his desk. It landed with a weighty smack. "Hey. Come to dinner this Friday? My wife's making that one stir fry thing you like."

"If I can get out-"

"Come on, Chris."

He smiled again. "Okay, Em. See you later."

She left with the money tree. The door clicked shut. Chris stared at the file for a couple seconds, then reached out for it.

Something was sticking from the papers within- a corner of stiff cardstock. Chris frowned and tugged it forth. A postcard. A little dented, a little battered. The front showed a generic seaside scene. The back-

He read it once, twice, without comprehension. Then it struck him. A rush of cold and hot, crackling through his nerves. He didn't move from his place at the desk, his fingers locked around the postcard with its single message, written in bubbly letters.

Wish you were here.

His head jerked up as the door to his office opened again and Emily stuck her head through. "Sorry, boss," she said, a little breathless. "You got a visitor."

"...Who is it?"

"You'd...you'd better come and see."

The tension radiating from the waiting room was thick in the air, even before Chris and Emily strode in, Em snapping effortlessly into Tundra-mode, her hand resting lightly on her holstered sidearm. They made it down the stairs and into the waiting room, as modern as the rest of the building, its glass exterior wall cutting out in sharp silhouette the half-dozen plainclothes operatives with pistols pointed at the solitary figure between them. The receptionist had her hand on a panic button; relief filled her eyes when Chris and Emily entered the room and stopped outside the circle of BSAA ops.

"What's going on here?" Chris said.

"Sir." One of the operatives nodded at the stranger, who wore a hooded jacket, a large, heavy-looking duffel bag open and on the floor at their feet. Their hands were raised, their head down. "She just came in. Asked to see you. Then showed what was in the bag."

Chris kept his eyes on the stranger. He couldn't see her face- just a glimpse of chin and a couple strands of gray-brown hair. His hands lifted, palms out, he stepped past the gun barrels. The stranger didn't move as he bent, as he moved aside the open zipper of the bag.

The light gleamed off milky crystal. A collection of broken limbs. And a familiar face.

A smile touched Chris's mouth.

"Thought you were dead, Mia," he said.

Mia Winters pulled back her hood. She looked about as tired as he felt, dark circles stamped under her eyes, her brows furrowed together. But he saw hope in her gaze, and in her voice when she spoke, vivid and undeniable.

"Not yet," she said. "And...I'm hoping...that's two of us." She glanced around at the other operatives, then back to Chris. "I heard you have access to something miraculous. You call it the MARS, right? A mold recombination system?"

She paused, and there was something brittle in the silence, a yearning so strong it seemed to shimmer from her, from every tense movement. Her lips fluttered; she licked them, then took a short breath to speak again.

"A means of resurrection?" she asked.

Chris should have ordered her immediate arrest. Should have ordered Ethan's remains whisked away, stored in containment somewhere until a thousand and a half tests could be run on the calcified biomatter.

Could have, should have, would have.

This time, for the first time in nearly sixteen years, his full smile felt real.

"I think," he told Mia, holding out his hand for hers, "we can talk."

***

Sunlight, fading.

A brush of warmth on her skin, just as fast stolen by the wind.

Another day, ending.

"Eyes on the road, kid."

"I know." Rose opened her eyes, focusing again on the long, curving single-track road ahead of the range rover wheels. The vehicle had once been painted green; now it was more rust than paint, the entire body rattling ominously each time she accelerated, but Heisenberg had souped up the engine to breathtaking levels. Now, it ran like a luxury automobile, albeit with more glowing exhaust ports and clouds of black smoke than most.

Rippling fields of grass spread to either side, golden in the fading, liquid light of afternoon. Cloud-shadows moved over the expanse of moorland like great beasts just beneath the surface of still water, the land itself flowing like the sea until it broke off, suddenly, and plunged to the waves themselves, the world ending in favor of the water.

Here and there, patches of purple heather or jutting rock formations broke the expanse of green-gray and blue-green and peat-brown, but the splendor of this place was in the sky, unbroken by tree or building or mountain, echoing on and on forever.

Rose had never visited the Highlands during her and Heisenberg's brief stint in Glasgow; neither had he, and, glancing sideways at him in the passenger seat, Rose could see the way he drank it in with his eyes, even behind his round shades. Every new place must still seem like a wonder to him; two decades wasn't so long to be out, not in comparison to the long life he'd led before. He did a pretty good job covering up his true feelings with brash remarks and cocky bravado, but in the end, he did have a heart.

Rose knew. She'd literally seen it.

He wasn't driving. He was forbidden to after they'd been pulled over eight times in England and southern Scotland for driving all over the center line and yelling threats at the other drivers that included suggestions he'd remove their limbs and sew them on backwards, a feat which, Rose also knew, Heisenberg was fully capable of. They'd had a drawn-out argument which ended in Rose stealing his glasses and hiding them until he one- bought her a coffee and two- gave her sole driving privileges. Though, Rose reasoned, if he really, really wanted to, nothing was stopping him from taking control of the entire metal body of the car and doing something, uh, uncool.

Now, silence had fallen, save for the sound of the tires on the road, the low, hazy music on the radio, and the wind whistling through the cracked window. A new place. Each hill, each dip in the land, each ancient stone tower standing sentinel against the sky, each meter of road racing beneath them, each was new.

They were out.

They were free.

All of them. Even Moreau. They had retreated from the carnage of the village after Rose's dramatic little declaration to Chris, and Moreau had insisted, with his newfound confidence, the Lords go and check on his followers down by the reservoir.

They were there, all right, the group of robed cultists shivering in the frigid dawn, bare feet blue in the snow. They were used to castle life, after all. But Moppet bounded toward him with a squeal of delight and threw herself into Moreau's arms, raining kisses down on his face and slimy lips while Moreau held her.

"Your holy relic saved us, Lord Moreau!" Moppet said, between kisses. "The phial you gave me so long ago? It spared all of us from the wolves!"

"Thank goodness," Moreau mumbled. "Thank goodness. If...if I had lost you...if I had lost you for good..."

His eyes were squeezed shut, the contentment on his face undeniable. Rose thought of the glimpse she'd seen of him before, the earnest love on his face as he'd spoken to Miranda and Eva. The face might look a little different, but the love was the same. Better, now. Moppet looked at him exactly the same way.

At last, Moppet stood back, flushed and giggling, and Moreau faced Rose and the Lords once more.

"Come with us," Rose urged. "Your followers, too. You're always a part of this family."

Moreau gave her a look of gentle melancholy. "No, Rosemary," he told her. "I...I will never...never be...welcome out there. Beyond. Once, maybe, I..." He paused for a moment, staring hard into the distance. "A long, long time ago, maybe, I would have...wanted. But now...no more. No longer. I have found something...something...better."

He glanced at Moppet. "And where...I belong."

"Okay," Rose said. She swooped forward and gave him a little peck on the cheek. "You know best."

He touched his cheek, then bobbed his head up and down in a firm nod. "I will see you..." he said, then seemed to ponder. "Again," he decided. "Perhaps."

"Good luck, Salvatore," Rose told him. "All of you."

"See ya, fishstick," Heisenberg said gruffly, elbowing Moreau in the side. "Take care of the dame, now, won't you?"

"Forever," Moreau said, taking Moppet's hand, holding it tight between his own.

And, later, Rose stood by as Moreau led his people to a cleft in a rocky cliff, a cave mouth leading down and down into darkness. One by one, they stepped through, Moppet holding aloft a lantern, her back laden with a pack full of supplies, each of the other cultists now outfitted for the journey- to where, Rose had no idea. A better place, perhaps, than Moreau had ever known. A kinder one. A crystal city, far beneath the earth.

A paradise, where they would be safe forever.

It wasn't her place to know. She simply watched as Moreau's followers vanished into the darkness, as Moppet's lantern bobbed, a ball of light, then a point, then a pinprick, then gone altogether.

Dimitrescu, too. Once Moreau and his followers set out, the rest of them, bruised and exhausted and starving, had trooped up to the castle to huddle in the dark, dank, dusty rooms and rest as best they could. The first floor, and the entry wing to the castle, was still crusted with Moreau's slime- pretty wrecked- not to mention the ominous pool of dried gore that covered the cracked floor of the main hall.

Dimitrescu merely smiled at this.

"My dinner," she said, "disagreed with me." and extended a single nail to pick at some invisible scrap between her clean white teeth.

Past the first floor, however, Rose couldn't help but gasp at the splendor. Glossy white walls covered with ornamental gilt, sconces molded in the shapes of flowers, gleaming mahogany and priceless artworks. The layer of dust and grime over it all couldn't disguise that this place totally freaking ruled. Rose decided to not ask to have a look at the basement. Preserve the illusion, and all that.

Dimitrescu vanished somewhere in the maze of corridors, leaving Rose, Donna, Angie, and Heisenberg to pass out on one of the gargantuan four-posters in one of the castle's many bedrooms, to hide from the sound of helicopters outside, to stuff down as much preserved meat and tinned goods and priceless wine as they could scavenge from the kitchens.

Eventually, days later, Dimitrescu re-emerged. Rose had looked up from her book, from which she'd been reading a story to Donna and Angie. Her eyes got big. If Lady Dimitrescu had been intimidating before, fixed up and dressed to the nines she was nothing short of breathtaking. Swathed in shimmering silver silk jersey, in smoke-gray furs soft as snowfall, rope of pearls at her throat, black hat perched on her fresh, gleaming curls, she set a long cigarette holder to her crimson lips and exhaled blue into the gloom.

"Fuck, Alci," Heisenberg said, as a wave of expensive amber-musk perfume rolled across them. "Something die in here?"

"Shut up, you disgusting little rat," she snapped, and took another drag on her cigarette. She seemed to gather herself, then turned with a smile to face Rose.

"Child," she said. "I wish to offer my most...sincere thanks for your involvement in the reclamation of my castle. And I wish to convey how deeply sorry I am that I must, now, say farewell."

"What?" Rose closed her book. "You're leaving, too?"

Heisenberg let out a bark of triumphant laughter.

"Indeed," Dimitrescu said, with a glare toward him and a slight edge to her voice. "I know you and your...caretaker...will be wanting to travel together, and that simply will not do for me. Besides. The events here...our brother's regeneration...my own...and yours," she added, nodding to Donna. "All of it has made me consider...mmm...future paths I thought had been closed to me."

A distant look filled her eyes, her self-satisfied smirk fading. "Future paths I thought were long gone," she went on.

"Your daughters?" Rose asked.

Dimitrescu looked down on her again. "Indeed."

"They...they might not have regenerated, like you did," Rose said, tentatively. "They weren't Lords."

"No," Dimitrescu agreed. "But consider this, child. When your father slaughtered them, and sold them, and smiled at my misfortune, all hope was lost. And I was lost with it. All things, shattered. All loyalties, tested. Now, there is hope again. And though it may end in blood and tears for me...for them- for my darling girls- I will risk it."

She took up an oxblood traveling-case- stamped, Rose noticed, with the House Dimitrescu crest.

"I will return," she said, casting her gaze about the heights of the room, about the castle beyond. "Rest assured. But for now..."

A feral glint entered her eyes.

"...I must have words with the Duke."

***

Donna, meanwhile, was fast asleep in the back of the range rover, impervious to the bumps and jostles in the uneven road. Rose glanced at her in the rearview mirror. She'd shed her usual eyepatch, her hair down around her shoulders, and though she still tended toward gothy shades and heeled lace-up boots, she'd begun to branch out a little from mourning clothes.

Now, for the special occasion, she'd worn a long embroidered skirt, a brooch at her throat she said had belonged to her mother, and a gray woolen coat she'd made herself. Her arms were curled loosely around Angie, and at her side, tucked for safekeeping under the other seat belt, was an intricately-wrapped box tied with a ribbon.

"Heh. Honk the horn," Heisenberg said.

"Oh my god. You are evil."

He made a wild lunge for the horn. Rose cracked her elbow right into his face. Donna slept on. The moors rolled past, and eventually Rose and Heisenberg quieted down again, and the silence came in, and the wind, and they caught their first glimpse of the sea.

It came up fast- one moment the land seemed endless, and then it broke away, and the ocean spread before them. Vast; endless. Heisenberg leaned forward a little, tipping his glasses up on his head. He'd never seen the ocean before leaving the village with her. What an impossible wonder it must have seemed. What sheer emptiness. Rose wondered if that first sight had been exhilarating to him, or terrifying. She didn't ask. She didn't want to break the silence.

She didn't ask, either, about Mia.

She'd vanished from the chaos. She'd never turned up at the castle. Maybe the BSAA had taken her. And maybe- after what Heisenberg had told her during their several days hiding out in the castle- she'd had her eye on a different goal. Even now, thinking of her, a boil of vindictive heat twisted in Rose's guts. After all she'd done, she'd get away without incident? With Ethan's body? Still. Rose couldn't exactly hold her crimes against her, not for long. How could she, when she'd done what she did for the Four Lords?

They were out, now, free in the world. She'd given them all the means to do what they'd done under Miranda, to be monsters anew. And what monsters they'd once been. A village, destroyed. Decades of pain and suffering, nightmares inflicted on the innocent. Nightmares the scope of which she couldn't truly understand, could only witness through the dreams of the dead. And there was no accounting for that. No true forgiveness. Not unless the dead returned. And that wasn't possible, not for everyone.

But it could end. And now, maybe, it had. And that was all she had. She could only hope it would prove enough.

The road ended in a small car park, empty of other vehicles. Rose parked and killed the engine, dropping down to the dusty pavement. Donna stirred as Rose rapped on the window, then followed Heisenberg out past the pavement, wading through the golden, knee-high grass, all the way to the place where the world ended.

Seagulls mewed and tilted, tossed on the high breeze. The waves crashed at the cliff foot, great sprays of freezing spume and swells of deep, dark blue. The color of the ocean wasn't constant; it shifted, one moment a vivid glass-green, the next a deep, pensive gray, fading to mist out at the point where sky met sea.

Even in early August, the chill of the sea wind was sharp, biting through Rose's jean jacket and into her skin. She shivered. Heisenberg shifted closer, knocking his warm shoulder to hers.

"Happy birthday, kid," he told her.

"Don't mention it."

"Why this place?"

"Ah." She lifted an eyebrow. "You are looking at what will soon be the most beautiful sunset in Britain. According to this one article I read online, anyway. I thought...y'know. Not to get mushy, but I thought it'd be a good place to...begin. Again. Formally. You know, since it's my birthday, a big marker, kind of a nice symbolic breaking-off point-"

"Yeah, I get it."

"Okay, okay." She shut up, watching the waves. "Thanks."

"...Yeah?"

"Without you, I wouldn't be here to turn seventeen and stare at the stupid water."

He smirked. "And don't you forget it."

Rose snorted and rolled her eyes, then looked back at Donna by the range rover, struggling with the hamper.

"Guess we should help her or something," Heisenberg muttered.

"Could just stand here and watch her."

"Careful, kid. You're starting to sound like me."

The three of them together set up near the cliff's edge, spreading a blanket over the grass, weighing it down with jars of honey, cheese and bread, Romanian dishes with pronunciations Donna coached her through. A thermos of tea, full of rich spices that melted on the tongue. And, inside the intricate box, jewel-like pastries so delicately-made they could have only come from Donna's hands. Angie tore at one like a starving raccoon, while Rose marveled at the chocolate tarts and honey-and-walnut mucenici, savoring each bite. She opened presents- a handmade blouse, jacket, and trousers from Donna, embroidered with black and gold roses, and from Heisenberg-

"Since you lost your sword, and all," he said as she lifted the knife from the grease-stained paper grocery bag he'd crumpled around it in place of wrappings. Its blade flared deep-blue in the dying sunlight, and when Rose took its hilt, it fit her hand like she'd been born with it there. She ran her thumb over the thorny vines worked into the crossguard.

"I..." she started. She had to cough and start over. "...I didn't know you were capable of making anything this pretty."

"Shut up and say thank you."

The sun began to set. It sank toward the sea; it melted, and set the wind afire, painting a river of gold over the tops of the waves. The bite of the wind sharpened, and Rose and Heisenberg and Donna and Angie ended up huddled together, like they had been in the castle.

Rose rested her chin on the tops of her knees, staring out toward the horizon. Ouroboros was still out there. She'd take it down, it and so many monstrous things like it. The BSAA, too, and Chris, and her mother. But that was all for another day. For now, she could sit and watch the sunset, taste the wind, the scent of endings bitter on her tongue.

The end of another day.

The beginnings of a new one.

She shifted. Heisenberg looped his arm over her shoulders. She tipped her head sideways against his shoulder, her fingers loosely interlaced with Donna's.

"Drat," Donna said, softly.

"What is it?"

"I think I may have left the stove on in that...strange little house we stayed in."

"Broke in," Heisenberg said.

"Hm. Well..." Her expression became sly. "...I hope they don't mind."

Rose snorted. "You're the coolest aunt ever."

Donna turned bright red, hugging Angie. The doll gibbered at her, and Donna turned up her sleeve, made a small nick in the dead-white flesh of her inner arm, and allowed the tendrils of the Cadou within Angie's head latch onto the cut and feed on the blood. Rose watched, fascinated. Coolest aunt ever, indeed.

"Aha," Heisenberg said, suddenly. "Almost forgot." He reached inside his coat and pulled forth a folder, thin and sepia-stained and tied with twine, stamped with the Ouroboros serpent. Rose lifted her eyebrows as he held it up.

"Did-" she started.

"Did Mia send me this via that weird airmail envelope that courier handed me last week? Yeah. Dunno how the fuck she got ahold of it, but, uh..."

A small black and white photograph was paperclipped to the front. A little boy, facing front, dressed in an old-fashioned collared shirt and V-neck sweater. His round face and bowl-cut hair were those of a stranger, but Rose knew his eyes all too well.

"It's your file," she murmured.

"Sure is. The real deal." His whole life. All the lost decades of it, pieced together by Ouroboros researchers in some distant facility. His past, there in his hands.

"Are you gonna open it?" Rose asked.

Heisenberg considered. Then, in one movement, he tossed it. It spun into the air and over the edge of the cliff, gone in an instant.

"Nah," he said.

He settled again by Rose's side. The three of them watched the sun, watched it sink beneath the horizon, watched the shadows creep long over the sea.

Rose felt a stirring of dread at the darkness, so like the depths of the Black God, the depths of Miranda's grief. She still didn't fully understand what she'd inherited, what it meant for the future. She'd probably never understand it, not unless she lived, as Miranda had said, a long, long life.

And as to who she was?

Maybe there were no real answers.

Heisenberg must have sensed her discomfit. He gave her cheek a light poke with his thumb. "You okay, kid?"

"Yeah. Just..." She let out her breath. "You'll always have my back, right?"

"As demonstrated."

"Good."

"Good?"

She looked up at him, and Donna. And yeah, they were terrible. And yeah, they'd done some really, really bad shit. And yeah, they were all mutant monsters.

But so was she.

It filled her, then, with a pang so strong it was close to pain. That she was so she was who she was, in this place, in this body. That they were there with her.

She leaned into Heisenberg, squeezed Donna's hand. "Good that I found you again."

It didn't matter who she was. She'd figure out everything she needed to know herself. And she wouldn't be alone, not even if the night grew dark and the wolves began to howl. They would be with her every step of the path.

"Not gonna get sick of us monsters, kid?" Heisenberg said.

"You're not just monsters," Rose told him. "You're worse. You're family."

[euryalex]

Hi and welcome to my blog! I'm Em, a wannabe artist. I'm a 20+yo, autistic, NB, freyromantic lesbian from Belgium. My url refers to Euryale, one of Medusa's sisters. My icon, as of now, is Ellen Hutter from Nosferatu (2024). My header is an edit of Ada Wong from the Resident Evil 4 Remake, made by me.

Current hyperfixation: Dragon Age: The Veilguard Tracking: #usereuryalex

1.) As an LGBT+ person, I stand by my trans & aspec siblings. 2.) Racism of any kind is not tolerated. I am white but won't reblog anything that even looks suspicious. If I speak out against something, it will be tagged accordingly. 3.) I post a lot of fan content, i.e.: fanart, graphics, edits etc. As of writing this, I have 68+ OCs for various media and love reblogging content from my friends and their OCs. Feel free to hit me up to tell me about your OCs! 4.) That being said, this a very OC-heavy blog! 5.) Some of the things I post/reblog will be NSFW including, but not limited to: nudity, blood, horror ... Those posts will be tagged accordingly and, if you are a minor or those things make you uncomfortable, I recommend you block them. 6.) Please don't follow if you add your creepy fantasies to innocent people's fan creations. Please. 7.) Don't follow me if you're into dark stuff. This blog is not for you as I am both an abuse and stalker survivor who is critical of AO3.

Games like: Dragon Age (May be Cullen and Aveline critical. Pro blowing up chantries.); The Elder Scrolls; The Witcher (May be Triss critical); Baldur's Gate 3 (anti Astarion); Resident Evil; Fallout; Cyberpunk 2077; Dead by Daylight; Red Dead Redemption (Anti Micah, pro Mary, Molly and Abigail); Assassin's Creed (Syndicate in particular); Undertale; Telltale's The Walking Dead; Overwatch; Little Nightmares

Books like: The Witcher (May be Triss critical); A Song of Ice and Fire (May be critical of non-Stark characters); Carmilla

Movies/TV Shows like: Lost; The Walking Dead; Glee (Anti Rachel Berry, Finn Hudson and Will Shuester, pro pretty much everyone else); BBC Ghosts; Derry Girls; Ring (1998); V for Vendetta; The Mummy & The Mummy Returns; Pacific Rim; Saw; Grave Encounters 1 & 2; Friday the 13th; Scream; Halloween; Texas Chainsaw Massacre; Yellowjackets; Renfield

Misc. like: Greek mythology; Space; Sunflowers; Art; Poetry; Zombies; Ghost Files (Watcher); Welcome to Night Vale; Choices; Booktok critical; Lesbian content

Ships like: Geralt x Yennefer (The Witcher); Lena Oxton x Emily (Overwatch); Cole Cassidy x Genji Shimada (Overwatch); Grillby x Muffet (Undertale); Jill Valentine x Carlos Oliveira (Resident Evil 3); Leon x Ada (Resident Evil); Leon x Claire (Resident Evil); Claire x Ada (Resident Evil); Ethan Winters x Mia Winters (Resident Evil); Sherry x Jake (Resident Evil 6)

• Neocities • My OCs • My art • My character templates (Photoshop) • Mods I use • Bluesky • Instagram • Deviantart • Artstation • Artfol • Ko-Fi • YouTube

[covered-in-kisses]

I'm thinking of commissioning someone to make a new header for me with relevant pairs (not necessarily romantic,) one having been smooched up by the other. Korrasami and Harlivy are the only ones I have decided on, but I was thinking Lady D deserves a spot there as well. Thing is, I don't know who would receive her kisses. Though there are more than a few candidates.

[ccorvo]

kill all men

[maddiesflame]

Eastern Lights headers

like/reblog if saved © maddiesflame

[darling-i-read-it]

YOU GUYS KNOW WHATS STUPID?!?!?!

I WENT LOOKING FOR AN ETHAN WINTERS ICON.

MY BOY BARELY HAS A FACE THAT DOESNT LOOK PETRIFIED.

[piracytheorist]

like to the point I’d change my avatar to Vi, that’s how much I like her character appearance... but I don’t consider myself a fan of Arcane, and I’m starting to think how if I start giffing her, Vi fans will start following me... which isn’t a problem for me, but they’ll soon realize that other than whatever gifs I make of her, I won’t be posting anything in relation to her or the show and... I mean, no harm no foul, they’ll just unfollow me but I don’t know why I’m worrying about it so much lol.

[cellgore]

— 𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐆𝐎𝐑𝐄’𝐒 𝐅𝐀𝐐.

this is a multifandom blog meaning that i favorite certain fandoms/characters so there will most definitely be more writings for certain characters and fandoms.

please don’t be offended if you send a request for someone and I don’t fulfil it, sometimes the inspiration is lacking for certain characters. I still wish to write though so I will continue to post.

requests are open so you can send them whenever you want !

DO YOU HAVE A MASTERLIST?

my masterlist is pinned at the top of my blog in navigation when viewing in the app, it can also be found on the left hand side of my blog when viewing on desktop.

ARE YOUR REQUESTS OPEN?

please check my pinned masterlist for request details, I always try my best to keep it updated.

WHAT DO YOU WRITE FOR?

smut, angst, fluff, age gaps, poly/threesome+, reverse harem, dubcon, noncon, yandere, toy play, cheating (to an extent), blood play, knife play, bdsm, breath play, violence, gore, hunter/prey, praise and degradation, power imbalance, supernatural, choking, mommy/daddy kink. (wrap it up!)

WHAT DO YOU NOT WRITE FOR?

rpf, necrophilia, incest, daddy/little play, age play (basically pedophilia), spitting, bimbo!reader, foot fetish, animal play, race play, watersports, miscarriage, any kind of abuse, child fics, any ocs, the pet name ‘kitten’ is just.. no.

WHAT DO YOU USE FOR YOUR HEADERS?

I use canva and sometimes ibispaint x. I get most of my images from pinterest.

WHO DO YOU WRITE FOR?

MARVEL

miguel o’hara, hobie brown, gwen stacy, miles morales, tony stark, peter parker (all variants), doctor strange, wade wilson, eddie brock, kate bishop, mary jane

DC UNIVERSE

harley quinn, diana prince, clark kent, pamela isley/poison ivy, arthur curry/aquaman, bruce wayne/batman

STRANGER THINGS

eddie munson, steve harrington, henry creel, jim hopper

THE WALKING DEAD

negan smith, rick grimes, daryl dixon, maggie greene, glenn rhee, abraham ford, carl grimes, morgan jones, shane walsh, michonne hawthorne, ezekiel sutton, gabriel stokes, eugene porter, rosita espinosa

RESIDENT EVIL

leon scott kennedy, chris redfield, claire redfield, ashley graham, ada wong, luis sera, albert wesker, jill valentine, carlos oliveira, rebecca chambers, sherry birkin, ethan winters, helena harper, alcina dimitrescu, karl heisenberg

MODERN WARFARE II

simon riley/ghost, john mactavish/soap, john price, kate laswell, phillip graves, kyle garrick/gaz, alejandro vargas, könig, gary sanderson/roach, farah karim, valeria garza, rodolfo parra

DO NOT INTERACT IF YOU . . .

are racist, homophobic, bigoted, zionist, islamphobic. judgmental to what people enjoy writing/reading. copy or repost my fics. follow me if you’re problematic. send your full fic into my ask box, i will not post it. —  if you fit the average dni criteria you will be blocked.

PLEASE KEEP IN MIND THIS IS AN 18+ BLOG AND I ASK THAT MDNI - THANK YOU.

[kxedeharas]

Can you make a wallpaper for Ethan Winters? Have a nice day!

of course! hope you have / had a nice day too! i have many options : )

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷  ⇢ ˗ˏˋ  𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙬𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙬𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙥𝙖𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙨  ˎˊ˗ ꒰ 🕸️ ꒱

✖ 〉.   ❝ like or reblog if you save / use ❞

♪ ！ ﹒feel free to request icons / headers / wallpapers﹕❍

[saintsofwarding]

WE SHALL BE MONSTERS

Header by Keltii-tea!

Chapter 4: A Brand New Life

You can do this.

You can do this, Rose.

'Cause if you can't-

***

Rosemary Winters opened her eyes.

The voices faded away, back down into the murky darkness of the megamycete's archives within her. She let out her breath as a gust of chilly ocean wind ruffled her hair,  a storm of silvery strands across her vision.

She reached up to pull them back, tucking them behind her ears. The ocean spread before her, a great swathe of deep, stormy gray down the fall of the cliffside. Around her spread moors, vast and windswept, the breeze rippling the grass and scrub like the surface of the water far, far below. In the weak winter sunlight, all looked gray, all color stolen.

"Okay," Rose whispered. "Let's try again."

Angie sat before her, perched on a rock like a schoolchild, her hands folded down the front of her dress. Her mouth hung slightly askew, giving her an expression of perpetual shock. Or like she'd just finished telling a really, really bad joke. Rose expected her to jump up and start doing a tap-dance with spread arms and an Ayyy!

She didn't. She sat, resolutely, still.

"You were all chat in the shop," Rose groused. After, uh, retrieving her from the old lady in the antiques shop, she'd struggled like a pig in a blanket inside the satchel, only going silent once Rose and Chris had gotten back in the car. Then she'd flopped once and went still; Rose half-wondered if they'd killed her, and had begun to undo one of the satchel buckles to check.

"No," Chris had ordered, turning his entire torso around to lean in. The car didn't swerve an inch on the narrow London street. What Chris Redfield lacked in communication skills he more than made up for with his driving skills.

"I was just-"

"I know, Rose. She's playing dead. Let her have her little tantrum."

He'd settled back, flexing his hands around the wheel.

"Creepy little thing, isn't she?" he'd added, as if he couldn't help it.

"That's not very nice. I think she's kind of..." Rose gently poked the bony shoulder of the doll, jutting from under the canvas.

"Kind of?" Chris prompted.

"Interesting-looking," she finished.

"You're just saying that because she can still hear you."

"Just because she belonged to one of Miranda's children doesn't mean she's all bad," Rose said. "They were following her orders. She forced them to..."

"You would say that," Chris told her.

It had been Rose's turn to look at him, to stare at him with cold eyes. He glanced at her, then furrowed his brow.

"Rose," he said. "I know-"

"And I know what you're about to say."

"Then tell me, O great mind-reader."

"You're about to say that I shouldn't expect anything. That...that he's probably already dead."

"This is about taking down Ouroboros and retrieving bioweapons, Rose." He'd let out his breath. "And Ethan's remains. If possible. Not a rescue mission."

"You-"

"And you're about to make some kind of argument that he raised you for the last fifteen years. Sure. I understand. But if not for you, he would have killed me, my whole team, and an entire base full of BSAA when we sprung him out."

Rose faced front with a sniff. That had been exactly what she was gonna say.

Chris, for his part, had settled one large hand on her shoulder. "I understand," he repeated, more softly.

They hadn't spoken again the whole ride back.

Now, though, Chris was nowhere to be seen.

"Just me and you," Rose told Angie.

The doll stared back. The wind teased a few strands of faded hair over her cracked porcelain face.

"You weren't being very nice to Ms. Peters, were you?" Rose said. "What was it? You began to regenerate when you were packed up, and once you were free, once you realized Donna...uh, you...you both..."

She wasn't a hundred percent certain how Donna Beneviento and Angie worked, as an entity. From the scraps of memories she'd gleaned from Heisenberg, she was Donna's mouthpiece, but had a separate mind, too, like the parts of herself Donna was too afraid to express were conveyed, instead, as a kind of separate personality via the doll.

Complex. Kind of rad, if Rose was honest. She wouldn't have minded a separate, more confident, more brazen doll-self during some of her more awkward high school experiences.

"You realized Donna was gone," she continued, more gently. "And you got angry. Or maybe...scared."

She stopped.

The doll did nothing.

Rose let out a sigh, rocking back on her heels. The late January wind was icy, even through her coat and scarf. This place, on the lonely moors of northwestern England, didn't have much in the way of mod cons, but there was no doubt at all that it was beautiful. Bleak and empty, silent and echoing. The scrape of purple heather over a hill, the liquid sunlight breaking through clouds, glazing the world golden for a spare, fleeting instant. The crash of ocean waves down from the narrow goat paths along the cliffsides, like the constant heartbeat of the world.

When she could get away, she loved to wander the footpaths, to explore the ancient cairns and henges that dotted the landscape, rising from the moors like they'd been spat up by the very earth itself. They reminded her of something she couldn't put a finger on, like a song once-beloved but now half-forgotten, a phantom nostalgia.

She loved to lean against them, to feel the stone under her back and know she was not the first to stand and shelter there from the wind. They, like her, contained history, understanding beyond comprehension. They'd existed long before all this mess started, and would for a long, long time after she was gone.

Out here she could escape the endless voices and questions, the endless procedures and check-ups and decontaminations, her blood drawn to monitor how her mutations were doing, ensure she wasn't about to suffer another meltdown like she had when she was a child.

Necessary, she understood, but with an arm full of healing track marks and a headache from all the fluorescent lights, she had to get away sometimes. Out here there was no one to bother her; the nearest town was a ten minute drive, and even then the most advanced technology therein was the television in the local pub.

Angie had been created in the village, just like her mistress had never left it. She was used to the silence of House Beneviento, the isolation.

Maybe she would like it out here too.

That was the idea, anyway. So far Rose had been proven spectacularly wrong.

"Come on," she snapped at the porcelain doll. "Chris wants to do this the hard way. I don't. If you open up to me, start talking, the transition is going to be a lot smoother."

Still nothing. Now her hanging jaw and staring eyes looked almost sarcastic.

Bitch, Rose thought, channeling Heisenberg.

"Okay," she said. She kicked back from her own rock, springing to her feet so she stood over the doll. "Fine. No more good cop."

She braced her feet apart. With a last frown at Angie, she lifted her hand.

Underfoot-

The shadows darkened. They writhed.

Mold veined up her legs, through her skin. She felt the tell-tale cold of her mold entering her eyes, turning their sclerae black as oil. The wind picked up, and with a thrum of her power, Rose reached out. Not with her hand now.

"Talk to me," she whispered. "Talk to me, Angie."

Her eyes fluttered shut. The echo of cackling laughter. The scream of rusted metal, of chattering teeth, hordes of dolls pressing in on all sides. A corridor, floodlit red. The creak of wood, like a chorus of breaking bones. A house with a shadow at its heart.

Yellow petals, swirling on the wind. A terror unspeakable. The shearing pain of blades stabbing into her skull, again and again and again-

What's a-matter?

The cackling laughter kicked up a notch.

You on a schedule or something?

Rose jolted back as her abilities struck a wall. Her eyes sprang open; she blinked in the sudden brightness. The doll had still not moved. She'd heard her, though. Heard the gleeful, goblin scratch of her voice.

Falling to her knees once more, she stared at Angie, then reached out and closed her mouth with a soft click.

"That's the way," Rose told her. "Work with me. Okay? Let me help you."

She reached out, taking one of Angie's hands. She stroked her thumb over the cold porcelain. "Let me help you both."

"Miss Winters!"

The shout echoed to her through the wind. Rose closed her eyes and counted to three, then looked round. A struggling shape was head-down against the wind, tromping through the heather, waving one arm.

One of her BSAA handlers, Rose recognized. They hung around her on Chris's orders, making sure Rose felt all right, asking if she wanted tea or water or whatever, monitoring her vitals. Behind her approaching form Rose just made out the gleam of the BSAA facility, barely hidden behind one of the moors' low, sloping hills.

"Miss Winters!" the handler called out again. Breathing hard, she struggled up the last of the rise to where Rose and Angie were sitting. "Oh...goodness, that hill's steeper than it looks..."

"What do you want?" Rose asked.

"What do I want? What are you doing? Redfield's not going to be happy with you. That doll is a highly dangerous BOW and should not be taken out of facility quarantine-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know."

"And you shouldn't be out here at all."

"Is there a point to all this?"

The handler nodded, mopping sweat off her brow. "You need to come back with me immediately," she said. "With the doll, if you please. The MARS is ready to deploy."

***

The MARS- or Mold Analysis and Recombination System- was a little pet project of Chris's, developed after the Dulvey, Louisiana incident's aftermath had decimated his support commandos and infected the surrounding area's wildlife with Eveline's genetically-enhanced mold. It had been created as MADS- the Mold Analysis and Decontamination System- to disinfect a living body by disassembling the mold at a molecular level and destroying all lingering spores. It hadn't worked as well as Chris had  anticipated, and certainly not the way he'd anticipated, but it hadn't gone to waste.

Turns out, it worked a lot better going the other direction: not destroying the mold, but reassembling it.

The big steel elevator doors closed over the view of the atrium, and with a shudder, the elevator began its descent into the chill depths of the facility. Rose's spine prickled. She glanced around at the half-dozen black-suited commandos surrounding her. Two of them held Angie's case, a big metal and plexiglass cylinder with handles at either end. Within rested Angie like a small, weird corpse, her head canted to one side, her eyes wandering off-focus.

Rose pulled her sweater sleeves over her hands, keeping her expression neutral, trying to hide her nerves.

When at last the elevator reached the lower levels, Chris waited outside the doors. He gave Rose a small frown, then nodded at the other BSAA.

"Where was she this time?" he asked the handler.

"Out by the cliffs, sir." A sigh. "Again."

"With the doll?"

"Yes, sir."

Chris nodded.

"You shouldn't have done that," he told Rose, falling into step alongside her. The hallways down here were steel and concrete, the air dry, sterile, recycled through rattling grates. This place was designed to be sealed off section by section, like a submarine, should the bioweapons, viruses, parasites, et cetera, contained within somehow escape.

From what Chris had told her, most BSAA facilities were made like this; otherwise, the risk of containment was too severe to the surrounding populace.

It hadn't worked for Heisenberg in Hungary. His unique abilities made him particularly difficult to contain. He'd busted out like a can of pressurized biscuits, had stolen Rose and fled into the night, evading capture for over a decade.

Dread twisted in Rose's guts. If Ouroboros hadn't outright killed him, how were they keeping him under control?

What were they doing to him?

"Huh?" Rose managed.

"Snuck out. I get it, you're sixteen, it's a rebellious age..."

"I...no. I was trying to talk to her."

"Talk?"

"To the doll. To...Donna."

"Why?"

"Reassure her, I guess." Rose shrugged, glancing toward Angie's containment pod. "We want her to help us, right? Seems like she'd be more willing with a little bit of..."

She trailed away.

"A little bit of what?" Chris prompted, gently.

"A little bit of kindness," Rose said. "Or whatever."

"Same kindness she showed your father, once upon a time?"

"Just because she was ordered to slow him down-" Rose stopped, controlling her voice. "She was told she had to by Miranda. Forced to. I...know what she did...what her abilities were. But..."

She stopped, remembering.

A swirl of yellow flowers. A glimmer of sunlight.

A garden, somewhere far away. Far beyond all this.

"I don't know," she went on. "There's...something. Something else." She looked up at Chris. "Let's do this thing."

"Sure about this?"

"I've got to be," Rose said. She'd tried to sound perky, confident. Instead she just sounded tired. She put on a broad Texan accent to cover it: "Sure as hell ain't stopping now."

A pair of massive steel doors hissed open at their approach, clouds of decontamination steam snarling in pale green billows from hidden nozzles. Beyond, their footsteps echoed into a vast, cold space, a hangar-like room that was all reflective concrete and metal grilles, computer screens lining the walls, tangles of wires and ducting strung in bundles round the perimeter.

In the middle of it all stood the MARS. It looked like an ordinary decontamination chamber at first glance, a cube of glass with biohazard and warning symbols stuck to the transparent walls, hooked up to what appeared to be a fancy AC unit. On second Rose noticed the red crescent moon emblazoned onto the massive canisters bolted onto the back of the machine, the MARS acronym stenciled just below. There was a whine in the air that she didn't hear, but rather felt down in the backs of her teeth, like a sonic drill.

Technicians bustled around the room, dressed in BSAA jumpsuits, adjusting the cables leading to the machine. White-coated scientists worked at the computer screens, a low buzz of professional conversation in the air. It quieted as Chris entered the room with Rose.

"Afternoon, sir," said the head technician.

"Afternoon. She looks good." Chris nodded toward the MARS. "She gonna work this time?"

"Yes, sir."

"Hope so. I seem to recall a bit of a potato in a microwave reaction the last time we tried something like this with one of the Molded."

A nonchalant shrug. "Technical difficulties, sir."

"Uh-huh."

"Ready to get started?"

"Yeah. Load her up," Chris told the guys with Angie.

"Should she be in here?" the head technician said, eyes darting to Rose.

Rose stiffened.

"She's with me," Chris told her. "C'mon, Winters."

His hand on her shoulder, he walked her to the area right in front of the MARS, giving her the best possible view of the glass box. There was a circle of copper on the floor, and a fine, glimmering quality to the air, particles revolving in a slow cyclone within the brightly-lit glass.

She hugged her arms around herself, jamming her fingers into her armpits.

"Nervous?" Chris asked.

"Huh? No."

"Yes you are."

"Yeah, I am," Rose muttered. "If...if this doesn't work..."

"It has to work," Chris said.

She glanced up at him, sidelong. It did. For them both. Chris Redfield needed this as much as she did, needed to prove to himself that he was still capable of doing the work he'd dedicated his life to. That he was still capable of keeping the world safe, that he was the man for the job, that he shouldn't abandon it for the safety of the public.

He'd failed. More than once. He'd failed to save Ethan; he'd failed to extract Rose. And when he did catch up to her, and to Heisenberg, he'd failed to keep them in BSAA custody. For fifteen years he'd hunted them down, chasing them from place to place, continent to continent. And the moment he had them, it became necessary to let them go again.

Rose had gone back to him by necessity, of course, but Ouroboros was still out there. Mia Winters was still out there. She was the albatross around Chris Redfield's neck, the living symbol of his failures. Because, in the end, he'd betrayed her more than anyone. He'd promised to keep her family safe, and he'd lost them all the same.

And now-

Now, he wasn't putting down a bioweapon. Now, he was about to resurrect one. Another necessity, one the BSAA higher-ups couldn't deny him. Donna Beneviento was the only person within their grasp who could guide them into the village, who could help them stop Ouroboros from completing their goal- and who could help complete Rose's plan.

Madness. Suffering. Potential violent death. All were possible. But she wasn't gonna give up, no matter how many times she lay awake at night and talked herself out of it, then talked a circle right back round to it being the right thing to do.

The only thing to do.

Whatever else, whatever happened, she wasn't gonna stop until she looked her mother in the eye again. Until she ended this. Until she made this right.

There came a sharp hiss of pneumatics as the technicians opened Angie's case, as two HAZMAT-suited people placed her within the glass cube. There she sat, draggled and forlorn. She looked almost absurdly out of place within the sterile environment, like a horror-movie prop on a Star Trek set.

The glass cube was sealed once more.

Rose's heartbeat ticked up. She chewed on her lower lip, tasting blood. Chris's hand tightened on her shoulder.

"Come on, Angie," Rose whispered. "Be cool."

Please.

"Three!" Someone called. "Two! One!"

Power surged under Rose's feet. The MARS powered on with a deep thrum, like some gigantic engine; the glimmering fragments within the cube began to revolve faster, then faster, a whipping column surrounding Angie, blurring her into a pale shape.

A haze began to spread on the glass: mycelium, long thin strands of mold reaching and interlacing.

Rose's hands curled into fists. She couldn't even see Angie anymore, could only feel the high whine of the machine, the underlying vibration, the pulse that she recognized, her first and deepest memory. The heartbeat of the Black God. The heartbeat of the megamycete, recognizing itself, calling to itself within her, a feedback loop that strengthened by the second until it filled her to the marrow, just on the edge of unbearable-

There came a hiss, and Rose flinched. Clouds of gas filled the chamber, swirling and glimmering. Rose leaned forward. Chris stayed where he was, his face stony. Rose searched the mist, unblinking. Did it work? Nothing had exploded. Where is she? Where's...

Force thudded against the glass: twin blots of shadow, visible through the mold. Rose flinched. Oh, fuck, she thought.

Hands.

They curled, raking free handfuls of mold, then pulled back, quivering.

The clouds of gas had begun to dissipate. Rose heard the head researcher calling orders, heard guns cocking: a circle of guards surrounding the MARS, weapons aimed for the first sign of a threat. She didn't focus on them.

Come on, she urged. Come on.

She stepped closer, her breath between her teeth as the last of the gas swirled away, as the mold coating the inside of the cube melted down the glass.

Inside-

Skin glistened, slick with mutagen. Legs, bony shoulders, the long bare channel of a spine. The pale shape of a young woman lay curled on the metal floor, her whole body shaking, her long black hair hanging in ragged tangles down her face and back.

In her arms was clenched Angie, the two of them locked together as if nothing in the world could pull them apart again.