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georgiapeach30513 · 6 months

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Your Mark On Me, Part 7

Summary: you and Bucky learn to navigate your relationship

Pairings: Bucky Barnes X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content, descriptions of anxiety, mentions of arson, mutual pining, mentions of branding, mentions of a gun kink, unprotected sex, PIV sex, creampie, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 5.3K

Series Masterlist

*dividers by @firefly-graphics

*Bucky edit by @nixakimbo

“Mmm,” you moan. Feeling more rested than you have in years. A warmth radiates from your belly, and you start to turn to your side. But the warmth hisses at you, and you jolt awake. Staring down at her sweet face. Her blue green eyes twinkle at you before she crawls back up to lay on you. And then you panic.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Alpine meows up at you, tapping her paw on your face before you ever get to six. Pressing herself against you, and you feel her body vibrate with her purrs. It’s not that she isn’t beautiful and adorable. You’re just in a stranger’s home.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Her toe beans tap a bit harder on your chin, and you give her a frustrated look. “This is my process,” you whisper, looking towards the door to the bedroom. “Is he a light sleeper?”

Alpine jumps off the bed, and bounces to the door, turning back to look at you innocently. You aren’t sure if she needs to just get out of this enclosed space, or if she needs to see her owner. You shake your head, and bring your knees up to your chest. You didn’t know how you were going to get out of his house without him seeing you. Or worse, where would you go?

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Her screeches and loud meows make you open your eyes. Her hand scratches at the door in front of her.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

“Hey, baby, what’s — oh,” he walks closer to you, and your breath stops. “Shh,” he softly says, pulling your hand up to his mouth. Feel my breathing. Inhale. Exhale.”

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

“You want to breathe, just follow me,” he pulls your hand down to his chest, and you feel his warmth under your palm. “Come on, I know you can do it. I’m not going to hurt you,” finally, blinking as you gasp for air. “There ya go. That was perfect. Follow my breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Alpine, come here, girl. She stayed with you all night, didn’t you?”

The fluffy angel jumps in your lap, and you smile as you look down at her. Starting to run your fingers through her fur as your breathing and heart regulates, “I think she likes you. She hasn’t even begged for food. So, what do you remember from last night?”

“Fire,” that was the simple answer. The complicated answer was you cleansed yourself of all the embedded memories in that house. You couldn’t tell this stranger that.

“Yeah, there was a fire. Why didn’t you leave the house?” His fingers tap over his knee. An odd gesture that makes you think he wants to hold your hand. You can’t right now, even though it doesn’t make you want to run. For a stranger he’s showed more kindness to you than people that were supposed to protect you.

“I don’t know. I just wanted to watch it devour everything.”

He licks his lip, pulling the bottom one in as he bites it. Contemplating the next question. “What happened to your arm?” It’s the first time you’ve noticed he has an arm that is made of metal. Thinking you might have offended him with that question, you start to stumble over your words, “I’m sorry. I have scars, too. I don’t like talking about them,” his metal arm isn’t all you notice since he is topless.

“It’s okay. This arm doesn’t bother me anymore. It was an accident when I was in the army,” armed forces and a wounded soldier equals bad. It was always bad, “I don’t drink, and the only thing I do on a regular basis is smoke. I’m not that kinda soldier.”

“My dad was,” your eyes flick up to look at him, and he gives you a tiny nod. “How did you know where I lived?”

“You’ll hate me if I tell you. I don’t want you to hate me,” you didn’t want to hate him, and aren’t even sure you could. He is too kind to hate.

“Did you follow me from the grocery store?” He grimaces, but nods. “You didn’t bring me milk.”

“I saw you have a panic attack. I’m familiar with them because I’ve had them. I needed to make sure you made it home okay. It’s nothing sinister,” what should repulse you is sweet. The man who didn’t know you took the time to make sure that you were okay. And had returned at least on one occasion, but something tells you that it wasn’t just the once.

A silence passes between the two of you, and Alpine turns to put her paws on your chest, meowing softly before she nuzzles into you. “You kept coming?”

“Would you hate me if I said, yes?”

“No.”

“Since we’re being honest, why did you burn the house?” While it seems ill advised, you trust this man. He’d saved your life on more than one incident, and had continued to come in just to check on you. You want to tell him your life story.

“It was a piece of shit that housed a piece of shit, and it killed the piece of shit. I didn’t want it to kill me, either. I needed a fresh start. I didn’t need to be burdened down with…I’m not crazy. I’m odd, but I’m not crazy. There’s things that I don’t want to talk about right now,” it feels good to speak candidly about your past. Let a perfect stranger know your odd reasons for destroying that part of your life.

“But would you? Eventually talk about those things?” You aren’t sure why, but you like him. Not in some weird sexual way, but you like him. He’s warm. Soft, understanding, and patient. His voice is deep and loving. The lack of love you have felt most of your life makes you want to cling to him, but you need a boundary set up, so he can’t hurt you. They always do. You trust them, and they flip.

“Eventually. Thank you. I need to get dressed, and — I have nothing,” looking down at the clothes on you, realizing they’re his, your breathing starts to pick up. You had nothing. Just your laptop, and whatever you were wearing last night. Wherever it was.

One. Two. Three. Four.

“Hey, shh, we can go out and get you clothes.”

“I have nowhere to even live,” you burnt everything. The roof over your head.

One. Two. Three. Four.

“It’s not even been twelve hours since last night,” his voice never gets agitated. It remains steady. Even. It almost makes you calm down. But you had nothing left. It was all ashes.

One. Two. Three. Four.

“Inhale. Exhale,” why did he keep interrupting your counting? Why did he even care?

One. Two. Three. Four.

“This place has two rooms. Don’t worry about where you’re living. You can have this room. I don’t have much. Most nights I sleep on the couch anyways,” inhale. Exhale. He is serious. “I’m not asking for anything from you.”

“Why not? Why are you doing this for me?”

“I’ve been there. I just want you to feel kindness for a change. No one deserves to live in a mental hell. Even if it makes you a creative genius,” you crack a smile, naturally giving his leg a soft tap as you giggle. He knew enough about you. It is silly, but it makes your cheeks heat up in embarrassment thinking about him searching what you did for a living. Odd that he was able to find out that little tidbit, “What?”

“You not only followed me home, you read up on me?” He winks and nods his head towards a bookshelf. Your eyes scan over each of the books in there, and each one of them is yours, “You’ve…you bought them all?” You try to hide your smile, because what should be weird, is oddly adorable.

“No, I read them all. They’re amazing. I don’t know what really happened to you, and I don’t expect for you to tell me your true story, but your experiences have created worlds. You should be proud you used your life for something amazing.”

“I did, didn’t I?” You never compliment yourself. Never even like to bring attention to your work. It’s why you use a pen name. You never talk about your worth, but he was. Not just your worth, but your work. So much of yourself went into writing those worlds. Those moments and memories. The lack of wanting to do book tours, you never hear the good side of it. It felt nice.

“You want me to make breakfast? I make amazing eggs Benedict. I’ll even let you feed the queen Alpine her breakfast,” that sweet baby meows loudly, and jumps into the floor. Turning back to look at you with an angry noise. “She’s impatient.”

“I don’t want you to pity me.”

“I don’t. You fascinate me. There’s no pity coming from me. Except the pity I’ll feel if you don’t feed her fast enough, and she starts nibbling on your baby toes. It stings a bit.”

“Okay,” you whisper, following the smart kitty out of the bedroom. She seems to know where everything is, so you’ll listen. And maybe, hopefully this wasn’t a big mistake.

“And what exactly are you making?” You ask Bucky, jumping up on the counter opposite of the stove just to stare at his back. He continues to move around the food, and Alpine meows up at you. “Your daddy says you can’t get up here.”

“She can’t. Baby, go get on your tower, or you can ask your…Shy Violet to get off the counter, and quit bothering me,” Bucky peeks back at you, wondering if you caught his slip up in calling you Alpine’s mom. You didn’t. You are still smiling down at Alpine, pointing towards her tower.

“Daddy says no getting up here. Go on, my sweet girl, I’ll cuddle with you later,” Alpine has to be the smartest kitty alive because she meows loudly and angrily before she trots over to her cat tower, and you reach into the salad bowl pulling out a lump of feta. “Bucky, what are you making?” You give a little whine to him, lifting a leg to tap on his butt.

His arm quickly reaches behind him, and grabs onto your leg, “I told you that you better quit trying to touch my ass,” he actually wished you would touch it with your hands. Each day that passed he needed you to be more than just his roommate. Sleeping in the same bed as you was becoming harder, and so was he. It was fine, but it wasn't enough. He wanted all of you.

“Yeah, but you won’t tell me what you’re making for dinner,” you had that voice. The one that drove him crazy, and made him melt. You used it in your most comfortable state, and that filled his heart with so much warmth.

“Quit eating the cheese,” he warns you without looking. “It’s Tuscan gnocchi.”

“You’re putting spinach in it, huh?” Letting go of your leg, he turns around to smile at you. Your quirks make you that much more appealing. He just wanted to keep you in his pocket to protect you. “I don’t like spinach.”

“You can’t even taste it.”

“Then why are you putting it in there? It makes no sense whatsoever if you can’t taste it..”

“Do you trust me?” He asks, removing the pan off the burner. Turning off the stove he turns around to look at you, and you shake your head no. “You better trust me,” his voice darkens in a playful way, and your belly gets all fluttery with the pesky butterflies.

“Or what? What are you going to — ahhh!” You scream as he picks up your body to sling over his shoulder.. Carrying you into the living room, and dumps you onto the couch. His hands extend above your body, and he wiggles his fingers. It only means one thing. “Bucky don’t! The food!”

“No. You know, Shy, you asked for this.”

“No, I didn’t! Bucky, no!” You roll out from under him onto the floor, and you jump up quickly. Avoiding the tickles that he was threatening. “Aha! I defeated you!”

“If I really didn’t want you to escape me, you wouldn’t,” he taunts you, taking a slow and calculated step towards you.

“Or maybe I’m just that good.”

“Really?” You giggle nodding your head as he takes another step. “We’ll see about that,” you didn’t like the sound of that one bit. You knew Bucky was more than capable, but there is something about that chase. “Run, Shy.”

“Ahh!” Screaming as you run past him and on the other side of the coffee table. “Missed me.”

“I wanted to.”

“That’s what they all say when they just can’t — woah! No cheating,” your cheeks burn by how large you are smiling. Running throughout the house while Bucky slowly stalks after you. “Your arms are longer than mine, it’s not even fair.”

“What’s not fair is the advantage I have given you. I could catch you anytime I want.”

“Oof,” he pulls you roughly into his hard body. Wrapping both arms around you, and holding you so close to him. “You cheated.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” your chest heaves with his close proximity as you gaze up into his silvery eyes. “Why are you trembling, Shy girl?”

“I’m not,” you are. You always do when he gets close to you. Your body yearned for him. Screamed out his name whenever he got too close. And your mind told you not to mess up a good thing. “I’m not.”

“You know what I love about you living here?”

“What’s that?”

“I love hearing your laugh. Listening to your ideas on what you’re working on. Even if it’s your ridiculously pretty handwriting on napkins that are scattered around the house somewhere. I love coming home, and you and Alpine are taking your afternoon nap asleep on the couch, and you only wake up when you smell me cooking. I love that you also don’t count anymore.”

“I do, too,” Bucky scrunches up his nose, shaking his head no. “I’ve got it down to counting to three. But I still count,” his face moves a tiny bit closer to you, and you gulp. There isn’t anywhere to go. He had you in a death grip, and your heart in a chokehold.

“Why aren’t you dating anyone?” You blurt out, making his movements towards you stop.

“Why would I want to date? No one would put up with what I do, and you,” you had feared he didn’t date because you lived here with him. Your heart sinks a tiny bit thinking that he thought you were holding back.

“I could…you know, I could always leave,” you can’t even look at him after you suggest that. You didn’t want to be anywhere that he wasn’t. But you also couldn’t risk ruining the friendship that the two of you have.

“I don’t want you to.”

“Why? Is this an Alpine thing?”

“No,” he whispers as his eyes dart to look at your lips, and your chest starts heaving. You are an observer, and you couldn’t miss that motion. It’s something you had been hoping for.

One. Two. Three.

“This is definitely a you thing,” his husky voice whispers as his lips hover above your own. He is so close, and neither of you dare to move in any other direction.

One. Two. Three.

He was not suggesting what you are thinking. Bucky is always a straightforward guy. If he meant anything more than what your brain was making up in your head he would say something.

“And a me thing,” he adds. He was suggesting what you were thinking. But now the reality of it was crashing in on you. Making your chest heavy, and your palms sweaty.

“One. Two. Three.”

“Shh, you’re counting out loud,” before you can get out another word, his lips press softly against your own. One sweet chaste little kiss, and you start to see stars. “Breathe, Shy. I can stop if you want me to.”

“I don’t want you to,” your words are barely audible as your hand snakes up his chest, and settles behind his neck. Pulling him closer to you, and you slot your lips against his. “I don’t want you to ever stop,” your lips are right against his, and he lifts you up. Holding you tight against his chest and your legs settle around his waist, while the two of you discover each other again.

This time is so much more intimate. Innocent open mouth kisses until his tongue tickles against your lips, and you whimper out his name. He softly pushes your back up against the wall as your tongue meets his. Tasting the cigarette he had before he walked inside, and craving even more. Ready to devour him. Sinking into him, and feeling like home.

You have never had this much love and comfort in your life. Bucky was dangerous to everyone, except you. He was soft. He was perfect. He was your everything. “Dinner’s gonna get cold.”

“Bucky!”

“Shy, I don’t want to stop. But if I don’t, I’m going to have you laying on the floor, while I have my way with you, and you deserve more than that.”

“What if that’s what I wanted?” He shakes his head no, but you give a roll to your hips. “I do.”

“You do right now because your hormones are running rampant. Baby, I don’t want to just have sex with you. I want us to be our everything. I can’t have just sex with. I need you to love every part of me. Even the bad parts because I’m not changing who I am and…”

“You know I love you, Bubba,” he knows the care you have for him. The excitement you feel when he comes home. But he wants your entire soul to be fused with his.

“I don’t want that kind of love. I love you, Shy, but I need…I want to fall in love with you, and if we continue down this path is going to be us fucking, and end up hating each other. I can’t do that. I won’t lose you.”

“So what does that mean?”

“It means we’re going to have dinner, and this weekend, I’m going to take you on a date.”

Alpine hisses, jumping onto your stomach as she gets in a defensive pose, looking at the door. You blink the sleep out of your eyes, focusing on Bucky. He never barged in the house like that. Alpine, now satisfied with the lack of intruder in the house, nuzzles back on your belly, and you search Bucky’s face confused.

“Bubba?” He grits his teeth, looking at anything but you. “Bub, where have you been?”

“Steve’s,” he whispers, stomping into the kitchen where he pulls out a bottle of beer. Throwing the lid into the garbage before sitting on the couch. Didn’t care that Alpine growls more than purrs when he pulls you into his lap. Nursing his beer while holding you tightly.

“He’s lost his fucking mind. He branded her. Put a goddamn tattoo of his mark on her neck, and she didn’t ask him to. He brought someone new to his house where he wants to keep her. His house was supposed to be a secret, but no, let's tell everyone where you plan on taking the one person that could even attempt to soften him up. And what happens when he gets soft, he gets harder. He’s scared of his own emotions, and that fear could have just…she won’t forgive him.”

Pursing out your lips, you don’t know the best approach to help Bucky. You just want him to work his thoughts out, while you listen. Pulling his metal arm up to your chest, you hug it. It was one of his least favorite things about himself, but it was one of your favorites.

“He was getting there, Shy. I know he was. And he had to prove to himself he wasn’t actually falling for that girl, so he goes and makes her hate him. That way when he officially breaks her, it’s that much more of a challenge to him. He’s fucking fucked in the brain.”

“You’re gonna have to work on not cursing so much, Bubba,” you whisper, nuzzling more into him.

“And then he had the fucking audacity to mention you, and…I hate him. He’s never had anyone that has ever called him out on his shit, but me and Sam. And then he dismissed me like it was nothing. Now he’s got Sam, but Steve — you know he has this tendency to trust the people he’s hired, and you just fucking can’t. Not with her. She’s defenseless, and wreckless, and pushes his and everyone else’s buttons, and…”

“How is she?” Bucky looks down at you, before smacking the arm of the chair. “What happened?” He shakes his head no, leaning back on the couch. He was always trying to protect you from the reality of his world. But you want to be there for him, like he is for you. “Bub, I knew when we got involved seriously what kind of world you lived in. If we’re going to be a family, I want to know.”

“He made her watch in a mirror as he fucked her with a gun.”

“You know that’s an actual kink, right?” He lifts up, to stare down at you. “I don’t want your gun anywhere near us. But that is an actual kink. When she called, did she mention if she enjoyed it? That girl is just as sick and twisted as he is. But did he go too far?”

“He just said her cum was dried on his gun. But…no, she didn’t tell me if she enjoyed it,” he makes his scrunched thinking face while he contemplates everything that had happened tonight.

“Maybe she’s too ashamed to admit she did. Maybe she didn’t. But you said he tattooed her neck?” He nods his head before letting it drop back on the couch, and stares up at the ceiling. The idea of whether you loved or hated that part of the evening. “So what’s going on now? What did she say when she called you?”

“That…” Bucky squints his eyes as he watches the blades of the ceiling fan. “That her and Steve were never going to be able to get rid of each other. That he marked her, and — she wants to make him pay. But there’s only one way to make him pay when it comes to her.”

“Bucky?” He sits back up again, his mouth turning up into a smile, “Did you say he dismissed you?” When he nods, your head tilts to the side because you know that Bucky and Steve run deeper than a business partnership. They were a part of each other. Twin flames that burned brightly together. “What does that mean?”

“You’re going to be seeing a lot more of me.”

“And I want you to see a lot more of me,” you let your robe fall off your shoulder, exposing your naked body underneath, “And we’ve got to get used to not having sex all over the house. So let’s take this into the bedroom.”

“What are you up to?” He gives you a smirk as you let your dressing gown fall to the floor in a fluffy heap. “You’re naked in front of our daughter.”

“I sleep naked, James,” an animalistic growl emerges from his chest. That name always got to him. “And now I’m going to ride my fiancé until he comes, and he lets his brain stop for a moment.”

“Why does my brain need to stop?” You pull him by his shirt down the hallway. Swatting away his hand when he tries to touch your soft curves. “My sweet Shy girl, why do you need my brain to stop?”

“Because you deserve it. Now, take off your clothes, and get in the bed, please, James. I need to see all of you,” Bucky needs to see you as well. Stumbling about to get out of his clothes. His cock bouncing up once it’s free from its confines. “Get on the bed, Bubba.”

“Yes, ma’am. I like this side of you. Talk to Steve once and,” crawling onto the bed, your hand presses against his mouth, and you shake your head no. Straddling him, you grab the base of his cock, and run it through your slick.

“What we’re not going to do right now is say that name. You’re going to lay there, and you’re going to enjoy what you’re looking at. If there is something that needs to be said, I will say it, do you understand?” His head nods rapidly, and you let your body take every inch of him.

Settling down your hands smooth up and down his chest. Giving yourself a moment to adjust while you admire how beautiful he is. All the ink and scars on his body make him even more beautiful. They told his story. It was a painful story. Starting to rock your body over him, your right hand runs down his metal arm, and he smirks up at you.

He knew it was a favorite of yours. He’d woken up enough times to find you hugging it. Smiling at your sleeping form as it finds comfort in the one thing that everyone else feared.

Whimpering, you start to bounce over his body, realizing he was the first person that you had ever loved completely. The only person who saw your flaws and loved you even harder because of them. Bucky was your person. The one you were going to spend the rest of your life with, and build something more beautiful than the life you were given.

Bucky’s hands drapes over your skin. Tracing over your softness as his fingers paint your curves. He couldn’t have created a more perfect woman. You saw past his anger, and his past. You didn’t look at him as something to cower in front of, you brought out that lighthearted part of him he thought that he had lost.

You were his everything. No one had ever meant more to him than you. It’s what Steve feared the most. Someone had become more important to Bucky than Steve. Steve could never replace you. And Bucky knew he wouldn’t die for Steve anymore. He needed to come home to you.

He whispers out your name as he stares up at you. Your chest heaving with exertion as you squeak out his name. “James,” tears start to roll down your cheeks, and he begins to sit up, ready to check on you, but you push him back down to the bed. “You stay there. I love you.”

“I love, Shy.”

“We love you.”

“I love Alpine, too,” you shake your head as the tears start to roll faster. “Shy?”

“Your baby loves you,” you gulp as both his hands press up against your stomach, and you nod your head. “I just found out this morning.”

“Shy, baby, we’re having a baby?” You can’t even speak, just smile, nodding your head. “That’s why Alpine was protecting your belly. She’s such a good girl. Just like you. Shy, you’re making me a daddy?”

“I’m trying to make you come,” your little giggle is stifled by your tears. Overwhelmed with emotions didn’t even describe it.

“Will the baby feel me?” If he wasn’t so serious, this wouldn’t be as cute. “Can our baby feel me inside you?”

“No! Bubba, people have sex when pregnant all the time. Shh, feel my breath. Breathe with me,” you bring his hands up to your chest, and move over him like it was your job. Smiling because he was going to make the best father that there ever was. He was going to be so protective, but oh so soft and loving.

Your breathing picks up, and Bucky’s does right along with you. Holding what you said to him seriously. Both of you breathe each other in as identical futures run through your minds. Beautiful lives that were birthed from two broken souls. Two souls that found each other, and were never going to be without each other again.

Your hands start trembling on his chest as your belly heats up. Pleasure courses through your veins as you get closer and closer to release. “There ya go, Shy. I’m almost there, baby. Let go. Let go for me.”

“James,” you whine, biting on your lip as your walls flutter around him. He grits his teeth as he gets closer to the edge. “James!” Your cunt clenches down tight around him, holding him in a death grip, and you sigh as his seed spurts deep inside of you. Turning your mouth up into a dopey smile as you look at him.

“God, you’re amazing, Shy.”

“And you’re a daddy, Bucky.”

You groan as the bedroom lights up and Bucky’s phone buzzes on the bedside table. Even your fluffy fur ball growls when you reach over Bucky to grab it. Rolling your eyes when you see Steve’s name, “What do you want?”

“I thought I called Bucky’s phone?” You sit up in the bed, getting a disgruntled meow from Alpine as she moves to the foot of the bed. “Is it — is it not?”

“It is, this is his fiancé, who is this?”

“Oh, this…has he not mentioned me? I’m — I don’t know what I am to Steve other than trapped in this bedroom, and he’s out there where the food is, and I’m starving,” Steve had found himself a whiny brat. “Do you think Bucky or you could bring me some food somehow?”

“He doesn’t work for Steve anymore,” you relax back in the bed, starting to run your fingers over Bucky’s metal one as it finds its way back your belly

“Oh, so I’m going to starve here?”

“Do you want to stay with Steve? Or are you done?”

“I said some things to him, but I…I don’t know,” Bucky wouldn’t get involved in Steve’s private affairs. That much you were sure of. If that stupid girl didn’t know if she didn’t want to be with Steve or not, you wouldn’t either. “He hurt me.”

“Would you have gotten that tattoo if he asked?”

“Yes,” absolutely no hesitation. “I sound stupid. I like him, and I like what he does to me, but I think he just wants this sick fantasy of popping my cherry, and then he’s going to be done with me.”

“No, he won’t. Steve doesn’t have to work for sex. He could pick any girl at that club to suck him off whenever he wanted to. He’s working on you. You’ve piqued his sick interests, and you’re just as sick as him. You get it?”

“Bucky acted like you were shy,” you are. More so with men. But this woman was threatening the peace you and Bucky are creating. Her and Steve were like chaos junkies.

“Is he asleep?” You could hear her rustling around with the door, and giving a little peek.

“Yes.”

“Then sneak and get food. If that man wanted to get to you, he would have. For whatever reason, he’s given you some weird form of boundaries. Get food, and figure out what you want. If you want him,” you take a deep breath as you stare at your sleeping fiancé. He didn’t want to admit the power that you had over Steve. Men could be blind to the power of a woman, especially the power radiating out from between their legs.

“If I want him, what?” Her voice is frazzled, willing to listen to whatever it is you were going to tell her. She had to have known. But maybe she didn’t understand the way that Steve was.

“If he’s giving you that space, you’re the one that owns him.”

Masterlist

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334 notes · View notes

laffy-taffy-creations · 4 months

Text

An Cumhachd A Thig Le Cùram

The Power That Comes With Caring

This is my secret santa gift for @esperosisdoeswriting! Their prompt was Villain and/or monster dad that is quite evil but very much loves and adores his power-less child. Found family highly encouraged. I hope you like it Esper!

WARNINGS: violence, death, cussing

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Supervillain was shoved in the direction of the cop car. "Alright, ALRIGHT I'm going! Fuck off!" he said while walking in that direction.

How angry he was. These stupid heroes treating him like nothing more than a herd cattle! It was infuriating.

If Child weren't nearby he'd tear out the throats of everyone around him.

He sat down in the back and was closed in there for a bit. Apparently getting him into custody wasn't the first priority.

He heard squabbling. One of the voices sounded like Child. They were probably so scared right now, those heroes taking their parent away from them, no wonder they were resisting.

Eventually the car started moving, the person in the passenger's seat asking Supervillain questions.

"Yes, I kidnapped them." "No, that kid is not someone I kidnapped." "My history of torture does not apply here." "Those heroes? They're dead. Pissed me off too much while I held them hostage, kept asking for food or water." "Her screams were oh so delightful. You should've been there." "Leave the kid out of this."

He had no reason to hide anything he did. Infact he took much pride in all his crimes.

And why wouldn't he? He was Supervillain. He marked everything thoroughly once he realized the cops would never find him.

He was… ticked off about that, to say the least. Child was just a kid. A powerless one at that. If there was ever a group of people that would take advantage of them, exploit them, even abuse them, it would be the police and heroes.

Except now they had. And now they had Child too.

They arrived at the agency. "C'mon, get out. We're putting you in custody."

"No."

"No?" one of the heroes sneered.

"Tell me where my kid is or I'm not getting out of this damn vehicle."

Laughter. Laugher that made the supervillain see red. Laughter that made him almost break the cuffs right then and there.

"Tell me where they are right now or so help me-"

He was cut off by a sniggering hero, "You're infront of a hero agency. Whatever you do, you have an army's worth of heroes to contend with. You ain't gonna do shit."

"Tell me where they are."

A superior walked up to the group. "What's the hold up? I need him in a cell, STAT."

"He won't leave the car unless we tell him where the kid we found in his house is."

You fuckers that's my child.

The superior sighed. "Just tell him, we can't waste anymore time."

One of the heroes rolled their eyes then turned to Supervillain. "Fine. They're being brought to our agency and held in an interrogation room for a while where you can't get to them while we figure out why they were there."

He finally stepped out of the car, satisfied with that. Child would be here too. He was okay with that.

He was led down into the facility, celebratory cheers following him at every turn while the heroes led him on.

Something isn't right.

He could sense it. Deep down. Call it parental instinct. Something was wrong.

He stopped moving. The heroes started shouting at him, pushing, trying to drag him. He tuned them out. Their methods didn't work as his body didn't budge.

Then, he heard it.

His child was screaming.

And so the cuffs broke.

Red, red, everything was red as the screams turned from a child's fear to adults' pain. He lashed out, tearing out their throats, hearts, lungs, whichever of the vital body parts was closest.

The shadows of his power stretching far and wide and terrorizing the whole damn agency.

He would not stop until he found his kid.

Rushing through the halls, leaving marks across every surface his shadows scraped. Like a wild beast searching for its prey.

You fuckers better pray to whatever gods you follow that I'll be quick.

People started fighting back, there was electricity, punches, force fields, weapons. None of it was Child. And so the rage continued.

He hunted, hunted, tracking down the heroes that stole his child, took them from his home.

Clawing his way through the bodies separating him from his kin.

And there they were. Child, crying, backed against a wall while Supervillain crushed the skull of the hero they were cowering from.

His mind cleared, his child was in front of him. And he had just killed.

Out of everything, that was his one rule. No villainy in front of his kid. In front of Child. But now…

He walked forward, wary. Would they even look at him the same? Would there be fear in their eyes?

He knelt down in front of them. "Hey. I'm… sorry you had to see that. I understand if you're-"

"PAPA!" Child suddenly lunged forward and buried their head in his chest, sobbing and shaking like a leaf.

He was stunned, to say the least. "Yeah, it's me." He stroked their hair a little bit.

They cried and cried, finally safe, finally secure. They didn't care that Supervillain had just murdered every hero in the building, they were finally okay because their father was here.

And he wasn't leaving them any time soon.

He wasn't Hero afterall.

#lt speaks #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writers #writing #creative writing #lt n friends #my writing #writerscommunity #villains and heroes #heros and villains #secret santa #christmas #merry christmas #christmas gift #secret santa snippets

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gatheringbones · 6 months

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[“I managed to get out in three months. While out on parole for Christmas, I begged my father not to send me back. In another of our few tender moments, he caved. And he was the one who went to collect my stuff from this place. He returned so shaken he couldn’t talk about it beyond mumbled regrets. He’d never actually seen the place. These mumblings marked a third tender moment.

I had a reprieve, but not for long. I still hadn’t learned my lesson. The cure hadn’t worked. And I was still under the care of this same shrink, which meant still seeing Beth. I made the same gaff, telling Beth about yet another woman, and again she reported back. My father, having been informed, made his last strategic strike. This time he told the shrink that his sister was manic-depressive, and perhaps I was, too. Eureka, they’d solved it, solved me.

Once more I was called into the shrink’s office. I listened to a masterful pitch for Lithium. He made it sound like a drug addict’s dream. That it would allow me to manipulate my mood at will. Next he described me as a Virginia Woolf type time bomb. I’d certainly kill myself by forty. Now I was some kind of suicidal genius. But through the miracle of Lithium I could be saved. The flattery worked, the pitch worked. I fell for it hook, line, and sinker. Took another script to the drug store, this time believing in magic.

I didn’t know you needed a blood test for dosage, but presumably the shrink did. For the next ten days I didn’t eat or sleep. No need to, this stuff made me high as a kite. Unlike most actual manic-depressives, I had no experience with mania. And while I’d done speed, of course, and coke, downers were always more my thing. I’d never gone so hyped for so long. You could say my judgment was a bit impaired. This set the stage for the last act.

The shrink suggested I sign myself into a hospital, just for a couple of weeks to stabilize the dosage. Even impaired, I didn’t immediately bite. So Beth was brought in for bait. Unlike me, she’d learned her lesson, was on board this time, though I didn’t know it yet. She coaxed me and I began to waver. I don’t remember why, but I was at my brother’s house when I called her. I do remember I was alone, staring into his kitchen, which had this amazing pile-up of empty Dewars bottles. The same scotch my parents drank by the gallon. The sight of all those bottles seemed to be what made me call.

It was night, a Friday, I think. I know Reagan had just been elected to his first term. Time had passed. I’d later joke it was his election that tipped me over. Beth came and picked me up. Took me to this place. I signed myself in. My parents didn’t even know. The weekend meant two more days of no sleep or food, even so I realized I’d made a mistake, a big one—been duped.

My father bailed me out, took me home. That might have been that, but it wasn’t. I was still on the stuff—the lithium. By now it’d turned me into some punk girl version of Travis Bickle. For reasons I don’t recollect, I was wearing army fatigues, combat boots, and a lot of those heavy silver biker rings. My mother was in the kitchen cooking dinner. My father and I were watching the news. As my kind of luck would have it, Cambodia, perhaps then still Democratic Kampuchea, was news that night—the Khmer Rouge, Pal Pot, the killing fields—they were dredging it all up again, showing old footage.

That’s all it took. The fuse was lit. The only question now was who’d explode first—me or Dad. I think it might’ve been simultaneous combustion. But he was the one on his feet first. When I hit him, I believed it was self-defense. If I hadn’t been wearing the damn rings, I might not have done damage.

My mother tried to break it up—a first. Somehow she and I wound up on the stairs. But how she fell, honestly I don’t know. I only know I didn’t intend to hurt her. I think I was just trying to get her attention. She wasn’t badly hurt, not physically. But she sat at the foot of those stairs yelling she never wanted me inside their house again. Meanwhile my father was on the phone to the cops—or rather a cop. A friend/employee of his. This guy drove me back to the snake pit. This time they took my jewelry, hell, they took everything. This time they doped me to the gills. This time it was progress when I finally got out of a tiny cell to roam a locked ward with women who’d had lobotomies, and I assure you I’m not exaggerating.

I’ll spare you the gorier details. Things you’d expect but might not believe. After all, nobody believed Martha Mitchell either, at least not until it was way too late to do her any good. So let’s just say that given the condition of the other inhabitants, I was a real find for the night nurse. She made a bundle pimping me to the orderlies. I did eventually engineer my release, aided and abetted by a young woman working in occupational therapy. She was the only person who knew or rather cared that I didn’t belong there. She coached me.

For added insurance I managed to get a guy I knew to come pose as my boyfriend. We went so far as to announce our engagement, and I was released shortly after. At the time I believed the engagement stunt was what cinched it. Now I assume it had less to do with the insurance I’d arranged than with my parents’ Blue Cross, which no doubt had been bilked to the max.

The doctor who released me was the same one who’d been there the night I’d signed myself in. I hadn’t seen him or any doctor since, save the one time he’d called on me to act as playmate for a wealthy woman friend of his who was there taking a much-needed rest from the jet-set. If my whole time there had been like that one week with her—good booze, good drugs, good food, and good sex—I might never have left. But it wasn’t. It was a beautiful fluke amidst grueling ugliness.

As this guy released me, he laughed, even gloated about the amount of Thorazine he’d managed to pump into me. I’d remember the number. Again, I learned from a book that this dose was more than double what was considered safe for an actual psychotic. I got the point. I resolved never again to display an emotion, never again to state an opinion, and never again to fall in love with a woman.

Needless to say, I got away from my family. But I still kept those resolutions for nearly two years. The first two fell away first. The last one was lost to a woman I’ll call Ingrid. And while falling for Ingrid would begin yet another sordid story, it’s the end of this one.”]

heather lewis, from richard nixon and me, from a woman like that: lesbian and bisexual writers tell their coming out stories, 2000

#Heather Lewis #lesbian literature #cw rape #cw abuse #history stuff #horror! horror! horror!

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bangtanhoneys · 6 months

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GRACE VLOG - Family Day Out

As the last vlog to go out on Big Hits YouTube account, Grace’s was at least over an hour long with the thumbnail of her in the driver’s seat and a question mark over the person in the passenger seat. Nothing fancy, nothing over the top. Just simple and straight to the point that this video would be about Grace doing her daily thing.

“Good morning,” Grace grinned at the camera that was pointed at her as she sat in the driver’s seat for the Hyundai Palisade. “I didn’t really know what to vlog as nothing much is happening for me and I know the boys are off doing their own thing, but I got a phone call from someone yesterday who needed my help today so I promised them I would dedicate the whole day to what they needed but I’d have to vlog about it. So that’s where we’re going.”

Grace turned the engine on and plugged in her phone, pressing a couple of buttons on the navigation. “I should also explain one of the managers is in the back in case anyone thinks there’s a random person in my car,” she added as she pulled on her seatbelt. There was a deep chuckle in the back which made her smile. “Sorry, Hobeom-oppa.”

She pulled away from HYBE’s parking spaces and onto the busy roads of Seoul, which was in peak morning traffic. There wasn’t much talking other than the sounds of someone tapping their phone and the low sound of music coming from the system, which seemed to be classical. “It’s odd not having one of the guys in the car with me,” she suddenly said. “There’s always someone there,” she added as she waved a hand in the direction of the passenger seat. “Always talking.”

After fifteen minutes of driving, she pulled into another underground parking lot after waving a card at the machine. She pulled into one of the spaces and left the engine running, pulling out her phone to send a quick message.

“I bet she’s going to be late,” she muttered to her manager who got out and opened the passenger door.

ARMY would be then utterly surprised to see another woman, slightly taller than Grace and obviously much older climb into the passenger seat. “Sorry I’m late! Your father handed me another list of things to get.”

Grace laughed and reached over, hugging her mother.

“Let me introduce you,” she said as she waited for her mother to get settled into her seat. She then pointed to the various cameras. “Mum, say hello to ARMY. Both in Korean and English.”

The older woman, with dark brown hair and hazel eyes, pale skin with freckles spread across her nose and thin-framed glasses, looked puzzled for a moment until she realised. “Ah,” she muttered, then gave a small bow from her seat. “Hello, I’m Hea’s mother,” she said in Korean before smiling, the same smile Grace had. “Hello, I’m Grace’s mum,” she then added in English, with a clear London accent.

“Okay, where are we going first?” Grace asked, as Hobeom got back into his seat and closed the door behind him. She reserved out of the space and out of the underground parking.

“Well, we need to get your Dad some new shirts,” her mother said in English then switched to Korean for the benefit of the cameras and Hobeom in the back. “And then I’ve got some grocery shopping to do and we need to get some bits for your grandparents, since we’re visiting them at the weekend which you’ve cleared your schedule for?”

Grace gave a quick glance to the manager in the back who nodded. “All clear. It would be nice to see them, I haven’t seen them since the new year?” she guessed. It was hard to keep up with what day it was, never mind what month it was.

“New year,” her mother confirmed. “So before you get busy again, it’s probably best to spend some time with them. I think the uncles and aunties and cousins are coming as well.”

“Ah, the Chu family reunion,” Grace laughed as she waited at the lights to head to the Starfield COEX Mall. She had a mask and a bucket hat in her bag to throw on when they got there.

Of course, it was extremely busy there for the time of day and thankfully the disguise did the trick as they got through the entrance from the parking lot and up to the floor to the shop where her Dad got his shirt’s from. Of course, it didn’t stop her mother from having a quick wander around and it didn’t stop Grace going into the bookstore and coming out with two large bags.

Poor Hobeom, who had volunteered to carry the bags, obviously didn’t realise who he was shopping with. “We’ll get your favourite food after this. We’re going to Gwangjang Market as well,” Grace promised as she wrapped a hand around his arm.

What was meant to be an hour at the shopping mall, had turned into two hours though you couldn’t tell from the editing done by the team. They had timelapsed the whole thing into a quick segment, which ended up with them leaving the mall and on the road to the market.

“The famous Gwangjang Market, as seen on Netflix,” Grace commented as she weaved through traffic easily.

“It’s not the same as the markets in England when it’s Christmas,” her mother added.

“No, it’s not. We need to go back at one point, maybe take the boys,” Grace mused. “They’d like a Christmas market, especially like the ones in Berlin.”

It had been awhile since she had been home to England and it had been even longer since she had been to Berlin, just to go and be a tourist rather than perform. She tried to go back home with her parents as much as she could but with their schedule and then obviously COVID, it had waylaid any plans.

“Jungkook would love the food,” her mother laughed. “His eyes would grow massive at the size of those popular sausages and pretzels.”

“You know for a fact they would love the beer in Germany,” Grace scoffed but she was smiling as she said it, pulling into the famous Korean market.

“Here is where the fun begins but let’s get something to eat first,” she said as they got out of the car. It was going to be easier for her to be recognised in this place, mostly because her mother stood out the most. For Grace it was easy to blend in with a mask and a hat because of her Korean eyes, but for her mother, who was clearly a foreigner, not so much.

So she ditched the disguise and took the mini camera with her, leaving her phone and keys with her manager.

They found a space at one of the stalls selling kalguksu, korean knife noodles, and so Grace paid for their lunch while normal everyday people carried on with their lives. One or two people spotted her and waved and the owner of the stall they were at asked for her autograph, but other than that they carried on peacefully.

By the end of their visit, Hobeom was carrying three large bags of stuff for Grace’s mother and two of his own. Grace was carrying another three bags in one hand and one in the other, which contained some of the things she had seen. And her mother had one small one.

“I feel bad that you have to carry it all,” she apologised to the manager. It was clear they had known each other for a long time because Hobeom laughed it off and shook his head, speaking for the first time. “Angela-ajumma, it’s honestly no problem. I’m happy to help.”

“Call me Angela without all that Korean part,” her mother said with a wave of her hand causing Grace to grin.

“Try saying it in English,” Grace pointed out to her manager as they walked out the market.

“It’s no problem Angela,” he said very slowly and it was a bit of broken English but it got to the point.

“There we go! Just don’t tell Grace’s father about that because you know how he is about speaking Korean,” her mother laughed as they loaded the bags into the car.

“He’s a fussy ajusshi,” Grace sighed as they all climbed into the car and made the trek back over to Seongsu-dong as her parents lived within minutes of SM Entertainment and the Seoul Forest.

The vlog ended with her mother waving goodbye to the camera and giving Grace’s cheek a kiss as she got out of the car.

“ARMY, thank you for joining me on a day out with my mother. I hope to see you all soon and maybe, we can take you all to England with us one day. Bye for now,” she waved at the camera before turning it off and getting out of the car to help with the bags.

#bts 8th member #bts additional member #bts eighth member #bts female member #bts fic

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finniestoncrane · 2 years

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Can you do Riddler headcannons about going to Disney World or more chaotic them going in a big group to Disney. I feel like Arkham and Telltale are the groups designated dads and Capullio is throwing a fit because they won’t stop to get him an ice cream again! 😂

Riddlers At Disney World

Riddler Headcanons this is perfect lmao (also shout out to my husband for sitting next to me and shouting out his own headcanons) so i picked disney world because i've been there more recently and there was more to choose from! i've assigned them all what i think their favourite park is too because i couldn't help myself also i would like to say that they're all wearing the same custom jumper. it's green with a question mark on the front and on the back it says "if lost please return to arkham" request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi minors DNI!! 🔞 cw for nsfw stuff: mostly all fluffy but some language

telltale

you are 100% spot on he is the designated dad of the group for sure. only because he's so grumpy and determined to remain calm even in the face of unbridled, nostalgic joy. he'll queue to get his picture taken with mary poppins and then he'll be the bag carrier for the rest of the day. he doesn't want to go on any rides, that's for babies. and god help you if you suggest he put on a pair of mickey ears. favourite park: downtown disney. booze, limited children, and for some reason he's just super into the idea of the hot air balloon

gotham

this is neither fun nor whimsical nor evil not intellectually stimulating. maybe MAYBE he would be vaguely entertained by what was on offer at tomorrowland, and he did like the dapper dans to be fair. but the haunted mansion did remind him of a certain someone's aesthetic. and so did the enchanted tiki room, so the whole time he was grinding his teeth and almost busting the vein at his temple... favourite park: the car park, especially on the way home, when the park is but a distant memory

dano

from the minute you get past the main gate, like the one at the car park, his stupid little smile has been pressed tight into his chubby cheeks. man is DESPERATE to heal that inner child, and part of the process is having a day long sugar high, meeting eeyore, eating three turkey legs and seven dole whips, and then napping in the monorail after the fireworks at the end of the day. he is literally bouncing. favourite park: hollywood studios. i know man is frothing at the mouth for the star wars shit and you can't convince me otherwise

arkham

wow ok he really thought he would hate this, but then the boat turned that first corner in it's a small world and his silly little eyes lit up. so. many. little. robots. my GOD the possibilities would be endless with an army of robot children. and you think he was vibrating with excitement after that one, wait till you see him encounter that freaky animatronic of the shaman on the avatar ride. favourite park: animal kingdom. it's nice to have a look at all the different animals so he can decide which ones he should attach lasers to next

capullo

you're so right, anytime he sees something he wants but can't have he's going to go in a little huff. the temper tantrum he had when gaston made a joke about being more manly than him was bordering on bad enough to get escorted out of the parks. also, he's not allowed to do any more character meet and greets because if he hits on one more princess he's getting a lifetime ban and a smack on the head. favourite park: he likes the water parks, for the wet milfs. hello potentially desperate single moms

unburied

he's only going on the fastest rides and good luck getting him to stop swearing in front of children, which while you're on the subject, he wants to know why there are so many children? and is it ok to kick them out of the way if they're particularly irritating? also, he's not sorry about the fact that he is going to pick the most irritating souvenirs. anything that is bulky, bright, and loud. just like him. favourite park: epcot. and not because of the frozen ride, definitely NOT because of the frozen ride, he's a fan of world cuisine

young justice

oh my god his feet hurt and you are not going to hear the end of it. why does he have to queue? do they not know who he is? and also, you wouldn't have to queue for so long if everyone had listened to him when he said he had worked out a plan with average wait times to calculate which rides to go to first. but no, everyone was too busy calling him a nerd. and now look, he's tired and cranky and he wants a fuckin churro. favourite park: magic kingdom (tomorrowland). but the carousel of progress freaks him out

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invisible-storyteller · 6 months

Text

Home is a person

For @kirayukimuraappreciation. Day 1: You Came Back. Pairing: Malia Tate/Kira Yukimura Rating: General Words: 1628 Tags: Post-Canon, Post-Teen Wolf: The Movie (2023), Kira-centric, Kira Yukimura Returns, Derek Hale & Kira Yukimura Friendship, Angst with a Happy Ending Summary: Kira returns to Beacon Hills just in time to save Derek. With everyone alive and the Nogitsune gone, happy end is due, right? Well, Kira needs a bit more convincing to realize why she's come back at all. (Read it on AO3).

It doesn’t take long to understand the situation. It takes even less time to tackle Derek off the Nemeton.

She makes sure to stand guard around the tree stump with another, younger kitsune as Parrish’s arms wrap around the mutant evil spirit and they both go up in flames. The only thing left in the Nogitsune’s wake is silence and bad memories.

Then the illusion is gone and Kira can breathe again. They are all standing on a stadium field, safe, shaken and once again victorious, surrounded by friends she hasn’t seen in over a decade. It just figures that another life-and-death scenario would bring them back together.

“Dad!”

A werewolf boy barely in his teens rushes towards Derek and buries himself into his arms, and as Kira does a 360-degree turn, she notices that everyone's celebrating in varying forms of an embrace while she’s standing on the side. Alone.

A lean body sags onto hers suddenly and she startles by the unexpectedly tight hug. “You saved my dad,” The boy says against her shoulder, relief heavy in his voice. “Thank you.”

From a short distance, Derek smiles at her and walks closer to the pair. “Amazing timing,” He compliments.

Kira smiles but can’t help looking around and thinking: “Actually, I might be too late.”

Derek invites her to dinner as an expression of his gratitude and then follows up with a dozen ‘thanks yous’ throughout the evening. His son, Eli, has a million questions about the Skinwalkers and her powers and he breaks down crying halfway through. It’s a lot, but Kira still feels better on the drive home.

It’s definitely nicer than the nothing that follows.

For every single thing that hasn’t changed in Beacon Hills, there are at least three more that have. Derek, apparently, doesn’t know much about the others since most of them haven’t kept in touch after an allegedly glorious defeat against an army of hunters. Kira hasn’t been there for the war, but she supposes that the pack would have sought her out if she was truly needed.

Reuniting with Scott is awkward, seeing him hold hands with Allison is even more so. It’s not like Kira had much hope for her and Scott, but it still hurts. It doesn’t sting like a heartache but more like another proof that life went on without her.

She talks with Hikari and Liam before they leave for Japan because that’s their home now, not Beacon Hills. Kira has no idea where her home is anymore.

Half of her life has been dedicated to fighting for control with the Skinwalkers, so readjusting to the changes and modern life should be easy, and yet, Kira finds herself debating on a daily basis the idea of simply going back. What is keeping me here? - it’s a question that echoes too often in her head.

Derek is attentive, but more than that, he understands. He invites her over for more dinners and movie marathons (to help her “catch up on what she’s missed”, and he cringes right after saying it), and talks about his travels proceeding the events in Mexico. She realizes by the second-hour mark that the similarities of their experiences are overshadowed by their unbridgeable differences.

Because Derek returned when his friends were in need, but Kira didn’t.

He shows her the garage, the preserve and the school. Coach doesn’t recognize her but asks whether she’s good at lacrosse and if she would like to join, anyway. This leads to Kira practising with Eli on Mondays, since Derek claims he’s always been more gifted in basketball.

Kira knows what Derek’s doing, really, and she appreciates it. She just doesn’t know how to tell him that the issue isn’t with the place. It’s with her.

It’s 12:14 pm on a Friday when Kira walks into the auto shop. It’s been five weeks since her return and as she enters the shop (instead of waiting outside like usual), the realization hits her of how weird it is that she hasn’t talked to Malia in all that time.

“Hey,” Malia greets, like they've just spoken yesterday (they didn't, not in 14 years), kicking her feet off the counter and plucking the earbuds out of her ear.

Kira is ashamed that she can’t come up with a better reply than “Hi”, accompanied by a not-quite smile to make up for the lack of contact. Not that Malia couldn’t have reached out, Kira reminds herself, and feels a dull pang in her heart. It’s an everyday occurrence.

“What are you doing here?” Malia asks as she stands up, soft sweater bunching up at one of her sides. Derek’s been either rubbing off on her or pestering the woman into warmer clothes as the season turned chilly. It’s an adorable sight, nevertheless.

Kira looks behind herself, wondering for a moment if she should wait outside after all. Then she remembers Malia has always been confrontational and feels her nerves settle at the small glimpse of familiarity.

“Derek promised to buy me lunch,” Kira finally says, glancing around for good measure. Derek’s most likely in the back, though, immersed in grease and work.

Malia nods, looks away, pats down her jeans.

“What if I buy you lunch?”

The question catches Kira off guard and her wide eyes are probably telling since Malia immediately shoves her hands into her jeans and plunges into an explanation.

“Derek’s busy with a demanding asshole’s car and sitting here is getting seriously boring. So please? Put me out of my misery?”

Oh. Well. Kira can roll with that.

“Yeah, sure, if Derek doesn’t mind.”

“Wait here,” Malia instructs before disappearing through the backdoor. Three minutes later, Malia is back with car keys dangling from her fingers and a familiar-looking credit card in her hand. “He doesn’t mind. Now, let’s go. I’m fucking starving.”

The lunch is better than Kira expects. Malia's questions are straightforward but her answers to Kira’s inquires are equally frank. It’s refreshing to finally pour out all the feelings Kira's had bottled up for over a month now. It's also the first time she laughs honestly.

“We should meet up again,” Malia suggests while they're pulling up to Kira's home. Or, well, to her parents’ house.

“Yeah,” Kira agrees readily.

Then, she promptly forgets about wanting to leave for a full week.

“Don’t you want to have your own apartment?” Malia asks with her bare feet trudging in the shallow part of the lake.

Kira pulls her knees up to hug them closer as well as to support her chin as she shrugs noncommittally. “I haven’t thought about it yet.”

“Seriously?" Malia looks flummoxed. "Didn’t you make a comment about the absurdity of sleeping in your old bedroom? Right below your One Direction poster?"

Yeah, Kira spent an entire day mourning over that particular change.

“I know, I just never thought I would need a permanent place here.”

Malia freezes in the water at once and aimes her eyes at her submerged feet. Kira can't parse the emotion on her friend's face, and it makes the anxiety that she hasn't felt around Malia yet emerge with frightening intensity.

“You want to leave.”

There's no accusation behind the words but they aren't exactly warm in nature. Kira doesn't want to lie, not to Malia, so she settles on a shrug.

“But you just got back." And now the hurt is audible in Malia's voice.

“Why should I stay here?" Kira asks, pleading for her friend to understand. "Our friends aren’t here anymore, the pack isn’t here anymore, my life isn’t here-“

Kira bites her tongue. When she got back two months ago, she was filled with exhilaration to reunite with her family. Her mother made occasional visits to the Skinwalkers, but it was nothing compared to the almost forgotten scent of his father's cooking or the sound of her mother's singing as it floated through the house. There was no happier moment in Kira's life than when her mother had called about the Nogitsune's return and the Skinwalkers bid her farewell for good. Her training was over.

But Kira didn't live in Beacon Hills for long and she didn't have childhood memories to anchor her to the town. The only thing that was ever valuable in Beacon Hills were her friends and even they had left a long time ago. Kira has no reason to stay.

“I’m here,” Malia's words break through her thoughts, and Kira meets her eyes curiously.

“Why? What holds you back?”

Malia doesn't answer. She simply walks out of the lake and sits beside her in the grass. It's an unusually sunny day.

“Parrish?” Kira chances, and her heart soars when Malia shakes her head lightly.

“I guess... I was waiting for everyone to come back.”

Kira hasn't considered it yet - what it must have felt like to be left behind by all their friends. The worst is, though, that she doesn't remember if she ever said goodbye to Malia.

They listen to the forest while soaking in the pale light of the Sun, and at one point, Malia decides to lie down on her back and just watch the vagrant clouds as they swim past the treetops. Kira hasn't known this kind of peace in... 14 years.

“I guess..." Malia suddenly speaks, quieter but somehow braver, "I was waiting for you to come back.”

Kira looks at the other woman, at the challenge and hope in her eyes. At the evident fear that she bares open for only Kira to see.

She leans onto her side until she hovers above Malia, and slowly, tentatively, takes hold of her hand.

“Will you help me look for an apartment?”

Malia beams, and just like that, Kira no longer regrets coming back.

#kiraweek2023 #kira yukimura #malira #derek & kira #original: teen wolf fanfic

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sunboki · 2 years

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༉‧₊˚. BITE ME. 13. just trying to be a nurse

the morning after the chaos was preferably relaxed, chomping down on the pancakes heartily before having to rush to your morning class.

seems the smell of the delicious breakfast woke the others up as well, crowding to sneak a bite from the griddle while lino threatened them wordlessly.

“so.. are you all pureblood?” the innocent question stirs a snort from han, earning him a slap across the head by chan.

“nope. apart from those two, we’re just half-blood.” chan gently informed, han shuffling in his seat with a whine.

“but now that i think about it, lino’s royalty so we’d just be peasants.” the remark han gave caused changbin to snort this time—and the boy was given a terrifying glare from lino.

you tilted your head, seungmin relaying a deep sigh before explaining the details to you. “despite felix being from a powerful family, lino is on another level. you see, lino is a prince. his dad’s lee gyeong—otherwise known as the king of vampires.”

suddenly, the food in your throat that was once easy to digest became hard as stone. turns out there was even more you hadn’t known about lino.

starting with his prince like aura turning out to be real life.

the trip to class wasn’t bad, but when your phone started blowing up—finally taking the time to check and see what the commotion was about, your heart dropped.

✞ masterlist _ next _ previous

sypnosis; finally getting into your dream college as a nursing major, it just so happens that this college in is prestigious for its long history—and for the notorious eight vampires attending as well?! these mysterious eight spend their days either collecting an army of fangirls or breaking hearts. but when one of the eight vampires takes interest in you, you find yourself in quite a sticky situation when your vampire-hating brother steps in.

✞ notes; poor y/n getting hate texts💔💔 and antis getting her number is SCARY—confused lino lol

#taglist: @emmie5168 @babyphotos0325 @hikari-chan69 @dark-mark @hyunee1 @purenjuniverse @that-crazy-five-foot-two-chick @mingyu1pup @goquokka @chaarcharr @moasworld @nattisbored @bubblelixie

—

all rights for this work are owned by @sunboki

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burnwater13 · 2 months

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Image depicts four Mandalorians taking over an Imperial weapons transport. From The Mandalorian, Season 2, Episode 3 The Heiress. Calendar from DataWorks.

Grogu thought about all the Mandalorians he’d met and that made him consider all the Mandalorians he had never met. Not just the ones he hadn’t met yet, but the ones he’d never meet. The ones who had come before his time. Mandalorians like Tarre Vizsla.

Apparently, Tarre Vizsla had been both Mandalorian and a Jedi. He’d made the Darksaber that Bo-Katan had lost her fighters over and that Moff Gideon had stolen from her. The important part, as far as Grogu was concerned, was that Tarre Vizsla had done that nearly, almost, around, one thousand years ago.

Relatively speaking just before the time of Master Yoda, if you believed that he was 900 standard years old. It had been Grogu’s opinion that the Master he looked so much alike in someways, was even older than that. But was he really Tarre Vizsla years old? Did he know the only Mandalorian who had ever become a Jedi? Or did he know the only Jedi who ever became Mand’alor?

That answer to that question must be somewhere. But where? There wasn’t a lot of information available on either side of that equation now. Most of the Mandalorian data had been destroyed by the Empire when they destroyed as much of the planet as they could manage. The data the Jedi had was mostly destroyed as well, given what had likely happened to the Jedi library once the Empire took over, although Grogu wouldn’t know for certain unless he went to Coruscant.

He’d asked his dad if they could make a trip to Coruscant, but Din Djarin had said ‘No’ pretty emphatically. Grogu found that pretty frustrating. He was very interested in building his own lightsaber and since he was a Mandalorian apprentice, he needed to have a better understanding of what kind of lightsaber would be the best to build.

“Didn’t your people keep back up data any where? You’d never find someone in my profession trusting to just one safe location for laying low and doing research.”

Grogu was surprised that the Mythrol even understood him. He and his dad were visiting High Magistrate Karga and since the discussion was pretty boring, being about pirates and their secret hideouts, Grogu had drifted off. Which is to say, Grogu smelled something delicious and discovered that the Mythrol was eating tiny dried nuggets of fish. They were coated in something sort of sweet and sticky and Grogu was glad that the High Magistrates chief financial advisor was willing to share them with him.

“Don’t worry about it kid. I can write it off as an operating expense. But back to that comment you made about not going to Coruscant, didn’t your folks have other temples? I can tell on my home planet you couldn’t cross a canal without tripping over a temple threshold. Mark my words that data you want is in some other Jedi temple, where ever it us.”

What the Chief Financial advisor said made a lot of sense to Grogu. None of the folks on the Jedi Council told everyone, everything. After all, somehow they had managed to keep a whole Clone army secret, although he doubted they could have kept that hidden from the Mythrol. He was an expert at following the credits.

When he was at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant he knew that there had once been a temple on Ossus, one on Ilum, one on Tython, and an abandoned temple on Dantooine. He knew there had been more temples and had heard rumors about a temple on Takodana as well as Jakku, but he hadn’t seen anything from them. And he didn’t want to take the N-1 across the galaxy on a rumor, at least not yet.

So when his dad had finished meeting with the High Magistrate, he decided to see if his dad was willing to take him for a short ride in the N-1. They would just be taking the Veragi Trade Route to Dubrillion and then an unnamed hyperspace lane from there to Dantooine. Of course you got to the Veragi Trade Route by connecting to it from the Celanon Spur at Vinsoth, which they could reach at Botajef from the Hydian Way which went all the way to Eriadu which they would have reached from the Nothloiin Corridor, which they reached from Gerrenthum, which was only a hop, skip, and a jump from Nevarro as soon as you reached the Correlian Trade Spine. Easy peasy. Or they could just go to Takodana and look there. It was a heck of a lot closer and maybe he’d find the old ruins of the temple and learn more about the Darksaber and how it came into being.

“Well buddy, what do you think about going to Takodana? Apparently there’s a pirate queen there that Karga thinks can help with his problem.”

“Yippee!”

Grogu loved it when the Way happened to also be the way he wanted to go. He was one step closer to becoming the second Mandalorian Jedi and he couldn’t wait!

#calendar prompt a day #the mandalorian #grogu #din djarin #Jedi Temple

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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 7 months

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Playing for Keeps - a Malevolent fic

It was time to meet with the mysterious Outer God, the Keeper, to unravel the problem of Arthur Lester and his broken mark.

There was no way to prepare for this. No way to be ready.

And absolutely no way she was as kind as she seemed.

Part of the Surrogate series.. Written with @sepiabandensis

AO3

——

The sacking of Ishara went by many names. This was partly because the place already looked sacked before the Lord of Interstellar Spaces took it (and looked less sacked after, which… what do you even call that?), and partly because no one had actually liked the Dukes to begin with. It made for great bard fare, certainly. The bards had a lot to sing about.

The citizens had their own term: The New Year.

The twin manors burned for days, a symbol of freedom. The city itself had been emptied of people, and then razed to ash with the terrifying power of a Great Old One. Then, without pause, it was remade.

Homes and businesses, parks that had never existed, places for children—all created in less than a day, and all citizens gently rehomed inside as if they were fish transferred to a new tank. (And yes, the style was distinctly Carcosan, and some people complained, but never to his face).

It was clean. It had proper drainage and plumbing. Access via the docks changed—invading moonbeasts would face cannon fire and magical barriers they could not break through or set ablaze. Carcosa also arranged delivery of produce, which Ishara had always lacked—though land had been set aside for future crops and orchards so they could supply themselves.

It all happened so fast—barely a week, from start to finish. The Dweller in the Depths hadn’t even come by in the day, though his servitors had, redirecting the flow of gold from the mines.

Ishara belonged to Carcosa now. There was no question of this; but did anyone really care?

Nope. The Dukes were gone, along with their corrupt personal army, and the citizens celebrated as the blaze of the twin manors turned the night sky orange for miles.

Some feared the Dukes would return. Molly knew they wouldn’t. She’d been given the task of helping the serving girls escape before the manors went to hell, and had heard those men screaming at the hand of the King in Yellow.

(Oh. Oh, how they screamed. She shuddered whenever she remembered, grateful she’d never drawn the ire of a god.)

Molly had been paid far more for that simple kindness than it was worth, but understood why. It was gratitude—and maybe buying her silence about certain things. She would have kept that secret for free, anyway. Justice was rare in her experience, but when it did come, it was a beautiful thing.

If it came at the hand of the one who’d be her god now, so what? It was better than the Dukes, and her child finally had enough to eat.

Faroe sat at breakfast, tired, muscles strained. I want to be a warrior queen, she’d told Dis, and boy howdy, did Dis up the game. The new exercises would make Faroe mighty and fearsome and strong in time. Right now, they made it hard to pick up a fork.

It didn’t matter. Never again would she be a victim. Never again would she feel weak.

“Good morning, baby girl,” said Arthur (also-dad), giving her the smile he always did, giving her that uncomplicated love that healed her by inches every day.

“My daughter,” added Hastur, his dark warmth and pride somehow unchanged and steady beneath her like a firm foundation as she found her balance.

“Salutations, lovely princess,” said Larson, and Faroe did her best to pretend he wasn’t there. (She sort of envied Parker and Sunny, who were still down in the training grounds, and would be until Larson was gone.)

Hi, said John shyly. That greeting mattered most of all. He was trying. He was really trying.

He still had no business being John, but… she was trying, too. “Hi,” she said to the piece of her father, the piece that kept him from being whole—the piece that had never liked her, and blamed her for Arthur’s pain, and she didn’t know how to feel about anymore.

Nibbles Lester rumbled and dropped another slice of toast on Arthur’s plate. Nibbles was trying, too.

Toast. From the goat.

“Thank you, Nibbles,” said Arthur, picking it up at once. Arthur suspected it would be some time before breakfast returned to normal. The table was quiet, just the five of them plus Nibbles, as Parker was still refusing (avoiding?) the invitation to breakfast, and Larson—

Well, the less said about that, the better. Involuntarily, Arthur clenched his right hand around the fork at just the thought, but at least this time, it didn’t spark and bend.

What lessons do you have on the docket today, Faroe?

“History,” she said. “Working on my languages, too; we’re studying Welsh.”

“Welsh?” said Hastur, sounding surprised.

“Ph’thylloh says it’s similar enough to R’hyehian and Aklo that learning it can help both my tongue and my mental development.” She shrugged. “Also, there are some neat ancient spells.” Also, King Arthur had been Welsh, but she wasn’t going to say that part.

She was never going to say that part.

“That is a human language,” said Hastur.

Faroe just looked at him. “Yes, it is.”

Another drop of tension in the ever-filling bowl that was Carcosa. Great. Fine. “Very well. You’re old enough now to discern between foolish things and useful,” Hastur allowed.

Arthur exhaled.

“I could help her learn it,” said Larson. “I speak Welsh. Had to, for some’a those spells.”

Everyone ignored him.

“Also bladework,” said Faroe, moving right along. “When we were… when I… after the Storm, my bladework was sloppy. I didn’t react as I’d been taught.” Her throat tightened. “I won’t let that happen again.”

Hastur touched her hand gently. “You might like to know that we found the one who got away.”

She gasped. “You knew? You found him? The spawn of Dagon?”

“The spawn of Dagon. He was boasting about your power.”

“He was? ” said Faroe, eyes wide.

Arthur snorted. “You scared him so badly that he called you the Sea Witch and tried to claim you brought the storm.”

Faroe snorted. Then she giggled. So did Arthur. Nibbles bleated.

“Storm?” said Larson. “That hurricane everybody was talking about?”

“That’s so stupid,” said Faroe, still giggling.

“We killed him, of course,” said Hastur, and the room trembled with the memory of his violence, making the dishes rattle.

Faroe clenched her spoon. “Good.”

“As if I would let anyone harm you and walk away,” said Hastur.

“He suffered,” said Arthur, low and vicious.

We fucked him up, said John, trying to be part of things.

“I love you, Arthur,” Faroe whispered.

Arthur teared up over his goat-given toast, and Nibbles nuzzled Faroe’s cheek.

Hastur, John said. You should give Arthur weapons training, too.

“Funny you should say that, John. Arthur begins his training today.”

Dead silence met this. Arthur turned his face in Hastur’s direction.

He will? said John.

“Yes. As the host of a young god, it is essential that he learn to defend himself.”

Arthur gawked. This was new. “O-oh,” he stammered.

It’s about time! John snapped. I think we should start with knifework.

“Dis already has a plan. You will follow it.”

“Wait, I don’t have time today,” said Arthur. “I need to finish the Rite.”

“You will,” Hastur said. “Later. First, you and I will be meeting with someone.”

“Who?” said Arthur.

“Someone,” said Hastur. “But before we leave, Faroe, I have something for you.” And he placed the kalimba on the table.

Oh! Arthur! It’s the kalimba! He found it!

Faroe inhaled. Tears slid down her cheeks.

It was hers. There were a few little marks around the jewels, like some moron had tried to pry them out, but it was hers. Whole. Home. She turned to stare at Hastur. “Dad?”

“I believe the superficial damage can be repaired in Celephaïs, should you desire,” Hastur said.

The need to react like an adult lasted less time than a note plucked on one of the kalimba’s prongs. Faroe leaped from her seat and threw herself into Hastur’s many arms, quietly crying. “Dad!”

“No tears,” Hastur rumbled, holding her. “We have had too many of those, yes?”

“Yes,” she sobbed, and managed to turn it into a laugh. “You’re incredible. Undefeatable.”

“Not undefeatable, sweet one,” Hastur said so quietly.

Arthur licked his lips, clutching his fork like a weapon. “You got those bastards? The Dukes?”

“Yes.” A low and threatening tone.

“Dukes?” Larson sounded spooked. “What… Ishara? You took down Ishara?”

“Ishara belongs to me now,” said Hastur like a coming thunderstorm.

“Damn,” breathed Larson, sounding awed.

“Tell me what you did to them,” Arthur snarled.

“I will—after our meeting, and after court,” Hastur said.

Do we really have to keep doing that? It’s humiliating, John said.

“Only because you persist in spouting every thought that comes into your head,” said Hastur more fondly than expected. He played with Faroe’s hair, undoing some tangled curls, and brought her berry-filled porridge to her so she could stay in his arms and eat.

“I don’t get why,” Arthur said. “I still don’t understand.”

Arthur, said John in the very specific tone that meant Larson is listening.

Which he was, silently sipping tea, glancing between them.

With amazing timing, Parker’s voice rose from outside, cheering over some accomplishment he’d managed, followed by Dis’ sharp laugh.

Arthur’s face transformed into hang-dog longing.

Will you just talk to him? John rumbled.

“He doesn’t want to talk to me,” Arthur said.

It’s fucking Sunny that doesn’t, said John.

“John,” said Arthur in the very specific tone that meant Larson is listening.

“Eat. Our schedule is tight today,” said Hastur.

It’s tight every day, lately, John groused.

Faroe sniffled. “Thank you, dad. And… Arthur.”

Hastur added a few more tentacles around her.

Larson watched, and delicately cut his salmon, and chewed with his mouth closed, and did not say another word.

It was a bit alarming, Arthur realized as he waited for John to just fucking pick something, that he was looking forward to being alone with Hastur again.

The road trip had been… good. If they hadn’t had the constant fear of Faroe missing—

Well. If they hadn’t, Hastur would have been untenable. But she had, and Hastur had been… all right. Different. Arthur wouldn’t necessarily say a friend, but not not a friend, either. Hastur, alone, without anyone to impress, was not the same person. Arthur wondered, with everything that happened with the Oracle, if he’d ever see that Hastur again.

That ass, said John, huffing, snatching that outfit from Arthur and throwing it onto the growing pile.

“John,” said Arthur. “You’re making a mess.”

I’ll show him a mess. More clothes hit the floor.

“Hastur doesn’t clean the mess, John. You’re making work for some poor person.”

John threw more.

Arthur sighed. “I know you’re not all right.”

I’m fine.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I’ll give you talk about it. More hangers.

“John, for fuck’s sake.”

John shoved something into his chest. This. Wear this.

Arthur felt it. “Which one is this?”

It didn’t fit you at first, he said, smug as fuck. Third Rite. But by the fourth, it did. It’s gorgeous on you.

“Sure,” said Arthur, dubiously. “And it is?”

Form-fitting.

“Not this again.”

There’s a cape . No one will see your precious ass.

“Hell, John,” Arthur muttered.

Also, it’s blue.

“Blue?”

Sparkly. Night sky.

“Sure,” said Arthur, dubious.

It’s just right, John said, low, watching Arthur put it on, enjoying the play of muscles under Arthur’s skin as he stretched and angled to pull the thing over himself.

Hastur swept to his personal archive.

This was no public library. His family could use it. Certain potentates could use it in certain moments with permission. But the rest of the time? It was all his.

He’d gathered knowledge here like few had ever seen. Books and scrolls from worlds long lost; symbols carved, sharp-edged and brown, into old skin in languages even he couldn’t identify.

He was fairly sure the Keeper already had most of it, honestly—but there was one person here who might be able to help.

The Librarian was where he’d expected, sorting through stacks of books it had pulled off shelves while reorganizing and recataloging. It straightened up immediately at his approach, the tome that comprised its head flipping open to its customary greeting, and one of Hastur’s favorites: Iä, the King whom Emperors have served approacheth!

Ahh… it felt good to read that, sincerely meant. “Librarian. All is well, I trust?” Hastur said.

The pages of its head flipped, revealing a crude drawing of the Librarian buried under a mountain of scrolls and books. It set its white-gloved hands on its hips, shoulders light with good humor.

Hastur chuckled deeply. “Well, my faithful servant, that becomes difficult to address when none can be found to match you.”

The Librarian’s head riffled through pages, creating a sound that very nearly was a purr. It bowed, one arm uncoiling and snaking behind it to pick up a stack of papers regarding new acquisitions, and held it out with the excitement of one who unquestionably loves its job.

Hastur did a quick calculation. (All of his time was quick calculations now, and he hated it—dearly missed the freedom to enjoy, stretch out, take his time. But there was no time.) “Let me see.”

He gave ten precious minutes to what was presented, complimenting, asking questions. Touching everything with intimacy and care, standing quite close. He let his heat and his power flutter over the Librarian’s form, wafting approval. Maybe even stood a bit too close, tentacles just encroaching, surrounding.

The Librarian, of course, welcomed him. How many years had it served him? They seemed uncountable. It soaked up his approval, as completely and quickly as if he’d dripped perfume onto the pages of its head, arms springing out and retrieving tomes he referenced as soon as he’d asked. Finally, its pages flipped to an impressive woodcut illustration of Hastur holding a book in the palm of his hand—questioning.

“I have a challenge for you, my faithful Librarian,” Hastur rumbled. “A true challenge. Today, I go to see the Keeper.”

The book that made its head half-snapped shut, then flipped back open to a lovingly-rendered image of a wrapped gift.

“Yes. I need something to bring to her. More than one thing. I need something from her, and I was… remiss to ignore her for so long.” And that was a hell of an admission.

But he knew the Librarian. Its lips—so to speak—were sealed, and it knew this offer of trust was worth more than the intimacy and approval of the past ten minutes.

The Librarian’s head shut with a solemnity and it nodded—and then, unsurprisingly, it loped off between the shelves at speed. It returned with a veritable stack of potential tomes and scrolls that it wrapped in one coiled arm while the other cleared its desk. From there, it set them into four piles, lovingly arranged, and stood behind its desk to observe as Hastur perused its offerings.

Mildly, Hastur said, “Do we, ah… have copies of these?”

The Librarian looked briefly offended, its head nodding vigorously before it flipped to a crude drawing of itself slaving painstakingly over a copy of the Legend of the White Snake . It then stepped forward, one of its white-gloved hands snapping idly, before selecting one pile and holding it out to Hastur. It flipped to another drawing, respectful even in its crudeness, of Hastur presenting it to a veiled being that could only be the Keeper, who apparently received it with delight.

Hastur took two books with a gracious nod. “Thank you. She’s not been known to demand the only copy of anything, at least. At any rate, even if she should wish for such a thing, I will not sacrifice you.”

The Librarian flipped to a drawing of an amorphous figure dragging it out of the archive, its white-gloved hands creating curlicues of wood as it clawed at the floor.

Hastur laughed softly. It was his first real laugh in a while, and it surprised him. “Thank you. May you swim in newfound knowledge before I return.” It was time to see what John had done to his Composer.

Arthur did not fill out that blue bodysuit with its little cape quite the way he had three years ago. Not at all. Well. “Would you like to paint his face, as well?” said Hastur.

“What?” blurted Arthur.

Fuck you, said John. He looks delicious.

“He does. I am teasing you,” said Hastur.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Quit it.”

“Are you ready?” said Hastur, sounding calm and composed, but he was neither calm nor composed. Everything depended on the rumors being true. If they weren’t—

“Sure.” Arthur said. “What are we doing?”

“We are going to see an Outer God.”

Arthur’s entire body tensed. “What the fuck?”

“This is the one your Aria mentioned.”

“She’s not my Aria—”

“The Keeper has a good reputation. She does not extort; her prices are fair. And she has more knowledge than anyone regarding the arcane.”

Are you fucking kidding me? More Outer Gods? What’s wrong with you?

“I’m out of options, John. Unless you secretly know someone I don’t whom we can ask about Arthur’s marks, we have no choice.”

John gripped Arthur’s arm. Fuck.

“What am I expected to do?” said Arthur, breathing too fast.

“Be honest. She’ll likely know if we’re lying, anyway.”

“She will?” said Arthur, voice high.

“From what I’ve heard.”

“So she’ll know if you call John ‘offspring,’ or whatever.”

Hastur hesitated. “I am working with that assumption. Yes.”

“And that Faroe is my daughter?” Arthur’s voice rose.

“She’s Kayne’s sibling. I assume she already knows.”

“She’s what?” And now, Arthur was yelling.

“Do you or do you not remember what Aria said to you?” said Hastur with the kind of patience that made Arthur want to hit something.

“Do you know what we’re walking into?” Arthur countered, snapping.

Hastur exhaled slowly. “Yes. The only option I have left to save you.”

Oh, great, let’s go see the Outer God you know jack-fuck about and see if family ties mean more than some stranger’s trade! This is a great idea!

“I have things I know she wants,” said Hastur. “This will work.”

“Are we risking Faroe?” said Arthur.

That was complicated. Themselves? Possibly. Faroe… if they died, or disappeared, Faroe would be alone. But if he failed at this and they returned without answers, she would be alone, anyway, and Carcosa unshepherded.

There was no good choice. There was only the one with more potential to benefit. “No,” Hastur said.

John was still snarling, his arm wrapped around Arthur’s chest.

“John, calm down.” Arthur said.

I’ll bite her.

“With what?” Hastur almost wanted to keep that silliness going, but their allotted thirty minutes were done. “It’s time.” And with no further warning, he opened a portal.

Blasting cold air smacked through, stealing Arthur’s breath, stinging his face with snow. “What the fuck?” he said, stepping back.

“She allows portals to her home, but not inside,” Hastur murmured. “We must wait on her doorstep for entry.”

Where the fuck even is she? John yelled, his hand now clamping protectively against Arthur’s bicep.

“Leng,” Hastur said gravely. “On the road to Kadath.”

Oh, fuck.

“What does that mean?” Arthur asked, his teeth chattering.

“It’s a dangerous area—or it would be without me .”

He’s holding out his hand, John said.

Waiting. Not grabbing. Arthur noticed. Without a second thought, he took Hastur’s hand.

They stepped into that shockingly cold air. Arthur gasped, lungs shocked, already shuddering. Hastur pulled him closer into the aura of heat he gave off, and draped several tentacles around him like some weird coat.

“This is the Scriptorium,” Hastur said.

We’re standing on a cleared patch of stone before a huge, multi-story building with peaked spires and intricate runework around the many windows. Flying buttresses support the higher spires; they’re so delicate they almost seem organic, like protruding ribs. I can’t see inside—the windows don’t appear to be made of glass. The door is massive, a dark wood with heavy-looking iron banding.

Arthur’s teeth chattered. Hastur extended his power and curled two more tentacles around his back, warning him. Hastur’s robe gleamed as though capturing sunlight from distant worlds. More tentacles lifted, curling, creating a frame of power and oceanic grace, a presentation of glory. And he knocked.

Without warning, they were instantly inside.

Arthur’s breath was loud in the sudden, rich silence. Bookshelves rose like buildings, skyscrapers of knowledge, shadowed and silent. The smell of paper, manuscripts, and various oils permeated.

No one came to greet them.

Hastur didn’t let go. He waited.

It’s enormous, John said. I think the place might be larger inside than it first appeared. Books are everywhere, shelves so tall it’s like we’re back in New York. We’re in a lobby with polished wood floors and a variety of desks and benches along the walls: there’s a double staircase that sweeps upward on either side of it. I can see… Arthur, there’s so many books. The windows are made of some sort of stone, I think, that filters the light and turns it soft and warm.

“Wow,” said Arthur softly.

Yes, yes. Books. What Hastur saw was power. There was so much contained in this place that it made his eyes water. Perhaps the rumors were true. The Keeper couldn’t leave. Why? No one seemed to know.

He waited. There’d been no instructions, and he couldn’t risk a power play going wrong.

“Greetings,” came a voice, and startled, Hastur automatically snatched Arthur off the floor.

A human woman appeared from around a shelf. She wore a comfortable green robe. A scroll case hung at her hip. Glasses perched on her nose, and she smiled up at them fearlessly. “It is an honor, Your Majesty. The Keeper will be very pleased you made it. She wanted to meet you straight away, but she’s caught up with her previous meeting. Come with me, please.”

A servant? A servant who’d known they were coming. Oh; oh, Hastur hoped this wasn’t a trap. He wasn’t even sure how they’d been brought inside, never mind getting out again.

The woman took the stairs, her scroll case clacking against her side as she ascended.

Hastur followed. He did not put Arthur down.

She’s got humans? said John suspiciously as if they’d advertised for a man of Arthur’s description.

“She can also hear you,” Hastur reminded.

The librarian laughed. “Yes, she keeps—oops, pardon the pun! She harbors quite a few of us within these halls, and accepts all eager minds.”

We’re at the top of the stairs. There’s dozens of people here. About half of them are human. They’ve all got books or scrolls or old, brown manuscripts. Some sit at tables, while others drape over chairs, and they all seem to be wearing similar robes.

“It takes a lot of work to bring her what she needs,” said the woman, “and most of us tend to be in and out depending on what we’re researching. I’m a senior member of the Scriptorium, so I was allowed the honor of escorting you today.”

“We are the ones honored,” said Hastur, playing the game. “To meet one so highly regarded is unexpected and welcome.”

“Thank you, your Majesty! Most of us are eager to help in any way they can, especially while we’re here. I’m in the middle of a thesis on the architecture of Ib, so I’ve been here for the last… year and a half straight? Once I’m finished and I’ve conducted my defense, I’ll likely hit the road for some field work again,” the woman happily chattered.

“You have your own projects?” said Hastur, increasingly worried by the implication that servants had more freedom to come and go than guests.

“The Keeper allows us to pursue our passions, as long as they bring us back to the Scriptorium with fresh information for her to pore over.”

“Oh,” said Arthur. “So you’re not trapped with this Keeper.”

“Oh! No, of course not, though I will say ‘trapped’ is a charged word around here,” said the librarian. “We’re free to come and go as we please. The only people who can’t are Tabby and the Keeper herself, and there’s nothing more to say in regards to that.”

Hm, said John.

“Tabby?” whispered Arthur.

Hastur knew nothing of this ‘Tabby.’ He didn’t reply.

They rounded a corner, and the labyrinthine bookcases opened up to another wide area. Arthur felt Hastur inhale.

There she is. John’s voice was hushed. She looks sort of humanoid, though she has an extra set of arms. The Keeper is tall, though not as tall as Hastur; I’d guess she’s about ten feet. Her neck is long. She’s wearing an elaborately layered gown of fine black silk, intricately beaded and embroidered, and she’s either wearing some sort of crown or has horns… I can’t see what she looks like behind her veil. It’s weird—it’s like it completely obscures her face, except it looks like normal lace around her shoulders. He paused. And she’s talking to… fuck, I think I recognize that guy.

“Oh, Hastur, welcome,” the Keeper said. Her voice was sweet, somehow flavoring the air like old books. “I do apologize! Cnaa’pu and I were just finishing up.”

“Hello!” Cnaa’pu burbled. “It’s good to see you, my boy! Missed you this past equinox!”

“Indeed,” said Hastur, unprepared to find someone he knew here and suddenly, deeply, concerned that the secrets which must be kept could be endangered.

“Now,” the Keeper said. “As I was saying, I do appreciate you bringing this information to me.”

“Anything for you, my dear,” Cnaa’pu purred. “I’m happy to help.”

“I don’t intend on taking advantage of your fondness,” she replied.

She’s plucked one of the beads from her dress. It’s glittering in the light.

Cnaa’pu went shock-silent. “I couldn’t possibly accept,” he finally said.

“Consider it a token of my goodwill,” the Keeper said lightly, and pressed it into his rubbery hand. “Now, I must speak with Hastur. I trust we will be in touch?”

Why the fuck was that—

“Shh,” said Arthur.

“Yes, my lady,” Cnaa’pu said, bowing and pressing her knuckles to his forehead. “It would be my pleasure.” And of course, instead of just leaving, Cnaa’pu made a beeline for the Lord of Carcosa. “Look at that! The little human seems to be doing quite well these days!”

Hanging in Hastur’s limb, Arthur blushed.

He just winked. Ugh.

Hastur clutched Arthur close. “I do my best,” he purred, “now that I know he is worth taking care of.”

Are you fucking serious?

“John,” Arthur hissed.

“Oh, the rumors are true! He’s charmingly irreverent!” Cnaa’pu laughed.

Hastur calculated. Was this going to require an extra visit? Bribery? Some other event? No. His relationship with Cnaa’pu and his people was acceptable as-is. “The next Rite will be late, as you may have heard, thanks to all the madness after the Games. You are, of course, still invited. I believe the Mother will still be pleased.”

“Of course, of course! I saw that attack, you know. Absolutely dreadful. Hope you caught whoever did it,” Cnaa’pu said.

“Oh, we did,” Hastur lied.

“We sent some supplies afterward: nothing you didn’t already have, I’m sure, but I hoped it was the thought that counted.”

“Your kindness was noted and appreciated,” lied Hastur, who hadn’t been there to receive them, and added a little bow.

Cnaa’pu seemed delighted. “Deeply looking forward to the Rite; it’s the highlight of every spring now. Can’t wait to see what your little piano man comes up with next!”

He’s looking at you, Arthur.

Arthur gulped.

“Do you play too, John? I’m keen to find out,” Cnaa’pu said.

Yes! John sounded quite aggressive about it. I’m his partner! We play together! We play… jazz!

Everybody was insane these days. Arthur’s face was red; he suspected this outfit, whatever it was, just made him look redder.

“They make quite a pair, as you shall see,” said Hastur, letting Cnaa’pu think whatever the hell he wanted about that. “Well, we won’t keep you now. Thank you for your generosity—you can expect a more formal thanks soon. Perhaps even when you come for the Rite.”

“Oh, ho!” The creature sounded quite pleased. “I look forward to it. Thank you, Hastur. I shall take up no more of your time.” He leaned forward, a bit conspiratorially. “Don’t you worry about her. She’s a peach. Just watch the pit!” And he laughed, the sound once again like four geese being strangled with each others’ necks.

The pit was a visceral thing to hear. It made him think of the House of the Worm. It made him think of his son’s trap. It made him…

The amount of will it took to push that down and show nothing and laugh along with Cnaa’pu may have taken six years off his life. Hastur patted Cnaa’pu’s back and moved past him, and with all the grace he could muster, he bowed to the Keeper, tentacles out and curled, a true obeisance.

John let out a strangled sound. She’s curtsying.

“I bid you welcome, Hastur, Lord of Carcosa,” the Keeper said, and her tone was bright, eager. “I am so glad to finally meet you, at long last; and to see such a performance just now! Everything they say about you appears to be true. I trust my acolytes treated you well?”

Oh, oh, what did all of that mean? Oh! “With grace and honor, your Magnificence. Oh Lady of the Word, Heroine of Memories All, Keeper of the Scriptorium.” Hastur stayed bowed; this had to be protocol-perfect. At least for himself. There wasn’t a lot he could do for his idiots, but at least they would likely prove amusing.

He’s still bowed, Arthur! John breathed as if in horror.

To their surprise, she laughed. “Oh, there’s no need for that, but thank you. It’s very much appreciated. Come, shall I give you the tour?”

Hm. Not a lot to go on there. Hastur wasn’t sure if she wanted more deference or not. “We would be honored.”

Some small, nut-brown being leaned around a bookshelf and nodded vigorously, gesturing, as if delighted a tour was about to commence.

The Keeper felt like sunshine in the springtime, warm (and obviously manufactured). “I must confess, I have been eager to meet you Hastur, even more than the famed Arthur and John.”

Oh gods, why? “You have?” said Hastur, losing the grip on his dignity for a moment.

“Oh, you’re afraid!” The Keeper paused, and power flowed from her with a thrum through the floor. “There. Now we may speak without fear of being overheard by my other visitors. I’ve heard quite a lot about all three of you, you know. I’ve been following the drama, though at a distance.”

Hers wasn’t the voice that had been in his head. Was it?

It was too late to run. They couldn’t even get out through the door. He had to play this out. “Indeed?” Hastur managed, almost sounding like a choked goose himself.

Following the drama? John snarled. You motherfu—

So much for being amusing. Hastur waved one arm, and John flung gold sparks, flared like smoke, but was silenced.

“I apologize,” said Hastur evenly. “We have, ah, just… ended a particularly fraught episode, and our own…” The fear tasted terrible. “I apologize.”

John’s left hand tried to lift.

Arthur grabbed it and pulled it down.

“Oh, dear, no—I should be the one apologizing,” the Keeper said. “I spoke quite callously. It was quite unkind of me, particularly before I can help with your respective situations. Hastur, Arthur, John: I apologize. Truly, I do.”

Unkind? Ha! That was a gambit. Letting slip just how dangerous she could be, how much she knew, before claiming innocence. Hastur knew this technique. Fuck; she might be young for a god, but she knew what she was doing. It was time to put on the performance of his life. “You are most gracious.” Hastur bowed with a flourish, his robe flaring. Golden light danced around him, like sun on water.

John gawked, flabbergasted golden mist.

“Um, thanks,” said Arthur. “If you mean it. That means a lot.”

“This is a place of truth, Arthur Lester, and I would not sully my home by lying to your faces,” she said. (Though she knew they’d lied, so was that a veiled threat, too?) “Now, before I’m forced to cram my metaphorical foot in my mouth once more: the tour!”

Hastur bowed again. “I would be honored, great Lady of the Tomes.”

“I do like that name,” she said. “I was told you have a way with words, you know. Delighted to find that it’s true.” She swept away, floating at speed. “Stop me at any time if you have questions, please.”

Hastur hurried to keep up.

“I have been here, in my Scriptorium, for the past three-hundred and eighty-five years. It has been my task to gather the most complete set of knowledge possible in the entirety of both the Dreamlands and the known worlds since the dawn of my consciousness,” she said.

Arthur clutched Hastur. He could tell they were climbing, exploring floors, or something, and going high without being able to see was always dizzying.

“As such, I have collected a great amount, though there is yet so much more; I have a wide range of materials both mundane and magical—”

Where are we—hold him! We’re so high! said John, which didn’t help the dizziness.

“—from the priceless to the paperback, and a growing collection of music, recordings, and art as well. My rules are thus: one, treat my Scriptorium with respect. Two, treat my people with respect. And three, stay where you are allowed.”

Rules. Hastur knew better than to try wriggle-room with Outer God rules, and he all but engraved them on his soul. “Treat the Scriptorium with respect; treat your people with respect; and stay where you have placed us. Understood, oh wise one.”

“Oh, I promise it’s not all that terrible. You are free to roam the public section of my archive as you will.”

Yeah, right, John mumbled.

“On the contrary, John, I deeply encourage it! The main part of the Scriptorium is what you see before you: I have approximately five million, seven-hundred forty-eight thousand, three-hundred twenty seven—”

Arthur whistled, low.

“—individual pieces of writing available for perusal in the public section, which includes both a fiction—”

Fiction? John said, perking up.

“—and nonfiction section, as well as a reference section. I also have an extensive library of music—”

“Music?” Arthur said, perking up.

“—and art available in the listening rooms and the gallery, as well as over a hundred thousand recordings. Which includes, Hastur, an excellent rendition of Cassilda’s Song from the 1929 performance of the King in Yellow at the Strand Theater of London, if you were interested.”

“Oh,” Hastur said, because… that would be nice to hear, maybe, though he wasn’t sure he could listen right now without crying, without considering that city and what its sacking meant. Instinctively, he held Arthur close, a teddy-bear in a form-fitting suit of midnight sky.

“Past this gate is the restricted section, which you may notice from the sign and the lock on the door. Kindly ask permission before going through—especially you, Arthur.”

“Why?” said Arthur.

“There are things within those gates that are quite powerful, and may be able to harm you. I ask this both for your safety, and for the safety of my collection.”

Hastur added another tentacle around Arthur.

“I can’t see, so… I doubt anything in here is much of a risk, but thank you,” said Arthur.

You’re not going anywhere near it. There are fucking chords that could hurt you!

“I can assure you, as long as Arthur does not pass the gates, there is nothing out here that can hurt him. The gates keep my restricted collection in just as much as they keep people out .” She turned, sweeping along the floor. “There are benches, tables, and chairs for study all along the second floor, but there are also private study rooms along each wall as well.”

(They’re all sizes, Arthur, John muttered. We could sit here, if you wanted. Maybe rest.)

(“I’m not going to sleep in some Outer God’s library, John,” Arthur muttered back.)

“Along the back wall, you will notice several dark oak doors: those lead to the living chambers of my acolytes, and I kindly ask that you leave them be. I will not punish you if you choose to explore, of course, and you are welcome to a room if you need to stay for a time, but I like to offer my acolytes some privacy.”

“We will make no intrusion into the personal spaces of you or your people, oh Wise Woman of the Vale,” said Hastur, vowing it, still mentally spinning over those three rules, terrified of verbal traps. “I thank you, great Keeper, for seeing me, though I have taken so very long to respond to your gracious invitation.”

“Oh, come now Hastur, that’s hardly an issue,” she said with a laugh. “Some of my own siblings have yet to so much as say hello. I extend offers, and sometimes people take them, and sometimes they don’t. I’m honestly just so happy to finally see you face to face. I’ve wanted to for a long time.”

Dear fuck, that was frightening. His nerves couldn’t take much more of this. He didn’t think she was the voice in his head, but if not, what did she actually want?

Perhaps the wisest thing was to get to business so they could leave. “You are most gracious to say so, and your generosity truly is legend. However, Great Keeper, I must, to my shame, remind that this is not an entirely social visit.”

“Yes, of course!” She stopped and clasped two of her hands over her waist. “What is it you needed to talk about?”

Hastur swallowed. “My marked. Arthur. He’s…” He hesitated.

“No one can hear us, Hastur,” she said gently.

“He’s aging.”

“Oh! Oh, well, that’s very odd, isn’t it?” She peered at Arthur. “A fascinating case you have, here. Shall we go to my office to discuss?”

“That would be appreciated, Great One,” said Hastur.

“Come, then. This way.” She opened a door in the wall and held for the three of them. “Thank you very much for indulging me with my tour; I am very proud of what I have accomplished here. Now, may I get you anything? I have tea, some cookies—I know you likely just came from breakfast, given the time, but I’d be a poor host if not. And I will have the one I trust the most bring it, as well.”

“We ate before we came, Great One.”

Arthur should eat. He only ate half his breakfast.

“Sure, the goddess needed to know that, thanks, John,” Arthur muttered.

“You’re British,” the Keeper said lightly. “I recognize the accent. I have a truly excellent black Ceylon tea, if you like.”

Arthur turned his face toward her. “I haven’t had that in years,” he said, soft.

“It will be done,” she said, pleasantly. “And Tabby made the most delightful shortbreads the other day. I’ll ask her to bring some as well, if she’s willing to share.” Her voice dropped, conspiratorially. “She dipped them in chocolate. They look like little teabags.”

Arthur had no idea how to take this. He’d never met a god that behaved like this. “Tabby? I… Sure. That sounds good. I’d appreciate it, thank you.”

“Please, take a seat—whatever you find most comfortable.”

We’re in a moderately sized room, John rumbled. The walls are deep green wallpaper between rich, dark wood panels. Elegant brass sconces hold up… not candles, but some sort of crystal that glows and lights the room just as well as fire would.

“Lightbulbs?” Arthur quipped.

I know what lightbulbs are, Arthur, John groused. It’s not those. A great marble-topped desk is backlit by a crackling fireplace. Black walnut shelves are filled to the brim with books and scrolls, and the whole place has an almost meditative feel. In the center of the room are several different chairs; there’s a bench of the sort Hastur likes, a large armchair opposite it, and a few different chairs sized for us, as well. I don’t want one with arms, so turn towards your left—too far—good. Lean down—there. That one works.

The Keeper seated herself in the enormous armchair, folding both sets of her hands, and her lacy veil flowed about her like water. “I have agents in a great many places, and when Arthur first came onto the scene six years ago, I took note—though not as much as I did when he was marked, and it was revealed that somehow he had thwarted all known laws of magic to acquire two of them. One from each of you, I imagine?”

“Yes,” Hastur said, low. “I don’t know how that happened. I’ve never heard of a dual mark.”

Don’t undo it!

There was the slightest pause in the wake of John’s panic.

“I can assure you, I have no such power to do so,” the Keeper said gently. “And even if I did, I wouldn’t want to. I’ve never heard of a dual mark. I pored over every scrap of knowledge I possessed, looking for any reference to it. You are the first.”

Hastur released his held breath. All right. They were getting somewhere. That meant their very existence provided unique information. If she killed them, or handed them to Kayne, she wouldn’t get that information—or at least, not as freely. They might be okay. “I wish to stop him aging and to ensure he has all the other protections he ought as my marked. I've brought you two gifts—one a late housewarming gift, as it were, and the other proper payment. I also contain memories which—” He couldn't say they’d be unavailable forever in six years—“cannot be matched.”

“I believe I may be able to help. You are exceptional, Arthur, in a great many ways.”

Arthur squirmed. The force of her veiled gaze was on him, now, and it was intense. “I’m really not.”

“Oh, but you are! It won’t be easy, but—”

A knock sounded at the door.

“Oh! Tabby!” Just as quickly, that focus dipped away, turning towards the door. “Come in!”

The door opened and the strangest looking human woman John had ever seen stepped in. She was short, haircut blunt and dyed bright blue on one side of her head and black on the other, and she bore a tray with a teapot and a plate full of cookies, sandwiches, and some incredibly ugly scones. “Room service,” she said, but her voice picked up a bit as she stepped inside. “Are these those guys you’ve been talking about?”

“Yes,” the Keeper said, cheerfully. “Tabby, kindly allow me to introduce you to the King in Yellow, Hastur.”

The girl paused from where she sat down the tray. “Wait. Like. The—the actual one?”

“Yes.”

“From the play?”

Hastur’s voice rumbled, echoing before and after itself. “Greetings from the Golden City, chosen one of the Keeper.” And he bowed.

John eyed her.

John eeeeyed her.

“Hello,” said Arthur, trying to look her way.

Tabby stared. “Hi,” she said. “Uh. I’m going to leave y’all to your god shit. Charmed.” And with that, she pointed at them with both index fingers, then scurried out the door.

Was that a spell? said John. Was she casting a spell?

“No,” said Hastur.

She pointed at him!

“I believe it was a casual greeting,” said Hastur.

“Tabby calls them ‘finger-guns’,” the Keeper said, her voice bright and helpful. “It is a greeting, yes.”

Why would she do that? Why did she look like that?

“John, for fuck’s sake,” Arthur said. “I’m sorry if we frightened her.”

“She is still adjusting to the idea that deities she has only ever read about before are real, not to mention physical beings one can interact with. She’s not used to dealing with deities of Hastur’s caliber either. Here.” She elegantly poured two cups of tea. “Cream? Sugar?”

“Yes to both, thank you. And… I’m sorry,” said Arthur. “I know it’s a lot.”

“She simply wasn’t expecting Hastur,” the Keeper said again. “She’s startled. I assure you, she’s fine.”

Arthur had a good feeling about this god. This wasn’t like any god they’d met before. Maybe it was because she was young. He offered a small smile as he took the tea.

John went in a different direction. You’ve been talking about us?

“I have, John! Only to Tabby, mind you, and she hardly knows any finer details. She just knows how badly I’ve wanted to meet all of you. You’re all so unique.” She poured a third cup and offered it, on the saucer, to Hastur. “She is the only being in this place that I would trust to enter upon a private meeting like ours. I trust her implicitly.”

Hastur felt sick. “Only her?”

“Only her,” said the Keeper gently. “You must understand: I really wanted to meet you, but unless you came to me, I couldn’t. I get my knowledge from outside sources. You three are quite popular. There are a great many of my kin who are watching and taking bets—but until now, I haven’t been able to see you myself. This is the best day!”

All three were silent.

She paused for a brief moment. “If it helps, no one is watching now. They cannot look into my Scriptorium unless I allow it, and I am quite the private person. Likewise, our conversation here is also completely protected. You may speak freely to me about your trials, my siblings, anything you may need.”

Oh, sure, sure . A lure; a promise. A sanctuary. How convenient!

Hastur rarely felt outmatched like this. It wasn’t just her wit that was good; her performance was flawless, absolutely magnificent, believable and spot-on. It had probably convinced Arthur already.

“This is really good tea,” said Arthur, offering another smile, and unaware that she peered at him with the same fascination eldritch beings always did when they got too close to him.

If she decided to keep him, Hastur couldn’t stop her. He had to redirect. “Do you have questions, Great One?” he said brightly.

“I do. A great many of them. I suppose, before I indulge, you should know that at any point, you are free to walk away. I mean you no harm, and I have no intent to imprison or trap you. Even after a price is named, there is no contract, and we may still part on friendly terms.”

Fucking hell.

At least this fit with her reputation. It did; but he couldn’t risk just believing her. “So I have been told. That is why we are here. I…” Quick calculation: which cards to leave on the table? Which strengthened his position? Which weakened it?

She already knew so much.

“First, my very late housewarming gift,” he said, and presented the first book his Librarian had offered.

“Oh… oh! Is this one of the Leaves of Leng?” she said, all her hands clenched as if barely resisting the urge to grab like a child.

“Yes,” said Hastur. “I acquired all four before that monastery burned down.”

The Keeper leaned back, made a happy little squeal, and covered her veiled face with her hands. “Really? You’d offer this?”

“And more, if it will help,” said Hastur, staring, confused as to where this particular playacting fit into their game.

She gently took the tome and then hugged it. “I’ve been looking for this! For anyone who’d read a copy so I could see their thoughts, or some version of it, some translation anywhere! Hastur, you’ve made me a very happy person.”

Well, there were three more volumes of it. Maybe he wouldn’t have to play his final card. He gestured to Arthur, one tentacle stroking his hair. “I hold this human in high regard, and find this situation untenable. If we can solve it, I will owe you for the rest of my days.”

“Hastur!” Arthur whispered. “That’s too much!”

The fuck, said John.

It wasn’t too much. It was a pinch over two thousand days, no more. Anybody could handle owing someone for that long.

“It’s a puzzle I’m eager to tackle,” the Keeper said. “The exact mechanism by how marking works is still not well understood, and your Arthur has broken not just one law of magic, but two. Of course, you understand this will be a large amount of work and effort on my part—but I believe I will unravel what it is, exactly, what has caused this situation.”

A large amount of work.

Hastur suddenly knew the second book he’d brought would not be enough. He had his trump card. He did; but dare he spend it now? His tentacles undulated faster, the tips twitching.

“Shall we negotiate?” The Keeper said.

“I would prefer Arthur and John not be part of it,” said Hastur.

“Wait just a damn minute!” said Arthur.

What? Why? What are you doing? demanded John.

“Well… if they’re…” said the Keeper, uncomfortable.

Hastur tilted Arthur’s face toward his, ignoring the way Arthur stiffened. “Forgive me, my own. I will say things that upset you. Truths. Things we have been through. Painful things we’ve experienced. I don’t want to make you relive them.”

And of course, Arthur, sap that he was, immediately melted in the wake of that. A good apology or a heartfelt plea, and he was putty. “I… all right. We’re trusting you.”

No, we aren’t! said John.

“We are.” Arthur took his hand. “At least right now.”

Fuck! John declared.

The Keeper seemed much happier with the arrangement now. “I would happily allow Arthur and John a private study room with access to whatever they may wish to occupy themselves. They will be kept safe, and I can entrust them into Tabby’s care if you wish for additional reassurance.”

“I thank you,” said Hastur.

I don’t want to be trapped.

“I don’t think she’s offering that, John,” said Arthur.

We can walk out of the room?

“You may, and return to the main floor of the Scriptorium,” the Keeper said. “Though once outside of a room, I cannot control who has access to you. People may approach you.”

Not if they know what’s good for them, John muttered.

Arthur had a sudden stroke of brilliance. “Do you have any comic books?”

“Oh, a great many of them,” the Keeper said brightly. “I can have a few selections pulled for you, and placed in a study room for you.” Her voice turned a bit playful. “Would you like detective stories?”

“Do you have Dick Tracy?” said Arthur.

Does she have what? said John.

“It’s about this detective. He joined the coppers after his girlfriend got murdered,” said Arthur. “It’s a detective comic. You’ll love it.”

“I certainly do,” she said warmly. “I have his full run through about 1949, as well as a handful of original sketches from the artist.”

Arthur gawked. “1949? From the future?”

The Keeper sort of… fluttered as if both flattered and embarrassed. “Not far in the future, Arthur Lester. I am still quite young, and my reach is finite.”

“Wow,” said Arthur appreciatively, stunned. Even Hastur had to obey the laws of time. “Yes, that’d be great. And thank you for the tea. This really brings back memories.”

“I’ll send another pot with you. Please, help yourself.” She let out a soft sound, like a far off thunderstorm. “Perhaps, in time, I’ll be able to pick that brain of yours on other things, Mister Lester.”

Arthur looked spooked. “Not sure why you’d want to.”

“You are a very interesting human, and I am sure the both of us could find much to talk about.”

Even more spooked. “Sure, I… guess?”

Hastur did not consider that legally binding. “We shall see, of course.”

John growled just a tiny bit. Arthur took his hand again, reassuring.

Another strange librarian appeared and led him away. Arthur went where directed, and sat where told. He could smell the paper and ink as comics were brought by the box, and couldn’t help a little smile. As John complained, Arthur considered: Parker wouldn’t have seen most of these. Parker would be jealous. Arthur hoped he’d get the chance to tell him.

The niceties were done. The mortal removed. It was time for payment.

Hastur was on, performance peaked, his many limbs curling gently as if in deep water, his breath slow and deep.

“Please relax,” said the Keeper. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Sure. “Of course, Great One,” said Hastur, and was proud his voice did not tremble.

“Now, Hastur,” she said. “What is it you intend to offer today?”

Were this any kind of normal circumstance, he would take his time with this; string this out over decades, maybe, matching wits, testing lies, and it would have been so much fun.

He didn’t have that time. “If you will permit what could seem disrespectful, but is only intended as practical…”

“You may speak to me freely, Hastur. I can assure you: I am very hard to offend.” She leaned back, hands folded over each other.

He decided to go for broke. “I am well aware who holds all the power here. I’m certain, if you’ve been watching—however obscurely—that you know I’m desperate. I think it will behoove us both not to pretend otherwise. I am here because you have a reputation for working with the needy.” Oh, humility tasted bad. “And I… am needy.” And he inclined his body, head down. “That which I have to give has an expiration date. My hope is that makes it more valuable.”

The fire crackled in the silence, which was briefly thick between them.

“I appreciate your candor, Hastur,” she said, solemn. “I understand the impossible situation you’re in, and I intend to help you in whatever way I can.” One of her hands drummed the arm of her chair. “I will admit to you freely: I’m not sure I will be able to fully unravel the mystery of your marked. His like has not been seen in the history of the known universe, after all. But I am confident, given some time, I can address the reason he is aging and correct it.”

“I do not have time,” Hastur said, very softly.

“You have more than you think,” she said gently. “Trust me.”

He swallowed. “I have the other Leaves of Leng, but I know that isn’t enough. For your expediency and your discretion, I can give you the one thing which I don’t believe anyone else has.” All the cards. Get it done. Move on.

“I’m listening.” She leaned forward a touch—just a hint.

“I have seen that which ate the Wrong universe.”

She went deathly still. “You went there?” she said. “And you returned?”

“I was returned.” His voice was rough.

“No one returns. They’re all eaten.” She let out a soft, low sound, more of a rumble through the floor. “You are… you are offering the memory of the impossible, to ask me to reverse the impossible.”

“I am.” He was half-afraid she would simply rip it out of him.

“How completely fascinating. You have me completely over the barrel, here, and yet are acting as if you need to grovel,” she said.

His entire body flickered a deep, lustrous gold, just for a moment, a wildly emotional reaction. What did that mean? What was she saying?

“You understand that I cannot interfere in my brother’s plans,” she said gravely. “I will freely admit that I have neither the power to do so, nor the desire.”

He hadn’t been hoping for that, but even the mention was enough to make his heart ache. “I know that. Nothing can prevent that, and I’m not trying to do so.”

“But this… if you truly have what you say you do, I will owe you much more than solving the impossible conundrum of Arthur Lester.”

Those were some binding, powerful words. “He must outlast what is to come. He can’t do that, as things are. So Arthur takes priority.”

“So there is no miscommunication between us: you offer your memory, and in return I shall find a way to stop Arthur Lester from aging, with the addition of an advantageous position if future help is needed.” She steepled her fingers. “Are these terms amenable to you?”

An advantageous position if future help is needed. That almost threw him off his game, but he pulled focus back. “I keep him.”

“Of course.”

“He isn’t altered in any way beyond what may be necessary for repairing his mark.”

“Of course.”

What mattered was Faroe would have a father. What mattered was John would have an anchor. It all hinged on that one stupid mortal man. What choice did Hastur have? All his dicks were in a vice. “I will sign it in blood, if you wish.”

“I believe I’m the one getting the better deal, here. Allow me.” One of her hands disappeared under that dark, lacy veil and a sickening crunch sounded from within; when it re-emerged, black ichor dripped from a shape that was unmistakably a bite mark. She extended her hand, ichor dripping like ink onto the tabletop. “I have set the promise in my blood. Take it.”

She was giving him her blood? She was—

He conjured a vial made of dust from the dreams of diamonds and several decades of his own bones and hoped it would be strong enough. “Thank you.” Not one damn drop of that would be spilled.

He didn’t even hesitate to offer his own after collecting hers. He wondered, as she took it, if he should have tested it first; what if there were a curse in it he hadn’t realized, unique to Kayne? What if there were some other special thing involved? Well… too late now.

“It is done,” she said softly, her wounded hand disappearing back beneath her veil. When it emerged again, it was healed, licked clean. “Now. My powers function best when you are calm and comfortable. The two of us will step into your memory so I may see what you saw, hear what you heard, feel what you felt—all of it, emotion, physicality, everything. You will be there, again, in that dead universe: but it will be but a memory, and I will be with you.” She folded her hands once again, one long finger tracing the lines of her knuckles. “Hastur, if you cannot abide it, you may simply say so. We can step back out and try again at a future point in time. You have much on your mind, at present, and I understand if such a difficult memory is too much.”

Every throat he had constricted. “I’m ready. I don’t have time to be readier. Let’s do this.”

“Very well.” She gestured to the couch of dark wood and deep green fabric. “Please, get comfortable.”

He stared at it for a moment like he’d never seen furniture before. What was she going to do to him?

This was what he’d wanted, what he’d hoped for, and he knew a good performance increased Arthur’s chances. So with an actual flourish, he swept over and curled down onto the thing, robe trailing, limbs draped all around like some kind of decoration.

She sat beside him, arranging her skirts carefully. “Now, remember: if you squeeze my hand three times, any one of them, I will pull us out. Alright?”

“I understand.” And he’d no intention of pulling out (and never had, if he were honest).

“And so, forth unto the breach,” she said pleasantly, hooking her fingers beneath her veil, lifting it, and—

His thoughts went quiet, blank, and he was swept away.

Images rushed past, flowing and merging like water, and Hastur knew these sights and knew these places, but they were not now, and the Keeper flipped through them as casually as browsing pages in a book.

And in the center, and over all, and through everything was her face, his daughter, his Faroe—his heart, the heart of everything, covering like a fine veil, and he heard the Keeper sigh. “She’s very cute,” she said wistfully, “But we can talk about her later,” and the images kept going, and finally slowed, and it seemed he placed wooden splinters in his Composer’s flesh, and saw the piano come back together like smashing in reverse, and—

(Faroe was still on everything, like a watermark, and the Keeper would just have to deal with that.)

The Wrong universe.

Inert, silent, celestial bodies of empty matter, where not even echoes of thoughts remained. Dreams gone, whispers stilled, air currents cold. All of it dead, dead, dead, its present as frozen as its past, no life left in all the breadth and depth of space.

And he’d thought he wouldn’t be noticed.

Gleaming like a flame at the bottom of a well, subtle as the sun, creeping with a stealth that worked in a universe where life and hope and hate and love slammed their war-beat drum, but here? He’d rippled reality, had no chance, and found himself distantly embarrassed that he’d thought he could get away with it, and that she witnessed this incredible hubris.

Even if he’d known, though, it wouldn’t have mattered. There could be something here to save Faroe. There could be something he could give her, or trade for her, or wave around her like incense to keep her safe. Determined, he’d dug deep, lifted high, searched between for anything other than a reasonable sense of self-preservation that kept Outer Gods away from this place.

“Oh,” the Keeper breathed, veil fluttering around her with every movement. “You braved all of this for her. That is absolutely magnificent.”

Magnificent? Desperate. And disappointing.

There was nothing here. It was the unknown threat, not some claimable item, that kept them away, and his grief as he prepared to leave was heavy, terrible… but nothing compared to what he felt next.

He turned around, saw them, and was swallowed.

A sucking, draining, awful, pressurized pull of all he was or ever could be, not erasing but worse, digesting, drinking, slurping—

The Keeper stared. It was just two humans.

No, that… that was not a human. Maybe it was once. It certainly was not now. It also was not in the past.

Hastur’s memory, watery and clear, showed two of the same being: the one he’d encountered, and the current version, here, now, staring right at the Keeper’s veiled face.

Hastur’s memory was all it took. A conduit. Knowledge and sight like electrical current.

The Keeper gasped. “I don’t believe it,” she said, very softly. “You’re truly here, aren’t you?”

And oh, there was a struggle happening. She could feel that same pull that so dismantled Hastur, but at least for a while, she could withstand it—could see all things flowing toward this once-human man, like a sinkhole, pulling in water and trees and breath.

She flexed her power, her presence an anchor, a breakwater. She couldn’t free Hastur without tearing him—this thing had bitten into him deeply—but she could hold him steady. “You may not have him,” she said, very softly. “Hello, there.”

The memory paused.

This thing had to have been human once. Its memory of itself was human, and its form persisted in that shape, except for all the eyes. “Hello.” It had stopped—somehow—from massacring Hastur, but merely held him. It hadn’t let him go yet, though. “This isn’t a safe place for visitors.” There was no threat in it; a bass voice, quiet.

“We won’t be long. I had no idea anyone or anything persisted.” She cocked her head. “You can see me, through this memory of his—and I can see you. How absolutely fascinating, to be seen.”

The ex-human thing hunched as if in pain. One, small, pleading moment: “I’m so hungry.” But still, it did not pull Hastur further in.

“I know,” she said, so soft. “I can feel it. You poor thing. Do you need help?”

And then the memory—the actual memory—resumed. Let him go, Jon, said the still-human man beside him. Can’t you see why he’s here? Because this companion could tell—had been so attuned to connection and its lack—that Hastur was here for love.

The ghostly version in Hastur’s memory spoke: I see. I’m hungry.

You still won’t eat me, though, said the companion who could feel love and its horrible absence.

Never. I will never eat you.

I know. Let him go. He’s here for love. Even I can see that.

“He still is,” the Keeper said. “Do you need help?”

All right, all right. For you.

Thank you.

The things I do for you…

“There is no help,” the ex-human said. “Go. Both of you. Don’t return to this memory. It’s hard enough to resist that now I know you exist.” And the grip released.

Hastur in the memory had been trying so hard to get away that the moment he was freed, he’d flung himself back home—but even the touch of that thing had been enough to strip a few seconds of his awareness.

He’d truly believed, when he’d landed in Carcosa, that he’d been unconscious. He hadn’t. Those two seconds had been eaten, and not even on purpose. It was like light, bending near a black hole.

He lay limp now, like a machine switched off.

“Thank you,” the Keeper said gently. “I’ll find a way to help. I swear it.”

The being didn’t believe her. It wore a mournful look as the Wrong universe spun away, darkening like a closed door.

Hastur was insensate. The Keeper gently lifted him so he could rest on her, and stretched out her arms to comfortingly gather him in.

Hastur returned to awareness with the knowledge that he was on his side, that someone was humming, that something was gently stroking the edge of his mask where his hood had fallen away. It seemed he had, somehow, gone unconscious again.

“Fuck,” he said without thinking.

“You’re back,” the Keeper said from somewhere above him. “I apologize for not waking you, but you seemed… peaceful.”

His head was in her lap. He was limp, limbs draped like forgotten socks. He also had no filter. “Unconscious again,” he muttered. “That’s just unfair.”

“It’s all right, Hastur. Lesser beings go unconscious when I search their memories; I couldn’t be sure what a Great Old One would do. I ensured you were safe.” Her voice was soft, gentle, and very gingerly she began stroking his face again. “Are you alright?”

“I can’t be unconscious. We don’t do that. I’m not… Cthulhu,” he scoffed. “Nothing hurts,” he added, thoughtfully.

She made a small sound. “You’re usually in pain. From the injury you sustained, when John was separated from you.”

“Yes. Always.” He was so quiet inside; very much a blank slate, an open book. Receptive. “Did you like the terrifying memory?”

“It was everything I hoped for and more,” she said. Her fingertips gently traced the edge of his mask, the movement repeated and soothing. “You have done me a great favor today, Hastur. You poor thing. The pressure you’re under is immense. I’m glad I can offer you a few moments of peace.” Softly she began to hum again, another hand gently adjusting the drape of his cloak. “You can stay as long as you need—and in the future, my door will always be open.”

That was nice. Very nice things to hear. He was calm. Unaware a few of his tentacles had gently wrapped around her arms, waist, the legs of the sofa, whatever was near, a purely instinctive response.

She didn’t seem to mind. “I wasn’t sure what to expect when you contacted me, but I really am so happy to meet you. As for Arthur… well, I have some ideas, but we can discuss those later. I’ve had the privilege of hearing some recordings of your jubilees, you know. He’s very impressive.”

“He’s frustrating beyond belief,” Hastur said fondly. “The worst of humans. Mine.” Tiny, tiny tentacles wrapped around each of her fingers. “Defiant for no reason. Did you know that if he wakes even a little, he shoves at you? He doesn’t even know why.”

She laughed, light and amused. “He sounds like a true contrarian. Tabby is a bit like that—it took her a long time to warm up to me.” She sighed. “But perhaps it’s something special about you, not just him.”

He sighed, tentacles reflexively wrapping. “I must keep him alive. He doesn’t know he has to stay alive. She needs him. Will need him.”

“Of course,” she said. “I’ll need to experiment a bit. But that doesn’t have to be today. Another time, maybe.”

“But it must be today.” He didn’t even hesitate. “I only have two thousand and ninety-eighty days left.” And then he stiffened.

What in hell was he doing?

He was in her lap? In her lap? What in the name of all that existed—

“Ah,” she said, very quietly. “I see you’ve recovered yourself a bit. Again, I must apologize: you seemed peaceful.”

He sat up and pulled away from her, disengaging. Dignity was gone. He stared, panicked, woozy.

She folded her hands. “You haven’t lost any time here, if it helps.”

“I, ah.” Words had apparently eloped with dignity, gone. There was no protocol for this. Purple flared beneath his skin. He was so embarrassed he didn’t know how to be.

“For Arthur, we will have only been gone for about ten minutes.” Her voice is gentle. “For the outside world, mere moments. This is my domain, Hastur. I control everything that happens within my Scriptorium, and if my guest needs more time… I shall grant it.”

Oh. Oh , that changed things. “I didn’t realize you could do that.”

“There are a great many things people don’t realize I can do,” she said with a soft laugh. “I prefer to keep it that way.”

Everything. It changed everything. He adjusted his plan, tilting it, putting abject humiliation into the unfixable branch and more time into the resources one. “So we can return without consequence,” he said, all his eyes widening.

“Yes. I have theories—tomes I must reference, spells I must conduct. I need to examine Arthur, examine the marks.” She rose, then, her human-like spine straight and tall, veil flowing about her like she was floating in water. “But I need to prepare for that before I can do it properly. Would it be possible to take a bit of his blood today? I can make do with some hair, but the living cells of blood are much preferable.”

“Both are acceptable, though I will ask you to avoid causing him pain.”

“I won’t. I don’t enjoy causing pain,” she said.

He smoothed down his robe, weaving dignity (or the ghost of it) from thin air. “Shall we see what my composer is doing?” he said as if he hadn’t just spent who knew how long draped across her lap like a weird duvet.

“I would hope nothing too extreme, in the entirety of twelve minutes, but the man seems to be quite surprising,” the Keeper said mildly. “Let’s.”

What they were doing was arguing over Dick Tracy.

The sign! The sign, Arthur!

“Look. It wouldn’t even be able to hold his weight. It absolutely would not just fall off the movie marquis magically to spell ‘dead.’”

He deserved it!

“You’re bloodthirsty these days.”

You’re the one who wanted to read it!

“Well, I didn’t know which one it was!”

You said, It’s a classic, John!

“That was before I realized you’d take this literally!”

You could do this. You could do exactly what Dick Tracy does. You’d look better, too. He’s even got a yellow coat!

“A yellow coat?” said Hastur.

Wh—go away! We’re busy!

“That was fast,” Arthur said, brow furrowing as he turned. “Did everything go well?”

“Yes,” said Hastur.

John let out a small rumble. What the hell happened to you?

And there was the slightest pause. “Nothing,” said Hastur.

He looks wrung out, said John.

Arthur frowned. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” said Hastur.

“The comics seem to have gotten you worked up,” said the Keeper, sounding amused.

They killed the mayor of Chinatown! John proclaimed. And took his place with a rubber mask for over a year!

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” the Keeper said brightly. “I’d be happy to check the volumes out to you, if you like.” She turned to Hastur. “Assuming you’d allow it?”

Faroe would see this excruciatingly human literature. Oh, gods.

Hastur had to take a moment. Calculate. Better, he realized, to have her exposed while he could mitigate it, then to wait until he was gone and it was all the input she had. “Yes. I will allow it.”

Arthur perked right the fuck up. “I don’t suppose you have the entirety of the 1932 run.”

Ah ha! You do like it!

“I never said I didn’t, you whacko.”’

“I absolutely do,” she said. “I’ll fetch what I have for you.”

Arthur, Hastur’s really relaxed. Half his tentacles are limp.

“What?” said Arthur.

“I’m fine, John.”

“Could I have some of your blood?” said the Keeper brightly. “For testing purposes, of course.”

This might as well happen. “Sure,” said Arthur.

Slow the fuck down. She’s taking blood?

“John, it’s fine.”

It’s not fine! We don’t know her! What she’ll do with it! Kayne—

“Kayne literally sealed my slit throat and put my fractured leg-bones back into my body,” said Arthur. “Whatever samples he wants, he’s already got.”

John huffed. Well, not recent ones!

Arthur snorted. “If we’re being particular, I’m fairly sure she’s already got access to my blood. They’ve all been watching. For all we know, she has that obsidian shard that I used to cut Nibbles free with.”

The Keeper folded all four of her hands demurely.

John sounded choked. Hastur! You can’t let this happen!

“I have decided to trust her,” Hastur said, sounding tired. “What I gave in exchange was enough to earn her help.”

“I’ll say,” said the Keeper.

What you gave! What you gave! What the fuck could you possibly have that she hasn’t seen before?

Arthur came to his own conclusion. His face went long.

“As mentioned,” the Keeper said, floating a large file box to him. “The 1932 run. Some are original printings, so I bid you to be careful.” Her voice was full of good humor, teasing. “My acolytes have enough to do without repairing comic strips.”

“I will bring this back with us,” said Hastur.

“Thank you so much,” said Arthur.

What did you fucking do, Hastur?

“We communed. Calm yourself,” said Hastur.

Communed!

Arthur decided it would be better to turn and face the box of comics as though he could see it, inspecting it with his fingertips.

Turn back! I wasn’t done!

“Now, as for the blood, just a little will do.” She produced a small vial. “It shouldn’t hurt.”

“Do what you must,” said Arthur.

Carefully!

“Am I really being the adult here?” Arthur muttered.

“Kindly roll up his sleeve for me, John?” The Keeper asked sweetly.

John swallowed, but then did, reaching over to pull up the dark blue, stretchy material.

Arthur had done this part before. He made a fist.

It was unnecessary. There was no needle-prick. The Keeper touched the vial to his arm, and it began to fill.

“And… finished,” she said after what felt like no time at all. “Thank you, Arthur. I will contact Hastur if I have any developments, but this will be instrumental in helping to rule out some potential causes of your predicament.” Her head swiveled on her long neck, turning around like a swan’s. “I should be contacting you soon with any news, Hastur. Feel free to send me letters before then. When I do, you can visit. I remove your restrictions; you can portal home straight from here. Still feel alright, Arthur?”

“Yes,” said Arthur. “Honestly, this was a lot more fun than court.”

The Keeper laughed lightly. “Off you go,” she said.

“Thank you,” Hastur said, unsure what else to add. He held Arthur close, opened a portal to his rooms, and stepped through.

Hastur hadn’t even had a chance to set Arthur down before John started yelling. What the fuck was all that? And you just let her!

“It’s fine, John,” Arthur said with a sigh, right hand rising to rub at the corner of his eye. “She asked permission. And sent us away with Dick Tracy.”

It’s not fine!

Arthur sighed. “How long were we gone?” he said, moving right along.

“Moments,” Hastur said. “The Keeper can control time in her domain.”

Arthur turned blindly towards him. “What? Really?”

“Yes.” The position of the sun did not lie. It felt surreal: how long had he lain, boneless, in the Keeper’s office? The tour, the negotiations, the intensity of the memory he had shared, all of it, done in moments. She had, once again, told him the truth—she saw he’d needed time, and she gave it.

And he had her blood. The blood of an Outer God. That was priceless. He’d be targeted, if anyone ever knew. He could ask for anything in exchange for it. This gift, freely given, was power.

All of this set his teeth on edge. Desperation crawled beneath his skin, making a shape that Hastur did not want to indulge. He could not afford hope. He didn’t have the time.

Arthur looked absolutely stunned. “I have time to work on the Rite,” he said, blinking. “Before lunch. And—”

You need to rest, John said hotly. We’re going to rest!

“We go to court first,” Hastur said, infuriatingly neutral. “Your comics will be in your room later.”

Still court? Why? John whined.

“We are all tired,” Hastur said, low. “Hear me now, because we cannot discuss this more publicly. We must maintain appearances. My behavior has been erratic. I was not here after Carcosa was attacked; right now, to our enemies, we seem weakened. We are vulnerable.”

Arthur sighed. “I hear you.”

“John. I know you’re tired. We all are. We must recover as we move forward.”

Fuck. Quietly. I hate this.

“I would think you strange if you did not.”

“We can do this, John.” Arthur held his hand.

“We must,” Hastur said, and there was a gentleness in his voice. “For her.”

John went quiet for just a moment.

“For her,” said Arthur.

For you, said John. But… yeah. For her, too. You’re kind of a package deal.

“That’s the smartest thing you’ve said all day,” said Arthur.

Fuck off.

“Ready to perform?” said Hastur.

Arthur sighed. “Sure.”

And with that, they exited Hastur’s rooms and headed for court. And if anyone noticed that all three were trying very hard to seem perfectly normal, well… it was nothing that hadn’t gone in the gossip-pot before.

#Malevolent #malevolent fic #surrogate series #arthur lester #john malevolent #john doe malevolent #kiy malevolent #hastur malevolent #The keeper (surrogate)#Faroe Lester #wallace larson

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onward--upward · 1 year

Note

Hi 🦀🦀 some Weird Asks for you: 18 (leaving it up to you to choose the passage), 25, 36 💞

HELLO BELOVED thank u!! 🦀🦀

25. What is a weird, hyper-specific detail you know about one of your characters that is completely irrelevant to the story?

i am going to take this opportunity to talk about my baby boy avery o'connor from steppin' into fate <3 <3

he has a bunch of spare toothbrushes in his bathroom for when friends stay over, in a variety of colours.

he hates beer (bold and controversial opinion for a hockey player.)

his crush on buck was sooooo obvious that it's a running joke on the Kings' social media. he is never ever escaping the obsessed-with-evan-buckley accusations

when he's a little more settled in the league and has a longer contract he goes out and adopts TWO dogs in the summer break. avery o'connor dog dad CONFIRMED

he absolutely goes out and gets a bf at some point i just haven't decided Whom or When

36. They say to Write What You Know. Setting aside for a moment the fact that this is terrible advice... what do you Know?

excellent question!!! the answer is Not A Whole Lot. I know.... terrible retail jobs? academia? oh!!! i know Hockey, but i've already written about that one!

i know Being Bisexual and Stupid, that's why i gravitate towards evan buckley <3

18. Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end.

Okay this is my favourite question ever!!! I decided to go with the opening to my beloved soulmate AU, stitch my soul, because it was the story that i wrote over the longest period of time so i was interested to go back and see how it changed.

passage and the rest of the answer is under the cut because i don't want to clog up people's dashes <3

from the finished version:

For a long time, the crook of Eddie’s arm read only Ev. For such a long time, even, that his parents sometimes asked him if he was sure it hadn't settled yet. Maybe he had missed the signs. “It could be an unusual name, Eddie,” his mom says one night, when he’s been fighting with Shannon, his girlfriend who isn’t his soulmate, his girlfriend that his parents have never liked very much at all. “Ev. You never know, these days, what people are naming their children.”

“It hasn’t settled,” he’d insisted, because you were supposed to know, when it did. And he’d never felt the shift, the one that you always see in movies when the music swells and everything falls into a sharp focus. There was no click, in his chest, nothing coming together. It just felt… unfinished.

Unsettled.

There are lots of potential reasons that a mark might take a long time to settle into your soulmate’s name. They make it seem like everyone settles right around the time they reach adulthood, but Eddie’s done the research, and he knows that plenty of people don’t settle that early. The experts don’t seem to be able to agree on why it takes longer, for some people. There’s no definitive explanation. And Eddie has never needed one.

Because Shannon shows up on his doorstep at his parents’ house with a positive pregnancy test, and he marries her in a church that his parents pick out, and he enlists in the army because he’s 21 and terrified and he doesn’t have many employable skills. The scrawled Ev on the inside of his forearm doesn’t matter much, in the end, when he’s out there learning to have steady hands and quick problem-solving skills, and practising how to remove a bullet from beneath somebody’s skin. It doesn’t matter much when he’s flying home to cut the umbilical cord and meet his son and then shipping back out to the dust and the sand before any of it really starts to feel real. And he has Shannon – brave, beautiful Shannon. She’s never been his soulmate, and he’s never been hers. But he loves her. And he has Christopher, now, and he loves him, too. And whoever his Ev is, he doubts they would want… all of this, even if he was going to drop everything for them. Which he’s not. So it doesn’t matter. Hasn’t mattered, really, for a long time. He’s not sixteen years old anymore, watching the v fade in, sharp and kind of clumsy, deep black against his skin. He’s not that same kid who was Googling one of those lists that filled in common names to fill out your letters, skimming through them all, breath caught in his throat. Ev is kind of an unusual combination, really – nothing like Adriana’s first two letters, which had come in four days apart, spelling out Ma against her calf, and narrowed absolutely nothing down. Turns out Ev is even rarer when you filter by common names for Eddie’s geographical location. The possibilities used to fill up his head. Eva. Eve. Evelyn.

(Everett. Evan. Evander. He tried to read those ones and forget them, but they lingered just as much. He shoved them to the back of his brain, where they couldn’t quite see the light of day.)

But he isn’t that kid anymore. So he forgets about his letters altogether, for a while. Afghanistan is all his brain has room for, these days, and every spare space left over is filled by Chris. His team brings up soulmates on occasion, the usual locker room ribbing, trying to keep things lighthearted. He listens to cheesy romantic stories from those who’ve already found their match, the whining from those who are unlucky in their search. When the questions turn Eddie’s way, he brushes them off, and they mostly let him be. Nobody wants unhappy stories. There are enough of those out here.

Eddie puts Ev aside.

Christopher gets diagnosed with CP, Shannon is more and more stressed out every time they manage to speak to each other. He sees men and women die beneath his hands, and he wakes up some days to gunfire, and there’s no room anywhere for the little letters on his skin.

now, because i tend to write a lot of my first drafts by hand in notebooks, i actually have the first verison of this! (and my handwriting actually looks nice in this one, yay <3)

when i first wrote this i don't think i really had any idea where i was going with things, i was just thinking: soulmates, eddie's past with shannon, how does that work? and i just kind of sat down and went for it lol.

a lot of this survived to the final version! but it's missing a lot of connective tissue -- it's a much shorter version of the same passage. also i think it's interesting how in the original version i had eddie refering to his soulmate with she/her pronouns, where in the actual fic he always uses they/them even in his own head. this version of eddie i think always knew that his soulmate would be a guy, but shoved that wayyyy down where he didn't have to think about it. but it's one of those things that you do still know, even if you pretend you don't, so i'm glad i took the she/her pronouns out.

anyways i'm actually surprised how cohesive this original version is! a lot of my notebook first drafts include a lot of crossed out lines and false starts, especially if i don't really know where the story is going.

thank you my most beloved, i had wayyyy to much fun with these!!

here are the questions if anyone else wants to hear me ramble about writing <3

#this was SO FUN #sorry about rambling about soulmate au lol idk if anybody cares about my silly first drafts #thank you for the ask frida <3 <3 <3 #my writing #ask games #soulmate au #hockey au #911 fox

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cawareyoudoin · 8 months

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Season 2 of The Owl House, my live reaction!

It took me like twice as long to watch it, because I had to stop and write down my thoughts, but man it was fun, especially when it came to theories.

I can't get readmore to work in drafts, if it doesn't I am so sorry :(

:readmore:

Episode 1

Eda I love you so much you have no idea. She cares for Luz so much and just casually shows it. She's the best.

Lilith, you fucked up, you gotta deal with it.

Cute pirate head thingy Luz! Also, I knew that theoretically fire magic can not only initiate, but also create fire, but powering a furnace? That's impressive. And very economical.

Eda in a PIRATE COSTUME oh man I am being fed WELL

"So unfortunately for you, my life is pretty great because I'm friends with Luz the human" hell yeah, cut that self-sacrificial crap in the bud!

The golden bird boy is weirdly endearing. Kinda. He's... fun at least? Maybe. Undecided.

OMG THE NEW OUTRO IS SO PRETTY!!!

Episode 2

Hmm. Oh yeah, forgot Amity's parents are assholes. That kinda explains the twins being like that sometimes. Also, the genetics + memories suggest that Amity has her father's hair, but she dyes it to be more like her mother's, which already says a lot. Or maybe it's just witch genetics.

Hahah, figures Lilith would love being back in school. Also, interesting way of seeing how Eda would usually mix her magic.

"No-one ever said power comes with responsibility..." Hahah, King has not watched Spider-Man.

Gus just had a growth spurt? Witch puberty? Ok. I won't question it if the show won't.

Aww, Hooty finally has a friend who likes his company!

Willow has two dads, how nice.

Oh, so Amity's mother is like... The murderous kind of crazy. Right.

Eda knows when to ask for help! And in the end, chaos and order work together to find out something new. Neat.

Wait, so the four elements are... Ice, fire, light and plant? That's an... Odd choice.

Episode 3

Ooh backstory?

So the elements aren't necessarily only the thing they have represented so far. Makes sense.

Ah, the entire house is literally living and meaty about it. Love it.

King, are you gonna take them to the dread pyramid floating in the sky or something?

Oh, yeah, kinda. Alien zombie mummy morphing creature, neat!

OH NO HE WAS EVEN TINIER AND CUTER

Aww :( he's so sad! But wait wait wait. Those ruins and murals were actually ancient, right? The weird creature only got aggressive once Eda got there, otherwise little King would be toast... And he did get the army idea even earlier... And he was just in that castle out of nowhere? Nah, there has to be more to this, I'm calling it.

Called it!

EGG!!!

"I'm not that old, it's possible" wait, he's actually not much older than freaking 8 years old?!!? All this time I thought he was just... A childish adult? A dog cat creature animal adult? I mean he still could be but wow. He actually is baby.

Took a break here, but wow. This show is catering to my younger self like no other. It's bringing me back to Gravity Falls - would it be blasphemy to say I like it more? - and it's healing my inner child by making a better magic world than H*rry P*tter ever was. It is also catering to my older self with... Well, mostly Eda, I'll be honest. She is THE character of all time so far. Wow.

Episode 4

WOAH THAT'S TERRIFYING AND COOL!

Eda's backstory mirrors Luz question mark?

Oh, that's a side effect of the curse, ok. I thought Eda was just detachable like that. Cool.

Whoops. Eda was mommy's favourite. That explains a lot about Lilith.

Ohhh no. Oh no she's a healing crystals mommy. She's so getting scammed. "Keep it away from the eyes of nonbelievers"? Oh yeah.

King wants to meet his dad so bad, which makes me fear that it will not at all be what he thinks it will be.

Oh wait, maybe it will be. Lilith and King are spiraling.

Hooty's actually worried about them, and is the voice of reason for once? Woah!

Whoops. Lilith owl. And she's... Even bigger...

WHOOPS. Sister owls.

They're cool-looking, damn.

If only it were that easy to convince parents like that...

Lilith-beast is attacking Eda-beast... It's the jealousy and mommy issues, right?

Yeah...

Stash hair goals!

Good for Lilith. Probably. I hope.

Whoops. A doppelganger. Well, at least Luz's mom isn't worried... Heh...

Episode 5

I like the new intro so much that I watch it every time.

Heheh, Luz wants to see Amity. Nice.

Amity looks so nice with her hair down!

"After he accidentally texted a poem to their mom" oh? Nonbinary people real?

Wait that was. That was the light glyph. Gus just did fire magic because he believed he would.

That's a cool dragon thing.

Matt character development? Neat.

Hell yeah, terrify the mean girl with statues crying blood.

Yay, graveyard management!

Oh ok, Amity is dying her hair. Glad that's cleared up.

Oooh! New haircut, nice!

A little kiss on the cheek? "Sneaking into people's hearts"? Bold move indeed!

Episode 6

Hmm, ok... The Emperor wants to get to the human realm... Is he that human from the journal? He'd have to be old as balls, but hey, magic is a thing right?

Oh he's cursed. And eating palismans.

"Uncle"? Hmm, then not human, most likely. Nevermind.

Eda in a suit jacket ohh yeah.

OH OK THE PRINCIPAL'S HEAD DEMON THING IS EXPLAINED OK

Whoops. The golden guy's back. And he's... Whistling the theme song?

Lol, he's just a grumpy teen. Draco Malfoy looking ass.

Doesn't have powers without the staff huh... Maybe their family really does have some human in it. Maybe the journal guy is their great however-many-great grandpa. "Many of my ancestors didn't have magic"? Oh yeah. I'm convinced.

Hunter. Neat. I worry for him.

Eda, you lovely, lovely thief. And of course she would have Luz carve out her own palisman. She's all for doing things the most traditional, "wild" way.

I worry for the little red bird, but good for Hunter, I suppose!

Another few days' break here

Episode 7: Eda's Requiem

Uh oh, worrying title (also: started paying attention to titles here)

Ah, poor Eda... She thinks everyone's leaving her :(

Whoopsie

Oh, I've seen this bespectacled character. In fanarts and such.

Look at Eda, being a hero and all

Look at this new person being a hero and all?

AGENT OF CHAOS YES I LOVE IT

Raine Whispers. Ok. Cool name.

"They're not very good at it" oh hell yeah nonbinary people real!

Oh, that's the girl from the first episode! That escaped the Conformatorium! I think.

Hmm, they crushing, are they? Oh boy I fear betrayal...

"You're not our mom!" Hahahahah

"Bye mama Eda!" Hahahahhahahaha

Hmm... Decaying magic? Destructive magic?

Aww, King baby...

Gus helping his dad with the news, nice that side characters reoccur even when they're not needed per se

Hmm, wouldn't it be a better idea for just Luz to fly the race? King is not heavy, but still...

Awww, Edaaaa!

Ah, ok, abomination witches can do more than just abominations...

Eber has a perpetual >:3 face

Using the curse as a weapon? Sounds... Interesting, certainly.

Awe, Eda's gonna have to steal another pair of shoes...

Hahah, and Raine's smile is literally :} cute!

Uh, Eda, I don't like this self-destructive episode please stop...

Ah shit. Ah fuck. Raine, no!

I knew taking King along for the ride was a bad idea.

Awwwww!!!!! King!!!!!

Oh fuck. Oh no. Fate worse than death-ing Raine? We just met them!!!

Episode 8: knock, knock, knocking on Hooty's Door

Aww, Hooty found a way to write letters! Wonderful.

King is a baby!

Wait, I just realized. "hootsifer" not as in Lucifer, but as in Calsifer! I'm a dummy.

Let me drive my mouse into your heart???

OH OK THAT WAS MILDLY TERRIFYING HOOTY DON'T DO THAT

Yeah, don't do that either...

Ohh boy. Well, the bipeds having bile sacs thing explains why some people going to school don't look like elves.

Oh? Hello? Huh? King? Magic? Shouting magic???

Yeah Eda, confront your demon(s)!

Ahh, yeah, her and Raine were exes.

Yeah Eda, comfort your demon(s)!

HELLOOOO???? HELLOOOOOOOO???? HARPY LADY??????

"This is a hot look." AGREE AGREE BIG AGREE

Oh man, Hooty, don't do that...

The worst part is that the cheesy romance stuff was actually working.

Well, Hooty did help everyone, in a way. Yay!

Whoops. King's dad question mark? Well, at least he respects his new name!

Episode 9: Eclipse Lake

Oh, ok. We just get his face. Lucius Malfoy lookin ass.

He's been in the human realm, huh... My suspicions grow...

It worries me that Lilith is in the intro as part of the 3 associated with Belos...

Hahahah, now Eda wants to be a harpy lady on command! Cute.

Well that's a very direct DBZ reference (I've never watched it but come on everyone knows it)

Aww, Amity is doing so well!

Hunter is gonna cause a schism in the empire. Well, he already is causing one kinda.

Also aww, Amity has a white kitty! Fits her.

Hunter makes friends way too easily for his own good.

"A bad but sad boy" ooh, that's gotta sting. Accurate though.

Kikimora is fucking insane. Why does Belos keep these people!!?? The guard lady is much more reasonable.

Ok, my "first human=Belos" theory isn't off the table yet.

Hunter is too honest for his own good too. And nobody listens to him. But hey, he used his ability to bond with Amity well, for his own gain. He's pretty clever.

Well, Eda made a deal with the beast... Hmm.

Hunter, I feel like your pathetic-ness can be very beneficial to you right now...

Amity don't. Don't give him. The key. Fuck.

Ok, good.

The little red bird coming in clutch! And hey, Hunter, you've got magic now, cool eh? I love when antagonists get character growth too.

Ah shit. He knows how to manwife mansplain manipulate.

This is very bad. Hunter is the patheticest little meow meow there is though. That's something. Ah wait. No. Key is broken. But he's connecting with his palisman! Good for him, bad for his rep.

Also, phew, the deal was just to eat some voles.

I'm sorry for comparing him to Draco Malfoy so much, but like... He has a similar narrative role, but is SO MUCH BETTER DONE. Draco Malfoy wishes he had what Hunter has.

A few day's break again

Episode 10: Yesterday's Lie

Oooh, do we find out more about the doppelganger?

Oh no, throwing away Luz's stuff?!

Aww, they seem to not be overtly malicious, just... Took the opportunity maybe?

Aww, everyone's helping Luz!

Ah. Mirrorverse only.

Hmm. Dad's face invisible. I sense issues.

Hahah, they're blinking sideways.

Aww, I've come to really like Luz. She's kind but not naive, smart but not all-knowing, optimistic but not toxically so.

Traps and cameras... Uh oh

Wait, one of those statue guys looks like the journal human! Am I crazy?

Marylin? Eda, Really? XD

Simple solution: eat the rats!

Aaaah, Vee as in V, as in a roman Number Five. Clever yet sad.

Ah, the emperor's people. Of course.

Basilisks in the folklore I know turned people into stone. But draining magic seems like a pretty reasonable equivalent.

"I met a basilisk" oh yeah, I forgot about that episode! Wow! That was last season. The continuity and consistent worldbuilding in this show astounds me.

Awww. I'm all for Luz having a doppleganger sister.

Ah shucks. The museum guy. Of course.

Oh, the museum is "under new management". Uh oh.

Hmm. Is he playing dumb or just plain dumb?

Oh no, he wants to be verified. Worst motivation.

Oh boy. She's gonna tell her mom everything.

Two brothers? OH OK SO ONE LEFT THE JOURNAL AND THE OTHER STAYED AND HAD KIDS AND THAT'S BELOS AND HUNTER boom bang bing I solved it.

YES MAMA NOCEDA IS THE BEST YESSSS

Hahah, a sandal to the face. Strongest weapon.

OH BOY THEY JUST LEFT HIM IN THAT CAGE TO DIE HUH

Oh no. Oh no no no. Luz is gonna have to confront that promise huh.

Episode 11: Follies at the Coven Day Parade

Hooty has to... Dry his skin sometimes?????

"He's just evil and shy. It happens" tumblrinas talking about their poor little meow meows

"Sweet potato" sounds like a very typical term of endearment to me.

Amity just 😳

Oh no. I just realized. Coven day. RAINE!!!

Kikimora of all people was not the person I thought Luz might relate to. And yet.

You know, I'm getting a feeling that this show doesn't really have villains. Just people. People in villainous roles, yes, but who always have their reasons, and really see themselves as heroes of their own story. Like. Pretty much everyone has shown different sides to them. I love it.

Oh no Edaaaaa....

Ok yeah Luz I'm with you on this one actually. Get them to talk.

Oh no no no... Raine is probably mind controlled or something... Aaaah....

Aww, Amity and Willow finally being friends again!!!! Good!

Ohh. Ok, not mind controlled, only memory wiped/altered. That might be worse in some ways?

Hahah, Kikimora is a little creacher

Dueling? Ok yeah I'm into that

"Head Witch, are you hurt? -No. Not badly" AAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!

Kikimora cares about one thing the most. Her job. Of course. And apparently, she has to. Oof.

Amity and Luz work together so well in battle!

Raine is just being continuously drugged to have their memory wiped, I'm guessing...

"But because of your support I can finally take off this mask" what are you, a Minecraft youtuber???

Hahahah, Gus and Willow agree: meh

Episode 12: Elsewhere and Elsewhen

Flaaashback?

No flashback.

"Buy Amity new glove" aww

Ahh, Lilith, haven't seen you in a while!

Huh. Ok, whip lady.

Oh! Yes flashback!

And a trip with auntie Lilith.

"These are the oldest barnacles I've ever had on my head!" Ah, I love this nerd.

Eda, you gotta talk to your dad, come on.

Hm. Luz saved the journal from burning, thus it survived. So time loops are closed here, I suppose.

Philip is sus

Ohhh yeah.

OH OK WAIT IS PHILIP THE EMPEROR AFTER ALL AND THAT'S WHY HE KNEW THEY WOULD MEET SOON? CALLED IT CALLED IT CALLED IT!

Awww! History nerd aunt Lilith is having the time of her life. Love to see it.

Clawthorne dad is cool.

"I just have to live long enough to see this through" oh yeah he's the Emperor alright. Basically confirmed. Even his voice changed.

But there were two brothers...? What happened to the other one?

Episode 13: Any Sport in a Storm

Ah, Hunter. Arts and crafts are not your thing.

Oh buddy... Leading isn't your strong suit either...

The intro has been weird the last few episodes, what's going on?

Oh, Willow episode? Willow and Hunter episode?

Had to look up what hermosa means. Aww.

"Sure, I've never actually spoken to witches my age" oh god Hunter you so need friends my guy.

Oh no... This is like poor Jehova's Witness kids being sent on a mission...

He's getting attacked by a gryphon. Is his father uncle gonna hear about this?

Gus Porter and Willow Park. I don't think we've gotten last names before.

"Even if you're considered half-a-witch like me" OOF Willow was called half-witch, this had to HIT

I love Hunter so much. I want him to get better, and be in a better place, but I know it will be a while, and I know it will probably get worse first.

Poor Amity was the only one buying the books...

Awww, no, actually, Hunter is doing quite fine. And Darius turns out to be a pretty okay dude?

They kept the team name!

Episode 14: Reaching Out

Ooh, ominous title...

Jean Luc is still... Hanging out...

That voice change spell was impressive Amity!

THE TWINS ARE WEARING MAGICAL MAKEUP

"My student/child" ahhhhh!!! Eda!

Luz, kiddo, why won't you just turn the reminder off?!

Oh. Luz's dad is. Dead. Ah. That explains a lot. Man. This was. A good scene. Really good.

Ed got a mentor of sorts! Or at least an Eda to aspire to. Bad Girl Coven got members!

Amity's dad came back to earth for once. Or... Whatever this planet is. Is this a planet? There's stars in the sky...

"Dishes washed :3 -V" aww! Luz has a basilisk sis!

Oh, the outro changed!

Episode 15: Them's the Breaks Kid

All I can think of with this title is the Snapcube Shadow fandub

Luz is approaching the glyph combos in such a scientific way! Experiments!

Ooooh! Backstory!!!

Oh, all the adults as kiddos! I can guess some of them are parents of the current cast.

Ahhh, ok, Bump not being principal yet when Eda was in school explains why he said that she was "never given a chance to" study all courses of magic.

Little Raine makes me wanna cry in a good way

The plant lady is insane.

Oh, ugh, her being fond of Raine since they were a kid... Bad vibes

Raine is okay! Oh man I was so worried...

Episode 16: Hollow Mind

Oh boy, what a cold open!!!

Oooh, okay, so the abomination guy and beast guy are in it too! That's why Darius was so... Okay to Hunter.

Whoops.

Hmm, inner child Belos? Interesting.

He named the birdie Flapjack! Do those even exist there? (Later I remembered the bird told him the name, silly me)

Raine, buddy, you should REALLY work together with Eda.

Oof, Hunter's gonna have to confront some stuff here...

Oh, Collector's design is coo-ool!

"Making those things just to destroy them" OH IS HE FUCKING CLONING HIMSELF?!?!!?

Ohhh, palismen... But if they're still there, then perhaps...

Yup. Okay, the cat's out of the bag. Belos is P-whatever his name was. The journal guy.

Philip Wittebane.

Maybe he's not cloning himself, maybe he's cloning his brother?

Raine did work with Eda in a way, good!

Can't blame Hunter for having a panic attack. Yikes...

Man, I've been bingewatching, but I just... Gotta keep going! Gotta know what's next!

Episode 17: Edge of the World

Hahah, okay, I immediately know it's a dream sequence.

The letter finally resurfaces, hah. Nice way for the show to make space for other stuff, and postpone this King Family plot.

Oh. Nice. Worldbuilding.

Titan Trappers, huh...

"How did it go? Weh!" Oh ok, so King's dad was the last Titan. Weh.

But wait no, there's a poster next to him, "the grand huntsman cannot... Until the lost son is found by..." So???

Oh, ok, that... Confuses matters.

Oh. Oh no. They're wearing. The skulls. Of Titans. Oh no.

Well, this whole situation is very tragic and very, very awkward.

Oh god, guys, you really gonna kill a fucking kid?!

"Um... Hi." said to the Titan... KING YOU ARE BREAKING MY HEART

Episode 18: Labirynth Runners

Aww, Gus, buddy...

Wait, this is before his uh... "witch puberty", right?

Ah, backstory, got it.

Amity's trying, but still not a perfect friend. I like it.

Oh boy, Flapjack, are you feeding your runaway friend trash from the cafeteria? Is Hunter living in the school walls?

Hahahah, still trying to be sinister and scary. Not the only way to live, dude.

Ugh... Even the kids?

The Illusionist coven leader is... Something.

Sometimes a government raid on a school can be a chance for a bonding experience!

Amity's gotta learn to trust in Willow's abilities, Willow to be more assertive, and Hunter's gotta learn... Well, a lot of things, but basic socializing is a good start. Trusting people. Gus has his eye thingy, don't know what's exactly up with that yet. Cool though.

"Just put him... -out of his misery? Got it. -to sleep dude, to sleep!" Yeesh, somebody's eager... Also, with the context of what Hunter is, creepy!

Gus has to learn that he's not dumb. And to not listen to the voices in his head.

Good for you Severine! Good for you.

Agh, gotta take a break and walk the dogs, but oh I am watching the last 3 episodes today.

I've been thinking about the "Making those things just to destroy them" line to Belos. Because it's true. The "kid" Belos was leading Luz and Hunter exactly to the memories that would almost certainly shake Hunter's belief and make him betray Belos. Damn.

Also, the name "grimwalker" suggests some sort of necromancy to me...

Episode 19: Titan Where Art Thou

Good fucking question!

Oh no, the hunters really did connect King to the Collector somewhat...?

Hmm. Might be a chaotic neutral force. Might be possible to negotiate with them.

Sisters on the run! The Owl House empty! Oh no :(

Jeez, Eda, you have no plan so your plan is to check everyone's bucket lists? Morbid, yet considerate.

Lilith, stop treating King like a king, you're making his feelings of isolation worse! Also he's got a lil hat for his tail aww...

"Why is everything going our way now?" Uhh guys I hate to tell you this but that's like a very clear sign of a trap...

Ok, roadtrip with... Steve?

Hm. Them fixing the cart is a weird parallel to the episode where ye olden times were shown.

Eda just wants her kids safe I cannot...

Oh boy. Wasn't a trap, they were just busy fighting each other and got caught.

"Isn't this how you acted with the Emperor? I'm sensing uh, a little bit of a pattern with you" say it like it is King!

"I can recommend a good therapist" SAY IT LIKE IT IS STEVE!

Oh no, darkest hour...

NEVERMIND, THEY HAVE ALLIES, EVERYBODY'S HERE!

"Everything's come full circle baby!" Of course it did. Cat hoodie, CATS. Also, Raine, that is a wonderful team name.

"We've got all the time in the world" well, two days, but the sentiment is touching.

Episode 20: Clouds on the Horizon

The Collector is a funky little shadow thing. I like them.

"We can make another grimwalker" as an image of a hand bursting from the ground appears... Yeah, it's definitely some sort of necromancy.

NO MAGIC IN TITLE SCREEN I AM ALARMED

Amity's mother is trouble...

Oh. I'm not sure if using the curse is a good idea... It seemed rather... Adverse in effect.

Oh no. Wait. Are they gonna keep everyone alive but also take away their natural magic?!?

Aww, an egg palisman! An ultimate wildcard!

"Titan help us... -I'll do my best..." Awwww, King! Don't put such expectations on yourself!

The twins tried to burn the factory down? Hell yeah, arson.

I do love Luz's little ponytail.

Who animated that kiss? James Baxter? Well, probably not James Baxter, but. You know what I mean.

Oh boy... Can you not... Remove coven sigils? Ever? Oh boy...

Hahah, first thing Eda thought to do when looking like Raine is remove her head. Haven't seen that in a while.

The Collector is... More and more interesting.

Kikimora having beef with a teenager is still one of the funniest things.

Alador and King talking it out was not what I expected. I love how this show puts every interesting character combination together in some way at least once. I love it.

Kikimora, you have a mouth big enough to be useful.

Oh no, she got Hunter. Oh shit.

"Buisness partner" oh ok so they were married literally for tax cuts and such.

Ohhh! Illusion! That explains "Hunter" blowing a raspberry at Kikimora. It seemed... Quite out of character.

Episode 21: Kings Tide

I can't even write, I'm so stressed out.

"Don't. Tell me not to worry" AUGH

The Collector is a bratty kid.

I just realized Belos' nose is crooked because Lilith broke it. Heh.

Oh no. They caught them. THIS is the darkest hour.

HA! HA, SHE GOT HIM! SHE GOT HIM GOOD! HE FUCKING FELL FOR IT!!!

Only the coven-less teens can save the day...

King's little skull is broken nouuu!!

Gus activating Belos' worst memories, and someone who looks a lot like Hunter being the first one... And then a hand bursting from the ground. Yikes.

Hmm. Letting the Collector out might be a bad choice in the long run, but the world is ending, so... Gotta adress that first, huh?

Oh. He just. Splooted Belos. Ok. Well, King, buddy, better think of rules for playing the Owl House. Fast.

OH OK HE JUST MOVED THE MOON OK

Never trust a jester I suppose.

Ugh, that sploot seemed important. I'm sure that won't come back later.

Wow. Well, this kinda sucks. Gosh.

Also, I realized, Eda removing her head last episode was to remind us she could do that...

OH SO SEASON 3 IS 3 SPECIAL EPISODES?! AAAAAARGH!!!! I'M NOT READY TO SAY GOODBYE TO THIS WORLD!!

Ok, thinking about Belos... He had a brother, right? At least I think so. And maybe they got sent to the Demon Realm together, and something happened to him? Perhaps something that made Belos hate wild magic/witches?

Gosh, you guys had years to analyze and speculate, I only have days, okay?! But my speculations have been pretty accurate so far, so. Shrug.

Raine destroying Eda's arm so that she lives, but also so that she can practice wild magic... Because they wanted to keep her safe and also promised Luz... Augh... But also I know in my heart of hearts that Eda is going to have the coolest collection of hooks. Once everyone lives and everything is ok. Right???????

About the Collector: I liked his shadow design much better, but oh well. What does he even collect? Also, note to self: a chaotic neutral with enough power might be functionally indistinguishable from a chaotic evil.

Ok, I've been thinking about what Belos said - that it "hurts every time" the grimwalkers decide to betray him, and also that he "doesn't want more people corrupted by this land". So I'm thinking: the "original" Hunter, whoever he was (brother?) and Philip disagreed on the whole witch hunting thing, and... Something happened, whether it was his intention or not. I've also been thinking about grimwalkers, and the lines "you were the most similar of them all", and "many of my ancestors didn't have magic" - if there is variation in looks and in powers, then I'm thinking that it might not be a case of straight-up necromancy or test tubes, but somehow... Transforming existing witches? Might be easier than creating one from scratch... Idk, I'm just spitballing here.

I'm probably gonna make a separate post about this, but wow this show is. Very good. Especially with developing every single even slightly important character, and giving them an interesting dynamic with the rest of the group. I was thinking about the kids that got sent to the Human Realm, and whether there was anyone there who hasn't interacted with each other... And the only thing I can really think of is Gus and Amity? But otherwise, they all have an interesting dynamic/relationship. I even see some possible interactions with Hunter and Vee, if they have time for it. Just... Man. This show is good. Also, it subverted my expectations so many times. I was like "in any other show, this would not have happened", but it did!!!

I love this show. I'm gonna watch Good Omens 2, but after that passes, I will watch the 3-part finale, and let myself actually join the fandom. Better late than never, eh?

Added later: Ok, now that the GO2 phase has died down, I think I'm gonna watch s3 soon.

#the owl house #toh #reaction #the owl house season 2 #cawpost #caw caws #caw watches stuff #long post

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