#Knight of Numbers

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 207

Danny does not come out of the portal. 

In fact, he’s lost. Very lost. He just wants to go home and is getting scared of everything around him because he doesn’t know what’s going on. But! But he’s found an (admittedly also terrifying) castle or keep or whatever they’re called that all the ghosts avoid!

It never exactly enters his mind that they might have been avoiding such a place for a reason. 

In unrelated news, the first thing Fright Knight sees after his sword was (accidentally) knocked free from its prison is not a blob ghost- they’ve done it a few times over the eternities- but a ghostling. A newborn ghostling, who promptly bursts into tears to his genuine horror. What did he do?!

[probablyanalienindisguise]

[jupiterjelliez]

can you guess my favorite hollow knight character

[sootnuki]

all of our love, fillin’ all of our room

[dcxdpdabbles]

Hello! Will there be more of Phantom's Number 1 fan? I love these dabbles, Tim and Danny both fail at the "ask a single question about what's happening" test 😅. Also if Tim's spleen was removed he'd likely walk around holding his stomach or at least the Yetis would mention the "delicate condition" of Phantom's love which only leads to more rumors and misunderstandings.

Tim doesn't know how long he's been in the Far Frozen. Time seemed to move differently here, and while he liked to imagine Ra's didn't have a magical time shield, he knew that the madman probably did.

He was worried about his current location. He had no idea where he was, where he would go if he got out, or what kind of tech the Yetis would use to track him down.

Tim attempted to gather information for his escape, but the technology here was far different from what he was used to. He would need months of uninterrupted study to make sense of it; unfortunately, that was impossible with the yetis constantly about.

They rarely let him alone, even in his private chambers. A guard was stationed at every entrance, and even a few servants carried weapons. Whenever Tim was allowed outside his room- there was still some healing his body needed- a scout would go ahead first to ensure the area was safe for him.

That's a word they used a lot. Safe.

Apparently, the Great One wanted to keep Tim as safe as possible for the children who were sure to follow him's return. Until then, Tim was pretty much locked down in an obvious lie of safety. They assured him multiple times that nothing would pass their security.

Tim thought it was cute that they thought they could intimidate him. Yes, he didn't have many options, but with every passing day, he noticed more details that he could use to break this fortress apart.

"My Consort, I hope you have time this evening for a check-up?" FrostBite calls, bowing his head slightly. Behind him, his servants bow at the waist, almost until they are parallel to the ground. Tim turns away from the wall he is staring at, mentally mapping out the fortress and their possible weakness.

It would be better to stare out a window, but they had placed him in the tallest tower without windows to better ensure his "safety."

"Of course I have time. What else would I do?" Tim doesn't bother to keep his biting tone out of his speech. He snaps the blanket he took to draping over himself around his shoulder. It is not meant to keep him warm since whatever magic they have going on allows him to dismiss the cold, but it's a comforting action to have a cape-like cloth around his shoulders.

His frustration makes the snap of his blanket nearly a whip.

A soldier on the right flinches slightly, and Tim quickly springs up. If they had noticed that flinch, then that soldier would be dead come morning.

The Al Ghuls were not known to accept any signs of weakness.

"I take it my soon-to-be husband has not returned?" He asks, dreading the answer even as he impassively struts to the group. Tim was raised to work the elites of Gotham's ballroom floors.

Convincing the Yetis of his cold accception of his new role in life is child's play.

"No. The Great One has not answered any of our messages. I fear he will not be back before the little ones arrive. They say the portal was destroyed." Frostbite tells him gravely.

Portal? Did that mean Ra's would have difficulty getting to him now? That was great! If he wanted to escape, he needed to do it while Ra could not come to the Yetis's aid.

"I see." He says, attempting not to show any of his thoughts.

"Do not fret, Consort, for our best minds and most important allies are attempting to locate natural portals. We shall be sending aid to His Majesty soon. Magic users have been forced to close a few portals, but they can not get to them all. That's where we shall strike." One of the Yetis says, "In the meantime, we will begin your move to a specialist who can treat your delicate condition better. It best to focus on your health instead of worrying over the Great One's quest to protect his family."

Tim looks up at him, for he is still tiny compared to everyone else, keeping his face carefully impassive as he questions, "My condition?"

"My people pride ourselves in our knowledge of care for many creatures across the realms," Frostbite tells him, stepping forward. "But humans are scarce. Our knowledge of pregnancy and reproduction of your kind is severely lacking. We have a specialist who has volunteered to house you while we head to war."

"War!?" Tim snaps his eyes to the King, finding the usually friendly face of the yeti clouded over in grim determination.

"Yes. The Humans' Justice League has declared war. In the last few days, ghosts crossed over and said the Justice League has placed a bounty on your head. I'm sorry, Consort, but war is no longer avoidable."

The Leauge.....was trying to recuse him? Did that mean they finally believed him? Tim didn't have time to ask. He needed to get out and stop the League from kick-starting a war with Ras Al Ghul. Who knew what else he had if he had Yeti's hidden away in some time shield?

The league will not be prepared.

"Pack the Consort's belongings." Frostbite commands, waving a claw to the servants, who quickly burst into the room. The yeti does not notice Tim move until it's far too late.

The guards all shout as Tim launches himself at Frostbite, yanking the hunting knife at his waist to fling it at the guard carrying a spear. When Frostbite makes the mistake of looking at Tim, he is met with a roundhouse kick that knocks the yeti off his feet.

"Consort!? What are you doing!?"

"King Frostbite!"

Tim ignores Frostbite's words and brings his leg down as hard as he can between the Far Frozen's horns. He's out like a light from the blow.

The guard with the spear had dropped his weapon as the knife sank into one of his hands, and Tim cartwheeled towards it. The two guards rush to Frostbite's crumbled form, while he does so.

It takes a second to kick up the spear and swing it in a large arch, taking out the two remaining guards. They crash on the ground, groaning in pain when Tim smacks them again for good measure.

The servants all watching are frozen in terror.

Tim points at them. "It's nothing personal."

One of them screams for help, but Tim has already launched the spear. It bounces off the bedpost, flinging into one of the servants, who is also knocked unconscious.

It would be more effective to kill them, but something about doing so to these creatures feels wrong. Tim had blown up hundreds of Ras's assassins, but those had treated him like an object, while the Far Frozen had at least acknowledged his humanity.

It takes more work and causes spikes of pain to burst around his stomach, but he eventually knocks everyone else out with well-placed kicks and punches. Thank goodness his suspicion that the side of the heads were weak points was correct.

He had noticed that the far-frozen chose to have more coverage there than around their horns, so he took a guess on where to strike. His waiting and information gathering were finally paying off.

Tim looted everyone of anything he thought was helpful before sprinting up the tower. He doesn't know what time the guards change, but he knows that his tower is the highest point, which means that if he timed it right, he could jump over to freedom.

Tim had built a makeshift paraglider while he was pretending to sleep. It wouldn't be a soft landing, but it would get the job done. He made it to the roof as the fortress went into distress below him. Yetis poured out of their huts or castles, searching but not looking up.

That is until the young servant, who mocked his lack of core, spots him.

"My Consort! No! Think of the children!" The boy screams, gathering everyone's attention. Tim doesn't waste a second leaping off the roof to the sounds of screams, and he spreads his paraglider open, aiming for the large wall.

He barely passed it when a strong wind picked up, and Tim hauled off course. Instead of the soft snow of the surrounding ice mountains, Tim dropped into a giant green void.

He spins out of control until his paraglider snaps in half, and he falls. His screams echo as his vision is overtaken by swirling green. A portal of some kind had opened up on him, sucking him into who knows where.

At least he has escaped.

_______________________________________________________

"The Bats!" the young yeti, a child known as Iceberg, cries. "The Bats have taken the consort."

"Are you certain?" Frostbite demands. He had awakened to find his people in disarray. No one could have predicted that the Great One's Beloved would attack and attempt to run away.

He initially believed them to be betrayed until one of his scholars found a record of human pregnancy. It was from Earth in the 1800s, a few years ago, but it is valuable in its information.

Human women were known to develop hysteria the closer it got to the child's birth. The Consort was likely suffering the same, but at a much slower rate as a male and they had not noticed the signs until its full manifestation.

They had to find him before he hurt himself or his babies.

"Yes, there was a light in the sky behind the Consort just as he disappeared. It was in the shape of a bat."

"This means our mission has become harder but not unachievable." A voice cuts, making everyone turn to a ghost who just arrived—the one who had agreed to house Consort Timothy.

"Fright Knight, thank the Ice you've come." King FrostBite says, nodding his head to the spirit of Halloween.

"I shall always come to the aid of those who sit on the King's throne." The knight dismounts. "Now explain how the enemy got so far into your domain."

"I fear the Consort may have unwillingly helped them. He is not sound of mind-"

"He?" Fright Knight tilts his head. "I was not aware the consort was male."

"What do you mean?"

"Human males can not carry their young. Only females can birth children."

"But how else could he be pregnant?"

"I am unsure. Maybe the power of the King? He has done feats no one thought possible." The Fright Knight grows quiet for a moment before he asks. "Are we certain that the Consort is pregnant?"

"Nothing appeared on our tests...but we just assumed it was due to our lack of proper equipment to test a human."

"I see. Are you even sure he and the King are to be wed?"

The Yetis all draw up short until one carefully mumbles. "He claimed they were."

"And you all took his word at face value without even confirming with the King?"

No one dares move, and the Knight sighs. "I shall travel the mortal plane. Surely we can confirm with the King on what exactly is going on."

"What of the war?"

"Postpone until the King, in person, commands us to battle. That does not mean stopping to prepare for it. It would be unwise to be caught unaware."

[paintpanic]

"Deep in his heart? He already knows the outcome. But if he could just reach that bright light..."

From the bottom of my heart, thank you!

This is actually the third time I've drawn this picture.

I drew the first iteration of this in January 2022. At the time, this blog mainly posted joke content and I did all the lineart in MS Paint with a mouse. I

The first remake was drawn in November 2022, a little under a year later. At this point I'd learned how to use Krita, but was still using a mouse. I would until like four months ago lol.

Anyways, thank you again so much for sticking with me through all of my nonsense. I really appreciate you guys.

[darning-needle-dragonfly]

The Wizard The Witch and the Wild One fanart/ study of "The Boy's King Arthur" illustration by N.C. Wyeth.

Eursulon meets Sir Curran

[juha-art]

"I wanted to play a spirit who dreamed of being a knight"

the full comic is here:

[sunglassesmish]

inchresting.......

[miniiieevee]

the ULTIMATE storb (star orb) ref has been finally completed with zodiac forms included!

[arabellas]

Top 10 Marvel Characters as voted by my followers ↳ 6. Steven Grant

[danandfuckingjonlmao]

they’re buffoons actually. like so stupid. absolute clowns. sillybillies even.

[jasontoddenthusiastt]

“Stop excusing Jason killing just because he died!!1!111!!1”

We don’t excuse his killings, you ignorant fool. We actively encourage it.

[lucyvsky]

c!karl - love and other poisons

because there are graveyards, adira bennett / anne carson / franz kafka / richard siken / henrietta harris, cover up / chen chen / hannah kent /  the green knight / 1984

[artseuki]

"The fluttering fiend...is drawn towards the masquerade..."

The official footage of the Anime Los Angeles Masquerade is officially out! It was an honor to participate in Such a Cool Event alongside such Cool Cosplayers, all the acts were phenomenal!

If you have a couple hours to kill (or just want to bounce around between acts), I do highly recommend checking the whole thing out! 👉[link]

Cosplay: @aseuki Photography and Editing: bakephotogatari Video Footage: @steamninja

[starks-hero]

Concerning Lockley

A 3rd installment to the Smoke and Mirrors series.

Pairing: Marc Spector x Reader, Steven Grant x Reader, Jake Lockley x Reader

Summary: A year has passed since the events in Cairo and two things cannot remain hidden for much longer; the truth and a third alter.

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: canon-divergence, revolves around Marc and Steven's past so implied child abuse, lightly implied smut, descriptions of violence, language (but it's me so that's almost a given)

a/n: A criminally late third installment to Smoke and Mirrors/The Truth is Rarely Kind. It's fairly heavy so I'd recommend reading the first two chapters for context. Anyway, guess who's finally arrived? 😏

You had grown fond of the night. The peace, the silence. The temporary comfort that, even just for a little while, things would be okay. Well aquatinted with the early hours, you woke to see them hit the clock almost religiously; every night without fail.

Every night since Cairo.

Sleep was something you'd forsaken. The few hours of rest you did manage to steal were few and far between and when you did manage to drift off your guilt followed you into your dreams. It seemed that was all you ever felt anymore; an overwhelming, crushing sense of guilt that never went away. 

You'd started making a cup of tea some time ago, (five minutes perhaps? enough time for the boiling water to cool, now a comforting warmth radiating through the ceramic.) It was another sanctum in your ritual, the action almost bringing more comfort than the drink itself. The steam kissing your hands and drifting through your fingers in playful wisps, the hypnotic sound of the spoon gliding against the ceramic edges of the mug.

Your hand stilled and your breath hung idle in your chest; a moment later two arms settled around your waist with a gentle squeeze and a yawn muffled against your shoulder. 

"Alright, love?"

Steven spoke the words into your neck. They were gentle and warm, just like the rest of him. There's a certainty in how he holds you to him and you quit stirring your tea in favour of supporting yourself against the counter. You fear your knees will give way, from the lack of sleep or guilt, you can't tell. His nose ran the length of your jaw and you offered a quiet hum in response to his earlier question.

"What are you doing up, ey?" His voice is breathily quiet, softening at the end as it would when he spoke to a child or small animal. Something he was worried he'd frighten. His hands, feather-light in their movement, traced down your arms until his fingers brushed the swell of your wrists. Intertwining your fingers, he brought your joint hands to your chest and pressed down. It was a grounding, comforting weight.

I'm here. I've got you.

You took several deep breaths, each somewhat steadier than the last. You swallowed down the sand that seemed to have formed at the back of your throat; dry and scratchy.

"Couldn't sleep," you answered truthfully.

Steven had waited patiently for your answer. He was always so patient. He'd been patient during the three weeks you'd scarcely spoken to them after Cairo, and patient still during the outbursts that followed when you did start talking to them again. And how could he blame you? Dying and coming back again was bound to have that effect. The entire dying situation was something that had been quickly placed in the red zone (extremely triggering and not to be talked about,) and after an exceptionally explosive episode with Marc over it, none of you were eager to revisit it.

Steven wasn't even certain you remembered your time in limbo, but if you did you didn't talk about it and he didn't pry.

"Come back to bed, yeah? I'll stay up with you till you doze back off."

He did know that you didn't sleep anymore. Not really. On more than one occasion he'd wake in the early hours to find you sat by the door or perched by the window, something sharp in hand. Harrow, by some miracle, hadn't come looking for you yet, but you planned on being ready when he did. 

Steven and Marc could feel the anxiety that practically hung above your head like a black cloud of miserable smog. The thought of Harrow and his goons finding the ushabti and following through with their plans was one that haunted you. A fact made clear by your desire to, in your own words, 'find the deepest, most ancient well known to man and chuck the damned thing down there.' But dealing with people set on genocide called for something more permanent and Layla had assured you she had it handled.

You didn't doubt her but it didn't make you feel any more at ease either.

You focused on the weight of Steven's hands against your chest instead and took another steadying breath. You agreed to go back to bed, if anything just to ensure Steven got a few more hours of sleep. You would fake it, you'd gotten good at it too.

He kept your hand in his as he led you back to bed. The tea abandoned on the counter eventually went cold.

You awoke to Marc, his lean arms barely brushing the expanse of your stomach, hand resting openly against your waist. You always knew the difference, knew who you'd woken up to. Steven held you like you would turn to dust and Marc held you like you were made of glass.

His hold on you tightened as he woke, that subconscious urge to keep you at arm's length crumbling. He kissed your head, your neck and then the expanse between the blades of your shoulders, his hands reverent as they traced your skin.

He made love to you differently since Cairo. It was slower and methodical, that desperation and fear that had been there before was long gone and there was a certainty now. He was more sure of himself, of you and of what you were to each other.

You rested in a comfortable silence afterwards, the air still warm and sweet and the sheets grounding against your trembling body.

Marc was a work of art beside you and for the briefest of moments you could understand why Khonshu chose him. He was made to be divine, to be godly.

His eyes had lightened a shade, as they tended to do when he was unfocused and staring into nothing. It was something only you'd noticed; the way the dark chestnut brown turned amber, almost pools of honey in the morning light now.

You traced his temple and he turned to you, taking the time to plant a kiss to your wrist. Right above the gentle beating of your heart. You temporarily worried that he'd feel your guilt in how your pulse drummed irregularly against his lips. You always felt guilty when he touched you softly. Knowing what you did you felt you didn't deserve it.

Your anxiety must have bled into your expression and Marc mistook it for worry.

“I'm alright,” he said. “It's just… quiet.” He traced his forehead and looked back at the ceiling. It was an observation he'd made several times in the last few months. His thoughts weren't as loud and his head didn't feel as crowded, no longer bursting and tearing at the seams. You supposed that made sense, now that a homicidal bird was no longer among his mind's residence.

You drifted with your thoughts until a gentle nudge from the man beside you brought you back to earth. His brows were furrowed subtly, trying not to give away that he knew something wasn't quite right.

“Baby–”

“I'm fine.” The words were so rushed they tumbled over each other as they left your tongue. You doubted Marc would have understood you at all if it weren't for how many times you'd parroted the phrase in the last few months.

Marc sighed and wrinkled his nose. “Steven doesn't believe you.”

“And you?”

“I think you're a bad liar,” he added. It wasn't accusatory, quite the opposite. “What's going on?”

The rehearsed lines came naturally. “I'm just tired.”

He seemed disappointed by your answer but said nothing. Another fifteen minutes in bed and Marc got up to start his morning routine and you prepared to keep up your masquerade for another day. You knew your lines as well as the part you had to play. It was all second nature now.

A week later you decided that you were going to tell them.

It wasn't the guilt that drove you to it in the end, not exactly. You'd been dealing with that for long enough. Rather it was the humbling realisation that this was no longer about you. It wasn't about how you spent every waking moment thinking about what you'd seen. How every time Marc laughed you envisioned the child that spent his birthdays either alone or berated. Or how each time Steven touched you softly you thought of the little boy cowering from his mother. 

No, it was about Marc and Steven and the fact that they deserved to know. And if your relationship was the price to be paid for them to have their truth then so be it.

But just because you'd made the decision by no means meant you were handling it well.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” You cursed with each step as you did laps of the kitchen. You'd started pacing just after Steven left for his shift and you were certain you could pace for the rest of the night if you needed to. A hieroglyphic on the patterned rug Steven had bought had noticeably worn down beneath your feet. 

You'd tried to rehearse something, gone as far as writing out bullet points and trying to convert them into something that resembled a speech. But all that came out of it was a bin full of crumpled-up paper and an even deeper pit where your stomach should be.

You passed the fish tank for what felt like the ninety-ninth time and stopped to glance at its resident. Gus seemed about as interested in the current affairs as a goldfish could be.

“How do you feel about staying with me on the weekends?” You asked. A single bubble left the fish's mouth in reply. “Gods, I'm losing it.”

Your heart near burst from its ribbed prison as the doorbell sounded three clanging chimes of doom. Your anxiety was so off the charts you were certain anyone nearby with a radioactivity monitor would be recording some cataclysmic event with your apartment as ground zero.

You employed every shred of willpower you had to get your legs to move you towards the door and opened it with such a convincing smile you should have been handed a bafta then and there.

“Hiya, love!” Already unsteady on your feet, the absolute, unabashed optimism in Steven's voice nearly had you keeling over.

He barreled forward past the threshold, a well-aimed kiss landing on your cheek and a bouquet of pink carnations brushing your chest.

“Picked these up for you on the way home,” he quipped easily as if the gesture came as easy to him as buying the milk. The bouquet was so large you had to employ both hands to hold it. The petals were so picturesque they almost seemed fake and the stems were a healthy green. The stall vendor had cared for them so well.

Steven hadn't stopped talking, not even as he removed his work clothes, electing instead to keep telling you about how the vendor had told him of the variety of colours carnations came in and their individual meanings but that he chose pink just because they were pretty–

“And I thought maybe we could go out tonight, grab something nice to eat. It's been a while since we've– everything alright, love?”

Still staring at the flowers, you hadn't realised you hadn't looked at Steven once. And he'd read you like a book.

“Do you not like them? Is it the colour–”

“No, no, Steven, they're beautiful.” You rushed. “It's–” That awful sensation of pressure began to coil around your neck and you struggled to swallow. Every thought spilled from your mind like water through a bullet-riddled tin can. “I just–”

In three quick strides, Steven was upon you, hands rising slowly to cradle your face. “Hey, hey now, it's alright. Had a long day?”

Something close to a whimper caught in your throat. You'd had a long few months. 

You closed your eyes and focused on the soft press of Steven's palms against your skin, how his fingers brushed your jaw and thumb was ceaseless in its comforting movements across your cheek.

You took a steadying breath, Steven praising you as you did, and in the moment of silence that followed you felt the extra presence. That there were two bodies in the room but three people. That reminder of Marc served as a final shove.

“I need to tell you something.” The words were so long coming you felt your lungs almost give out under the weight of them. “The both of you.”

Steven's gaze softened, not an inkling of fear to be found despite your troubled expression. There was no doubt or worry he'd done something, only that certainty he'd carried himself with over the last number of months. 

You thought about telling them your 'heinous crime' was breaking Steven's favourite mug and then he'd laugh and act offended regarding the remark Marc would have made about Brits and their tea. Then the three of you would go to bed and nothing bad would happen, nothing would change– 

“I'm here, Marc too. We're both listening.”

“Back in Cairo–” A breath. Now or never. “Khonshu showed me something. I know it sounds ridiculous but when Harrow shot me– when I died and before I came back, Khonshu– he showed me your past. He showed me everything. And I've wanted to tell you for so long, I should have told you–”

His hands fell from your face and without the anchor of his touch, you felt yourself sway. When he took a cautious step back your heart capsized. You wanted to follow him but guilt and fear had fused your feet to the floor in equal measure.

“Steven please, I didn't want to hurt you. Marc, I–”

His eyes fell closed and your chest felt like it was caving in atop your lungs as you waited for them to open. Waited to see Steven, eyes innocent and confused and knowing you'd have to tell him that everything he was came from something so awful. Or waited for Marc, eyes clouded and full of anger. Your entire life hung by a thread and at this rate, you wondered if cutting it yourself would be a kinder act.

They had every right to be angry after all, every right to hate you. Having someone poking around in your head without permission was such a nonsensical thing to have happen that you couldn't think of a single reaction that wouldn't be warranted.

After what felt like hours, his eyes opened. 

But it wasn't Marc. And it wasn't Steven. 

It was a dull, far-off stare; tired eyes regarding you from beneath hooded lids. 

You dared not move. It wasn't just the eyes but his entire body that was different, the way he carried himself. A tired smirk pulled at his lips and this stranger, this intruder in their body, seemed to have caught on to your realisation. He turned his back on you and walked towards the kitchen without a word.

His footsteps were lighter than Steven's and heavier than Marc's and his shoulders remained squared as if ready for a fight. And for a worrying moment, you thought maybe he was. 

You stayed as you were, moving only a few inches to keep him in sight whilst still within bolting distance of the door. It was a terrifying thought, having to run from someone that looked like them.

 The intruder opened the cabinet below the sink and pulled out a shoulder of whiskey you didn't know was there. The broken seal and missing liquor as well as how casually he grasped the bottleneck in his hand told you this wasn't his first indulgence. 

Opening the second cupboard to the left, (how did he know where everything was?) he retrieved two short whiskey glasses and placed them on the counter, the bottle presented in the middle almost decoratively.

He looked to you, then to his alcoholic display, then back to you expectantly. Against all better judgment, you joined him at the counter. You hoped he couldn't notice the sweat at your brow. 

“I don't know if you drink,” he said and his voice knocked the wind out of you. It was so foreign, coming from his mouth; like hearing the brass notes of a trumpet come from a clarinet. “But I think you might want one for this.”

You regarded him as one might do an unwanted guest, cautionary and with no shortage of distrust for this stranger wearing your boys' face. 

“Who are you?” he didn't answer. “Where's Marc and Steven?”

His brow twitched in a move you took for unamused disapproval. Ignoring your questions, he generously topped his cup and downed it all at once before pouring himself another and this time including you in the debauchery. You didn't trust your hand enough to lift the glass from the tabletop. You hoped he hadn't noticed how you were shaking.

His eyes set on you and his head tilted to the side. You were sure, rather you hoped, it was a harmless gesture but feeling as small as you felt it was hard to receive it as anything but predatory.

There was a stretch of silence that lasted so long you felt yourself losing your nerve, then–

“Three's.” He said, grasping his glass loosely. “All good things come in three's. You heard that one before, carino?” He lifts his pointer from the glass and tilts it in your direction.

If it weren't for the fact he was suddenly speaking Spanish you might have found the strength to answer. You anxiously toyed with your glass and you were certain he caught the tremble in your fingers.

Scared as you were, the fear was slowly melting into frustration as the absence of Marc and Steven became more pronounced with each passing second.

“You're not Marc.” He shook his head. “And you're definitely not Steven.” Another slow shake of agreement. “Then who are you?”

“People with big houses buy big guard dogs to keep them safe.” He took another swig of his drink. “Let's say I'm this house' guard dog, I keep things safe. And since you joined our little fiesta, that includes you.” 

You tried to swallow the information but found yourself choking on it instead. There was a third.

Your mind was near bursting, cracking and fissuring at the revelation. An hour ago you had convinced yourself that you were ready for whatever was to come, ready to change the trajectory of your life for the worst all in the name of both what was right and your love for Marc and Steven. But by the universe and all the gods within, this was not what you were expecting. The thought that Marc and Steven had been keeping this, keeping him from you was an unwelcome one. You could understand it of course, but the notion that you’d all been keeping practically life-altering secrets from one another left you feeling uneasy.

“Relax,” he said, and either the body's skills were interchangeable or you really were just easy to read. “They weren’t lying to you.”

The length of time you spent processing the information proved enough for him to finish his drink with another five seconds of wiggle room. 

“They don’t know?”

He shook his head and for the first time all night, he took his eyes off you. “And we’re going to keep it that way. They won’t find out about me, or Khonshu, or that little stunt back in Cairo-”

Your blood ran cold, freezing water flooding your veins. “How did you-?”

The movement of his mouth fell somewhere between a smile and a grimace.

“Khonshu told me to give you his compliments. You’re the first person in decades he’s done that to whose brain hasn’t turned to sand and come out their ears.” You stopped breathing. “That, and that he wishes you could have been there when we put three bullets in Harrow’s skull.” You rose so quickly the chair fell away behind you and your drink toppled. He kept a good hold on his own glass, ignoring the spilt liquor seeping into the timber. He didn’t seem concerned as you backed away from him.

“What the fuck did you do?” The words burned as you spoke them, leaving your throat hoarse. All the fear and confusion had warped into a horrified anger so palpable that your body trembled to withstand it. “What did you do?”

“What I had to.” He rose to meet you, in tone and stature. “To keep this safe-” he motioned his arm around at the apartment. “-And to keep this together.” This time his hand motioned between you and him. No, not him. The body.

“They have a right to know.” You bite the words out harshly, the tears of frustration welling in your eyes only making you more intimidating.

“They have a right to some peace.” His answers came quick and concise, as if he had them memorised like a well-versed script. “I think that’s something we can both agree on.”

Your lips parted with the promise of an argument but the absolutely overwhelming weight of the conversation crested and swept you away before you got the chance.

“They don’t want to be avatars anymore, that’s fine. They can stay here and keep playing house and happy families and I’ll do what has to be done. All you have to do is keep it that way. Now, I’m going to leave and when you open the door again it will be to one of them. And you’ll smile and act like everything is fine and the three of you will get on with things as if nothing happened. Understood?”

“And what about you?” You doubted the walls of any courtroom had ever heard a tone as accusatory as the one you’d just employed.

He made a brief noise of amusement before raising his head to look down on you and it was again made clear that this man couldn’t have been any more of a stranger.

“Some dogs are meant to be kept on a short leash.” 

With that, and leaving a deepening cavern beneath your ribs, he started for the door. You tried to breathe, tried to speak, tried to stop yourself from throwing your heart up. He swiped the bouquet of carnations from the desk as he went; Steven was prone to daydreaming, all he had to do was reset the scene. 

“Wait,” you managed as he turned the handle. If you were going to even entertain going along with this sick, twisted theatre of lies then you deserved to know who you were performing with. “Who are you really?” 

He grinned, apparently sharing the sentiment. “Jake,” he said, the sound like water on hot coals. “Jake Lockley.”

And then he was gone, leaving you to rehearse your appreciation of carnations and the colour pink.

Thank you so much for reading!

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