#then i remembered that i am alive and i can draw whatever the hell i want

[roukabi]

Had to get something out for today's @reevepheusweek prompt! Consider the following: Foxpheus

[image ID in alt]

[sunflowersandsapphires]

A Duplicate of Earth

When Skies Are Gray, Chapter 1 

Series Masterlist           Next Chapter

pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader 

summary: Frank’s life has reached a crossroads: he can either continue to seclude himself and pursue a dark, lonely future, or he can open himself up to connecting with someone again and maybe achieve happiness. Being the grump that he is, Frank has already committed to the lonely path, but his curious new neighbor might just turn that around. 

Warnings: minors DNI, swearing, implied depression, implied eating disorder (the reader is going to be in recovery in this fic, if it gets graphic I will absolutely warn y’all. This is mostly therapeutic for me lol). 

a/n: This fic was so fun to write!! I love grumpy Frank with all of my heart and I think he deserves to have someone teach him how to feel joy again. So this is my attempt at that. It is loosely based on the poem "A Myth of Devotion" by Louise Gluck at the beginning of the chapter (which is SO Frank!Coded imo, like absolutely fits his fears and self-deprecation) and the myth of Hades/Persephone.

Lastly, a HUGE thank you to @saradika for the beautiful free divider I used in this fic!

w/c: 5.4k (poem not included, this is 17 pages y’all)

When Hades decided he loved this girl he built for her a duplicate of earth, everything the same, down to the meadow, but with a bed added.

Everything the same, including sunlight, because it would be hard on a young girl to go so quickly from bright light to utter darkness

Gradually, he thought, he'd introduce the night, first as the shadows of fluttering leaves. Then moon, then stars. Then no moon, no stars.

Let Persephone get used to it slowly. In the end, he thought, she'd find it comforting. A replica of earth except there was love here.

Doesn't everyone want love? He waited many years, building a world, watching Persephone in the meadow. Persephone, a smeller, a taster. If you have one appetite, he thought, you have them all.

Doesn't everyone want to feel in the night the beloved body, compass, polestar, to hear the quiet breathing that says I am alive, that means also you are alive, because you hear me, you are here with me. And when one turns, the other turns—

That's what he felt, the lord of darkness, looking at the world he had constructed for Persephone. It never crossed his mind that there'd be no more smelling here, certainly no more eating.

Guilt? Terror? The fear of love? These things he couldn't imagine; no lover ever imagines them.

He dreams, he wonders what to call this place. First he thinks: The New Hell. Then: The Garden. In the end, he decides to name it Persephone's Girlhood.

A soft light rising above the level meadow, behind the bed. He takes her in his arms. He wants to say I love you, nothing can hurt you but he thinks this is a lie, so he says in the end you're dead, nothing can hurt you which seems to him a more promising beginning, more true.

Tracing his fingers along the page, Frank reread the stanzas. He was not quite sure what kept drawing him back to this piece. He’d never been a fan of modern poetry, more drawn to the subtlety of the Victorian era. Yet every night this week, when his sweat-soaked body bolted upright with a gasping breath, he read through this piece while his heart rate slowed. 

He has a blurry memory of the story from his childhood. Studying the Greek gods in school, reading excerpts of the Iliad or whatever. He has always been drawn to this specific myth, for whatever reason. Hades and Persephone, darkness and light. But he doesn’t remember it feeling so…corrupt. 

The story he had learned was one of great romance: two unlikely lovers fighting against the odds, reshaping the earth to remain together. But the way Glück illustrates the story illuminated a more sinister interpretation. One night, in an insomnia-induced haze, he’d read page after page about the two gods, trying to find a definitive answer to the question that bounced around his mind. Did Hades ruin poor Persephone? Was their love itself ruinous?

Glück sure seemed to think so. Maybe that was what sparked his interest in the piece. The idea that love could tarnish something so pure—Frank sure had a fair share of experience with that. 

With a hefty sigh, he closed the book, glancing at the clock. 4:05 am. Digging the heels of his hands into his eyes, he weighed his options. 

“Up for a jog, Max?” Frank murmured, looking to the canine who was curled up in his crate. The dog just snored. “Suit yourself, bud.” 

Slipping into a pair of athletic shoes and a light sweatshirt to accompany his sweats, he stepped out the door and towards the stairs, almost colliding with a young woman frantically darting down the hall. 

“So sorry. Have a nice day!” The figure whisper yelled at him as she ran past. 

He takes a second to regain his bearings, before plastering on a scowl and heading off on his run. 

The outing was refreshing to a degree, but his mind was still plagued with thoughts of his wife and the darkness that had consumed her, just as it had Persephone. 

Curtis let his eyes follow the pacing form in front of him as he let out a sigh. Having been a friend of Frank’s for some time now, he wasn’t a stranger to moodiness or the other man’s incredibly fiery temper, yet Frank had been worse than usual lately. It seemed like the drop of a pin could set him off these days, and Curtis could practically see a cartoon storm cloud following him around with the way he’d been glowering lately. Curtis had hoped David would be able to shed some light on the cause of the behavior, but the technician was as clueless as him. 

They (they is a term very loosely used, given that David was overtly opposed to the idea,) decided to ask Frank about it the next time he visited Curtis. So, here they both were, watching Frank stomp across the floor and waiting for him to explain himself. Finally, Frank turned to them. 

“You gonna keep starin’ at me like I’m a goddamn explosive or are ya gonna ask me your fuckin questions so we can move on?” Frank’s growl made David flinch. 

“Hey, easy there, big guy. This isn’t an interrogation.” David pleaded, trying to wipe off the coffee he had inadvertently spilled on himself. 

“We’re here to help you, Frank. Same as always. Something’s been eating you away recently and we wanted to check in.” Curtis reasoned, looking between David and the marine. 

“M’ fine.” Frank grunted, draining the rest of his own coffee and stalking over to the machine for a fresh pour. 

David rolled his eyes, gesturing to Frank pointedly. “Told you he wouldn’t want to talk about it.” 

Apparently this was not the right thing to say, because Frank stilled with the pot of coffee in his hands. “You two are talkin’ ‘bout me now? Am I entertainin’ enough for ya? Jesus.” He slammed his cup down, grabbing his jacket from the seat next to Curtis and heading for the door. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, did you have somewhere else to mope?” Curtis asked with a raised brow, almost amused by how childish Frank was being. 

“Anywhere but here would be nice. That way I’m not interrupting your fuckin’ drama club.” Frank snapped, twisting around to face Curtis. “You wanna make me your pet project? Fine. Keep doing it when I’m not fuckin’ here.” 

“Frank, we weren’t—we were just worried about you, that’s all. You’ve been really…down lately and—“ David struggled to reason with the furious man. 

“Oh, have I? So sorry to be such a goddamn stick in the mud, Lieberman. We all know life has been real nice to me so I should be more grateful, ‘s that it?.” Glaring at the pair of men before him, Frank threw on his jacket and walked out, slamming the door behind him. 

Curtis sighed, sipping his coffee and turning to David. “I should’ve known better than to think he would talk this out. He says he’s fine, we treat him like he’s fine. He’s a grown ass man who can work up the balls to ask us for help if he needs it.” 

David barked a laugh. “We both know he won’t though.”

“Yah…you’re probably right about that.” 

Frank was still fuming as he trudged through the city streets at sunset. His mood had been worse than usual lately, but his friends’ inquiry just made him feel guilty and stupid for not knowing why. Things hadn’t been too bad recently. The past few missions he’d taken on had gone smoothly—to the point where it had been over a month since Curtis had to help stitch him up, and that had to be a record. Not to mention, he’d stopped an international arms dealer last week while on his own job, putting him on Madani’s good side for the first time in his miserable life. 

His fist clenched around Max’s leash, but the dog seemed entirely unbothered by his irritation. Happily trotting next to him, gazing up with adoration every once in a while. 

Frank sighed as they reached the entrance to his building, stopping his brisk pace for a moment to give the dog a scratch. “I’m sorry I’ve been out so much, bub. We’ll do this more, promise.” 

Max simply spun away from him, sniffing the air. Frank gave a weak chuckle, shaking his head at the dog’s ambivalence. The pair started up the stairs towards their floor, Max pulling harder than usual. When they reached the landing, Max froze as Frank headed for his front door. Stumbling backwards briefly, Frank tried to start moving again, but Max held firm—letting the leash grow stiff between them. 

“Max. C’mon, bud. Le’s go.” The pit bull simply gave Frank a piercing look, before abruptly jerking backwards, wriggling his head. 

“Max, what the hell, stop that!” Desperately, Frank tried to grab his dog, but Max was too quick. Within moments, he’d slipped free of his collar and taken off. 

Frank sprinted after him, heart sinking as he realized Max was beelining for an open apartment door. The last thing he needed was a goddamn dog-induced injury suit. 

Reaching the doorway, Frank saw Max sniffing around a young woman happily—the same woman who had almost run into him this morning. To Frank’s disbelief, she laughed. The sound was surprised, but bright and it pulled at his heart in a way he did not have time to unpack. 

“Hey, big guy!” You held your hand out for Max to sniff, which he did enthusiastically. “You lost?” 

Max gave you a few exuberant licks before sticking his nose back to the ground and snuffling around your kitchen, clearly looking for something. 

Eventually, Frank unfroze from his stupor and spoke. “I am so sorry, ma’am. He’s never gotten loose like that before. Max, c’mere.” 

Seemingly through with his rebellious phase, the dog sauntered up to Frank, tail wagging, before turning to allow Frank to reattach his collar. 

Standing in front of Frank, you gave another beautiful laugh, beaming up at Frank from where you were standing before him. “That’s quite alright. I’m never opposed to a new friend. Besides, my kitchen is quite literally filled with dog treats at the moment, so I can’t exactly blame him for his actions. Still smiling, you pulled a tray of dog biscuits from the counter next to you, giggling as Max sat down expectantly. 

“Can he have one? They’re chicken flavored, if that’s an issue.” You looked at Frank, questioningly. Still mortified by his dog’s outburst and quite honestly shocked that this gorgeous woman was still talking to him, he stammered. “Uh—yah, that’s. That’s fine.” 

Your smile widened as you grasped a few treats. “Here, bubba.” Max snatched the treats from your hand, greedily gulping them down before moving closer to you and holding up a paw. 

Laughing again, you set down the tray and crouched to shake his outstretched paw. “Well aren’t you a talented pup. What’s his name?” You turned to Frank, one hand scratching behind the dog’s ears. 

“This is Max…And I’m Frank.” His vocal chords seemingly operating on their own, Frank cursed himself for the honesty. Why on earth did he feel compelled to give this woman his life story? 

“Nice to meet you, Max!” You ruffled the fur on the pit’s head, chuckling as he kissed your arm. “And you as well, Frank. My name is-“ and your name tumbled off your lips. You held out a hand to him. Frank gave a small grimace of a smile, grasping your hand and repeating your name back to you. It was beautiful and more than suited you. 

“It’s very nice to meet you ma’am. I should, uh, we should go.” Frank said lamely, tugged on Max’s leash to exit your apartment. 

Grinning at him still, you waved goodbye. “Have a nice night, Frank. Stop by anytime” 

The next time he saw you, you were struggling to lug massive cardboard boxes into your apartment. It had been a few days since Max made your acquaintance and he’d been avoiding damn near everyone, which had only worsened his bad mood. 

As he took a few steps towards his front door, trying incredibly hard to not stare at your beautiful figure in the low cut sundress you were wearing, a loud crash caught his attention. 

“Shit!” You cursed, jumping back quickly to avoid smashing your foot underneath the box you’d dropped. 

“You, uh, need a hand?” Frank grumbled, shuffling closer to you. 

“Oh, hi Frank! Sorry I was so focused on this thing that I didn’t see you.” There was that beaming smile again. Frank shied away like it would burn him. 

“Ain’t a problem. So…you want help?” He asked again, rubbing at his nape as he blushed. Why on earth would you want his help when he acted like he’d never met another human before? 

“That would be amazing. This bed frame is way heavier than I was prepared for.” You kicked the box lightly, glaring at it. 

Frank shifted it up into his arms with ease. “Where would you like it?” 

“The room to your left please!” You chirped, pointing him in the room’s direction. “Thank you so much for your help.”

Frank set the heavy box down, turning back to you. “Looks like you needed it. You ain’t exactly dressed for lifting this.” Frank scoffed, before realizing in horror what he’d just said. 

“You don’t like my dress?” Your voice was soft and you looked at him with round eyes. He cursed himself for being born. If the world was fair, no one would ever make you look like that. His darkness was all consuming. 

“Oh, shit, I wasn’t thinking. I—“ 

You bit your lip, a sly grin spreading across your face. “I’m teasing you, Frank. I came right from work and didn’t have time to change. It’s a ridiculous outfit for building furniture. Please, sit! I have something for you.” You ushered him over to your couch. 

Frank tilted his head ever so slightly, surprised that you weren’t immediately put off by his harsh demeanor and towering stature. After a moment of thought, he practically collapsed to the cushions, the exhaustion of the past few weeks crashing over him. He was acutely aware that he hadn’t been sleeping well, but he hadn’t realized the ache that had settled in his bones until now.

You retreated to your kitchen, pulling a tin of cookies out of your pantry and offering them to Frank. “As a thank you for your assistance: my world-famous chocolate chip cookies.”

Gently lifting the tin from your hand, Frank felt the corner of his mouth quirk down at the thought of mooching off of you when you’d just met. “It wasn’t any trouble. I don’t want to take your food.” He grumbled, eyeing the tin for a moment before you groaned. 

“You’re killing me here, Frank. Indulge me, please!” Your eyes flickered between the tin and his grumpy face pointedly. He rolled his eyes, pulling a cookie from the box. 

The cookie was truly one of the best things Frank had ever eaten. Soft and buttery with a sprinkle of salt on top. He finished the treat in three bites, licking his fingers before your giggling reminded him that he was being observed. 

“So…are they sufficient payment?” A shit-eating grin appeared across your face and Frank felt his mood lift even further despite his brief embarrassment. 

Popping his thumb out of his mouth, he felt himself flush. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

You waved a hand, brushing aside his embarrassment. “Oh please, I’m just glad you liked it! Half the reason I bake for other people is for the compliments.” 

“You deserve them. That was…a damn good cookie.” Frank rubbed a hand over the back of his neck but you seemed completely unphased by his stiff social skills. “What’s in that box?” He nodded to the opened one in front of your couch, snatching another cookie from the tin. 

“Well, I moved in a few weeks ago and didn’t have the foresight to order my furniture in advance. So,” you spread your arms, gesturing to the myriad of tools and wooden pieces on your floor. “Tonight is night one of furnishing my apartment.”

“That seems…like a real chore.” 

“Oh it is. But I’ve been sleeping on a mattress on my floor for three weeks, so I sort of need a bed frame. Like ASAP.” You narrowed your eyes at the box in the other room like it had bested you in a fight. 

“Did ya, um, did ya want some help with…” Frank trailed off, gesturing to your inanimate foe. 

“Oh gosh, I couldn’t ask you to do that. I wouldn’t wish IKEA furniture on my worst enemy.” You laughed, shaking your head. 

“Ain’t a problem, if you’re ok with me snackin’ on those miracle cookies while I work.”

“Ok, one:” You began, holding out a finger. Frank bit a lip to keep from laughing. Bossy little thing, aren’t ya? “You can eat all of those cookies if you help me build that motherfucking thing.” A boisterous laugh burst out of Frank at your pretty mouth cursing so openly. “And two: you will be snacking on them while we work because I would actually be the devil if I made a sweetheart like you build the hellscape that is the ‘Songesand’ all on your own.”

“Trust me, I’m no sweetheart.” 

You grinned at him. “We’ll see about that, sweetheart.” 

Hours and an empty tin of cookies later, you were ready to call it quits. 

“If this bolt doesn’t tighten all the way, I swear to God I am going to lose it.” You pouted dramatically, dropping the pieces you were attaching to the floor with a clatter. 

Frank huffed a tiny laugh. “Lemme see.” Inspecting the piece, he unscrewed the bolt a tad and tightened it with ease. You groaned. 

“I swear it was broken a second ago. Are you a witch or something?” You flopped to the ground with a sigh, looking up at him through thick lashes. 

“Nah. Just good at building things, I s’pose.” 

“Well, I really appreciate your help. Can I cook you dinner? As a thank you?”

“I don’t wanna overstay my welcome…” Busying himself with the furniture in front of him, he avoided your studious gaze. 

“It’s not a big deal. And it would actually encourage me to eat today.” 

Frank whirled to face you. “You haven’t eaten today?” 

You shrugged, “Yah, I tend to get distracted.” 

“That ain’t good for ya.” Frank sighed, trying to decide what the priority should be. “A’right. If it’ll make ya eat, ya can cook for me.” 

You smiled, your eyes catching his with a soft gaze. “That’s so sweet of you.” And, with that, you bustled away to start dinner. 

Throwing himself back into the task at hand, Frank had your bed frame assembled and was pulling your mattress onto it in no time. Brushing his hands together, he returned to the living room, tidying up the scraps of cardboard and styrofoam littering the ground. 

“Frank, please sit down! You’ve just saved me hours of work, I can clean up.” You raised your voice so he could hear you from the kitchen. 

“It’s no trouble.”

“Dinner’s ready anyway. Sit, please!” You encouraged, handing him a bowl of some delicious smelling pasta. 

Eagerly digging in, Frank almost moaned at the first bite. “How are you so good at this?” He asked, stuffing another forkful into his mouth. 

You giggled, “Culinary school, and years of practice.” 

“Culinary school, huh?” 

“Yah…” You laughed a little sadly, moving the pasta around in your bowl. “I’ve always liked cooking and I had this crazy dream of opening a bakery a while ago.” 

Frank swallowed, forcing himself to continue the conversation even though he could feel himself blushing at his inability to talk like a normal fucking person. “You’re really good at it. What happened?” 

Stiffening slightly next to him, you waved off the question. “Oh you know, killer capitalism and all that. But, I work in a cafe which means I get to bake to my heart's content without all the nitty gritty business stuff. Like taxes.” You made a face at the thought and Frank snorted. 

Finishing his dinner, he noticed you studying him again. It had been a while since someone had shown such genuine interest and care towards him. His heart fluttered in a way he hadn’t felt in years, and it struck a nerve. Minuscule grin falling from his face, he stood abruptly. 

“I gotta go.” 

“Oh, ok.” He didn’t dare look at your face and risk seeing it fall. 

Pacing to your doorway, he turned towards you marginally. “Thanks for the food.” 

“Thank you for giving me a platform to sleep on tonight. You’ve saved my hips a world of pain.” Your smile was small but genuine. You seemed almost…hesitant. As he was about to tread down the hallway to his own place, you wrapped him in a sudden embrace. “Have a goodnight, Frank.” 

His heart tugged, insisting that he return the embrace, but he couldn’t risk it. Instead, he squeezed your shoulder and quickly headed home. 

After another night of restless sleep, he woke up in an even fouler mood than before. Yanking the door open on his way to work, he almost stomped over a package sitting on his doorstep. Given that it was just past 5 in the morning, he was a little suspicious of the bag at his feet. Gingerly picking it up, he turned it around and, despite himself, broke into a small smile. 

The brown paper bag had a handwritten note, “Don’t be a stranger, Sweetheart” with your signature and phone number underneath. Stapled to the present itself was a brochure for one “Rainy Day Bakery”, complete with pictures of your smiling face surrounded by other employees. Feeling his shitty mood melt away, just a little, he opened the bag and found a short stack of fresh chocolate chip cookies. He sank back against his door, closing his eyes. 

Screw it.

Twirling around the kitchen, softly singing the lyrics to the song playing overhead, you placed your tray of bread into the oven. 

“God. You’re worse than usual today.” Your coworker, Stacy, groused, hefting a giant sack of flour up onto your prep table. You laughed at her, nudging her shoulder. 

“It’s a great day, Stace! It’s beautiful outside and we’ve had steady business all morning. Plus, Janet is letting me try out some new flavors this week and I am stoked!” You squealed. 

“How did I ever become friends with morning people,” She fake gagged and you smacked her. 

“You love our exuberance, don’t lie.” 

“Yah, yah. Whatever.” She rolled her eyes. 

“Did someone call for a morning person?” Your other primary coworker, Leo, entered the room with a dramatic spin. 

“The only thing worse than one of you, is both of you. I’ll take the counter.” Stacy mumbled, stalking back out to the front of the store. You and Leo giggled after her, knowing she was hiding a smile. 

“So, what’s on the docket for the rest of the day, princess?” Leo positioned themself at the stainless steel bench next to you, looking ready to take on whatever weird ideas you threw their way. 

“I’m thinkin’ more classic cheesecakes, those did well last week. Then maybe lemon meringue bars or key lime minis? Something citrusy. Thoughts?” You tilted your head, awaiting their response. 

“Let’s do the lemon pie shortbread bars. Those are always popular. You want to prep the dough, I’ll start juicing?” 

“You read my mind.” Whipping out the ingredients, the two of you danced around each other in a practiced waltz. You’d been friends since culinary school and had pretty much been a package deal for every employer afterwards. You acted as a well oiled machine, and the cafe was booming because of it. 

As you gently pressed large wads of shortbread into pans, Stacy poked her head back through the staff door, breaking your focus. “Someone’s here for you, princess.” 

Scrunching your brow, you shouted over your shoulder. “I told her I didn’t have time to grab lunch this week.” 

“It’s not your mom. It’s some guy. Says he’s your neighbor?” 

Your hands stilled. “Yah, ok, I’m coming, Stace.” Scooting past Leo—and their eager, teasing grin—you gave them a pointed look. “Stop it.”

“He came to visit you. At work.” Leo singsonged. 

“It might not even be him.”

Leo rolled their eyes back to the pot in front of them. “It’s him.” 

Traipsing after Stacy into the customer portion of the cafe, your face broke out in a massive smile as you saw Frank at the register. His arms were crossed and he looked nervous, eyes shifting around, trying his best to avoid Stacy’s cold gaze. 

“Hey, Frank! Welcome to Rainy Day! What can I get ya?” You placed your hands on your hips and looked at him with excited expectation. 

“Coffee?” You giggled at his simple response which made his blush deepen. “I uh, shit, that sounded stupid. I don’t know…”

“It didn’t sound stupid, sweetheart. I was just thinking about how nice it is to not have to make a super complicated drink. Stace can you get me a large cup of the dark roast. I’m assuming hot and no cream or sugar?” You looked at Frank, waiting to see if your prediction was correct. 

“Fuck, am I that obvious?” He groaned, his face beet red as he avoided your eyes. 

“There’s nothing wrong with enjoying the simple things, Frank.” 

Stacy passed over the drink. “2.50.” She stated with no emotion, feigning disinterest in the conversation. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw her giving Frank a subtle once-over. 

Frank passed over a ten. “Keep the change.” 

“Aw, that’s so sweet! Thank you,” your lopsided grin was a permanent fixture whenever he was present. It was going to be the death of him. He’d do anything to make you keep that smile. 

“I—um, wanted to visit your cafe, since you asked me to, I mean—“

Your smile softened as his nervousness peaked. “I appreciate the visit, Frank. Come by anytime. Oh! Before you go, actually,” You fluttered off, daintily grabbing a pastry from the case to your left. You handed him a beautifully decorated confection, but your signature smile held a tinge of anxiety. You clearly cared about his opinion, he wasn’t really sure why. 

“I, uh, didn’t order this.” Frank announced gruffly, holding the pastry in his hands as if it was trying to bite him. 

Rolling your eyes, you laughed cheerfully, “I know, silly. You think I’m going to let you leave without breakfast?” Hands back on your hips, Frank felt a familiar warmth bloom as an almost imperceptible smirk flickered across his mouth. Bossy. 

“Are you really chastising me for skipping a meal after what you said yesterday?” He quirked an eyebrow. 

“Do as I say, not as I do.” You shrugged, looking between him and the pastry. “Well? Don’t leave me hanging!” 

“Are you always this demanding?” Frank scoffed with a slight twinkle in his eyes. 

“Yes.” Stacy and Leo called in unison, making you gasp in false betrayal. 

“Fine, I’ll eat it myself.” You held out your hand to retract the pastry, but Frank drew it closer to himself. 

“Never said I wouldn’t try it, Sunshine.” Your exaggerated pout nearly disappeared at the nickname. “Pretty sure you’ll pop your lid if I don’t.” 

He took a bite of the pastry, savoring the incredible combination of flavors. “‘S real good, what is it?” 

“Baklava inspired croissant. It’s something new I am trying and you strike me as someone who wouldn’t be satisfied by my whimsical ideas alone. You’re…honest, it’s nice.” 

Taken aback, Frank hesitated before swallowing his mouthful. “I…uh—thanks.” His voice was soft. He wasn’t quite used to receiving compliments about anything other than his ability to end a life. 

“Sorry if I was too pushy, a lot of the people who come in here are more concerned with their hipster image than truth. It’s nice to have someone who gives their actual opinion on my work, is all.” You bit your lip, eyes trained on his. 

“I was just teasin’, Sunshine. You can boss me around whenever you want.” 

You grinned. “I think I’ll take you up on that, Frankie.” You winked, making him chuckle. 

“Oh, you’re a handful, aren’t ya?”

“No turning back, Frank. You’re my friend now. Ask my coworkers, I’m not easy to get rid of.” You batted your eyelashes at him and he shook his head, looking to Stacy and Leo behind you. 

“Trust me, I’ve tried.” Stacy gave a tremendous sigh and Leo shoved her. 

“Well, thanks. For the…coffee and stuff.” Frank ended with, lamely. 

“I’m glad you liked the pastry! If you ever want to be my guinea pig, let me know. I’m pretty sure my friends are tired of me asking.” You chuckled, looking sheepishly at Leo and Stacy who gave dramatic nods. 

“I’d uh…I’d like that.” 

You beamed. “You’re a lifesaver, truly. Just text me if you’re ever up for trying things. You have my number now.”

“I do. I…uh, gotta run but…thanks again” Frank gave a curt nod to the three of you. 

“Have a good day, sweetheart.” You waved him goodbye. 

You were definitely going to be the death of him. 

Your phone buzzed, startling you out of your post-work tv-induced trance. 

Unknown: Hey. This is Frank. In case you need my number or whatever. 

You: Hey Frank! Haven’t talked to you in forever 😉

Frank: Sorry to bother you

You: Don’t be silly. You could never bother me. 

You: Are you hungry?

Frank: I guess? Why?

You: There’s a cute little Persian place that just opened a few blocks from here. I’ve been dying to try it but was too embarrassed to go alone. They allow dogs on the patio, if you and Max are interested?

Frank: Sounds good. Be over in a sec. 

Your heart spun around in your chest. Dashing to your bathroom, you fiddled with your outfit and hair, reapplying makeup and adjusting your floral patterned dress. Catching your own eyes in the mirror, you scolded yourself. Frank wasn’t fully a stranger anymore, but you didn’t know much about him. He didn’t wear a wedding band, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t involved with someone. You were getting ahead of yourself. The knowledge that your efforts might be futile weren’t enough to make you wipe off your fresh coat of lipstick, though. 

A knock at your door broke you out of your thoughts. Rushing to open it, you were spellbound. Frank had cleaned up, probably not for you personally, but your naive little heart couldn’t help but hope. His wavy hair was pushed away from his face and his beard had been trimmed. Wearing his signature dark jacket, he looked…marvelous. 

Prying your jaw from the floor, you smiled at him. “You look really nice, Frank.” 

“So do you, sunshine. Max was napping and refused to get up. Is it alright if it’s just us?”

“More than.” You grinned up at him sweetly. 

“Lead the way, Sunshine.” His deep voice rumbled. You grabbed one of his large hands in both of yours (which definitely did not make him blush) dragging him to the stairs. 

Frank knew he was treading a dangerous line. This was the 4th time in a week he’d seen you, but he couldn’t get enough. Your smile was intoxicating and your bubbly yet demanding personality was goddamn enchanting. For fuck’s sake, his hand that you had held still burned with warmth and he never wanted it to fade. He knew his darkness could ruin you, but he was defenseless to your lilting voice and endless optimism. 

Which is how he found himself across from you in a quaint little spot a few blocks from your building. Strings of colorful lights spanned the perimeter. Apparently you knew one of the chefs because the kitchen had prepared a tasting menu of sorts for the two of you, and Frank was not above reaping the benefits of what you’d sown. 

Dish after amazing dish was placed in front of the two of you and Frank was putting them away, you were eating less but seemed to be enjoying everything just the same. As you both moaned around a bite of a sort of lamb stew, your eyes twinkled. 

“So, Frank, how was your day?” The question was eager and genuine. He was still taken aback by your desire to know him, to care about him. 

“Fine. Yours?” 

“My day was lovely! I made a couple of my favorite recipes and had a handsome visitor at the cafe. Now I’m having a fantastic meal. I’m a lucky gal.” Eyes still sparkling, they scrunched as you smiled. 

“A handsome visitor, huh?”

“Oh you’d like him. He’s all tough and brooding, but I just know there’s a good man underneath all of that.” 

“Ya just know, huh? What’s hiding underneath all that happiness of yours then, sunshine?” 

“An overwhelming sense of curiosity.” You smirked at him. Your flirty tone traveled straight down in his being. Giving a breathy laugh, he deflected. 

“How are you so…peppy all the time?” At his question, your seductive gaze faded to a much more solemn one. 

“I don’t know, I guess it just became a habit… My, uh, my dad died. When I was young. My mom didn’t handle it well. So, it started as a defense mechanism? I suppose? But now…now it’s just who I am.” You averted your eyes, picking at the dish in front of you. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be a downer.” You forced a small laugh. 

“Hey,” Frank’s firm yet gentle tone forced you to look at him once again. “You’re not a downer. Anything ya wanna tell me, I’ll listen, yah?” 

You nodded, smile coming back to the edges of your lips. “Thanks, Frankie.” 

“Can I ask you another question?” When you nodded, he continued. “Do you put, like, crack in those cookies of yours? I swear you gave me an addiction, sunshine.” 

A laugh escaped you and his heart soared. There’s my girl. 

Taglist: @cheshirecat484

[perry-the-platypus-f1cs]

Ao3 link:

Bell knew he was dying after he saw Adler draw his gun. In truth, he was dead after he found out what they did to him. No name, no birthday, no nothing; he was a shell of who he was—a book with its pages ripped out, a long-forgotten song twisted and turned by a cruel artist.

What he did not expect was how much it would hurt. The bullet piercing his cheek; embedding itself within his already broken body. He experienced pain worse than this before that he knew, but he didn't know when, how, or why. He feels himself falling. He feels the ground crunch and crack underneath him. He feels it all—every pain, every ache. He can feel blood pour from his mouth; he can taste the horrible metallic flavour of blood he's felt time and time before, all of which he doesn't remember because of Russell Adler.

Bell pov: My mouth is dry. My back hurts. My neck aches everything *HURTS*. I crack my eyes open slightly only to be met by the harsh sunlight and a dark silhouette. My eyes blink and focus in on the man who, for some reason, seemed familiar.

Like he was from a dream that I no longer remember. I have a feeling I know him from somewhere. I can feel my eyes adjust further as I lazily blink my ears, suddenly awakening at the sound of the man speaking, "как разочаровывает... очень жаль, ты всегда был лучшим из нас, Сэмюэл." His words are harsh and cutting. I can feel my heart sinking, but for whatever reason I do not know, until I feel rough hands wrap around my arms and hoist me upwards into a kneeling position, blood still pouring from my mouth. 

I forced myself to look up at the man again for one last time. I do not know where I find the strength to do so, but I lift my head up and meet his gaze. Realisation crashes down on me, memories rushing back from a long forgotten past... "..sir...." I muttered, my words muddled and accented unnaturally. A sharp pain then flashes through my body as I feel myself being strapped down to a stretcher, and then everything goes dark.

*BEEP*

*BEEP* 

*BEEP BEEP BEEP* 

The steady beeping of a heart monitor wakes me from what felt like hell. My body still aches, but the pain has subsided. I blink, my eyelids heavy as I finally open my eyes. I am met with a harsh, sterile white light that blinds me for a few moments. I blink again and again, trying to shut my eyes to the light. Once my eyes go into focus, I turn my head to get a better look at my surroundings, only to be met with sterile white walls and medical equipment. It's safe to assume I'm in a hospital, but where and why?

As I speculated, I did not realise that someone had entered the room until a voice spoke up, snapping me from my thoughts, "You're finally awake." The voice spoke calmly and almost surprised. I turn my head towards the door where the voice came from, and I see a slightly tall, lean man wearing hospital scrubs and a medical mask. I go to speak, but my mouth is dry and my throat is sore. I respond with a raspy and shaky voice, "Where am I?" I ask tensely and am unsure if I should trust the man.

He walks up to my bedside, grabs a clipboard that was resting on one of the side tables, and speaks in a gravely rough voice, "You are currently in Lappi Central Hospital." I am Doctor Michaels. You're currently under my care. It truly is magical that you're alive considering your wounds. "In fact, you were pronounced dead until last week, when you regained brain activity.” As he speaks, I'm looking around the room, realising how much unusual medical equipment I'm strapped up to. “There is someone here for you, and she will explain everything else to you," he says before placing the clipboard back down and looking at me before walking out of the room, leaving me in a questioning silence, glancing around the room, 'Who could be here for me?' I think to myself. I wait for a few minutes until once again the door opens, but this time a woman steps in.

She's dressed in a purple blouse and grey pants with a lanyard strapped around her neck. I glance at the label, anger bubbling in my heart as I see the logo. She sits down in a chair next to my bedside and speaks with a slight American accent, "Hello, Bell. My name is Kate Laswell—"I cut her off before she can continue "your CIA." I say, despite my weak state, my voice still conveys my hostility towards her. She looks slightly surprised by my hostile town before composing herself and speaking again. "Yes, I am. Will that be a problem, Bell?" she questions, tilting her head slightly, waiting for my answer. I speak up again, lying through my teeth.

"No, it won't; I'm just wondering how CIA personnel managed to get into Soviet territory," I say. The last part, matter of fact, she picks up on this but dismisses it and continues to talk. 

"As I was saying, my name is Kate Laswell. Now you may be disoriented and confused, but that is completely normal for your current situation. Speaking of which, there are several scientists still trying to figure out how on earth your body managed to maintain itself without any physical changes during a forty-year coma.” She finishes speaking, looking at me, waiting for my reaction, and I feel a cold sweat fall down my back as I hoarsely speak up, my voice quivering, “Fifty years? I ask, my eyes wide in disbelief. “That's neither possible,” I say in disbelief, shaking my head and looking down at myself strapped up to weird machines I've never seen before in my life. I then glance back up at her, “You're playing some sick fucking game here; there's no fucking way."

She cuts me off sharply as panic seeps into my voice, opening the file in her hand and turning it around for me to see the file is worn more so than the last time I saw it, but sure enough, it was *Bells* file *my* file all blacked out in dark marker. The only thing the eye can see is my callsign and the dates and names of the missions I went on, as well as some other small details, but still, the reports and everything else blacked out in harsh ink. The file itself was tattered and worn. Laswell then speaks up again.

“Bell. What happened to you is a historical phenomenon. You were found several hours away from civilisation in the Solovetsky Islands by a group of Cold War historians. You were airlifted to this hospital, and the CIA was contacted when they saw your uniform.” She spoke slowly, “Your body sustained its injuries and kept you alive for forty years without a physical change to your body. That is unheard of in human history.” She finishes leaning back in the chair and closing the file, placing it next to the clipboard on the side table. Her words rendered me speechless as I looked up at her before I spoke again. Now my tone is cautious: “So... what happens to me now?’ I ask uncertainty, hoping she’ll give me a straight answer, thinking back to all the time. Adler and Park answered my questions with vague answers or deflection, but this once it seemed intelligence agencies taught their staff to be blunt because a few moments later Laswell spoke up,

“That depends on what you want." Bell, all of your files and reports are classified to high heaven and hot hell. You could return to the service after you're medically cleared. We could use someone of your calibre and intelligence. You already know that the work is never finished. Or you could live the rest of your life as a civilian.” I do not know what it was, but the way she worded it made it seem like the second option would be hell, and to be fair, she was right just for the wrong reasons. I know for myself that I can never return to being a ‘normal’ civilian, but she's barking up the wrong tree if she believes I will work for the CIA again, especially after what I now know... But what other choice do I have? I can't return to Perseus. Hell, I don't even know if Perseus still exists.

I let out a sigh, “Well, then what choice do I really have? ...” I ask rhetorically before answering my own question, “I’ll go back to the service; I can get you a file that is easier to read,” I say, looking up at her. Hearing my answer, she smiles slightly, nodding her head in understanding before standing up and handing me a thick folder that she had also brought along with her “read up.” She says calmly, “You’ve got some history to learn up on,” she says before standing from the chair and walking out of the room, leaving me with the folder and file. ‘Well, ‘Gotta start somewhere.'" I think to myself as I open the folder and begin to read the contents, mulling over the information in my mind. The folder itself is... muddled mostly dates with pinned events, but what else can you expect from the CIA? 

(Time skip after a few weeks within the hospital bell is finally released after staff cheeks his vitals.)

After leaving the hospital and stepping outside, all I could do was wait, sitting in a desolate airport after getting an Uber, which was an experience. What the hell even is an Uber? It was a taxi, but weird. I'm brought from my thoughts by a voice behind me: “Hello again, Bell.”

I swiftly turn my head around and see Laswell standing with a suitcase in her hand. I speak up, with a raised eyebrow, “Same flight?” She nods before saying, “Follow me, our pilot is ready.” I stand up, grabbing my small duffel bag that she left for me at the hospital. I'm wearing the now clean underclothes that I wore when I was found. It's a black tracksuit with built-in padding. It looks odd without the tack vest and feels weird, but it's all I have. I'll buy more when I get to America. As Laswell and I are walking through the airport, she leads me to a secluded part of the airport before we exit onto the landing pad, and parked just a few meters in front of us is a helicopter. I look at Laswell and speak up in a humorous voice. “A helo really?” 

(Little explanation on what happens with Perseus in the first chapter. basically Perseus found bell but left him for dead.)

(everything is translated through Google translate and I apologize. If there is anything incorrect please leave a comment and tell me what it is and as always have an amazing day or night!)

[meanbossart]

Misc. Ask compilation

These aren't all of the asks I want to reply to, just some that I can answer relatively quickly to clean the ol' inbox out before things get out of hand. Thanks for your patience!

HAHAHA THANK YOU FOR PERUSING AROUND and for enjoying my work! I had a... Weird Gale experience my first playthrough which led to his characterization being what it is in my comics. Here's the beat-by-beat of all the shenanigans: https://meanbossart.tumblr.com/post/740827466716807168/alright-i-am-like-90-sure-there-is-one-line-in-a

And here's just some of my personal thoughts on him! https://meanbossart.tumblr.com/post/736193145686114305/can-you-tell-me-more-about-how-you-would-make-gale

I would be lying if I said I'm not conflicted to know my style still bears some remnants of my edgy teen roots (not your fault not noticing it though, you aren't the first and won't be the last) BUT... That comic did mean a lot to me as a youth, so I guess I should be proud 🤷 and honestly it is a little cool that such a thing would survive for so long in what I do, crazy how that works.

LMAO, re: the bottom/top debacle, I was honestly so surprised to see people react to it like it's something novel. If I ever expected to get any push back on the matter, I thought it would be from people assuming DU drow was the top and taking issue with how violent and big he is (and yknow, some people are weirdly protective of Astarion as if he isn't a sneaky murder machine rippling with lean muscle)

Very disheartening to see that mindset still so alive and well among young people, but I guess it just means I gotta draw DU drow throwing more back and Astarion drooling over more ass until the stereotype is forcefully banished out of people's minds!

(more asks below the cut)

"Sleeper agent activation phrase" absolutely took me out, Thank you so much LOL

YEAH I got it pretty late though, Astarion had already told my durge that he was a vampire of his own accord (and the response was, of course, "no duh") I forgot wheter this happened before or after the first romance scene triggered, but I think after.

Since this was after DU drow decided he was gonna fuck him out of pure contrarian spite and was shamelessly laying it extremely thick, He happilly let Astarion drink his blood. Hell, he was probably a little Too Eager - the guy likes pain and he likes letting people he trusts do with his body whatever they will, and while he didn't yet trust Astarion at that point, that event might've very well reminded him of something from his past that planted a seed which would eventually grow into his genuine affection for the guy.

Ah, he definitely got a half-chub as it happened too. I'm sure Astarion noticed it and just walked off rolling his eyes and thinking "eugh of course" lmao.

Hello!!!

Oh man, I grew up fascinated with horror things. I remember from a very young age just looking at the covers and backs of horror movies at the film-rental even though I wasn't allowed to watch them. I was also easily scared but I sought those things out anyway - I think i just enjoyed the visceral reactions it drew out of me and was always curious about most things taboo.

When I got access to the internet that just opened a (very unfortunate) door to all things vile and awful like it did for so many people at that age in time. Though my tastes have changed a lot since then (Less August Underground, more The Devils kind of guy nowadays) my stories and art are just always going to fall into a horror-y category because I just... Don't think there's many better ways to showcase the human experience and emotional range without many of the elements native to the genre, and I'm all about that.

Thank you for your question and your sweet words, have a good week yourself!

I did a little write-up about that over here! https://meanbossart.tumblr.com/post/742508493562593280/i-dont-have-a-particular-question-in-mind-sorry

That's the result of a scene that happens relatively early in the story I'm writing ("A Novel Experience" on Ao3).

{SPOILERS} DU drow accidentally passes out on a blade which puts a relatively deep gash on his hip. Meanwhile, Astarion is weakened and starved after certain events that transpired the prior night. They have a private exchange both in a somewhat hazy-state of mind and Astarion ends up prodding and prying at his wound while feeding, so it's a laceration and bite mark that just scarred over badly.

Elves apparently don't grow body hair so never LOL guess they'll just have to slip&slide up on each other for heat

[igotanidea]

The Fear : Jason Todd x fem!reader part 6

A/N: DRAMA TIME!

part 1

part 2

part 3

part 4

part 5

***

„Y/N….”

„Hi, Jace.”

„You’re not real.” he stated coldly, stern expression on his face. He let go of her hand the second he realized he was holding it.

“I can assure you I am.” She looked down, saddened. She knew this would hurt, but even the knowledge could not fully prepare her for the amount and intensity of it.

“No.” he shook his head “You’re not. You left. This is not happening.” he jumped to his feet, as far away from her as possible leaving the girl sitting on the floor, watching him walk in circles around the cave. “I don’t believe you!”

“Jay…..” she stood up drawing level with him, once again reaching for his hand but he took a step back, his hazy gaze fixed on her face.

“Stay out of my way!”

“You know I can’t.” she whispered, rooted to the spot. Any move would only make the situation worse.

“I don’t want you here!”

“I know.”

“so why are you haunting me!?”

“Haunting?” she raised an eyebrow at him “haunting, Jay? I’m still alive. Out of everyone in the world you should know how to spot a deceased person.”

“You are dead to me. You were dead to me from the moment you walked out of the manor’s door. The second you gave up on me. On us. “

“I gave up?” she hissed her eyes narrowing “you sure about that?”

“I…….” he hesitated, his eyes slowly becoming more aware, clear sign of getting back in touch with reality and Y/N decided to suppress her anger to the benefit of making hay while the sun was still shining.  

“Focus, Jay. Just for a second and then I’ll leave you alone. What happened? What do you remember?” she took a step forward“tell me…” she whispered moving even closer, within an arm’s reach and much to her surprise, Jason reached out, grabbed her waist and pulled her into his chest, holding so freaking tight. “Jaybrid?”

“It’s really you….” he whispered hiding his face in her messy hair breathing in her scent “you are here…..”

“I am….” Her voice broke when she embraced him back “And you’re safe. No one’s going to hurt you.”

“I missed you. I made a mistake when I let you go. Fucking mistake. Can you forgive me?”

“It’s in the past, Jay.” She patted his back, a bit awkwardly and pulled away making him wince from the lack of contact. “How are you feeling? Are you fully back on Earth?”

“Yeah, I guess so. I mean, now I remember what happened. Is Jimmy safe?”

“Who’s Jimmy?” she frowned but realization came upon her “you mean, the kid you were saving?”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it saving.”

“Whatever.” Y/N shrugged “and that’s the question you should be asking your brothers. I wasn’t at the scene how the hell would I know.”

“Why did you come? You wanted out of Gotham so bad and now you’re back.”

“Dick asked me for help.” She said out loud even if everything inside her was just screaming the truth. I missed you. I missed you. I missed you. She couldn’t confess to that though. Not since she was the reason of their break-up.  Or at least, she believed herself to be the reason.

One month ago

“What the hell?!” Jason burst through the door to Dick’s room, angered and worried. Y/N was laying in his brother’s bed, asleep, her face reddened, her nose swollen, clear signs of sobbing that happened not so long ago. Said brother was sitting on the edge of the furniture holding her hand, rubbing soothing circles onto her palm, making sure she was calm and no nightmares were haunting her.  “What happened?”

“She went through a mental breakdown.”

“What? Why? How?” Jason kneeled next to bed, putting loose strand of hair behind her ear, caressing her cheek. “Why didn’t she call me?”

“She did.” Dick corrected “a couple times actually. And so did I. You were obviously unavailable.”

“What? I didn’t…..” Jay reached for his phone. 10 missed calls “Fuck.”

“Yeah, that’s a good word. She couldn’t reach to you so she just came here. The best thing to do. She was shaking and sobbing like never before when Alfred opened the door and let her in.”

“Why….?” Jay panted “Did someone hurt her? I swear if anyone had the audacity to even come close I will …..”

“Hold it Jason. She never said it, but it was clearly visible it was because of you. She was worried, stressed, scared and tired. She broke down because you were ignoring her. She had no idea where you were and whether you were alive. I guess she was just as lonely as can be.”

“Fuck. She never said anything ……”

“Do you even know her?!” Dick finally snapped at his brother “of course she didn’t. She’s tough. She spend half of her life in belief she’s a burden to everyone and you did nothing to put her right! She was feeding on the scraps of your attention for weeks, Jason! Weeks! And what's even worse, she though she deserved it for being too clingy!”

“I never wanted that. I never considered….”

“Exactly. She’s too good for you, you know. She deserves so much better.”

“And you’re the one to give her that, huh? Nightwing? Of course you always think the best of yourself. You just can’t let any girl walk past you without some hookup, can you?!” Jason hissed, his voice filled with venom.

“Watch your words now, brother.”

“Or what, huh? What. Will. You. Do?”

“Don’t test me.” two vigilantes were  now standing face to face, eyeing each other, ready to strike upon slightest offensive word. They were both in love with the same girl, and even despite the fact that Dick’s feelings were purely brotherly-like, Jason was still jealous. Maybe it was because of his own insecurities and complexes. In this state, they might have really hurt one another if it wasn’t for the quiet, confused voice coming from the side of bed.

“ Guys?” Y/N lifted herself up and rubbed her eyes in a child-like manner, still a bit in a fog, from her anxiety strike and the unexpected, forced nap “what are you doing?”

“Y/N!” Jason rushed towards her, fast enough to outrun his brother “Are you all right?” he fell on the bed next to the girl, grabbing her hands in his, trying to make up for his fuckup.

“A bit dizzy, but apart from that…..”

“Do you need anything?” Dick asked, caringly

“Thank you, Dickie” she smiled at him and Jason fight the urge to clench his fists on his brother’s throat “you’ve already helped me so much.”

“Anytime Y/N.”

“I think you should leave, Dickhead. I’m here now, she’s in good hands.” Jay hissed, hugging Y/N against his chest, closer than Dick would ever be able to get.

“Y/N?”

“I’m good, Dickie. I’ll talk to you later, all right? That is, if Jace won’t crush me, cause at the moment I can’t breathe…..” she tapped on Jason’s shoulder lightly urging him to lose the grip.

“Sorry, baby” a light kiss on her forehead “You got me scared that’s it.”

“I’ll be next door, Y/N” Dick stated “if you need anything just call me, all right?” Y/N smiled and nodded and oldest Wayne left.

“Finally.” Jason sighed

“Jace!” the girl scoffed him lightly “why are you acting like a lunatic? This is your brother. And one of my best friends, so it happens.”

“But you want to be more than friends with him, don’t you?”

“What are you talking about?” she frowned and crossed arms over her chest, sitting up. The possessive attitude Jason was showing a second ago was now turning into anger. “We are friends.”

“And that is why you are sleeping in his bed?”

“Jason…..” she warned narrowing her eyes

“What? You can’t deny the facts, Y/N!”

“Maybe if you were there for me, I would be in yours!” she exclaimed “but guess what, you weren’t! Who do you think I needed most when my head started spinning and my legs gave up on me to the point where I almost fainted?! You, you dumbass! I needed you!”

“So what, now it’s my fault!?”

“YES!” she yelled and it got him by surprise “It is your fault! I never asked for anything! I never asked you to change, to stop your vigilantism! To quit getting yourself hurt. Because I knew how important it was for you. That helping people, whatever your definition of helping may be, was your thing. I just needed you with me. At least sometimes. But …..” she shook her head

“Finish it!”

“Fuck you Jason!”

“Finish that fucking sentence!”

“YOU SHITED ON ME!”

“And Mr. Grayson was here to pick up the pieces of our shattered soul, wasn’t he?!”

“YES! YES HE FREAKING WAS!”

“Well if that’s the case maybe I should just remove myself from the picture. Good luck building your life with him!”

“Wait. You are breaking up with me?!” the sudden rush of anger made her jump out of bed and face him. It was a bit funny how small she looked in comparision to him and yet, how combative she acted.

“You bet I am!” he snorted disparagingly, venom dripping from the words that burnt a bridge built between them and that he couldn't take back now.

“Oh, no, no, no, mister Hood!” she took a few steps towards him and started hitting his chest repeatedly “If anything I am breaking up with you. Not the other way round.”

“As you wish. You know, I could smell this whole relationship deal crumbling for a while now. Good thing you crashed completely. Now you only have yourself to blame. I’m out.”

“You are a bastard, Jayson Todd. But you are right, go back to Artemis. I bet she missed you so damn hard.” Y/N started shaking with both anger and pain.

“I…” he turned on his way towards the door “there is nothing between us.” he grabbed her wrist pulling her closer to him looking her straight into the eyes “Y/n. you hear me? Nothing. “

“Just like there’s nothing between me and Dick and yet you didn’t believe it. You didn't believe me.” she whispered not looking at him, and struggling free. “I think you should go now, Todd.”

She did not call him by his nickname…..

“Y/N…. I…. I’m sorry…..” the realization of everything he just said and how he acted slowly dawned on him.

“Yeah, I am too. Now, go.”

"Y/N.... Please......"

"JUST GO!"

He fucked up all along the line.

They never spoke about that situation again. After two weeks of silence on both parts, she said her goodbyes to Dick, Tim and Damian and left Gotham, and after making a promise to keep in touch moved to the neighboring city to continue her work and experiments in some other lab.

@pinksirensong

@shadow-pancake9

@lwtmonster91

@your-local-cryptid87

@princessbl0ss0m

@baebeepeach

@jasontodd-artemisgrace4life

[equal-shipping]

Kaishin Reveal and What It Means For You

Okay I need everyone to keep their shit together because I think this is being blown out of proportion. What follows is a quick rant about what the hell is going in the DCMK fandom and what is going on in fandom in general cause I don’t know why I’m seeing so many people lose their shit over something that was most likely going to happen followed by a quick lesson by a ‘fandom elder’ on how to ignore canon and make a ship your own. 

Spoilers ahead and whatnot. 

April 11th the DCMK 27 movie came out and information was revealed about how Kaito Kuroba and Shinichi Kudou are now cousins. Twitter lost its mind, Tumblr lost its mind, Discord servers are being created and now everyone is wondering what the hell should they do. 

I’m going to be honest, if you are a creator for KaiShin, please don’t delete your work. 

Either archive it or orphan it but please don’t delete it.

You put time and effort into this, into something you love, and just because the mangaka is so SO set in his ways of every single ship being friends to lovers does not mean you have to follow the same format. This doesn’t make you an incest shipper or whatever, it doesn’t make you a person who you don’t want to be, it’s just something that you had no idea of knowing was going to happen and I hope that you can look back at it fondly. 

Anyways, for those enjoying Kaishin on the sidelines all I’m going to say is Pick a Lane. 

Ignore Canon 

If you are an old time shipper then this may not be new for you. I mean Gosho literally had another ship that turned out to be cousins like at this point it’s ‘who is my cousin’ being played in the entire Detective Conan manga. You either already guessed it, are an active incest shipper (hi, hello, tis a me) or you are used to your favourites dying. This situation is no fucking different. 

Wolfwood is dead, in my head he is alive and well and treating his Plant husband right. 

Sora is missing, not in my head where he is kissing Roxas and Riku and Kairi and whoever else wants to get at the sunshine of the KH universe. 

Ben is dead, NOT IN MY REYLO FANFICTION. 

If you are a person who actively kept up with the manga or actively kept up with the show it is possible to ignore canon because they do not suddenly go super deep into being cousins and knowing about each other. They both don’t know if they are cousins or else the jig would be up immediately and the manga would be finished. You CAN ignore canon and if Kaishin is a ship that brings you joy and just serotonin production I implore you guys to choose this lane if you still want to enjoy Kaishin. 

It’s by far the healthiest option and teaches you how to curate your own fandom experience. 

Alternate Universes and You 

I was in the Hannibal fandom for a while and I clearly remember the ‘Hannibal is not a Cannibal’ tag on AO3. I thought it was hilarious but I would never dare to make fun of it because that is a prime example of CURATING YOUR FANDOM EXPERIENCE. 

Here are some examples on how you can start tagging: 

Not Cousins AU

Kaito and Shinichi aren’t family 

No Family Relation AU 

Pre Kaishin reveal 

Or just make a quick blurb of how you mean this drawing/fic to be perceived. Again, this is your experience and you get to make the space you want to make. It’s up to you to make/interact with the content that makes you most comfortable. Again, if you want to delve into AU’s then that is up to you and I think it’s a pretty good lane for those who just feel weird about the whole reveal. 

Stepping Away

Your moral values are your own, people, and I am in no position or even want to judge them. If you feel uncomfortable about this now, see your love for Kaishin diminishing because of the reveal or just don’t see yourself shipping Kaishin in the future then you are more than capable of measuring your response and stepping away from the ship entirely for your own health. 

Is it going to be sad? Yes, but they are fictional and I recommend having an idea of what you have in your life outside of fandom that makes you happy that you can focus on as you go through this. College, work, whatever hobbies you may have taken up–hell put all your eggs into another ship that you know also brings you joy! 

Do not let this dictate your day or your month or your year. This is just fandom, you don’t have to make a big statement unless asked about it, you do not have to justify your decision to anybody, curate.your.fandom.experience. 

I’m going to end this with a repeat of what I just said. 

This is all fictional. We are playing in a fictional sandbox where we can all make whatever we want in any capacity and as long as it is tagged correctly then nobody’s lines have to be crossed. If you just started enjoying Kaishin, find out how you still want to enjoy it or step away. If you have shipped Kaishin for a while, do the same fucking thing! The east side of the fandom is having a field day with the movie, why can’t the west have some fun too?! 

I’m going to ship Kaishin (however all my reblogs will be moved to my other blog for incest-y stuff and just other content people may not vibe with in general) and hell I might just join the Kaishin Big Bang for the hell of it because I have been shipping this ship since I was 15 years old and I’m about to be 30 so….I’m staying fucking seated cause you aren’t getting me out of this chair, Aoyama, you aren’t getting me to ship Aoko with anyone other an Akako so suck on that. 

Be safe, be smart and curate y’all.

[wasyago]

Episode 97 was crazy. I remember only half listening while doing something else but like my draw dropped and I just stopped whatever I was doing when everything went down.

Also on an entirely different note what did you think of filipe? :)

..... why would you ask about filipe right after this very traumatizing very dramatic moment....? i am so worried now.

anyways yeah filipe is awesome!!!!!!! he didn't deserve any of what happened to him, truly. like, genuinely, that poor poor guy. i feel so bad for him. i can't imagine how scared and conflicted he felt when the curse took hold of him, how betrayed he felt when everyone wanted to get rid of him for something he had no power over. h

e stabbed gill, but he obviously didn't want to, so he healed him hoping it would be at least a little better that way, trying to fix something that he couldn't control... and then it was the exact thing that gave him away, and after which everyone turned on him. just. how misunderstood, mistrusted, betrayed, vulnerable one must feel in that moment? when an accident like this happens, when its not his fault or wish at all but it is done by his hands, and instead of trying to figure it out and help in this conflicting moment his friends just want to toss him? that's insane.

i really appreciate gillion taking a moment to talk to filipe and try to find a solution to their problem or at least some sort of compromise, as flawed as it was. it just meant a lot, and i think it meant a lot to filipe as well. he said he didn't really have a meaning in life before meeting them, and it did feel like it with how easy-going he was about everything. almost like he was desperate for any change in life because his boring existence was slowly draining him of his energy.

and when he met the crew, when he went through their adventure, he felt like living for the first time, he felt alive, like he had a purpose or a goal or something to keep him going. and then this something was stolen from him by a card that altered his soul. for no reason. and it was even worse than before, because now he had a taste of freedom and it was taken away from him.

and then like, filipe pulling the cards trying to fix himself... was too heartbreaking, too heavy. really shines a light at how awful these cards truly are, because they toy with fate and souls of people with no care for anything and its irreversible almost, like, the consequence is too much for the action.

i also hope that filipe stays dead or in hell or wherever he went. first of all, much safer than being with these three. second of all, as a constant reminder of consequences of their actions, that lives matter and that they can and did easily ruin someone's entire existence by wanting to play with fate. like, niklaus is doing the same thing but at least you get something cool out of it and its also entirely on you. the cards are just straight up evil.

also! huge props to grizzly for taking this silly goofy background character and giving him such a horrible story that will forever alter the way the main cast perceives the world around them. awful. terrible. haunting. easily one of the saddest moments in the campaign.

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Arthur Does a Therapie - a Malevolent fic

The Keeper's theory is a painful one.

The Keeper's theory is correct.

The only question now is how Arthur chooses to handle this truth.

Part of the Surrogate series. Written with @sepiabandensis

AO3

-------

CHAPTER ONE

John began pleading before Arthur finished his morning wash.

Arthur, I do not want to go see the Keeper today, he said, voice low and fear-tight. I don’t want to deal with an Outer God. They’re dangerous.

“They are,” Arthur said. “I know they are. Kayne… fuck. I know. All right? But she’s not like them. John, I wouldn’t just put you in danger. I wouldn’t do that.” He pulled on the clothing he’d been given; it felt soft, looser than his usual what-the-fuck uniforms. Hastur wanted to be sure she could unwrap and reach whatever part of him she wished without fuss, apparently.

Well, that thought came out oddly. Arthur’s lips quirked. He blamed the stupid dream. That damned moment in The Woods. John’s tentacles creeping so lightly up his legs—

He shook his head, knocking it out, leaving it behind.

But I’m not like how I was before, John whined. I’m much more… I don’t remember, Arthur. She could take advantage of my memory loss. Do you even have proof she can help?

“She kept you alive.” Arthur’s voice roughened, like he had unpleasant fabric stuffed in there somehow. “Whatever else she is, she did that, and I owe her everything.” He adjusted the comfortable boots. “Do I have to wear the damn cape?”

Hastur had wanted some flair. He claimed it was for warmth.

John huffed. You don’t have to wear any of it. I don’t like this outfit. I can’t see your body. How am I even supposed to talk to an Outer God? They don’t talk. They like to hear screams.

“She doesn’t. I’m telling you, John, she just feels like a person. She’s gentle. She saved your life, and I trust her because of that.” He didn’t mention saving his. “Well. If I don’t wear the cape, he’ll fuss. Besides, John, she’s already seen you and met you. I mean… as you are. We recovered there for days before coming home.” His hands stilled on the cape’s fastening. Home. Carcosa was home. He didn’t want it to be, but it was.

Silently, he cursed the part of his heart that still wanted to go back to Earth, and hoped none of that showed on his face.

It probably did, anyway.

He could feel John settling into a sulk, like a cat hunched in the corner of a room and hissing at anything that came near, but before he could dwell on it further, Hastur arrived.

“My own,” the King in Yellow said, not even complimenting the cape. “Are you ready?”

My own. Arthur still didn’t know how he felt about… that. The title was right. Correct. He felt it, literally in his soul.

He still wasn’t sure what it meant or should mean, so he defaulted to his favorite coping method: he refused to think about it further. “Yes. So’s John.”

Don’t you speak for me!

“Fine. He’s not ready, then.”

Go to hell!

Hastur chuckled, sounding all the more cruel for John’s resistance. “Unfortunate. You had your day to rally yourself, John; I granted it, as I was asked. Now it is time for us to go.”

Fuck you, too, John muttered, but without spice.

John needed help.

Arthur was doing this for him. That meant no holds barred, leaping in, full-bore. “Let’s go.” He knew where Hastur’s outstretched tentacle was, and that also was a sensation he wasn’t sure how to feel about.

For John.

Arthur stepped willingly into that grip. As Hastur lifted him and the crackle of magic seared the air, Arthur tried to settle in, but he  couldn’t help drawing the (stupid dream) comparison.

John’s tentacles had been so much more delicate.

Ugh. He wasn’t keen on meeting the Keeper with that dream fresh in his head, but he had to for John.

For John.

For John.

#

The Scriptorium was active on the other side, the scratching pens and flipping pages mingling with the scents of ink and books.

Hastur exhaled, a large sound, a strangely burdens-down sound, and Arthur didn’t know how to feel about that, either.

Arthur, John breathed, clearly in awe. It’s… huge. This library. There are bookcases that look tall as some of the spires of Carcosa.

“You’ve told me it’s incredible. That it even puts Hastur’s library to shame,” said Arthur.

“It does,” said Hastur without bristling.

John faltered for a second, but Arthur could feel his eyes darting back and forth, could feel John clutching at his hand. There’s power here, Arthur. Real, serious power. But there are humans here, too. A lot of them, and some other denizens of the Dreamlands. They’re wearing robes, and look comfortable, and they’re working. It’s like they barely even notice we’re here.

“I was told she has a lot of researchers,” Arthur said quietly. “They seem… good? Booksy. Happy.”

There’s maybe two dozen human researchers, John said, low and awed. Outer Gods don’t deal with humans much, unless to eat them.

“Yeah,” said a dry voice from the ground, “Keeps isn’t exactly your bog-standard Outer God. I guess I’d know, by this point.”

“The Keeper’s chosen,” Hastur said quietly. “Greetings, Archivist Tabby.”

“Nope,” the girl said. “Still just Tabby. How you feeling, Arthur?”

“Hi, Tabby.” Arthur’s smile was tired, but real; she’d witnessed him at his worst, expelling poison in the most disgusting ways, and never made him feel badly for it. He wouldn’t forget that. “Better, thanks. How’s the baking?”

“Good. This week it’s banana bread. It turned out way better than that bread I made when you were here last time.” Her voice sounded pleased. “Partially because it’s breadlike, as opposed to a cracker. And there’s chocolate chips in it, which slaps.”

“Slaps?” said Arthur.

“Rocks? It's very good,” she over-enunciated in the way she did when some slang of hers went over his head.

John sounded baffled. Why do you look like that?

“Oh, boy,” Tabby said.

“John,” said Arthur. “Be polite.”

Hastur did not step in to help. That ass.

You’re human, John said accusingly.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur started.

What did you do to yourself?

“He’s not… really himself right now,” said Arthur.

“Eh, I’ve gotten similar questions from four-year-olds,” Tabby said. “You’re gonna have to be more specific, bud. Do you mean the hair? The lip ring? The lack of light in my eyes? Gimmie something to work with, here.”

Who are you worshiping with all of this? John demanded.

Arthur sighed. “Yeah, we, um. Really need to see the Keeper.”

What are you getting out of it? And John gasped. You’re chosen, but you’re not even marked!

“Keeps is expecting you. She wanted to let John get re-adjusted to the place without her first,” Tabby said, and there was a distinct tone in her voice that signified she was reaching the end of her patience. “Anyway. It’s good to see you too, Hastur. Keeps has been going nuts for the banana bread when it’s toasted, with some melted butter on top, and I know she’s made a pot of that tea Arthur likes. She’s in the office, if y’all are ready.”

“Thank you.” Hastur acted like nothing awkward was going on, and finally—maybe reluctantly—put Arthur down.

“Which way?” said Arthur.

Wait! What powers are you getting from these choices? Should we do… piercings and dyes? John hollered.

John hadn’t answered him, so Arthur just started walking blind—and walked directly into Tabby, who had stopped dead.

“Arthur,” she said, with a grave seriousness tinged with the most excitement Arthur had ever heard her express. “Can I dye your hair?”

“No,” Hastur rumbled from behind them.

“Oh, fuck off,” Tabby said. “Anyway. Dude, I’ll do such a good job.”

Hastur growled.

Hey! He’s mine—and we’re not going to let you deface Arthur to grow your powers! He’s magnificent as-is!

“I’m so sorry. About both of them,” Arthur said.

Tabby made a magnificent scoffing sound. “I don’t have any powers. I just live here, for fuck’s sake. Turn, like, forty degrees to your left Arthur, follow my voice. He’s cranky, huh?”

“Thanks. And he’s just confused.”

I am not confused! A pause. Except about her!

“He’s really confused,” Arthur added conspiratorially.

“You’re the one flipping your gourd about seeing hair dye for the first time, my guy,” Tabby said dryly. “I think ‘confused’ is the charitable descriptor here.”

“Let it go,” Arthur murmured.

But she’s weird! She’s being weird!

Arthur’s heart lurched. It was such a reminder of how young John was, even though he was simultaneously ancient. “You’re such a contradictory being,” he murmured.

Fuck you!

Arthur snorted. “You know what? Fuck you, too.”

John puffed like an angry bull.

Arthur ignored him and walked in the direction indicated. “Ma’am?” he called.

“Jesus fuck, definitely not ‘ma’am’, thanks,” Tabby said. “Over here. Got the door for you and everything.” And then, just as Arthur got ready to pass through the door, Tabby sighed. “John. Look, for what it’s worth, I’m… I’m glad you’re alright. Even if you’re a dick about it.”

I am not a dick!

“He doesn’t have a corporeal form, so there is no dick,” Arthur said primly (privately deeply pleased at John’s inarticulate snarl), and walked through the door.

“Tabby, I asked you to be nice,” the Keeper said, the frown evident in her voice.

“And I said ‘nuh-uh’,” Tabby replied. “I’m bringing y’all the last of the banana bread. I need more bananas, by the way. Everyone’s been eating it like crazy.”

“I’ll ask someone to obtain more for you. Thank you,” the Keeper said warmly. And then there was the soft shift of silk sliding over itself, and Arthur could feel the force of her gaze, like the sun itself turned to look at him. “Arthur, you’re looking better. And John, so are you! How are you feeling?”

John was absolutely quiet and still, as if to remain unseen.

“I’m feeling better, thank you. Able to eat regularly now,” said Arthur.

John stayed absolutely quiet and still.

“John’s doing a lot better,” Arthur said. “There’s a lot for him to overcome.”

“Indeed there is. Many would consider it insurmountable. I think, given the context, it’s quite brave of you to come see me today,” she said.

John trembled. You’re very large, he said (bravely).

“I am,” the Keeper said sweetly. “Please, take a seat. Hastur, you seem to be feeling much better than the last time we spoke as well.”

“All is well,” said Hastur, by which he could mean anything.

Arthur felt his way to a seat. “I was hoping you could help John adjust more. He… there’s a lot, is all.”

“Of course. Hastur paid for my aid in returning both you and John to your full health,” the Keeper said, clearly for John’s sake. “How are you feeling, John?”

John made a soft, frightened sound. Fine. We can go home now.

“Have you recovered any memories?” she asked, even gentler. “Any small bits of knowledge you shouldn’t otherwise know? Feelings towards people that have no basis? Deja vu?”

I… one. Just one.

Arthur knew his face fell. He couldn’t stop it.

Does she know? John whispered.

“I don’t know,” Arthur said. “Probably.”

A bad memory, John said.

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” the Keeper said gently. “Negative memories often leave powerful marks on our psyches; I’m sad to say it won’t be the last. Is this memory one you and Arthur shared?”

Yes. Rough. Though we experienced it in different ways.

“Tell her,” Arthur said. “It’s okay. You can tell her what I did.”

John gasped. But Arthur…

“It’s all right.” It was a whisper, delivered with his face turned down. “She probably knows, anyway. Kayne’s show, remember?”

John took a deep, disembodied breath. When… he had Arthur, John said, gesturing in Hastur’s direction, we were thrown into the prison pits, in the Dreamlands wilderness, and starved.

Arthur said nothing.

Hastur said nothing.

For no reason he knew, that made John angry. Starved. Starved. And then he threw this… man into the pit with us—a cannibal, who planned to kill and eat us, too. But I… It hurt. I… when Arthur touches a dead body, I see how they died, and this cannibal had a braid he’d cut from the woman he’d last killed and eaten, so… I found out what he was planning to do from that.

He hesitated.

No one spoke.

Damn them all. Arthur killed and ate him first.

Arthur said nothing. Did not look up, as if even the thought of the response to what he’d done was too much.

John watched her for signs of violence. He had a left hand. He’d get Arthur out of here if needed, by hook or by crook.

"That… I can certainly see that is the type of memory that would stick, lingering like an old wound," the Keeper said gently. "I'm sorry that was the first memory you recalled, John. And I'm sorry you both went through that. My understanding of the situation was, in the end, it brought the two of you closer; perhaps there's bitter irony in that the memory of it seems to be doing the same." She rose, the rustle of her silk skirts somehow soothing. "Would you like some tea? You don't have to drink, if you don't want to; sometimes, when I recount difficult memories, I find it helpful to hold onto something that I can ground myself with." She paused. "I learned it from Tabby."

John hadn’t expected that.

Arthur had clearly been hoping for it. “Yes, please.”

What, she’s fine with eating people? John hissed.

“I think she knows we had no choice,” Arthur whispered back.

We had no choice. There was no… John‘s voice choke off.

“It’s a complex situation,” the Keeper said gently. “You had to kill and eat to survive, forced by a god who is an expert in the various ways at which one can break the minds of human beings.”

“I am,” said Hastur simply, and John growled.

“If you had refused to eat, more than likely that man’s body would have rotted, providing an even less hygienic environment than you already had, and you would have starved even further to your detriment—plus, if you had elected later to eat in desperation, you were much more likely to have become ill from it. You made the only choice you could, and there is nothing to shame you for. And, not for nothing, I must remind you I am not human.” She let out a small, dry laugh. “Gods have no qualms about eating each other, if the need or opportunity arises. I have no desire to eat my siblings, but if one of them were to attack me with such viciousness that I needed to kill them, I would almost certainly eat them afterward.”

Arthur took John’s hand.

But I saw him die every time we… John said, barely audible.

“Oh,” the Keeper said, very softly. “You poor thing.” She turned to Hastur. “Did you know he could do that?”

“Yes. I took advantage of it in a place called Harper’s Hill to send a monster their way,” said Hastur.

So matter of fact about it. John growled again. Motherfucker.

“He remembered that.” Arthur sounded like he was on the verge of tears. “Of all things…”

“It’s a powerful, painful memory that the both of you share. It’s not surprising.” The Keeper set down a mug of tea in front of Arthur, the ceramic rattling lightly on the marble-topped desk. “Luckily, he had you there to guide him through it, Arthur.”

“I did what I could.” His thumb stroked the back of John’s hand. “But it doesn’t feel like enough.”

Arthur…

“You’re only human, Arthur.” He could feel the weight of her gaze on him, like a thousand-watt spotlight directly on a bare stage. “Suffocating yourself under the weight of your own expectations does no one any good.”

“I’m not… I’m not doing that,” Arthur said. “He’s always been there for me, at my lowest, at my… my heaviest burden. I must do the same for him. I’ll do anything to help him.”

“Are you not already doing that now?”

And maybe Arthur would have snapped at her, bared his teeth, if not for the sweetly innocent tone of her voice, the gentle question in it. “I’m trying!” he said, but it lacked vitriol. “I’m trying,” he said again, almost a whisper. “Can you help me do more?”

Arthur, you don’t need…

Arthur clutched his hand.

The Keeper was quiet for a long moment. “I would like to try something, Arthur, if you are willing.”

“Anything.” He looked up, though he could not see. “Anything you want to try.”

She let out a sound like faraway thunder. “I would like to speak to you privately. One-on-one, so you may speak freely without the fear of input from others.”

Arthur blinked several times, or maybe John did. “I don’t understand.”

John’s hand twitched.

“I would like to speak with you, and you alone, without the fear of being overheard by others,” the Keeper repeated, and there was no malice in her repetition, no harshness in her words. “You have a lot on your shoulders, Arthur, and no privacy in which to examine that which you carry without fear, without regret. Without others. I propose this: Hastur leaves the room, and I deafen John for a short time so you and I can converse in true privacy. John keeps your eyes and your hand so he can see that you remain unharmed; Hastur will be close by, and will respond to your mark, of course. Anything you say to me remains fully and completely confidential, and you and I can discuss strategies to address the issues that are on your mind.”

No!

Arthur hadn’t answered yet.

You can’t have him! John seemed to have gone somewhere nobody had intended with this suggestion.

Arthur still hadn’t answered.

“I am not taking him, John. I cannot take him from you.” The Keeper’s voice was measured and even. “I neither have the power or desire to do that.”

John growled.

“John,” said Arthur quietly. “What would it take for you to feel safe with this?”

You want to hide things from me? John said, his voice somehow child-like in spite of his basso profundo.

“No, no. I’ll tell you everything after. I just want to figure some things out without having to say what might… hurt you because I worded them poorly. I know things you don’t right now, and it’s very messy.”

Part two.

“Yes. All I’m trying to do is figure out how to help you.”

Be mine. That’s how.

Arthur blushed.

“No pressure,” Hastur said, and laughed, low and wicked.

In response to that, Arthur’s jaw set, the visible embodiment of stubbornness. He lifted his face. “I’m willing once John says yes.”

“John,” the Keeper said, her voice warm and gentle and soothing. “I know what it is I’m asking of you. You do not know me, and yet I am asking for you to set Arthur in my hands and trust that I aim to help. I very much do, John; on our first meeting, months ago, Hastur requested I unravel the reasons that Arthur is aging, and paid quite heavily for it. My reigning hypothesis is that Arthur’s own particular brand of power enables him to resist magic, including the magic of the mark which normally would grant him a limited form of immortality.”

John was making very small sounds. He… he paid? What? What did he pay?

“A memory. More, I will not say; confidentiality is important to me, as is keeping my word.”

A memory. Arthur’s eyes moved on their own, taking in the Scriptorium. Something you would treasure.

“Something more valuable than the entire public section of my Scriptorium,” she said. “I am beholden to him, and I will ensure Arthur’s health and safety.”

Arthur’s eyes swiveled to Hastur.

Hastur was unreadable, tentacles undulating, beautiful and horrible and magnificent and nightmarish. John hated him. John envied him. John feared him. But John knew damn well Hastur wouldn’t pay something important if he didn’t mean what he’d said.

John still held off answering for an awkward, silent moment, just to make them wait, just to have some control. Fine. I see everything. And you tell me what was said after.

“That’s a promise,” said Arthur, tension leaving his face.

“Thank you, John.” The Keeper reached out, gently patting the knuckles of John’s hand. “If at any point you do not wish to continue, Arthur, you may say so, and our conversation will end. John’s hearing will be restored, and I will summon Hastur back to attend to you. Is this amenable to you?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“I will be enjoying your marvelous library.” Hastur bowed (a thing John had definitely never seen before, and he both envied the grace and marveled at impossible humility) before floating away.

John suddenly felt very alone and very exposed. He clutched Arthur’s hand.

“I’m ready.” Arthur swallowed and sat up straight.

CHAPTER TWO

“First,” the Keeper said, and gestured.  The door audibly locked. “Privacy is key, of course. And now, John: I will be able to hear you, still, though Arthur will not. Kindly keep that in mind. Alright?”

John audibly (impossibly) swallowed. All right. He had a death-grip on Arthur’s hand.

Arthur didn’t pull away.

There was a subtle shift in the air, and suddenly, John was silent. “John,” the Keeper said. “If you can hear me, please squeeze Arthur’s hand three times.”

John’s grip remained the same.

“Arthur,” the Keeper said gently. “Thank you for agreeing to speak to me. How are you feeling, in this moment?”

Arthur hesitated. “I’m tired.” His eyes filled. “I’m so tired. And I don’t… I can’t trust so much of what he says, and I… I miss him, but that makes no sense because I have him. I don’t know what to do. I don’t think I’m enough.” He wiped his eyes.

“Oh, Arthur,” the Keeper said, her voice tender. “I can hardly blame you. Recovering from the poisoning would be exhausting enough, even without caring for John through this. This is not a situation that can be fixed with a clever application of magic, or even love alone. No manual has been written for this; I would know, after all.” She laughed, soft and gentle like a distant bell. “Do you feel as if you’re grieving?”

“Yes,” softly. “But… he’s here. It isn’t right. It isn’t fair of me, at all.”

“Who says that the only proper reason to grieve is death?” The Keeper shifted in her chair, and Arthur was struck by the sudden idea that she moved to make sure he knew she was still there, still somewhere he could track her. “John appears to be regaining his memories, and this is something good; but you are still allowed to grieve the loss of what the both of you had, however temporary this loss may be. Perhaps it is not fair, but, what part of your situation is at all ‘fair?’”

His face tightened. “No, you’re right. You’re right. It’s fair.”

“Is it? How is it fair, then?”

“I… haven’t exactly laid the brickwork for an easy road for myself.”

“That you certainly have not. If anything, it almost seems as though you make things harder for yourself, even when others try to help clear the way for you,” the Keeper said. “Why do you think that may be?”

He bristled. “I haven’t made them harder for myself. I’m just saying I… choices have consequences, and I’ve made a lot of choices.”

“And I by no means am disagreeing with that statement; I merely am commenting on what appears to be an overarching thread. There have been several instances now in which you have been offered forgiveness, genuine apology, or affection, and it almost appears as though you rejected them, at least to me. Do you feel you don’t deserve these things?”

He couldn’t see her. He still managed a pretty good hardboiled stare. “Why are you asking me that?”

“Because your determination makes things happen, Arthur.” Her voice was calm, gentle. “Your extraordinary will enables you to resist some of the most powerful magics that exist in the known universe; you kept John from succumbing to a poison that was specifically designed to kill Forgotten Ones, a poison that shreds apart mortal souls like paper. And yet, despite the potency of this attack, you survived. You resist the magic of Outer Gods, and you currently resist the magic from two different gods who are trying to keep you from aging. So, I ask again: do you not feel as if you deserve forgiveness, or apology, or affection?”

His brow knit. This was a look Hastur knew well, and she was beginning to: fucking stubborn. “I don’t see the connection. No, in answer to your question. I don't. I know I don’t. I know what I am. Happy now?”

“‘Happy’ is not the word I would use, no. But I appreciate your honesty.” She refilled his tea, judging by the sound of pouring liquid. “I do not ask with the intent to be cruel. I believe that your guilt may be part of the reason that you are resisting the dual marks on your soul, and John’s own guilt may in turn be hampering his recovery, whether he is aware of it or not. That is why I ask: to examine if, perhaps, we can find a way to comfort John, and allow these painful memories to come back without additional damage.”

Arthur went very still. He started to answer; stopped. Shifted. “You… you think I’m… resisting the marks with the power of a guilty conscience?”

She ruminated on that for a moment. “It is a bit more complex than that, but I suppose putting it into the simplest possible terms: yes.”

His mouth fell open. “You’re shitting me.”

“I truly wish I was. I wish I had an easier solution than ‘find a way for Arthur Lester to forgive himself so that he no longer ages, which conveniently models self-compassion for John, who can (probably) stop fighting the recovery of his memories and return to himself more fully.’” She took a sip of tea.

“Wait, no. No, hold on. Hold on.” He stood, sat down, and scowled like a pro. “You’re telling me I have to deceive myself in order to be what John needs?”

“Interesting choice of words,” the Keeper said. “From my perspective, John is afraid. He has been thrust into a situation in which he likely feels like he’s acting in a play without a script, and that everything will fall to pieces if he does not find a way to play his part adequately. His first regained memory was one of mutual horror and pain, tinged with the guilt that his presence was part of the reason you were in the pits to begin with. I imagine he’s in a similar position as you, now: feeling guilt over actions of the past, unable to forgive himself for his part in them, and that makes him afraid of triggering memories going forward.” She paused. “Am I making sense?”

That was an oh, fuck, face. “I… you’re saying I can’t help him work past that unless I… project that, somehow? Show him… I… it’s not the same situation! I can’t just…pretend it’s the same! I… I’m not… he wasn’t the…” He took a deep, stabilizing breath. “I have done things that can’t just be overlooked. But you’re telling me I have to or I can’t help him. You’re sure. You’re sure?”

“So has he, Arthur. So has Hastur.” She let out another low hum. “Do you still hate Hastur, for what he did to you?”

“No,” Arthur said quietly. “I don’t. I honestly never really hated him, anyway. That was more John’s thing.”

“May I ask why?” And there it was again, that innocent curiosity.

Arthur was quiet for a moment, just linking his fingers with John’s. When he spoke, his answer was quiet, face turned down. “How could I hate him for bringing my daughter back and giving her everything I never could?”

“Many would hate someone who tortured them, starved them, forced them to turn to cannibalism, and then weaponized their most painful loss with the intent of permanent harm. Your daughter's return has become a wonderful thing, but I know it wasn't always that way.”

Oh, how he scowled. “It was. It was.”

She folded her hands, demure. “And John has changed, has he not? In part because of you, and in part because of Faroe.”

“She’s worth it.” He said that almost too fast, as if anticipating pushback. “She’s worth it all.”

“Of course she's worth it,” the Keeper said, certain and precise. “What about you, Arthur? Do you feel as though you've changed?”

“I… yes, all right. He’s changed. And I’ve changed.” He swallowed. “I know I’ve changed. Some of it’s for the better.”

“It is not an insignificant thing, change; a god, changing for a mortal. The few times Hastur and I have spoken on Faroe, I can hear it in every syllable, read it on every cell of his body. But is that change enough? Have you forgiven him for what he's done to you?”

Arthur seemed confused. “Of course. I had to. John’s the one who’s getting pissed all over again.” As if John had found peace with it all, though it’s unclear where Arthur found that idea.

“If you can forgive the ancient being who tortured you,” the Keeper said, painfully innocent, "why can't you forgive yourself for not being able to magically fix John?”

Arthur went very, very still. “That’s not what I… that’s not it.”

“Well. What is it, then? It can’t be about the poisoning; that was targeted specifically at John, not at you, and you saved his life. I was there, so I know exactly how that shook out; you can’t argue you somehow made it worse. So what is it?” She let out a very soft, small sigh. “You don’t need to answer right now, of course. I understand that is a difficult question; but it’s a question I think is worth exploring.”

Oh, his expression was miserable. “Do… do you know about Faroe?”

“I do,” she said, and her voice was so gentle. “I know what happened, Arthur. I did research on you; I found her birth certificate. And I found her obituary. I understand the reason why you shattered, Arthur."

His lower lip trembled; then he hardened. “Then you know why I can’t be angry at the one who brought her back. And why I can’t forgive myself for losing her in the first place.” His voice dropped. “And how John’s situation isn’t like mine.”

“I am not asking you to forgive yourself for that, Arthur," she said. “John's situation is different, and yet you're punishing yourself in a similar way for being unable to fix him. He needs you, and though you have done admirably by every measure, you still believe it is not enough. He recounted a traumatic memory, and you kept him safe, and yet you still punish yourself with the same intensity. Why?”

“Because of what I did!” His voice was high and cracking. “Just because the stars fucking aligned and I got her back doesn’t mean I didn’t do it! It doesn’t mean I didn’t… fail her on such a level that I…” He had to stop, breath hitching, fighting wildly with his grief. “I know what I am. And I lose people. I don’t dare try to help him on my own.”

Her gaze was intense. “And what does Faroe think of that, Arthur?”

The way his jaw set was really something—a wildly stubborn look that would strike deities as cute or infuriating, no in-between. “She… forgave me.” His lips twitched, softened. “By royal decree.”

“And how would she feel, to know you're still punishing yourself for it, despite her insistence you're forgiven?”

He turned his face away. “I don’t want her to know. She might blame herself, and it isn’t her fault.” Which wasn’t quite an answer.

“You also kept the truth of her parentage close to your chest, until the end,” the Keeper said, soft. “That little girl needs you, Arthur, especially as she is becoming a young woman. John needs you; not as someone to fix him, but as his friend and companion.” She paused for a long second. “Hastur needs you. And the way things are going…” She let out a soft sigh. “Arthur, I have another question. You do not need to answer if you don’t wish to: but I feel, deeply, it is important.”

He licked his lips before answering. “Okay. Ask it. Whatever it is.”

“Do you want to die, Arthur?”

Arthur went dead white.

The trembling began with his chin, an emotional crumbling, working its way up to his lips, tightening his eyes, until he curled forward, covering his face with his hands, and sobbed just once. “I’m not trying to die,” he said, which was far from a no. “I’m not suicidal. I just… I… thought it would end naturally, and then I learn they’re going to try to keep me forever, and I… it’s like a hallway with no way out. I’m so afraid of what I’m going to do to them all. I’m so tired. And I can’t… I can’t lose anyone else. Not again. But it’s going to happen because people I love die.”

She reached out, her fingertips brushing Arthur’s knuckles—only for John’s hand to swat them away, and she let out a soft noise. “You are one of the reasons, currently, they all thrive the way they do. They need you, Arthur.”

Arthur’s hand shook as he covered his face.

John’s hand flipped her off. Flailed. Gripped Arthur’s wrist and pulled as if to lift him bodily through the air.

“John is… distressed,” she said, voice low and worried. “He’s very distressed. I’m going to bring him back in, Arthur. He needs you.”

Arthur took another sharp breath. “I’m sorry. I… let me talk to him, and we can…” and he pulled it together. “Let me talk to him. It’ll be all right.”

—reach you, we’re leaving, and no one can stop us, and I don’t care what he says!

“You’re back, John. Arthur can hear you again.” The Keeper’s voice was gentle. “Would you two like a moment alone, before I summon Hastur back?”

John’s breath—metaphysical or not—was hard and fast. Arthur!

“I’m here, John.” He couldn’t even try to make his voice cheerful.

Arthur! What’d she say? What’d she do? Damn you and your help!

“Shhh. It’s okay.” Arthur caught his hand, speaking against the back. “It’s okay. I’m okay,” he lied.

Liar!

“John, it’s going to be alright,” the Keeper said, soothing but firm. “Arthur is safe. We had a difficult conversation, but—”

Fuck you!

“I’m sorry,” said Arthur in a horrible, shattered tone. “She didn’t hurt me. It’s my own… what I’ve done that…”

You said you wouldn’t take him away! John cried, and his voice cracked. You—you broke him, too! Just like Hastur did, you fucking monster!

Arthur gasped.

“Did you regain another memory?” The Keeper’s voice was soft, almost awed.

Fuck off!

“John?”

John was puffing. He broke him. Right there, using her. I saw. I saw!

“Oh, gods. John, no—”

John gathered power, beginning to cast.

Arthur gasped again. “Don’t cast magic! I can’t do it right now!”

And John… whimpered.

It wasn’t a sound Arthur had heard from him before. “John?”

Why is all of it… why…

“Why is he only remembering the bad things?” Arthur said.

“Because those are the memories you seek to define yourself by,” the Keeper said, gentle but firm. “He learned from you, Arthur. But we can start to fix it.”

Arthur went pale again.

Don’t you dare put this on—

“She’s right.” A flat tone. “She’s right. I did that to you, John. I taught you that.”

A sputtering. You didn’t teach me anything!

Arthur laughed weakly. “Maybe we can largely agree on that, but… no. No. I taught you that.” He exhaled slowly. “And I have to undo it, somehow.” He rubbed his face. “I’m sorry, John. I didn’t think… I’ll fix it. I promise, I’ll find a way to fix it.”

Fix… you… what are you talking about? This isn’t your fault! Everybody aims for you! Hastur! This Keeper! The Bu… he stopped.

“The Butcher, John?” said Arthur very quietly.

He was going to break your hands!

Arthur shuddered. “We got away, though at a price. Remember?”

A long pause. No!

“That’s all right. It’s all right. We’ll work through it together.”

“The wound has been exposed,” the Keeper said, “And now that we’re aware, treatment can begin for both of you.” She sighed. “For what it’s worth, Arthur… I wish my hypothesis had been wrong. But I hold out hope that maybe, just maybe, I can still be proven incorrect.”

He nodded. “You are.”

What hypothesis?

“A theory,” said Arthur.

The Keeper rustled her way to the door, followed by that piercing, teary golden gaze. “I’m going to give you two a few minutes to collect yourselves before I get Hastur. Will that be alright? Or would you like longer?”

“Thanks. I think that will be fine.”

Maybe keep him away forever.

“I can’t do that, but I’ll give you time to talk.” And she was gone.

A beat of silence.

You swore to me, John hissed.

“I know. I’ll keep my word. Just… give me a minute, okay?” Arthur said, wiping his eyes.

What did she do?

“You remember him breaking me.” He wasn’t a question.

John’s tiny breath was shaky. Yes, but I don’t… I don’t understand. I don’t know how we got there, to that room. I don’t know why the memory feels so… ashamed.

“Ashamed?” Arthur yipped. “Over what?”

I don’t remember! John cried.

Arthur swallowed. “I think we have to talk about part two.”

I’m afraid of part two.

“We’ll get through it.” It was a vow, and as the Keeper came back inside, she saw the entanglement between them tighten, like their hands, like their choices, more bound and binding and clinging by the second.

CHAPTER THREE

Hastur was quiet, taking them home.

John was quiet, clutching Arthur’s hand.

Arthur was quiet, chewing the Keeper’s words.

No. No, he wasn’t… he wasn’t what she said. No.

It didn’t matter, though. Not with what faced him now. He had to tell John part two.

It was… maybe going to require a part three, now that he thought about it. From his time with Yellow on, through the moment when Hastur broke him… that was part two.

Carcosa had its own part. It had to. There was so much…

Arthur.

He would never grow tired of the way John said his name. John put meaning in it. John made his name matter. “Yes?”

I’m not letting go.

“Neither am I.”

Good. Join sounded like he needed it. Good.

“After everything we’ve been through,” Arthur began.

Yes?

Oh, this was so hard. “It’s time for part two.”

Hastur inhaled quietly, but said not a word.

Good. This… needed some privacy.

#

The garden was warm this evening. Sweat trickled down Arthur’s sides under his shirt and cooled along his hairline. He followed the sound of the fountain, ignoring distant chatter from some strolling beasts, and sat.

So this is just where we do this, huh? said John, sounding amused. The Fountain of Confessions.

Arthur smiled wryly. “Well, it seemed appropriate to continue where we left off.”

John’s hand wandered across his waist, clinging to Arthur’s shirt, as if physically representing their entanglement. He’d been doing that since they left the Scriptorium. Might as well.

Arthur lay his hand over John’s. “Buckle in. A lot happened in a few days. After you came back to me, Larson had me—us—thrown down into his mine.”

#

It was too much.

Too much horror in a few days, and the parts Arthur did not know threatened like malevolent shades, stalking in the gloom.

John knew there was more. Arthur had nearly (nearly?) died, and didn’t know, and You saved me. You stitched my wound wasn’t enough.

Something more had happened. Something…

Then Arthur got to the train, and that was wild (and so smart!), and John had no room to worry about the rest.

He did it, John kept thinking, growing more amazed at this ridiculous, insane, courageous human by the moment.

Scratch. The widow. Daniel. The Butcher again. Oscar. The horror of reconstituting a god.

The betrayal in Scratch’s face and voice.

The understanding he’d pushed Arthur to finish what they’d started, sealing that betrayal.

Daniel dying, Arthur at his side. Others trying to take John and running into what John now recognized as Arthur’s absurd willpower.

The gate nearly opening. The gate…

You broke your end of the deal. And John remembered the voice, remembered the accusation, remembered…

“John! John, it’s all right! John!” Arthur held John’s hand to his lips, his breath hot, his voice sharp.

I… what did I…

He remembered reneging on a deal with… with…

“I’m here,” John, whispered Arthur, because he was, because he always would be, even though he’d almost been…

What did I do?

“You made a deal,” said Arthur slowly. “You never told me the details. What matters is you didn’t follow through.”

How could he say that? But I…

“It was like in the hotel. In Leerie. You… when the moment came to spend my life and change places…”

To open the gate, John said thickly.

“You pulled back. Because I can trust you, John, no matter what you’ve come from, no matter what you’ve done. You are what you choose to do now, and I trust you.”

But he shouldn’t.

John wept softly. Arthur joined him. It wasn’t the screaming nightmare memory of Faust, of what they’d had to do. This was quiet, a grief, a regret; for releasing her into the world had done great things.

Terrible things.

She was probably, he realized, the reason all those nations were suddenly able and willing to access the occult in their world-wide war, the reason Parker would never go back there by choice, the reason Arthur was safer here because Scratch’s memory of favoritism and betrayal had made her so insanely obsessed with Arthur, torn between keeping and destroying Arthur, but in both cases it only meant torment, nightmare, twisted memories as if to shatter his mortal soul.

And yet she hadn’t. Faroe had done that. And Hastur. All her efforts, over the three years they were on the run, had not broken this incredible man—though John now suspected it might have led to the ease of that shatter.

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you. You… I didn’t die,” Arthur said.

But he had, hadn’t he? Touched by the Dark World, bruised by its fingers gripping and sliding off him like some abusive lover as Arthur escaped out the door.

Arthur had chosen to live. Between that and John fighting the deal he’d made, and Kayne focused on gloating like a monster, and her showing up out of nowhere to take Arthur for herself—

“We got away.”

They had.

“We ran, John. The stone was shattered. They couldn’t use it anymore.”

No… but they could use the pieces they’d likely found.

Arthur kept talking, rocking them back and forth, saying without saying that he forgave this betrayal though he should not have, and as he discussed another train and another spooky town in New England and another attempt to rebuild their life, John only had one thought.

It’s me. I’m the bad person.

He’d betrayed. He should be put to death. Justice delivered. Instead…

Instead, they’d set up as “Peter Saltzman, P.I.,” and survived.

And Arthur never brought it up (but should have). And they both really enjoyed their new life (which John did not deserve). And it hadn’t occurred to them why nobody was able to track them down, especially since Arthur still dreamed.

She should have found them. Why hadn’t she?

It seemed Arthur had ideas on that, too. “It was because of Hastur. I’m sure of it now. He’d begun leaving those… clues that shook me so badly long before he came with Faroe in his arms. Tilling the soil.”

Yes. Yes. John didn’t remember everything, but he remembered the effect.

There was a photo of a murdered little girl with curly dark hair and sweet, round cheeks.

A packet of baby clothes patterns, designed by someone whose sloppily written name looked like B—a Le—er.

A vinyl long-playing record with a piano piece eerily similar to a certain waltz Arthur had written for his daughter, close enough that it sent him into a panic attack.

Small dresses and baby shoes.

A drowned little boy in a bathtub, though that had been on purpose, and that guy who did it got shot in the face and it was good.

The fucking neighbor’s kid being named Darrow, which wasn’t fucking Faroe, but guess what that sounded like, leaking through the walls, as a frustrated parent yelled at a toddler all day?

“I’m sure there were more,” said Arthur, still rocking them both just a little, holding John’s hand between his shoulder and his cheek. “I don’t… remember a lot of them. You said it was endless, and objectively nothing—stuff you’d only connect to my past by assuming. Coincidences. But it was so many coincidences.”

John swallowed. And your dreams?

“All over the place at first. Just dreams. We’d decided if we had any hint at all that she’d found us, we’d run, but it never got like that. And it should have. I think… maybe… Hastur staked some sort of claim.”

John growled.

“It doesn’t matter, John.”

It fucking does.

“I got my daughter back.”

And there was no climbing over that one, was there? No pushing through. No tight hole to wriggle one’s way inside. That was it, the end of the conversation, and John wanted badly to bite something.

Arthur sighed. “I’m tired.”

John was, too, but he really didn’t want to drag this out. You want a… part three?

“Please, John. I… going over this again, remembering… I really thought we’d gotten away. Those three years in Maine.” Tears slid down his cheeks, wetting John’s hand. “I’d begun to believe it. I don’t want to spend too much time in that remembrance. In what we’ve forever lost. Please, John.”

Holy fuck.

Arthur…

Arthur needed help, and John didn’t know how to help him, but they knew someone who did.

This was for Arthur. For Arthur, he could be brave.  We’re going back to the Keeper tomorrow.

Arthur hadn’t expected that. “What?”

John almost saw the connection. The way Arthur had resisted the Dark World’s pull, the way he resisted the marks now… Tomorrow.

“All right,” said Arthur, and wiped his face. “We can do that.”

Then part three.

“Did you… remember anything else during this?” said Arthur slowly.

You broke your end of the deal.

No.

Broke your end of the—

“That’s good,” said Arthur, who should know better than to trust John, and stood.

They didn’t say much as they got ready for bed, bathing and climbing onto the huge mattress with a weariness of mind that sapped the body. Arthur hummed, though.

John needed it. That small music. He noted how the whole place seemed to react when Arthur sang, how the shriek-birds went quiet, and sentient plants peeked over the balcony as if they wanted to listen, and—when Arthur did it in public—how passing creatures always stilled to hear.

Arthur didn’t know. He just made music, and when he did, he moved the gods.

Mine, John thought before he could stop himself, though he knew he did not deserve it.

Maybe that didn’t matter. Maybe this surpassed paltry things like morality. Arthur was his, and he’d fight to keep him—and apparently, had before, as well.

Broke your—

He wouldn’t think about it. It had been years. None of that mattered anymore.

This was for Arthur, and for Arthur, he would do whatever it took.

CHAPTER FOUR

“Again?” said Hastur.

Yes. Now.

Faroe eyed them sidelong. Larson spread jam on his flatbread, pretending disinterest.

Hastur’s tentacles curled through the air, enviably graceful (and John wished he could be as beautiful as that). “Very well. After court.”

“You’re different today,” said Faroe. “John, I mean.”

“How is he different?” said Arthur.

She considered. “Like a candle after the draft has been shut off.”

“So he’s… steady?” said Arthur with such hope that John almost groaned.

“Yes,” she said as though passing some royal judgment.

John growled just… well, he didn’t know why, but because.

Nobody took that too seriously, and the conversation moved on.

#

Hastur must have made one hell of a deal, because he evidently had open access to the Scriptorium any time. Absolutely wild.

The staff scuttered around, all of them wearing that focused, bright look of treasure hunters hot on the trail, and none seemed to even find it remarkable that Hastur and his whatever had come back.

John was still certain that Tabby was worshiping something, but the Keeper seemed unlikely. Not her style.

It could be endangering Arthur. He would find out if it cost his last—

Hastur exhaled again, weighty, slow.

Well, whatever that was about. Keeper!

“Welcome back,” she said, voice bright and warm. “I wasn’t expecting you again so soon; are the both of you feeling a bit better?”

 No, said John.

“Yes,” said Arthur.

A beat.

Maybe, said John.

“Somewhat,” said Arthur.

Hastur sounded amused. “Do you have time for them?”

“I can make time,” she said, and opened a door in the wall. “Did you think about what we spoke about, Arthur?”

Arthur drew himself up as tall as he could go, which wasn’t very. “Yes. I have some critique.”

Hastur’s many eyes widened, not that Arthur could see it.

That wasn’t what John expected. Are… you sure?

The Keeper turned, her gaze falling on him like the heat of the summer sun at noon. “Well. I certainly look forward to hearing it, then. I will admit I did not handle our conversation as best I could.”

“No, you were fine.” It was Arthur’s bargaining voice—vaguely, John recalled that Arthur thought he was a hard bargainer. “But we need to talk. You and me.”

“Oh. That sort of talk, and so soon. Very well.”

“Thank you.”

If Hastur was surprised at this, he hid further reactions. “I will wait. Thank you for your time.”

Wait a minute! This meeting was my idea!

“I’m sure Tabby will find you shortly,” the Keeper said to Hastur, her voice fond. “Thank you.”

Hastur bowed out.

“You can talk to her first,” Arthur offered.

Now it was suddenly scary. I… of course I will!

“Alright,” she said, gesturing to the plush armchairs, the couch. “Take a seat, the both of you. May I get you anything? Tea?”

“Yes, please,” Arthur said, still in his hard-bargain voice.

John thought it was adorable. She must, too. He growled preemptively.

“Of course.” She produced the teapot from nowhere (as per usual), a mug and a teacup manifesting themselves on the short coffee table between them. “I apologize for yesterday, John. I didn’t realize that we would end up triggering another distressing memory while we spoke. How are you doing?”

Oh, the pressure. Yes. That was not the right reply. Fine. Can only you hear me now?

“I can make it so Arthur does not hear, yes,” she said. “Is that alright, Arthur? I’ll put on a bit of music for you, in the meantime.”

“I’m fine with that.” He hesitated. “Could we do that musical? The one you had on before.”

“The Sound of Music! You remembered!” she said, sounding delighted. “Yes, absolutely. I’ll start it from the top for you.”

It was strange, seeing her act without the need of performance; she raised a hand and a gramophone twisted into the air from nothing and spun to life, strings swelling, and then John could hear it… dim, just faintly. “It’s just us now, John,” she said gently. “What is it you would like to tell me?”

John missed the mirrors. He couldn’t see Arthur’s expression—but at least he seemed physically relaxed. I figured something out. I think I know what’s happening with Arthur.

“You did? Please, share. I would like to compare theories.” She settled into the chair, lifting her cup of tea and swirling it.

He eyed her. She’d better not be mocking him. I think the problem is he doesn’t want to be owned. And he huffed because really. Absurd.

The Keeper paused, tilted her head, and seemed to ruminate on that for a bit. “That is… unfortunate for him, in quite a lot of aspects,” she said thoughtfully. “How do you figure?”

Wasn’t it obvious? He is fiercely independent. He wants to do things his own way, to the point he resists even sensible suggestions. He’s resisted me. And Hastur. The coup de grâce: And he’s resisted death.

“That he has, multiple times,” she said, pensively. “I believe his uncanny powers of resistance are part of the reason the two of you are still alive and speaking to me now. The other part, of course, was you; your entanglement meant that with you there, he could not be loosed from the body fully, and in turn he would not let you go to the Dark World.”

John’s golden form swelled like a bullfrog. Me? I helped?

“You did,” she said. “You enabled him to hang on long enough for Hastur to call upon my help. Just as you, in the past, have dragged him to safety with one arm, or stitched up his wounds with no help. You can be quite astounding in your own right.”

Oh, it felt so good to be seen!

He’d been trying! He’d tried so hard! He sniffled. He’s mine, you know, he said, because maybe she’d see that, too.

“Yes, he is.” Her voice was tender. “He was yours even before you marked him, John. He loves you, just as much as you love him. Only a fool would seek to separate you two.”

John exhaled. He had no idea it was like Hastur’s, a release of weight. So. I think he’s resisting the marks out of stubbornness because it wasn’t his idea. He told me it wasn’t.

“I certainly think that could be a part of it. There are a lot of threads in the tapestry of Arthur Lester that are tangled up, and I…” She paused. “I think I may have confused my metaphors. But I trust you understand what I mean. There are many layers to this issue, and I believe lingering resentment over the nature of being marked may be part of that, no matter how it has turned out since.” She set down her teacup on the saucer. “Thank you for telling me this. I really, truly appreciate it.”

He could see why they liked her. She understood. So how do we fix him?

It was a “we” now.

“That is what I’m working on currently,” she said, gently. “Arthur… Arthur is stubborn, as you know. He also has a very strong sense of justice, which I’m sure you also know. Where we are coming into conflict is that Arthur’s sense of justice is making it difficult for him to move forward, instead of dwelling on the past.” She folded her hands, pensive. “More than that, I cannot say; that is for Arthur to tell you, not for me. But Arthur’s stubbornness, combined with his lingering feelings, creates a potent cocktail of resistance.”

John pondered this.

He chewed it, testing its taste, its texture.

He came to his own decision. So, he said. I have to help him move on from the past. And he gasped. He’s not giving himself a chance! That hypocrite!

That hypocrite had begun to lightly hum along with Julie Andrews, but anyway.

“In a sense. It’s a bit more complex than that,” the Keeper said. “Arthur has defined himself by his past; it leaks into everything he does. What I am looking to do is help him begin to envision a future; something for him to look forward to. Something to want to strive for. Does that make sense?”

John huffed. I’ll make him strive for his own standards. Yes. It makes sense. Now, I know what to do. And he startled Arthur by reaching up and touching his jaw.

Arthur caught John’s hand and held it to his cheek for a moment.

I won’t let you drown, John whispered, and did not even remember vowing it before.

“I’m glad to have you on the team, John,” the Keeper said, her voice warm. “I know I can count on you. Should I bring Arthur back, or was there anything else you wanted to tell me?”

No, it’s time. He was proud of how strong he sounded. I’m ready.

“Very well. Thank you, John.” The music grew louder in John’s ears, as did Arthur’s humming. “Oh,” the Keeper said wistfully. “You’ve got such a lovely voice, Arthur. We’re back, now, all three of us; did you enjoy the music?”

Arthur blushed. “Thank you. Yes, I really did. This is amazing music.” And pleasantries done—“John. Are you all right?”

Yes. John rested his hand on their leg. She’s wise.

Arthur’s face went long. “Is she, now?”

Yes, she is, said John as though he’d made this groundbreaking discovery.

“I can’t wait to hear how it all went.” Arthur stroked John’s fingers. “But you’re all right.”

Yes. Have your little session and we can go home.

Arthur did laugh this time, gently. “All right. I’m ready, ma’am.”

“Same rules as before: if you no longer wish to continue the conversation, say so, and it ends,” she said, gently—and then John went quiet but for the gentle twitch of his hand beneath Arthur’s. “Now. How are you, Arthur?”

Arthur checked. John squeezed his hand back. Arthur nodded. And he turned to the Outer God, whose presence he could feel like a flame. “I think you’re wrong.”

“Well, how very fascinating,” she said, pleasantly interested. “You understand, I am not often wrong about things. This is a bit of a surprise for me. How do you figure?”

“I don’t want to die. And I have proof.”

“With evidence! Even better.” She adjusted her skirts, picking up her teacup. “Please, elaborate.”

That look could get him killed. That look could get him captured. It was a weirdly defiant look, too personal, impossible not to feel. “When John asked me to get in shape so I could play with Faroe, I did. Would someone who wanted to die do this?” And so help him, he flexed his bicep.

“...Oh!” Her voice was… Bright. Sparkling. And it sounded suspiciously like she was fighting the urge to laugh. “...Well. Motivation to keep up with your daughter certainly made a potent medicine. I don’t know that I would… discount my theory, based upon it. But I think that brings us to a very interesting point: you’ve spent the past six—nearly seven—years finding ways to survive for the sake of your daughter. When you think of her growing up, what do you think of?”

The hardness melted. “That’s… I don’t know anymore. I used to imagine… like her mother. A strong woman, maybe finding… real love. Which I didn’t. But she could. I wanted her to grow up in a world that let her vote. I wanted her to live a full life. Now…” He took a deep breath. “I think she’s going to be a goddess.” So softly. “So far above me. Above anyone I ever knew, and… I want that for her. She deserves the world, and always did, and thanks to Hastur, she’ll have that.”

“Do you envision yourself there, at her side? Supporting her during her coronation?”

He was silent for too long.

He wanted to lie.

He wanted to say what he should say.

The hesitation was oddly tense; maybe it was his weird magic thing, his will, like wind affecting the waves.

John stroked his hand with his thumb.

Arthur made his choice. “I don’t see myself there. It doesn’t mean I want to die.”

“Perhaps.” She made the softest sound, like she was sipping her tea. “What do you think you would be doing instead, Arthur?”

Fuck. He’d trapped himself. “I don’t see myself at all.” And he scowled “I don’t plan to die!”

“Let’s take a step back, then,” she said, frustratingly soothing. “I can agree with you that it doesn’t seem you want to kill yourself, or harm yourself. But Arthur: current difficulties notwithstanding, you’re marked. There’s no reason you shouldn’t be around when Faroe gets older. Have you thought about the future much?”

He licked his lips. “I…” but he didn’t know where that was going. He paused.

The silence got to John, but didn’t upset him like Arthur’s tears. He stroked Arthur’s hand again.

Arthur sighed. “I don’t see anything. Anything.”

“Therein lies the problem, Arthur; you exist, yes. You survive. But not wanting to die is not the same as wanting to live.” She shifted, settling into her chair. “It’s alright for you to want to see your daughter grow up, you know. Just as it’s alright for you to want to see John safe, and cared for. John most certainly wants you to stay by his side forever; you know that, right?”

He shifted. “I…” He swallowed. “I want to stay with John.” And he had no idea the import of those words: something he wanted. “I… I can’t… I don’t… deserve this. I don’t know how to want what you’re saying.”

“What is it that you want, Arthur? Do you know?”

He hung his head.

John didn’t know—couldn’t—but held his hand tightly.

Arthur lifted it to his lips, gently, a soft and intimate movement. “I don’t know.” It’s almost a whisper. “I don’t know. How can I want anything? It’s not… nothing is mine to want. Even John is just… he’s stuck with me. I know that, even if he doesn’t.”

The Keeper let that hang in the air for a moment. “What do you know about magic, Arthur?”

“Not much, if I’m honest.” He shrugged. “John casts it. I just have to be willing.”

“Indeed,” she said. “Magic is defined by will; the will of oneself to change the world around you, to shape it further to your desires. The relative strength of magic often depends on the will of its wielder; for gods, this comes as naturally to us as breathing, and thus magic is part of our innate beings. For mortals like yourself, this can vary; but you have quite the strong will, Arthur. You have survived a great many things that ought to have killed you, even before you and John cast your first spell.”

Arthur’s brow knit. “It almost sounds like you’re saying I somehow have a willpower to match the gods. I don’t. A lot would never have happened to me—to us—if I did.”

“On the contrary, Arthur; I found your medical records.” There was a soft shuffling of papers. “You got pneumonia when you were four months old, did you know that? A death sentence for any other infant; but not for you. And in 1918, while living in Boston, going to school, twenty-eight people in your apartment block came down with influenza, including your next door neighbor; about a quarter of them died. You, evidently, had nary a sniffle.” She let out a soft hum. “And that’s not to mention everything that happened to you after John. Gunshots, stabbings; a month long coma. Is that where he got the name?”

Arthur was quiet. He knew these things. He refused—with an almost poetic insistence—to put them together. “He did. He… a nurse came in and addressed me as John Doe, since no one knew who I was. It was John’s only communication during that time. He chose to build a new identity from it.”

“I can see it touched him deeply. I never got a chance to ask if he had a surname; I had a guess it was Doe, before I got ahold of your records, but I was nearly positive afterward.” She shuffled the papers back and forth. “John helped bring you back from some of the more egregious wounds you suffered, this is true; however, most people would die after being impaled from behind by an eldritch creature, regardless of whether or not their wounds were stitched up, and certainly they would die if they didn’t receive medical attention shortly thereafter. Except for… you.”

Arthur scowled. “He saved my life!”

“He did… though not with the stitching, Arthur.” He could hear her shift, hear the clink of her teacup against the porcelain saucer. “You weren’t going to take him to the Dark World with you, not after finally getting him back. You had a desire to live, Arthur, to protect John; but when Hastur lured you and John into his trap, nearly seven years ago, you lost that desire.”

He bared his teeth, trembling. “You’re saying I saved myself because I was saving him. And when Hastur broke me—“ He had to stop for a moment. “I couldn’t… I almost… but no. No! I waited! I was going to wait until—“ He stopped.

Until Faroe was gone.

Until Faroe was safe.

Then he was going to die.

It had been clear at the time. He hadn’t considered it since, hadn’t analyzed, just drifted in the sea of heavy depression. And he remembered—

“Not in front of her,” he whispered, finally making connections. “I won’t die by choice in front of her, so I haven’t been… I…”

The Keeper was right.

His thoughts fell still. He had no argument. His chest ached in time with the soft, regular ticking of a clock. Arthur hid his face in his hand.

“I’ve set a handkerchief down at about eleven-o-clock to you,” the Keeper said, very gently. “Take all the time you need.”

It felt like ceding something, to pick that up. But if it was going to help John—which was what all of this was about—he had to, hadn’t he?

For John, he could. For John, he would. Arthur took the handkerchief and danced at his eyes.

John wasn’t freaking out yet. They must have had a hell of a discussion.

“It isn’t my place to make demands of you, Arthur,” the Keeper said gently. “And I certainly don’t think it’s possible to force you to do something you don’t want to do. But what I would like you to do, for John, for Faroe, is to find a place for yourself in the futures they have. I know John can’t envision a future without you at his side, even in his current state.” Her long, papery fingers gently patted the back of his hand. “He made that very clear to me in our short conversation. Trust me.”

His expression was almost gaunt. “But if I… how can I… if I forgive what I did, then other people…” Which wasn’t what she’d said, but he clearly understood what was unsaid. “I won’t be a hypocrite.” He quieted. “‘Not on purpose. Do you know what you’re asking me to do?”

“Alas, perfection is unattainable even for the gods,” the Keeper sighed. “You have some time to work out your how, Arthur. You can be quite brilliant if you put your mind to it; think. Talk it out, if it suits you. And, of course, I am always available if you need a private sounding board.” He got the sense that she was smiling.

He wasn’t.

If he was going to save John, to avoid hurting Faroe, he’d have to want to live.

How? How did one do that? He had no idea how to find that again. Not since Hastur had…

His sigh was heavy, like the weight John and Hastur dropped had settled on him. “I’m ready to go back. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Arthur. I wish I could be of more help.” And with a gentle tap on the back of his hands, she returned John to him.

“John?” Arthur checked.

Good talk? said John smugly.

Which made Arthur bristle. “Yes.”

I knew it.

“Knew… you didn’t know anything! You said she was horrible.”

Before I talked to her, said John loftily.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Sure.”

Are we ready to go home?

And face it all?

And try to live out this new thing that still felt undeserved and immoral?

And fight his way toward helping them. “Yes,” said Arthur, drying his face, and both internally and externally, he sat up.

[titsovergritts]

Story time:

Loki: "awe did pet have a nightmare again"

Raven:" stop teasing here, come here little angel it will all be ok"

Najia: " what the hell are you two just gonna watch me every time I sleep now, I get you said your like my guardians or whatever but it's giving pervy supernatural"

Raven: "no it's not like that . .it just to"

Loki: "yes, it is exactly like that. Your nightmares mean something or else u wouldn't be having them and if we r to understand why your so..you then yes just put me on night watch and call me a stalker. . Unless that wasn't a nightmare you were having.."

Raven: "what are you talking about"

Loki: "dont be soo niavee angel boy, I think our pet was screaming because she was having a different type of dream" you were weren't you do tell I hope I was the one making u scream!"

Najia: " in your dreams asshole"

Loki: " I don't sleep remeber pet, so there for I don't dream, but I have thought about that ass alot"

Raven: "that's enough"

They both look at me and fuck Lokis eyes and the vacant expression on Ravens face were enough to draw my mind back to the dream of the both of them. My demented demon and my fallen angel both having there way with me and me wanting it wanting more of both of them.

But not knowing why was killing me. Maybe there is a reason I don't know. I don't do well with not knowing. I don't remember my childhood, thanks to a crash that put me in a hospital where I woke up apparently 8years later, to them both taking care of me. But why, why the hell am I alive. I have so many questions .

I have Loki who can be a total ass, who tells me not to over think things just take and demand what I want, and then there is Raven who guides me to think things through and be rational. What is it with these two. I'm not sure but I want them both. I feel safe and as though im at home with them and that there is more to them. I feel as though I'm dying with out them, they balance me in away I can't explain. But how does a demon and angel become friends..or friendly enough just because of a human a nobody like myself.

Talk about having an angel and a demon on your shoulder.

Should I continue???

[philhoffman]

I was wondering if you may have any Phil quotes/sayings be it from movies, interviews, etc, that he would might say to someone who needs a cheering up? I know it's a bit specific and niche but my mental states been ran through the ground and I wanna draw myself something comforting with his words. If nothing comes to mind, then you don't have to answer this :)

Oh I totally get it, I have a big list of all my favorite quotes from Phil and I go through them frequently when I need a pick-me-up haha!

There are probably several from his movies but these are all from Phil himself, speaking as himself in interviews and such lol. He was not the most *concise* man so they can get a little rambling 😅 but he's got the spirit! I hope you feel better and that these words help, they've always helped me:

"When you’re [young]... man, it’s just you. It’s just you and your body works so well. And you haven’t done anything and nobody knows who you are and it’s just a clean slate. You’re running out there and going ‘How the hell can I make my mark? What am I gonna do?’ And you can’t lose! I mean, you think at that time, ‘I can lose,’ but you really can’t. And try to tell people that young, it’s like it’s not gonna matter. Make the mistake, who cares? You know what I mean? Be bad, go do that thing, it doesn’t matter." (My favorite.)

"Sometimes I’ll set things up for myself that I don’t know if I’ll be able to achieve... Because all of a sudden you’re in a crisis moment. There’s gonna be a lot that you’re gonna have to do to come through with it, and you’re gonna have to have the will to actually fail and look like an ass and probably be bad and all these things in front of people. You’re gonna have to actually do that in order to be good. You’re gonna actually have to go in and start failing and start risking and start humiliating yourself sometimes right there in front of people in order to get to the good stuff."

"Creating anything is hard. It’s a cliché thing to say, but every time you start a job, you just don’t know anything. I mean, I can break something down, but ultimately I don’t know anything when I start work on a new movie. You start stabbing out, and you make a mistake, and it’s not right, and then you try again and again. The key is you have to commit. And that’s hard because you have to find what it is you are committing to."

"I gotta remember to not kill myself, not beat myself up, not get too worked up about it... I was more moody, more mercurial [when I started acting]... Yes, there's that thing with being younger. You think it's all or nothing. You think all your eggs are in one basket when you're young. You're gambling. Whereas when you're older you realize you can reinvent; you think, this feeling I have is going to pass. You know what I mean? This isn't everything, there will be another film, there will be another relationship, or I'll die and then I'll be dead. But if I'm alive I know life is going to keep throwing things at me."

"You do have to let it go. You do have to move on to the next thing. You have to find passion in some other place and you have to fall in love with something else. And that always takes falling out of love in some way with whatever it was before. I guess I’ll find that out, what that means."

"To be loved, I think, is like the thing that gets you up in the morning." ❤️

"If you say ‘yes,’ to someone, ‘I will,’ that you are also saying, ‘I will be hurt by you.’ Because you can’t have relationships if you’re not willing to be disappointed and hurt by that person. It’s almost impossible. You have to be able to enter into the world and realize that the richness of life is all the good and joy and thrill of it, but also all the disappointment, hurt, and heartache of it. And that all of that is what’s great."

"[Making art is] very fulfilling and challenging and maddening. Sometimes you can never get it right and usually you don’t, and you realize how art and life are very similar, ultimately. They really are. They don’t really end, and they don’t really answer themselves… the good stuff, you know? And how maddening that is because as a person you want so badly to control something or understand something or end something, and you realize, ‘But life doesn’t really do that.’ The good art doesn’t really either. It’s a tough thing."

"If you’re challenging yourself in the way you should, there’s always a doubt about if you’re going to be able to pull it off. That’s everybody’s dilemma, not just actors… The more you expect of yourself, the harder it is, and the more concentrated and focused you’ll be able to get."

"Do I take the path of least resistance? You know in therapy, you always get to the point of like, when am I finished? And it's not finished with therapy, it's like—alllll this crap, when is it over? This thing of like, when do you get it? ... And it's like no! That never happens! You just die! You just fuckin' die. And so that road to death—the road to death we call life—can be just burgers and booze and women and smokes and TV and magazines and really bad art—and you can just go and slide right into the hole. Or you can go, well, I think I better keep confronting and keep challenging and keep trying to make good stuff and working hard. That's what you do because if you don't do that, it's so easy to go to that other place."

"Isn't it worth grieving? Isn't it worth destroying yourself in order to move on? Isn't it worth going through whatever you need to go through in order to move on? Isn't it worth it loving somebody even if this might happen to you? Just a communal understanding that love is worth it; grieving love is also worth it and that it might be this interesting, this colorful, or this odd."

"I don’t think that there’s anyone on the planet that, if looked at closely enough, is worthy of being judged in a way that it would be... not good. And everybody on the planet, if looked at closely enough, is worthy of being loved with the most love that you could ever give."

I also like to listen to him read this poem, one of my favorites by Robert Frost <3

[feline-evil]

I would love to here you info dump about your ocs if you want to?

Grinning evily, I SHALL DO SO!

So ik its been a while since i've really drawn or talked about my boys but a refresher for everyone is i have an OC universe/story loosely titled Flesh and Bone with is a The Thing inspired story featuring my Oc's Clay, Damien and Jack! All three work on a shady arctic base run by an evil corp unbeknownst to them, and after a sequence of horrible incidence and creature attacks Clay is 'killed' only to come back as! Some sort of slopbeast thing monster! He's cool and chill though, not a threat to anyone; hes a wet bag of nerves desperately trying to maintain his shape as the man he was once before, because thats who he is!! It's a story about identity (both in all my main cast being trans men but also in the more metaphorical and subtextual reading of. Clays whole deal lmao) and exploring what that means, and its also about three gay fruits experiencing THE HORRORS!

I have not written it, it's far too big a task rn, but thats the basic idea <3 everyone can always feel free to check the flesh and bone tag or any oc tags (ie oc: damien, oc: clay, oc: jack ect) on my blog to see stuuuuuuff about it!

MORE BELOW THE CUT, LIKE WAY WAY MORE SO MUCH LMAO, and as always heads up for horror themed when it comes to my lil oc's and their world <3

Lately a lot of what i've been thinking about with my oc's has been the physical changes that happen throughout the time they spend trapped in that research base, because they are there for a LONG time they do look different than they do at the start! Obviously there's the general stuff like Damien's hair growing long and the roots showing, Clay's facial hair getting scruffy and his hair getting long and unruly too, jack cutting all his long hair off (too dangerous to wield a flamethrower frequently with all that hair in the way in his learned opinion); but then there's the more physical side of going through this really tough time too, more than just aesthetic changes like hair and clothing changes. The most obvious is yes, Clay IS just a writhing mass of meat that replicates the appearance he wants to be seen as; yes including his clothes his scarf has a heartbeat don't worry about it. But then there's stuff that's not Whatever the hell Clay's deal is; Jack loses a leg, they all gain a multitude of new scars, this is a long, tough situation to survive and none of them are untouched by this- but thats part of the point! You can go through traumatic stuff and you can make it through, it might change you, it might change stuff about you, sometimes in ways you cant undo, but you can still make it through!! And you can still be loved as you rightfully deserved, and you can live a long happy peaceful life!! Thats a big part of the heart of *waves hands* what i am doing in my head with my oc's.

When i can draw for longer periods again i'd like to make reference sheets with 3 views of each character on each, a before, during, and after.

Another thing i've been thinking of lately is the day comes back after 'dying'! And its both horrific and later funny so i like it a lot.

So. Thing style monster drags him away screaming from the base, he is torn to shreds, the last person to see him alive is Damien and he watches that thing tear him *apart*. Everyones pretty certain he's very dead.

Days pass.

Then Clay wakes up in a hollowed out ice cave, one thats been melted into this larger open space by the pile of dead flesh and meat that has been dumped inside it, the pile that he has also been dumped in. It reeks, its horrific, he has to climb and clamber his way to the top in a state of abject disgust and horror; he doesn't remember how he got here. He doesn't remember anything past that thing getting a hold of him. (Unbeknownst to him he IS that thing but he'll figure that out later, he kind of does know that to an extent but not on any conscious level nor is he willing to accept it to much later, boys in denial. When it killed him and ate his flesh for some reason it fucked the beast up and fully replaced whatever it was before with his memories and consciousness so this is him now, the body he had before is gone, this is Clay now)

The only way out of this cave is a very narrow passage leading up, he starts to try and crawl in. Too tight, he doesn't fit. He keeps trying and trying in sobbing desperation until....he.....does fit. Shoulders give way, he slides in, this gap too small to rightfully fit his head through he is somehow now fitting through. He's going to pretend he isn't, he's not a stupid man but he fully cannot cope with comprehending his body moving as if boneless right now, his brain cannot cope nor begin to even parse the possibility that he is morphing like slimy slipper meatgoop to fit through here. He escapes, collapses out there on the ice for a bit miles from the base. He cries for a bit. Repeats in his head over and over that that hole was big enough for him, it was normal, he crawled normally, it was normal and fine. And then he eventually starts walking through freezing winds and blizzards in the direction he hopes the base is.

NOT FUNNY YET I KNOW, BARE WITH ME. ITS THE NEXT BIT OK

Clay reaches the base eventually and climbs through a window, enters the currently empty dining hall. He's back! He is. So so mentally checked out and traumatised and FUCKED from his experience that all he can think to do is just....go back to normal, pretend it never happened. He sits down. Pours himself a coffee in his favourite mug.

Footsteps echo closer, people are coming.....

jack and Damien walk in and freeze. They stare at Clay.

Clay stares at them.

'H-hey!' He says, waving over, 'you uh! You guys are up early!'

DAMIEN GRABS JACKS ARM, GET THE FLAMETHROWER HE SAYS

CLAY GOES OOP!!!!!

(Art of this moment memorialised forever by my beloved boyfriend @subsequentibis btw!!)

AND CLAY THEN SCHWOOPS LIKE LIQUIDY MEAT UP INTO A CEILING VENT AND REASSURES HIMSELF THAT THE GRATE WAS DEFINITELY OFF THE VENT AND HE DIDNT JUST FIT THROUGH TINY TINY HOLES ITS FINE ITS NORMAL ITS FINE ITS FINE, AND HIDES IN THE VENTS FOR A BIT. LMAO, LOVE MY SILLY COMEDY BIT

[yautja-lover]

Survivors - Angst / Fluff / Smut One Shot

Crucified! Predator x Female! Reader

Summary:You are the last remaining survivor of your group against the Super Predators on the Game Preserves Planet in 2010 teaming up with the Crucified Predator to take down the last remaining Super Predators, Berserker after unting the Crucified Predator by using one of his equipment.

Sexual Content:Dry-humping,gentle penetration and alien sex.

Game Preserves Planet - 2018

Your not sure, how you got here or how long you've been here?... but what you do know, is that you need to find a way to get the... HELL!.. off of this alien planet! Why the hell did those crab things bring you here of all places, you didn't do anything wrong to deserve this type of torture by those sexy reptilian... wait, what am I saying you thought to yourself. Those things are trying to kill you, just like they slaughtered your group and now your next.. then, again your own kind abandoned you just because 'she's too small' or 'she's too weak, she'll only slow us down' they said.

"Well, guess what?.. you dumb piece of shit- heads! I'm still alive, so.. Ha ha ha ha hah!!" you exclaimed out, to no one in particular before covering your mouth remembering that your being hunted.. as you scanned the area with your eyes, but relaxed once you realized that you are alone. Now back to the important matter at hand here, how to get off this DAMN planet?! Hmmm... now let me see.. jerkia, I've got it! I can fly away in one of those things ships, yeah that'll work.. now, if I were a crab-faced alien where would I hide my beloved spacecraft?.. you thought to yourself while marching-off to god knows where.

Then it dawned on you, that your plan wouldn't work at all.. you don't know a single thing about piloting a plane, let alone a spaceship! "Well, FUCK ME!!" you exclaimed, covering your mouth again. Well back to the old drawing board you thought, as you stood there while tapping your head in thought "C'mon brain think of somethin'.." then you remembered that there is a fourth one that's all tied-up. Of course!!.. why didn't you think of it before?! "Don't you worry sexy beast, help is on the way!" you shouted while heading towards your ticket home.

°•☆°•☆°•☆°•☆•°Time Skip°•☆°•☆°•☆•°

"Uhh, excuse me.. Mr. Sexy Beast, hello?"you called out, softly while gently poking the tied-up reptile-like humanoid causing the Crucified Predator to wake up with a startled roar. "Easy there, big guy. I'm not here to hurt ya." you said calmly, as he stares at you "Perhaps we can make some sort of arrangement?" you questioned earning a head tilt from him. "I'm sure you want down and get back at the others for what they did, yes?.." you questioned earning a growl from him, taking it as a yes.. so you continued on ".. and I want off of this, whatever this is." you said hoping that he gets what your saying then, added  "The enemy of my enemy, is my friend."

You looked around the campsite to see what you could use to cut him loose from the totem pole until, you spot a bone axe 'that could work' you thought to yourself as you walked over to pick it up.. or at least, try to pick it up while falling backwards from lifting it up, earning a scolded grunt from the Crucified Predator. "I am being careful!..." you exclaimed with a huff of frustration, as if you could understand what he's saying and he just chuffed at you in response ".. it's not as easy, as it looks." you responded back, as you tried again sounding like an old married couple. "Alright... now, I've got it!" you exclaimed while lifting the bone axe up and stumbling a bit, as he gives you the look of uncertainty.

Crucified Predator's P. O. V.

He heard someone spoke in a very faint voice but, couldn't tell who it was or what they were saying.. until whoever it was started poking him,  jointing the male awake causing him to roar who he thought were his captors. But paused once he noticed that it was a oomani-di trying to get his attention, staring at the pyode wei-ghe'h in confusion as she spoke "Perhaps we can make some sort of arrangement?" tilting his head to the side in curiosity. She continued on "I'm sure you want down and get back at the others for what they did, yes?" , "Sei-i" he said with a growl "..and I want off of this, whatever this is." she said then,  added before looking around his enemies campsite "The enemy of my enemy, is my friend." The oomani-di makes an attempt to pick up a bone axe but fails stumbling backwards, in the process. "Be careful with that.." he warned with a grunt "I am being careful!.." she protested with a huff and he just chuffed at the wei-ghe'h in response "... it's not as easy, as it  looks." Then trys again "Alright... now, I've got it!" having trouble standing while lifting it up, 'Paya this oomani-di is trying to mar'ct me' he thought to himself.

After I released the Crucified Predator from his bonds on the totem pole causing him to fall with a loud thud "Oops.." I said while tossing the bone axe to the side, to check up on him. As soon, as he got back on his feet and grips me by the throat.. I couldn't help but feel aroused by the size difference between us then, he started sniffing the air and moved closer to sniff me. 'Umm... what the fuck?' I thought to myself, don't tell me he can sme- until he finally shook his head and let go of me.. I'm not gonna lie I felt slightly disappointed once he released his hold on my throat. The Crucified Predator puts on one of those shiny metal mask things, but this one has a small crack on the right side of the mask showing off one of his orange eyes.

He then starts typing something on his wristband, showing a hologram of earth and then I could hear the sound of an engine of some kind. When I noticed that this sexy beast was staring at me with his head cocked to the side, it dawned on me that he must've programmed his ship to take me home.

"Oh, thank you sexy beast..." he tilt his head at you, when you said 'sexy beast' "... thank you, thank you!!" you exclaimed, as he nods his head at you and a very angry roar erupted coming from the other predator with red and black dreadlocks.. causing you to scream in surprise, as the Crucified steps in front of you with a roar of his own. He then pushed at you slightly to leave of course, you just stood there unmoving completely stunned.. until he pushed you again with a low growl which, seemed to wake you from your trance and ran off in the direction of his ship. You couldn't shake the feeling but something was telling you to turn back around to help him, so that's what you did once you got there..

...you noticed that the red and black one had your sexy beast cornered and getting ready to decapitate hi- wait, a minute when did he become yours? You shook your head at the thought and quickly climb up a tree that's near by while forming a plan, luckily your a pro at climbing trees with no problem. Once you found a sturdy enough branch to stand on and grabbed for a vine, bracing yourself and channeling your inner spirit character as Michelangelo before shouting out "COWWW-AAAA-BUN-GA!!" as you swung right between the two, capturing both their attention.. as your action back-fired on you, cause you manage to tie yourself to another tree "Dang it! This wasn't part of the plan." you said the last part with a whine.

You heard a rapid clicking of tusks coming from Mr. Black, who seems highly too amused at your result of action while your sexy beast looks completely exasperated.. plus, you seemed to capture the Super Predator's attention a little too well. Cause now he turned away from the Crucified Predator and coming after you instead, well shit... "Aye, big guy. Nice night, ain't it?" you asked with a nervous laugh, as he growls while flaring his mandibles at you "sheesh.. there's nothing itsy bitsy about you, is there?"you questioned, meekly. Mr. Black growled at you again, offensively as he stalks closer and raises his arm to strike you causing you to close your eyes waiting for the expected blow.. but, opened one eye when nothing happened.

Then slowly opened your other eye to find that the Crucified Predator blocked the Super Predator's attack and the two started fighting each other again while you remain strapped to the tree kicking your feet, squirming and cheering on your sexy beast "Get 'em, Mr. Sexy Beast!... give 'em a left and a right!" Finally the fight between the two ended, as soon as Mr. Black spun around and shouted at you "SHUT THE PAUK UP, LOU-DTE KALE!!" your jaw dropped and your eyes grew wide as saucers.. not at all aware what he just said to you, but by the way your sexy beast reacted it must have not been very nice. It all happened so quickly, a mighty roar was loud as a thunderstorm eruppted from his chest before charging at the Super Predator tackling him to the ground. Green blood gushing everywhere, as he beat him up into submission until Mr. Black was no longer moving.. breathing heavily, as he stood over the lifeless body of his tormentor. Orange eyes staring right in front of you, as a 'swish' sound is heard and cuts through the vine releasing you.. instead of landing on the ground with a 'thud' like he did, when you released him. He caught you instead, carrying you while purring as he picks up his metal mask and puts it back on leaving the campsite to who knows where.

°•☆°•☆°•☆°•☆•° Time Skip °•☆°•☆°•☆•°

"Oh, Mr. Sexy Beast?..." you called out while entering y'alls campsite with your little surprised friend trailing behind you ".. I'm back.. and I found a new friend, can I keep him?" you announced with a question- at least, I think it's a 'he' when you didn't get any type of response from Cruci so you figured he was still out on his hunt. Well I guess that just means you'll be by yourself for a bit and gives you time to name your new friend, who's currently sniffing around the campsite.. 'he's gonna need a name' you thought to yourself, "What am I gonna name you?"you questioned the four-legged green thing with spikes, who's now tilting his head at you like a curious puppy.

Crucified Predator's P. O. V.

Just finished up with his hunt for food.. plus, a gift for his little ooman, along with some fruit to make her s'pke for dinner. As much, as he loves to hunt.. he can't wait to get back to their campsite with his oomani-di and present his wei-ghe'h with a courting gift, being called her 'Sexy Beast' like she always does he can't help but puff out his chest with pride. He just hopes that she didn't try to bring back another dangerous creature, as a pet like last time.. he shook his head at the thought and chuffed, as he moves faster. Once he reached the campsite to find his oomani-di, unexpectedly curled up fast asleep next to a... a Hell-Hound?

'PAYA?! How the pauk did a ooman manage to tame a Hell-Hound¿' he thought, as he stood there completely baffled and slightly jealous of the pup getting all of her attention. Shaking his head then starts preparing for dinner while the two sleep, granted the hound isn't fully grown yet.. which means he can train the pup to watch and protect his ooman when he isn't around, since it already seems attached to the pyode wei-ghe'h. Chopping away on the fruits that he found, as he swore an oath to Paya 'This is my ooman and no one hurts my oomani-di, this is my life now.'

You stir from your nap hearing a bunch of growling and clicking sounds "What the hell is going on?.." you asked sleepily while rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, as you sit up to look. "Fluffy, nooo!.. don't attack, my sexy beast! Stop!.. SIT!!..heal!.." babbling out commands while getting up, completely awake now.. as your little reptilian, canine-like friend keeps Cruci away from you standing in a warning and protective stance. While the Crucified Predator just gives you a questionable look, as the Predator hound tilts his head at the sound of your voice before running over to you and stand by your side "What?"you asked casuing Cruci to shake his head before turning around to fill up two bowls.

After you two were finished eating the s'pke and while Fluffy is currently chewing on one of the meats that Cruci killed from his hunt, he started fidgeting in his seat nervously "..everything, alright?" you asked while grasping one of his clawed-hands causing him to flare his mandibles in surprise. The color on his face flushed.. like he's blushing as he looks at you with his warm, bright orange eyes before he slowly nods his head with a reassuring click that transfers into a purr "Your purring again." you said stating the obvious causing the purring to stop. Much to your disappointment, he got up and walked away but came back holding something in his hand delicately that's wrapped in some type of cloth. When he stopped infront of you with his head down staring at the gift, for a moment before lifting his head up while casting his eyes down in submission as he handed you the wrapped item.

°•☆°•☆°•☆°•☆•° 💀 °•☆°•☆°•☆°•☆•°

Cruci let out a pleased, trilled-pur when you accepted his gift then picked you up earning a squeak from you, as he carried you bridal-style before plopping down in the nest with him laying on top of you. He started rubbing himself all over you while purring, as if he's trying to mark you with his scent.. you couldn't help exploring his body with your hands, his muscles rippling and flexing from your touch, as the black quills on his chest and face shivered. Your hands then traveled towards his tresses, lightly tugging on the rubbery appendages earning grunts and growls from your sexy beast while he would occasionally buck his hips dry-humping you in response, as he trilled and bristles.

One of your hands traveled down to his lower region fumbling with his belt while the other remains stroking his predlocks "..remove.." you voiced out with a needy whine, tugging on with what little clothing he's got on. Which he happily obliged removing his belt and loincloth, you only caught a quick glimpse of his cock that's fully slipped out of it's sheath and ready for action. Cruci then starts removing your clothing, quickly but surprisingly without ruining them purring as he did so and tossing them to the side. What surprised you even more, was when he sat up and stared at you while slightly tilting his head.. silently waiting on what to do next. "Fuck me, please. " you whispered and he purred in response before grasping your waist and raised your hips up to his length then, leaned himself over you as he slipped inside of your tight heat and started pumping his cock in and out of you at a steady pace. Pressing the crest of his head against your forehead while pressing himself closer to you, as he pumps his hips faster making you a moaning mess and you continue to pull on his tresses getting him even more excited causing the purring to get louder by the second. You could feel yourself getting close, tittering to the end "come on Cruci.. my big sexy beast... come with me.."you said breathlessly and he trilled in response while snapping his hips faster. "Come with me now!" you shouted, as you tugged on one of his tresses a little harder, causing him to throw his head back with a roar while slamming back into you as the two of you came together.

While the two of you come down from your highs, he rolled over on his back held you close to his warm and sweating chest.. Fluffy who has now lost interest in his meal and turned his attention to you, checking to make sure that your alright. Crucified chuffed at the Hell-Hound pup before rolling over to his side, so that the canine-like pup could see you while still keeping you close to his chest. Once the pred-hound was content that you were indeed alright, he then walked around in circle.. like a normal dog would before laying down with his back facing the two of you, sleep soon consumed you feeling protected by your two alien boys.

°•☆°•☆°•☆°•☆•°Time Skip°•☆°•☆°•☆°•☆•°

The three of you were strolling through the Game Preserves Planet and then, all of a sudden you noticed Cruci's mood change.. he seemed really tense, almost cautious like something or someone was following us. Even Fluffy seemed more alerted than usual, occasionally growling at nothing or so you thought... then out of nowhere, another Predator that was green and yellow with brown specs. It had black tresses with green hair woven-in it and stood at least eight feet tall, both Cruci and Fluffy stood in front of you getting in protective stance while growling in warning.

The eight foot Predator only clicked softly in response before removing it's mask, revealing that it has two different eye colors.. one hazel and the other one is yellow, then what surprised the three of you the most was when transformed. It... or at least, she changed into a human female that now only stood, at least seven feet tall? "Relax, we're not here to harm either of you. " the strange female spoke, Cruci and you looked at each other both of you wearing a look of uncertainty "I'm sorry, but.. did you just say "we're " as in 'we' ?" you questioned. She nodded her head before speaking "Sei-i my mei'hsweis and I." she responded, as two more appeared "This is Yeyinde.. "she said while gesturing her clawed-hand towards the tan one with black specs ".. and this is Bakuub." she added gesturing towards the green and yellow one with black specs, both of them had black dreadlocks with red eyes. Lastly, she gestured towards herself as she spoke "I am Guan-thwei."

Yautja Language - English Translation:

oomani-di- human woman

pyode - soft

wei-ghe'h - female (not an insult)

sei-i - yes

Paya - Yautja, God of Life

mar'ct - kill

pauk - fuck

lou-dte kale - childmaker (insult)

ooman - human

s'pke - Yautja fruit stew

mei'hswei - brother

Yeyinde - Brave One

Bakuub - Straight Spear

Guan-thwei - Nightblood

[mmorpg-escapism]

Am I anxious as hell about posting this? Yep. Am I doing it anyway because I want to and I'm equally excited about it? Also yep. There's a lot so it's always going to be title -> break -> chapter -> in-game levels/quest(s) + notes if any.

Without further ado...

A Realm Rewritten: Chapter 1

 “Are you alright?” Besany startled awake at the feeling of a hand on her arm, and reached up for her weapon on instinct. The feeling of the handle in her palm brought comfort in a way that few things could.

“Easy now. You were thrashing about in your sleep.” The white haired Miqo’te woman retreated from Besany’s side to a bench across from her, swaying slightly to stay upright with the rocking of the boat.

“What a strange dream...” Besany blinked away the last of the crystal images fogging her brain, and regained her bearings in the hold of the ship with a flick of her ears. “How much longer until we arrive, Y’shtola?”

“Minutes, if that. I had come to retrieve you to see the view of Limsa Lominsa from the deck while we docked. Small wonder that Brennan’s monologuing put you to sleep, though.”

Besany chuckled at the mention of the old peddler, and relinquished her death grip on the weapon strapped to her back. He had attempted to regale her with stories of the land she was to call home, but ended up launching into a fabulous rant about beastmen, the state of the land, and how none of it was good for his vague business. As a result, she quickly dozed off to the noise of his rambling and the gentle rocking of the ship.

“Yeah. I wish I could remember the dream. There was a giant crystal? It spoke, but none of that is clear anymore.” She frowned. “I wonder if I should have left that glowing rock back where I found it.” Y’shtola shook her head hard enough to send the silver weights at the end of her twin braids swinging around like little angry bees trying to sting her neck. “I wager that it was Hydaelyn. You’ve been chosen indeed.”

“Yeah, great. I’m not only the youngest surviving member of Gunnhildr’s Blades, sent off to be a Scion instead of aiding the Resistance, but I’m supposed to be some mythical Warrior of Light? How’s that supposed to work when I can barely draw on the aether I need to charge a cartridge?” The resentment in Besany’s voice was barely suppressed in an attempt to maintain her facade of strength. Unlike most of the combat ready people she had fought alongside, she was incapable of more than the smallest amount of aetheric manipulation. It was barely enough to wield her gunblade properly. “Your path is yours to walk or abandon, even though others have set you upon it. And you have thus far chosen to keep your sights on the goal instead of your infirmity,” Y’shtola chided. “I have seen stronger warriors than you give in to despair over much lesser injuries. Do give yourself more credit.” Besany pondered those words in silence as she gathered up her cartridge pouches,  maintenance kit, and a loose satchel for whatever odds and ends she may acquire, and made sure her gunblade was strapped securely to her back. “We’ll see. Now, you said we were close?”

“Yes. The view is quite spectacular, even though I have beheld it many a time.” “Then let’s not miss it.” The two women squeezed their way between scurrying crewmembers and made their way up on to the deck, where the dim lantern light gave way to clear skies and bright sunlight. Besany’s tail flicked in unconscious annoyance as her eyes adjusted to the bright light and took in the sight.

Limsa Lominsa loomed overhead like an earthen galleon balanced precariously on stilts of stone. Twisting pathways connected haphazard white rock spires and led down to the seaside docks while airships filled the spaces around one of the highest towers, and the entire city looked alive with commerce. Even from the lower elevation, Besany could see merchants and sailors scurrying about on all levels. 

“It looks like a ship...” Besany trailed off, amazed by the sight. The activity above was mirrored on the deck of the ship where the crew was scurrying about as they worked to dock safely. 

“That it does. Limsa was founded by pirates, so their architecture naturally reflects that. I shall see you to the Drowning Wench, but then I have a mission of my own.” Y’shtola’s bright blue-green eyes twinkled, betraying hidden knowledge that Besany knew she was never going to access before the Archon wanted her to. “You will be welcome to rest for a few days, or perhaps Baderon will have some work you may undertake.”

Besany watched the approaching city in silence, subconsciously absorbing as many details about pathways, escape routes, and distractions as she possibly could. Finally, as the ship softly impacted the dock for the final landing, she spoke again. “I’d rather get the lay of the land, if it’s all the same to you... Sitting around in a floating city for days will drive me crazy.”

Y’shtola smiled a knowing smile. “Many adventurers who arrive here must contend with the scrutiny of the Yellowjackets, Limsa’s erstwhile policing organization, before they are granted more critical jobs. Suffice it to say, my vouching for your skill to Baderon will be more than enough to bypass that tediousness. He operates the Limsan Adventurer’s guild, and I am certain he will have a small job or two for you that will let you do just that.”

The port’s wharf was set up with many tiers of walkways, aimed at accommodating vessels of all sizes, which allowed the pair to merely step off the three-story boat onto sturdy wooden “ground” rather than wait for a gangplank to be set up. 

Of course, sturdy was relative, and after days at sea, Besany’s legs were unaccustomed to unmoving ground, and she wobbled, unsteady as she tried to adjust to movement that was no longer there. Y’shtola kept walking along without hesitation, clearly the veteran in ship-to-shore movement. After spending a few moments to recover, Besany followed.

The busy pathways on Limsa’s upper decks were less crowded than the lower, but still abuzz with movement and chatter. As Y’shtola confidently led her through the scattered masses, Besany tried to listen for what information she could, but it was largely an unintelligible mess of numbers and negotiations, with the occasional swearing mixed in. 

After what felt like an eternity, the crowds parted and Besany found herself standing in a large circular room, with a bar occupying about a third of the wall, and several other smaller counters set up elsewhere along the border. The center of the room dipped down a few steps and held assorted tables and chairs. Only one of these was occupied, filled by a small group of Roegadyn and Hyur in identical yellow garb.

Behind the bar stood a Hyuran man in a teal shirt with a stylish bandanna for a hat, cleaning a glass over a thick tome. When he noticed the pair, he slid the tome and glass aside and threw his arms wide in greeting. “Y’shtola! To wha’ do I owe tha pleasure?” “Baderon! Just passing through, I’m afraid, but I have someone for you to meet. Besany, this is Baderon. Baderon, Besany.” 

Baderon gave her an appraising look that spoke of great experience dealing with all kinds of people, taking in the gunblade, the subtly armored casual-wear, and the way she was making eye contact without losing awareness of her surroundings. “Yer a long way from home, lass. Ain’t oft’n we get that sort o’ weapon paraded around. I presume yer here to spend a day?”

Besany shook her head. “Y’shtola told me you might have work for me to do. I want to learn my way around the city and beyond, but wandering the streets alone is never a good idea...” She trailed off, remembering the moment of wobbliness not that long ago. “Although, after that long sea ride, a day to rest might be best before I start,” she amended.

Baderon chuckled. “Yer in good hands, lass, don’t ye worry about that.” He pulled the massive tome back over in front of him, and Besany could see that it read “Adventurer’s Guild Ledger” on the front before he flipped it open and shuffled through to find an empty space in the midst of a sea of names. 

“She’s brought ye straight to the 'ome o' the 'Venturers' Guild, 'ere in Limsa. That's why we've got a desk 'specially fer 'andlin' guild business─an' why I seem to spend more time savin' the necks o' fresh faces than wettin' the throats o' me regulars.” He finished by sliding the tome around and handing her a pen wet with ink. “Now if ye’ll slap yer name down here, we’ll make ye an official member. That’ll let anyone what wants to hire ye for whatever work yer willin’ to take.” He continued as she signed in the indicated spot. “Y’see, some years back, Eorzea took a mighty blow durin' the Calamity, but our 'omes weren't the only things what got wiped off the face of existence by that thrice-damned bastard of a dragon. It took our bleedin' memories, too. An' no one's been able to explain it in a few days. 

Besany faintly registered Y’shtola starting to walk away as she handed the pen back to Baderon, but remained focused on his speech. She knew the Scion would turn up again in a few days. 

“But there is one thing we all remember, an' that's the group o' 'venturers what laid down their lives to drag Eorzea back from the brink, when she was bound fer the abyss. So th’ Admiral an’ all th’ other city-state leaders set up ‘Venturer Guilds, as to nurture new ‘eroes like those ones.  An' that's why any aid we can give to a 'venturer is effort well spent.”

He flipped the book around and took a look at where she had scrawled her name in mostly-legible writing. “Besany Ajana, is it? A fine name, tho’ it confirms that yer a long way from home indeed.” He shrugged the thick logbook closed and stowed it away below the bar. “Anyroads, welcome to Limsa Lominsa, where the sea's as green as the faces o' me patrons after a few too many Blackbelly whiskeys! Wander over to the innkeep yonder for a room, an’ come see me when yer good an’ rested so’s I can put ye to work.”

Baderon pointed towards a tall Roegadyn standing at a desk adjacent to a gate. The wall behind him was covered with keys tagged with room numbers, and he handed her one without question when she approached, then guided her through the gate and up a flight of stairs to a small room. It was simple, furnished with a bed and a table stocked with hardy foods, lit by a small fireplace and the window overlooking the port below. Heavy curtains were drawn open so that the fading light from the sunset could warm the room for a few moments longer.

Once alone, Besany took stock of the room’s exits, entrances, and eventually allowed herself to relax down from her heightened state of alertness, setting aside all but her gunblade on the desk. The food was good, if typically bland as most sailor fare tended to be. Once the light faded fully, she drew the curtains closed and set her weapon upright next to the bed where it could be easily grabbed.

In the unfamiliar environment, sleep came slowly, but eventually the darkness overtook her racing mind and she slept, shallow but dreamless.

================================================

Start! | Next >

In-game Level: 1

Quest: Intro Cutscene + Coming to Limsa Lominsa

"Serial story" format has always been something I'm familiar with, with some experience with Pokemon Hard Mode (aka Nuzlockes), so writing and posting as it's written is really nice. I *am* playing on a fresh character to guide myself through this so if you see a Viera named "Stories Unwritten" running around Zalera, that's me getting more material. Officially, Besany (the actual character) started on Archer but as a tank main at heart I quickly swapped over to Warrior, and grabbed GNB as my main the instant I could.

Eventually I do plan to crosspost to AO3 but that will wait until I'm ready to archive this stuff properly - there may still be edits to make...

[starktowerboss]

The first thing Tony feels as he wakes are the injuries of his aching body. Huh, I'm not dead. He thinks so, anyways. Death shouldn't still be this painful. Unless he's in Hell.

Trying to move, a thread of alarm strikes through him. This bed doesn't feel like a hospital bed, he should know by now, and his own has better sheets. Where the fuck is he?

He forces himself upright, and shuts his eyes tightly against the pain the movement causes. Tony opens them again and takes stock of his surroundings.

The room is sparsely decorated, and whatever is there is the kind of tacky he's only seen in one place recently. The window shows some nonsense scenery of nature, but it switches as he watches it.

"Boss, you're awake." FRIDAY says, drawing his attention to his other side where there's a nightstand. On top of it, his nanobot housing is swiftly grabbed and placed back on his chest where it belongs.

"Update me, babygirl. Where am I?"

"177A Bleecker Street, Greenwich Village." She says. Tony doesn't think he's imagining the relief in her voice. "Dr. Strange is looking over your recovery. It appears the improved EXTREMIS was successful in keeping you alive, but the energies of the Infinity Stones have appeared to interfere with it. Sporadically, pulses of residual energy from the stones emanated from you. As Dr. Strange is both a medical professional and familiar with handling an Infinity Stone himself, it was deemed most appropriate for him to watch over you."

"Watch over me?" Tony repeats. "Fri, how long was I out?"

"You were in a coma for almost three weeks, boss." She says quietly. "The residual energy rapidly dissipated after the first week, but there was no sign of you waking up."

"Shit." Tony rubs a hand over his face. "Alright. Sorry for worrying you."

He swings his legs over the side of the bed and gets to his feet. Whatever happened, at least EXTREMIS kept him from getting muscle atrophy.

"Boss, I really think you should-"

"I'm fine. I'm awake. And most importantly, I need coffee. Where's the kitchen?" As if he's going to wait in bed until Strange finds him. Glancing down the unreasonably long corridor for what he remembers are the dimensions of the building, Tony picks a direction and walks.

How hard can it be to find some coffee in this place?

@bleeckerstreetweirdo

[cinnamonsikwate]

just rewatched space sweepers (2021) on netflix and realized something which i don't think is ever actually addressed in text & am not sure if it was supposed to be obvious (bc it didn't even occur to me until now) but - spoilers ahead! -

are james sullivan's occasional body horror episodes a result of a nanobot treatment gone wrong/gone right? like it may be what's keeping him alive well beyond typical human life expectancy, but it's also putting him through excruciating pain. bc we see the veins on his face receding as the hydrogen bomb goes off, and we know that the heat output from an h-bomb explosion is the only thing that can kill nanobots (except the langrangian ones apparently), so.....?? is the reason why sullivan showed up out of nowhere at the last minute bc he was already supposed to be there, trying to get away from the bomb as well?

anyway. the film's been out over a year but i don't remember seeing anything about this particular aspect before. would be pretty interesting if it's actually canon!

also. i hate sullivan's backstory and the bizarre anti-semitic implications; it puts a v significant dampener on an otherwise good film (aside from tiger park's dreads jfc). my proposal for an alternate backstory (developed with my sib) goes:

push back the timeline. make it the 2100s or 2200s. doesn't really matter

following this, sullivan would have been born some time in the first half of the 2000s

instead of a war orphan who turns to eugenics (bruh???), he's instead born into privilege and his dad is basically elon musk. uts corp starts out as basically spacex

keep the nanobots bit! they're injected into him at some point - to cure a sickness, just for the hell of it, whatever. whether or not his dad has a hand in it depends on how heavy-handedly we want to draw the parallels with kot-nim and *her* dad. in any case, seeing how kot-nim's nanobots protect and help her, unlike his, will fuck sullivan up and contribute to why he so badly wants to destroy her after he's done exploiting her

this sullivan is a man obsessed with legacies (and not the "purity" of the human soul holy shit). he struggles at first to uphold his father's legacy. when he surpasses it by building eden, it's a slippery slope. now he wants to leave *his* own mark as flashily as possible, collecting orphans (including tae-ho and captain jang) & "raising" them in his own twisted version of parenthood to be "geniuses"

i think captain jang should have been more sullivan's protégé than tae-ho, which could also explain why she's more reluctant to "parent" kot-nim bc she doesn't know what a healthy parent-child relationship is supposed to look like. would have also given more weight to the revelation that she's tried to kill him multiple times. i like to think tae-ho had a mentor he was close to in the space guard - the closest thing he had to a parent, maybe the one who actually found him first before sullivan literally carried him in his arms to uts. maybe they died just before the mission where he found su-ni, and that's partly why he decided to save her

this film has everything - anti-capitalism, the juxtaposition of blood ties with found family, breaking cycles of abuse, nanobots!

this is A Lot of backstory though - which is why i wish space sweepers had been a tv series instead, so we could also have gotten more on everyone else. in any case, it's still a p good film with a lot of heart and great rewatch value! two hours just fly by!

[hugepolecat3298]

Hello ! Thanks for bearing with me , I am a Palestinian educator from Gaza whose life is dire and gruesome. Nothing has left for my family except the hope you can support and help us. After 9 months of war we became exhausted, hopeless , desperate , and displaced. Houses and livelihood sources have been lost and gone with the wind. Things are driving us insane and made. The least level of life can't be attained. Healthy water and food have become a dream we need to realize. What worsens our life more is the constant bombings and killings. That is why I am asking in this post to help us survive this unbearable circumstances , moving from hell to safety and peace. Your support can help us be safe and alive so friends you can support us either by directly donating whatever you can or by sharing my campaign links so that generous people can know about our tragedy and pain. Remember your small contribution can make a big difference for the lives of many children whose heath gets worse and worse everyday. Let their life change and let them feel happy through your kind contribution.

https://gofund.me/9b764ae7

❤️💚🤍🖤

best of luck to you! i donated $20usd, i really hope you're able to make it out safely and soon

@ followers if any of you match that (or donate more) for this campaign and dm me proof i'll draw you whatever you want