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void-ink-studios · 6 months

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Touch of Light

This is in the same timeline as "Wrath of the Wishmaster" which you can read here! Specifically, this is a bit before the events of that fic. They're not officially together yet, but they're getting close.

Do I have two other WIPs I should be working on? Yes. Will I write this instead? Also, yes.

Enjoy, y'all.

Word Count: 2,300

Scarab had gone missing again.

While Prismo was not the type to take much stock in what the beetle got up to in his spare time, the disappearing act he's been pulling lately is getting... concerning.

It wasn't as if it was a problem per say... Scarab lived here now too, and he had as much right to explore the space as Prismo did. Plus, it wasn't as if Scarab was necessarily required up in the main chamber all the time.

But Prismo was starting to miss the company.

Him and Scarab had seemed to finally strike up some kind of peace. He'd help the Wishmaster with his fanfics that needed a certain bloody zest, he'd talk of his adventures across the multiverse, and he'd been slowly teaching him his strange language of chirps, clicks, trills, and buzzing.

The Time Room just felt more alive ever since that blue shadow was added to the routine. And it felt like they both had finally gotten used to each other enough to just... be. Relax. Smile.

It'd been a long time since Prismo smiled in earnest.

But now Scarab was gone. Well, not gone, but it's not like Prismo knew where he was.

The disappearing was relatively new.

Once, every few weeks or so (maybe, time was always strange here), Scarab would open a hatch to the Time Room's basement, slink away, and vanish for the rest of the day (probably). He'd be back after a while and not acknowledge he was even gone.

It never exactly sat well with the Wishmaster. What's with the sneaking around? Was he hiding something?

Maybe he thought Prismo wouldn't notice?

That would make sense, considering how Scarab would always cast quick glances at him before slinking away. Like he was checking if Prismo was watching.

Prismo shut his laptop. He pondered for a second.

Should he try and go find Scarab? He wanted to give him the privacy he deserved but this whole thing was starting to freak him out.

A small part of him wondered if perhaps he was looking for a certain sleeping old man.

Prismo shook his head, scolding himself for even the thought.

They were friends now.

Hopefully.

Maybe...?

Hmm.

The more he thought, the more he freaked himself out. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to just take a quick peek.

He sent duplicates down into the basement, just to poke around, of course.

One stood guard over his old, sleeping body. Just in case.

He pondered where Scarab would wander off to. The Time Core, perhaps? He always did have quite the awe for that place, despite how bright and loud it was in there.

But nope. Nothing.

He searched every nook and cranny of the Time Core, but nothing. No hint of blue on the wall, other than the light fromt the time waves.

Okay, plan A was a bust.

And while Prismo was pretty good with plan Bs, he didn't really come prepared with one for this adventure. Great.

Okay, it's fine, it's just one guy, potentially anywhere, in an infinitely extending downward pocket dimension that's walls could shift and move.

This was fine.

Prismo had to take a moment to breathe. Scarab managed to find his way back up before, so it's not like he was lost forever. Probably not.

He pondered if he should give up the search.

Until one of his duplicates passed through the pickle room on a whim. It was quiet. Almost too quiet to hear. But it was there. A soft chirping.

Almost all at once, Prismo's form condensed into that room as he looked around.

It was definitely Scarab's chirping. But was that also... crying?

Now Prismo was sweating. He'd known Scarab for eons, even before they became roommates. But he's never... never... heard Scarab cry before. No one had, as far as he knew.

He peered into one of the empty cubby shelves from his pickle stash, and... sure enough, there he was.

Scarab was curled up into as tight a ball as he feasibly could. His arms covered his head, and his knees tucked up into his chest. He laid on his side, shivering.

And... his mask was off. Granted, his face was covered by his arms and hands, but Prismo could see the spots of a lighter blue where his shell was parted.

The Wishmaster didn't know what to do. What could he do?

He gently reached a hand into the hole, fingers lightly brushing against the edge of Scarab's form.

"Scarab...?"

Several things happened at once.

Scarab's mask flew right back into place, save for his mouth, which he bared in a primal hiss. All his limbs shifted into some kind of spring-loaded position, ready to bolt at a moment's notice.

"Woah, woah, Scrabs, it's me. You know, your buddy, Prismo?"

But Scarab didn't relax. His growl ended, and he closed up the lower half of his mask, but none of the tension left his shoulders, his legs, his back, even though all of it was shaking.

"Go away!" the beetle hissed, swiping at Prismo's hand. It's not like it hurt, but it was enough to startle the Wishmaster into pulling back. Scarab seemed to regret the action almost immediately, tucking himself further back into the cubby. "Don't touch me!"

"Okay, okay, I won't touch you. But... what are you doing down here, buddy? Didn't think you were the type to enjoy pickling." He laughed to himself, but it puttered out when his friend didn't return the sentiment.

Scarab just kept his body low to the ground. Even behind the mask, Prismo could hear his mandibles clicking together. While he wasn't fluent in all the noises his roommate made, he could put together this one's meaning. He's afraid. Deathly so.

"...You I'm not gonna hurt you, right? Remember, we're friends. Friends don't hurt each other. Right?"

"...I-I'm sorry."

"It's okay, I startled you, I get it. But... can you tell me what's going on, dude? I've never seen you like this."

"It's... It's nothing! Nothing!"

It was a lie. An obvious one. A desperate one. Prismo didn't even have to say it. He just continued looking into Scarab's eyes.

"I... I won't do this again, if that's what you're concerned about..."

"That's not it, Scrabs. I just want to know what's going on. And... why the pickle room?"

Scarab seemed to consider his options in answers.

"...This is the only room with holes in the wall I can get to..."

"Why did you need a hole in the wall?" He gave Scarab a soft look, a little encouraging smile.

"It... It makes me... feel... safe."

Scarab ducked his head in shame. Prismo frowned at that, for many reasons.

"Did you feel... unsafe up in the main chamber? Did I do something wrong?"

"N-No... No, it isn't you... I just... I needed to feel isolated... just for a little while..."

"Is this where you've been going recently?"

"...Yes."

Prismo sighed.

"Scarab. You don't have to if you don't want to but... Can you tell me why you've been disappearing? I'm worried about you, dude." He slowly, gently extended a hand into the cubby again, leaving it a few inches away from Scarab's silhouette.

There were a few beats of silence before Scarab's little hand extended to rest overlapped with Prismo's. The Wishmaster smiled but didn't otherwise draw attention to it.

"I... I wanted to feel safe because... my body... even in this form, it fights against me."

"What do you mean?"

"...I'm in pain, Prismo. I'm in pain and disoriented. And... my instincts make me need to hide while I'm like this. This... is the closest I have to a burrow in the Time Room."

His voice sounded so small. Much smaller than Prismo ever would've suspected the might scary God Auditor Scarab to make.

"Oh... I'm sorry Scrabs, I didn't know..."

"No one does... When I... had my job, I could ignore it if it got this bad. I was always moving. On the hunt. I could avoid listening to my own body long enough for it to fade away. But now... the Time Room is so still... so... I've gone back to... hiding."

He said that last word with a lot more contempt than Prismo expected.

"Hey. Thank you for telling me, Scrabs. How about this. When you're feeling a bit better, you can come with me, and we can make you some better hiding spots than the pickle room cubbies. I bet it's not really relaxing when everything smells like vinegar, right?"

"I... I actually can't smell it much."

"...Really? I thought beetles and stuff had, like, really good smell. With their antenna and stuff?"

Scarab flinched at that. Prismo's eyes widened.

"...Scarab... Oh no..."

The beetle sighed, slowly scootching out of the cubby, closer to the Wishmaster. His mask rearranged slightly, showing the cropped little stumps where antenna clearly used to be.

"It's... part of why I'm here. It's... disorienting, some days... And... it's not the only reason..."

Scarab seemed to hesitate again.

"...You don't have to show me if you don't want to, Scrabs."

"...But I think I do... because... well..." he trailed off. He turned around, slowly opening his elytra. "...you make me feel safe, Prismo...

The Wishmaster swallowed down the gaps he felt trying to climb up his throat. He never thought about why he'd never seen Scarab fly, either in the Time Room, or on his hunts. But... he'd never suspected this to be the reason...

His wings looks awful. Or, more accurately, what was left of his wings. It resembled pages ripped out of a book, the edges jagged and tattered. One was bent at an awkward angle, twitching ever so slightly.

"Oh Scarab..."

What could he possibly say? Sorry? It'll be okay? There wasn't anything to add. So he didn't.

He reached slowly with his other hand. Scarab flinched a little when it began overlapping his back, but his shoulders eventually relaxed as Prismo began rubbing soft circles in the center.

"...Is there anything you'd like me to do, Scrabs?"

"...I'm usually able to ride days like these out if I just stay put... I can manage."

"Yeah, I guess but... is there something that could make you more comfortable? I like blankets, personally."

"I..."

Scarab looked to the ground, like he was pondering.

"I... Don't know... I've never... thought about it before."

"...Give me a few minutes. I'll be right back."

Prismo left a silent duplicate behind to continue petting Scarab's back as he went to make his little preparations. A lot was on his mind, top of which was "What happened?"

Because something clearly did. The injuries seemed too... deliberate to be just part of the dangers of being a God Auditor. It was too specific. It was meant to hurt, but not kill.

Prismo felt his form shiver and darken the more he thought about it. He shook his hand, watching the purplish black lighten back up into pink. He couldn't get mad yet, he was on a mission.

Just as promised, Prismo returned a few minutes later, now finding Scarab's eyes closed, lightly purring at the feeling of the hand on his back.

"Hey Scrabby. I've got a surprise for you. Can you walk, or do you need help?"

Scarab slowly opened his eyes again, looking at the Wishmaster carefully.

"...I can walk, I suppose. Just... slower than you might like."

"That's okay. It's not going anywhere."

The two walked through the halls of the Time Room's basement in relative silence. Prismo occasionally hummed, and Scarab sometimes joined in with a soft trill, but neither felt the need to speak at the moment.

"Alright man... here we are."

Prismo gestures to a new hole in the wall. Scarab raised an eyebrow, curiously crawling up the wall into the hole. The Wishmaster smiled at the surprised little gasp he heard.

Tucked into the back of the hole, which was much deeper and cozier than the pickle cubby, was essentially a nest. A soft heated blanket covered the bottom, a white noise machine, and a thermos of hot tea waited for Scarab.

"Prismo... you... you didn't have to do this..."

"I guess not. But... well, maybe I wanted to. I didn't know you were in pain, but now that I do, I'd be a pretty bad friend to let you wallow in it. So... think of this as your space to get away if you need it. We can make more when you're feeling better, but I think this is a good start, yeah?"

"This is... all mine?"

"Yep. There's a little remote in there too, with a little screen. If you want to watch something, or whatever. If need anything else, just push the big red button on the bottom, and I'll send a dupe down here to help."

"I..."

Scarab sounded like he was on the verge of tears again, but the beetle choked them back down.

"...Thank you, Prismo."

Prismo couldn't help but smile.

"Feel better soon, Scrabs. We still need to figure out the next chapter for this mystery drama we've been cooking up, yeah?"

Scarab let out a soft chuckle as he curled himself into the back of his hiding spot. "Yes, indeed."

The Wishmaster nodded before leaving the beetle to his rest. It wasn't common for him to help without a wish but... Well, he had a feeling he might be more than willing to bend the rules when it came to things like this.

And, with the tired smile in Scarab's eyes still fresh in his head, Prismo couldn't find it in him to mind.

#prohibitedwish #scarab x prismo #scarab the god auditor #prismo the wishmaster #prohibitedwish fanfic #wrath of the wishmaster

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weclassybouquetfun · 8 months

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I have a passing knowledge of Jaime Reyes' Blue Beetle from the character's appearance on SMALLVILLE, BATMAN: THE BRAVE AND THE BOLD and these panels.

Milagro, you are so real for this.

And this is where my true knowledge about Blue Beetle comes from - Ted Kord's Blue Beetle and his friendship with Booster Gold.

Blue & Gold Forever.

So with only knowing the bare minimum about Jaime I was able to watch BLUE BEETLE with no expectations. It's an incredibly vibrant, fun and heartfelt film. I'm concerned at its low box-office showing, but films with bigger leads and bigger budgets have also failed at the box office, or at the very least, didn't recoup it's budget and marketing. There has never been anything that was a guaranteed box office success. I would rather it tried to get eyes in theaters than get lost on HBO Max where it was originally slated for release. Here's hoping National Cinema Day on Aug 27th (where theaters are selling tickets for $4 for all formats) will bring more people to the tent.

Too true.

My thoughts on BLUE BEETLE

Nothing but SPOILERS.

THE GOOD

Xolo Maridueña (COBRA KAI) is a great Jaime. If you have seen Maridueña across these five seasons of COBRA KAI, it's not surprising. He has shown consistently that he can play humour, dutifulness, vulnerable and excel at action.

Big up to COBRA KAI's annual blow-out fight sequence.

youtube

Oddly enough, at the end of the film I didn't think we got to know Jaime beyond a cursory level, but I'm sure if they did a deep dive on him I would complain about that too as my issue with origin story films is that so much real estate is given to building up the history of the character, that the plot and action seems relegated to the final act. But I guess BLUE BEETLE gave us all we need to know about Jaime.

Good egg, duty bound, gets hard from hugs (and kudos to this film for actually having a character who gets horny. Comic book films are nearly always a sexless thing, but my guy Jaime pulling his shirt down to cover his crotch after Jenny's (Bruna Marquezine) tale of woe was refreshing.)

-Really liked Jenny Kord. She wasn't the typical damsel in distress. She's formidable in her own right. She and Jaime doesn't feel rushed or shoehorned in. I especially loved the fact that they didn't just make her the love interest,

Though she and Xolo are great together,

but also gave her - in the Reyes - a new family. If she and Jaime were to go pear-shaped we can just know that Jenny still has a place within the Reyes clan.

-We have not one, but two new members to the Legion of Great DCEU Family Members. Joining the mom and dad of SHAZAM, AQUAMAN's dad, THE FLASH's mom is BLUE BEETLE's Alberto Reyes (Damián Alcázar) and Nana Reyes (the Oscar nominated Adriana Barraza).

Still waters run deep and Nana proved that. She's not just up in her room sewing and watching reruns of "María la del Barrio". She is sitting back waiting to showcase her experiene while fighting in the revolution.

And Alberto Reyes! He was this film's King T'Chaka. Always with a wise word, strong, caring. I hate that he had to die and I think it's a worn out trope that a hero has to suffer loss in order to come into their greatness, but it worked. Long Live Alberto Reyes!

Just enough George Lopez to not be annoying. He's funny, but only in small doses IMO so he was just good enough and used well enough that it wasn't eye-rolling. I really loved that he wasn't just there for the obvious comic relief, instead Uncle Rudy is a brain.

The opening along had me hyped. It set the tone and it lent to idea of the scarab being from space, but the inclusion of a classic Blue Beetle comic sketch just ::chef's kiss:

-Director Ángel Manuel Soto listed which stories he pulled from for this film,

but I see a lot of BATMAN: THE BRAVE AND THE BOLD episode "Fall of the Blue Beetle" in the bits where they go to Ted Kord's home/lab.

-The way they took OMAC/Kevin Kho backstory and merged it with Carapex's. In the comics OMAC was a Cambodian child of war, in this film Ignacio/Carapex was left an orphan and trained by the School of the Americas (rebranded Western Hemisphere Institute for Security Cooperation) whose training manuals advocated tortuing and blackmailing civilians. Using Kord Industries as not just a amorphous shady big tech corp, BLUE BEETLE's writer Gareth Dunnet-Alcocer and Soto tied Kord Industries to the realties of what big corporations are doing globally.

This ties into another thing I loved about the film - it had a strong cultural identity. From Nana using Vivaporú (Vicks Vapor Rub) as smelling salts to rouse Jamie, to El Chapulín Colorado(!!!).

The idea of gentrification that affects people across colour lines and specifically targets people of lower income.

The full integration of Jaime and Khaji-Da being exemplified by Khaji-Da (voiced by singer/actor Becky G) speaking Spanish.

THE BAD

-Is there someone with less screen prescence than Susan Sarandon? I don't know how she was ever a thing. I guess they needed a "name" but there several other actors like Anjelica Huston or Sigourney Weaver who would have done something more with that role. Carla Gugino. Anyone else!

-The establishing CGI of Kord Entrerprises was basura. There was a tangible change in F/X as if mid way through post-production they found out WB-Discovery was moving it to theatrical release and they effects crew got a cash infusion.

-While I came around on the character towards the end, I wasn't a fan of Milagro. Glad they aged her up but she fell into the trope of annoying movie sibling and it grated.

THE REST

-Harvey Guillen's character died in the film (good!) and he appears to be dead again on HARLEY QUINN (not good. There is no way Nightwing's death sticks).

-Soto and James Gunn says that Jaime has a future in the DCU. While an interview snippet is making the rounds where Soto says he would like Jason Sudeikis (TED LASSO) to play Ted Kord, I don't really believe that is true as the source is from an online site I'm not familiar with and people lie for clicks.

Yes, Buster. All. The. Time.

-While comics! Jaime lives in El Paso, Texas, film! Jaime lives in Palmera City - on El Paso St. - which was created for the film (and appeared in the comics months ahead in a tie-in). Soto found inspiration in Texas, Florida, and Puerto Rico. But I wonder what Palmera City's real-world city will be when James Gunn finishes the DC Map that he say is being redone. Maybe because over the years Metropolis has been Chicago/Delaware/New York.

Metropolis is not in Delaware, GTFOH.

#Youtube #blue beetle #blue beetle movie #blue beetle 2023 #jaime reyes #xolo maridueña #angel manuel soto #dc comics #comic book movies #movies #film #dcu #wb/dc #harvey guillen #bruna marquezine #spoilers

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worldserasingandcreatinginmymind · 8 months

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Bloody Beetle | Part Four

Summary: life in the desert with Harrow and his creepy cult

Pairing: another one that’s mostly Arthur Harrow x Reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: that naughty boy Harrow is lying and manipulating people again, tut tut...

A/N: look at me posting two days in a row, who am I? For the purposes of this story, let’s just pretend Harrow has the ability to give people strength or make them need to sleep… as always spelling and grammar are not my strongest skills so please be kind :)

Part Three | Series Masterlist

- - - - -

Egypt is hot. Way too hot. There’s not a single inch of your body that isn’t dripping with sweat as you follow Harrow and his disciples through the Egyptian desert. Arthur keeps you near him at all times, and you watch as the scarab that is floating above his hand directs him through the sands and suddenly points down.

“We found Ammit. She’s here.” He says quietly before turning to face everyone and shouting in a language you don't recognise. The disciples erupt into cheers and laughs of joy. You just stand and watch them all. You don't understand how anyone could be happy about this. But then Harrow hasn’t managed to brainwash you like he has the rest of these people.

As they celebrate Harrow is approached by Bobbi, the lady you recognise as the police officer who took you from Steven’s flat. She’s on the phone when he notices her.

“Marc Spector is in Cairo. He’s tracking us.” She says just loud enough for you to hear, glancing over at you as she talks.

“I know.” Harrow replies quietly, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “She’s here.”

Some of the disciples get to work on unloading the trucks and setting up huge tents while others begin digging to find the tomb. Wanting no part in any of this you take yourself a good distance away from everyone, finding a rock to sit on. Arthur sees you and comes over, sitting next to you.

“You look displeased.” He says.

“Well you're one step closer to freeing the crocodile lady that tried to kill me and wants to kill a whole lot of other people so, yeah, you could say I’m displeased.”

“I wish you saw things the way I do.”

“And I wish you didn’t.” You shoot back and he smirks, but not in a malicious way. He is genuinely amused by you. You look back out at his followers all working like slaves under his command. It baffles you how happy they are to be working so hard in this heat, excited at the prospect of freeing Ammit. “How did you do it?”

“How did I do what?” He responds.

“How did you convince all these people to follow you?”

“They follow Ammit, not me.”

“But they follow Ammit because of you, right? You told them about her.”

“I guess.” he says, noncommittal, wanting you to keep talking.

“I presumed it was just that they were lucky enough to be judged as good by her, and that’s what made them follow her. But then I realised that even if she had judged me as good instead of condemning me, I still wouldn’t believe the same thing that she does. I still wouldn’t be okay with killing people just because they might do something bad. And I just don't see how this many people can believe that that is right.”

“Everyone has their own reasons to believe what they believe.”

“Yeah, but when those beliefs result in murder-”

“Y/N…” Harrow sighs.

“I mean what about kids? What would happen if you tested the scales, or whatever you call it, on a kid. And it turned out that they might do something that Ammit classes as evil in the future. What would happen then?” You ask, but he stays silent. “Arthur?”

“Don't ask questions that you won’t like the answer to.”

“You’re even worse than I thought.” You get up and start to walk away.

“Don't go far. It’s almost time for your daily healing.” He calls after you, but you just keep walking. You need to get away from this man.

— — — —

About an hour has passed since your revealing talk with Harrow and the dig is still in full force. You’ve made yourself as comfortable as is possible when in the middle of a scorching hot desert surrounded by unhinged cult members. You find a small mound of sand just large enough for you to lean against and you sit on the floor. Your face up towards the bright sky, eyes closed as you try to take yourself somewhere else in your mind.

Suddenly you hear a man cry out “Help!” And open your eyes to see the sky turn a dark shade of orange. You sit up right and search the crowd for Harrow. He may be deranged, but for some reason you feel safe when your eyes land on him. He stops digging and looks up at the sky. He doesn’t look worried all. In fact, he looks irritated.

“Keep digging! No matter what happens, keep digging! Do not stop. I am about to be called upon.” He looks over and gestures for you to come to him. You obey, getting up and running across the sand to where he stands waiting with his cane. As soon as you reach him he lifts the hand that is holding the cane up to the side of your arm, the wooden cane pressing into your bicep slightly. “It’s time.”

He places his other hand on your head, closing his eyes. Out the corner of your eye you notice the cane glow for a moment and then its over. He removes the hand on your head, using it to call over one of his female disciples. “Y/N is going to need to sleep now. Take her to the tent, stay there with her until I return.”

“Praise Ammit.” She responds with a nod before taking gentle hold of you and leading you to the tent. She unzips the door for you and before you enter you turn back to look at Arthur, but he is already gone.

Harrow was right. Once you got inside the tent you suddenly realised how much you wanted to sleep. As the woman charged with staying with you sat on a stool by the entrance, you settled down on one of the two camp beds that are set up in the room and fell almost instantly asleep. You have no idea how long you were asleep for but when you wake, Harrow has taken the place of the woman and is now sat watching you.

“You’re back.” You say as you sit up in bed.

“I am.” he replies simply as he stands and moves over to one of the tables in the room.

“Where did you go?”

“I had to talk with the Ennead council but it’s sorted now. Nothing to worry about.” A small smile appears on his face. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine.”

“Good, good. I’m glad. The healing can make you feel tired for a while after so it’s important to rest.” He hands you a cup of water and sits next to you. He takes a sip from his own cup before talking again. “I saw Marc Spector tonight.”

“Oh.” you say, trying to sound disinterested and ignore how your heart just skipped a beat at the mention of his name.

“He wanted the Ennead to put me on trial, but they saw through his lies and let me go. When I last saw him, he and Layla El-Faouly were meeting with a black market dealer-”

“Why are you telling me this?” You snap, standing up from the bed and stepping away from him.

“I thought you’d want to know.” It feels like he’s trying to wind you up, make you jealous that Marc is out there somewhere with Layla.

“Well I don’t, okay? I do not care about Marc Spector.” You say firmly. A half truth. You don't know Marc Spector enough to care about him, but you do care for Steven and a small part of you still believes in him.

Harrow stares at you for a moment before nodding. “Okay.” he says quietly before getting up and walking past you, stopping when he reaches the door. “Dinner is being served now. Once you’ve calmed down you may join us.”

He leaves and part of you wants to throw the cup of water in your hand at the door, but you don’t. Another part of you wants to just stay in this tent for the rest of the evening, but the grumbling of your stomach tells you that’s not a good idea. So you take a few breaths, finish the drink and head outside.

— — — —

As soon as you got outside with everyone, you wished you’d stayed in the tent. Something about the way the disciples watch you sends shivers up your spine. You get the feeling they don’t like having you around. Hushed conversations suddenly stop as you walk by. You keep catching glimpses of dirty looks and disproving stares being sent your way. If looks could kill, not even Harrow could keep you alive.

Harrow had been deep in conversation with a group of disciples so you walked straight to the food serving table and grabbed a bowl. You thanked the server who splashed a ladle of some sort of soup into your bowl and handed you a bread roll before you headed towards the table with the least amount of people sat at it. As soon as you sat down, the few people that were there got up and left, leaving you completely alone. Which you didn’t mind. At least you could eat your soup without judgement.

Maybe its just because you haven't eaten a full meal in days, but the soup was actually delicious. You have no idea how they managed to make something so tasty with such few resources, but your empty stomach really appreciates it. A few moments later you notice the shadow of someone stood next to you.

“May I sit?” Harrow asks, looking down at you with a sympathetic smile.

“Go ahead.” You say as you dip some bread in your soup and he sits next to you. “This is really good.” You say as you take a bite of the now soup soaked bread.

“Yes, Victor’s lentil soup. A favourite of mine.” He waves over to Victor who smiles at Harrow, but then he looks at you and his face drops.

“I don't think these people like me very much.” You try to laugh it off, but your insecurity sneaks through.

“There are some doubts about you, I admit. Those who believe I’m wrong for sparing you after your scales judgement. But they’ll come around, once they get to know you.”

“They want me dead.” You say, a hint of sadness in your voice as you absentmindedly stir your spoon around your soup.

“Y/N look at me.” He says and you look up, slightly startled by how close he now is. “No harm will come to you while you’re under my protection. You have my word.”

You just nod at him and he smiles, relaxing into his seat. You finish the rest of your meal in comfortable silence before Harrow offers to walk you back to the tent.

“We’re going into the tomb tomorrow morning, as soon as the sun rises.” He says suddenly, and you don't really know how to respond. You want to try to convince him not to go, not to release Ammit. But you know there’s no point so you just say “okay” and continue walking.

“I don't know how long I’ll be down there so I’ll need to do your healing before I go-”

“Wait, you're not taking me with you?” You ask.

“No, you must stay in the tent. I don't know what challenges I will face in there, it’s likely to be dangerous. I need to be able to focus and not be worrying about you.”

“Why would you worry about me?” You laugh and he stops walking, turning to face you completely.

“Because I care about you, Y/N.”

“Oh” you're surprised at his confession “Uh, I don't really know what to say to that.”

“Then say nothing.” He says, reaching his hand out to pull back the entrance to the tent. “It’s time to sleep now. Tomorrow is a big day.”

You enter the tent and head to the bed you’d slept in earlier. You're surprised that Harrow follows you in, placing his cane next to the other bed in the tent.

“You're sleeping in here too?” You ask.

“Is that alright? I assure you, you are perfectly safe with me. But if you're uncomfortable I can swap with Bobbi. I’m sure she won’t mind-”

“No, no its okay. I don't mind.” You don't fully trust that Bobbi, or any of the other disciples, wouldn’t just murder you while you slept.

“Very well.” He says, climbing into bed. “Good night Y/N.”

“Good night Arthur.”

— — — —

The next morning you when you wake you can hear the sound of voices outside your tent. You look over and realise Harrow’s bed is empty. You get out of bed and creep closer to the tent door, listening to the conversation on the other side.

“But sir, please, I want to help you!” The voice pleads.

“You want to help me? This is how you help.” Harrow replies, calm but firm. “She can’t come with us, someone has to stay with her. I’m trusting you with to keep her safe.” He pauses. “Ammit has found you to be worthy enough for this important task. Don’t let her down.”

There’s sigh before the first voice simply says “Praise Ammit.”

You hear movement and quickly retreat back away from the door. A moment later Harrow and one of his disciples, a young lady, enters.

“Y/N, this is Maya. She’s going to keep you company while I’m away.”

“Nice to meet you.” You give her a small smile, and she tries to smile back but you can tell she’s irritated. You turn your attention to Harrow. “You know I really don't need a babysitter. I’ll be fine in here on my own.”

“I know. But just in case something were to happen, Maya will be here for you.” He moves closer to you. “Are you ready?” He asks, placing a hand on your shoulder and you nod. He places his other hand on your head, his cane glows and even though you’ve just woken from a full night sleep you instantly feel tired. He guides you back into bed, helping you settle in. “Sleep now. When I return, we change the world.” He says softly with a smile as you drift back into your dreams.

— — — —

The first thing you notice when you wake up is how quiet it is in the empty camp. It’s eery, kind of haunting. For the first time you actually almost miss Harrow and you're actually relieved he didn’t leave you completely alone. You sit up and look over to see Maya sat on the stool at the entrance, slumped against the side of the tent. She’s asleep. Not wanting to disturb her, you make your way over towards her as quietly as possible and sneak past her to the outside.

Being alone outside sends a shiver up your spine. The camp looked abandoned, but you don't feel like you're alone. You get the same feeling you did at dinner last night, as if everyones eyes are on you. You head over to the food table and are thankful to find there’s still some porridge left over from breakfast in the serving pot. You grab yourself a bowl full and sit at one of the tables. You only get a few mouthfuls before you hear Maya shouting for you. She comes running outside, a look of panic on her face. A gun in her hand, which she lowers once she realises you're fine. She heads over to join you.

“Why do you have gun?!” You ask in horror.

“Harrow left it with me, so I can defend myself if I need to.”

“Defend yourself against who?” You pause, surely not… “Against me?”

“No not you.” She tucks the gun away in her belt. “He just said if anyone shows up and tries to follow him or take you then I have to use it.”

“Who would want to take me…” you don't even finish your sentence as it sinks in. He must be talking about Marc. But if what he said before was true, then Marc wanted nothing to do with you. Maybe he knows something you don't and there are more dangerous people after you. But what would they even want with you? None of this makes sense, but it’s making you anxious. You decide to change the subject. “So, how long have you been with Harrow and everyone?”

“Not long, only a few months now I think.”

“How did you get involved in all this?”

“I made friends with some bad people when I was in college. Eventually they got me selling drugs and when my parents found out they kicked me out. I was living on the streets, meeting dangerous people. That’s when I met Arthur. He found me in an alley one night, tested my scales and took me in. He saved me.”

“Wow…” you don't know what to say. Looking at her, she can’t be older than 17. But already she’s been through so much. “I’m sorry you went through that.”

“It’s okay. I’m in a much better place now.” She smiles, this time it’s real. “And once we release Ammit, I’ll be able to bring justice to the people that hurt me.” There’s a few moments of quiet before Maya speaks again. “Please don't tell Harrow that I was asleep.”

“I won’t. But why does it matter?”

“I was supposed to be watching you. If he knew that I’d fallen asleep, and that you were out here alone… he’s be so angry with me.”

“But why?”

Before she can answer you hear the sound of something being knocked over in one of the other tents, startling both of you. For a second she looks panicked while she tries to work out what to do next.

“Back to the tent. Go!” She whispers as she gets up and ushers you to move with her. She escorts you back with one hand on your back, the other hovering over her gun which is tucked into her belt. Once inside she tells you to sit back on the bed, which you do. You both stay silent as you listen out for any more movement. “I’m going to have a look around. Stay here.” She says and you agree before she disappears back out the door.

A few more minutes pass by and you see the shadow of someone creeping around the edge of your tent. The shadow of someone too big to be Maya. You get on the floor and shuffle under your camp bed just as someone enters. You clasp your hands over your mouth as you listen to heavy footsteps move around your tent, rifling through items and baskets of papers that Harrow left on the table. Something falls to the floor and drifts down to land in front of you, some paper covered in sort of ancient text. Your heart feels like its about to pound right out of your chest as the intruder moves closer. As they crouch down to pick it up you finally get a glimpse of who it is. He looks at you like he’s just seen a ghost.

“Y/N?” the British voice you didn’t realise you’d missed so much. “Y/N! Oh thank God you’re alive!”

Part Five

Taglist : @sleepylunarwolf / @ahookedheroespureheart / @sleepyamaya / @spicydonut25 / @kult6 / @uncle-eggy / @malaanii/ @toracainz / @pinkiestwinkie / @galacticstxrdust / @mateihavenoidea / @xmariakx / @oscarissac2099 / @whycantwebefriendz / @parkeepingparker

(If you want to be added/removed on the tag list please let me know, but note that I can’t reply to comments from this blog)

#moon knight #Steven grant #arthur Harrow #Marc Spector #Layla el faouly #moon knight fanfic #Steven grant x reader #arthur Harrow x reader #Marc Spector x reader #Khonshu #Oscar Isaac x reader #Ethan Hawke x reader

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mr-ding-dong · 3 months

Text

DBD men... And would I blow them?

...

The Trapper - No, I just feel like he'd be way too rough.

The Wraith - Yes yes yes... I will not further explain my reasoning.

The Hillbilly - no, I know he's musty from being in those walls for ages. But I'd give him a hug.

The Doctor - HELL NO... he creeps me tf out, and he's a huge psychopath... Most killers are, but he's on a special level.

The Shape - Probably, like in a really odd circumstance.

The Clown - Nope, I know for a fact he probably has some disease down there. Mungy clown.

The Cannibal - No... But I'd give him a hug and head pats.

The Legion (Frank) -... Maybe, he's a mixed bag for me. Probably not, simply because of Jules.

The Legion (Joey) - Yes, he's hot. Duh.

The Nightmare - Nope, I'd rather kill him.

The Ghost face - Yes, why not, seems like a fun time.

The Demogorgon - IT'S A BEAST ALIEN, WHY WOULD I DO THAT?

The Oni - I'd be down, ngl. Like 👉👈 perhaps I'd go down if my life was spared from his blood rage 👀

The Deathslinger - Nope, notta chance. Sorry... But no.

The Executioner -... Yes, he's definitely musty... But I'm willing to somewhat look past it. Just no damn scarab beetles.

The Blight - Nope, I don't want any of the infection juice he's having. I wouldn't even high five him without ten gloves on.

The Trickster - Nope, I hate him. I don't care if he's hot, he's not getting any, I'd rather kick his ass.

The Cenobite -... Probably. Not in the chatter skin, but if the chains don't go through my skin and just kinda tie... I'd be okay.

The Dredge - Wtf even is it? Does it even have one? No... Ew.

The Mastermind - Nah, I'm good. He doesn't need more of an ego trip. I'll be passing on that even if he's British.

The Nemesis - No... Again... Does it even have one?

The Singularity - Does it even have one #3? And no! I'd rather feed it a bomb and watch it explode, before high fiving Gabriel.

The Knight - Handjob... I feel like something is wrong down there so my mouth ain't touching shit.

The Good Guy - No, he's a married man and a doll. And a father! No... I'm not that type.

Jake Park - Yes, already on knees. No hesitation.

Dwight Fairfield -... Out of pity, sure. But only once.

David King - Nope. Not my type, too rough and weird face... Ngl.

Bill Overbeck - No, he's cool... But like in a badass grandpa type of way.

Ace Visconti - No... I can smell the STDs off of him, I don't trust that man.

Adam Francis - Sure, he seems nice, probably clean too.

Jeff Johansen - Nah... I'll pass. A bit too much like a relative.

Quentin Smith - Sure...if I don't stare at his face for a long time, because they really messed up his face.

Steve Harrington -... Yes. I won't deny it.

Ash Williams - He looks like my father, so no.

David Tapp - Nope, probably married or something and I don't do that.

Felix Richter - I just don't vibe that way, I forget he exists most of the time. So no.

Leon Kennedy - YES. Sorry Ada, but YES.

Jonah Vasquez -Nope, I just don't really... Like the vibes... I'll pass.

Yoichi Asakawa - He's so sweet, so yeah... Plus he's pretty. I'd be down.

Gabriel Soma - 100%, he's definitely traumatized but who isn't from the survivors...and killers.

Vittorio Toscano - I don't usually go for much older men or beards....but I'd be down.

Renato Lyra - I like messy hair, I'm a sicker for it. So as long as he doesn't cut his hair, my knees are on the ground.

Nicholas Cage - No! He is a married man with kids. Nuh uh.

Alan Wake - Nah... No offense but he looks like a cheaper Keanu Reeves. I'll pass.

#dbd killer #dbd survivor #Dbd #dbd fanart #dbd #dbd art #dead by deadlight #dbd fanfic #dbd fandom #dbd frank #dbd clown #dbd chucky #dbd cosplay #dbd headcanons #dbd hillbilly #dbd wraith #dead by daylight #horror #hornyposting

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lazlolullaby · 11 months

Text

Where is the Moon Knight AU where Marc and Layla's patron Gods are swapped? and now my brain can't work because it extended into a full roleswap AU?

Layla's father came back from a successful dig with a trove of information and a lovely little ushabti of Khonshu. However, Abdullah is acting strange, talking to thin air, going out at night, researching further into obscure things. The lights are also flickering no matter how much she checks the generator and the wind keeps blowing despite the doors being shut.

Abdullah El-Faouly is the Eye of Khonshu: being banished for so long from the world, the God needs some time to adjust before going forward with his plan of punishing evildoers. (this was Khonshu trying so hard to be like the Ennead, but he could not abandon his nature to protect.) Abdullah ends up breaking the contract and Khonshu leaves the ushabti behind as a token of protection.

(then there is Arthur Harrow, the Talons of Khonshu. While his willingness to perform violence is a boon, sometimes he is too eager.)

Everything is fine for a while, then mercenaries break in to find the artifact. Bushman threatens them. Layla fights and takes down most of them, but her father is still hurt. One of the remaining mercenaries turns on Bushman. (He starts the mission as Marc - but since he can't handle another innocent death on his hands, backs out and swaps with Jake.)

During the struggle, Layla gets shot. Jake gets things done and then scatters. (he believes that he killed her. this has. repercussions on the system.)

Khonshu at first just wanted to revive Abdullah, but at his insistence he gives up being an Avatar so Layla can be revived. "she is going to be angry. You won't be there to see it." "she would have gone after them anyway."

(Khonshu abandons Harrow for this, not sure if it was worth it.)

Abdullah is right. Layla does go on a hunt, now as the Wings of Khonshu. Moon Scarab, to the underworld and the rumor mill.

She's mad about everything. Mad that her father presumed she needed saving, mad that she has to listen to an angry bird. (Rage, though it burns hot, always burns out. It's better than the cold certainty of Harrow's punish before wrongdoing. It is worth it.)

(Layla isn't unhinged, she's just gripping very tight to the hinges, thank you for asking.)

Weeks pass and she finds the last person of the mercenary group. A man cuffed to a wheelchair in a psych ward, sedated.

"His mind is fractured. Broken." Khonshu says. "It could be a fitting punishment, to keep him here. His body rotting while his mind spins in fruitless cycles."

"or he could be very good at hiding. One way to find out."

Layla is an excellent forger - a release for the merc, a small flat and money to keep him in town while he recovers from treatment. She feeds him a lie about being a family friend. There's a flicker of distrust.

"I've got a condition - blacking out, memory issues, insomnia - I'll be up reading all night." He says his name is Steven, but she knows better. "Are you sure you want to be flatmates?"

"I have places to be at night." Khonshu flickers the lights.

"Oh. Fine. Night owl, that's...fine."

"Don't worry about the lights, the landlord never answers the calls." don't mind that she's the landlord.

Her coming home with bruises and cuts. Steven flinches, insisting they go out to get bandages because they don't have a proper first aid kit. The awkward stare off with a hurt lady and a nervous guy VS the night shift cashier that's Seen it All. "bar fight. I won." Layla grins, blood on her teeth.

(The little moment where they're close as he's putting a bandage on her nose and being. so. tender. to someone who's never been more than 'distractedly polite' to him. His face changing to something new, something strange and lovely.)

When she finds him hitting himself, it's not that hard for him to explain. "I don't - I don't know if this is real. Jake is very sure you're dead!"

It turns out after the night of the attack, Jake got them far away as possible. He resolved to become a night driver and Steven to keep house in the day. Marc woke up and realized an alter was trying to build a life and just...let them. Better than mercenary work.

Steven gets worried about his missing time and gets therapy...and the therapist realizes, tells them and pushes them too hard to "come together as one whole"...Jake snaps and he's forced into a psych ward.

They cribbed together some form of communication on the psych ward thanks to a different therapist and the other patients. Marc's immense guilt wanted them to stay. But Jake and Steven wanted the body out. If they spent more time in the ward, they might reveal some crimes and the system doubts that they'll be allowed this level of help in a prison.

When Layla arrived to take them, it was an opportunity they didn't want to refuse.

"We don't want to be one person. We want to be ourselves." Steven fully introduces them after that. "We are the Hippo system! Like the Hippocampus of the brain that works with memory - that's Marc - and navigation - that's Jake!" He spells it out, "He Isn't a People Person Otherwise!"

"Who's he?"

Steven shrugs. "I dunno. I'm just here for general life, Jake is here for protection and gossip and Marc...he's well. Not as social as he'd like to be. I'm not supposed to know about it, that's not my "function", as the doc would say but...whatever happened that made us us was too much for one person to bear. It happened before we met you, so it's not your fault."

Layla shrugs. "What can you tell me about that night?"

"I can't tell you. That's part of the point, us being separate and all."

She eventually gets an answer out of them. Layla also lies and says she wasn't as badly hurt as they saw and shows off her Moon Scarab suit with the healing. (Jake accepts that answer at face value. Steven is a little concerned but willing to let it slide. Marc is suspicious.)

Now with their first round of secrets gone, they feel more at home. The Hippo System settles in as a decent partner in her artifact retrieval - he can put his mercenary skills to a good cause and she doesn't have to hide that burning rage as much. (the rage dims, is soothed and that's not good for vengeance.)

Khonshu starts to intrude, making noises about using the Hippo System as his next Avatar. Layla pulls away, tries to keep them apart because she Knows any more pressure on that mind is going to break them apart.

Wendy Spector dies and the Hippo system is thrown out of balance.

(The rage ignites. She's always held it together - her family after her mother died, her composure when people talked over her and her knowledge of Egypt, her home, now the Hippo system. It's always been up to her and she's resigned and vicious and not holding back.)

Layla makes a judgement call and goes after Harrow alone.

The system recovers. Steven now knows why he exists. He does not flinch from Layla's rage, does not fall for Harrow's twisted philosophy, not like Marc or Jake would. He rallies the system to action, to save the world.

Harrow was able to get dirt on Marc's past and tries to kill him with Judgement, but it doesn't work. He reveals about Khonshu, that his partner is lying to him and it does strain the relationship.

Things follow canon. Khonshu gets sealed into stone. Layla dies and Marc blends in as a follower.

Tawaret tries to ask him to be her Avatar, but he refuses. "Do you know what I did as a child to my brother? What my mother did to me over and over for it? Why would you even want me to defend women and children?"

And he releases Khonshu. "Ah. Big pigeon! No wonder Layla was so bloody ready to be rid of you! Get back to her then! Go on!"

And Tawaret comes back. "Temporary Avatar. I don't want any more voices in my head than I started with."

And he becomes Hippo Knight, because why not?

And they win against Harrow and the cult of Ammit. The system helps Layla stop giving into her rage to kill Harrow. Everyone should be able to choose good or evil.

(Steven kept in contact with the patients and nurses in the psych ward. Harrow is preaching violence again and well. He made his choice. Jake drives Layla over to meet with him. Marc holds her tight.)

#moon knight #layla el faouly #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #steven grant x layla el faouly #khonshu #marc spector x layla el faouly #lazlo's lulls #roleswap au #something about layla gets some mental illness and the system gets some stability #idk i kind of liked the thought of Layla's first impression of the system being him at his worst in the psych ward #then her learning about the different alters when they're ready #and the hippo acronym is VERY steven so #Inaccurate did system much like the show

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a-dauntless-daffodil · 1 year

Text

oh no not the clankie angst ideas no no no no no no no no n-

cleo acting cold and strange after frankie fall into stasis sleep from using up their charge for something

(yes. you KNOW what that means)

(what did frankie drain themselves on- helping keep the portal open to get clawdeen's mom back?? protecting the school??? powering up a big spell for draculaura???)

(not the point. the point IS-)

cleo tucks a giant plush scarab under the sleeping frankie's arm and then goes right back to her normal school life routine

(maybe watsie tries zapping them awake but his charge isn't strong enough and frankie's parents are off backpacking in the mountains no one can reach them)

cleo won't talk about what happened to frankie. she doesn't even seem to care. her friends start out understanding "we're all dealing with this our own ways no shade" then get annoyed "what is WITH her???" and finally worried "no seriously what's up with her...? this is weird...."

(they're looking for ways to wake frankie up NOW NOW NOW frankie loved being in school they're missing part of the school year they're missing out on so much wonderful normal stuff it's terrible and cleo was just as frantic to help get them back until suddenly she wasn't)

drac and clawdeen look for answers. nefera is confused too but relaxes when she hears about the scarab plushie, it's from cleo's childhood, her leaving it with them means she really does care

(nefera's trying to figure out how to be a less overwhelming older sister she wants to give cleo space)

cleo's friends don't have that hang up

confrontation. cleo's not interested in it. she walks away, forgetting her organ bag. clawdeen hands it to her.....

....it feels lighter than it should.

drac has a terrible thought

all the friends huddle around the sleeping frankie, with cleo's plushie in their arms. someone notes the plushie is big enough to hide a jar in...

clawdeen finds a seam that's been re-stitched with surgical thread like the kind frankie uses. very carefully she slices it open with a claw

everyone leans in to see, then blanches

it takes using watsie stealing cleo's organ bags and having her chase him to get her attention

(being told he can help with this is the first thing to make watsie undroop and perk up since frankie went into stasis)

but they finally bring cleo back to the dorm room door

this time when they confront her she gets angry. she's close enough to her heart to feel anger again, and feel annoyance when she demands someone go in and gab her organ bag for her-

(watise dragged it into the dorm and is standing guard next to it, barking at cleo, tail wagging)

-only for everyone to say yeah no thanks, pass.

she hasn't exactly been charming lately so

clawdeen mockingly bows her towards the door so she can go get the bag herself, and cleo is angry enough, frustrated enough, that she marches right in

her steps slow when she sees frankie

and the heart jar someone took out of the plushie and tucked under their arm

she hurries to grab the organ bag but watsie licks her hand and snags her bandages, trying to tug her towards the bed

cleo lurches back and bumps into frankie's work bench. frankie's eyeball recorder falls, turns on,

and suddenly there's a projection of frankie spinning on their desk chair, excitedly talking about how cleo showed them not to bottle up their feelings, how to talk about them to someone or something, because-

when you bottle up the bad, you bottle up the good, too.

something something something, drac, clawdeen, and co coax cleo into sitting next to frankie and her heart jar, and FINALLY having a good cry

turns out cleo felt guilty and useless for being so broken up over frankie's stasis when draculaura and clawedeen were also sad but working hard to fix things. they have books to study and magic, and all she could do was hold frankie's hand and watch them work. she tried to be strong too, so at least she wouldn't distract them, but it hurt too much

Leaving her heart with frankie was the only thing she could think of, in the end

drac and clawdeen are like wait what? but we haven't been strong- we were falling apart all over each other and our friends! we thought you were doing that too, with nefera or someone!

she hasn't. Crushed 2.0, frankie's friends are also cleo's friends and they don't want her to bottle up her feelings for them either

cleo takes back her heart but leaves the plushie

next time she does her eyeball report, she's visiting frankie, sitting on the bed and holding their hand as she talks

she laughs. she tears up. watsie jumps in her lap and her scarabs cuddle over both her and frankie. she tells them they both have amazing friends and she knows they'll find a way to wake frankie back up soon. then a scream from the school intercom tells her it's time for her next class

nefera shows up at the door, hesitant. asks if she can't walk cleo to her class, maybe hang out in their room afterwards

cleo smiles. yes, she is tots in for that

she lets go of frankie's hand and gets up to leave

(no one notices the little spark that climbs up frankie's fingers, or how they give the tiniest, smallest twitch)

AND THATS IT THATS THE IDEA

CLEO CRIES BLARG ARRRRGH SOMETHING SOMETHING I DONT KNOW HOW FRANKIE WAKES BACK UP BUT THEY DO ANd EVERYTHINGS FINE AGAIN OK

#monster high gen 3 #cleo de nile #clankie #frankie stein #clawdeen wolf #draculaura #watsie #hurt comfort #story idea #happy-ish end?#i had to purge it #be free angst and trouble me no more!!!!!

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howaboutcastiel · 2 years

Text

A Change of Heart

Summary: The reader is kidnapped by Harrow as leverage for Moon Knight to hand over the scarab leading to Ammit’s tomb. (This fic is not accurate to the canon of the 2022 show for multiple reasons.) Based loosely on this request because I’m easily distracted.

Content Warning: torture, violence, kidnapping, other canon-aligned dark themes. Read at your own risk. Arthur Harrow loves the sound of his own voice.

Word Count: 6.9k

Category/Rating: Mature but not Explicit. Angst.

It started like a normal day for all of you.

Steven went to work, you used your day off to go grocery shopping and tidy the apartment. You kissed your boyfriend goodbye after a quick but fulfilling breakfast together and you spent much of the morning deep-cleaning the kitchen. Steven would be home at 7, you estimated, so you planned to get ingredients at the store to treat him with a home-cooked meal.

At just after noon, you decided you would stop at the local diner before heading on to the nearest grocery store. You spent a while longer than necessary there, just enjoying the peace and watching the pigeons hopping around outside the window. That was when a stranger slid coolly into the other side of your booth.

“Don’t scream.” He warned, and you heard the click of a pistol cocking under the table. Ice shot up your spine, fire burning your throat. A voice in your head provided quick logic. Just do as the man says.

“Who are you?” You asked, your voice small and meek.

“Doesn’t matter who I am. It matters more who you are.”

“What do you mean? What are you talking about?” You had to resist the urge to ramble. Annoying him could get you killed. The saliva in your mouth became too thick to swallow and your eyelids were becoming heavy, threatening to make you cry.

“I hear you’re a friend of Marc Spector.” What does Marc have to do with this? With this man? Why would your affiliation with Marc bring a stranger’s gun to your chest?

“Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to quietly come with me, no fussing and no running. We’re going to go away and have a little chat and no one is going to get hurt. Understood?”

You couldn’t tell if you wanted to throw up or pass out. Sheepishly, you nodded at the man and he motioned for you to stand up before him. You did.

“Good girl.” The words dug into your skin, stealing the breath from your lungs. You had no idea what this man wanted from you, but you knew you preferred giving up whatever it was to getting a bullet in your sternum. You followed him out the door without paying. No one noticed the gun under his coat. He motioned you to a small black car, opening the door to the back seat.

Your love of true crime podcasts was wreaking havoc in your brain, but at least it reminded you to note all you could about the man’s appearance. He was tall and thin. His hair was black and he wore a baseball cap, fairly unassuming. He had the same British accent as every other bloke around here. His lips were thin, his nose was short, and his beard was unkempt and patchy. He smelled of Old Spice and honey. Sickly sweet.

You shoved yourself into the back seat of the car and he followed suit. There were two men already in the front seat. An inconspicuous driver, obviously eastern-European, and a much more noticeable man in the passenger's seat.

“Forgive me for the theatrics.” The passenger spoke with a low, gravelly voice that didn’t match his look. He had long blonde hair, unwashed and stringy, and a permanent forlorn look on his face. His eyes were soft, a contrast to the coldness of the rest of him. He was slender and stiff against the seat. “I’m afraid that this is too important to put gently. The fate of the world is at stake.”

“Who are you?” By now, tears were streaming down your face. You weren’t built for this kind of danger. You knew that Marc had secrets, but his concealed life had never caused you trouble before. You certainly didn’t expect Marc to have any leverage upon the fate of the world.

“My name is Arthur, but I am just a humble servant. I suspect that you know all about me, though, don’t you?”

“N-no, I don’t.” You couldn’t tell if your voice was convincing, but you were sure that he knew the fear at least wasn’t an act. He made a motion with his head to the armed man sitting at your side, an almost guilty look on his face.

“Sorry about this.” The man pulled a sandbag from under the seat. You cowered away as he extended it outward toward your head, but it was no use in the confined space. He glanced at his gun, an unspoken warning, and you surrendered to his touch. He slid the bag gently over your head and you tried not to panic. “Give me your hands.”

“What are you going to do?” You asked pathetically as he fit a pair of cuffs around your wrists. I can’t believe this is happening. Am I about to die? Where are they taking me? Your breath was hot against the fabric over your face.

“That part is up to you, I’m afraid.” Arthur’s voice traveled from the front seat. “Your… partner is in possession of something, something vital to the goddess that I serve.”

“You—you mean Marc?”

“Yes, Marc. The mercenary.” There was slight amusement in his voice. Mercenary?

“I need Marc to return the scarab. It is necessary to locate Ammit’s tomb. It is of great import that the scarab is returned in a timely manner.”

“What? What scarab? This doesn’t make any sense.” The more the man confused you, the more fear grew in your gut. Each unknown was another threat to your life. You couldn’t fathom what was going on.

“I think you’ll find it unwise to feign ignorance about this.”

“I’m not faking.”

“Hmm. We shall see.”

~~~

Right on schedule, Steven waltzed through the door of your shared apartment at exactly 7:03. He’d had an exceptionally good day at work as Donna was out sick for the week. He’d managed to sell his entire stock of Taweret plushies and someone had even brought doughnuts to the break room.

Steven wanted nothing more than to cuddle up to you with a hot cup of tea. He just felt so damn good. Hell, he was willing to give the body up to Marc—or even Jake, if he wanted—just to multiply the ecstasy in the air. As long as everyone was happy. He wanted to preserve this little slice of life that had granted him such a cheerful day.

“Evening, darling!” He sang as he shut the door behind him. He expected you to be in the kitchen or perhaps on the couch, but you were nowhere to be seen. Steven called to you, thinking you might be in the loo. “Darling?”

She’s not here. A voice rang in his head. Marc was instantly worried.

“Maybe she’s asleep.” Steven pondered aloud, venturing into your shared bedroom. Still, no sign of you. “Did she say she was going somewhere?”

She was going to the store, I think. Jake attempted to hold back his panic as he tried to be helpful. Steven made his way back to the kitchen.

“She would have been back hours ago.” He searched the fridge. There was no new cartoon of eggs, no almond milk, and no sign of anything else on the grocery list. Steven’s heart dropped to his stomach. “Did she text us?”

There was no alert on Steven’s phone. Just a reminder from his Egyptology app that he had a new fact of the day to read. We should call her. Steven dialed the number.

Straight to voicemail.

Why would her phone be off? “Maybe it died?” No, she would never let it die. She worries too much. “What else could it be?”

A million thoughts shot through their head all at once, bouncing from alter to alter as they worked to find the most-likely answer. There could be a multitude of explanations, ranging from the mundane to the absolutely horrific, but only one was convincing. They couldn’t really tell which of them came to the realization first.

“You don’t think…” It couldn’t be. Marc, where’s your phone? The mission phone.

It took a minute to boot up the old flip-phone, but sure enough, there was a new message from today. From a half-hour ago, actually. It was a single, minute-long video, followed by a set of coordinates. The number itself was tampered with, untraceable. Swallowing hard, Marc took over the body and pressed play, squinting to see on the tiny screen.

“Marc Spector.”

He knew that voice. God damn it. That voice was exactly the one he feared that he would hear. Harrow spoke with the same forlorn cadence that he always did, as if his endless ‘good deeds’ had warped him into a tortured soul. Marc’s grasp tightened around the phone.

“You have something that I desperately need. I cannot do justice in explaining the importance of the scarab that you possess. It is clear that you do not wish to return it, and it pains me to admit that I have resorted to quite desperate methods to convince you otherwise. So listen carefully, mercenary.”

The camera panned from Harrow’s pretentious face to a folding chair in the corner. Marc struggled to make out much more than the fact that someone was sitting in the chair, hunched over and unconscious. As Harrow stepped closer, however, the figure became recognizable, much to the whole system’s dread. There you were, passed out from exhaustion, hands tied behind your back and sweat and blood covering your frame.

“I can confidently say now that we both have something the other desires. This message will be sent with coordinates leading you to me, but I must warn you before you come in guns-blazing. If any of my men are injured or killed by you or the old bird, I’m afraid your precious girlfriend will pay the price.”

He flashed a gun to the camera in his free hand. Marc could barely process that, though, as his eyes were fixated on you. Even asleep, your breath shuddered in your chest. Bruises in the shape of handprints patterned your neck and dried blood trailed from your nose and mouth. He couldn’t survey for more damage due to the angle of the film, but his imagination filled in much of the gaps.

“I offer to you a simple trade, Marc. The scarab for the girl, and then we all walk away from this and go our separate ways. No harm done.”

No harm done? Look what he’s done to her! Steven’s voice echoed inside of Marc’s head. He could feel a tension in his limbs that wasn’t his, though his fair share of anger was running through the body as well.

“You have eight hours to decide. I cannot offer you more, as you must understand the urgency of this all. I hope you find my offer to be generous.”

The video cut to black. Marc stood there, unable to speak, for many minutes before a wave of adrenaline allowed him to throw his phone across the room. It bounced against the wall before hitting the ground, unharmed. Those old flip-phones could withstand nearly anything.

She must be terrified. How could we let this happen? She looked like she was in so much pain—

Why would he do this? She doesn’t know anything.

It doesn’t seem to me that he cares about what she knows. She’s just there for bait.

Yeah, well, she’s pretty convincing bait. There’s no fucking way we aren’t going to those coordinates. Right now.

What if we’re too late? What do you think he’ll do to her?

We have to assume that we aren’t too late, but we are her only chance. We have to go.

Marc stumbled after the phone, pulling the message back up to copy the text that it contained. Despite all of his military training—all of his run-ins with death and decades of practice dealing with high-stress situations—he couldn’t stop the hammering in his chest and the tears welling in his eyes. This was different. He had more than himself to lose. More than his alters to endanger.

“You will not surrender the scarab for a mere mortal woman.” Khonshu’s voice boomed around the flat. Marc’s blood was boiling and Steven and Jake weren’t exactly staying calm, either.

“Don’t you dare refer to her that way!” Marc spat at the decomposing god, his voice thick with unbridled rage. “I am not leaving her there with him.”

There was no expression to be read on Khonshu’s face. Bird skeletons didn’t exactly produce detailed body language.

“Perhaps this is an advantage to us, Marc. He has revealed his location. He is vulnerable. We can nip his pursuit of Ammit directly at the pathetic bud. It will be easy to kill him.”

“No no. You heard him. I attack first, she dies. I'm not doing that.” Marc was wringing his hands as he paced, not sure exactly who was controlling his legs. Steven and Jake grumbled agreements to his statement. They couldn’t risk putting you in further danger.

“You have such little faith in me. I do not intend to put your partner in further peril.”

“Okay then. What do you suggest?”

“I will tell you on the way. We must make haste. Summon the suit.”

~~~~

Slowly, you stirred awake. Your eyelids were much too heavy and your body wasn’t cooperating with your brain. It took a moment for you to process your position. Upright, hands fastened behind you, and legs zip-tied to the legs of the chair. There was a pounding in your head.

Where am I? I can’t see anything, my head hurts so bad. Everything is blurry. Why does my nose hurt? I’m so thirsty. What do I remember?

An icy stabbing riddled your chest as your memory of the day caught up to you. Harrow had given you his ultimatum for the length of the car ride. You tried to tune him out, but the bag over your head had stolen your other senses from giving you a distraction. Arthur explained his goal of releasing the entombed goddess, Ammit. He preached of her power to see into one’s future, of her desire to rid the world of evil. His speech brought a sour taste to your mouth, but you didn’t dare to interrupt him. When the vehicle came to a stop, he said one final thing before leaving you with the armed, bearded man.

“I hope you’ll find it within yourself to share your knowledge with us.”

Arthur was convinced that you knew more than you were letting on, but you truly were completely in the dark. As far as you knew, Steven Grant worked in a museum. Marc Spector used his alter’s time off to make some extra cash elsewhere. What he did to earn it, you didn’t know. You only knew that he came home late at night, out of breath, and often mentally drained more than physically so. Maybe Arthur was right. Could Marc really be a mercenary? It would explain why he’d never told you about his time away.

The armed man spoke softly at first. Once he had led you into whatever abandoned building you had been driven to, he removed your face covering and cuffs. He almost looked pained as he tried to make his smile genuine.

“Now, doll, you’re gonna tell me what I need to know, right?” You certainly would, as you had no intention of making him force it out of you, but you really didn’t know a damn thing. You didn’t know anything about Ammit or about a scarab. Hell, you could barely find Egypt on a map if someone prompted you to.

Some of his questions were complete nonsense. He had raised his voice when all he got from you was confused stuttering. Why do they think that I know anything? You pleaded with him, to no avail.

“Where is the scarab?”

“Are you also an avatar? What god or goddess do you serve?”

A half-dozen questions in, a voice pondered in your head. The thought wasn’t attractive in the least, but you knew it was right. If he thinks you know something, maybe that will keep him from killing you. He doesn’t seem too trigger-happy. You can stall him.

Your desire to survive was slowly overcoming everything else. You began to answer his questions more cryptically, especially ones that you knew the answers to.

“When was the last time that you saw him? Marc.” That’s easy. I ate breakfast with Steven.

“I don’t recall.”

“Bullshit!”

“I really don’t.”

It wasn’t until he frustratedly put his hands around your neck that something inside you snapped. You began to punch him with all the strength you could muster, doing quite a number on him, but certainly breaking your hand in the process. Other men heard the commotion and came to his defense, restraining you in a fold-out chair. You thrashed until you couldn’t thrash anymore, and you were bound to the chair. From there, the dynamic shifted drastically.

Please don’t kill me. I don’t want to die like this. This isn’t even my fight. I don’t know anything! Why won’t you believe me? Everything hurts so bad. I’m going to die. I don’t want to die. God, I don’t want to die.

You had never begged for your life before. After a while, it became clear to the men that you didn’t have the information they required. They had spent enough energy getting you to talk—noting how much of a shame it was to rough up your beautiful face—and now your last ditch at survival had convinced them of your utter ignorance. Lucky for you, though not to your knowledge, they all needed you alive.

You were a bargaining chip.

They left you alone and in the dark, still tied to the chair and bleeding profusely from your nose. You weren’t sure if you passed out from the pain or from the bottoming-out of adrenaline. Regardless, when you awoke again, you were neither alone nor in the dark.

“Hello again.” Arthur called to you from the corner of the room. He looked more stressed than he had when you’d seen him in the car, and he was more feeble-looking standing up. A soft crunching sound echoed off the walls as he stepped toward you.

“I don’t know anything.” You pleaded, dreading that he had only come to cause you more pain, that he wasn’t convinced of your lack of knowledge.

“I’m aware of that. Do you know how long you’ve been unconscious?”

“No.” You honestly didn’t. You had no grasp on anything right now, save for the pain that radiated through your body.

“The sun went down a short while ago. I’m afraid you’ve been sleeping for a while.”

“Marc will know that something’s wrong.”

“Yes, of course. I’m counting on that. I left him a message just a while ago, actually. He should be arriving here any time now.”

You couldn’t read the expression on his face, but the somber look in his eyes was gone, something else in its place.

“I possess only a sliver of the power that Ammit provides, but it allows me to see great things. I have seen into your soul, as well as Marc’s, and I must say that I’m surprised that the two of you appear to have such a close bond.

“Ammit cannot allow evil to remain on this planet any longer. For that reason, I judge the scales of all of those that I come across as I await the full force of her release. Your partner, Marc, has a wildly different soul than you. He’s an embodiment of chaos. A fractured, broken man. A dangerous man.”

“That isn’t true—”

“I cannot let him continue to threaten what we have built. He is a danger not only to all of us, but also to himself. You, on the other hand…” He hesitated for a moment, a look of guilt floating behind his eyes.

“Your scales balance perfectly. I truly wish that you could live to see the world we will make, but allowing you to leave here would put our operation in jeopardy.”

Another chill blasted through you, stealing your breath outright and pushing nausea through your chest. Saliva pooled in your mouth, a sure precursor to vomit. I can’t die like this. Not now. Please. Not now.

“As I said, Marc will be arriving here soon, hopefully with the scarab in hand. I have arranged a trade with him—the scarab for your release. We will complete the trade as promised, but neither of you must be permitted to leave. I will do it myself if I must.”

You could tell that he was genuinely delusional enough to think he was doing the right thing. At the same time, though, you could see that—for all the talk of balanced scales—he was utterly ravenous for a fight. It was something feral inside him, begging to crawl out from behind the false composure and the motivational-speaker aura he dawned. He would enjoy killing Marc. He would enjoy killing you. He was just itching for a chance. For a reason. For permission.

A commotion could be heard outside, distracting you both. You didn’t know if you should be relieved or more worried. Surely Marc wouldn’t fall into this trap, right?

~~~

“Alright, no fancy switches,” Marc spoke aloud to the other alters, both of them near the front. “We keep on the armor and the cape, but we leave our face uncovered. I don’t want to scare her.”

It’s too late for that. She’s probably terrified. We should have seen something like this coming. We should have done more to protect her—

We can’t think about that right now, amigo. It’s time to fight. What’s our strategy?

“Alright, Khonshu. You said you’d talk on the way. What’s our plan?”

“In your right pocket is a replica of the scarab. You will present it to Harrow’s men.”

“A fake scarab? Really? That’s a horrible plan.”

“You are ungrateful. You must do as I say.”

“Alright.” Khonshu’s method of travel was incredibly fast. Gotta speed this up, Marc said in his head so only his alters could hear.

“Harrow will recognize the fake, but the other men will have no idea. You brandish the scarab until you get to him, and stall his effort to take it.”

“How will I do that?”

“I’m sure you will find a way. Summon the worm, if you must.” I thought we were past the name-calling, you stupid pigeon. I’ll show you I’m not a bloody worm.

“Okay, what else?”

“The mission is fairly straightforward, Marc. I will protect the girl to the best of my ability as you neutralize the external threats, but you will have to target Harrow first. Do not give him the option to escape.”

I’m gonna have a fucking field day with this. Those bastards don’t even know what’s coming. I’ll wipe that stupid, righteous look off old Harrow’s face. He’s gonna regret—

Don’t get too trigger-happy, Jake. Khonshu can only do so much. We have to make sure that she survives.

What do you reckon he’s done to her? Do you think he really would let us just walk away?

No chance in hell, man. He knows we’re not gonna stop even if we did give him the goddamn scarab. No, he wouldn’t let us leave.

I agree.

So he plans to kill her, too, then? We can’t let him get close enough for that. Scarab or no scarab, we’ve got to get her out.

We will, Steven. I promise.

You’re awfully quiet about the use of force, Steven. Since when did you get comfortable with the idea of taking a life?

Nothing about this is comfortable. He took our girl.

I know, Steven. I know.

~~~

You heard the familiar voice in the conversation outside. He seemed calmer than the others, and from what you could hear, there were numerous others.

“No funny business, okay? Look, the scarab is right here.” A murmur traveled through the thin, decaying walls of the building. They were content with whatever Marc was holding. Harrow kept his eyes on you as three pairs of even footsteps approached, but he was ready to pounce. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat.

“I’m glad you could make it.” Harrow spoke with the authoritative cadence that he used with his men. He kept his hands crossed in front of his waist, eyeing Marc’s slow movement into the room. There was a guard on each side of him, visibly armed.

Marc was wearing something…strange. It looked like bandages, but they were organized in a pattern that met at his chest. The armor was obviously protective, layering over his body in an artificial way and separated from his chest and arms. He was wearing a cape, which trailed behind him as he walked. A metallic crescent stuck to the center of his chest, another one in his hand.

He didn’t even look at you. His eyes were focused on the man before him, the slender man planning to kill you both. He reached his free hand slowly out, not wanting to set off the guards.

“Where is the scarab?” Harrow seemed impatient. Of course he was, but not for the scarab as it would outwardly appear. He was anxious to tear into your boyfriend, to force the life to drain from his eyes.

“You think I’m just gonna hand it to you? I need some kind of proof that you’re not gonna screw me over.”

“Screw you over?” Harrow laughed dryly, the words lowly in his mouth. “And why would I do that? If you have agreed to the terms of our deal, then there is nothing else I desire from you. My purpose is to serve Ammit and my ambitions end with her. You are irrelevant to me.”

“Like I’m gonna believe that.” You saw something shift in his eyes, unnoticeable to any stranger or even an acquaintance, but you knew your boys. Someone else had taken his place in the driver’s seat. Someone much less patient than Marc.

Without saying a word, Jake reached his hand into his pocket, pulling out a beetle-shaped pendant about as big as an egg. He extended it slowly toward the man, his fingers firmly wrapped around the metal.

“The world will be forever grateful for your cooperation.” Harrow met Jake’s hand with equal caution. There wasn’t a knife in the world sharp enough to cut the tension in the room, and you would have shouted at Jake to warn him of the trap if there wasn’t at least one gun currently trained on you.

You shut your eyes as you felt a wave of defeat. Surely you were about to die. You were tied to a chair, after all, and they only had one body. Fancy suit or not, your boys were severely outnumbered.

It was a dreadful feeling, accepting your fate. Not only were you in your last few moments of life, but now your boys were going to die the same way. Instead of pure fear and sorrow, a sliver of anger permeated your body, just a tiny slab burning in the center of your chest. A strong, sudden gust of wind swept in front of your chair, causing you to open your eyes.

In an instant, the room broke out into an all-out war. Jake plunged the crescent moon into Harrow’s chest, immobilizing him. The guns that were fixated on you were suddenly pointed at him, and you couldn’t find your breath as they began to unload. They’re shooting him.

The bullets fell to the ground, failing to puncture what only appeared to be the soft wrappings of his suit. From thin air, a new layer of cloth appeared on Jake’s face, a hood covering his head as if it had been attached to the cape the whole time. Harrow groaned in pain as Jake brutally disarmed the men. His glowing eyes met yours for a split second as he broke the neck of the guard that was closest to you. You should have been mortified—aghast by the brutal, murderous rage of the man you thought you had known so well—but instead a wave of relief passed over you.

Maybe we do have a shot.

It took all of thirty seconds for Jake to disarm and incapacitate all of the men, though a couple had fled the scene as soon as bullets began to rain. It didn’t surprise you that much that Jake could make quick work of this. You might not have known about the suit and the cape and the secret mercenary work, but you knew that Jake Lockley was a force to be reckoned with in every sense of the phrase.

Harrow attempted to pick himself up off the ground, but Jake pulled the second crescent from his chest, throwing it without even glancing at his target for a second. It was a surprisingly accurate shot; the blade cupped Arthur’s arm above the elbow, pinning him down. Jake rushed to you, shedding his mask and wiping the blood from his gloves.

“Hey, baby,” He cut the zip-ties from your legs, breaking the chain of the cuffs on your wrists with his bare hands. Though you were free, you were too exhausted to move. You feared you would collapse if you tried to lean forward.

Jake saw your struggle against the pain and something inside him lit on fire. You watched as he left the front, clearing space for the gentlest soul you knew.

“Oh my word!” Steven’s voice was dripping with so much worry that you couldn’t stand it. You wanted to tell him that you were okay, that he didn’t need to worry anymore, but you couldn’t find your voice. “What has he done to you, love?”

You shook your head dazedly, trying to signal to him that he should turn his attention elsewhere. You were terrified that Arthur would somehow regain his strength and attack your very distracted lover. Steven’s face fell flat as he turned around.

“You did this.”

That tone of voice had never come from Steven before. Not in your presence, at least. It was a half-octave lower than you were used to hearing, weighted with a ferocity you had never felt from him before. Not from any of them.

“I’m very impressed,” Harrow held his head high even as he slowly bled out, the blade a solid inch or two into his chest. “I thought you were incapable of such an organized battle, Marc.”

“Try again, you utter prick.” Steven slowly approached the man, who looked significantly smaller now that he was lying on his back.

“Steven Grant?” He looked extremely confused. Steven kneeled coolly over his frame, an apparent surprise to Harrow. He pulled the crescent from Harrow’s arm, returning it magnetically to his chest. It did nothing to level the playing field.

“You have no idea what you’ve just done.” Steven’s tone was level, but it was still foreign to you. “You could have hunted me to the ends of the Earth, or dragged my body through the muck as you forced the information from my lips. You could have sent a thousand men after that bloody scarab and you could’ve summoned as many jackals as that ridiculous cane will allow.”

Steven grabbed a fistful of Harrow’s shirt, pulling upward so that his back was hovering above the ground. Harrow cried out in pain, the blade still embedded in his chest. He wrapped a bloody hand around Steven’s arm, trying to free himself.

“But you targeted her.”

You could only sit there and watch as Steven slowly, deliberately wrapped his hand around the blade. Harrow was growing too weak to fight back, his arms sinking down to his sides and his eyes blowing wide. He was choking on his own labored breath.

“You have stopped nothing. Ammit will be freed.” He uttered, stumbling over his words. Steven shook his head patronizingly. You couldn’t see his face, but you could tell everything you needed to know just by the rawness in his voice.

“I don’t care. This is between me and you now.” He tensed his fingers around the metal, causing Harrow to hitch his breath. “You hurt the woman I love. A good, innocent woman.”

In one swift motion, he plucked the crescent blade from Harrow’s chest. Blood drizzled off of the tip, likewise oozing out of Harrow’s punctured skin. His breath was slow and ragged now.

“I’m making sure that you will never hurt anyone again.”

With calculated force, Steven released Arthur Harrow from his grip. He fell to the ground, his head hitting the concrete floor with a hollow knock. Harrow was still.

Calmly, Steven returned the second blade to his chest, blood still trickling from the end. He stood up steadily, his suit slowly disintegrating into thin air, revealing his work clothes underneath. He sighed deeply before raising to his feet.

Something was truly, deeply wrong. What has he done? Steven was the most mild-mannered soul that you had ever met, an optimistic contrast to his alters. From your view, Marc was capable of a bar-fight or two—and only God himself knew what kind of darkness Jake Lockley had in him—but Steven would never harm another soul. Hell, he was more docile than he really should be at times. So this didn’t add up.

When he met your gaze, he wore the same innocent, genuine look that he always did. You couldn’t fathom what you had just seen, and you would write it off as a hallucination or a nightmare if Harrow’s body wasn’t still trickling blood less than a meter behind him. He approached you slowly, but desperately, and you cowered from his touch. He didn’t seem to notice this.

“Love, can you hear me? Are you alright? We need to get you out of here.”

~~~

The silence lasted for about five seconds before all manner of hell broke loose inside his head.

What the fuck did you just do?

That was fucking brutal, compadre.

Steven? Answer me. What the hell was that?

I didn’t know you had it in you.

You’re not supposed to be capable of that.

Relax, Marc. We completed the mission just like Khonshu said.

This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.

I’m the one that stabbed him. Steven just finished the job.

This wasn’t how this was supposed to go!

Steven heard almost none of it, too busy focusing on you. He was confused. He was dazed. Why were you cowering from his touch? Steven surveyed your body for all of the damage. Two broken hands, for sure, knuckles covered in dried blood and surrounded in rings of black and blue. Your nose was likely broken, too, and your lips were split and raw. The bruises on your neck were too dark, your surrounding skin too pale and too cold.

“We’ve got to get you out of here.” He reached to brace your weight with his arms, torn between pulling you into a fire-mans carry or a bridal carry. Your eyes were wide, confused and absolutely mortified. He pretended not to see that.

I knew that she had to be in rough shape.

It’s okay, we’ll get her back home real fast. She’s gonna be fine.

She'll be physically fine. She’s probably damaged for life. Look out how scared she is.

Steven, I don’t think…

Should we put extra locks on the door? Hell, should we just move flats altogether?

She’s not in danger anymore.

But it might give her peace of mind.

I don’t think she’s worried about them. Look at her. I think she’s—she’s scared of us.

What?

Think about what she just saw.

Steven pulled you to his chest, supporting your weight but not lifting your feet off of the ground. You didn’t pull your arms around his neck or chest—they hung limply at your side, hands severely raw and swollen now. You didn’t know how to feel.

“Steven…” You started, a million questions to ask him running through your head. What would you even want to say? How could you put your thoughts into words?

“Shhh, darling,” he pretended not to notice the panic in your eyes, in your voice. “We’re going to get you home, alright? You’re safe now. We need to tend to those wounds.”

“Steven, what was that?” The vagueness of your question made it bitter in your mouth. You couldn’t muster the mental strength to elaborate, though, try as you must. “What was—who was—?”

“I’ll explain everything, okay? Or one of us will. Right now we have to get you out of here.”

You surrendered to his touch, still very much shaking under his grasp. You had upchucked your lunch somewhere in the first hour of this whole ordeal and your captors had not been kind enough to offer you water. Your body was tired, hungry, beaten, and bloody. Your mind was even farther gone.

You fell asleep—or more accurately, passed out—in his arms as he summoned his suit once again.

~~~

For the first time since breakfast, everything was warm. You awoke to darkness and silence, but not the threatening kind. Soft moonlight glistened through the window beside the bed, the low droning of the electricity of the apartment barely resonated in your ears. As you opened your eyes, you surveyed the room for where you were and who was here with you. From the foot of your bed—your bed, in your bedroom—a familiar face gave a soft gasp as he noticed that you were awake.

“Mi vida,” Jake’s voice was smooth, low in volume and in pitch. He didn’t want to startle you. “Don’t move too much, you’ve been through quite a lot.”

“What time is it?” Your vision was too blurry to make out the alarm clock on your nightstand. You tried to pull your hands to your face to rub your eyes, but your arms were heavy and your knuckles were wrapped thickly in bandages. You couldn’t move much if you tried.

“It’s just past four. Don’t worry about that, you should keep resting.”

“I don’t think I can.” Though you were exhausted, your mind was very much awake. You tried to replay the memories of the night.

Steven had carried you (or was it dragged? Or was it…flown?) from the warehouse where you had been kept. You caught flashes of the journey. It was cold, it was fast, and his grasp was surprisingly gentle, though it didn't spare the pain of your wounds. You’d heard the distant sound of water running, heard him swearing under his breath as his fingers grazed your skin. You remembered a searing pain and a pleading voice saying “please forgive me.”

“Can I get you anything?” Jake was easily the most unhinged man in the system, but he was gentle for you. He was gentle in general, until something prompted him not to be.

“Water.” You could tell that, somewhere along the bandage job, you had been given something to drink. However, your throat was still raw from all the screaming and begging and crying and vomiting. And from being asleep, too.

“You got it, hermosa.” He gracefully got to his feet, pattering lightly and quickly into the kitchen. After a moment, Jake returned with a plastic cup of lukewarm water. He’d had enough experience with this to know that cold would only exasperate the hurt.

You brought the cup to your lips tentatively, not too sure of your swallowing reflex in this state. Your body was ahead of you, though, and you found yourself swiftly downing the entire thing. Jake let out a soft laugh, more like a simple huff of air and a smile.

“I think we wrapped you up pretty good. You’re gonna be feeling better in no time, I’m sure. You’re gonna feel like crap for today, though.”

Your mind and body were at odds. Your body desperately wanted one thing, and it was screaming it to you. Hold me. My lover, my protector. Wrap your arms around me. Cover me with your warmth, a barrier from the outside world. Hold my head to your chest, let me relax into your touch. I’m safe there.

Your brain had a wildly different idea. Right now, your brain had the upper hand here.

“I need to know.” You uttered in what was supposed to be a demanding tone.

“Know what, baby?”

“Everything.”

Jake didn’t stick around for that. Someone else could provide better answers, and you deserved to hear it from him anyway. He was where the whole ordeal began.

“I’m so sorry.” Marc’s voice clued you in to the switch, as you couldn’t see his face properly in the dim light. “This was never supposed to happen. You were supposed to be safe.”

“Safe from what, Marc? What aren’t you telling me?”

“It’s a really long story.” Of course it was. Aside from mercenary work and ancient Egyptian gods, your boys had dawned a magic suit and cape and taken out armed men right before your eyes. Of course that takes a little while to explain.

“I gathered that. It’s one you owe to me, though.”

“I know.”

“Okay, then. Start at the beginning.”

#moon knight #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockley #moon knight x you #steven grant x reader #moon knight x reader #jake lockley x reader #khonshu #arthur harrow #marc spector x you #masterlist

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lunathebee · 2 years

Text

█▓▒░✧ 𝓔𝓿𝓲𝓵, 𝓘'𝓿𝓮 𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓮𝓵𝓵 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓼𝓱𝓮'𝓼 𝓮𝓿𝓲𝓵, 𝓶𝓸𝓼𝓽 𝓭𝓮𝓯𝓲𝓷𝓲𝓽𝓮𝓵𝔂

𝓔𝓿𝓲𝓵, 𝓸𝓻𝓷𝓮𝓻𝔂, 𝓼𝓬𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓪𝓵𝓸𝓾𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓮𝓿𝓲𝓵, 𝓶𝓸𝓼𝓽 𝓭𝓮𝓯𝓲𝓷𝓲𝓽𝓮𝓵𝔂 ✧░▒▓█

_Lana Del Rey - Doin' Time_

Pairing: Steven Grant x assassin!fem!reader

Warning: fluff?, nothing much beside cursed word and use of weapons, someone (almost) got hurt

A/n: Am I the only one who wanna be badass? Anw this fic is a bit messy whoop

Summary: You are on a quest to finally get revenge against those who wronged you. Hopefully a cute British man won't stand in your way.

Scenario: Steven knows about Marc and are aware of Harrow, he just doesn't know about the scarab.

As usual, Steven is scanning some plastic merch of the museum in boredom. It's not an exaggerated way to say he has a love-hate relationship with his job.

Steven loves it because it's an honour to work in a museum full of Egyptian mythology and artifacts, but at the same time, he hates it because he can only stand in this small booth, offering beetle-shaped gummies and plushies of various characters to whoever passes by.

Speak of the devil; there is already one coming towards him here.

"Ya little rascal, where do you even meet a girl like that?" Donna's voice mixed with her loud chewing gum noise is enough to annoy Steven.

But who is Donna talking about? What girl? He doesn't even know any girl, the only *girl* he knows is the old lady in the same building as him.

Donna rolled her eyes backwards so hard it's almost like they're going to disappear. It's her way of saying "whatever." She then quickly pointed towards the entrance of the museum.

There is a woman there, a beautiful woman to say the least. She is wearing a simple black dress, carrying a leather purse with expensive Louboutin high heels. Steven knows that because he can see the crimson sole, bright cherry red, just like the woman's lip color.

For a split second, their eyes met. It was so intense that Steven had to quickly look away to avoid having his heart explode.

When he looks to the side, Donna is not there anymore. It seems like she has already left the British man behind to go talk to the mysterious woman.

Steven doesn't want to eavesdrop, but sentences like "oh yes, don't worry" and "no no you're not making it hard, you can go chat with our employees" somehow get to him on their own.

Pretending to be busy sorting the merchandise isn't something Steven is very good at, and the next thing he knows, he's met with the same intense glare from that woman again, only this time it's much closer.

"A little bird told me you have something that are not yours, I advised you to give it to me, in exchange is your safety" The mysterious woman smiles while talking

God, her eyes are like daggers, preparing to strike right through Steven, making it even harder for him to keep eye contact.

"What- I'm sorry, what? I don't know what you're talking about haha.. " He tried to laugh it off to lighten up the mood, but it seemed like the person in front of him only got angrier.

"The scarab is in your jacket's left pocket, hand it over now or we will have to do this the hard way"

"Goddarn it MARC, you did some stupid things again and now I'm the one who has to pay the consequence." Steven cursed under his breath while doing what the woman told him to.

Quickly reaching into the pocket, he pulls out a golden scarab with sticky red stuff on it, the thought of blood making Steven cringe.

"You will give her nothing!" A voice booming from thin air made Steven look around in confusion. At the same time, Marc's voice is coming from another direction too. " I went through hell to get that thing, there is no way you just- Steven listen to me. Let me take control nOW-"

*BAM*

A loud gunshot noise made Steven jump and crouch down in fear. The woman had pulled out a gun and was aiming it at a group of people!

Steven can still hear from above. He is too scared to peak his head up, but that voice, no doubt, it's the woman who asked for the scarab from him. "10 against 1? Still the same dirty tricks Harrow you old hag"

"Marc! She knows about Harrow"

"Okay calm down first, we will deal with her later, let's get out of here while she is distracted"

The more punching noises, the faster Steven crawls. He silently cried inside while arguing with Marc.

"I'm gonna die"

"You're not gonna die Jesus"

"Well yea i am becuz it is YOUR fault Marc"

Finally, thinking it was safe enough, Steven stood up on his wobbling legs and ran as fast as he could out of the museum, never once looking back. He hopes the woman won't notice he has disappeared.

'I think- I think we are good Marc' Steven comes to a halt in an alley to catch his breath after a few minutes of running.

"Who is we and who is Marc?"

"AHHHHHHH DON'T KILL ME!"

Steven screams out loud when the woman he has been desperately avoiding suddenly jumps down from nowhere. How could she catch up so fast?

"Tch, you're a loudsy one aren't you? Relax baby. I'm only here to get back one thing" The woman talks like it's the most casual thing ever.

Her hands full of bruises and blood (Steven doubt it's her blood) reaching into the purse.

'no no no, I don't wanna die here' Steven is on the verge of tears, his mind told him what he saw next will be a gun to his forehead.

But how surprising that the woman only pulls out a lollipop and unwraps it, putting it into her mouth.

She took a side glance at the trembling British man and tilted her head, as if asking, "You want some candy?", to which she only received a furious head shake, implying no.

"You must be very confused right now. Long story short, I found the scarab first. Harrow thought I was dead when he stole the scarab from my hand. Tch, So annoying. Anyway, I start to track down the scarab. And look at where it led me to: a little mouse working at a museum. How you even got it from Harrow is impressive, but enough chit-chat, I want it back. "

The woman explains everything to Steven, not enough to let him understand her backstory, but enough to let him know why she is after the scarab.

"Y-You can have it, after we- I mean me defeat Harrow, this scarab is....more than an artifact, and Harrow needs it for his evil plan" Steven copy what Marc is saying

The woman let out a small hum and got up close to him, face-to-face. Maybe she is searching for any signs that Steven is lying. The act made Steven's heart beat faster, making him blush.

"Okay then, I trust you. I'm Y/n. Pleasure to meet you... partner"

"I'm Steven...with a V".

Steven gulped, what a way to introduce yourself to someone.

----------------------------------------------

Taglist: @lovinblueheart99

#steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #steven grant x y/n #steven grant my beloved #moon knight fluff #moon knight x reader #moon knight imagine #marvel moon knight #steven grant #jake lockley #marc spector #oscar isaac

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80pairsofcrocs · 2 years

Text

baby scarab || 51

anon - i love this series sm 😭 what if baby scarab runs into one of her old abusive foster families and steven has to prevent jake and marc from fronting and he fails miserably

~~~

anon - BS having a nightmare about her dads hurting her?

~~~

A/N : just a reminder that dreams are visions into another universe :(

masterlist - marvel masterlist - series masterlist

A/N : using poe dameron gifs bc idk where to find more mk ones :(

please enjoy, and don't be shy if you want to be in the taglist, just ask <3, sorry for the long wait

pairings : steven grant x (platonic)reader, marc spector x (platonic) reader, khonshu x (platonic)reader, jake lockley x (platonic)reader

TW : medicine (pills), spidey stuff, mentions of violence, language, old foster parents bringing up old shit, an almost panic attack, nightmare, protective dads, mentions of pedophilia, let me know if i missed anything.

~~~

“wait so they just started following you and saying things-“ marc stops himself. “wait what did they even say?”

you sigh for what feels like the millionth time.

it was the next morning, marc drinking coffee while interrogating you now that you felt better, taking your medication at the right times now.

your head still felt a little off, but better enough to be able to think straight.

“frank told you, didn’t he?” you dodge the question and marc nods.

“well- yeah but i want to hear it from you” he says honestly and you hum.

“what if i don’t want to talk about it?” you ask and reach for the remote, turning on the tv until marc takes it away, turning it back off.

“then i’d tell you that whenever you feel like it, you can. whenever you want” he begins. “oh, and i already called you in today, so don’t even think about leaving alone”

“but i need more pop tarts we ran out again” you whine and marc scoffs.

“how are we out already? we just- nevermind” he sighs.

“i can go to the market with you later, if you want” steven offers and you smile.

“see? this is why stevens my favorite” you start. “plus i won’t be alone, i’ll have you guys” you say, and marc rolls his eyes.

“i know but-“

“you still worry, yeah i get it but it’ll be a short trip, what could happen?”

~~~

you took forever getting ready, but now you and steven were hand in hand on the way to the store.

you found it comforting to be holding one of your dads hands while you were in public.

it comforted them too.

you had been touch starved ever since you remember, and now that you’ve been completely comfortable with all your dads, you had no problem with just taking their hand in yours just because you feel like it.

now all three of them had lacked comfort as well.

marc being abused by his mother after his brother passed away, stevens life being a bit messed up by not knowing he had an american man living inside him, and jake, who had been in hiding, only coming out to protect steven or marc without them knowing.

marc and jake loved it especially because it made them feel special.

they’ve killed so many people- and knowing that a teenage girl trusts them makes them feel like they can actually be good people.

and that’s because they are, they just don’t believe it.

steven though, has just simply never had anybody.

all the dates that had been messed up, and just no time to ever connect with anyone until now.

he simply just liked the feeling of having someone that wanted to connect with him, especially his kid.

now back to walking on the sidewalk, steven guides you into the less crowded store and grabs a basket, you letting go of his hand while he does so.

“now why don’t you go get your pop tarts, and meet me by the produce” he starts. “how does that sound?” he asks and you smile while nodding.

“it sounds great” you begin, walking backwards. “see you in a minute” you turn around to the pop tarts while steven wanders towards the produce.

it was almost empty in the store, thank khonshu, while you walked down the aisles, searching for your favorite flavor of pop tarts.

you found them and picked up the box with a small smile, about to go find steven when you heard a voice that made that smile disappear, a frown replacing it with semi widened eyes.

“is that y/n? y/n y/l/n?” you turn around and see a middle aged woman, and an adult woman as well, looking like the older ‘sister’ you once had.

the last home you were in, the one where you spent most of your time starved in a basement- this was the family.

well, some of it at least.

the older woman- your old ‘mother’ looked at you in shock, and you just stared back, the pop tart box in a tight grip in your hand.

you just clench your jaw as they both walked towards you with small smiles.

“oh, look how you’ve grown-“ the older lady says, putting a hand out towards your face but you hit it away.

“don’t” you whisper out, your voice not wanting to get any higher. “please leave me alone” you back up and turn to get away from them when the person looking at you when you turned around made your breath hitch and stop in your tracks.

it was him.

your old ‘father’.

he was older. but he still had that same scowl on his face whenever he looked at you.

“what the hell is she doing here? i thought she was still in the crazy place” is the first thing he says, nearing both the women, and when he passed you, you couldn’t help but flinch when he got too close.

you felt overwhelmed, and your ears felt like someone had shoved a bunch of cotton balls in them.

just hearing all their voices made you want to hide in your room under your bed for the rest of your life.

you just shakily watched all of them stare at you while you breathed heavily and clutched the food to your chest.

you couldn’t bring yourself to move back, it was like your feet were cemented into the floor.

the thing is, you were scared- no, terrified.

you could go your whole life not knowing whatever happened to these people, yet here they are.

“yeah i thought she’d still be there too but obviously she’s not” the younger girl says and you blink away tears, not wanting them to see you cry.

the large man just stared down at you, not sure what to think.

the last time he saw you, he sent you away and watched as you were knocked out and wheeled away after being deemed insane.

and now here you were, staring at them like they were ghosts.

“are you okay?” your old ‘sister’ asks and your eyebrows furrow as you bite your lip.

“please don’t-“

“why are you acting so scared, huh?” the man asks and you avoid looking near him as his voice sounded tense and angry.

you could bring yourself to say anything, just hearing his voice brought back too many memories.

when he would smack you around for breathing too loud, or not being grateful so he would throw you in the basement.

or just throw things at you, like glass bottles or heavy books just for fun.

“what did we ever do to you?” he says to you, making your head shoot your to look at him through blurry vision.

“you starved me and locked me in a basement” you end up letting out a quiet whimper at the end of your sentence, putting a hand to your mouth to not let anything else out, afraid he would actually hit you in public.

“because you were ungrateful” he starts, scoffing while the two women just give him subtle judgmental looks. “and it looks like you still are. let me guess, you made some fancy couple pity you so that you would get adopted” he states and you shake your head.

he just scoffs again and the younger woman rolls her eyes.

“just leave her, she doesn’t want to see us and she isn’t our problem anymore” she says and you blink rapidly to try and makes the tears go away.

“oh jesus- you’re crying? you think i can’t see through your act?” he steps closer to you. “you’re crazy. delusional. you better get your ass back in that asylum before you scare anyone else off” he grits out and you make a furrow your brows.

“oh you don’t know, do you?” he starts, a bitter smile on his face as he takes another step closer, the two women just ignoring everything and browsing the shelves.

“your first family? when they found out about you they gave you back” he starts and your frown deepens. “last i heard they left town after not feeling safe in their own home. reports of feeling like they were being watched every since you left”

“can’t you see? you just leave danger in your path, you scare people, and that- the fact that you are a deranged little kid is the reason it got you abused”

he took yet another step closer, so that he was really in your face.

“i don’t know why we ever took you in. always ungrateful, and disrespectful” he shakes his head, glaring into your eyes as if you murdered his entire family.

your eyes just filled with more tears, while you shrunk into yourself, feeling small once again like you did only a few years ago.

“i don’t know why anyone would ever want someone like you. you’re a psychopath. you see things, hear things, and you terrify anybody that gets to know you”

“and that’s all you’ll ever do. you can’t do anything else, you’re a defenseless, weak little kid, you’ll never amount to anything” he chuckles darkly.

he is about to continue when he’s roughly shoved away, and the two women turn their attention back to help the man from stumbling over.

steven was the one who shoved him away, putting a hand out in front of you as a foe of protection as you stare at the floor with wide, teary eyes.

“have you gone mad?” steven exclaims, looking at the man with disgust and surprise.

“this is a kid you’re talking to- a completely normal one at that” steven defends you while he feels both marc and jake trying to push him away so that they could have their own talks with the man.

steven quickly tells them to stop, and that he can handle this in his head, no longer feeling the pressure in his head after that.

“so? what’s it to you? i was just telling her i was surprised to see she was still-“

“what? still what?” steven presses impatiently.

“sane, by now i thought she’d be kept in padded rooms by the way she used to act around us” he starts. “embarrassing us then acting like nothing happened” he mutters and steven scoffs.

“maybe you should be the one in the asylum” his eye twitches in anger, and he stands a bit more in front of you.

“she is not crazy- and she isn’t some defenseless kid! hell, she could probably take you down is she wanted to” steven shouts at him and the man rolls his eyes.

“oh yeah? why are you even defending her? do you know what she sees? she sees things that aren’t even there” he explains and steven shakes his head.

“i’m defending her because she is my daughter- and because it’s the right thing to do” steven begins and the man’s composure falters for a second.

“and yes. i know of her illness, and it doesn’t bother me in the slightest. and do you know why? it’s because that doesn’t define who she is! she is the smartest kid i’ve ever met- and she is literally capable of anything you don’t even understand” steven stops himself and you shakily reach a hand to tug at his sleeve, making him turn around with softer eyes.

he just gives you a nod, and turns to the man one last time.

“if i hear that you’ve said a single word to her again- and that applies to all of you- we will personally see to it that you can never speak again” steven ends darkly and turns around to guide you away from them.

the commotion had gathered a small crowd, all of them on your and stevens side after hearing steven yelling at them.

“hey kid, you alright?” you hear marc ask and you just distractedly nod while adjusting your hold on the pop tart box.

“i’m.. im alright. thank you guys” you end quietly and steven stops the both of you behind one of the taller shelves for some privacy.

“i’m sorry if i freaked you out, i don’t know what came over me, i-“ you cut steven off by hugging him tightly.

“he deserved it” you assure him.

“he deserved more” jake scoffs and you sigh, letting go of steven and avoiding eye contact.

“maybe he’s right. maybe i’m cursed or something” you start, steven shaking his head.

“everywhere i go, danger follows. yesterday with those guys, and now today with.. them” you sigh and put your pop tarts in the basket steven was holding, making sure they didn’t crush the fresh fruits and vegetables.

“you aren’t cursed, it was just bad luck” steven guides you to the checkout, while you just listen to him talk.

“he didn’t know what he was talking about, trust me you aren’t insane. yes, you have your moments like when you brought a duck home, and the whole sex thing- but you’re pretty normal otherwise” he says quickly and you find yourself smiling as he pays for all the groceries, and you slip some money in his pocket for the pop tarts.

“well, as normal as you can be with the- thank you-“ he quickly thanks the lady at the register while speaking to you.

“anyways, you got bit by a radioactive spider and now you have spider powers, and in my personal opinion i think that’s a bit more strange than your illness” steven whispers to you honestly and you smile, taking the bag from him so that you could hold his hand again as you walked out of the store.

“you don’t have to carry that-“

“yes i do” you tell him and he stays quiet.

the walk home is quiet, which you liked since you had an odd sense of closure with your old ‘family’.

you’d never seen steven act like that before, even the way he so aggressively pushed that man away from you and yelled at him.

that was always more marc and jakes thing, but honestly seeing steven stand up for something he knew was right made you proud of him.

he was proud of himself too, he didn’t even think he had it in him to stand up to anybody like that, especially someone much larger than him.

he felt an adrenaline rush when he saw that man all up in your face.

he was waiting just a bit too long by the produce when he decided to look for you, and when he turned a corner some guy was just insulting you and calling you crazy.

what happened in his head, is that he beat the absolute shit out of that guy and took you home so that he could watch your favorite show with you while you calmed down.

well, he got the ending right because after putting away all the groceries that’s exactly what you did.

you were sat next to him, messing with your hair rather than actively watching tv.

steven had noticed of course, too. he was watching you.

but not in a creepy way, no, more like in a worried way.

you would usually be talking his ear off, or at least doing something to interact with him.

but here you were. sitting almost a foot away from him while your head was in space.

it was the most awkward you and steven have ever been to be honest.

it was either you or him making conversation, and he didn’t even know what to say.

he didn’t want to trigger you or set you off if he says the wrong thing, but he also wanted to give you a sense of closure.

marc and jake both agreed that steven should just man up and say something, just to at least make you feel a little better.

“so.. y/n. if there’s anything you’d like to talk about i’d-“

“why would i want to talk about it? i already said i was fine” you interrupt him with an all too fake smile.

“darling, this is really bothering you, isn’t it?” steven states more than questions and you give up and nod.

“more than it should” you mumble angrily.

“here, how would you usually release your anger when you were in foster homes?”

“steven how does this help, amigo?” jake asks and steven shushes him.

“just trust me” he mutters and you think about it for a second before answering hesitantly.

“sometimes i would punch the wall until my hands were bleeding” you mumble and steven hums.

“glad you grew out of that” he starts. “..anything else?”

“i.. i used to fight kids at school. my first fight was in second grade when i threw a rock at someone’s head and then she turned around and started pulling my hair and.. it just escalated from there” you explain and steven nods.

“okay.. so you’ve released anger physically” he nods to himself. “alright then”

you notice him tense up only a bit, and by the way he changed his posture you could tell it was marc.

“fight me” is the first thing he says and you just raise an eyebrow.

“no” you start. “what the fuck”

“yeah, come on just hit me, i’ll heal right away plus it’s not like you can actually hurt me” marc chuckles and you deadpan at him.

“no. ass”

“aww, y/n come on” he tries to convince you and you shake your head.

“just one punch, really quick” he tells you, putting both his hands up so that you could hit his palms if you wanted to.

you just stared at him with a small smile. “nah, i’m- i’m good” you say and marc sighs dramatically.

“wimp”

“shut up marc”

“chicken”

“marc”

“wuss”

“i swear to-“

“fine, i get it you’re too scared-“ you cut marc off by shoving his hands away and flipping him around by his shoulders to pin him down to the couch, twisting one of his arms behind his back and moving it up further every time he tried moving.

“hey hey hey- now wait a damn minute-“ marc takes a couple breaths.

you just smile from above him while jake laughed.

“steven was right, i feel better” you nod to yourself.

marc just lays there in defeat as jake keeps on laughing.

“see, and now you can say you’ve beat marc in a fight” you can sense the smile on stevens face.

“hey she didn’t beat me, if we were really fighting i would’ve gone easy, but i still woulda won” marc complains and you chuckle, getting off of him while he sits back up and rubs his wrist.

“sorry if i actually hurt you” you mumble.

“you didn’t, but i am proud, you did that perfectly just how i taught you” marc compliments and you find yourself smiling again before it quickly fades.

“i know i say it too much but i really do appreciate you guys” you begin. “you act like i don’t have schizophrenia, you tear me like i’m a person and really love you all for that”

you take a quick breath and continue. “it’s hard to think about everyone else before you guys because they all treated me like i was a disease or like i was just some stress ball. so they didn’t acknowledge me or they.. they hated me and hit me and-“ you cut yourself off, feeling a weight come off of your chest.

“you guys are my first real family. it’s weird saying that since im 17 but still” you lean back on the couch and marc does the same, pulling you close to him so that your head rested between his chin and his shoulder.

“and we are honored to be your first real family. we love you, honey” he presses a kiss to the top of your head, and you snuggle in closer to marc, making him chuckle.

“you tired?” he asks and you just hum.

marc adjusts you so that you’re laying more comfortably, with your head in his lap while he played with your hair, knowing you liked that.

it was almost like flipping a light switch when you fell asleep.

unexpected honestly, and you weren’t even remotely prepared for what was coming.

~~~

you woke up alone, which confused you as you sat up and looked all around the apartment.

nobody was there, and you couldn’t find any notes so you frantically looked around the house for anything, when all of a sudden jake appeared in front of you, adjusting his hat as you flinched back from shock.

“holy shit- jake you scared me what happened?” you ask him and he shakes his head slowly and you raise an eyebrow.

“jake..? you okay?” you question and he tilts his head at you.

“i am” is all he says before he slouches over, and takes off the hat.

“steven?” you ask again, and he nods slowly while you just stare at him.

“what is going on?” you mutter to yourself and he chuckles.

“you don’t know? are you delusional or something?” he ask sarcastically and your jaw drops.

“steven what the hell? are you being serious?” you exclaim, and he crosses his arms.

“you know, i only defended you so that it would hurt more” he starts and you get even more confused.

“what are you saying? are you- do you really mean that?”

“why of course i do. you think we mean anything we say?” he takes a step closer to you and you back away.

“scared, love?” he raises an eyebrow and uncrosses his arms.

“you should be. you’re stupid to trust anybody when you’re the way that you are. crazy. delusional” he takes a step closer with every word, you backing up until you’re against a wall.

“psychotic” he grins at you and you furrow your brows.

“this isn’t real” you mutter to yourself, knowing for a fact that this couldn’t actually be happening.

“yes it is, darling” he says the last word with venom laced in his tone.

“no it’s not” you grit out pushing him away from you, and right after you do, the unexpected happens.

steven brought his hand back, and released it to swing right at your face, hitting you right in the cheek.

your eyes widened and you froze up, bringing a hand up to feel where he had hit you.

you blink once, and he was gone, and you find yourself in front of a mirror.

and another blink later, you aren’t in the reflection.

the person that was in the reflection was arthur harrow, smiling at you while you tried your hardest to breath.

“no.. why.. this- you can’t-“

“your time will come, y/n. soon enough” he tells you, and then, it all goes back to black.

~~~

A/N : i’m so so sorry about the weird ending it’s really rushed bc i’m already late at posting but i really do hope you enjoyed it, stay tuned for more :)

see you all in a few days :)

taglist ---

@alexloveskili @ihatemyselfmorethanmydepression @thebiggestsimpshrimp @guyinachair27 @astrobuzzsstuff @mooonlight-and-stars @moonlighting87 @mateihavenoidea @inactive-things @alondrashultz @femalemarvelself @queenthorin1 @haileymorelikestupid @jvdethirlwall @justtiredandvibing @winterfrostsarmy @themapoftinyperfectthings @littlebird101 @atzlena @httpslinow @arrowurboat @m-brekker @lifeandbandmembers-blog @adamcarlsenslvr @violet-19999 @seninjakitey @bestgirlpip @panic-in-the-multiverse @in-between-the-cafes @branolagar @bl6o6dy @annoyingmarvelreader @bee-a-cool-kid @buzzitsbeee @wintergirlsoilder2 @crow-carcass @you-bloody-shank @distinguishedmakerpandapatrol @valiantphantomangel @50shadesofcrocs @rayrlupin @kingshitonly @brekkers-desigirl @hutaos-gh0st @kayane28 @nevaeh-jasso @lizlil @scarabgrant @luvxxee @certainchildmentality @yikesitskennawrites

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ghostinthegallery · 5 months

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tagged by @sarnakhwritesthings, fanfic writers 20 questions!

How many works do you have on AO3?

5! With more on the way.

What's your total AO3 word count?

160,802 but the vast majority of that is for one fic 🤣

What fandoms do you write for?

Warhammer 40k. It's just the perfect storm of stuff I love, stuff I hate enough to fix, and narrative threads underutilized enough that I can pick them up like a crow stealing shiny objects.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Lmao, I only have five but in order they are:

The Silence and the Storm- my magnum opus, my child born of spite, the title was too good to pass up, me just writing a novel with necrons because no one can stop me and also some of the robots kiss 💀

Some Inconvenient Insight- I finished the Ghazghkull book and needed to see what would happen if I threw Makari the lucky grot at Trazyn. Trazyn had less fun than I did.

The Warrior- my first 40k fic! What if necron warriors were sentient and one got stranded on a world with a bunch of ad mech plus a very determined Inquisitor. I love this little story, really helped me get a feel for writing in the setting. And there's a scarab who is very cute and helpful

They Will Never Call Me Weak- Just me dipping my toe into Horus Heresy and immediately being annoyed on behalf of my guy Vulkan. So I "fixed" a scene.

Sparring Match- my most recent fic. There is not enough Twice Dead King content!! Oltyx is my child, I just want him to be happy for five seconds.

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do! I love my comments and chatting with folks. Letting everyone know I appreciate them ❤️

What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I don't think any of the endings have been that angsty? I guess They Will Never Call Me Weak wins, considering the fact that the rest of Vulkan Lives probably still happens and...oof

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

The Warrior, I guess, but that's just because I love the idea of accidental necron socialism

Do you get hate on fics?

Luckily not. I'm grateful that i write in a comparatively small niche of 40k, which I think helps. People here have been great!

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I've written sex scenes as part of a larger narrative. I definitely intend to write some straight up explicit stuff as well in the future. The gay robot pron calls to me.

Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Not really. I think they are fun, I just haven't had an idea for one that tickles my brain enough to write. It would take a lot tbh, one thing I try really hard to do in a fic is match the tone/voice of the original work which is doubly hard in a crossover

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge

Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, but I'd love that!!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope. I'm a gremlin, I gotta write alone in my cave before emerging with damp, ink stained pages.

What's your all-time favorite ship?

Trazyn/Orikan (but Obyron/Zahndrekh is close). Outside 40k I have a lot of love for Catradora. And Griddlehark

What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I refuse to leave a fic unfinished. This is my sacred vow

What are your writing strengths?

I think I'm pretty solid at characterization and dialogue. Honestly fic has been great practice for those elements I feel like I've historically been weaker at. I also think I write a mean action scene

What are your writing weaknesses?

Editing. There is not a chapter where I don't find some typo I missed or word I wish I'd fixed. I lack patience when I want to post 😭

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

Not something I'd do unless I knew the language or had someone to translate. Luckily it's 40k, everyone is speaking a made up language that I write in English for convenience

First fandom you wrote for?

If we are being technical, The Chronicles of Narnia around age 7. Gotta love those early self inserts

Favorite fic you've ever written?

Don't make me choose!! I wrote them all for different reasons and I'm really satisfied with my little collection

(it's probably The Silence and the Storm)

tagging: @sixteen-juniper

#necrons #fanfic #tagging game #fanfic is fun

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void-ink-studios · 5 months

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Scarred Over Memories

Inspired by a lovely suggestion from user @mengy007, we have an exploration of memory, trauma's effects on it, and an expansion on Scarab's last visit to his homeworld.

Enjoy y'all, as always!

Word Count: 2,400

Scarab had spent a long time in the basement after the Nightmare incident. Part of it was him trying to repair the damage his rampage has wrought throughout the Time Room, despite Prismo's insistence he didn't need to. The other part was spent thinking.

It had been a long time since he had a nightmare... that intense. Since he had thought about that night... that awful night...

His mind prevented him from thinking too hard about it, most of the time. For his own sanity, he couldn't linger too long on that night.

But now...

Well, now it was suddenly at the front of... everything. Everyone he now cared about knew about it. Prismo knew, the Organizer knew. Glob, if the Judge was involved, it's likely pretty much every upper elite in the pantheon knew about it, and that information could only trickle down.

He didn't know what to feel about it.

On one hand, he was... relieved that he didn't have to carry this pain by himself anymore. Prismo was so, so good... He was Scarab's rock through all of this drama, and he was thankful every day for it.

But... he didn't really want everyone in the Judgement Hall to know about the worst day of his life. As much as he hated Orbo, there was some comfort in the fact that he was the only one to see Scarab brought that low. He'd been the only being in the multiverse to hear him plead and beg and weep as much as he did that night.

But now everyone knew. Everyone knew the pain and fear and violation he was put through.

For one more reason out of thousands, he was relieved he wasn't able to go to the Judgement Hall. He did not need the stares, the questions, the accusations. The pity.

That might be what burned the most. The pity being tossed his way.

He remembered each and every one of the gods who came strolling into the Time Room uninvited to offer their condolences. He remembered how each and every one of them called him a freak, a monster, a cockroach, and every other mean name they could think of. He remembered how they snickered behind his back when he tried to offer friendship, how they loathed him for doing his job, how they gleefully laughed with Orbo when the star core made passes at him.

Now they were here, expressing how they had no idea that he could do such a thing. How they're so sorry that happened.

It was too much. Far, far too much.

He didn't ask Prismo to close off the Time Room to uninvited gods. But he's thankful for it anyway.

Even with the intruders turned away, Scarab still found himself thinking, as he swept the rubble of the Time Room.

He could picture everything in slow motion. Beat by beat.

He could remember, in picture clear quality, the one moment he would do anything to erase.

Yet he couldn't remember his friends' faces to save his life.

What kind of friend does that?

He thought a lot. He tried to picture his life back on the home world. What did his burrow look like? What did his mound even look like?

Cricket... What did they look like...? What did their face look like? Come on, Scarab, they were your best friend, you spent almost all of your free time with them, what did their face look like? Just one detail, just remember one thing...

And yet, he couldn't...

His clearest memories of his own home world was still tied to... Orbo...

He let out a frustrated sigh, deciding to give up on sweeping for now. Instead, he returned to Prismo's side. Although, he was apparently not as good as hiding his troubles as he thought, as the Wishmaster paused his universe surfing to give him a concerned look.

"...What's got you brooding, Lovebug?"

"I'm not 'brooding' Prismo. I'm... ruminating."

Prismo let out a slightly amused snort. "Well... What are ruminating about?"

Scarab leaned his head on Prismo's side, thinking.

"...Do you have any of your dreamer's memories? Any at all?"

Prismo blinked, a little surprised, and shrugged. "Nothing except vague shadows."

"Does that not... bother you? That you had a life that you can't recall?"

Prismo made a slightly uncomfortable noise, contemplating.

"Not really...? I mean, it wasn't my life. That's Old Man Prismo's life. If he misses any of it, I have no idea."

"Hmmm..." Scarab let his talons click together, a lost expression covering his face.

"Where's this coming from, Lovebug?"

"...I've been thinking. About home. I've been thinking a lot more about it ever since everything... came to light."

"What about it?"

"...I... I can't remember specifics about it. I'm racking my brain but... nothing. I can't remember details, the important ones... It's all foggy and... tied to Orbo."

Prismo tensed, wrapping around Scarab gently.

"...Do you want to talk about it? It might be painful but... maybe it could job the memory?"

Scarab chirped as he felt Prismo's face against his neck.

"...Do you remember how I told you that I went back home once after I ascended?"

"Yeah?"

"...It was right after I lost my wings."

Prismo gulped. "O-oh... Oh, Scarab..."

Scarab ran. He could barely walk, his back was on fire, but his legs carried him.

He looked at his crystal, a new order pinging at him incessantly.

So this was it? This is what he had earned for slaying a cosmic threat? His wings were ripped to shreds, still bleeding, and Orbo expected him to be back to the job already. He could barely stand, and Orbo expected him to chase down a cosmic criminal?

Yeah. Right.

He checked the alert. A Void Caster, hm? Great, one of the most dangerous mages was on his radar, and he was expected to take it out without his wings, with his back still twisted from his punishment.

Forget this.

Forget godhood. Forget everything. Home. He wanted to go home. "Cricket, I'm coming home."

"I wanted out. I wanted to renounce my godhood, I wanted to be rid of it all."

He clicked his talons against his knees, threading them together in an attempt to smother his nerves.

"Orbo terrified me. I never wanted to see him again, never hear his voice again. I decided he won. I'd abandon my godhood, go back to the dirt, and be out of his way for the rest of time. I thought that'd be the end of it, that Orbo wouldn't bother chasing me down."

He didn't need this. Didn't need any of this. He had a life, a good life, back in the mounds. He could reclaim it. Rebuild it.

He "borrowed" a ship and booked it. He tossed his crystal out into the void. He was heading home.

Except... Home was different. He didn't recognize these people. Any of them. Things had changed, Home had changed...

No... No no no, he wasn't gone long, he couldn't have been gone that long!

Cricket, where was Cricket? They couldn't be gone, he has promised he'd come back to them.

No, Cricket wasn't gone, he didn't abandon them, they couldn't be...

No no no no no...

Please Cricket...

"But... I had been gone for too long... Home was gone, the home I knew at least."

Prismo rubbed his upper arm softly, holding him close.

"The Home I came back to... There were statues of me. Big ones, fancy once. The Home I left didn't build statues, not like that. Not for people. Not for anything except the old gods..."

Scarab pressed a hand to his face, sighing.

"But... that's what I became, I guess. A god. A god with... with big, beautiful wings. That's what all the statues had. They posed me flying, with big beautiful wings."

He felt sick. He couldn't look at the statues, not with the pain still so fresh in his back.

They called him the Red Scarab. He was famous now. Mythologized now. He was praised, he was worshiped.

All he wanted to do was hide.

They asked about the mask he wore. They asked about what happened to his antenna.

Lost in another battle, he told them.

They asked about the other gods. What were they like?

He told them of the glittering Judgment Halls. The strange forms and behaviors of them.

He wouldn't speak of Orbo. He refused to speak of Orbo.

They asked what he was doing back. He was meant to be fighting off the monsters in the void, what was he doing here?

He was on a break for a bit, he told them. He had taken down a multiverse level threat, and had earned some time for relaxation for his achievements.

He swallowed down the poison of the lie.

"I'm sorry Cricket..."

"...Nothing felt right, back home. I felt alien on my own home world. It all looked so... close to what I remembered, but still wrong. It made my brain itch. They all looked at me with this... awe. I didn't want. It made me feel sick."

Unconsciously, Scarab conjured a piece of paper and a pen. He let his hands do what they would.

"People followed me. Asked me things. Too many things. I wanted to find my old burrow and hide. But... well, I couldn't. I was spirited away to stay at the Top of the Mound. With elites.

He could hear the whispers of the staff.

He wouldn't bow. Not properly at least.

Some questioned the audacity. Did he think himself better than the elites?

Others retorted that gods shouldn't need to bow to anyone.

He would bow if he could. But that would mean showing his wings. His ugly, tortured wings. His back still hurt, so much. He could barely walk some days.

Then they started asking about his wings.

They wanted him to perform. To recreate his triumphs, to show the incredible acrobatics he achieved in his great fight with the Mouth.

He started running out of excuses.

He couldn't keep lying to them. He had swallowed so much poison he felt like he could vomit.

He still couldn't properly bow.

He couldn't face them. He couldn't show them.

The statues felt like they were mocking him. With those big, beautiful wings.

At least he was right about one thing.

No one was looking for him.

"I hid out there for a few months. I got paraded around like some kind of king. I started to get... used to it, I suppose. I felt alien in my own home, but I was getting used to that feeling."

Scarab hadn't really been looking at what he was drawing, but Prismo was.

It was a portrait. Of... someone. Reminded him of Scarab. But the face was... longer. The eyes were a bit smaller. Mandibles shaped slightly different.

"...I was foolish. Thinking I could just... abandon my post like that. I knew that they'd send someone. Eventually. I just... felt that if they found me, there wasn't anything more they could take from me. So I stayed. Until I couldn't."

The elites were yelling. Yelling at him about forgetting his roots. That even if he was a great warrior, he was still one of them. They demanded he bow. And bow properly.

He froze. He couldn't think. He couldn't move.

He just listened to the yelling.

He couldn't take it anymore. The poison was replacing his blood. He would surely vomit if he kept trying to hide.

So he showed them. His ugly, torn, tortured wings.

And the elites went silent. Everyone was silent.

Oh how he hated the silence.

He couldn't stay much longer. He knew that. He knew that the second everyone in that hall saw his sorry excuse for wings.

He stood in front of a statue. One with big, beautiful wings. He was ageless now. And yet, that statue made him feel like he'd aged by thousands of years.

They asked what had happened. Another lost battle?

He was going to agree.

Until he was being dragged away by his wrist by an Auditor. Declared him a runaway. He was to return to duty immediately. They handed him his crystal back.

And he left.

He spoke to no one. He couldn't.

He'd never face them again.

"Turns out, it took them a while to even realize I had left. They thought I was on the hunt. Until no one could contact my crystal. Another Auditor found it, floating in the void. They just... took me back. Orbo didn't say a word about it. I have no idea why. He'd have loved the excuse to punish me again. The only reason I could think was that he didn't know. Somehow."

Prismo tilted his head.

"Well... The Organizer is in charge of the Auditors, isn't she? Maybe she was... looking out for you."

"...Maybe. We weren't talking though, so... I don't know why she would."

"Because. She cares about you."

Scarab chirped sadly. His eyes weren't focused on anything. More looking out than forward.

"...I never went back afterwards. I couldn't."

"...I'm sorry that's your last memories of home, Scarab. But... Lovebug, look."

"Hmm?"

Prismo turned his head to look at what his hands had been making. A drawing. He made a drawing.

He tilted his head. He stopped breathing. And he felt tears threaten to fall.

"...Cricket. That's... That's Cricket."

Prismo smiled softly. He held his beetle close as they both looked at the drawing. It was clear Scarab wasn't used to drawing. But it was enough for him, it seems. Enough to recognize the features.

"I'm sorry Cricket... for everything... Most of all for forgetting."

Prismo nuzzled the side of Scarab's head.

"You didn't forget, Lovebug. I know memories, how they work, it comes with being a mental construct. You were so... scared, Scarab. Scared and hurt. I don't think you forgot. I think your mind was trying to protect you. From that fear and hurt. It just... clouded too much."

"But... but why would I... forget them...?"

"Memories are weird, Lovebug. I think you have a lot to... unpack. You might remember more... but it'll be painful. I'll be here for you, Scrabby. For whenever you're ready for it."

Scarab chirped sadly.

There was a cold, aching pain in his chest. In his heart. He felt raw and drained. Exhausted.

He looked at the drawing. He smiled a little, seeing Cricket's face again.

He decided it was worth it.

It was time to take back from Orbo. He took back his identity. Maybe it was finally time to take back his memories.

He smiled, closing his eyes and nuzzling into Prismo's chest.

And he missed the hardened, resolute expression on the Wishmaster's face.

He had some work to do.

#prohibitedwish #scarab x prismo #scarab the god auditor #prismo the wishmaster #prohibitedwish fanfic #wrath of the wishmaster

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brainlessbaguette · 7 months

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Finished Fionna and Cake and I have some more thoughts, lots of spoilers below

So in regards to that Finn post I made after ep 1&2, apparently there was no more our Finn. In hindsight that makes sense but still a bummer that he didn't even get a cameo. I am absolutley stunned by the lack of Marcie mentions, especially in the finale. I am well aware that they wanted to branch out and away from the main cast for this one but this was very much a Simon story, despite being called Fionna and Cake. Your telling me we don't even get Simon recalling Marcie to talk or just a quick clip of them hanging, it felt wrong.

I did really enjoy the show. Like genuinely it was a great time, I recommend. I will say though it needed more episodes. Even just a "normal" 12, as far as smaller series go. They just wanted to do too much and didn't really get to stop and flesh out different ideas.

Now Adventure Time thrived at "dream logic" where crap didn't make sense, everyone in universe just excepted the most random ideas. It also had a sense of whimsy that it held while showing you some of the most gut punching stories. It was insane and the HBO stuff has felt more grounded I want to say? Like its lost that vibe. I didn't really notice it in "Together again" or "Obsidian" but "Bmo" definitely felt a bit off and "Wizard City" was... anyway after getting to see a full series it's just really brought that forward for me. Like its not bad it just doesn't fully feel like Adventure Time.

I will say for this series you could blame that on the fact we're following human Simon, who's here because he couldnt get behind that mindset and two outsiders. But thats not quite right. Its not so much a "how are the characters reacting to x" as much as it is "how is x being presented to we the viewer"

Its really hard to put to words. Uhh take Scarab I guess? In the original show you would've maybe had someone give Simon and the gang a quick explanation on who he is, a quick cutscene, or even just left it at what we see in the beginning. Not really going too deep. But instead they keep checking in on him and his little monologues, you even go to see his boss or manager dude. It felt like too much context for a character that did exactly as much as he would have regardless or whether or not we had that info. I feel like I know more about Scarab than I do the Lich and its weird.

It also, circling back, didn't work with how short the series was. They HAD to establish Fionna and Cake as actual characters and not just gender swaps, Simon needed to go through his whole arc. They then CHOSE to also establish Gary and Marshal in a B plot, Adventure Time really didn't have B plots so that was weird at first but it actually helped the Finale ep so they get a pass, and then added on Scarab with whatever he had going on, all while changing the setting and throwing in a new side cast every episode. They were working so hard to introduce everyone and get them through their stories that they really didnt have time to let the things settle. Like y'all remember in the Elements series how they took that whole (I think?)2nd episode to have Finn just sit down and process everything that had just happened and is currently happening. Was it the best episode? No. But gosh dang it did wonders for Jake's character, displaying how Finn has matured emotionally, giving the brothers a chance to connect(right before Jake disolves in some goo so that it hurts more), and gave the viewer a little break from non-stop action while also letting us catch back up all in a cute funny little Adventure Time way. Fionna and Cake NEEDED an episode like that. Because everything was so rushed they didnt really get to bond and grow together and grow away from the "owner pet dynamic." Finn and Jake had that line a little blurry in funny one off gags but they were absolutley brothers first, Fionna and Cake was on the other hand not that.

Anywho TL;DR, Show was good but pacing and vibes were off and would've benefited from at least two more episodes just to let things breathe.

I absolutley knew it about Simon's and Betty's relationship. I saw that coming from a mile away. That crap was so unhealthy and I'm glad they've made peace with that fact + Simon is getting therapy. Thank you Finn's mom.

Oh and last little bit, me being upset about my unanswered questions.

Uh how did Jake die? Cause Farmworld Finn's Jake is still alive and well, so its not of old age?

Why the heck did Prismo do a complete 180° so fast??? Your legit telling me that in 20-30 years(Idk how long but it's nothing compared to him) prismo, an immortal wishmaster, has turned into a washed up mess. Why? Where's cosmic owl, don't you guys still hang? Is it cause of our world Jake dying, if so back to question 1?

Not really specific to this show but Is PB still PB or just B? Cause she was living with Marcie in "Obsidian" and in "Together Again" Peppermint Butlers wearing her crown. Whose watching the candy kingdom, I'm just genuinley curious?

Is Farmworld Finn dead??? I genuinely don't think he is because Scarabs whole job seems to be keeping thing running smoothly and killing a reincarnated catalyst comet seems like it would be a big screw up. Also Jay and LD didn't seem upset, so I'm gonna go with no he's fine? But they also DIDN'T GIVE ME CLOSURE!

ALSO why are Jay and LD ditching they're families for Fionna's world? That seems out of character and overall just a weird choice.

DID THEY PUT BABY FINN BACK IN BABY WORLD??? Is there a baby jake without Finn??? I am devastated.

What was the point of sending Simon into Shermie's body other than the cameo? Like I love to see em, but we were pressed for time and they're could've been another way to do that right? It just felt weird.

Why did Prismo send Jay, LD, Baby Finn, and the tank peppermint butler anyways? There was definitely a different way to do that.

Lastly but most importantly

There was no Fionna meets our Finn??? Why it's all I wanted, even just a two second she bumped into him while chasing after Cake and neither of them realized. I would've been so happy and I'm a little salty now.

Very rambly as per usual. If you made it down here thank you for tuning into "me chucking my random thoughts about a very specific topic into the void of the internet because, regardless of whether or not people read, its surprisingly very thereputic to just write them all out there," we are currently workshoping that title.

#adventure time spoilers #adventure time #fionna and cake #fionna and cake spoilers #spoilers #fionna campbell #cake the cat #simon petrikov

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pelgraine · 10 months

Text

a small Wednesday Wenclair fanfic

In lieu of Ao3 being currently available, here's the first chapter of new fic I started writing late last night along with a cover I enjoyed making (while procrastinating more important things) today :)

Summary:

“No! Don't!”

Enid has cried out the words before her mind has had time to process the impulse to speak. The sound of her voice is enough to halt the path of her father's harpoon before it pierces the flesh of the creature that lies tangled in their fishing net, its belly so clearly full of the fish the Sinclair's had thought they were hauling in.

The day has been long and the sun’s rays have left their mark, but Enid knows she's not hallucinating from heatstroke. The salty tang of sea-spray on her tongue, the rope-burn across her hands and the stink of half-consumed fish remains are vibrant enough to tell her this is real. That's really a mermaid caught in her net; and that it might just be the ugliest thing Enid has ever laid eyes on.

Two enormous, opalescent black eyes blink back at her, pale nictitating membranes flickering. They remind Enid of the wings of scarab-beetles, in both color and skittering movement. The creature lies still otherwise, seemingly unconcerned about its current position, now stuck half-tangled and hanging in the net swinging back and forth in the air beside the boat. It has not even glanced at the harpoon her father wields. He has shuffled a fraction closer to Enid’s side, the weapon ready to end the creature’s life. Enid could hazard a guess that if she had equally incredible claws of such awesome length, with limbs and tail all protected by innumerable vicious-looking black spikes, and a jaw full of multilayered razor-teeth that an anglerfish would be jealous of, she might seem unconcerned too. Possibly. She's not sure if the thing can breathe for very long out of water.

Enid also isn't sure why she told her father to stop. The creature has eaten what appears to be almost their entire catch.

Their trawler is tiny, and this net was the last good one they had left to use before her father would have to make the long trip back into town for the pile of repairs they could barely afford. Things have been so tight lately that this evening’s haul was needed to feed the family for the rest of the week.

The boat and what bounty they could trawl from the sea is about the sum total of the Sinclair’s wealth these days. They cannot pay Enid’s school fees for the the new high school she was meant to start at just yet, and every day she prays to the moonlit sky that her mother and brothers will find a solution during their days of piling into their one car and driving from town to town to try and find work or make some kind of business arrangement with one of her mother’s contacts. And every night they sit at a dinner table with fare that gets more and more sparse with each passing day.

Most of the time, Esther Sinclair and Enid’s four brothers make it back in time for a late dinner. The days Enid hates most are the ones when her family can’t make it home in time and there’s a brief phone call of apology; those days are the ones when her father doesn’t have the energy to hide the way his expression grows more and more despairing and hopeless. She tries to get him to eat more then, when it’s just the two of them, but he’ll do the same thing right back and insist Enid take a second serving. Tries to scrape his too-small meal onto Enid's plate. Sometimes, Enid stays longer at the table and talks about nothing and everything just to pass the time, just long enough to be sure her father has eaten anything at all.

Things were getting rather dicey already and now there’s a sea monster with an air of contentment and a full belly taking up space in their net.

There's a couple of twitching fish remaining in the far the corner of the rigging closest to them; those last few that the creature hadn't inhaled prior to the net being pulled up to the surface. What is left isn't anything approaching enough to feed their family of 7 for a week. The few crab pots they had checked that morning had also been empty, and Enid begins to wonder if maybe the monster in their net has eaten those too.

Murray Sinclair hasn't lowered his arm, harpoon still poised to strike. Enid lets him hover because what she’s about to do could be the worst idea she's ever had, letting this hideous monster of the deep live. She can't explain the instinct driving her - this sense of pity, an almost-concern for the thieving creature that might be the cause of their family all ending up desperately hungry. It's inexplicable, this inclination towards mercy and forgiveness for the thing. But there's no doubt in her mind that there's some degree of sentience in those scarab-beetle eyes, and Enid can't let her father kill it.

The creature resembles more black sea urchin than sea siren, despite the recognisable shape of the torso and long, powerful tail. There’s a hint of lionfish there in the spotted frills behind it’s ears and between the webbing on its clawed hands, but black sea urchin is what the creature resembles most. Positively rippling with painfully sharp spikes. More monster than mythical enchantress. And yet, there's something about the curve of its ribs and the surprisingly delicate length of its arms and hands, along with its overall smaller size, that makes Enid suspect this is indeed some kind of mermaid caught up in their net. Perhaps it’s a female of whatever strange species they've hauled in. Or maybe they don’t even have genders. Enid doesn’t want to go assigning one before she knows more.

Enid edges closer across the deck, shifting ever-so-slightly in front of her father’s path in order to give him a split-second pause for consideration before he might swing the harpoon. The creature - mermaid, whatever the hell it is - the giant sea urchin in their net just watches her for a long moment, before it snuffles delicately. Enid hadn’t picked up on a recognizable nose amongst the shape of its head earlier, but there - the wrinkling between the brows and ridge between them makes the resemblance of the skull to that of a human that much more apparent. Enid doesn’t know whether the expression is displaying disgruntlement or amusement, or if it’s struggling to breath, or if the creature is trying to warn her away; but then that tilt of the head at an angle that comes afterwards suggests to Enid that maybe the monster currently tangled in her netting is trying just as hard to decipher Enid for itself.

“It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you,” Enid soothes, keeping her tone low and raising her palms up and out slowly to where they can be seen easily. It’s the voice she uses for skittish horses and for the feral dogs in the town market; the ones that watch all the passers-by from dark corners of the market stalls and alleyways, wary and ready to snap. Enid murmurs repetitions of the same soothing words of reassurance, shuffling forward in tiny half-steps until she’s leaning, very carefully and excruciatingly slowly, over the edge of the outrigger that is keeping the net suspended in place on the side of their little trawler. The creature has entirely frozen in place, watching Enid warily as she gets closer, its previous subtle movements and signs of life now replaced with eerie, utter stillness. No longer blinking its outer eyelids, leaving only the white membranes to flicker across every second heartbeat. She stares back at it, leery of its ability to lurch up and slash her with those claws and spiked forearms. Enid stops there for a moment, wondering if this really is the worst idea she’s ever had - prays it won’t be her last - and then chooses to do it anyway.

Enid unsheathes her claws in preparation to cut the tangled ropes and the creature trills a noise in response that is somehow both a hiss of warning and a chiming note of impossibly high-pitched inquiry all at once.

Both Murray and Enid yelp, instantly slapping hands to their ears, stumbling backward and groaning at the pain the sound causes. Enid feels instantly dizzy and woozy, as though her head has been rung like a bell and its echoes continue to vibrate back and forth within the confines of her brain.

Then, a much lower note, longer and impossibly louder, the noise causing a vibration that Enid feels with the spaces in her lungs, with the shudder of her boots on the deck. How on earth can something that size create such incredible sound?

Having werewolf hearing probably doesn’t help matters much, but judging by the way the sound carries vibrations across the entire boat and back and forth across her skull until Enid feels seasick with it, the fact that she’s a werewolf may not matter at all. Whether it’s the creature trying to communicate or defend itself does not matter either; Enid needs it to stop so she can stop seeing double and try and help to set it free.

“Hey! Hey!” she shouts over the ringing in her ears.

It stops. ”Thank god,” Murray says behind her in a coughing grumble. He rubs the knotted scars across his ribcage that she knows sit beneath his red flannelette shirt, his throat clearing out what is no doubt a bad lung made irritated by the creature’s vibrations.

“Hey,” Enid repeats, more softly this time, and waits a moment until her vision lines up properly again.

“Please don’t do that again. We’re not really equipped for it. I don’t know if you can understand me, but the noise hurts us.”

She waits, but there’s nothing to indicate the creature has grasped anything Enid has said. Enid moves forward again anyway, claws still unsheathed. It feels as if she’s moving in minuscule fractions,;feeling as though time has become a syrupy thing, made achingly slow by Enid’s reluctance to make any sudden movements. Thankfully - blessedly - the creature does not move or make any of those sounds again, merely watches Enid get closer to the tail twisted up in the space between them, caught in the tangled ropes.

Enid notices the way the black scales on the mermaid’s powerful tail are as opalescent as the creature’s eyes; more so, for the way they catch the last rays of the setting sun, glittering as Enid leans closer to get to the right rope. She might have to revise her earlier assessment; the creature is not as hideous as she’d first thought. Some things about it are remarkably pretty, and Enid has to consciously remind herself not to get distracted thinking about how she’d never appreciated just how many flecks of other colors could be found within black before now.

“Please stay still,” she implores the mermaid. “I won’t hurt you. I want to set you free, but you need to stay as still as possible.”

Enid stares at the creature’s enormous dark eyes for a long, tense moment, her hands hovering infinitesimally closer to the rope she’ll need to pull out and slice. She doesn’t know why she’s stopped; it’s not as if they can understand each other.

Enid has to disregard that opinion almost immediately as well. The creature does that crinkle-expression that suggests amusement or indifference or some entirely alien emotion first, but then comes a vibration so low and quiet Enid can hardly hear it. But she feels it, and she thinks that might have been a noise of assent.

It takes seconds to snip and slice at key points until there’s a hole large enough in the net for the creature to slip through. Weirdly, it stays, shifting to the edge of the rigging so it doesn’t fall.

“What are you doing?” Enid asks it, baffled. “Go! Be free!”

The same near-silent, humming vibration that Enid feels rumbling through the spaces in her lungs comes again, longer this time. More trilling, in a way, as though it carried layers of silent notes. Enid’s not sure how she could explain that one; there’s essentially no sound to it that she’s able to identify, but she knows it’s there by the way the silent acoustics seem to ripple through her. As though all the water in the cells in her body have oscillated with its impact.

Enid shakes her head again to clear the double vision. The mermaid gestures towards her direction, tapping its forehead with one hand as though in farewell, then pushes off the edge to drop like a stone to the depths below.

Enid does not rush to the side of the boat to try and follow the mermaid’s path out into the deeper water, even though the impulse is strong. There’s no point. It’s too dark now and she’d see nothing anyway.

Then it hits her. Her brain had been subconsciously turning the memory of the mermaid’s movements over in her mind, and the gesture it had made has abruptly become recognisable.

“Wait a second. Wait one damned second.” Enid turns back to face her father, whose arm has relaxed now, the harpoon held loosely by his side. His expression looks about as astounded as Enid is currently feeling. Murray nods to answer the question she has not yet phrased.

“You saw it! That was a salute!” Enid declares, elated, triumphant, and entirely baffled by the experience.

“It was,” her father agrees, and she watches him drift to the side of the boat to stare at the giant hole in their net. “A mermaid ate all of our haul and then saluted us.”

Enid felt the reality of the situation come crashing back in. “I’m sorry, pa. I just - I just couldn’t…” she begins, trying to find a way to explain why she wouldn’t have been able to let him kill it.

“I know,” her father says, eminently understanding. He looks back at Enid and she can see the understanding tone in his voice is written clearly on his face. “I know, lass. Don’t worry. We’ll figure something out. I don’t think I’d have been able to kill it anyway,” he reassures, before turning to look at the darkening ocean and the first traces of stars in the sky.

“Huh,” Murray says. “Saluted by a mermaid.”

Enid joins her father at the side of the boat, looking past the ruined net and outrigging to the vast ocean beyond. “Yep,” she agrees. “Didn’t expect that one when I woke up this morning.”

“Might be worth making a wish,” her father says.

“A wish?”

He turns to her, before wrapping one arm around her shoulder. Enid leans in to his side to just enjoy this brief moment before they have to return to work.

She feels the press of a kiss against her head and smiles at his affection. The best thing about working on the fishing trawler was that her father never hesitated to show how much he loved her, nor how much he appreciated her help with the work. All of it was worth it for that. Enid hardly dares to think of how she’ll manage when she has to move on from the work and leave her father behind so she can attend school.

“A wish,” her father confirms. She can’t see his face without twisting to look up at him, but Enid can feel the gentle smile in his voice.

“I thought wishes were only for shooting stars,” Enid queries. There’s been no shooting stars that she’s seen, not in a night this young.

“Well, it’s not every day you end up with a rare magical creature in your fishing net who then salutes you for the privilege of making your acquaintance,” her father replied dryly.

Enid giggles a little at that, because it’s both ridiculous and true.

“Okay,” she agrees.

Enid has to think for a moment, because there are so many things she could wish for. So very many things that seem wholly impossible and entirely out of her reach. But then, something like an echo of sense-memory of the mermaid’s trilling vibration rumbles through her ribcage, and she has an idea.

Enid smiles out at the beautiful sight of the dark ocean made softer by the glow of a rising moon, and makes her wish.

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