#Dreamwoods

[oonaluna-art]

Inktober Day 6: “Star / The Kingdom”

I sometimes like to mash up different prompt lists for my inspiration! Today is from both Instagram lists #juliasinktober2023 and #archetypeinktober Esta's name means “star,” and she was the princess of the sci-fi-themed Aster Empire in the story I made for her for Dreamwoods-OCT.

The structure to the left was an orbital satellite/castle from her kingdom.

—

[My Ko-Fi] [Patreon]

[captainhancock727]

Adrian von Ziegler - Dreamwoods

[eris-anansi]

Dreamwood 1999

Prologue: Revisitation

After returning to his hometown due to a family emergency, war veteran turned homicide detective Parker Caldwell finds his old stomping grounds not at all like he remembers them. He is forced to solve a case that may irreparably change the course of his entire life.

CW: Implied violence and murder, unsettling descriptions, mentions of war

Associated Song: Madelynne Whitt - Where the Watermelons Rot

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The chances were slim. The chances that anyone heard the rapid footsteps carried by running legs. Nor the cries for help that followed. After all, sound did not travel very far in these woods. It was way past midnight, and Michael could hear the telltale birdsongs that signaled the arrival of sunrise. Though it would not be morning for another few hours. For now, Dreamwood Forest was bathed in darkness and Michael was alone. 

He had only caught a peripheral glimpse of the threat that pursued him. The image of the towering figure lingered in his mind as he scrambled through the woods hoping he remembered the way back to the only road into town. It couldn’t have been that far, right? He had only hiked about four miles or so. He must’ve covered half of that ground already with how fast he was running. 

In his deep thought he failed to pay good mind to his surroundings- and his foot slammed straight into a sharp rock poking out of the earth. He let out a pained shriek as he lost control, falling face first onto the ground which was coated in dead leaves. He quickly scrambled to his feet and tried to pick up speed again, only to be dragged back down by a sharp, pulsating pain in his foot. He swore he could feel the wetness of blood leaking from a gash left by the rock he ran into. He cursed under his breath. 

“Help!!!” He screamed out again. “Somebody fucking help!! There’s- there’s a man chasing me!!” 

His voice echoed through the woods. He heard no response, not even the mere chirp of a bird. He let out a defeated sigh and face planted the ground, choking on a muffled sob. He laid there, resigned to his fate, until he lifted his head toward the sudden appearance of approaching footsteps. The silhouette of a man in a dark blue coat had appeared out of the woods, shining a flashlight in Michael’s face. 

“Oh… oh, thank God!” Michael exclaimed. “My foot is injured, you’ll have to carry me,” he told the man. “We have to hurry! That sicko is still out there!”  

As the man got closer, Michael soon realized something wasn’t quite right. He didn’t speak as he approached.

“Uh… hello? Did you hear me??”

Leaves crunched under the man’s feet as he got closer. 

“Dude! Say something!”

Crunch.

Crunch.

Crunch. 

“Dude!! What-” He froze as he finally got a good look at the man’s face. He had looked normal up until now, up until he saw the white porcelain mask that covered the man’s face. Michael spoke under his breath, “What the fuck…”

The masked man discarded the flashlight, tossing it aside and letting it roll down a hill. Darkness consumed them both. Michael saw the twinkle of metal as the man unsheathed a knife from the pocket of his cargo pants.

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The day prior… 

Never did he think he would be here again. Never did he plan to be here again. He was born here, yes, but he could never adapt to the country life- to being in the middle of nowhere. Manhattan was his home. But after an incident in the tunnels of Burma deemed him no longer fit to fight in the war, Parker Caldwell was more than ready to leave the wilderness of the Eastern country and return to the bustling of the city he called home. He had been through Hell and back, and had seen things he never wanted his mind to revisit ever again. 

Unfortunately, when he landed back in America, he received a phone call from his father. His voice seemed urgent. The message was loud and clear- come back home. Come back to Dreamwood. Soon enough, Manhattan was in the rear view.

Dreamwood was the antithesis to New York. If New York was the city that never slept, Dreamwood, Massachusetts was the town that snored day and night. It was rather easy to forget that it existed, no matter how big a town it was. Those who stayed in Dreamwood never became much of anybody. There were no famous people from Dreamwood, Massachusetts; no presidents, no popstars, no MySpace queens. However, it had been the home of the Caldwells since the English family settled in the Americas all the way back during the colonial era. They built Dreamwood from the ground up and their influence endured, outliving the British colony and lasting through both of the World Wars. Now, Parker Caldwell had returned to his family’s old resting place to resolve family business. His father, Jackson Caldwell, had fallen ill. Not of any sickness, but of old age- the most natural ailment of all. The doctors told him that he hadn’t much longer than a few weeks now before the Reaper would come to claim his soul. When he learned of the news, the first thing he did was reach out to his sons. 

“Have you spoken to Nathan lately?” Jackson asked his son as he lay on his deathbed. Caldwell Sr. was a husk of his former self, an old, shriveled body with strands of snow white hair dangling here and there. 

“No, I haven’t,” Parker responded with a twinge of shame obvious in his voice. “I’ll have to reach out to him. I take it he’s already visited.” 

“Your brother always visits, Parker,” The old man responded. There was a tense moment of crushing silence before the man spoke again. “Don’t worry, though. I understand where you were coming from. You’re a hero, son. Fighting for our great country. I’m proud of you and I want you to know that. Your grandfather would have been proud, too…”  

“That doesn’t justify the fact that I wasn’t around,” Parker admitted. “Or that we never got to make peace.”

 “Bah, to hell with all of that,” his father gave a raspy laugh. “Whatever we fought over back in the day, confronting the fragility of my own life has made me realize what bullshit it all was. The only thing that matters to me now is our family legacy. That’s all.” 

“Family legacy?” Parker blinked.  

“Did I fucking stutter? Listen, son, I want you to stay here for a while. Move back to Dreamwood.” 

“Stay here?” Parker practically blurted. “Dad, why-”

“After all these years you still can’t let me finish,” Jackson said. For a dying man he was still exactly how Parker remembered him. “Our family has lived here for centuries, and there’s a reason for that. You had your fun running around Manhattan playing detective, you helped save America, but now it’s time to come back to your roots.” 

‘Save America’ was a major exaggeration, but Parker didn’t hold onto it. He had more important things on his mind. “What about my job? I have a whole life back in the city.”

“Quit your job and work here instead. Dreamwood’s got a police department, too.” The answer was plain, simple, and obvious. Still, Parker hesitated.

“I know I’m dropping all of this on you very suddenly,” his father began, “but I haven’t much longer on this planet. I ain’t dyin’ anytime soon, but I ain’t gonna be livin’ long either. I still have some things I’d like to pass onto you.” 

“Wait, what?” This confused him further. Last he checked his father had both feet in the grave. Now he was saying that he wasn’t going to die anytime soon. If he wasn’t, why was he in the hospital? The doctors definitely seemed to think otherwise. 

The old man simply laughed, apparently amused by his son’s confusion. “I know what the doctors said. But doctors are full of crap. Half the time they don’t know what they’re on about, and right now is half the time. This ain’t how it goes for men like us. Caldwells don’t die just like that, don’cha know,” there was a hint of pride to be seen in that weak smile of his. It invoked mixed feelings within his son. 

“Dad, you’re not making any sense,” Parker replied honestly.  

“Not a lot of things make sense in this life, son. You’ll come to learn that with age.” 

He didn’t seem to have any intent of starting to make sense, either. 

“But I know one thing for sure. It’ll take more than old age to take this man down. I’m only sixty-seven. By the end of this week, I’ll be out of this hospital and up and at ‘em. And when I do, I want you close by. I don’t need you all the way in New York.”

Parker knew already that he was bound to his father’s wishes. “I’ll find an apartment. I’ll have everything moved by next week,” he said, resigned to his fate. “And I’ll apply for a job at the police department.”  

“Yes. You will,” His father nodded, seeming satisfied. “Also you should go and see Nathan before you leave. How long has it been since you talked to your brother?” 

“Well, it’s been…” Parker trailed off trying to think of an answer to the question. 

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Truthfully, it had been literal decades since he had spoken to his brother. When he left Dreamwood, he left without a trace. This made his return sort of a big deal. Everywhere else, he was Parker- a man of virtue and courage, having served in the military and the police force. But in Dreamwood, he was Parker Caldwell, son of former mayor Jackson Caldwell, grandson of former police chief Dean Caldwell, and it goes on. The Caldwells were just another wealthy family to the outside world; but in the small world of Dreamwood, they were equivalent to the Royal Family. His father was the mayor of Dreamwood before Mayor Rogers took over in his place. His grandfather, Dean Caldwell, served as the chief of police during his prime. Parker Jr’s dream was, at one point, to carry on his grandfather’s legacy. Ultimately he chose to serve in the army before working as a homicide detective in the city of Manhattan. His brother Nathan Caldwell, on the other hand, chose a different life path- that of a family man. Much to his father’s chagrin, he disavowed his family’s legacy of political influence and prestige in exchange for a little lakeside cottage and domestic bliss. While Parker was halfway across the world risking his life in the trenches, his brother fell in love with a beautiful woman, got married, and had two children. They bought a nice house by a lake just on the outskirts of town. 

Driving away from the main town, Parker truly entered the countryside; narrow roads between forests and plains dotted with farms and cottages where cattle grazed, a cloudy sky hanging overhead home to circling vultures. Leaving the farms, Parker entered a forest where the trees blocked out nearly all light. The road became rocky, putting the tires of his impala through some strife. He cursed under his breath as he navigated the treacherous terrain. Not long after he found himself at the end of the tunnel, reaching the end of the road and finding himself face to face with the enormous body of freshwater that they called Devil’s Lake– the lake where Nathan had settled down with his family. It was a beautiful thing, the water; clear, crystalline, reflecting the light of the sun that shone through the gray clouds. A forest hugged the shore from all sides, obscuring the lake in its dense, dark green foliage. To Parker’s right, he saw the house- a humble little cottage like something out of a European village. The lights were on. Nathan was home. As Parker approached the home, he couldn’t help but admire the architecture. The dark wooden frame, the windows supported by stone brick walls, the front-facing roof. He knocked on the door and waited for an answer.  

It didn’t take long for the knob to turn and for the door to open with a slight creak, and there he stood. A tall, handsome man with neatly cut dirty blond hair, dark blue eyes, a chiseled jawline, and a scar just below his eye on his left cheek. He took after father in appearance, mirroring Jackson Caldwell’s younger self. He wore a plain collared gray shirt and brown cargo pants.  

“Parker?” He could hardly believe his eyes. “Is… is that really you?” 

“Long time no see, brother,” Parker gave a half-hearted smile. 

“Christ! I thought you were dead!” 

“That’d be easier to explain, wouldn’t it?” He chuckled. 

“Yeah, damn right you got a lot of explaining to do. Come on in.”  

Nathan led Parker into the living room and offered him a seat on the couch and a beer. He accepted.  

“So, when were you going to let us know you were alive?”  

Parker took a sip of Bud Light. “Dad knew I was alive. He called me here.” 

“Still, y’all barely kept in touch. And I haven't heard from you in over a decade. You can’t just bail on family like that.” 

To be fair, they hardly treated him like family at the time. That’s what Parker wanted to say, but he kept that to himself. It was all water under the bridge at this point. “What do you want me to say? I’m sorry. I got caught up in life. And seeing you like this; you should know how that goes. You got the look of a father written all over your face. Speaking of which- where is the lucky lady? I don’t think I ever got to properly meet her.” 

“Mariah’s out running errands right now,” Nathan explained briefly. There was a pause before he spoke again. “And I haven’t been a father for two years.” 

An awkward silence hung like fog over the living room for a brief moment. A somber shadow had fallen over Nathan’s face, and just like that, the atmosphere in the room shifted completely. Parker shifted uncomfortably in his seat, hesitating before he spoke again.

“Pardon?”  

It took a moment for Nathan to answer. His eyes lingered on the beer can on the coffee table in front of him as he spoke. “We lost both our children two years ago,” Nathan explained. “Our daughter is dead, and our son… well… he’s dead to me.”  

“I’m sorry, Nathan,” Parker said. “I… I had no idea.”

“You wouldn’t have. You didn’t keep in touch, remember?”

That stung more than it should’ve. “Great job, Parker,” he thought. “You sure know how to make conversation, asking about your brother’s dead kids like that.” 

Nathan took one last gulp of his beer. “That was two years ago. We’ve moved on since then,” he said. “Perhaps me more so than her.” 

“No, you’re right,” Parker responded. “I’ve been a terrible brother and an even worse son. Not to mention a piss-poor uncle. I never even got to meet my niece and nephew.” 

“You were God knows where in the East when it happened. Your life never could exactly stop for your family.” 

“It just did. I’m moving back to Dreamwood. Effective immediately. Dad’s orders.” 

Nathan raised an eyebrow. “He got you to do that?”

“Have you seen him? He’s staring Death in the face. Not only that– he’s in denial.” 

“You’re preachin’ to the choir, Parker,'' Nathan snorted, holding back a laugh that wasn’t lighthearted in the slightest. “The man insists he’ll be out of the hospital by next week. It’s… kind of sad, really. He’s always thought to be himself larger than life.”  

“Yeah well nobody is larger than death. I owe it to him, this one last wish. I’ve put him through enough as it is.” 

Nathan gave a quiet nod in response.  

Silence hung over the living room for many seconds as the two brothers sat together without a word exchanged.  

“...What were their names?” Parker finally asked.

Nathan blinked. “Pardon?” 

“Your… your children. What were their names?” 

“We don’t speak our son’s name anymore,” Nathan said, starting to ramble, “None of this would have happened if it wasn’t for him. He… he was disturbed from a young age. I’m talking about ‘catching squirrels in the backyard and breaking their necks’ disturbed. And when our daughter told us that he was trying to hurt her, we didn’t believe it at first. Not until that night. That night when he tried to kill us all. And she– she didn’t survive.” 

The air in the room grew heavier. Darker. The story Nathan told sank in and Parker could hardly believe what his brother was telling him. “Mother of God,” Parker murmured. 

“But… to answer your question, her name was Carmen,” Nathan answered. “And every day I wish I listened to her.”  

Parker gave a silent nod. “I remember you always liked that name…” Some things never change, he thought. “I’m sorry, Nathan.” 

“She wanted to be a scientist,” Nathan’s voice had become brittle. “She wanted to go to university; she was going to study chemistry. Had such a good head on those shoulders. Made me feel like an idiot half the time,” he gave a sad laugh.  

Parker nodded silently. “I wish I could’ve gotten to meet her.”  

“Yeah, well,” Nathan started, “Maybe if you were around more you would’ve.”  

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 Parker took one last look at Devil’s Lake as he drove off into the woods. Being back in Dreamwood didn’t evoke the nostalgia he initially anticipated– his hometown was nothing like he had remembered it. It was like returning to an old amusement park you had visited often as a child, only to find it abandoned and dilapidated- a shell of its former glory. Or perhaps it had always been that way and the drunken haze of childhood masked the truth.  

He looked up at the cloudy sky where he could just barely see the sun poking through. Such as a common sight in this town. He had never seen the sun- or at least truly acknowledged it- until he left Dreamwood when he was seventeen. Perhaps the reality was that Dreamwood was always a dull, dismal beacon of misery. If he looked deep within himself, pushing his family’s wishes aside, he would’ve realized that he didn’t regret leaving. It was a revelation he didn’t ponder on, but rather brushed his hand over as he reached for another book on the shelf of his consciousness– a book which spoke of duty to the Caldwell Clan. He set his mind on this particular book as he drove off into the forest.  

He thought back to his conversation with Nathan. He had missed so much being away from his family it felt like he had been in a coma for twenty years. He couldn’t help but feel a twinge of regret. He should’ve been there when Nathan lost his daughter.  

Parker was so deep in thought that he almost didn’t notice the large deer that was standing in the middle of the road, directly in the path of his vehicle. 

“Shit!-” 

He quickly swerved out of the way, nearly driving straight into an evergreen but managing to change course just in time.  

“What the hell was that?!” He glanced in the rear-view mirror to get another look at the animal, but it was gone. His mind was reeling as he processed what just happened. He had never seen a hairless deer before, much less one that looked so malnourished. He swore he could see the poor thing’s ribs clinging to its pale, naked stomach.  

Was that thing even a deer?

He decided to forget about it and drive a little slower as he made his way out of town.

To be continued...

[whisperthatruns]

Dreamwood

In the old, scratched, cheap wood of the typing stand there is a landscape, veined, which only a child can see or the child’s older self, a poet, a woman dreaming when she should be typing the last report of the day. If this were a map, she thinks, a map laid down to memorize because she might be walking it, it shows ridge upon ridge fading into hazed desert here and there a sign of aquifers and one possible watering-hole. If this were a map it would be the map of the last age of her life, not a map of choices but a map of variations on the one great choice. It would be the map by which she could see the end of touristic choices, of distances blued and purpled by romance, by which she would recognize that poetry isn't revolution but a way of knowing why it must come. If this cheap, mass-produced wooden stand from the Brooklyn Union Gas Co., mass-produced yet durable, being here now, is what it is yet a dream-map so obdurate, so plain, she thinks, the material and the dream can join and that is the poem and that is the late report.

Adrienne Rich (Poetry, 1987)

[vanillajestersart]

Jester!

[womansound]

          “will  you  grab  maintenance  when  you  spot  ‘em  ?”  a  grimace.  “one  of  those  dreamwood  adults  threw  up  from  crying  before  they  even  passed  through  the  gates.  again.  talk  about  tres  gross.”   // 🍓 ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊ @lovedew !

[thomrosenhagen-blog]

2022-12-14 Alternativer Adventskalender 2022

2022-12-14 Alternativer Adventskalender 2022

Frage: Wie soll ich leben? Antwort 11: Finde das rechte Maß! Anekdote aus unserem Familienleben: Ich war/bin zeitlebens ein begeisterter Pilzesammler. Und ich bin in meiner Kindheit gerne Pilze sammeln gegangen in den heimischen hohenlohischen Wäldern und auf den Wiesen. Und dabei habe ich mir auch durchaus mein “Pilzauge” geschult, was dann im weiteren Lebensverlauf dazu geführt hat, dass, wenn…

[licantropa]

cw: psychological torture, the consequences of forbidden knowledge, and i think thats it

ep 97 {30:00 - 39:54} written

Capsize stands right in front of her. And it isn't the memory of her, or some doodles in her thaumonomicon, or even visions caused by things which she should not have known. It's actually her��It has to be.

The distant muffles of her friends seem to more-than-imply otherwise, with Jordan claiming that it’s his dear pet slime, and Tucker claiming that it’s her in the tube.

Tucker screams in agony and Jordan proclaims that he’s figured out the puzzle, it all becomes background static to her.

She stands there looking up at her. At Capsize. Everything she’s worked towards, all the patience and sanity and sleep that she’s sacrificed, it should feel wasted. But She can’t help the relief, the excitement that overwhelms her in this moment.

Capsize is looking back at her.

Blows air on the glass and writes out ‘iH’, dotting the i with a heart before the message disappears completely. She puts her palm on the glass and leans in towards her. Sonja goes to do the same before she’s all but burned herself on the heat emanating from the glass.

Sonja’s shaking, the situation has finally clicked for her. All her tools and armor and anything useful has been left outside of this crypt. All she is left with is herself, all she has is her own fists to bang and break the glass.

It doesn’t work. Because why would it? When is she ever that lucky? When is it ever this easy?

Knocking brings Sonja’s attention back to Capsize. There’s a smile that graces her features, the slight shake of her head lets her know her attempts at a breaking out has been futile. She blows on the glass again and draws a diagonal arrow.

Behind her is not a door, but an opening. Blood waterfalls down, an exit. Had that always been there? She doesn’t want to go. But, she looks back and receives a wave goodbye.

She moves slowly and swims even slower. The liquid is thick and hard to maneuver through.

She reaches an air pocket in the blood waterfall and she sees her. Again. Just standing there. Glass window looking out to the nether, Capsize died here, back home. Sonja none the wiser, she had to be told, explained to, because she wasn’t there.

It all happened so quickly. We couldn’t do anything. Ianite will fix this, we’ll save her.

Sonja will be faster, accomplish what they couldn’t the first time. She’ll save her.

She runs to her, almost tripping over herself in the process and right when she’s there, so close, arms length away, Sonja falls through the mirage hitting glass.

Doubt -> me: you'll never find out how to keep going

Again. This thing that can't be her but is, is sitting there on this ledge, facing her, reaching out.

Capsize disappears before Sonja could even grab her hand.

Her fist meets hard hot dreamwood, and fuck this. It's all fucked. Maybe she should just go back, that Capsize didn't seem to be going anywhere any time soon, and if she goes back even further than that she could get more supplies, figure out how to break the glass. That'd be so much easier, so much easier than deciphering gibberish magically imbued to be a headache of a time when she wants answers and an even bigger migraine when she when she finds none there for her.

No no no no no no…

That’s Martha talking. She can figure it out, she will, she has too.

Doubt -> me: you can't do this...you can't bring her back

Sonja makes it to a new area, a prison, where she sits and cries…

"Sonj!" Tucker's finally regrouped with them, and the relief he feels is like no other. Sonja's safe and well, and he hasn't doomed her to an awful fate of burning in lava. The far off-look, one that's become too familiar as she delves deeper into forbidden knowledge, makes Tucker uneasy. The dried tears on her face makes him feel even worse. He puts a hand on her shoulder in hopes it'll provide some comfort. "Are you alright? What did you see that's left you so...?"

"Boris."

I don't really wanna rewrite too many canon scenes for my post timeline, but I keep thinking about the bit in Season 2 where they're about to enter Helgrind's nightmare world and need to kill an apparition of a loved one. And I just can't think about that scene but Sonja sees Capsize.

Like she finds herself face to face with the person she's trying to revive, and has to kill her. Even if she knows it isn't the real person, it would still be so difficult to actually do it.

[oonaluna-art]

"I look like my brother."

I was inspired by my friend @geist19's drawing of his old tournament protagonist, and I realized I hadn't drawn Esta Shohreh Mazdak in a while. Here she is! The little winner of Dreamwoods OCT.

—

[My Ko-Fi] [Patreon]

[rafesangelita]

₊˚⊹♡ WHAT THE !READER’S SMELL LIKE

a MUCH requested list of perfumes my lovely !reader’s would smell like <3 please keep in mind that i haven’t smelled majority of these, i’m just going based off of the scent notes!

bambi!reader: ‘forever in love’ by loveshockfancy

main accords: white floral, lactonic, woody

top note: green pear

middle note: gardenia

base note: cedarwood

pogue!sweetheart!reader: ‘cupcake swirl’ by body fantasies

main accords: sweet, vanilla, coconut, lactonic, warm spicy, powdery, musky

top notes: buttercream, ginger, clove

middle notes: cookie, butter

base notes: vanilla, coconut, musk

kook!sweetheart!reader: ‘mod blush’ by ariana grande

main accords: fruity, sweet, musky, rose, floral, citrus, tropical, powdery, fresh, amber

top notes: raspberry, passion fruit, pink pepper, bergamot

middle notes: rose, pear, magnolia

base notes: musk, dreamwood, ambroxan, sandalwood

farmer’s!daughter!reader: ‘sweet tooth cherry baby’ by sabrina carpenter

main accords: sweet, cherry, fruity, chocolate, amber, warm spicy, musky, woody

top notes: cherry, brown sugar, apple, plum

middle notes: dark chocolate, red poppy, vanilla orchid, peony

base notes: cashmere wood, amber, musk, patchouli, resin

latina!kook!reader: ‘layali rouge’ by swiss arabian

main accords: floral, tropical, fruity, sweet, rose, woody

top notes: hibiscus, sandalwood, coconut

middle notes: peach, rose

base notes: floral notes, mango, pineapple, papaya, lemon

bitchy!kook!reader: ‘good girl blush’ by carolina herrera

main accords: floral, vanilla, citrus, fresh, sweet, yellow floral, rose, woody, fresh spicy, aromatic

top notes: bergamot, bitter almond

middle notes: peony, ylang-ylang

base notes: vanilla, coumarin

bitchy!pogue!reader: ‘viva la juicy pink couture’ by pink couture

main accords: fruity, sweet, aquatic, floral, ozonic, woody, vanilla, fresh, lactonic, tropical

top notes: watermelon, water lily, cassis, quince

middle notes: strawberry, frangipani, jasmine

base notes: vanilla, praline, sandalwood, driftwood

sheep!reader: ‘sweet tooth’ by sabrina carpenter

main accords: sweet, vanilla, powdery, warm spicy

top notes: marshmallow, chocolate, candied ginger, bergamot

middle notes: madagascar vanilla, coconut milk, jasmine

base notes: whipped cream, sugar, musk, cashmere wood

[vaporeon2010317]

"Ah! Ok, so I just need to find what I think is a switch, among the trees! ...Oh and, I also have to stay awake... welp, no time like the present..."

*They make her way through the tree maze, quietly muttering to zemself something along the lines of "I do not feel sleepy in the forest" repeatedly.*

@papyru-roleplays

The human wakes up and finds zemself in a bed of golden orange purple red blue rainbow flowers. A trail of... something small and white... leads into the darkness. They look like bone shards or maybe seeds.

"What... well, this is weird..."

[eris-anansi]

Dreamwood 1999

Episode 5: Malice

After several notable businessmen are found dead, all lines trace back to a local lab facility that claims to be a wildlife research center.

CW: Implied murder, depictions of violence, character death, suicide

Associated Song: The Arctic Monkeys - This House is a Circus

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Friday, October 1st, 1999.

“Mr. Wilson– come out, It doesn’t have to end like this!”

A desperate policeman called through a megaphone out to the man inside of Dreamwood National Bank. The building was currently surrounded by police and police vehicles. 

Parker and Thomas had just arrived on the scene and found Officer Darcy by one of the cars. “What’s going on here, Henry?” Parker asked.

“Hostage situation. That guy in there’s got an assault rifle and ten civilians. We aren’t sure what he wants yet and we’re trying to gain control of the situation.”

Parker nodded. He understood all he had to, as far as he was concerned. He started to approach the officer holding the megaphone.

“Parks, what are you–” Thomas started to ask, but he found it pointless to even continue.

Parker walked up to the officer with the megaphone and took it from him. The officer blinked, but did not protest. He let the Caldwell have his way. Parker spoke through the megaphone,

“This is your last chance to come out with your hands up. We have the entire building surrounded. There are helicopters and snipers. You are being recorded.”

No response came from inside the building. 

“I will only repeat myself once. The building is surrounded, you are trapped inside. We have snipers on the next roof over. Come outside with your hands up, or you will be forcing our hand.”

“Forcing your hand?!” A voice erupted from the inside of the building. Bitter laughter followed as the front door came open and a shape emerged. It was the shape of a tall and muscular man holding a rifle. His face was rough, but he was no older than Parker himself. He wore a bulletproof vest and a buzz cut. Parker swore he could clearly see the veins on the man’s face. Pulled alongside him was a bank teller, and the man had the gun pressed against his temple. 

Officers sprung into action, quickly leveling their weapons in the gunman’s direction. “Drop the weapon! Drop the fucking weapon!”

“Let the man go,” Thomas added. He remained focused on the bank teller, who was doing his best to remain calm under the insurmountable pressure.

Parker did a double take, squinting at the man for a moment. He swore he had seen him somewhere before but was struggling to retrieve the memory. 

“You’re forcing my hand, god damnit,” the gunman cursed, pressing the gun farther into his hostage’s temple. 

“Put the gun down, and we can talk about it,” Parker remained calm despite everything. He spoke in an even tone and kept his voice low but audible. 

The gunman scoffed at Parker. “That’s easy for you to say. Everything’s easy for you, Caldwell. Everything’s easy for you.”

“Please–” The bank teller pleaded. “Please don’t hurt me. I already gave you the money.”

Parker raised an eyebrow at the gunman. His first instinct was to respond directly to the comment, but he remained focused on the mission. “As long as no one is hurt, your sentence won’t be so severe. How does ten months in prison sound? If you kill that man, it’ll be ten years.” 

The gunman laughed out loud, “Are you- are you threatening me?? I’ve already lost everything,” he responded evenly. His eyes were wide and unhinged-- but something else was off about them. “You have no idea what it’s like, do you Caldwell? Being anyone but yourself. When you come back from the war, your return is celebrated-- but when I come back from the war, all I get is an eviction notice. Now my wife can’t afford her medication.” 

Parker remained steadfast. “I understand, sir, but–”

“No, YOU DON’T!” The gunman shouted. “None of you do! Look at you,” his eyes scanned the street at every officer pointing a gun at him, absentmindedly lowering the gun in his hand. 

Now that the gunman had lowered his weapon, Parker saw an opening. It would be risky, but he made his name based off risky maneuvers. 

The gunman continued on his deranged rant. “You’re all looking at me like I’m some kind of animal. I’ve had a long, hard fucking day-- do you have any goddamn empathy?!”

The bank teller started to cry. 

“Would you shut up for five minutes?!-”

BANG.

A gunshot rang out as Parker fired at the gunman’s leg. He stumbled back through the doorway and out of sight. The bank teller screamed and quickly made a run for the safety of the nearest police car. 

Parker breathed a deep sigh of relief. The hostage was secured. His gamble paid off. 

He didn’t have long to celebrate, though, as the gunman was seen charging out of the building at a frightening speed. Gunshots fired, and many missed him. Parker only had two seconds to register what was happening. The gunman, now without his weapon, was running straight at him. 

He could now clearly see the man’s face-- and his eyes. His eyes were pitch black with no discernable irises or sclerae, and the veins and arteries on his face appeared to pump black blood. Parker quickly withdrew his pistol and fired three rounds into the man’s chest, and he collapsed backward only several feet away from him. The man’s words flashed through his mind, along with the more recent images of his face. 

Thomas’ voice sounded distant when he asked, “Parker! What the hell just happened?!” Parker looked to his right and saw Thomas run to his side, kneeling down to inspect the body. His black eyes gazed up at the sky unblinking. Thomas stared in utter disbelief. Parker answered the only way he knew how to. 

“I… I don’t know.”

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

Sunday, October 3rd, 1999.

“I don’t think the stock market crashed recently, so how likely do you think it is that three businessmen offed themselves in the last four days?”

Parker, Thomas, Jeff, and a forensic team stood in a trashed bedroom fixated on the ceiling fan in the middle of the room from which a man’s body was hung by a noose. He had been quickly identified as one of Dreamwood’s wealthiest residents who owned a notable gambling casino in Boston. 

“Not likely at all,” Jeff cautioned. “This room is full of signs of struggle, and on top of that… what the hell is that, tar?” Jeff pointed out a thick black substance leaking down the side of the body’s face.

“No, actually- what is that?” Thomas squinted at it.

“There’s a note in his pocket.”

Jeff reached into the pocket and read the note aloud. “The truth is like a lion, you don’t have to defend it. Let it loose and it will defend itself. Signed, C.I. To Anderson.”

“Anderson?” Parker blinked. ”Who is Anderson?”

“Who is C.I.?” Thomas questioned further. 

“I’m thinking they mean the Anderson Facility,” Jeff concluded.

Last Parker left Dreamwood, he knew Anderson to be a research facility concentrated on the study and documentation of local wildlife. Most people were never allowed to enter the Anderson building, and it was widely understood that the U.S. government had some sort of stake in the entire affair. What that stake was had always remained unclear. If this murder had something to do with Anderson, then maybe today would be the day he would find out for himself. 

“That old glorified nature center?” Thomas questioned. “What bone could some murderer have to pick with those guys over there?”

Parker’s eyes narrowed as he thought aloud, “Maybe we should ask them.”

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

The Anderson Facility was a highly secretive place. It was heavily guarded at all times, and those permitted to enter were sworn to secrecy with all things concerning what was actually held inside the facility. Few local politicians were ever documented entering, and even fewer officers of the DWPD. 

However, Parker Caldwell was a special case. He was a Caldwell, for starters. He was also the son Jackson spoke highly of. His return was not only anticipated by Dreamwood’s public, but also by the superiors over at Anderson- including Mr. Anderson himself. 

When Parker arrived in the company of his partner, Thomas Wheeler, the metaphorical red carpet was laid out for them. The security on patrol were notified, and immediately made way for the two men to enter through the state-of-the-art automatic, electric fence gate which served as Anderson’s first line of defense.

Anderson was an outwardly humble building; it didn’t appear that large, and it looked to be a simple two-floor, rectangle shaped building made of brick. It was surrounded by a fence and under the constant watch of men clad in bulletproof armor. It silently overlooked the outskirts of Dreamwood, Massachusetts.

The interior, as Parker and Thomas would come to discover, was a portrait of opulence which contrasted greatly with the exterior of the facility. Marble floors, sterile white walls, and a mosaic ceiling spoke volumes to the kind of man the owner of the facility- Rory Anderson- would prove to be. 

“All of this for a wildlife research facility?” Thomas chuckled in disbelief. “I’m glad I chose to experience this sober.”

They were escorted down a long hallway by two identical receptionists- blonde women dressed in all white. “Mr. Anderson will see you now,” they said.

Thomas looked around at the place, whispering a breathless, “Wow.”

Parker simply stood and waited for Anderson. 

“It must be a special occasion when I’m visited by one of Jackson’s sons,” Rory Anderson hummed. He appeared out of a door in front of the two men. He was a prim and proper man with a clean shaven face and slicked back brunette hair. He wore a maroon suit with a white shirt and black tie. He held out an empty glass and one of the receptionist’s poured some expensive alcohol into it.

“Thank you, Margaret,” he nodded to the woman. He glanced to the men. “Care for a drink?”

“I try not to drink on the job,” Parker declined. Thomas nodded along with Parker, “Same here,” he lied shamelessly. 

“Very well. In any case, I’m eager to give the new Caldwell on the block a tour of our wonderful facility. I believe it’s what Jackson would have wanted me to do.”

“You knew my father??” Parker blurted.

“Everyone knew your father, Parker. Don’t ask obvious questions now,” he answered simply. “Although all of your burning questions will be answered in due time. Walk with me.” Rory turned on his heels and started down the hallway, expecting Parker to follow.

Parker and Thomas started to follow him, but Margaret and her twin appeared in Thomas’ way. They paused. Rory paused. He glanced back and said, “Your friend will have to wait in the lobby. I’m not sure if he can be trusted.”

“I’ve known Wheeler all my life,” Parker said. “If he’s not going, I’m not going. Simple as.”

Rory seemed mildly frustrated by this. He hummed, “Very well. The cowboy can tag along.” He continued down the hallway.

“Cowboy?” Thomas blinked. He mumbled, “I’m not a cowboy,” as he followed Parker who followed Rory. 

As they continued down the hallway, their surroundings changed. Windows in the walls gave way to peer into some rather interesting rooms and museum-esque exhibits. Among the exhibits were a plot of earth imprinted with a gigantic footprint simply labeled ‘Yeti’, and the skeleton of a three-headed human specimen. One window allowed Thomas to peek into a room containing an oversized Phoneutria nigriventer- a giant Brazilian wandering spider nearly the size of a large dog.

Thomas whistled. “This really does put the ‘wild’ in wildlife.”

“What do you do here?” Parker questioned, his eyes felt like heat vision against the back of Rory Anderson. 

“Surely you didn’t come all this way just to ask me that,” Rory responded. 

Parker narrowed his eyes as they continued to walk.

Rory simply chuckled. “You really are Jackson’s son. Welcome to the Anderson Research Facility-- not to be confused with the boys over in Silicon Valley. We do not specialize in eccentric machines here, we are in the business of studying that which lies outside of the realm we call ‘normal’. In a perfect world, we protect Dreamwood from the unnatural.”

“Seems like you’ve been slacking on your job then,” Parker observed. “My friend here and I have had to deal with some pretty odd cases in the last few weeks. The type of cases we can’t explain with basic science.”

“It may be possible that some anomalies have slipped under our radar,” Rory admitted. “We have been a tad overwhelmed as of late. Since Jackson died, things have been on a downhill spiral. Rest assured that whatever you faced was not the full brunt of the storm. We have been hard at work. It’s only recently that we’ve suffered a personal blow.”

All of this information hitting Parker at once left him with so, so many questions. The implications of Rory’s statement was also not lost on him- and it terrified him. If the last few weeks were apparently the least horrible thing that could have happened, what else could be out there?

“Storm?” Parker echoed, his voice bending in confusion.

“Personal blow?” Thomas ventured.

Rory stopped in front of a door. He waved a hand, and the door slid open on its own- like something out of Star Wars. “Step into my office and we can discuss it further in comfort.”

The office was a charming cross between a 1920s workspace and a Roman temple- with old fashioned furniture and architecture harking back to the age of jazz and swing, complemented by statues and images of Roman emperors and men of legend. 

In the middle of it all, in front of Rory’s desk, stood a young woman with a pointed stare and long, red hair. 

“Rory, we need to talk.”

Rory did not seem at all surprised by her sudden appearance and responded with a quaint grin, “Alison, I want you to meet detectives Parker Caldwell and Thomas Wheeler.”

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

Rory sat down at his desk and reached for a bottle of bourbon, refilling his glass. Parker and Thomas sat at the opposite side of the desk at the two leather seats provided. Thomas practically sunk into the seat-- he could get used to this.

“I didn’t know you were going to be giving them a tour of the facility,” Alison said. She stood off to the side of Rory, carefully examining the two detectives. 

“You’ll have to pardon her, above all else she is very security minded,” Rory explained. “It’s alright, Alison. Parker here is a Caldwell, and his friend is trustworthy. They’ve seen enough already and it’s high time we give them an explanation.”

Alison cleared her throat and glanced back at Parker and Thomas. “I heard Rory say ‘Caldwell’ earlier but it didn’t register. You are Jackson’s son?”

Parker gave a nod.

“It’s nice to meet you then, I only wish we could be meeting under better circumstances. I never met Jackson myself, but I’ve heard of him and the Caldwell family. I’m not from around here-- I’m from Europe-- but I understand what your family has done for the people here and I admire that.”

Rory nodded in agreement. “You have our sincerest condolences. I hope the person who murdered your father is soon brought to justice.” 

Parker nodded his thanks and, eager to change the subject, began with his series of questions. 

“So, you said you recently suffered a ‘personal blow’. Would this by chance have anything to do with the deaths of the three businessmen in the Dreamwood area? We ran background checks and found that they all were key investors of yours.”

Rory nodded slowly. “Yes. I’m afraid it does.”

“A few days ago, we dealt with a hostage situation involving a gunman with superhuman speed and strength,” Parker continued. “I shot him in the leg and he just… got up with no problem.”

“Like some kinda supervillain,” Thomas added.

Parker blinked at Thomas before proceeding, “Does this also have anything to do with you?”

For a split second, Rory’s cool demeanor was disturbed by a brief twist in his expression. “So they are using the formula…” He mumbled.

“Formula?” Parker raised an eyebrow. “What formula?”

Silence hung over the room for several seconds. Alison glanced at the floor from where she stood. The silence broke when she began to speak.

“As you know, we have been locked in a bloody stalemate with the East for the last two years. We lose more lives in the Gray War every year and if our soldiers are not delivered back to their families as corpses, they are delivered back as walking corpses. Empty husks of their former selves. Patriotism is beginning to wane. We had intended to create something that would give our military an edge against the East. A special serum that would enhance the strength of our soldiers-- a super soldier serum, if you will. And we succeeded. Though, like most good things, it proved to have adverse effects.”

There was that bad feeling again. 

“I think one of the most noticeable effects was the… violent outbursts. Rampages that would last for up to an hour if the subjects were not contained. Containing them also proved to be difficult as the strength enhancement worked remarkably well. They would also bleed this black, tar-like substance from their eyes which resembled the formula in color and consistency but differed in chemical makeup. Even after the initial outburst was over, the radical cosmetic and behavioral changes… they lingered. The subjects remained very violent and very unstable. Their bodies ultimately could not handle the serum and shut down after a day or so. The formula seemed to be… incompatible… with the human body. We were so close to a breakthrough, but several days ago somebody managed to breach security and steal the formula--”

“As well as our first surviving test subject,” Rory added.  

“Jesus H. Christ,” Thomas mumbled.

Something shifted in Alison’s eyes when Rory spoke. Parker struggled to read what it was. 

“And it is highly imperative that we retrieve the formula-- and Subject 009-- before they can be used to their fullest destructive potential,” Rory finished. 

“I wish you’d stop calling her that,” Alison said. “She’s a human being, Rory.”

“A very dangerous human now,” Rory corrected. “It’s likely that she’s killed people.”

“Do you have any idea who would want to steal from you? Any enemies?” Parker asked.

“We work for the United States government,” Rory Anderson plainly stated. “Their enemies are our enemies. Do you have any idea how little that narrows it down?”

Thomas sighed, “Wonderful. Just wonderful. We have another black-eyed superhuman on the loose, and possibly an enemy of the U.S. government in our town with their hands on a super serum.” 

“We have reason to believe whoever stole your super soldier serum has also been leaving messages for you,” Parker continued. “They’ve been leaving behind notes signed by a ‘C.I.’ One such letter quoted, ‘The truth is like a lion. Set it loose and it will defend itself.’ Is any of this familiar? Any idea who C.I. might be?”

“Communist intelligence?” Alison tried.

“A bit of a reach but it’s as good a guess as I would’ve offered. Frankly I have no idea who C.I. could possibly be,” Rory answered with a shrug of his shoulders. 

“What I can tell you, though, is that every businessman who’s been murdered by this C.I. character so far invested in the development of the soldier serum at one point or another,” Alison said.

“There we go. Our first connection,” Thomas nodded. “What else do you know? Are there any other investors we should know about?”

Rory and Alison glanced at eachother, as if to check with the other if they had the same thought. Parker noticed the realization in their eyes steadily growing into dread.

“What is it?” He asked, growing impatient. 

“Well, one of the people who poured considerable funding into the project was the Mayor.”

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

City Hall.

Dreamwood’s City Hall was getting ready to close, and Mayor Norman James Rogers had just turned off the lights in his office and was making his way out the door. On his way he passed the door to his secretary’s office. 

“I’m out for the night, Paula,” he announced without waiting for a response. 

He walked down the hallway with its beige painted walls and carpeted floors. After a short walk the hallway opened up into a wider room where two elevator doors stood on either side. Rogers called for one. The door soon opened, and he stepped inside. Only when he was inside the elevator did he acknowledge the man who already stood off in a corner of the compartment. He wore a black trenchcoat with a scarf which concealed all but his rough facial features. He had dark brown eyes and messy grey hair. A flat cap sat atop his head. 

“Where’re you headed?” The man asked Rogers.

“Down,” Rogers answered. 

The man said nothing in response, but he pressed for the roof of the building. 

“What the-”

“Don’t say a word, don’t scream,” the man spoke calmly, cutting Thomas off. He flashed the metal of a pistol from inside his trenchcoat. 

Rogers quickly threw his hands up in defense and slumped against the elevator. 

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

It was 10:52 PM.

Parker and Thomas rushed into the front lobby of City Hall, their guns at the ready. They weren’t sure what they would face at this hour of the night.

The first person they encountered was Paula, an office worker who was on her way out for the night. She paused at the sight of the two detectives, gasping in surprise. “What’s going on? Am I in danger?”

“That’s what we’re wonderin’,” Thomas replied. “Where’s the Mayor?”

“Last I heard from him he was on his way out the door. Why? Do you think something’s happened to him?”

Parker began to answer, “We have reason to believe Mayor Rogers may be in-” He was cut off by a distant cry for help that sounded an awful lot like Rogers. Parker narrowed his eyes and finished, “...Danger.”

Parker and Thomas made a beeline for the elevator, calling it down and taking it all the way up to the roof. 

Up on the roof, the two found Mayor Rogers standing at the edge of the building with another figure they didn’t recognize. He wore a dark trench coat and a flat cap, and his face was obscured by a scarf. He was holding a gun to Mayor Rogers’ head. 

“Hey!” Thomas called over. He pointed his own gun at the masked man. “Stop right there!”

The man paused and looked over at Thomas and Parker. Mayor Rogers breathed a sigh of relief, “Oh, thank god! It’s the Caldwell boy.” Frankly, he looked terrified. He clearly wasn’t used to having attempts made on his life. 

“That must be Mr. C.I.,” Parker concluded looking at the masked man. 

“You’d be wrong!” The masked man responded with a chuckle. His voice was gruff and raspy. “You’re makin’ a mistake, assumin’ C.I. is only one person.”

“I’d be happy to learn more about C.I. between the comfort of an interrogation table,” Parker hummed. “Now would you care to throw the weapon down? You’re outnumbered and we’ve got more boys on the way.”

“Outnumbered?” The man scoffed. “You really ought to be more aware of your surroundings.”

“Huh?-” Thomas started to look around, but it was already too late for that. A blur darted across their vision, Thomas’ gun fired off but there were no casualties. In seconds, Thomas was knocked to the ground by a second figure dressed in all black. Parker spotted the insignia of a red dot on the back of what must’ve been the attacker’s uniform. He quickly aimed and fired at the attacker once he got a clear shot. 

The figure in black cartwheeled out of Parker’s line of fire and landed several feet away. Parker and Thomas could now see her clearly. She had long, black hair, and pale skin with highly visible black veins and matching eyes. 

Thomas quickly pulled himself to his feet and dusted himself off. Meanwhile the masked man was slowly backing Mayor Rogers closer to the edge of the building. 

“Looks like we found Subject 009,” Parker said. 

“Quit standing around and help me!!” Mayor Rogers demanded. The masked man shouted at him to shut up. 

The distant beating of helicopter blades drew closer and closer from the sky. The masked man and Mayor Rogers were bathed in a spotlight that seemed to descend from the heavens, and a voice shouted through a megaphone.

“Drop your weapon and put your hands where we can see them! Step away from the Mayor!” Choppers had surrounded the roof of the building, and they could see armed policemen aiming from inside. 

The masked man did as he was told, discarding his gun and raising his hands to the sky. 

“That goes for your friend, too!” The officer with the megaphone shouted again.

009 started to make a run for it. Snipers opened fire, unleashing a hail of bullets that seemed to go right through her. Much like the black-eyed gunman Parker confronted before, she moved too fast for them to get a clear shot. He watched as she leapt off the edge of the roof and disappeared into the darkness below. Meanwhile, Thomas had already made his way to the edge of the building and was in the middle of handcuffing the masked gunman. The helicopters were landing. 

“You’ve got so much explaining to do when we get back to the precinct,” Thomas mumbled. 

Parker focused on Mayor Rogers. “You alright, Mr. Mayor?” 

“Now that I don’t have a gun pointed at me anymore,” he replied as he dusted off his suit. “Thank you, Caldwell.” 

“Don’t thank me. This would’ve gone differently if I hadn’t called reinforcements prior to us getting here. I had a feeling the test subject would be involved.”

“This town’s going to hell, I’ll tell you that much,” the Mayor scoffed. “Thanks to this whole debacle I’m going to be late for dinner. My wife’s going to have my head for the main course.”

From their right, the masked man cackled. 

“What’s so funny, tough guy?” Thomas inquired, making sure to keep a tight grip on him. 

“Being late for dinner is the least of his worries, that’s what,” he answered in a low voice. “I said you made a mistake assuming there was only one of us. Killing the mayor wasn’t even going to be the main event.”

“Main event?” Thomas snorted. “What’s this, some sorta carnival performance? You’re an awful clown. Stop bein’ so cryptic and give it to me straight, damn you.”

“Why should I? You’ll figure it out sooner or later.”

Losing his patience, Parker grabbed the masked man by the collar and looked him straight in the eye. “Alright, listen here. You’re going to answer our questions. First being-- where are you keeping the Malice formula?”

“What time is it?” The masked man inquired. 

Thomas checked his watch. “11:01, why?” 

He started to laugh again. “Ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes?”

“Until you find out exactly where I left it. I think you’ll find it to be fairly close to home.”

“Close to home…” Parker murmured before the realization hit him. “Oh god, the police station.” He shouted to the helicopters, “We have to go back to the police station!”

“How are we gonna get there in ten minutes?!” Thomas asked. 

Parker’s gaze settled on one of the helicopters that had landed. “We’re going for a ride,” he decided. He ran to the helicopter. Thomas glanced over at one of the officers that had joined them. “He’s all yours now. We’ll meet back at the station if y’all get there in time.”

Parker had already climbed into the helicopter and wasted no time issuing orders. He told the pilot to make a beeline for the police station. He figured they were dealing with a bomb and it was likely located somewhere on the roof of the building. Within no time, the helicopter was taking off for the police station. Thomas caught the aircraft just in time, climbing in just as it lost contact with the ground. 

“Whaddya think we’re dealin’ with, partner?”

Parker could already see the station in the distance. “Some kind of bomb likely containing the Malice formula. If it detonates, we might have an entire police station of black-eyed mutants on our hands.”

“Fuck…”

“That’s why we have to disarm the damn thing at all costs. The lives of all of our men are at stake.”

“Right.”

The pilot announced that they were nearing the roof of the police station now. It was only a block away from City Hall, so it wasn’t that long of a trip. Parker told the pilot to drop them on the roof and they prepared for whatever they were going to face when they got there. 

“Eight minutes,” Thomas said after checking his watch. 

“Alright, Tommy. You ready?”

“Do I really have a choice here?” With a grunt, he pulled himself up and leapt down from the helicopter. He rolled across the ground, performing perhaps the most graceful fall of his entire life. 

Parker followed close behind. He surveyed their surroundings looking for any sign of a bomb. He heard a faint beeping noise close by and followed it to an air vent behind the roof entrance. There, he found a jet black metal device the size of a soccer ball placed above the vent and secured by a claw. The device bore the same insignia he saw on the black-eyed woman, a red dot in a red circle. It beeped away, displaying a timer that read seven minutes and counting. Behind a glass, he could see the black liquid that filled it.

“We found our bomb,” Thomas said, appearing behind Parker. “Now how the hell do we disarm it?”

“See if we can open it or something,” Parker said more to himself than anything as he went to do that. He found a hatch where the device could be opened and he pulled it open exposing different colored wires inside. Two wires were yellow, one was green, one was red, and the last wire was blue.

Thomas shook his head with a sigh, “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“The whole station is depending on us. Which wire, Tommy?” Parker pulled a small blade from his trench coat pocket. It was sharp enough to cut the wires. 

“Red one feels too obvious. Go ahead and cut the green one, Parks.”

Parker took a deep breath and reached inside of the bomb, carefully placing his blade next to the green wire. “Hope you’re right about this, Tommy.” He closed his eyes, and--

“What are you two doin’ up here?” 

A voice grabbed Parker and Thomas’ attention. They looked in the direction of the voice and found an officer shining his flashlight in their direction. 

Parker showed his badge. “Relax, we’re DWPD just like you. Don’t panic, but there’s a bomb over here and I’m working to disarm it.”

“A bomb?!” The officer responded incredulously. “You can’t be serious. Let me have a look at it.”

Parker hesitated, glancing up at the officer and looking him over. “...Hey, can you show me your badge real quick?”

He heard the click of a gun. 

“Don’t waste your time, Parks,” Thomas said. He’d already aimed his pistol at the officer. “I’ve never seen this man before in my life, and I don’t need his badge to know he’s a fake.”

The officer’s expression shifted, something dark glinting in his eyes. He flashed a sinister smile and whistled. As if on cue, 009 sprung out of the shadows and lunged at Thomas, catching him off-guard. At the same time, the officer pulled out his own gun and fired at Parker, hitting him in the leg.

“Fuck!-”

Parker hissed in pain but he kept a tight grip on his knife. He managed to cut the green wire just before the officer shot him again, this time in the shoulder. He dropped the knife and saw the timer skip from five minutes to two. They just lost an extra three minutes, and Parker’s right arm was going to be a struggle to use from here on.

“Wrong wire, bucko,” the ‘officer’ sneered. He threw off his cap, revealing a bald head with a tattoo engraved on his forehead that was nearly identical to the red dot insignia. 

Parker cursed looking at him. “Who the hell are you people?!”

“The saviors of the new world,” the bald man answered with a demented smile. “We will begin with flushing out what remains of the Caldwell family.” He leveled the gun to Parker’s head.

BANG.

The man cried out and dropped his gun, grabbing his bloody hand and looking around for the source of the gunshot. He caught Thomas inches away from him just in time to receive a harsh knee in the crotch. He went down in an instant, and from there Thomas sweeped him to the ground. He was knocked unconscious. 

Thomas whipped around and sidestepped an attack from 009. He was hesitant to engage in hand-to-hand combat with 009. He wasn’t sure if he could hold his own against someone powered by government sanctioned steroids. 

“Parks, I could use a little help here.”

She snarled at him, lunging forward and grabbing in his direction. He ducked and rolled out of the way. “Parks!!”

Parker glanced between his partner and the ticking bomb. They only had thirty seconds left on the clock. His heart sank. “Keep her distracted,” he spoke calmly. “I know what I’m doing.” He hardly believed it himself but he needed to. 

“Damnit, Parker!” Thomas blocked a swing from 009 and felt his heart nearly jump out of his chest. He was way too close to the subject for his own comfort. 009 threw a round kick at Thomas’ head that nearly knocked him to the ground. He stumbled back, grabbing his head when he saw his cowboy hat hit the ground. 009 wasn’t finished quite yet, the black-eyed supersoldier continued to advance. 

Meanwhile Parker had just cut one of the yellow wires to no avail. Now all that were left was a blue wire, another yellow wire, and the red wire. He had fifteen seconds. Sweat ran down the side of his face like a river and he was having a hard time keeping his breathing steady. 

“Come on, come on… think, Parker. Which one is it?” His eyes darted from the blue wire to the yellow wire, the red one not even being a consideration. The black substance inside of the bomb was starting to reach a boiling point. Ten seconds. 

“Do something Parks!!” Thomas’ voice carried from behind him. He wrestled with 009, who was trying to grab ahold of his gun. It took all of Thomas’ willpower not to just shoot the damn thing. Rory made it clear he wanted the subject alive.

Five seconds on the clock now. 

Four. 

Three. 

Two.

One.

Parker cut the red wire. The timer came to an abrupt stop with a second to spare. With the last of his energy he reached into his coat and pulled out his taser gun, and fired at 009. She spasmed, then crumpled to the ground in front of Thomas. He laughed a little in disbelief, just happy to still be alive and sane.

“Jesus Christ,” Thomas dropped to his knees. “Never make me do that again, Parks.”

A maniacal laugh carried across the roof, pulling the attention of the two detectives. Their gaze fell on the bald gunman in the police uniform who Thomas had knocked out previously.

“It doesn’t matter!” He proclaimed. “Dreamwood will fall all the same, it’s written in the stars! Order is fragile and temporary, but anarchy is forever! The natural state of all things! Long live the Chaos Insurgency! Long live the Chaos Insurgency!” He shot up, pulling himself to his feet and making a mad dash towards the edge of the building. 

All Parker and Thomas could do was watch as the madman threw himself off the roof of the police station and into the oncoming traffic below. They heard car horns blaring and tires screeching followed by a loud crash as he hit the bottom. 

As the noise settled, Parker and Thomas glanced at eachother. “...Chaos Insurgency?” Thomas questioned.

“I’m losing too much blood for this,” Parker coughed, gripping his shoulder wound. 

“Christ, let’s get you downstairs.”

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

Following the standoff, Parker was taken to the police infirmary where his gunshot wounds could be treated. He was informed that the first Chaos Insurgency agent had also committed suicide in custody, leaving them with no one to interrogate. Subject 009 was returned to Anderson, and Rory thanked Parker and Thomas personally for averting what could have been a national crisis. 

Parker lay on his infirmary bed staring off through the single window in the room. It must’ve been two in the morning now, but he still couldn’t bring himself to fall asleep. He had too much on his mind. 

Thomas stood at his side studying his expression. “I know that look. Somethin’ is troubling you.”

“What isn’t?” Parker scoffed. “What the fuck is a Chaos Insurgency.”

“Beats me,” Thomas answered with a shrug. “All I know is they managed to give Rory a real run for his money and almost did us in, as well as the Mayor. We had a real run of good luck tonight.”

“Those weren’t Easterners… they weren’t communists… they looked just like you and me. They were able to blend in with the cops.”

“I know, it’s strange. Not everyday do we have to live in fear of our own neighbors.”

“What’s happened to our hometown, Tommy? First my father and now this. What changed to allow things like this to happen?”

“I dunno, brother.” Thomas glanced at the window, peering out at the full moon in the sky. It had an unnatural red tint to it. “I’m startin’ to think that nothin’ changed at all.”

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

Deep inside the Anderson Facility, Rory Anderson and his assistant Alison watched as armored guards hauled Subject 009 on a gurney back into a small metal cell behind a reinforced steel door. Her pure black eyes stared back at them like two black holes, with no telling what may have been going on inside her mind. 

Alison glanced at Rory. “What kind of monster have we created, do you reckon?” 

“Something powerful enough to bring the Chaos Insurgency out of hiding. I take that as a sign we’re onto something,” Rory concluded. He wore a smug grin on his face, truly believing this to be an accomplishment. 

Alison blinked slowly. “Parker Caldwell proved himself to be a valuable ally today, but I fear if you lead him to believe you do not have the town’s best interest at heart he may become an obstacle,” she advised. “Tonight put us on his radar.”

“I’m well aware and I am preparing for the possibility,” Rory said, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a cigar. Alison passed him a match and helped him light it. Rory took a long drag of the cigar before he spoke again. “Frankly my dear, Caldwell’s radar is the least of my concern. Something much bigger is coming soon, something even bigger than Jackson’s prodigal son.”

“I know, Rory. I know.”

“Then surely you must understand why the development of the Malice formula must continue with haste. Mere mortals alone cannot stand against the adversary that is on its way.” 

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

Author’s Lore Note:

“The Chaos Insurgency” is a rival organization in the SCP Foundation mythos.

In the Dreamwood AU, ”Malice” is an early form of the “Liquid Hate” serum from which Jane the Killer is born.

[rainspicestudios]

[DEVLOG] Phantasia Game Jam 2024 - Week 6

(Placeholder name and logo.)

Hello everyone! It’s Rain, here again with another devlog for Project: Maselosia, my project for Phantasia Game Jam 2024.

A few words to open the devlog?

I did so much work for Project: Maselosia this week that I might have injured my arm. That or I hurt it when I was on vacation and it hasn't healed. Either way, more on that in the "game art" section.

Asks are open, whether it’s for me or game characters!

Let’s start with this week’s in-progress screenshot!

Game Art

So many CGs and backgrounds were made this week. (11 CGs and 4 backgrounds!) Some still need to be coded into the game, but it will be done next week.

I either injured my arm on vacation or by drawing a lot this week, so I hope I will be able to meet the goal I set myself for this Game Jam.

Writing

Aside from the final point-and-click part from Teddy's POV, not a lot of writing has been done.

Audio

Nothing new on this front aside from a few new sound effects. However, the sound of a fire starting needs to either be replaced or be louder, but that is a detail that will be fixed later.

Puzzles

No puzzle has been worked on, but a point-and-click section was finished.

UI & Menus

With as many CGs to draw, I did not want to focus on UIs and menus this week.

Goals for next week

I don't know if this section will be implemented in every devlog but here is what I want to get done next week:

Finish the POV switch, complete with its point-and-click sections.

CG/Writing for a calm scene

Plan puzzles for the second POV character and tie them into the story

Start working on the itch.io page

Game logo (as I now have its official title 👀)

Main menu and game menu

One final CG for Teddy's POV

(Bonus) Character sprites for an NPC

Final thoughts

This has been a long and tiring week, fellas. I will try to slower my pace next week to rest (hence the shorter to-do list), as October will be a busy month, and RainSpice Studios is a one-person company, despite the plural form of "studio".

Please enjoy these tracks by Adrian Von Ziegler. These are the ones that Inspire me most for Project: Maselosia: Dreamwoods & Pride of the Scillin

That is all I had to share this week! Thank you all for reading, have the loveliest of weeks, and be ready for next week’s update ✨

Project: Maselosia is a is a fantasy puzzle game where two shapeshifters try to escape a cult and go back to their normal lives. According to the Phantasia Game Jam rules, chapter one will be released before October 31st and will be available for download on itch.io!

[vanillajestersart]

I can’t stop drawing them-

[dysfunctionaldogdude]

Okay I found out what the fuck they were talking about - The side story which I never read. I only read the main story and a bit of the side story then just lost interest in reading manhwas and went back to IFs and novels.

I guess I missed some stuff when I was reading Cemetery Boys.

Highly recommend Cemetery Boys btw it's a supernatural book about a trans brujo who meets a ghost of a dead boy. It's a Hispanic dominated story with cute new gay love and transgender struggles also supernatural struggles BUT

Cemetery Boys is one of my favorite books alongside Dreamwood

Does Love Shuttle have incest? I got two comments on a thing about Love Shuttle saying the MCs brother was in love with him but all I remember was that he just cared for him like how a brother would?

I genuinely need to know also if so I'd like some proof cause again I only interpreted just a protective brother if there was any incest it'd be subtextual and that shit depends on person to person

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Touch - a Malevolent fic

Had he lost John?

In sickness and in health. Did that include if the person was gone? These were not questions he had ever asked himself before.

He needed to ask them now, because it was possible John wouldn’t come back.

Part of the Surrogate series.

AO3

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

Guilty, rumbled John, raising their left hand as if granting a benediction—or  casting a curse. Guilty of theft, but worse than this: guilty of greed, which is inexcusable in one with power. I condemn you to death.

There was a precipitous moment of silence.

“Your weight in gold will do,” said Hastur, speaking smoothly into the gap like syrup filling an empty space. “I don’t particularly appreciate being robbed, Y’thalian.”

“I didn’t rob you, my lord, I…”

Liar! Not-John proclaimed. Death!

“Oh, is John wrong?” rumbled Hastur, and everyone in the court shifted slightly away from his target, just in case. “Should I, perhaps, opt for a more traditional recompense?”

Y’thalian swallowed. Its weight in gold would be… a lot of fucking gold. “My lord. You are, of course, correct. I miscalculated, and it seems Carcosa is… is owed. Yes. I will pay what is due.”

“Your weight,” said Hastur patiently, “in gold.” Which everyone knew damn well would be far more than owed, but still better than—

Death, said John, unless you also include the weight of your people whom you starved.

“John,” Arthur whispered. 

“That is actually quite a good thought, John,” rumbled Hastur, warm, approving, not helping. “What will you do for the people whom you’ve robbed?”

Y’thalian sighed, doubtless counting nuggets in their head. “I will open our storehouse. The… people will be fed.”

Fed well! John demanded.

Y’thalian bowed.

“There, you see?” said Hastur, tentacles undulating as if in water. “And we all thought this would end in blood today! Ha ha ha!”

The court laughed with him because they had to.

John huffed. Like he’d been in the beginning, and like Sunny had been in the beginning, John could not understand morally gray. Too merciful. Undeserved.

“John, if we put everyone to death, who the hell will be left?” Arthur hissed.

John paused. The good people only. We will have peace at last!

“Or just the best liars,” Arthur murmured.

John gasped. Don’t you dare doubt my judgment, my own, he rumbled.

Arthur rolled his eyes.

“Speak,” said Hastur to the next supplicant.

If everyone were dead, John continued thoughtfully, then you’d be all mine. I could have my way with you.

Oh, gods. Arthur covered his burning face with his other hand.

“Yes,” said Hastur. “Yes! An excellent union. We will pay for your dreamwood in red wool. Speak to my seneschal, Kth’olit, and arrange this.”

And don’t think you can cheat Carcosa! John howled to general approval.

And the next supplicant came forward, and the next. More bowing, more dramatics, more John being embarrassing, and Arthur just had to deal, putting up with it, trying to keep in mind that John didn’t know what he was doing, trying to tell himself that John would come back.

He would. He had to.

Oh, gods, Arthur missed John.

But he’s right here, he reminded himself.

Fools, said John, his left hand slashing in a violent motion as if to remove the head(s) of whatever stood before them.

“Not fools,” Hastur rumbled fondly. “Merely… misinformed.”

“Yes, my lord,” said whoever it was, several voices at once and all breathless. “Of course, my lord.”

Arthur put his head down on his good arm.

I can’t see.

“Too bad,” Arthur muttered, and wouldn’t raise it no matter how John cajoled.

#

“No, people aren’t just good or bad,” Arthur said, noodling around in the soft blue key of A flat. “I mean, some are, but the way you’re seeing it…” he sighed. “Everybody makes mistakes. You have to allow for that.”

Maybe this John did, said John. I have higher standards.

Arthur scowled. “I’ve fucked up. You’ve fucked up.”

John made a disbelieving sound.

“We’ve both lied to each other, misled each other, tricked each other…”

John growled. It wasn’t a good sound. Lies.

“For fuck’s sake.” Arthur sighed again. “People fuck up. What matters isn’t the fuck-up. It’s what you do with it afterwards.”

You mean I did not bring to you the judgment you deserved, said John, sounding grim.

“No!” It was Arthur’s turn for a frustrated sound. “It means you get better and learn! It means you acknowledge where you fucked up, and you don’t do it again!”

A pause. But… punishment.

“The purpose of punishment is to correct behavior,” said Arthur slowly. “Not to just hurt people, or something. I… I know. I had a daughter. I had to learn. You don’t punish out of anger, and you don’t do it just because you can, or to no purpose. All that does is create fear. Not love.” Softly, he added, “And you want to create love.”

Silence, filled with arpeggios, low and slow, and the occasional sparkling A flat several octaves higher. 

You love me, don’t you, Arthur? said John like warm honey.

He’d asked this several times. The answer was always yes. The delivery… varied.

Arthur snorted. “Like I’d put up with you if I didn’t?” 

I don’t believe for one moment one who loved me and belonged to me could be evil, he said.

Arthur raised his eyebrows. “What’s evil?”

John sounded stunned. Everybody knows that.

“Everybody doesn’t know that. It’s why there are laws.”

John gasped, then fell silent.

Arthur transitioned to F minor. “Please play with me, John. I miss you.”

John took a long time to answer. I’m right here.

“Still.”

I don’t know how.

That was the core of it, Arthur was sure. “I’d be more than happy to teach you again.” He let the chord play, sustained by pedal, and took John’s hand. “We’ve been through things before, you and I. We’ve always been there for each other, in the end. Do you really think I would mind teaching you again?”

A long moment as the notes faded. You shouldn’t have to. I am a god. I should already know how to… jazz.

“So we’ll just say you’re brushing up on old skills,” said Arthur, and placed his right hand on the keys. “Please.”

A long moment, stretching into silence. No.

Arthur slid his hand away from the piano. His heart hurt. Without a word, he rose, left the music room, and went downstairs to walk Dis’ running path in silence.

John said nothing, either. That only made it worse.

#

“I’m not ready,” said Arthur when asked to compose.

“I’m not ready,” said Arthur when asked to perform.

Hastur allowed the space, though court was still required, and Arthur knew damn well that as little as a year ago, he wouldn’t have been given such mercy.

It was probably connected to what Arthur still believed, though now, he had no one to talk to about it: Hastur was not okay. Hastur was absolutely not as casual as he pretended in his grief. Arthur felt very alone in this knowledge, like some weird prophet.

He couldn’t talk it out with Parker, thanks to the complications of Sunny and John. Faroe clearly had something else going on that left her staring at nothing, grim, for moments at a time (and she was nine, and shouldn’t bear his burdens, anyway). And John…

Had he lost John?

In sickness and in health. Did that include if the person was gone? These were not questions he had ever asked himself before. 

You are not allowed to touch him! John snarled at Dis (so maybe he was in there after all, ha ha).

“Oh, so you want him noodle-armed?” she said. “Gasping for every breath? Bones sticking out all the fuck over?”

John growled. No! No, I don’t!

“Then shut the fuck up and let me train your guy,” said Dis without rancor, but with such certainty, such absolute unruffled calm, that even baby god John hesitated.

“It’s fine, John,” Arthur said quietly. “You’re the one who set this up in the first place.”

I am?

“Yes. You arranged for me to be physically cared for.”

John preened. Left hand up, nails sort of buffing on Arthur’s chest. Well, of course I did. I was testing you.

Dis’ look could melt stone. “Run or I stab you.”

Arthur ran.

She’s tough! John said with approval.

Arthur did not reply.

#

Arthur walked the garden at dusk, under the darkening sky, and stared at absolutely nothing.

John seemed thoughtful, too. You’re acting like you’ve been bereaved.

“I… I haven’t. I know. You’re here,” said Arthur.

That’s not what your tone is telling me, John rumbled, and reached up to touch Arthur’s face. 

Arthur let him. “I’ve had a lot to think about. It’s all sort of come to a head today.” Then he flinched as inside him, John flailed, just for a moment—a panicked response, automatic.

It hurt. Arthur caught his breath, clutching his chest. 

A terrible moment passed.

Did I hurt you? said John very quietly.

“I’m fine,” he croaked, and resumed walking.

John trembled inside him (he could feel it). You sound like you came to a decision. That’s why I… that’s why.

“I know. I did.”

That trembling again, and Arthur wondered: could John react badly enough to kill him? Rip him apart, explode and spill him out like an overfilled sandbag? Maybe.

But he still chose to trust that John wouldn’t, and that was the key to it all, honestly.

Well? John demanded, grandiose.

“You were with me when I was at my lowest,” said Arthur, soft, as if telling a fairytale. “When I was so insane, so angry and grief-stricken, that I murdered a man with my bare hands.”

John inhaled.

“You understood me. You reached me. You knew how to pull me back before it got worse.”

John was silent.

“So,” said Arthur, “I’m going to be here for you. I know you’re afraid. I know you’re… struggling, because you don’t remember anything, and that flies pretty much in the face of being a god.”

Fuck you.

Uh-huh. “I decided, John.” He swallowed. “Even if you never get your memory back, I’m not leaving you. We’re together. Even if that happens.” His eyes were leaking again and he wiped at them.

But that… John growled. If I’m not your fucking precious John, then why would you—

“In sickness and in health. You vowed that to me, when we started this journey,” said Arthur. “I think it’s my turn to pull the traces. That’s all.”

John fell silent. Arthur kept walking. And leaking.

John got annoyed. Hold still. I’m going to do a small spell.

Arthur braced himself.

The spell was for a towel, which John used roughly on his face.

“Hey!”

You’re messy, said John, who absolutely did not remember three months in a pit with a corner for a bathroom.

Arthur laughed. He kept laughing. “You don’t even know messy. Oh, gods. Messy!” 

It’s not that funny!

But it was, and kept him chortling all the way back into the palace for dinner.

#

Hastur, said John as Arthur tried to indulge in some kind of creamy, spicy, vegetable stew. He’s killed someone.

“Yes,” said Hastur.

John might not have expected that response. My own is a murderer.

“Did you ask him the circumstances of his poorly timed confession?” said Hastur.

Of course not! He admitted it!

“It wasn’t his fault,” said Faroe, so quietly.

“I’ve got this,” said Arthur.

“No!” Faroe slammed her spoon down, making him jump. “It wasn’t his fault!”

How would you know? Were you witness? Did you allow this injus– OW!

Arthur took his teeth out of John’s hand. “Off. Limits.”

Faroe made an irritated sound. “Why is everyone being so… casual about him?”

“Because he doesn’t know any better,” said Arthur gently. “I won’t hold him responsible for what he doesn’t know.”

“Except now he’s calling you a murderer.” Faroe stood.

“Faroe?” said Hastur.

“Is he going to do that in court?” said Faroe. “In front of everybody?”

I should, John murmured.

“If you do, it will be dealt with,” said Hastur, “but not through the means you think. Justice was long done… and your hands are hardly clean, John Doe.”

Arthur could swear John felt like he was clutching pearls in Edwardian shock. Arthur shook his head and focused on Faroe. “Baby, are you okay?” he said.

Faroe hesitated, then turned toward Hastur. “I… you can’t fix him, can you?”

Arthur stopped breathing.

“I could force knowledge into him,” said Hastur, “but that wouldn’t be the same as remembering, and could harm him badly. The Keeper assures us the memories are still there. They will return in time. He simply needs patience.”

Faroe sighed. “Fine.” She sat. “I understand.”

What’s your problem? Don’t bite me!

“I’m not, fuck,” Arthur muttered.

“My problem,” said Faroe, who suddenly sounded older than nine, “is that you are a spoiled brat.”

Arthur’s face went long. He did not, to his credit, laugh.

Me! said John.

“You,” she said.

“John, that’s enough,” said Arthur. “Thank you for sticking up for me, baby girl.”

“I wasn’t going to let him bully you,” Faroe said. “Nor should anyone else have.” It sounded pointed.

Maybe it was. “Perhaps you’re right,” said Hastur. “Though I believe Arthur is capable of sticking up for himself.”

“Are you?” said Faroe, nearly in a whisper.

Arthur understood why. “I wasn’t for a long time,” he said. “But because of John—and you, and everything—I am now. I can handle this. I promise.”

“He is stronger than even he thinks,” said Hastur.

Arthur could hear her rise from her chair again and go to Hastur, probably leaning in, probably being enveloped in his many, many limbs. “You really don’t hate him anymore, do you?”

Yow.

“No, precious one. Not for a very long time.”

Her sigh was weight, or at least, dropping much of it. “I love you, dad. Both of you. And I… I love you, too, John. I just don’t like you very much.”

You don’t have to like me. I’m right.

That did it. “Uh-huh. It’s time you and I had a hard talk.” He rose.

Oh, is  it? said John, challenging.

“I’ve got this,” Arthur said to the table in general. “Just… leave us alone for a little while. Okay? We’re going to the water garden.”

“As you wish.”

”Okay, dad,” Faroe said mournfully, and then her voice grew muffled against Hastur. “Did I do it wrong?” she whispered.

Hastur’s calming rumble enveloped the room, covering her like a blanket made of sound. “No, my precious one. I am very proud of you.”

John scoffed.

It was hard to turn his back on all that, but Arthur did, carrying his unwilling friend with him back outside.

#

I can’t fucking see.

“Give it a minute. The plants glow, or so you told me. You’ll be able to see fine.”

No. John’s voice shook a bit. I can’t see. What if there’s an enemy? An assassin?

“We’re more likely to be wiped out by the moons crashing into us at this point,” said Arthur. “Calm down.”

No! This is dangerous? Why are you doing this? He gasped. It’s because I know your murderous secret!

Arthur laughed. “Look.” He shook his head. “Just… look. We need to talk. You remember Parker and Sunny.”

John kept Arthur’s eyes so busy that it was a wonder he didn’t dizzy himself. What about them?

“I’ve known them both a long time,” Arthur said evenly. “Remember how when they brought us soup, you said you died. And that gave you the excuse to be an asshole.”

Fuck you.

Uh-huh. “Parker was kind. Right? Doing that. Even though you’re just fucking rude.”

A pause. More left. You’re walking into the godsdamned bushes.

“Well, you have my eyes, don’t you?” Arthur said, perhaps more patiently than was warranted.

Yes I fucking do. And… fine. I’ll give him that. Kind.

“So was Sunny.”

That… walking theft.

Arthur snorted. “Of what?”

Me! My godhood.

Arthur stopped. “All right. Look. You’re fucking afraid. I get it. Okay? I’m an asshole when I’m afraid, too, but this isn’t helping you. You want people to not try to fucking kill you? You want people around you to protect you? Keep you safe? Then stop being an asshole! Nobody’s going to take a bullet for an asshole, John! Quit it!”

A nightbird chirped. A tiny splash indicated some enterprising fish in one of the water features.

I’m not… I don’t…

“You’re afraid,” said Arthur softly. “Well, so am I. But together, we’ve got this. Now, are you ready to face the hard thing?”

Hard thing?

“Yes. The thing you need to know.”

John puffed. Incorporeal breath came quick, shallow. Then he made a slow, quiet sound, as if pained. I don’t want another hard thing.

Arthur caught his hand. “I know.”

I don’t fucking want… why are all the things hard?

Arthur lifted John’s hand so the back of it lay against his cheek. “Good things are always hard. I don’t know why that is, but… it is. I need to tell you a story, John. It’s long.” He swallowed, and as he said the words, realized he meant every one: “It’s got a happy ending. I promise.”

Fine. John sounded rough. Breathless. Get it over with.

Arthur followed the sound of the water feature and had a seat on its edge, enjoying the light mist of the cool water behind him on this muggy night. “It all started twenty years ago. Followers of Shub-Niggurath, without her knowledge or consent, made a portal they wanted to use to bring her into the world.”

That would fucking destroy it.

“Right, which is why she didn’t take it. But… someone else did.” He took a breath. “Or tried.”

Who’d be that foolish?

Hook, line, sinker. “You would.”

John went so still.

“You took it, or tried. And when the humans fighting on the other side of it closed it…”

They… they cut me, said John, breathless. They severed me. I… I was an accident!

“So was I,” said Arthur, because he had to and it was a little funny. 

John didn’t seem to think it was. What’s wrong with you? This is horrible!

Arthur sighed. “We’re not even at the bad part yet. John, you died.”

John whimpered. I know I did!

“Stick with me. Come on.” He held John’s hand again, rubbing the back with his thumb. “We can do this.”

I don’t want to do this!

And it sounded like Faroe not wanting to take a bath, and for a moment, Arthur’s heart… broke.

He leaned forward, curling around John’s hand while the water played over the back of his neck, cooling him.

He had to. He was the adult. He had to. “I won’t let you drown,” he whispered, and pressed John’s hand to his lips. “You fucking hear me? I won’t let you drown.”

But I don’t want to know these things, John whispered.

“I know. But not knowing them is… it leaves you in a position of weakness,” Arthur said. “If you don’t know something everyone else does…”

I… fine. Fine! I get it. Fine! Get it over with. Tell me. I can fucking take it.

Arthur exhaled. “You were put in a book. You know that. Sort of… sucked out, somehow, and stuck there.”

John knew that. I know.

“And I opened that book, and you ended up in my eyes.”

John knew that. I know.

“Then you murdered Parker.”

John did not know that. Wh… what?

“Parker was my partner.” Even after all this time, his voice cracked. “We’d worked together for years. Lived together. My best friend. And when you had my body for just a minute, you turned around and you choked him to death.”

John was so still.

There were tears now, but not Arthur’s. Tears, hotter than his own, sliding down his cheeks. “John?”

John’s voice was high and devastated. I’m a murderer?

Arthur’s eyes watered on his own behalf, too. “We’ve all done things,” he said.

I’m a…

“John. I know this is hard. You didn’t know anything. I’ve forgiven you. We have to talk to him, but I think… I’m pretty sure he’ll forgive you, too.” Not so sure about Sunny, he thought, but that was a whole separate can of worms.

I… I… wait! You lie. He’s alive!

Patiently: “Because an Outer God brought him back to fuck with us. That’s why.”

John fell silent again.

The tears kept flowing. Arthur decided to let them drip; he used his towel to blow his nose, but just… let them fall, staining his lap. “That happened. It’s done. John, I still love you. This was years ago. Come on. I’m still here.”

You shouldn’t be. I deserve death.

Oh, that’s not where he meant that to go. “No,” said Arthur, firmly. “We’ve all made mistakes. All of us. That’s life. No one gets through it without fucking up.”

But I… had he done anything? Was he guilty?

“No. He was just standing there, and you lashed out.” Arthur sighed slowly. “I’m sorry, John.”

Silence.

“It’s not about the fuck-up,” Arthur said gently. “It’s about what you do after. That’s what makes you a person worth knowing or not. That’s what makes you worth redemption.”

John choked a little. And what did I do then? Try to drown all the puppies in Arkham?

Arthur laughed weakly. “No. No, we both had a lot to learn about each other. You spent a long time trying to manipulate me.” 

Of course I did, John said thickly. You’re fucking stubborn.

“Heh.” Arthur rubbed his forehead; all this crying was giving him a headache. “I know. But it balanced out. I spent a long time trying to control you, to… force you to be human.”

Human!

“Don’t sound so offended.” Arthur’s lips quirked. “I didn’t really understand what that meant then, anyway. I didn’t understand it was a fucking species. I thought ‘human’ was compassion, and mercy, and goodness, and bravery.”

Those things aren’t human. They’re just being a good fucking person.

“I had to get to know a non-human to learn that,” said Arthur softly. “There weren’t any in my life until I met you.”

A pause.

So… you’re saying you… learned from me.

“So much from you.” Arthur’s throat was tight. “I owe you everything.”

And the moment of deep, painful things was too much, and John tried to escape. But not enough to do the things I ask, he purred.

He was not getting off that easily. “I do a lot of what you ask, including putting up with your tantrums, but we aren’t done with this topic. Nice try.”

John’s arm flailed. I do not have tantrums!

Too easy. Arthur let it go. “After that, we were on the run. You and me. The King was trying to chase us down. He was too wounded to just come and get us, so… we got… herded to a portal, and into the Dreamlands. And that was when you discovered who you used to be. You fucking almost sacrificed me, John.”

John was silent.

“But you didn’t do it.” His voice cracked. “It mattered. In that moment, you didn’t do it.”

John was still silent.

Arthur chose not to look into that. “We wandered. For days. That’s where these scars came from, or most of them.”

I didn’t sacrif… I didn’t…

“You didn’t. And… I guess it was a big deal. You went from not knowing anything about yourself to learning you were part of the King in Yellow in a great big fucking stadium, practically, with all these cultists worshiping you. John… I think that’d turn anyone’s head.”

After a moment: You shouldn’t offer that compassion to me.

“That boat’s sailed,” Arthur said loftily.

It’s going to get you killed.

“That ground’s covered,” said Arthur casually. “Ready? We’re not done.”

John’s hand gripped his like seeking an anchor. So we were not in good parts of the Dreamlands.

“Not even close. No enclaves, no cities, no merchants except for one grumpy old Trader. Lots of bugs, though. Sandstorms. Horrible shit.”

Fuck.

“Yeah. And at the end of all of that, his damned cultists caught us, anyway.” And they were being honest, so: “We fought, you and I. You tried to use Faroe against me, which… no one gets to do. And when I was most vulnerable, the King tried to make me insane. He got into my head, spoke in voices. Made me think he was some guy’s ghost. Tried to make me give you up. Tried to make me turn on you. Tried to make me drink selenine.”

John gasped. You’d die!

“I didn’t know that then, but… I don’t like being told what to do.”

A pause. You disobeyed the King in Yellow… who was in your head … because you don’t like being told what to do.

Arthur shrugged. “The Keeper says I have some weird stubborn magic resistance thing.” 

You must, said John slowly. No wonder I can’t control you.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Still not done.”

What then?

“When it didn’t work, they threw us into the prison pits.”

Faust, said John all of a sudden, and then he freaked out.

#

John’s gasping was loud, unsteady, vocalized and strident, and he would not calm down. I saw him die! I saw him die! Over and over, every time you touched a piece, I saw him die!

“I know you saw, gods, I’m sorry, John!”

Gasping. Hyperventilating, gulping. I saw him die! I saw! Over and over!

“Of all the things for you to remember,” Arthur mumbled, then kept stroking his hand. “I know.”

You ate him! 

“I’d have died if I didn’t!”

John started to sob. Over and over. I saw it over and over. His hand shook. 

Arthur cradled it. “Maybe we’ve talked enough.”

No! Fucking no! After doing this to me? You will tell me the rest!

“John, you can barely talk, I don’t think I—”

John whipped his hand around to splash cold water onto Arthur’s clothes. 

Arthur gasped. “The fuck!”

You owe me that happy ending! And John continued to weep.

Suddenly, it clicked: Every time. 

Wait. He’d known it would do that the first time, sure, but every time? Every?

For days, meal after meal, John had… suffered? Arthur hadn’t realized. He hadn’t known. “Every time?” What had he put John through? “Oh, gods. Oh, gods, John, I didn’t know. I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” He began to cry, too. “I can never get that taste out of my mouth. I…”

John clutched him, and Arthur lost it.

They cried together. Rocking, seated on the edge of the fountain, a cacophony of sobs in terrible duet. No one bothered them; Arthur was sure the whole damn palace heard, but neither of them could consider that now. 

It took a while to peter out, for them to reach that empty, wrung-out, after-tears place of aching quiet. Still hitching, John scooped cold water from the fountain and held it against Arthur’s tilted face, cooling his burning cheeks. You were right, he said softly. We’ve been… through it together.

“That was only the first three months and change,” Arthur tried to laugh, but his breath caught.

Years ago.

“Lots of years. I was still a young man,” said Arthur, and managed to laugh this time.

You still are.

“I don’t feel like it. And I’m aging, anyway.”

You… can’t age.

“It’s why we’re going to the Keeper. Somehow, I’m aging, though I’m marked.”

John made a choked sound. That… is getting fucking fixed.

Arthur blew his nose. “You can’t seriously still want to be with me after this. After…”

Of course I do. John took a slow, wavering breath. You understand me. And I think… I understand you. Go on, Arthur.

“I…”

Go on. You owe me that happy ending, remember?

Arthur lay his cheek against John’s hand, which was still cooled by the water. “All right. We escaped. Though now that I think about it, he let us escape. Whatever. We did it under our own power. Discovered Carcosa was destroyed.”

Destroyed!

“That Outer God who brought back Parker and Sunny? He destroyed it. Killed everyone. Didn’t spare so much as a pigeon.”

John was breathless. Why would he do that?

Arthur whispered back. “He got bored.”

John grunted, low and terrified. 

Arthur kissed his hand. “That’s where we met that guy, but I don’t… want to talk about him.”

Please don’t. There’s enough of a bullseye on us.

“You’re not wrong.” Arthur took a deep breath. “The King found us. His Dancers were awful. And I wouldn’t give you up. You wouldn’t leave, so…”

So?

Arthur swallowed. 

So?

“The Outer God gave me a dagger,” said Arthur quietly.

For… use on the King in Yellow? Was it made of fucking obsidian?

“No. It was just an ordinary knife.”

What the fuck was that supposed to do, then? Tickle him to death?

“I think he just wanted to see what I’d do with it,” Arthur said quietly, weirdly evenly. “The King broke my legs. Just… snapped them. Compound fractures, bleeding out. I still wouldn’t give you up.”

Why? John’s cry was strident. Why not? You should have! Are you insane?

“Because I never will.” Arthur closed his eyes and breathed deeply. “Never.”

John made a tiny sound. He threw us back into  the pits?

“No. I knew I couldn’t win, but… I didn’t have to let him win, either.”

John’s voice dropped. What?

“I took the knife Kayne gave me, and I cut my own throat.”

John snapped Arthur’s eyes open so wide they felt dry after all that crying, and Arthur briefly rubbed at them. You…

“After that, he—”

No. No. You don’t just move on from that. You cut your throat?

“I missed the jugular,” said Arthur casually.

Fuck, Arthur! John reached up and felt his throat as if to ensure the scar remained sealed.

“You agreed to go back.”

Of course I did! And he fucking healed you, right? 

“No. No, he threw me to Earth.”

That… that fucking…

“He kept his word. He let me go. We didn’t… think to get him to promise anything really concrete otherwise.”

Don’t you dare excuse this, growled John.

Arthur sniffled and wiped his face on the towel. “So now I’m a murderer who doesn’t deserve death. Is that what you’re saying?”

It… you… this is complicated, and I will have words with him.

“Sure. We can do that.”

John made a furiously voiced exhalation Arthur hadn’t heard from him in years, an almost gorilla-like panting. “No use getting heated,” Arthur said. “It’s long done. Long done, John. And I believe it’s been paid for.”

Paid for!

“We’ll get there. John, I promise.”

That angry breathing continued.

Arthur sighed. “Kayne showed up again.”

The… Outer God? Again? What, did he want his fucking knife back?

Arthur whispered it. “He offered you back. To me.”

Oh. A pause. But I left you.

“You didn’t want to be with him. I knew that. We’d talked about that. We…” Arthur hesitated on the precipice of another confession so soon on the heels of the last.

Say it. I know you, Arthur Lester, and I know when you’re fucking sitting on something.

“I already loved you,” he whispered. “I mean… I didn’t say it, but I already did.”

Why?

“I don’t know. Why does anyone love anyone? I just do.”

John shuddered inside him.

“You didn’t earn it,” Arthur suddenly said. “You can’t unearn it now. That’s not how it works.”

Sure. John did not sound convinced.

Arthur was running out of steam. This all hurt so much. “He offered me you, but you wouldn’t remember anything. That was the deal.”

The…

Arthur was rushing. “He gave me Sunny instead.”

Oh. And the growling resumed. Are you telling me he had you?

Arthur took a moment to parse that. “Had me? Look. Sunny didn’t know who he was. I was fucked up. He was fucked up. And I… I wrecked it, John. He wasn’t you, and I tried to make him be you, and then I hated him because he wasn’t.”

Oh, the tremble. You… turned on him?

He didn’t want to go into this. He did not want to go into this. He swallowed, eyes stinging.

Arthur.

“I was horrible to him. I called him a parasite. I—“

Arthur.

“I lied to him, tried to trick him, I don’t even know why, I…”

Arthur! We’re not alone.

Arthur went very, very still. “Where?” he whispered.

To your right. I think it’s a human. Male. Judging by the way the light from the two moons plays, I think he’s blond.

And Arthur inhaled through his teeth. “Larson!” he said like a curse.

John gasped. He ran!

“How much did that fuck overhear?” Arthur shouted, leaping to his feet.

I don’t… are we… chasing him?

So tempting, but for what? What good would it do? He might get Kayne pissy again. “Fuck!” said Arthur, and sat back down. “Fuck.”

Easy, said John, stroking his hand. Easy. And for once, he was doing it without touching the mark.

Arthur wanted to encourage that. “Okay. Okay.”

Why do you hate him so much? I don’t understand the details. 

“That man…” Arthur breathed slowly, trying to give John what he wanted. Easy. “Met him at the same time I had Yellow.”

Yellow.

“I called Sunny that. As an insult. Because he wasn’t you.”

John exhaled. You really took it out on him, didn’t you?

“And it was all he knew. I just… demonstrated wickedness.”

At least he didn’t mark you.

Arthur snorted. “I think he’d have rather seen me hung.”

But you still ate his soup.

“Of course, John. I told you—it’s not about the fuck-up. It’s about what comes after.”

But he wants you dead?

Arthur paused. “No. He wanted me punished.”

How long did he have you?

“That phrasing is weird, John.”

Answer the question. Flat.

“About… thirty-six hours?”

The fuck? All that drama for thirty-six hours? What in fuck happened?

“I made music, and you came back to me,” Arthur whispered, and had to wipe his eyes. “I played her song—Faroe—and you came back.”

John pondered this. So that’s why the music means so much. 

“Among other reasons.”

And Yellow?

“I didn’t know it then, but he went… into Larson.”

The one all of you hate.

“He’s old, John.” Arthur’s throat tightened again. “Far older than a human lifespan. Want to know how he did that? He killed people. A lot of people. And he sacrificed his daughter.”

John was silent.

Arthur got louder. “His fucking daughter, John! She… she was innocent! She trusted him… and he threw her away for power!”

Did he hurt you, too?

That wasn’t the point. “What? Yes, but who fucking cares?” His voice cracked.

I do.

Arthur clenched his teeth. “I murdered his son.”

In… John choked. Revenge?

“No.” Arthur sounded like he was the one who’d aged more than a century. “Because I couldn’t find him. And Jack had killed people. He’d murdered a woman while I was there, in Larson’s home. He wasn’t innocent.”

Nobody is, Arthur.

Arthur gasped. “Don’t you dare throw my words back at me!”

I’m not. Arthur. If what you told me is true, then it has to apply to more than just me.

“Fuck.” Arthur rubbed his face. “Fuck. I know you’re right. But I hate him, John.”

How had this flipped to John being the soothing one? All right. I’ve gotten the idea he’s under protection.

“He is.”

So we wait until he no longer is, and if by that point he hasn’t made new choices, we deliver justice.

“New choices,” Arthur said, heavy, and not about Larson. “As if there was ever anything that could make up for killing your daughter.”

John went still.

Arthur rubbed his eyes. “John?”

Faroe…

“We’re not talking about that,” Arthur snapped.

I think we’re done tonight. The rest will have to be part two.

Arthur exhaled. This hadn’t gone as planned. “I’m sorry. We didn’t get to your happy ending.”

You will. That’s one of the things you’ve chosen to do, isn’t it? You keep your word.

Arthur swallowed. “Yes.”

So, part two.

He smiled weakly. “I don’t wanna.”

Well. Good thing you have a god with experience digging into the hard stuff.

Arthur closed his eyes, holding John’s hand to his face. “All right. Bully.”

Bully? I’ll have you know I am a god.

He laughed softly. “All right. We’ll go in.”

Arthur.

“What?”

Let’s go to the music room. I won’t promise anything. I don’t want to play. But… can I listen?

Stupid eyes, always leaking. “We can do that.”

Ignoring his damp shirt, his wet shoes, still holding his magic towel, he went back inside.

John was… messed up. But he was in there. It was him.

Yes, Arthur decided as he squished into the palace. He could do this.

John was worth the wait.

#

Behind, on the other side of the fountain, Parker groaned and finally straightened. “Fuck my back,” he muttered.

Parker… I…

“Let’s get inside, bud,” said Parker. “Wasn’t my idea to get trapped there in the first place, but i think they would’ve stopped if they knew. Sorry, Sunny. This felt important.”

It… it was, Sunny almost whispered.

“We’ll debrief. Fuck, that was a lot.”

Part… part two would explain a lot of the things here, I think. The mirrors.

“The clothes. No razors in his room. Lots of shit.”

Parker…

“I’ve got you, bud.”

I know. I just… I love you.

Parker took a different path back into the palace, just in case, and lightly touched his lips. “Love you too, partner.”

Sunny felt full of bitter brew.

So first off, Arthur had done a shit job actually explaining what he’d been through before Sunny came along. That would take time to parse. Second…

It hit weird, hearing thirty-six hours. Sunny  knew that. He’d told Parker that, had known it was less than two days.

It had felt like months. Felt like an eternity, worsened by the awfulness that it was his first time on Earth. 

But that was the thing, wasn’t it? It had felt like months to Arthur, too. He hadn’t considered that before.

Hadn’t realized how Arthur’s fucked-up Faust confession was a symptom of his own suffering. Of course it didn’t excuse it, but… it wasn’t… how he’d thought.

And unlike Larson, who gaslit, who lied, who denied every awful thing he did and said, Arthur acknowledged it all—in fact, seemed to have burned it into himself. Sunny knew that wasn’t healthy. Parker wouldn’t have let him do that.

It was so strange. When he’d wanted Arthur punished, this had been the goal. He’d wanted to him to feel the weight of his sins, to weep, to pay in misery. Well. That happened.

It didn’t feel good, in real life.

It put a different spin, too, on another unpleasant thought. One of Larson’s tricks had been to redirect any of Sunny—Yellow’s—pain back to Arthur. Sunny had believed it, felt like those eight years landed at Arthur’s feet… but they hadn’t, had they? Arthur hadn’t even been there.

Thirty-six hours, and they’d both come out of them fucked. Maybe John and Arthur weren’t the only tangled thing on the grounds tonight.

And Arthur didn’t even have Parker to help him through this right now. Sunny don’t want to share him, either. Was that wicked?

He made an unhappy sound.

“I gotcha. Okay?” Parker knew he needed to hear it.

I know. And Sunny did.