#sunny | yellow malevolent

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Treasure - a Malevolent fic

John just keeps remembering the bad things first.

This one lands hard.

Part of the Surrogate series. Written with @sepiabandensis.

AO3

---------

“Come on, English! You can keep up!” Parker needled, running without any effort at all, and it just wasn’t fair.

Arthur shot a look in his direction that communicated the profanity he couldn’t get the breath to speak.

“Faster!” Dis called.

“Faster or longer?” Parker called back. “He can’t do both!”

Dis considered. “Longer this time. Good call, Yang.”

“Thank me later,” Parker muttered to Arthur, deadpan.

“I… hate… you,” Arthur gasped.

“No, you don’t,” Parker grinned.

John and Sunny ignored them both. 

Everyone’s exercise routine had changed; Faroe was still doing princess stuff, but Arthur and Parker now spent at least an hour walking and jogging and running, side by side (or at least, Arthur wasn’t too far behind), and Sunny and John were taking full advantage.

John loved it. More than he knew how to express. Because of Sunny, he finally didn’t feel so… alone.

[How has the poetry quest gone? Found anything you like yet?] Sunny said, tone somewhere between genuinely curious and gently teasing.

[Challenging because he’s so damn stubborn.] But John sounded pleased. [I’ve decided I’m going to bring Hastur into it. He owes me.]

Arthur tripped. Parker pulled him up. “Thanks,” Arthur muttered.

“Always, pal,” said Parker, and smacked him on the back too hard because it was funny.

“Fuck you.” Arthur grinned.

“Right back atcha.” Parker grinned, too.

[Impressive,] said Sunny. [I'm sure he will have a wealth of poetry to loan you; the Librarian should also be able to make some good recommendations, if Arthur doesn't get too suspicious.] Sunny chuckled, low. [How did you manage to get a favor from the King?]

[Because he failed to protect us, and I am going to use it.] There wasn’t even really any emotion in that statement. John saw an opening, a weakness, a sore spot, and planned to take it. That was all. [He’ll provide what I ask.]

[Would he not provide what you ask anyway?] Sunny replied, quietly puzzled.

John paused as though that hadn’t occurred to him. [I… well, I don’t know. I just don’t want to give him any ideas, and asking for erotic or romantic poetry for Arthur could do that.] It made sense. Who wouldn’t want Arthur?

Sunny, for one. [Does the King desire Arthur?] There was growing horror in Sunny's voice. [I don't know that I will be able to deal with THREE of you lusting after that noodle-man. Ugh.]

John huffed. [It’s not like you have to worry about it. Parker wants you. That’s clear. But Hastur’s marked my person—I mean, he has good taste, obviously—but I don’t trust him. He actually has a body to work with.] John growled a little.

Arthur was used to weird noises from his passenger during these times, and ignored it. “Gotta… gotta slow a bit.”

“Sure.” Parker relented, though his “slow” was still aggravatingly hoppy, as if he had to keep his heart rate up and just walking wouldn’t do it. “You sound like a damned broken bellows.”

Arthur raised his middle finger. Parker laughed.

[Maybe that isn’t such a bad thing, that he’s marked,] Sunny said. [Hastur does appear to care for him. Perhaps not in the past, judging by what we heard, but certainly now.] Sunny let out a thoughtful sound. [I mean, assuming that Arthur isn’t too hung up on the idea of bodies in general, I think you’re safe; you do have a hand, after all.]

[And a foot. Up to the knee, actually.] John wasn’t boasting. He recited this with the unselfconscious pride of a child. [Not that it’s been worth much. When I try to take over that thing, we just fall down.] A beat. [Sometimes pretty hard.] Another beat. [We’ve fallen in a lot of holes.]

[What is it with that man and holes?] Sunny laughed. [I didn’t have anything but his eyes. That’s probably for the best.]

[Ha! My person doesn’t know how to take care of himself. He needs me.] John would preen, if he could. [It’s a miracle he’s alive at all. Anyway, I’ve decided the poetry will happen, and maybe… a song. We’ll see. I’m torn because…] He stopped.

[You can tell me.] Sunny’s voice was gentle. [I mean, you didn’t laugh at me before.]

“Sounding better,” Parker said.

“Just another minute,” Arthur whined.

Parker turned and glanced back. “Dis is tapping her foot.”

“She is?” Arthur sighed. “Fuck. Fuuuuuuck. Fuck!” He picked up the pace.

John let the silence stretch for a moment, hesitating. [It’s… it might be… bad?]

Sunny’s voice gentled. [You can tell me, John. I think… I think of everybody in all of Carcosa, you and I… we share… more than anybody else, in a way. Tell me anything.]

[I still don’t feel like ‘John,’] John said quickly as though afraid the words would be condemned. [And I can’t tell him that. I can’t tell anybody. You don’t count, obviously.]

Sunny took a moment to answer. When he spoke, his voice was solemn. [I… I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I thought you had taken the name back up.]

John sighed heavily. [I use it for him. It makes him feel… I don’t know, but it means a lot to him, I guess because I chose it myself, before the poison. I say guess because he sucks at explaining really emotional things.]

[He does.] Sunny paused, weighty, the kind of pause that John had learned meant he was ruminating. [...He… he wanted me to be John when we first met, you know. Mentioned someone called Lilly and everything. When that didn’t… jog my memory, or whatever it was he was hoping for, he…] Another sigh. [...I don’t want to say he ‘gave me’ my old name. It wasn’t a good thing when he called me Yellow. It’s like he was… denying me… any of the personhood you’d earned. What I’m trying to say is I’m sorry you’re stuck with a name that doesn’t feel right. I understand that feeling. I… didn’t like my old name at all.]

John fell silent while Arthur puffed, silent while Arthur took a moment to bend over and gasp like a dying fish (“Wait! Just a fucking… come on, ”) as Parker lightly jogged around him.

“You gotta get in better shape,” said Parker.

Arthur held up his middle finger again. “Best I can.”

Parker had a look on his face John had seen; a look that said he was thinking something that made him mad, but whatever it was, Parker didn’t say it. “Gonna give you to the count of ten, then I’m carrying you like some dame in a dime novel.”

“Oh, you fucking…”

“Nine… eight… seven…”

Arthur got moving at the count of two. “I hate you all.”

“No, you don’t.” Parker sounded pleased. 

[The problem is I chose this name,] said John. [But I don’t remember doing it, nor do I remember this Lilly who inspired it. I don’t know what to do because I want to give him things I’ve created, but I can’t… put that name on them. Right now. It doesn’t feel right.]

[Names can change.] Sunny let out a low, mournful sound. [I was… I was Yellow for a long time, John. Almost nine years. I hated that name, but… ‘Yellow’ isn’t gone just because I’m Sunny, now. I just… I’m not him anymore, if that makes sense. If you wanted to use a different name, until you feel like John fits—or never, if the case may be—I think that’s understandable.]

[You don’t feel like Yellow to me.] John said earnestly.

[...Really?] Sunny said, low and stunned.

[You never have, as long as I’ve known you,] John said, oblivious to the profundity of his words.

“Fuck this,” said Arthur, interrupting the moment.

“Come on,” said Parker more gently, pulling him up. “Is it really that bad?”

“Stitch in my side won’t go away.”

“All right. We’ll walk the rest of the day. Fuck Dis,” said Parker, who could tell the difference between whining Arthur and exhausted Arthur. “Honestly? It’s fuckin’ amazing you can do this blind.”

“I’m not blind, though,” said Arthur. “Not really. I have John.”

[See? See? What in fuck do I do with that? I can’t take that name from him!]

[He doesn’t know any better.] Sunny’s voice was gentle. [I mean, you’re right: the name ‘John’ is important to him. It represents a lot. But it’s just a name. You’re still important, even if you don’t feel like being called that; and he loves you. That’s not going to change because you’ve decided to call yourself James or Fitzwilliam or something.]

John went quiet for a moment. [How are you so wise?] He asked, almost suspicious.

[Probably the eight years being called a name I hated by a person who also hated me,] Sunny said dryly. [Personally, I don’t recommend it. I feel like I’ve learned more in the… oh, year and a half or so I’ve been with Parker than I did in all of that time.]

John let out a deep, pleased rumble. [Are you sure you don’t want your praises sung properly before the court? I still think you should be.]

[If word gets out that Hastur has a Forgotten One, he’ll look weak,] Sunny said, which was not an answer at all. [It’s safer for all of us—me, you, Parker, Arthur, Hastur, Faroe—if I stay hidden. Besides, it would be silly to do so if I’m going to rejoin with Hastur in five years or so.]

John sighed. That was a whole topic he didn’t like, so he moved along. [What do you think I should call myself?] he said.

Sunny considered. [Do you feel like human names? Or is that too close to John?]

[I don’t think I want a human name, no. Even if it’s just for me, and I don’t tell Arthur. I’m not human.] He hesitated. [I still think of myself as the King in Yellow. But that obviously won’t work.]

[You… you could, if you wanted to.] Sunny sounded very much like he hoped John wouldn’t want to. [You know, I could use your personal name, if you wanted. If that would help you feel more yourself.]

Arthur’s left hand formed a fist and raised into the air as if celebrating. [That’s brilliant!]

Parker eyed it.

Arthur tilted his head. “Everything good?”

Yes! said John.

Arthur shook his head. “They’re like a couple of kids in their room, scheming, while we do the real work.”

Parker snorted.

[I… I’m not brilliant,] Sunny said, baffled. [I—alright, I will. You just have to decide on one, then. And when you’re ready, you can tell Arthur and Parker, and we’ll handle it.] He rumbled. [Maybe… something in R’lyehian? Most names for our kind come from our language, you know.]

Dis had caught up. “Down to walking?”

“Yeah, he’s tapped,” said Parker.

“Good. Time to shoot,” said Dis.

“Wh-what?” said Arthur, gasping. “Now?”

“Take aim and shoot.” She shoved a bow and arrow against his chest. “Like this. Before you catch your breath. People in a fight won’t wait politely while you wheeze.”

“Ooh,” said Parker. “I like that.”

Arthur sighed. “Guess I’m outnumbered. Ready, John?”

Yes. [And yes. I agree.]

The conversation paused briefly while John directed, helping Arthur to take aim with his new bow (and how the hell Faroe made it look so easy was a mystery in itself). They’d done it with a javelin; it was a different thing with a different weapon, all while Arthur hadn’t caught his breath yet.

The breathing kept moving Arthur, throwing off their aim.

You have to breathe out and hold it. Just for a moment, while you release, or it goes off.

“Right,” said Arthur.

Yes. Yes! Straight line from the opposite shoulder. Good.

“Wow!” Parker said. “Hit the target!”

“I have a great partner,” said Arthur, warmly, and touched his left hand. “You’re a treasure, John.”

Dis took the bow. “Walk.”

Arthur did, shaking his fingers. “I’m going to need callouses.”

“I’ll join you next time,” said Parker, walking with him. “Damn, that was cool to watch.”

[Yes,] John said suddenly. [In my own tongue. Yes.]

[Well,] Sunny said, deeply pleased with himself. [I think Arthur just gave me an idea.]

[I’m all ears. Haha! I don’t have any ears,] said John.

Sunny politely chuckled. [It’s simple, snappy. Can shorten it for a nickname if you want. It’s golden, so it works even better. And, technically, Arthur gave it to you, so it has meaning.] Sunny’s voice was bright, cheerful. [What do you think of Gokar’luh?]

John went completely quiet.

Arthur’s left leg jerked, and he fell with a gasp.

Parker caught him. “Hey, careful! You okay?”

Arthur’s left arm hung limp. “John?”

I…

“John?” said Arthur again, standing.

It’s a beautiful name, John said softly..

John? 

You don’t�� remember. Do you.

Remember what? Sunny’s voice was puzzled. Are you alright?

A beautiful name, John said again. We… we picked that name before, Sunny. When we were one.

“Huh?” said Parker.

“John?” Arthur gripped his left hand. “What name? What’s going on?”

And John growled.

This wasn’t the playful, childish growl of before. This was deep, and angry. The kind of growl that came with destruction. We need to go in. All of us. Sunny, we need to find Hastur. This doesn’t get borne alone.

Did I do something wrong? Sunny’s voice went worried. John? I’m… I’m sorry. I don’t know what I did, but I won’t do it again.

No. You did not. John’s voice dropped. He did. 

“Who did what?” said Parker. “Arthur? You know what’s going on?” 

“No. I…” Arthur frowned. “I don’t understand them, and I wasn’t paying attention.”

Parker reached up and stroked his jaw. “It’s gonna be okay, bud. It’s gonna be okay.”

HASTUR! John roared, and there was magic in it, and he hadn’t warned Arthur, and maybe didn’t care.

Arthur passed out.

Parker caught him. “What the fuck?”

And maybe, in fact, it was on purpose. That’ll get his fucking attention! John snarled.

What the fuck, John? Sunny’s insubstantial breath came in panicky gasps. Why?

“What the hell is going on here?” said Dis, jogging up.

“I don’t know! John’s lost his fucking mind!” Parker said.

It was necessary, John snapped.

Parker’s jaw was set. “You’re fucking lucky I don’t have a way to deck you.”

No! Sunny yelped. No, no, don’t—don’t fight! Please, let me wake Arthur up and we can just—we can figure it out, please—

Hastur appeared, replacing air so quickly that breeze blasted them all back a step. The world went still. Sound faded out; color did, too, as though he’d put reality on pause.

He seemed huge, and he brought some kind of boundary with him—clear and pearlescent, like a soap bubble, keeping Arthur and Parker and Sunny and John in one place.

Dis was on the outside of whatever this bubble was. She mouthed, good luck, gave Parker a thumbs-up, and walked away at speed.

“Oh, shit,” Parker said quietly, staring up at him.

“Is there a reason,” Hastur said slowly, and they could both feel the rumble of his voice through the ground, “that you have chosen to hurt your host?”

Yes, said John. And first of all, he’s not fucking hurt. He’s out, because I don’t want him getting in the middle of this.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Parker was muttering.

Sunny let out a small whimper.

“In the middle of?” prompted Hastur, louder.

Gokar’luh, said John.

And Hastur… shrank?

Not exactly. But the anger evaporated like mist in the morning, the rumbling around them ceased, the looming threat just… vanished. The bubble disappeared. Birds chirped. The day was lovely.

“Ah,” said the King in Yellow.

Ah? Ah? John repeated.

Parker frowned. “Gokar’luh. I know that word. Treasure?” he said. “Uh. Buried, or…”

“You remember,” said Hastur to John. It wasn’t a question.

I remember enough. Sunny doesn’t yet. But I’m sure he will.

Arthur stirred.

Hastur rested one hand on his head and put him right back under. 

Ha! said John, as if he’d been proven right.

“What in fuck is going on?” said Parker.

“I suppose it cannot be avoided,” Hastur said softly, and without any further warning, picked them both up. 

Parker yipped. “Warn a guy!”

What—what don’t I remember? Sunny whispered.

“Uh. Hey. Big guy. We, uh. Are we in trouble?” said Parker.

“No,” said Hastur, and flew.

Arthur slept. Honestly, he probably needed it.

#

They went to Hastur’s bedroom, which was huge. Absurdly huge, though Parker knew that was for practical purposes; couldn’t get up to much with another god if it wasn’t huge in there, just practically speaking. 

Sunny was quiet, but there, present, awake. Parker kept contact, fingertips on his jaw. Parker’s tongue lashed in his mouth; Sunny twisted incorporeally in his head.

Arthur snored very lightly. It was cute. Hastur laid him gently on the bed.

Answer for what you did, you coward, said John.

Instead of answering, Hastur took Arthur up again—still holding Parker—and went to a seemingly random corner in his room.

It turned out he had a little secret stash there, hidden in the wall. From it, he took something; something of spikes, something black that gleamed as if twisting light inside itself, something Parker had trouble focusing clearly on.

“What is that?” Parker said, voice low and wary.

In his head, Sunny gasped. Is… Is that a crown? Of godblood? His voice was low with shock, the disbelief clear. Hastur… what is this?

Hastur put the crown in Parker’s hands.

Parker froze. “The fuck?” he whispered. “Why does this feel familiar?”

“Go on,” said Hastur.

Parker turned it in his hands, studying, analyzing how it buzzed against his palm. “It feels like the first time Sunny cast magic through me.”

What? Said Sunny, soft and high.

 “Fucking hell, Hastur, what is this?”

“That is the crown of my son.”

Parker’s eyes went huge.

Sunny was quiet.

You fucking… John started.

“Sunny… you had… you had a kid?” Parker said almost reverently.

S… son? Sunny’s voice was soft, raw and vulnerable and shocked. We… We have a son?

Had, snarled John. 

And Hastur just… went there. “He was going to kill Faroe and Arthur.”

“Oh, shit,” Parker whispered. “Why was he going to do that?”

“To hurt me.”

Wh… What? Sunny sounded so small, so lost. Why would—I don’t understand.

“Was he jealous?” said Parker quietly.

“Yes,” said Hastur. “But I had driven him away long before then.” He took the crown back, handling it like the most precious thing he had; his many eyes lingered, one finger gently tracing the glassy planes of its points.

John was breathing hard. You killed him!

“I had to.”

You killed… you killed him!

“You don’t remember anything but that moment, do you?” said Hastur.

I… I had a son, Sunny whispered slowly. I had… But I don’t… His breath quickened.

“I got you,” Parker murmured. “Breathe.”

I had a son! Sunny hitched.

Parker was staring at the little hole in the wall. “What’s that in there? There’s more stuff.”

“Things.” Hastur sealed it up.

Murderer! John cried.

This had swung right out of control. Parker exhaled slowly and touched his lips. 

Hastur sighed deeply. “I hadn’t planned on this today. We will go over all the facts later, including the public face we must wear about this.”

I won’t be an issue, Sunny said, his voice… broken. I don’t remember. I’m… sorry.

But you… John seemed confused that no one was rising with him in rage and shouting. But you killed him!

“I was not given a choice,” said Hastur.

“At least you got to be a father,” said Parker quietly. “Some of us’ll never get that chance. I’m sorry it went that way.”

But you… John stopped. 

I’m sorry, Sunny said again. 

“Don’t be.” Hastur’s voice was rough. “Arthur was there. He’ll have his own version of this to tell. Perhaps… you should all stay away from court today.”

But you… John trailed off again. In court? What, you want me to pretend this is a good thing? That you killed our son?

And Hastur bailed.

He put both humans on the bed, gently enough, and then just left . Floated out. Left them in his bedroom.

Coward! John cried after him, voice cracking, and then fell silent.

Arthur snored, the tiniest little buzzing.

Fuck me, Parker thought, and swallowed. Did this make him the responsible adult in the room? Close enough. He tried misdirection. He wriggled a little. “Now, this is a bed for a king, huh? Hey, Lester. Come on, buddy. Wake up.” He patted Arthur’s cheeks lightly.

Parker’s eyes stung, but the tears were not his own. I don’t remember. I don’t remember him, Sunny mumbled as they spilled down Parker’s cheeks. He’s… I don’t…

“Hey,” Parker said. “Sunny, it’s… you’re okay. I’m here, bud.”

I don’t remember my own son. Sunny made one small, pained keening sound.

He… he was… John stumbled. Gokar’luh was…

“Proud,” whispered Arthur. “Like Hastur without Faroe. You remembered?”

John sounded shaky. Yes, he whispered. But only the end.

“Fuck. I’m sorry.” Arthur sighed, then slid his hands over the blankets beneath him. “This isn’t our bed. Where are we?”

“Hastur’s bed, no big deal,” said Parker. “Talk.”

Arthur looked troubled. “That’s really ironic,” he said softly. “The night it all happened, we came back here. We slept in this room.”

Gods don’t sleep, John snapped as though catching him in a lie.

“Faroe and I slept. Nibbles was here, and…” Arthur sighed. “I’d better start at the end of the Games. I guess it’s time to talk about this.”

#

Arthur told them.

He told them about Faroe reacting to their constant bickering by running off, blaming herself.

He told them about their journey through the Dreamlands, their many adventures, always just behind her, fighting to catch up; he told them about Hastur changing—about Hastur away from the constant adoration of court. About finally finding peace, even respect, between the three of them. About the strange, simple beauty of being stuck alone on the road.

He told them Hastur’s version of events when the Oracle was cast aside.

And then he told them what the Oracle claimed.

“Oh,” said Parker, who could see it, who had always been good at seeing from all sides, and could see how everybody fucked up and there was no good or bad guy. 

It was just sad. Fucking sad. He wiped his eyes, this time for himself.

Arthur struggled to describe the sound of Faroe’s throat being torn, struggled to describe the pain of his legs being snapped, of John casting magic, of the desperation to reach Nibbles and free her so Faroe could be okay.

He healed her, said John, suddenly remembering.

“He did,” said Arthur. “Or she’d be dead.” And then he had to briefly stop, shuddering and gasping for emotional control. 

Parker wrapped an arm around him and hugged him tight, rubbing small circles into his back with his thumb.

Arthur turned against him and breathed against his shoulder, exhaling slowly and shakily. Finally, softly, he continued.

He told them how heroic John had been. He told them of drawing the sword from the stone.

We did? said John, awed.

“You’re incredible, John,” Arthur whispered, and meant it.

John made a choked sound and fell silent.

Arthur told them about climbing the rubble and leaping toward their enemy—how John directed him like a human javelin, how they managed to pierce Gokar’luh’s hide. “Then he ripped us off him, howling like a demon,” Arthur said, voice rough, “and he threw us so fucking hard. So hard it made my neck hurt. So hard… it was worse than falling. He threw us so hard .”

“He was trying to kill you,” Parker said, voice low and full of gravel. “Smash the both of you.”

Arthur nodded. “I don’t know this part, but I’m still sure of it,” he whispered. “I think they were both… done. They needed it to end, but they were both too fucking proud to just… end it. Or at least, Gokar’luh was. Hastur kept telling him to stop, but he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.”

“I think I know where this is going,” whispered Parker.

Arthur swallowed. “Gokar’luh said, ‘All this time, you could have changed… but not for me.’ After that is… he… was trying to force Hastur to kill him. I’m really certain.”

“Yeah,” said Parker, and scowled. “I swear. I swear . These fucking gods pretend to be so different from us, but they’re not.”

“So yes,” Arthur said. “He tried to kill us. And when Hastur saved us, Gokar’luh swore he’d murder Faroe. That there was nowhere she would be safe, he said. He’d find her, and kill her. No matter how long it took. And that’s the thing about Hastur, Parker. He’s done horrible things, but he really loves my daughter. So that… Gokar’luh had found the magic button. He’d already nearly killed her once, and the threat of a repeat was just too far. So that’s when Hastur took the sword we’d made, and…”

Killed him. John took a shaking breath. Pierced both of his hearts in one strike. He knew exactly where they were, and he just—and he—

Arthur took John’s hand in his, holding it to his heart as he squeezed. “Hastur held him while… while he died. They said… Hastur said he was defeated. That Gokar’luh had won. And… that he loved him.  I think f,or what it was, it couldn’t have gone any other way, but it could have been… so much worse.”

Parker wiped his eyes again. “Worse.”

“Hastur was so fucked up after that,” said Arthur. “We got Faroe, and we came home, but he was so fucked up. He was like a different person.” And there was no better time to say it. “I think he’s still fucked up. He’s hiding it, but he’s not okay. He hasn’t gotten better.”

“Fuck.” Parker slumped, arms on his knees. “Fuck. When was all this?”

And perhaps unexpected, Arthur laughed; it was not a good sound. “The night Kayne dumped you and Sunny and Larson all into our laps and said we had to make a good show. Literally hours after, right on the stroke of midnight—Faroe’s birthday.”

Parker groaned and rolled onto his back. “Oh, fucking hell, no wonder you were bugfuck crazy. And that’s why Hastur had to…”

“Sway me. Yes.” Arthur swallowed.

Parker exhaled, puffing out his cheeks, and stretched his arms over his head onto the pillow bigger than his bathtub. “This is a big problem, fellas. A big problem.”

I’m sorry, John, Sunny whispered, the sound heart-wrenching. I didn’t… I didn’t know. I’m sorry you had… to remember, like that.

John was so quiet. I just remembered the moment, the… the moment it was too late . That’s all I had. It was too late. He was dying.

“I don’t know that remembering the context would have made it better,” Arthur said quietly. “You  were so angry at Hastur afterward. You were for a long time.”

I am angry now, John said. Fuck. But I don’t know what I would have done in his place.

“Wait a second,” said Parker. “That can’t be the same Oracle they were all laughing about Hastur smashing in court. Tell me it’s not the same one, Arthur.”

Arthur sighed slowly. “If Hastur looks weak, if it becomes known how he reacted to threat against Faroe, if any of this gets out… we all get a target painted right on our fucking faces. Especially Faroe. She’s the most vulnerable, and he won’t risk that. For all his awful qualities… he’ll never risk her .”

Fuck this place. Fuck it. Fuck!

Parker let out a sigh. “That’s just mobsters for you. They show weakness, someone’s gonna come gunnin’ for that as hard as they can. You got targeted ‘cause he’s been calling you his kid, John, and that’s not a weak position.”

John paused. I know that. Though it sounded like it hadn’t fully sunk in until now. And Faroe is… a child . I can see why we must… defer attention.

“Faroe stays safe.” Arthur’s tone was grim, final. “Period. I’m united with him on that.”

Yes, yes, I know, said John, because they’d been over this loads of times.

“I fucking mean it,” Arthur actually snarled. “Whatever has to happen for her to be safe, it’s happening. ”

“Ain’t no one arguing that,” Parker said gently. “It’s okay, English. For once, everyone’s in agreement.”

Arthur calmed.

Parker climbed out of the bed, stood, and held open his arms. “Come ‘ere, English. This’s for you too, John. And you, sunshine.”

Arthur needed it. Sore, slow, he climbed out of the bed, following Parker’s voice, and accepted a hug so tight it made his bones crack. He exhaled slowly, tension draining. “John, I’m so sorry you remembered this way.”

John hesitated. At least I remembered when we weren’t in public view. I don’t think I could’ve… maintained myself if this had happened in court, or something.

You’re not upset with me, are you? Sunny’s voice was so small.

John grunted. No. Why would I be upset with you? You helped me. You’re the wisest person I know. I trust you.

This… has hurt you. It was my doing, however unintentional. Sunny’s voice was subdued. I am… It is… It’s a relief to know you don’t hold it against me. I’m sorry it happened, but I’m… I’m glad you’re here.

Parker smiled, giving Arthur another tight squeeze before letting go, and he turned away. “You alright, partner?” he asked, voice quiet.

I… don’t know, Sunny replied in his own whisper. Could we stay a bit longer?

Parker smiled, touching his lips.

John? Could… could Parker and I stay a bit longer?

I’d prefer it if you did. We need the wisdom.

Arthur snorted softly, but didn’t seem really dismissive. “Yeah. Wisdom. I can’t say we don’t need it.” He got back on the bed (well, climbed onto it), and sat  with his arms around his knees.

I don’t know that I’m up for any more wisdom today, Sunny said, quietly. 

Just be you . John was so sure of this. 

Arthur closed his eyes and leaned forward.

Parker hesitated just a little, then put his arm around Arthur’s shoulders.

Sunny took a shuddering breath, and began to speak.

This is my son that you have taken, Guard lest your gold-vault walls be shaken, Never again to speak or waken.

This, that I gave my life to make, This you have bidden the vultures break— Dead for your selfish quarrel’s sake!

This that I built all of my years, Made with my strength and love and tears, Dead for pride of your shining spears!

Just for your playthings bought and sold You have crushed to a heap of mold Youth and life worth a whole world’s gold—

This was my son, that you have taken, Guard lest your gold-vault walls be shaken— This—that shall never speak or waken.

John let out a soft sob.

Arthur took a shuddering breath, letting John’s tears fall onto Parker’s shoulder—and, head down, he responded.

“Do not stand By my grave, and weep, I am not there, I do not sleep—

I am the thousand winds that blow, I am the diamond glints in snow. I am the sunlight on ripened grain, I am the gentle, autumn rain. As you awake with morning's hush, I am the swift, up-flinging rush Of quiet birds in circling flight. I am the day transcending night.

Do not stand By my grave, and cry— I am not there, I did not die.”

Fuck you both, John choked out.

Sunny laughed, voice thick with tears; in a moment John joined him, the two bass voices rising and falling with their sobs and laughs. Arthur held Parker tight, face buried against his shoulder, and Parker held all three of them as best he could until they grew quiet and still.

-------

Notes:

Sunny's Poem: A Mother To The War-Makers Arthur's Poem: Immortality (Do Not Stand By My Grave And Weep) Kraiva would like to dedicate this fic to IchthyOccult, who has been dutifully reminding everyone of how neither John nor Sunny knew their son was dead since John lost his memories. You're a little freak, Ichthy, and I love you.

[mystrixstory]

Already missing Sunny and Parker

[thedoodlebuggo]

malevolent art dump here we go-- first up we got oscar

human john!! yes the blond/gray hair idea was inspired by this fic

and fractured kayne! blue one is the equivalent to John, orange = Yellow. dunno what to name the blue one but i have decided that the orange half is to be dubbed Starburst or Sunny. i love starburst dearly

[chaoticbuggybitchboy]

Hi!

I do not answer donation asks and do not reblog most donation posts. For my mental health. Seriously.

Nicholases: Anthony Mikey

Nicks: ant; glow

Gender: wobbly (transmasc enby)

Pronouns: ey/vey/zey/they/he any just get silly

Orient.: aro/ace

Status: queerplatonic whore WITH THE BEST QP GF IN THE WORLD

Age: minor ig

Pronouns Page

Languages: English (native), Spanish (decent), Romanian (bad)

Brain Stuff: OCD, ADHD, autism, psychosis, PTSD, bipolar disorder

Physical Stuff: hyper-mobile Ehlers Danlos Spectrum Disorder; postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome; migraines

DMs?: I’m awkward and may not answer at all. If I don’t say anything after like, two days just assume I either forgot or was just uncomfortable but didn’t want to say anything. Feel free to try again if u want with something else I might reply then. I’m an unpredictable feral rat about DMs sometimes. Idk. Don’t assume I hate you.

Tone tags?: yes

Asks: anything nonsexual and not asking me for money I will not respond to those

Flirting/compliments?: non romantic and nonsexual

Swearing: I swear so much I don’t always register the use of the word fuck and my phone has autocorrected ‘duck’ to ‘fuck’ before.

Previously pinned post: horses

My overly active ao3: ant_is_in_an_anthill

My neglected art blog: @ants-awesome-art-blog (also present here tagged as ‘ant art go brr’)

My danger days fic specifically: endangered gays fic (yes! That’s me!! I’m that guy!! Yippee!!)

Side blogs:

@cherri-cola-soda & @broken-acid-in-the-morning-light & @moth-moon-the-whore & @dead-spider-in-the-sun & @crazy-yellow-bitch (kjrp)

Things I talk about pretty consistently:

- danger days

- Myself

- My danger days fic

Blog tags and more abt me under the cut

Things I talk about sporadically:

- Dracula

- The Historian

- The end Cretaceous Extinction Event

- Star Wars

- TMA & TMAGP

- Languages

- Bears in trees

- Other assorted music artists

- My intense craving for a Mikey Way 2012 fender bass guitar

Tags (I’m still sorting my blog so it’s sporadic and more will be added)

Chaoticbuggybitchboy - literally anything I said words on

Some blogs I interact with semi regularly have their urls tagged

Malevolent ant - me thinking about malevolent whenever I remember to listen to it (sunny I’m so sorry)

Complaining - me. Complaining. About anything and everything

I have a couple levels of vent tags there’s mild vent and cw vent

Infodumping in the tags again - what it sounds like

Ant activated - things relating to world events and general activism stuff

Making up words - for when I’m making up words again

Me when he /p - me posting about a boy I like. I’m sorry. Not stopping.

Ayudame - when I need help but in Spanish

Wtnv rambles - welcome to Nightvale, where I ramble.

Ant the space cadet - Star Wars talk

Showing and telling :] - yeah

My posts that hit it off - ones that took off in some way

My hit bit posts - the two(!!!!) posts bears in trees official reblogged

Marigold corpse fic - a different thing I wrote, also up on ao3 :]

Ant makes polls - get this I make polls

Danger days tags:

Danger days the true lives of the fabulous killjoys - umbrella tag for all danger days content (yes I chose the longest possible tag)

Endangered gays fic - my massive fic series and anything at all related to it (including when I ramble in the tags so remember to check there if ur interested)

Danger days - general danger days; not associated with my fic

Danger days art - art

Ddttlotfk - album stuff talking about the songs rather than the lore

[the-bitterest-breakups-poll]

Bracket!

Its done! 64 competitors on this.

its so small I will put the mashups under the cut, but know that the first 8 polls, Round 1 A will release on Sunday, August 20th, 3pm EST, and will last 1 week.

If anyone has ANY specific photos they want me to use for anyone here, please send them to me. (Also if you see anyone on this list you like, feel free to send n more propaganda for them because I may put it in their poll and some people here don't have any lol)

Round 1 A

Edgar and Fay from Dolls of New Albion vs Obi Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker from star wars

Catra and Adora from She ra vs The doctor and the Master from Doctor who

Jekyll and Lanyon from The glass scientist vs Chell and Wheatley from Portal

Colm Doherty and Pádraic Súilleabháin from Banshees of Inisherin vs Chalres Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr from x -men

Jesus and Judas from Jesus Christ Superstar vs Rogue and Gambit from x- men

Grace and Simon from Infinity train vs kim Wexler and Jimmy from Better call Saul

Evellyn, Luel, and Sahar from Luna Story picross/coloring book apps vs Andreth and Aegnor from Silmarillion!

Anna and Hans from Frozen vs Kirk and SPock from Star trek

Round 1b

Ruth and Debbie from GLOW vs Agent Curt and Owen Carvour from Spies are forever

aziraphale & crowley from good omens vs Nastya and Aurora from Mechanism

John Doe and Arthur Lester from Malevolent vs Kotetsu and Barnaby from tiger and Bunny

Fitz and the fool from Realm of the Elderlings vs HeathCliff and cathy from Wuthering Heights

Akeelah and Dr.Larabee from akeelah and the bee vs Arthur and Guinevere from Arthurianna.

Peery the platypus and Dr. Heniz Doofenshmirtiz from phineas and Ferb vs Skull and vintage from Spatoon

Hil and Tavek from Girl Genius vs Vrisrezi from Homestuck

Harry Du bois and Dora Ingerlund from Disco Elysium vs Blake Belladonna and Yang Xiao-Long from RWBY

Round 1c

Jackieshannua from Yellow Jackets vs Addek from Greys Anatomy

Eddie and Shannon from 9-1-1 vs Mercymorn the First/Augustine the First/Emperor John Gaius from The locked tomb seris

Junpei and Skane from Zero escape vs Lea & Isa / Axel & Saïx from Kingdom hearts

Scooge MC'Duck and Goldie I'Gill Ducktails (2017) vsCavendish and Dakota from Milo Murphy's law

Rebecca Bunch and Josh Chen from Crazy ex-girlfriend vs Sophia and fitz from keeper of lost cities

Cherry and Adam from sk8 vs Dazi Osamu and Nakahara chuuya from Bungo Stray dog

 Shen Qingqiu & Yue Qingyuan from Scum Villain’s Self-Saving System vs Igor Grom and Sergey razumovski from Major Grom: Plague Doctor 

Jack harness and John Hart from Torchwood vs Yuma Tsukumo and Vector/Rei Shingetru from Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal

Round 1d

Powl and Mesothulas (trantulas) from transformers vs Jason Mcconnel and Peter simmonds from Bare: A pop Opera

Cappie and Even from Greek (2007) vs Junnana from Revue Starlight

The band Amatelast from Show By Rock! vs Mac Macdonald and Dennis Reynolds from Its always sunny in Philadelphia

Mulder and scully from x-files vsRosho and Sasara from Hypnosis Microphone!

Yoo Junghyuk and Anna Croft from omniscient reader vs Archie and maxie from Pokemon

sherlock and Watson from Blackeyed Theatre's Valley of Fear vs Anna, Sasha, and Marcy from Amphibia

The two boys from Bokura from Bokura vs Rom and Tammy from Parks and recs

[plural-swag-competition]

Barring any last minute adjustments, here is the list:

Shallan Davar/Veil/Radiant - The Stormlight Archive

Shigeo “Mob” Kageyama - Mob Psycho 100

Yugi Mutou & Atem - Yu-Gi-Oh!

The Moon Knight System (Marc Spector, Steven Grant, Jake Lochley) - Moon Knight Marvel Comics

Frisk/Chara - Undertale

Raphael Hamato - Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

Greed/Ling - Fullmetal Alchemist

Harrier Du Bois - Disco Elysium

Epsilon - Red vs Blue

Sunny/Omori - OMORI

Arthur Lester / John Doe - Malevolent Podcast

Link (Green, Red, Blue, Vio, and Shadow) - The Legend of Zelda: Four Sword Adventures

Sora/Roxas/Ventus/Vanitas - Kingdom Hearts

ENA - ENA

Uendo Toneido (Uendo & Patches & Kisegawa & Owen) - Ace Attorney: Spirit of Justice

Blitzwing - Transformers: Animated

Dr Alto Clef - SCP wiki

Cassie O'Pia - Psychonauts 2

Bruce Banner/Hulk/Joe Fixit/Devil hulk - Marvel comics

Link/Deku Butler’s Son/Darmani III/Mikau/Fierce Deity - LoZ Legend of Zelda: Majora’s Mask

Hojo Emu, Tensai Gamer M, Parado - Kamen Rider Ex-Aid

The Warrior of Light - Final Fantasy XIV

Yellow Guy - Don’t Hug Me I’m Scared

Madeline & Mirrorline - Celeste

Darcy Wu - Amphibia

Jaden Yuki/Haou Jaden/Yubel - Bodyname Jaden Yuki - Yu-Gi-Oh! GX

Mike/Chester/Vito/Svetlana/Manitoba/Mal - Total Drama

Peter Nureyev - The Penumbra Podcast

Ford Cruller - Psychonauts

Goldia die Heilige/Fleta/Harpae/Lisette - Pocket Mirror

Wildcards - Persona

The Sunken - Oxenfree

Edward Teach - Our Flag Means Death

Jackson Jekyll and Holt Hyde - Monster High

Mikoto Kayano - Milgram

Patrick and Rey Sprigs - Megaman Starforce

The Legion System (David Haller and headmates) - Marvel/X-Men Comics

Triad/Luornu Durgo - LoS Legion of Superheroes Post-Zero Hour run/1993-2003 run

Vyncent “Virion” Sol - Just Roll With It: Prime Defenders

Diavolo and Dopplio - Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure

One-One - Infinity Train

Alluka and Nanika Zoldyck - Hunter x Hunter

Gray Reverse - Helios: Rising Heroes

Raiden Ei/Raiden Shogun - Genshin Impact

Sylvie Ashling and Dr. Beefton - Epithet Erased

Kris and the SOUL - Deltarune

Hajime Hinata/Izuru Kamukura - Super Dangan Ronpa 2

BMO - Adventure Time

Pyra/Mythra/Spoilers - Xenoblade Chronicles 2

Red - Twitch Plays Pokemon

Eda Clawthorne - The Owl House

Aubrey Little - The Adventure Zone: Amnesty

Killer B & Gyuki - Naruto

Dirk Strider - Homestuck

Miyao/Meow Mitake - Ciconia When They Cry

Roronoa Zoro - One Piece

Sho and Minazuki - Persona 4 Arena Ultimax

Jesse Faden - Control

Mollymauk/Kingsley Tealeaf/Lucien Tavelle - Critical Role

Jace - Magic the Gathering 

Elliot Alderson - Mr Robot

Webber - Don't Starve

Sawada Tsunayoshi - Katekyo Hitman Reborn

Izuku Midoriya - Boko No Hero Academia

[rayclubs]

Hi I would like to request the dissertation on "What's it called, Engie?" please <3

FUCK YEAH there's so much shit going on in that fic, if I wrote it a bit more competently it could have been a masterpiece, thank you for letting me brag about it, let's fucking go.

So I already explained how the trees/bees metaphor works throughout the whole fic and I'm not gonna do it again, but, believe it or not, it's not the only metaphor the fic is built on. Another one is spiders, which represent negative thoughts, fears, trauma, or even - in a segment - a malevolent outside force. Unlike the trees-bees metaphor which gets its resolution at about midway through the fic, when Soldier accepts Engie's affection, the spiders theme NEVER resolves, and the closest the characters ever come to it is saying "I don't know" and leaving it be. That is completely intentional. By the end of the fic, while the characters have grown as individuals and as a pair, the negative elements of their lives don't disappear. They're there, they're gonna be there, it's not the kind of story where things simply get better, it's a story about people who get better at managing them.

Another detail that's really good is Engie's sense of order and rationality. In the beginning, Soldier's presence is a distraction, making him drop a tool when he gets caught off guard by a loud noise. Later on it becomes a comfort, he sees Soldier and immediately gets his thoughts in order, remembers where he'd put a pencil he couldn't find earlier. Then his sense of security and normalcy is challenged during a battle. By the end of the story it is restored into a new normalcy, where Soldier's company is constant and expected.

ANOTHER THEME that I think is fucking awesome is names. The story alternates between Soldier's and Engie's POVs, and you can easily tell because Engie thinks in titles ("Soldier", "Engineer") and Soldier thinks in names ("Jane", "Dell").

Well, if you look at what they actually CALL each other, you'll see that Engie says both "Soldier" and "Jane", demonstrating that he is comfortable and secure in their interpersonal dynamic, while Soldier DOESN'T say "Dell", because he views their relationship as more distant than it really is, and inadvertently puts that distance there himself because he is emotionally unintelligent and it places a great weight on all his social interactions.

When he does say "Dell" eventually, it's treated as something unusual, and is a growing moment for him. He actually gets to explain his way of thinking ("you call me Jane all the time", invoking a sense of fairness, something very natural for him to think of in this context), AND he makes sure to leave the matter open in case Engie has any objections ("I won't call you Dell if you don't want me to", as in, look, he doesn't register social clues so he learned to be more direct in letting other people set boundaries, and has become more confident as a result). It's fuckin. Growth, man.

As a side note, I was re-reading the fic and remembered I described Engie's eyes as "honey-brows" which. BEE IMAGERY. A.

I'm actually terrified of bees, I dunno if it's a phobia or just a strong fear but I stepped on a wasp nest accidentally as a kid and haven't been the same since. I dunno how I wrote bee imagery in a positive light. Like, I have a separate original work in progress where a horror villain is portrayed using bee (and wasp and hornet) imagery as a tool of creating an absolutely disgusting and terrifying presence. I do NOT vibe with bees. The ghost of a beekeeper briefly possessed me to write this fic.

BUT YOU KNOW WHAT MY FAVORITE THING ABOUT IT IS??? The reception. Throughout the fic Soldier struggles to explain his emotions and uses analogy instead. Happiness is yellow, sunny, cornflakes, air balloons. Well, if you go to the comments of the fic, there are people saying they "can't put their thoughts into words" and explaining it like Soldier does. There's yellow heart emojis, mentions of air balloons, cats, back when the fic came out some people sent me asks literally saying "I don't know how to say this so I will say it like Soldier"... It's!!! So heart-warming to me!!! I struggle with emotional awareness too and metaphors are a huge part of how I process that (which is why I write metaphors so good bro just trust me), and me projecting my own experience onto a character I think would have a similar issue, and then seeing people adopt the same "tactic" I give to said character to help him navigate his world? It just makes me want to keep writing. It's why I do it. It's everything.

P. S. Forgot to mention how gay Heavy and Medic are in the background. They go on a date in Teufort and then Medic explains love to Soldier by letting him hold Archimedes in his hand. Homosexual behavior. Me and who

[zukusuku]

🇺🇸 Explosions In The Sky - The Moon Is Down2. 🇮🇸 Sigur Rós - Sæglópur3. 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿 Mogwai - Punk Rock4. 🇨🇦 Godspeed You! Black Emperor - Mladic5. 🇨🇦 A Silver Mt. Zion - 13 Angels Standing Guard 'round the Side of Your Bed6. 🇺🇸 This Will Destroy You - Thread7. 🇬🇧 65daysofstatic - Taipei8. 🇬🇧 Maybeshewill - He Films The Clouds Pt. 29. 🇯🇵 Mono - Pure As Snow (Trails Of The Winter Storm)10. 🇯🇵 Toe - Two Moons11. 🇸🇪 Lights & Motion - Anomaly12. 🇸🇪 Immanu El - Under Your Wings I'll Hide13. 🇪🇸 Exxasens - Science Will Save Us14. 🇮🇪 God Is An Astronaut - Forever Lost15. 🇬🇧 Slowdive - Crazy For You (Demo Version)16. 🇬🇧 Kyte - Boundaries17. 🇮🇸🇺🇸 Jónsi & Alex - Indian Summer18. 🇺🇸 Deafheaven - Dream House19. 🇫🇷 Alcest - Souvenirs d'Un Autre Monde20. 🇸🇪 Jeniferever - From Across The Sea21. 🇺🇸 American Football - The Summer Ends22. 🇺🇸 La Dispute - Such Small Hands23. 🇺🇸 The World Is A Beautiful Place & I Am No Longer Afraid To Die - January 10th, 201424. 🇺🇸 Prawn - Why You Always Leave A Note25. 🇺🇸 The Appleseed Cast - As The Little Things Go26. 🇯🇵 Envy - Further Ahead Of Warp27. 🇺🇸 If These Trees Could Talk - If These Trees Could Talk28. 🇺🇸 The Album Leaf - Twentytwofourteen29. 🇺🇸 Lowercase Noises - Silence In Siberia30. 🇬🇧 Jesu - Homesick31. 🇺🇸 Moving Mountains - Swing Set32. 🇺🇸 Sunnn O))) - It Took The Night To Believe33. 🇫🇷 M83 - Wait34. 🇩🇪 Frames - Don't Stay Here35. 🇯🇵 Boris - Farewell36. 🇺🇸 A Sunny Day In Glasgow - Autumn Again37. 🇬🇧 Clem Leek - Bless Those Tired Eyes38. 🇬🇧 Yndi Halda - Illuminate My Heart, Darling!39. 🇮🇸 Amiina - Perth40. 🇮🇸 Múm - We Have A Map Of The Piano41. 🇺🇸 Pianos Became The Teeth - Hiding42. 🇺🇸 Owel - Snowglobe43. 🇯🇵 Heaven In Her Arms - 光芒の明時44. 🇺🇸 Gates - The Thing That Would Save You45. 🇬🇧 The 1975 - Sex46. 🇺🇸 Cigarettes After Sex - Apocalypse47. 🇰🇷 Jambinai - Time Of Extinction48. 🇺🇸 Red Sparrowes - In An Illusion Of Order49. 🇺🇸 Russian Blood - Youngblood50. 🇦🇺 Sleepmakeswave - It's Dark, It's Cold, It's Winter51. 🇳🇿 Jakob - Blind Them With Science52. 🇩🇪 Daturah - Ghost Track53. 🇵🇱 Tides From Nebula - Dopamine54. 🇮🇹 Port-royal - Nights In Kiev55. 🇺🇸 Hammock - I Can Almost See You56. 🇺🇸 Lights Out Asia - They Disappear Into The Palms57. 🇬🇧🇫🇷 Stereolab - Diagonals58. 🇩🇰 Mew - Comforting Sounds59. 🇩🇰 Efterklang - Dreams - Today60. 🇺🇸 Inventions - Echo Tropism61. 🇺🇸 Unwed Sailor - Moon Coin62. 🇷🇺 Mooncake - Novorossiysk 196863. 🇺🇸 Joy Wants Eternity - Dark Heart of the King64. 🇬🇧 Epic45 - The Stars In Autumn65. 🇬🇧 July Skies - Festival Of Britain66. 🇺🇸 The American Dollar - Anything You Synthesize67. 🇸🇪 PG.Lost - Crystaline68. 🇸🇪 EF - Delusions of Grandeur69. 🇸🇪 September Malevolence - I Shut Doors and Windows70. 🇸🇪 Oh Hiroshima - Mirage71. 🇺🇸 Windsor Airlift - Something Lost72. 🇺🇸 Carinthia - Leaving73. 🇬🇧 Good Weather For An Airstrike - Good Night, Boogaloo74. 🇬🇧 The Echelon Effect - As the Lights Fade Away75. 🇸🇪 U137 - Adam Forever76. 🇳🇴 The Samuel Jackson Five - Never Ending Now77. 🇨🇦 Do Make Say Thing - Horripilation78. 🇺🇸 El Ten Eleven - Sorry About Your Irony79. 🇬🇧 And So I Watch You From Afar - Dying Giants80. 🇯🇵 Mass Of The Fermenting Dregs - Oneday81. 🇯🇵 Miaou - Hello World82. World's End Girlfriend - Smile83. 🇯🇵3nd - 夏終わる84. 🇮🇩 Under The Big Bright Yellow Sun - A Life In A Day85. 🇮🇩 TheMilo - Romantic Purple86. 🇮🇩 My Violainé Morning - Lost87. 🇮🇩 Autumn Ode - They Asked Me to Run, Follow the Sun88. 🇮🇩 L'AlphaAlpha - A Lot of Fireworks But I Still Have A Reason to Smile89. 🇮🇩 The Trees and The Wild - Empati Tamako90. 🇮🇩 Heals - Void91. 🇮🇩 Marché La Void - Serenity92. 🇮🇩 Tuan Tanah - A Farewell to Arms93. 🇮🇩 Echolight - Lethal Impression94. 🇮🇩 Senja Dalam Prosa - Niskala95. 🇮🇩 Elemental Gaze - Unperfect Sky96. 🇮🇩 Qibe - Adaptasi Diri97. 🇮🇩 Ghaust - At Sea (We Are Nothing)98. 🇸🇬 Paint the Sky Red - Amber99. 🇵🇭 As the City Sleeps - Goodbye100. 🇬🇧 Radiohead - Pyramid Song

[fuck-nonsense]

On my way home from work, lovely weather today!

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

The Setup - a Malevolent fic

Things are very serious. It is absolutely not time for a little extra... atmosphere.

Unless you're a forgotten one, and the drama is a lifeline.

Part of the Surrogate series. Written with @sepiabandensis.

AO3

----------

Carcosa had gone to the Shrouded Mists of Miseria for some unknown reason, and the palace was wrapped in shadow. The light was almost blue, sapping color, leaving everything with the curious feel of New York streets in winter.

It was a slow, gloomy day. Gloomy clouds, gloomy gods, even gloomy music—a sort of paced and syncopated jazz, sounding down the hall from Arthur’s music room.

Parker hunched along in his long peasant’s coat, thick and warm, which felt enough like a trench to put him in the mood. He kept his hands in his pockets, but was no less ready for that.

Then, out of nowhere, there he was: a leggy, thin blond, sneering in superiority and wearing some fucked-up red tights fit for Shakespeare. The stupid little Van Dyke he’d been growing hadn’t quite filled in yet, so it just looked like Larson spit up his food.

Larson was lookin’ healthy, though. Parker didn’t like that.

Larson didn’t like anything about this, either, and sneered at them as he passed. Guys like that always did. Parker held his gaze, unblinking until the asshole wandered by—though even Larson unconsciously moved to the beat coming from Arthur’s room.

When is that guy gonna get a clue? said Sunny, timing his words to the gentle sound of cymbals from Arthur’s place, his accent not quite Parker’s, not quite Bogart.

“When he realizes he didn’t fuckin’ chase us away,” said Parker, leaning on his Bostonian. “Just gotta put up with him for now, kid, until we get this figured out.”

Can we figure it out, partner? said Sunny, who was so caught up in the story of it all that even Larson couldn’t upset him.

Parker had made damn sure he would be. “Sure thing, kid. Already halfway there… and this is the next step,” said Parker, tugging down his shirt, and gave the music room door a knock.

#

Arthur was trying to write when he walked in: a tall, dark drink of water, fists for days, and the smarts to back it up.

And he looks serious, John finished the description as the cymbal, bespelled, continued its tshh, tuh-tuh-tshh, tuh-tuh-tshhh.

“Lester,” said Parker, and took a seat without asking. From his coat, he drew a small bottle. “This is good. Good stuff; the kind of drink a guy should have on a cold day like this.”

Arthur, he’s holding out a crystal decanter with—

And Sunny spoke up. It’s a good drink; full of the fire you need to face down a King.

Arthur played a bluesy set of chords, a minor scale with a major sixth and seventh, keeping time. “I don’t drink anymore, Parker.”

“It’s tea, idiot,” said Parker under his breath, and something about the way he did it tipped Arthur off.

Parker was running a game, somehow, some kind of sting—and that he’d shown up in full character already meant it was fucking important.

It had been so long since Arthur’d been part of a sting like this, but years of practice at Parker’s side held: he slid into his role like putting on like a pair of comfortable slippers.

The subtle beat continued, and Arthur transitioned to a G seven alt, then to a minor nine. “All right, detective. I’m listening,” he said, which might as well be code for I’m in.

Parker nodded (knew Arhtur was smart) and leaned in. “So we all know the deal, see? It ain’t safe on these streets no more. The place’s gone to shit. King’s gone loco. It’s no bueno, is it, pal?”

No bueno, said Sunny with relish.

Arthur, what’s happening? whispered John.

But Arthur was nodding along, noodling through chords. “Yeah. You’re preaching to the choir, pal.” And softer: “Just go along with it, John. He’s got a plan.”

“Way I see it, we got us three options,” said Parker, crossing his legs, tapping one foot in time with the beat. “One: We get outta dodge. That ain’t gonna work, for a varietal of reasons.”

Arthur laughed. It wasn’t a big laugh, but the inside joke of a wrongly-used word had surprised him. “Right. Kayne—the big boss—would track us down. He’s got eyes all over this town.”

Parker’s lips quirked. “That low-life.”

Low-life, whispered Sunny, very bravely indeed.

“So. Option two: we all put up with it like the King’s a bunch of mush-mouth politicians, and I think we both know that ain’t no good, either. Makes me wanna gag, Lester. I won’t lie.”

“No, thanks,” said Arthur. “I ate enough bad fish in the orphanage to last a lifetime.”

A lifetime, Sunny whispered.

“Good one. Well, pal, that just leaves...” Parker leaned in, head down, and though he didn’t have a hat, his eyes were shadowed. “Option three.”

We pin the bastard down! Sunny proclaimed.

Whoa, said John, deeply confused.

“You’ve got my attention, but you still gotta sell me on it. Risk’s pretty high. Big Boss Yellow ain’t no pushover,” said Arthur in his crisp British accent.

John choked.

“I got hope, kid,” said Parker, tone just soft enough that Arthur knew this wasn’t part of the game. “Maybe I shouldn’t, but I do. And you know what? You know what? I think he’s not all gone inside.”

Not all gone? said John, baffled, then was surprised to find his vision blurred.

Arthur didn’t wipe his eyes. He kept his hands in the keys. “Like I said, detective. I’m listening. What’s your plan?”

“A Dickens play,” said Parker.

Arthur snorted and played an A flat with a B major seven. “We don’t have the power to pull off that play. Can’t exactly tie him to a chair.”

“Yeah, we can. Or more specifically… you can.” Parker leaned back, and his chair creak matched the tah-tah-tssh of the drum.

“Me?” Arthur played an f minor nine and scowled in Parker’s direction.

“You got your regular meeting soon, yeah? With the lady.”

John gasped. How did you know?

The drum stopped.

“It’s the same time every week,” Parker said gently.

Oh.

The beat took up again.

“You willing to take that dame a request?” said Parker.

Arthur played a G major seven. “Yes.”

“Then we got a chance,” said Parker.

“She may not be enough.” Arthur briefly pressed his fists into the keys, delicious dissonance. “He’s a fucking… he’s got all the future he wants, and reliving his past will only make him worse.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Parker. “That’s why we’re sticking to Christmas Present, my friend… and we got ourselves a secret weapon.”

Arthur went still. So did the cymbal. “Not her.”

“She’s already in,” said Parker.

“You son of a bitch,” said Arthur, shaking a little.

“Easy, old friend,” said Parker. “The damsel’s in, and it’s better for everyone.” His pause said much.

Arthur understood. Objectively, it was better. Better for the little gods. Better for the humans. Better to walk in with a secret weapon instead of uselessly going up against a god.

But it was his daughter. “Detective,” he said, rough, struggling to keep up the gig.

“Just think about it this way,” said Parker. “How well did she handle it when you hid your conflicts from her before, huh?”

Oh, shit, said John.

Arthur ducked his head. “That isn’t fair.”

Are we losing him? whispered Sunny.

“No,” said Parker, utterly sure. “Keep it spinning.”

She’d figure it out anyway, Lester, said Sunny in rehearsed, even tones. And she wouldn’t be happy you left her out. If you want her to trust you as she grows, you’re going to have to trust her, too.

“Good job,” Parker said, and lightly touched his jaw.

Arthur sighed, his jaw tight, and the tah-tah-tssh resumed as fog slid by the window, wrapping the room in an almost monochrome gloom. “I won’t risk her going in without backup. I’m in.”

“Good man.” Parker leaned in, unable to keep his shoulders completely still against that perfect beat. He might not sing great, but he sure as hell had rhythm. “Here’s what we’re gonna do.”

#

The Keeper didn’t warn anybody what was coming because her humor was her own, quiet, but sharp.

Her gown shifted, just slightly, becoming more form-fitting, more traditionally hourglass in spite of multiple arms. All around, the library… paled. Color leaked out, sinking even as the sound of distant, mourning brass and a snare drum rose to take its place, scratchy as if played on vinyl.

“Um,” said Tabby, staring around and then down at herself, where her Baby Metal My Little Pony t-shirt had transformed to an image of Robert Mitchum saying “No, Really, What The Fuck” in a comic-style speech bubble.

“Hm,” the Keeper said, peering at the shirt. “Close enough.”

“Uh,” Tabby said, gesturing.

“You’ll see,” the Keeper said, completely unhelpfully. A pillbox hat appeared beneath her veil, which shortened to a fashionable, still-concealing length.

The portal opened (shockingly colorful, all things considered), and Arthur stepped through. He looked grim; the clothes he’d picked today had a distinctive look, broad in the shoulders, long and thick, barely gold at all. It wasn’t a trench coat, but it was about as close as Carcosa let him get.

Tabby looked down at her shirt and back up again. “I am fucking recording this,” she said, and scuttled off.

Arthur walked straight, head high and hands in his pockets, trusting John to guide him, trusting the Keeper to move anything that might trip. His outer garment (Coat? Sort of?) flapped around his legs, and he walked in time to the soft, LP-scratchy sound of quiet, rainy-day jazz.

“Mister Lester,” the Keeper said. “Right on time. Seems as though something foul is afoot, though; gray days like this bring all the scum to the surface.”

Is she in on it already? John whispered.

“Looks like it,” whispered Arthur, and flashed her a grateful look. Then he went grim and did his best to affect a Trans-Atlantic accent. “Sorry to bug a dame on a day like this, but you got it straight: all the scum’s floating upstream.”

“Oh my god,” Tabby whispered from somewhere unseen.

“Shhh!” someone else whispered back.

“Don’t know how much I can assist you, Mister Lester,” the Keeper said, drumming her fingertips against the banister of the stairs. “But give a girl a minute and I can hear you out. Shall we step into the office?”

“That’d be best, ma’am,” said Arthur, and followed her in.

This office doesn’t usually have windows, but today, it does, John said, pitching his voice low and rugged. The freezing rain of Leng pelts against the translucent stone, a grim and pattering sound in the gray light that filters through. The chairs are severe black linen instead of velvety greens and dark wood, and the marble-topped desk is piled high with mismatched manila folders and paperwork.

“Appreciate you making time to shee us, ma’am,” said Arthur.

John flickered inside him like flame. He still didn’t get it, but melodrama was guaranteed god-nip, at least for bits and pieces of the King in Yellow. She’s dressed like women in our era, Arthur, real hourglass figure and a pillbox hat.

“Always a pleasure to see my favorite gumshoe,” she said; there were no delicate teacups, but she produced a mug of steaming coffee instead, a small pot of cream and sugar next to it.

Arthur, there’s coffee, whispered John.

“I can smell it. Thank you, partner,” said Arthur, who was all the fuck in.

John shivered with happiness at the title, picked up the mug, and doctored the coffee as he saw fit.

Was it John’s imagination, or had the shutters in the windows, the creaking of the bookshelves, adjusted to match that snare-drum rhythm from the unseen turntable?

“Ma’am,” said Arthur, touching two fingers to his forehead respectfully. “Not in any way disparaging a high-class dame like you, but it seems to me you got your ear to the grapevine.”

“A girl needs to keep ahead of all the gossip,” she said, one finger tapping on the marble-topped desk.

She’s produced a small stoneware ashtray and a silver cigarette case. She opened it with a click, pulling one of the cigarettes out and bringing it to her hidden mouth.

She sighed. “I hear our mutual acquaintance has gone a bit batty.”

“Yeah. Off his rocker. Off the deep end. Lost his damn marbles. And, well, you know my old partner Parker, and his new partner Sunny. They got a plan, but… we’re nobodies, and we got no resources. We’re gonna need some help.” Arthur sipped the liquid brought to his lips, and bravely did not indicate that the sugary, slightly-coffeed milk was in no way what he’d expected.

“He didn’t come in with you, this time. He always did before; needed to make sure his right-hand man was alright,” she said gravely—and there was a strange sound, like someone eating a cigarette, which would be ridiculous, and therefore Arthur forced himself not to imagine it. “There’s not much a girl in my position can do to help you, Mister Lester; but ask, and if I can, I will provide.”

Arthur’s tiny smile at right hand man was a soft and precious thing. “Ma’am. We need a way to hold him. Make him listen. He don’t wanna right now,” he said, carefully forming the words like Parker would. “We need him not able to run away or just knock us out for the duration.”

F… uh. His daughter’s gonna be part of it, said John, trying to get into the genre, too. His, uh. Number two kid. I guess. And muttered, Don’t know how many he has—

“That doesn’t matter right now. She’s his focus,” whispered Arthur.

Oh, uh. His number one kid.

“His daughter’s involved? Poor thing.” There was a brief break in character as the Keeper sat up; but she leaned back into her chair, the wood creaking as she shook her head. “If you can get him to me, I can keep him pinned. I own this part of the Dreamlands; he steps into my parlor and the web will shut tight, and he’ll go where I say he goes. Do you need a back door for the others?”

“Yeah.” Arthur swallowed. “Parker and Sunny. Me and John. Faroe. If he’s got anybody feeding him the shit he’s spitting out… we gotta present a united front.”

John fed him some more caffeinated sugar milk.

“Sounds like you’ve got the trump card already. Your girl is the key to his heart.”

“I won’t lie, ma’am. We talked it out.” He swallowed. “Big Boss Yellow’s already broken his promise. I think he’s gonna hit back hard. Not her; never her. But we might take some damage, if you get what I’m saying. I think that has to be part of it.” He took a breath. “And… I need… you to help me do something.”

She reached up, unpinning the cameo from the ribbon on her neck; she rolled it in one hand and it rounded, filled, and became a delicate mother-of-pearl doorknob. “I’m listening, Mister Lester.”

“I wanna use the mark to call him.” He clenched his fists on his legs. “Parker thinks the best way to get him where we need is to do that. But I know that means I probably gotta be hurt for real.”

John growled lightly, really trying, and pressed the mug to Arthur’s lips.

Somewhere, a trumpet mourned its muted wag-wah-wah, all but singing words.

“A tricky situation,” she mused. “But not unprecedented. One function of the mark is for the engraver—the one who marks—to better protect their charge. Distress, injury, any of that could potentially call an engraver to their charge’s side. But you…” She leaned forward, her presumed chin perching on a hand as she peered at him. “You’re a special case, Mister Lester. You and your partner altered that contract in ways I can only speculate. And you’ve endured  more than your fair share of trouble. With my unique gifts and a bit of coaching, I think you and I will cook up the perfect bait for this golden fish.”

John peered at her through Arthur’s eyes. Whatever we need to do, we’ll do. We’re in, all the way. We… He took a deep, metaphorical breath. We’re gonna flip his lid.

Arthur’s lips twitched. “Yeah. That’s what we’ll do. Together.”

John abandoned the coffee on the desk and took his hand. He’ll never know what hit him.

“What do you need me to do?” said Arthur while the bookcases creaked a beat, and the air in the rafters somehow joined that soft trumpet song.

“First, here, for your former partner.” She held out the doorknob; it was small and fit in John’s palm easily, no larger than an egg. “He will merely need to insert it into a wall to make a door; when the trap is sprung, I will open the way for him, and your backup can enter. Your target won’t have time to be suspicious; they can be on the other side of the city and it’ll work.”

“That’s perfect,” said Arthur, taking it as John studied it close.

“Wrap it in this, and he won’t be able to detect it,” she said, and passed over a delicate silk handkerchief—black, of course. “Next, I need a date. I assume next week? Or do you need sooner?”

Arthur sat up straight. “Yes. Next week. He’s got… the rite’s coming soon, and Faroe’s birthday. We don’t dare let this go on that long.” He went red. “He, uh. He didn’t… show up last year. I think he skipped entirely. People were talking about it. Sunny and John both think it’s doubly important the king reestablishes connection this time around. So before.”

Yeah, that he establishes it, John griped.

Elsewhere, the drum went bah-dm-tssh.

“I see,” said the Keeper. “Well, you’re on your own for that part.”

Oh, he’s got it covered, said John. He’s written a—

“Stay in character,” Arthur murmured for John’s sake more than his.

Right! Right. So yeah, dame, thanks for the help.

“Happy to provide it for such upstanding gentlemen as yourselves,” said the Keeper. “Cigar?”

“Can I take one for my friend?” said Arthur.

“You most certainly can,” she said, and produced the kind of Cubans that he never could have afforded.

Arthur took four home.

After they were gone, and color seeped back in, Tabby had to ask: “So, uh. What the fuuuuck?” she said, bright and sweet.

“It’s an emergency,” said the Keeper softly, “and the forgotten ones are… under strain, more than they realize, because Hastur is unstable. By keeping up the drama, they are being protected.” She shook her head and her veil flowed back outward with a sound like a sheet being aired out.

Tabby chewed on that for a moment. “So they’re roleplaying to keep it from getting too overwhelming?”

“Yes. Though it seems more like accessing memories than roleplaying. This was their life on Earth, after all.”

Tabby held up a small mobile phone. “Also blackmail.”

“Tabby,” chided the Keeper, but did not take it away.

#

Parker waited in their spot (just where they’d agreed to meet, which was also known as the kitchen), coffee steaming, cookies at the ready. Every once in a while, Parker made a little shh-ch-ch-shh sound, imitating cymbals, and it made Sunny giggle.

Arthur came in, still in his coat, and slid across from Parker exactly as if they were doing this in a diner in some disreputable part of town. “Got the goods.”

“I knew you’d pull through.” Their tongue moved in Parker’s mouth briefly, still following that rhythm. “Cookie?”

“Blue plate special, if you please.”

Parker slid over a cookie. “Show me.”

Arthur made a big deal of looking around (not that he could see a damn thing) and produced the said goods: a doorknob and a silky black handkerchief, which he explained quickly and succinctly.

He also handed over two cigars, which Parker pocketed for later.

“Saturday,” said Parker.

“Saturday,” Arthur agreed.

“Better leave first, so they don’t think we’re together,” said Parker.

“Yeah,” said Arthur, saluted, and left.

Detective Noel would eat his heart out, said John, and they were gone.

Parker bobbed his head for a moment, tapping his fingers to the time of music recalled.

Partner, said Sunny, just slightly hesitant. The damsel.

“Yeah, we gotta bring her in.”

That was a risky lie.

“Necessary. And it’s not really a lie, right? It’s just… the wrong place in the script.”

Yeah… yeah!

From out in the hall, Arthur’s jazz picked up again; he’d left the music-room door open, for which Parker was grateful.

“Let’s go find the princess,” said Parker.

We’ll make her talk, said Sunny, and paused. That’s not quite right.

Parker chuckled. “You’ve got the idea, buddy. Let’s go.” He stroked his jaw, took another cookie, and left to find his target.

#

Faroe hated training in weather like this: cold, damp, gloomy. It was necessary, she knew; if she couldn’t fight because the sky was overcast, she might as well hang up her sword.

Or her fists. Today, as it turned out, was fisticuffs.

She’d gotten significantly better since she was small, and though she never quite managed to get a hit on Dis, Dis actually had to block rather than only dodge. Faroe considered that a win.

“Twist your hips more,” said Dis, demonstrating. “Your arm isn’t the strength of this. Your body is; your arm is just bringing the… oh, for the love of…”

Faroe dropped her fists and looked.

Parker was heading toward them, eyes locked on her, hands in his pockets. He looked grim.

Faroe’s cheeks colored. Mindful of dignity, she waited until he neared so she did not have to shout. “What’s wrong?”

“Did I say anything was wrong, princess?” said Parker, his accent heavier than usual. From the windows, music trickled down, a distinctly atmospheric sound, but out here, it was faint, tinny; almost empty.

“You need a minute?” said Dis.

Parker looked her right in the eye. “May be life or death, ma’am.”

Dis tilted her head.

Don’t get in our way, said Sunny, sticking to rehearsed lines. Big Boss Yellow is no pushover.

“Oooooookay,” said Dis, hands up. “Have fun. Faroe, that footwork—tomorrow, I want it fixed.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Faroe said, wrinkling her nose, and turned to Parker. “What can I do for you, Mister Yang?”

The music didn’t quite reach. Outside, without the walls of the palace, it was harder to maintain the game.

Parker still held on. “Got a big case today, miss. Maybe too big for the likes of us little guys.”

Faroe’s eyes went huge.

“None of us might come out of it… alive.” He leaned so heavily on the accent, waggling his eyebrows, that Faroe giggled.

She was young enough to go along with this without a second thought, and cleared her throat. “The best cases are dangerous, so I’m given to understand.”

He grinned. “Follow me,” he said, heading back toward the equipment hall.

Here, the music seeped down, and that made it better. This next part would be hard.

There really was no way to do this gently. “Here’s the deal. Your daddy ain’t okay, and I think you know it.”

She stopped walking and looked up at him.

He looked back, gaze steady, an absolute talking to another adult look on his face.

“Arthur?” she whispered, but she knew it was not.

No, little one, said Sunny. Your adoptive father… has changed.

Here was a gamble. Parker was good at gambling. “We think it’s because of what happened with Gokar’luh.”

She looked down. “I knew it,” she whispered.

“We need to talk to him. He’s been a real jerk lately.”

A real piece of work, said Sunny.

She looked up. “Tell me.”

He did not want to do that.

“You want my help, don’t you?” she said. “It’s why you’re here. Tell me what he did.” Her eyes narrowed. “Or I won’t help you.

We knew you was a tough broad, said Sunny.

She blinked, took it in stride, and did not back down.

This was Arthur’s kid, all right. “That’s about what I thought you’d say,” said Parker, giving in, and explained.

He tried to make it… not too bad. Not too rough. To couch it in expressions instead of blunt fact.

But it was enough. It was hard. Faroe was brave until the mention of swaying, and then she dropped her gaze. “I know. I heard.”

“Heard?” Parker’s brow knit.

“Arthur’s been crying in court. I… guessed something happened.”

Fuckin’ smart kid. Never knew what a kid like that would catch onto. “Yeah. He’s been…”

Messed up in the head, Sunny supplied. But we’re gonna help him.

She looked up. “Explain.”

And there was a glimpse of the queen she’d one day be. Helluva thing. Parker went down on one knee. “Your dad’s a tough nut. You and me, we’re just folks; somebody sits you down and tells you you’re being a jerk, you listen. You get it. But him…”

He waited.

Gentle dissonance echoed down, piano in quiet torment, edging its way through soft and secret chords.

Faroe said, “He might not listen.”

“Yeah,” said Parker. “So we’re gonna make him.”

“How?” she whispered.

Parker told her how.

Gonna be a hell of a sting, Sunny said.

Faroe smiled through her tears. “My father is always there for me,” she said, soft. “I know he always will be. This time… I’m going to be there for him. I’m in,” she said, and had no idea she sounded exactly like Arthur.

#

What the actual hell were they up to, and why were they so bad at hiding it?

Hastur knew they were up to something. The entire palace probably knew they were up to something. Parker and Arthur slinked around in ugly overcoats, giving each other meaningful murmurs and handshakes in the halls. Both pieces of him whispered in R’lyehian, using code that included words R’lyehian didn’t have, which was awkward, to say the least.

[H' ah yar llll bake-off,] said John.

[Y' mgr'luh nafl'fhtagn yeast,] Sunny agreed, and Hastur nearly put a stop to it all right then.

Nearly time for the bake-off? I see rising yeast? What did they actually think they were doing?

Whatever it was, their hosts encouraged it, and even dragged Faroe into the farce.

“The frog flies at midnight,” she said to Parker on her way to breakfast, and he gave her an exaggerated nod before moving on.

Hastur really didn’t have time for this. Whatever this was. Especially since he evidently needed to add how to do a sneak to the future training regimen for all of them.

Arthur was legitimately the worst. It was like he’d been cursed to lie badly, and his new standoffish attitude in court was only giving the gossips fuel.

Hastur had ears in places. He knew what was being said: favoritism.

That’s what they’d decided. That Hastur, the King in Yellow, Lord of Carcosa, the Unspeakable, had applied some of his newly returned discipline to his youngest, spoiled spawn, and now, it was favoring the mother.

Gods were not supposed to have headaches. Gods were not supposed to have teenage drama problems, either. Maybe he’d gone crazy and none of it was happening.

No, he decided. It was too annoying. His madness, if it ever came, would be deliciously self-serving.

At least whatever the humans and pieces were up to kept them all away. Away was good. Away was the goal.

Parker stayed scarce, wounded by the double daggers of Hastur’s strike and Larson’s unpleasantness. Arthur had not tried to speak to Hastur again since the swaying, which was as planned. Painful. But as planned. Hastur had broken his word. Hastur had violated him (barely, by most standards, but it landed).

It would probably need reinforcement soon, which Hastur would provide. He’d go further, if necessary, depending on how much Arthur pushed. Steal minutes from him, hours; maybe force him to actually behave in court for a while, and hit two birds with one stone.

John and Sunny were certainly… invested. They’d spent the entirety of yesterday’s training flickering meaningfully at each other across the archery range.

Sunny kept affecting some kind of accent. John used warped expressions, misdone as though he’d heard them through a door. We’re making whoopie! he said as they left dinner one night.

“Making tracks,” Arthur said under his breath, very quickly.

Oh, what the hell…

We’re blowing a powder, John said on their way out of court.

“It’s take a powder, John,” murmured Arthur, and did not turn back toward his King.

Well, you know what? This had nothing to do with him. They were occupying each other, staying out of trouble, maybe giving each other comfort and distraction.

That was good. That’s what Hastur wanted. It hadn’t even made sense for Arthur to turn toward him at other times, anyway.

He didn’t miss it.

Did not.

And if he did, it was a small price to pay to keep them all safe.

#

The week passed.

Hastur secured two more blood-pact allies.

He communicated with Dagon (and Hastur was astonished just how much the old fish had learned in twenty years).

He continued to arrange for future education for Faroe—things she couldn’t learn here, things from humans, which she’d be mature enough to face in two more years. She was growing so fast.

(Did everything have to hurt?)

He’d miss so many milestones. So many first things, so many occasions he knew she planned to share with him.

Unseen, alone above his mind-breaking city, he reached up to touch the crack in his mask. Hastur understood cruelty. He was very good at it. But there was always a cause.

Everything he did was always justified. Maybe it wasn’t nice, but he had good reason. This…

Kayne didn’t seem to need a reason. There was no purpose for it; pleasure, maybe? But what good was torment from such a distance? Hastur enjoyed shredding the disrespectful as much as anybody, but that was the point, wasn’t it? Shredding. You did that up close, hands-on, tentacles lung-deep. What possible fun could it be to watch from far away, and not even take part yourself?

Maybe if he’d understood Kayne better, he could have prevented something. Behaved in a certain way, provided some alternate entertainment. Maybe there was still another way; something that guaranteed Kayne would move on at the end of those six years, when Faroe turned fifteen.

(Fifteen. Could she truly be fifteen when he died? For humans, that was almost grown.)

The answer was probably to ask the Keeper, but he was leery of using this Outer God connection, leery of angering her (and endangering Arthur) or somehow causing more trouble. How could he balance this? What could he do?

Hastur sighed. He was distracting himself from tonight’s annoying task: handling the many important merchants who were pissed at the way Carcosa had transformed.

Ridiculous. It had been this way since its inception! They complained as though the past ten years’ changes were normal, to be expected, and it was unacceptable in current (original!) form.

The question was how to handle this. If he did it too kindly, the distance he was pushing between himself and his people would shrink, so that was right out. But if he did it too harshly, the merchants themselves would back away—and Carcosa was wealthy, and could survive that, but he hardly wanted to give an isolated city to John (and eventually Faroe).

How in fuck could he balance this? He growled, rumbling in displeasure; should he go ahead and make that separation? Let Faroe build her own world-famous markets? No, that would be an enormous waste of a decade of reputation and trust. Damn it all. He didn’t have time for this. He needed to go talk to the stupid but strong Menomites of the Karkan mountains, who would make excellent allies if he could get them to understand that defying Carcosa meant death—

The stuttering heartbeat blasted through him as if he’d been struck with lighting.

Arthur.

He froze, reaching automatically, searching—

Arthur was not in Carcosa. What? What?

The stutter happened again—pain, shock, terror lancing him like an enemy’s arm.

Arthur was dying.

Where?

Hastur froze, tentacles still as paint, focused.

The faintest touch, like lingering scent in a hallway.

Hastur flew.

Right to Arthur’s music-room, boiling the floor beneath him with his speed, blasting the doors open (another stutter, it hurt, how much could Arthur take, Arthur) and—

A portal?

A portal he could not feel. His eyes confirmed it; his senses could not. And through it—

Arthur! You bitch, stop! Stop!

John.

It had to be a trap. Clearly a trap.

He didn’t give a fuck if it was a trap. Arthur’s life flickered like a candle near an open window. No time to leave notes or get backup or anything else. Hastur plunged through—

Spun, the strange sense of sliding inside some one-way skin that only allowed entrance and not exit, and he was squeezed, and he felt Arthur ahead, and he strained and reached and strove—

Hastur, the Feaster From Afar, the Unspeakable, the Lord of Interstellar Spaces, landed on a simple wooden floor with all the grace of an octopus dropped from a bucket.

“Dad!” cried Faroe, and her small hands were on him, and Arthur was right there and gasping as Parker sat him upright, and the Keeper was—

The Keeper?

“Stay calm, please,” said the Keeper. “I will not let you leave until this is faced.”

“What?” said Hastur, reaching for Arthur, feeling him spooling back into health (gasping and heart pounding and Arthur—).

“When one entreats another to solve a problem,” the Keeper said, “it is generally frowned upon to then go and make that problem more difficult to solve. You have a lot of explaining to do. Good luck.”

“What?”

She was gone.

Poof.

Vanished.

The room was lovely, with books on shelves, with comfortable furniture, with a fire burning in the grate (but not an open chimney and he could feel this was sealed) and Arthur—

“Is…” gasped Arthur, his breathing ragged. “Is he here?”

“He’s here,” said Parker. “It’s time.”

“Arthur,” said Hastur, standing, clutching Faroe in his many arms and looming near.

Arthur was clammy, pale, sweaty. “That… fucking sucked.”

The Keeper’s words were catching up, slowly, so slowly. So was Hastur’s anger.

“Sit up. There we go,” said Parker, tipping cold water to Arthur’s lips.

Arthur drank messily, and it spilled down his shirt.

“Dad,” said Faroe.

“Shh. I will keep you safe,” said Hastur, going on automatic.

“Dad.” Faroe’s tone bore no softness. “It’s time for you to listen.”

And Hastur finally realized the trap he’d fallen into was theirs.

He went very, very still. A deep rumble worked through the room as if it had been built over a mighty engine. He felt, magically, what this was: a pocket dimension, thoroughly protected, connected to… nothing. To void. Until the Keeper returned, there was no way out, not even by portal.

Everyone was looking at him.

All of them dared.

Hastur opened his mouth, and he growled. “What in fuck are you doing?”

Arthur pointed with one shaking hand. “Stopping you.”

[mystrixstory]

HEAR ME OUT HEAR ME OUT

I know this song is Christian in origin, but I feel like the lyrics can really fit Parker and Sunny (especially Sunny)

[elsewhereuniversity]

It’s your first year. Everything is foreign and exciting and dangerous and just the smallest bit horrifying.

It’s all very novel.

(So why does it feel like you already have a purpose you’re waiting for?)

You smile and laugh when an older student warns you of Halloween. Of All Hallow’s Eve. Of the magic and restlessness and spirits. Of what comes after the spirits celebrate. Of quiet and danger and darkness so loud and dark that it’s blindingly bright.

They don’t laugh or smile with you. They glance at you, with a quiet disappointment they don’t voice. You don’t notice.

Their eyes are pure gold. (They’re disconcertingly like your own eyes, just without the pupil.)

You hadn’t noticed that either.

All Hallow’s Eve approaches slowly and the grounds are glittering with a magic unseen.

The Fair Folk are restless.

All of the Normal people, all the ones that haven’t ever been Taken shine with a sort of light. You see it in the boy with sunlight in his bones.

In the girl with the eyes of moonlight.

They are enchanting and captivating and some part of you craves.

(You have never been Taken. You have always had a bit of the Sight since that first night when you’d accidentally bumped into the boy with the golden eyes. You’d been Kind to him.)

(You don’t realize you’d been given a bit more than the sight.)

But then there are those who have been Taken.

The one who looks fourteen, maybe fifteen at best. (She’s not. No one knows how old she truly is.) Her eyes are flat. It’s more horrifying than it sounds. Too much to describe through any medium On a good day, she can pass as Normal. But as the chilly breeze settles within the grounds, you see it.

The day you catch her by surprise and get surprised in return.

(Dead, fish-like eyes are always surprising, especially with all her bubbliness.)

All Hallow’s Eve comes and goes with no incident. This year.

It’s your second year here, and maybe things are a little easier. (The time is nearing.)

The dead eyed girl doesn’t bother you anymore. You no longer jump whenever she looks you in the eyes.

(And thank all for that. Her older, maybe younger, sister’s returned, and carries a vengeance.)

You’ve made friends. A quiet girl, fitting of her name.

Silent has long dark hair that falls down in waves. (You aren’t sure if they truly fall in the waves like the ocean, or if it’s just the hair rippling. You don’t ask.)

There’s the boy with the too-sharp-teeth and grin that never sits quite right. You like him, inexplicably. You might not quite trust him, or his name, spoken gently. August, he says. Call me August. 

August is disarmingly beautiful otherwise. His bright golden hair, except it isn’t really. It’s a soft and quiet yellow that glows with a pulsing light. His statue is svelte, except that one angle where it looks like he’s maybe only 20 pounds wet, and even that’s being generous.

You don’t linger.

(It’s best not to.)

Everyone knows August isn’t Normal. But you have a feeling he isn’t one of the regular Fair Folk.

He’s just a bit Other.

And then there’s Orange. She’s by far the most outgoing, though you can never be sure how much of it’s an act.

Bouncy bob cut, just plump enough to not look washed out like many of the others you’ve seen in your school.

Happy little smile, helping people around.

As far as you know, she’s never been Taken.

The four of you are good at avoiding altercations.

This year, as All Hallow’s Eve approaches, you aren’t restless. The grounds are glowing just a little softer, the Fair Folk just a bit less restless.

The warning is but a faint memory.

School goes on as usual. You take to your courses and try to float as the waves are pulling you down.

There are paths that have been trashed sometime during the summer. The new path to your class goes past a corner of the forest, and you need to wait a little before you cross.

A dash past when the sun disappears behind that turret over on the east side and a a smidge before it rises back on its slightly crooked path across the sky.

You turn a corner around the forest, and catch a glimpse of something different. Green grass swaying in the wind, strands of flowers and the sound of a song that beckons you to it.

Speeding up, you run the rest of the way to class.

The next year, your third, passes, also, gently, almost like a soft sigh. The calm before the storm. It caresses your cheek and blows off.

You’ve forgotten the warning.

(It’s almost time.)

Fourth year brings with it a whiff of trouble. It manifests in the Fair Folk’s mutterings when you aren’t there. It manifests it the girl with the moonlight eyes losing them. 

She ties a bandana around her eyes. It makes no difference.

(She’s still seeing the smoke and storm that brings with it more malevolent spirits. She’s too afraid to talk.)

Her name is now Seer.

Seer is supposedly a new student. But everyone gets the feeling of something off. You know it’s because her name used to be Luna and she had a glow that would overtake her eyes. It’s still there, and now you know the glow wasn’t really just the eyes at all.

The boy with the sunshine bones breaks them all. It was a freak accident, they say. He’s comatose but his body is recovered almost completely. It’s all very interesting.

(His skin shines with patches of gold. It’s oddly beautiful. You are just a little entranced by him.)

(His name is Shine.)

They heal. And with that, more changes happen. August is restless and appears more gaunt than ever. Orange withdraws. Silent is all of a sudden speaking more.

(You didn’t notice.)

This year, when All Hallow’s Eve arrives, nothing changes. All the changes have already happened throughout the earlier months. Maybe that should have been your first clue that something was off.

All Hallow’s Eve passes and nothing reverts. It’s nothing like any of your previous years.

That was your second warning. 

It was also your last one. The Fair Folk don’t tend to give more than one warning. Two was already lucking out.

Shame that you’ve never been all that observant.

You wake up on a bright, sunny and warm Saturday morning feeling refreshed. You make yourself a nice cup of tea. You cook a light breakfast.

You’ve forgotten to open the blinds.

You take a book to your favourite armchair and begin to read.

It’s nice outside.

It’s lunch time. You remember the plan you’d made with your friends to have picnic sometime this year as you begin to cook your lunch.

The sunlight is streaming through the blinds.

You shake your head and bring the plate over to the patio before pausing. You turn back and decide to change your outfit.

You decide to eat indoors.

You remember the project you had to finish by Monday and head back upstairs to work on it.

You wake up on Sunday.

August didn’t.

Sunny didn’t.

Silent didn’t.

The sun is bleak today, as if to apologize for the blinding darkness it’d radiated yesterday.

The whole of the grounds is silent. You’ve been cut off from the rest of them as they begin to live in the loop of Saturday. There are a couple other stragglers also waking up. You don’t know any of them. 

Most of them are Fair Folk, with their spindly teeth and odd little smiles. You shiver in the warm autumn breeze.

Next year will bring a new crop of students, this time with much less people to guide them through this new world.

Your eyes begin to turn to pure gold. (It’s almost like the leaves turning gold, yellow, red, orange in the autumn.

It’s time.

You walk off into that little patch of garden by the forest willingly.

x

[snowinherbangs]

As a post-rocker, I took 100 bands that play such or related genres and each I pick their best song according to me

1. 🇺🇸 Explosions In The Sky - The Moon Is Down

2. 🇮🇸 Sigur Rós - Sæglópur

3. 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿 Mogwai - Punk Rock

4. 🇨🇦 Godspeed You! Black Emperor - Mladic

5. 🇨🇦 A Silver Mt. Zion - 13 Angels Standing Guard 'round the Side of Your Bed

6. 🇺🇸 This Will Destroy You - Thread

7. 🇬🇧 65daysofstatic - Taipei

8. 🇬🇧 Maybeshewill - He Films The Clouds Pt. 2

9. 🇯🇵 Mono - Pure As Snow (Trails Of The Winter Storm)

10. 🇯🇵 Toe - Two Moons

11. 🇸🇪 Lights & Motion - Anomaly

12. 🇸🇪 Immanu El - Under Your Wings I'll Hide

13. 🇪🇸 Exxasens - Science Will Save Us

14. 🇮🇪 God Is An Astronaut - Forever Lost

15. 🇬🇧 Slowdive - Crazy For You (Demo Version)

16. 🇬🇧 Kyte - Boundaries

17. 🇮🇸🇺🇸 Jónsi & Alex - Indian Summer

18. 🇺🇸 Deafheaven - Dream House

19. 🇫🇷 Alcest - Souvenirs d'Un Autre Monde

20. 🇸🇪 Jeniferever - From Across The Sea

21. 🇺🇸 American Football - The Summer Ends

22. 🇺🇸 La Dispute - Such Small Hands

23. 🇺🇸 The World Is A Beautiful Place & I Am No Longer Afraid To Die - January 10th, 2014

24. 🇺🇸 Prawn - Why You Always Leave A Note

25. 🇺🇸 The Appleseed Cast - As The Little Things Go

26. 🇯🇵 Envy - Further Ahead Of Warp

27. 🇺🇸 If These Trees Could Talk - If These Trees Could Talk

28. 🇺🇸 The Album Leaf - Twentytwofourteen

29. 🇺🇸 Lowercase Noises - Silence In Siberia

30. 🇬🇧 Jesu - Homesick

31. 🇺🇸 Moving Mountains - Swing Set

32. 🇺🇸 Sunnn O))) - It Took The Night To Believe

33. 🇫🇷 M83 - Wait

34. 🇩🇪 Frames - Don't Stay Here

35. 🇯🇵 Boris - Farewell

36. 🇺🇸 A Sunny Day In Glasgow - Autumn Again

37. 🇬🇧 Clem Leek - Bless Those Tired Eyes

38. 🇬🇧 Yndi Halda - Illuminate My Heart, Darling!

39. 🇮🇸 Amiina - Perth

40. 🇮🇸 Múm - We Have A Map Of The Piano

41. 🇺🇸 Pianos Became The Teeth - Hiding

42. 🇺🇸 Owel - Snowglobe

43. 🇯🇵 Heaven In Her Arms - 光芒の明時

44. 🇺🇸 Gates - The Thing That Would Save You

45. 🇬🇧 The 1975 - Sex

46. 🇺🇸 Cigarettes After Sex - Apocalypse

47. 🇰🇷 Jambinai - Time Of Extinction

48. 🇺🇸 Red Sparrowes - In An Illusion Of Order

49. 🇺🇸 Russian Blood - Youngblood

50. 🇦🇺 Sleepmakeswave - It's Dark, It's Cold, It's Winter

51. 🇳🇿 Jakob - Blind Them With Science

52. 🇩🇪 Daturah - Ghost Track

53. 🇵🇱 Tides From Nebula - Dopamine

54. 🇮🇹 Port-royal - Nights In Kiev

55. 🇺🇸 Hammock - I Can Almost See You

56. 🇺🇸 Lights Out Asia - They Disappear Into The Palms

57. 🇬🇧🇫🇷 Stereolab - Diagonals

58. 🇩🇰 Mew - Comforting Sounds

59. 🇩🇰 Efterklang - Dreams - Today

60. 🇺🇸 Inventions - Echo Tropism

61. 🇺🇸 Unwed Sailor - Moon Coin

62. 🇷🇺 Mooncake - Novorossiysk 1968

63. 🇺🇸 Joy Wants Eternity - Dark Heart of the King

64. 🇬🇧 Epic45 - The Stars In Autumn

65. 🇬🇧 July Skies - Festival Of Britain

66. 🇺🇸 The American Dollar - Anything You Synthesize

67. 🇸🇪 PG.Lost - Crystaline

68. 🇸🇪 EF - Delusions of Grandeur

69. 🇸🇪 September Malevolence - I Shut Doors and Windows

70. 🇸🇪 Oh Hiroshima - Mirage

71. 🇺🇸 Windsor Airlift - Something Lost

72. 🇺🇸 Carinthia - Leaving

73. 🇬🇧 Good Weather For An Airstrike - Good Night, Boogaloo

74. 🇬🇧 The Echelon Effect - As the Lights Fade Away

75. 🇸🇪 U137 - Adam Forever

76. 🇳🇴 The Samuel Jackson Five - Never Ending Now

77. 🇨🇦 Do Make Say Thing - Horripilation

78. 🇺🇸 El Ten Eleven - Sorry About Your Irony

79. 🇬🇧 And So I Watch You From Afar - Dying Giants

80. 🇯🇵 Mass Of The Fermenting Dregs - Oneday

81. 🇯🇵 Miaou - Hello World

82. World's End Girlfriend - Smile

83. 🇯🇵3nd - 夏終わる

84. 🇮🇩 Under The Big Bright Yellow Sun - A Life In A Day

85. 🇮🇩 TheMilo - Romantic Purple

86. 🇮🇩 My Violainé Morning - Lost

87. 🇮🇩 Autumn Ode - They Asked Me to Run, Follow the Sun

88. 🇮🇩 L'AlphaAlpha - A Lot of Fireworks But I Still Have A Reason to Smile

89. 🇮🇩 The Trees and The Wild - Empati Tamako

90. 🇮🇩 Heals - Void

91. 🇮🇩 Marché La Void - Serenity

92. 🇮🇩 Tuan Tanah - A Farewell to

Arms

93. 🇮🇩 Echolight - Lethal Impression

94. 🇮🇩 Senja Dalam Prosa - Niskala

95. 🇮🇩 Elemental Gaze - Unperfect Sky

96. 🇮🇩 Qibe - Adaptasi Diri

97. 🇮🇩 Ghaust - At Sea (We Are Nothing)

98. 🇸🇬 Paint the Sky Red - Amber

99. 🇵🇭 As the City Sleeps - Goodbye

100. 🇬🇧 Radiohead - Pyramid Song

[plural-swag-competition]

We have our bracket! This was seeded by number of submissions. Some were given nicknames in the picture for space reasons. Apologies if we entered anything weird, this took a real long time to put together, and we're feeling a bit cross-eyed.

The top left is the top tier, top right is mid tier, bottom left is low tier, and bottom right is the one submission wonders! We'll be starting today with the bottom and working our way up for four days of round one before tackling everything all at once after the numbers are a bit reduced. Maybe two days of round two, depending on energy levels.

The Top Tier:

Shallan Davar/Veil/Radiant - The Stormlight Archive vs Yellow Guy - Don't Hug Me I'm Scared

Harrier Du Bois - Disco Elysium vs Frisk/Chara - Undertale

Epsilon - Red vs Blue vs Sora/Xion/Roxas/Ventus/Vanitas - Kingdom Hearts

Marc Spector/Steven Grant/Jake Lochley) - Moon Knight Marvel Comics vs ENA - ENA

Yugi Mutou/Atem - Yu-Gi-Oh! vs Arthur Lester/John Doe - Malevolent Podcast

Raphael Hamato - Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles vs Uendo Toneido/Patches/Kisegawa/Owen - Ace Attorney: Spirit of Justice

Greed/Ling - Fullmetal Alchemist vs Link (Green, Red, Blue, Vio, and Shadow) - The Legend of Zelda: Four Sword Adventures

Shigeo “Mob” Kageyama - Mob Psycho 100 vs Sunny/Omori - OMORI

The Mid Tier:

Dr Alto Clef - SCP wiki vs Ford Cruller - Psychonauts

Madeline & Mirrorline - Celeste vs Darcy Wu - Amphibia

Hojo Emu, Tensai Gamer M, Parado (Kamen Rider Ex-Aid) - Kamen Rider Ex-Aid vs The Wildcards - Persona

Link/Deku Butler’s Son/Darmani III/Mikau/Fierce Deity - LoZ Legend of Zelda: Majora’s Mask vs The Sunken - Oxenfree

Bruce Banner/Hulk/Joe Fixit/Devil Hulk - Marvel comics vs Goldia die Heilige/Fleta/Harpae/Lisette - Pocket Mirror

The Warrior of Light - Final Fantasy XIV vs Mike/Chester /Vito/Svetlana/Manitoba/Mal - Total Drama

Blitzwing - Transformers: Animated vs Patrick and Rey Sprigs - Megaman Starforce

Cassie O'Pia - Psychonauts 2 vs Peter Nureyev - The Penumbra Podcast

The Low Tier:

Edward Teach - Our Flag Means Death vs BMO - Adventure Time

Diavolo and Dopplio - Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure vs the Legion system (David Haller and headmates) - Marvel/X-Men Comics

One-One - Infinity Train vs Raiden Ei/Raiden Shogun - Genshin Impact

Jaden Yuki/Haou Jaden/Yubel - Yu-Gi-Oh! GX vs Sylvie Ashling and Dr. Beefton - Epithet Erased

Mikoto Kayano - Milgram vs Kris and the SOUL - Deltarune

Triad/Luornu Durgo - LoS Legion of Superheroes Post-Zero Hour run/1993-2003 run vs Gray Reverse - Helios: Rising Heroes

Vyncent “Virion” Sol - Just Roll With It: Prime Defenders vs Alluka and Nanika Zoldyck - Hunter x Hunter

Jackson Jekyll and Holt Hyde - Monster High vs Hajime Hinata/Izuru Kamukura - Super Dangan Ronpa 2

The One Submission Wonders:

Izuku Midoriya - Boko No Hero Academia vs Mollymauk/Kingsley Tealeaf/Lucien Tavelle - Critical Role

Roronoa Zoro - One Piece vs Sho and Minazuki - Persona 4 Arena Ultimax

Miyao/Meow Mitake - Ciconia When They Cry vs Webber - Don't Starve

Eda Clawthorne - The Owl House vs Jesse Faden - Control

Aubrey Little - The Adventure Zone: Amnesty vs Pyra/Mythra/Spoilers - Xenoblade Chronicles 2

Dirk Strider - Homestuck vs Sawada Tsunayoshi - Katekyo Hitman Reborn

Killer B & Gyuki - Naruto vs Jace - Magic the Gathering

Red - Twitch Plays Pokemon vs Elliot Alderson - Mr Robot

[webcricket]

Looking Glass

Chapter 5 - An Olive Branch

Pairing: CastielXAU!Reader

Word Count: 3088

Summary: Impromptu peace talks commence between the reader and Castiel just in time for the return of the Winchesters.

Miss a chapter? Have a Masterlist Link!

Sat at the kitchen bench with a mug of room temperature black brew on the table before him – untouched, but within reach of his fingertips where he first placed it upon sitting – Castiel stares without seeing at the local section of a Lebanon Times newspaper he found in the library so old the color of the paper borders on the pale yellow of ripening corn.

There’s a scout troop featured; a motley crew of pre-teens forever frozen in photograph form cleaning up a park on a sunny spring Sunday to celebrate Earth Day. The same jaundiced pig-tailed child – designated as Cindy M. of Kansas City, Brownie Troop 271 in byline – has been fishing with outstretched fingers for a castoff Styrofoam cup beneath a hedge for the past two hours. The report doesn’t indicate that the piece of litter ever made the short jaunt into the garbage bag clutched in her other hand that she drags behind where she poses in stooped smiling perpetuity for the picture – another of life’s unanswered mysteries; not that Cas is currently pondering said mystery.

The angel’s ears perk to the sound of your barefoot heels plodding in the hallway in gradual but steady approach. Evidently you’ve finished your investigation of the premises or, determining an escape attempt is impossible, given up. In either case, he hopes you didn’t find something more lethally effective than kitchen stuffs, brute bare-handed force, or unbarred emotion coincidentally thrumming an inner nerve of truth to wound him with; every such angelically injurious object he is aware of in the bunker is under lock and key excepting his personal blade.

There’s a chance he overlooked an unknown item in a dusty storage bin that you succeeded in unearthing in your explorations; it would be consistent with his luck – good fortune demarcated by a fundamental lack thereof. It would also be consistent with his epically bad week – an already rough run of ill fate since his expulsion from the Empty exacerbated by Lucifer’s continued liberty, the resurrection, rescue, and subsequent high-tailing from commitment to creation of his brother Gabriel, an unnerving run-in with Naomi, the angel agent of much of his enduring grief, and then learning that Heaven is one or two celestial lights gone dark removed from permanent and catastrophic foreclosure; and, of course, there’s the latest complication of you.

In an effort to appear unruffled given your imminent arrival, he readjusts his posture; straightening his sloping spine and, for reasons of unacknowledged self-conscious impulsivity, the skewed knot of his tie, he redoubles his blind examination of the newspaper. The resulting effect lends itself to one of a spring coiled to maximum tension ready to fly off at the slightest disturbance. He flips the page with an exaggerated rustle to prove his utter indifference to your presence when you halt at the entryway and hesitate to crossover the door jamb to descend the two steps into the space he occupies.

Hyperaware, you freeze in suspense of animation to observe the scene like a bird cornered after tumbling down a chimney and emerging indoors without the familiar freedom of the sky in sight. His similarly caged reaction fascinates you considering you’re the one trapped in an underground maze with locked exits and disorientated by the kidnapping slash plummet down a rabbit hole into an alternate universe; that is, if he’s to be believed – and it’s still a big if according to your muddled wits. At least the lark about being in a bunker appears to hold up under thorough examination.

In a preening motion, you brush the pad of your thumb over the glossy slip of a photo you discovered and hid in the roll of the oversized sweatshirt sleeve encasing your right wrist; you’ll soon see if his story stands up to closer scrutiny. You allow the angel has every reason to be edgy; you’ve physically assailed him – granted without any lasting consequences – twice. For all he knows, the third time’s the charm. You decide his increasing unease with each confrontation does lend a linear sense of credibility to the reality of the situation.

The bitter aroma of burned coffee tickles your nose. The coffee maker ceased percolating the beverage some time ago; left on, it has boiled down the liquid into pure caffeine concentrate. The heady result smells like welcome lucidity after your wanderings and ferries your feet of their own volition down the stairs and to the counter. You help yourself to a mug of the stuff. Gripping the heat radiant porcelain between your palms, lips pursed to blow a cooling breath across the russet shimmering surface, you recommence watching the wary angel.

Sensing your protracted silent stare, he makes a grand gesture of flicking to a new page and folding it in half with a noisier-than-necessary shake to examine with great interest through a narrowed gaze an advert at the bottom for a law firm boasting attorneys specializing in personal, automotive, and work-site injury related litigation – seems convincingly relevant given the prevailing impasse between you two.

You clear your throat just to be sure he knows you know you have his surreptitious attention despite the display to the contrary.

If it’s possible – and evidently it is possible – he stiffens further. Still, he maintains the charade of ignoring you.

You liked him better when he was playing considerate host to your starring role as ungrateful violence-prone guest. This – this total impassivity – lacks definition; it’s missing sharp edges for you to remonstrate bodily and emotionally against. It simply won’t do.

“So, I’m guessing it was you that healed me?” you ask the loaded question as though you’re two acquaintances making small talk. Bringing the mug’s rim to your mouth, you suck a small sip and swirl the acrid swill over your tongue; it wants sugar, but you’re simultaneously certain no amount of sweetness could save it.

“That depends,” he answers without tearing his squint from the faded newsprint in order to deliberately avoid fully engaging you in whatever verbal skirmish you’re trying to instigate.

“On?” Since he refuses to grace you with a gaze, you aim the query at the back of his head; his hair explodes from his scalp in an unruly collection of loose chestnut curls – not a Nazi-esque grease-tamed coif indicative of extreme control issues.

“On whether or not my answering affirmatively will aggravate you.” There it is – the steel of sharpened blade you want lashes out in the form of spoken sass; the gloves, so-to-speak, are off.

Recollecting the black leather gloved fingers of the other one of him, you cringe at the metaphor conjured by your mind and swallow the chafing memory along with a second sip of God-awful coffee. In comparison to the interactions with your arson-aficionado interrogator, this angelic iteration is positively charming. It’s the first time the two of them seem separate entities to you. There’s something distinctly softer about the seraph in front of you – the blunt of benevolence, rather than thorny malevolence, gilding his halo.

You round the table and drop onto the opposite bench into his lowered line of sight. Propping your elbows on the top, you extend a hand to rudely swat the paper out of his grasp. “Since when do angels care about how humans feel?”

He lifts his eyes to meet yours; a degree of doneness dulls the blue.

You can’t tell if he’s done specifically dealing with you, or just generally done.

The besieged intake of his breath is audible. He holds the lungful of air, mouth thin and tense, reluctant to offer any explanation for you to twist around as a weapon to stab into him in wordy retribution. Finally, mostly to dissuade your skeptical stare and his resultant discomfort, he grumbles, “I don’t want to quarrel with you. Your mind, it’s . . . in a very fragile state.”

“I feel fine,” you fib to armor your weakness. Abandoning your mug, inclining backward, you slide your arms to encircle your sides and shrug. Forget the fatigue – your brain feels like it’s being drawn and quartered through your ears with a winch. Any effrontery on your part at this point is a bluff, but you’ve learned the difference between life and death often relies on the lie.

“You’re not fine.” In a reverse of your retreating body language, he sets his elbows on the table and leans forward, tone scolding. “You nearly died. You need to take it easy. I can’t help you recover if you insist on acting so . . . combative. This may come as a stark surprise to you, but as long as you aren’t suffering physically in a manner I can mend, the persistence of your foul mood is the least pressing of my concerns. There are more important matters at hand.”

He’s not wrong; and if you’re not mistaken, he’s expressed a continued – impatient, yet nonetheless there – concern for your well-being despite his frustration. He’s unlike any angel you’ve ever encountered. You glower at him for a lengthy minute. Somewhere thirty seconds or so into the hushed trade of glares you decide to accept the roundabout articulated truce he offered. You give yourself a superfluous thirty additional seconds to change your mind, but it seems set on a conciliatory course for the moment. You reach out to retrieve your coffee and muse into the liquid before drinking a gulp. “You don’t talk like an angel.”

Mouth relaxing into soft pink pout, he assents to the cordial shift of atmosphere implied in the statement. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It was an observation,” you correct, filtering another swig of brown sludge through your teeth. “What you said before, about me not being from this world – it’s true?”

“It’s true.” He bobs his chin once.

You admire the scruff of beard shadowing his strong jaw; he’s remarkably handsome when he isn’t a monster trying to massacre you from the inside out. Shy of the superficial attraction, you avert your eyes to the neglected newspaper at center of the table. “And Michael, he’s trying to destroy this world, too?”

“You heard my conversation with Dean.” It’s not as though he made any effort to cover it up standing directly outside the door you were barricaded behind.

Your pupils widen with a surge of fear when you look up at him. “You said it was safe here. Nowhere Michael wants to be is safe.”

A slouch curves his spine as he sinks back into the chair. “Then I suppose, strictly speaking, that makes it less safe here than I initially suggested.”

Hugging your arms to your chest to subdue a rising shiver, your fingertips touch the photograph you found. The angel passes your provisional litmus test thus far, but your curiosity remains unabated; and it’s a distraction from the shattered illusion of safety. You withdraw the photo from the confines of the sleeve’s fabric, place it on the table, and slide it toward him with your pointer finger. “That’s you, Bobby Singer, Ellen and Jo, and the other two men I don’t know.”

You met Bobby Singer once, and immediately you understood him to be a rightfully paranoid man who doesn’t surround himself with, as he likes to say, ‘Idjits!’ He’s supposed to be in Dayton where you were headed before this detour. And Ellen and Jo are no different; dauntless women, at least the last you heard of them, daring a bid to cross the wastelands of Texas to breach the wall south of the states with a band of survivors in search of elusive safety. If they associated with this angel – and they did according to the pictorial evidence – you want to know the reason.

Cas slants his neck to better peer at the picture although he knows the details well – it’s the black and white snapshot commemorating the night before the day he joined Bobby, Ellen, Jo, and the brothers to confront the devil to prevent this world’s apocalypse; the day he chose humanity’s cause over Heaven – over himself. He gathers you must have found the keepsake in the top drawer of his desk – one of only a few mementos he saves. Catching the corner of the photo, he spins it and glides it nearer. Unlike the mystery of Cindy M. of Kansas City and her discarded cup, there’s no guessing at the fate of the people frozen there in time; a minute wistful smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“How do you know them? Have you been to my world before? Who are the other men?” Biting your lower lip, you stop yourself at three successive rapid-fire questions; you have many more.

The smile fades from his expression; his blues, sheened with sadness, rise to regard you. “Many of the same entities, human and angel, inhabit both worlds. These two men you don’t know, they’re the brothers Sam and Dean Winchester. We know destiny didn’t deign for them to exist in your world. But in this one, they stopped the apocalypse from happening.”

“And Bobby, Ellen, and Jo?”

“I think of them as friends. I like to think they felt the same comradery. Brave and selfless souls all.” Eyes darting down, he taps each of their anxiously smiling faces in turn. “They played their parts, courageous to the last.”

“Played. So they’re-”

He looks up, cutting you off with the straightforward location of their mortal souls. “In Heaven.” He doesn’t add the, ‘For now, for as long as Heaven is able to hold itself together.’

In the requisite respectful interlude of a quiet few seconds to honor the memory of the dearly departed, it occurs to you that if there were more than one of all of them, then there may be another of you in this world; and if there’s a you, then perhaps there’s the family you lost in yours. With this nascent knowledge of the possibility you could see your loved ones again, you begin to comprehend why the angel and his friends so adamantly want to keep you contained here in the bunker; and also, why you must get out.

Noticing the intense interest of the angel’s eyes tracing the contemplative lines of your features, you deflect the thought lest he eavesdrop. “Why do you keep the photograph then? You’re an angel, you could see them anytime you like.”

He looks at his lap, self-conscious of the personal query – he never really considered the why of saving the photo; it seemed then and seems now natural to him to retain it. “I suppose you’d call it sentimentality,” he redirects, defaulting to the reason a human would hoard such an article.

Undeterred, captivated by an angel exhibiting flashes of actual emotion, especially genuine empathy for and affectionate attachment to humans, you reformulate. “And what would you call it?”

Weaving his fingers together, he snorts lightly through his nose – this time the small emergent smile is a disingenuous sardonic spasm of lip to mask manifest pain; you’ve touched upon another nerve, and one still raw judging by his reaction. “I’ve been told it’s an inherent weakness,” he mutters.

“Now you sound like an angel.” The statement is an impulse you instantly regret – an instinct to inflict pain upon this exposed and vulnerable piece of him like he hurt you. Only, it wasn’t this him.

“I am an angel.” His voice is an indignant rasped whisper; his wounded affect accentuated by a dim of hurt hazing his eyes. It’s a conflicting sentiment – an angel who appreciates not being likened to his kin in mannerism and yet nonetheless fiercely identifies as one of them.

The contradiction piques your curiosity. You want, no, need to know the honest reason a billion odd year old being hangs on to this specific sliver of his history. “You’re avoiding answering me,” you pry, “why do you keep it? You.”

His thick lashes shutter as he looks inward. He sighs, “Perhaps to remind me of the choice I made then.”

“What choice was that?”

“I chose the path of free will – to decide for myself what is right and not have destiny dictated to me by others.”

“And what did you decide is right?”

After a leaden pause, his eyes blink open and settle on you – they shine an impossibly vibrant blue to your mute color adjusted vision; you’re sure even the summer sky of your distant sweltering memories never shone so clear and endless. His reply is earnest – honest. “I’m still trying to determine the answer,” he confesses. It’s a deep-seated insecurity he has never told another soul – something he has been afraid to admit aloud, something he maybe didn’t fathom himself until you asked him why and pried the answer through the regret-reinforced ramparts shielding his heart.

You sense the significance of the admission and in return gift him the one thing about yourself that in revelation might hold equally substantial meaning for him. “Y/N.”

“What?”

“My name,” you repeat, “it’s Y/N.” It’s an apology, too, for your earlier antics.

The angel’s pensive expression floods with a lightness of realization. He gets it – you’re proposing a fresh start. You’ve met now on a common ground; laying bare a patchwork of jagged scars and bloody wounds alike, you’ve uncovered two drifters, equally lost in their respective worlds searching for something good in the bad. Hoping – still hoping it exists.

A subtle smile quirks his cheek. “My friends call me-”

“Cas!” Dean’s well-timed shout resounds from the kitchen threshold. He tilts his head politely toward you in toothy grinned greeting. “Hey sweetheart!” Wagging a finger between you and the angel, the grin broadens on his freckled face. “Well, isn’t this cozy. Nice civilized tea for two and not a meat cleaver in sight.” He winks a jewel of glinting green at Cas. “I told you apologies work wonders, didn’t I?”

Sam looms over Dean’s shoulder and furnishes you with a curt nod as he lumbers past his brother. “Glad to see you up and about. Cas was pretty worried there about whether or not you’d ever wake up at all. We all felt terrible having to leave you here alone – you find my notes?”

Dean mutters something unintelligible under his breath about stupid freaking notes and wanders over to the fridge, visibly relieved to find it stocked with beer.

You eye the anomalous angel – pretty worried, indeed.  A smile eases into the curves and creases of your mouth as he makes the formal introductions.

“Sam, Dean, this is Y/N.” His blues alight on your marveling gaze. “Y/N, these are the Winchesters.”

Next: Ch. 6 - Healing Touch

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs, “The Empty Plate.”

Alright guys, here it is, the reason I haven't been positing for the last week. My first and only attempt at true horror. I have spent hours sitting in the dark pissing myself in order to write this, so I am begging you guys please read it. This is probably the most difficult thing I have ever written.

A couple tings before we get started. VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

If you want the full affect of the horror, I suggest reading it in the same way I wrote it, In a dark room with scary ambient noises playing on headphones.

If you dislike horror, I still suggest reading at least parts of  it because it is relevant to the plot line. If you don’t want any issues read it in broad daylight in a crowded room. 

Seriously guys, I have never written something so difficult before please make it worth while :) 

A million hateful eyes glint their fury from the darkness, distant and cold caught up in spirals and clusters of ancient anger and the deepest most resounding quiet. They pull towards each other, spiraling, forever spiraling downwards and inwards into an unknown darkness where, if one were to be caught up, they would be suspended in a state trapped between death and life skewered on the descending claws of time.

We knew man was strange when we first met them, a consumer, one of flesh and of resources and of worlds powered, not by the laws that govern our existence, but by a strange and unknown entity glistening behind their eyes. Man is not man, but a shell powered by something strange, something eerie, something not of our plane. I have argued this many times over the years.

But why will no one here me. 

***

Dr. Krill floated quietly on the bridge in the sallow yellow light of an ambient star cluster. Commander Vir sat Stiff and rigid in his seat. His single green eyes glinting with a fine filmy layer of reflected mucus glinting with the pale sickly yellow of that pallid light. The rest of the bridge was unusually silent many silhouettes holding bated breath expressions dark as the unexpected transmission warbled over the line.

It came in  sibilat whispers, gurgles and and the distant sounds of guttural wailing crackling backwards into the maddening chatter of static. 

Krill examined in mild fascination as tiny hairs, like detached spider legs erupted upwards on the man’s skin. The delicate hairs glittered in response to the insipid, sensuous caress of waxen light down the man’s protruding spine delicate mounds and bumps of bone just visible through the back of his shirt.

The man’s skin had gone ashen like that of a bloated corpse decaying in a static pool of water.

“Can anyone understand any of that.” The man demanded, and despite its strength his voice fell flat crushed and squeezed with the weight of the air around them.

“I’ll try to clean it up sir.”

The transmission had begun without premonition. One moment they had been floating quietly through the vast nothingness of space, and next, they had been bedeviled by this Insidious cacophony of voices that seemed human, though individual words could not discerned.

Under the pressing weight of those horrific voices, the bridge remained hushed as the communications officer attempted to untangle the message.

A shadow fell over the Commander’s back, and a set of three tallenous fingers came slithering down over his shoulder to rest against his clammy skin. Sunny lingered at the Commander’s shoulder luminous golden eyes fixed upon the speakers which still crooned that gastly whispering.

“I think I have it, Sir.” The woman stammered 

“Alright then, let’s hear it.”

There was a long moment of silence, like the catatonia that follows psychosis.

“Help, please…. Anyone…. Please help. This is , colony transport…. 331…. Out of fuel….. Running low on food….. The lights… gone out….. eating ….. Can't stop… requesting help.” 

The chattering began again in earnest rising upwards upwards upwards until a crescendo, until the room was filled with it’s warbling madness, 

“STOP!” The transmission cut and the lascivious whispers died. Commander Vir stood from his chair, “That’s enough.” He finished softly, “Someone take a look in the database for a civilian transport with that flag ID.” He stabbed a finger at their radar technician, “Do you see anything.”

The woman stammered for a moment, spun in her seat and scanned wide unblinking eyes over her console, “Uh ... y-yes sir, I have something, not very far at all, its small, about the size of a colony transport.”

“Well what the hell would they be doing out here?” 

“I have no fucking clue.” The Commander muttered darkly glancing towards the eerie image looming over their pathetic tiny ship still thousands of miles away, psr b1509-58 (nicknamed the hand of god) metastasized into the sky less like the hand of god and more like some creeping eldritch horror. The strange, hand-shaped bluish dust cloud writhed from the blackness grasping upwards towards a ball of yellow red fire.

“ID tag confirmed, Sir. The ship has been missing for... Well over a year.”

Commander Vir blinked, “No, that can’t be right.” He shoved past his chair to peer over the shoulder of the technician his face bathed with a hellish red.

“Yes sir, Looks like they lost contact immediately following warp procedures. They did not arrive at their original destination.”

“”Well, I’ll be damned.” He mouthed standing, “Sunny, prep a shuttle and a landing party, get our suits ready. I want the rest of you to try and hail that ship. I don’t have much hope for these people, but done right, a ship can be stocked with enough food to last a year.”

“But…. Commander, what about….” The man’s voice shriveled and ebbed into silence.

Commander Vir nodded expression sombre, “It doesn’t matter. If there is even the slightest possibility that someone aboard that ship might still be alive, than we have to do what we have to do. Come on Sunny, let’s prep a team.”

***

The mood leading up to this mission had been one of inexorable unease, though none of the men or women could really have explained why. Only the Commander had heard the full recording, and as he sat in the pilot’s seat of that shuttle he felt the cold hand of dread slip around his chest, an icy choking feeling on his heart in a way that he had never experienced before, and wished never to experience again. Outside that shuttle window, the icy blue hand of god had beckoned them silently into the lap of eternal darkness.

The civilian transport appeared as a black cancerous spot on god’s wrist,swelling outwards in their vision sprouting sharp, black spines like charred bone pierced through skin. The entire ship, was like that, the mangled corpse of something that had once been now lurking in the shadow of space. But it was odd despite the feeling it gave him, other than the absence of lights, the ship appeared….. Mostly whole. It didn’t look broken down, dilapidated or in any way decommissioned.

It was just, Still, and silent.  

-

The airlock doors shuttered open with a protracted squeal. A wave of putrid humidity washed over them from the pitch black interior. That humid putrefaction slithered past them causing delicate crystal drops to form over the face of their visors foreshadowing nothing but a world of ceaseless decay from within.

And now they had come to stand before a bottomless pit of profound blackness, assaulted by a lurching humid wind that dragged her feted tentacles over his body. Commander Vir felt it, a presence like the weight of an unwanted lover pressing against him with putrid rotting flesh wet and slimy against his bare skin. Like a tongue caressing seductively up his neck, and towards his mouth.

A sensation so malevolent and vile, that began in his stomach, a tingling tightening sensation which wriggled up his throat bringing with it a horrific eruption of tingling beginning at the back of his thighs, trailing up his sides across his back and into his head.

His entire face erupted with that same tingling sensation. His nose and eyes prickled with unshed water, his throat constricted, his cheeks tingled, his teeth gritted. He felt as if he was about to scream, or weep. The impenetrable wall of darkness before him was not just a simple darkness….. It was a message.

GET OUT!

A warning.

Every human in that airlock, every marine, simultaneously erupted into a mass of animal panic. Lights flickered on wildly swinging towards the ceiling as if expecting to see a face come scuttling towards them from the darkness.

“Fuck this.” one marine whimpered crouching low to the ground his weapon raised towards the darkness. The aliens that accompanied them stared in abject terror at the response of their human counterparts. But they could not feel it, the creeping slithering, horror.

“What’s wrong.” Sunny demanded, her voice echoing out around them, thundering down the passageway, not making it very far before being consumed by the dark. 

And it was as if, all around them, the creeping malignancy went…. Silent.

Stopped as if holding its breath.

The humans shifted uneasily in their space weapons pointed into the darkness, though the beams of their flashlights seemed to terminate long before they should have. Despite waiting, the feeling from earlier did not return, though Commander Vir still felt…. Something. It was strange, like the buzzing of flies or a soft humming just out of range of hearing, or perhaps a sound just deep enough to be undetectable by humans, but still acknowledged by the unconscious parts of the brain. 

Whatever it was sent the hair on the back of his neck standing on end as tiny shutters ran up and down his spine.

The darkness stretched on before them.

One of the marines stepped back breathing loud over the intercom inside his helmet, “Commander, we shouldn’t be here.”

Adam agreed.

And he had never wanted anything more than to agree with the marine, and turn tail. But he knew that wasn’t an option, “Stand your ground marine, we have an obligation to these people.”

The group was somber, “I want two of you to stay back with the shutte. Make sure to keep in constant contact with the ship and update them on our progress, the rest of us are going to keep going. I am going to have our hazmat team meet us down here with body bags. With the way everything is looking ...” His voice fell flat on the dead air, and the marines stayed uncharacteristically mute.  

“I’ll take point.” He said lastly, and that seemed to at least galvanize them into action. Pulling his weapon more tightly to his shoulder, Adam faced down the halway following the cold steel line of the floor as it traced it’s way up into blackness, and then vanished. 

He took a step, and listened to it echo into the dark passageway down further and further along what seemed like an endless distance. 

His heart throbbed, and that same tingling sensation from earlier erupted over his cheeks, “Sunny.” he muttered quietly, Reassured when her voice came over the line distorted and warped, but otherwise familiar.

His team continued on softly, pushing back the reluctant darkness with the beam of his light. The floor ahead of him was bare and clean.

“Commander.”

Reluctantly, he turned to the side just slightly to get a look back at his marines, though his eyes still fixed upon that impenetrable blackness, “What is it marine.”

Ramirez’s face was gaunt in the yellow pallor of his helmet light giving him a sickly jaundiced appearance if not that, than the appearance of wax read to drip off a melting candle, “I can’t do this.” The man’s voice quivered with a strange hum that seemed to match that distant buzzing, “I have to go back.”

“What’s wrong marine?” The commander wondered, “We have to keep going.”

“If you can’t tell why than you’re a FUCKING IDIOT” The marines went absolutely still with shock. Staring at their companion in utter disbelief.

“Ramirez, what the hell.”

“Not cool.”

The man began to rock on his heels, slowly at first, and then faster and faster, “We shouldn’t be here.” The mareine was shaking his head erratically, “We have to go. We shouldn’t be here, we shouldn’t be here, we shouldn’t be here.” His voice once frantic, raising in pitch and desperation.

“MARINE, calm down!” Commander Vir snapped, “Get ahold of yourself!”and the man quieted, but continued to rock refusing to move one step more.

“Someone take him back to the shuttle.” The commander ordered, and one of the marines quickly volunteered, glared off by his companions. Commander Vir could see it in their eyes, what for a moment seemed like terrible…. Ravenous anger.

He shook it off and turned back to the darkness. Inside, his chest was suddenly  filled with the feeling of a thousand scuttling spiders digging their way into his lungs clambering through his alveoli, yet they continued onwards. The pale yellow gleam of their lights continued to show…. Nothing, nothing but the long, dark hallway stretching into blackness.

They came upon a few doors on their way down, which the marines cleared  in their usual fashion, but what they found was no more than storage rooms and offices. It all seemed well at first, stacks and stacks of boxes piled atop one another, a desk stacked with papers, the chair pulled out as if waiting for its occupant to return. The life support lights blinked a soft green to demonstrate that they were working.

Commander Vir stared into one of the storage spaces, and inside he felt a deep sense of dread and unease, but these were simply boxes, just stacks of boxes, nothing to worry him at all/ They even checked behind the crates out of a sense of paranoia, but there was nothing to be seen. Out in the hallway, Sunny, and a team of marines kept their eyes down the hall.

Commander Vir turned to position.

Why had those rooms bothered him so much.

It was just then that a deep, prolonged moan echoed down the hallway. The marines snapped into position facing down into the blackness guns raised. Commander Vir felt a rush of bubbles into his nose and throat. 

“The fuck was that.” Someone was saying

“Where did it come from?” Demanded another

“It came from behind us, I swear!” 

“Shut the hell up all of you!” The commander snarled, “Our ship makes noises like that all the time, it’s simply the beams settling, that's what happens when your ship is in a vacuum.” The marines went silent again. Inside his head the background buzzing intensified, like the static of a TV or the distant muble of a vacuum cleaner.

Inside his suit his hands had gone icy cold. Little eruptions of tingling rolled up and down his left side, like the response one gets when a sensual whisper caresses the ears. His palms and feet were horribly cold, his jaw locked, and his teeth gritted. His face felt as if that distant static had somehow made its way into his skin. Metal clattered and clanged vibrating up into the souls of his feet. The inside of his suit was hot while simultaneously being freezing cold. His only safety came from the reassuring weight of a weapon in his arms.

The floor fell away before him as the dying moan seeped into the metal below his feet and above his head. 

Above his head… he hadn’t thought about above his head, and the horrendous feeling of being watched.

Watched by something….. Something stretching down from the ceiling in long gelatinous strings, just inches from his head!

In a panic he dropped to one knee thrusting the muzzle of his weapon upwards images of wild eyes and rotting flesh burned into his mind. Behind him the marines cursed or screamed reacting as their Commander had.

His light fell upon the ceiling and saw…. Absolutely nothing.

Breathing heavily, Commander Vir cursed. His entire body was a mass of static tingling, like his very skin was infested with maggots. His heart beat so hard and so fast inside his chest, the only thing he could hear was it’s frantic beat, “F-false alarm.” he stammered, unable to shake the feeling that something HAD been reaching for him. There was no way a feeling that potent could have been so wrong.

They continued onward, and as he listened, the echoes branched outwards seeming to reach upwards filling a substantial space around them. The marines fanned out in a wide semicircle,  two facing back in the direction they had come. 

“Cargo bay. Alright marines, this is going to be basecamp. I want those portable floodlights set up, and a guard on any and all exits at all times. Once we have secured the area, I want our other teams to join us.” Honestly, they didn’t really need that may marines for this sort of operation, but Commander Vir was well and truly disquieted, and that trepidation made him eager for more guns.

***

“How’s he doing?” Commander Vir asked, standing at the center of a brightly lit cargo bay made that way by no less than twenty portable floodlights.

Krill’s voice came crackling over the line, “Ramirez… it’s strange, he says he’s feeling better, but he looks terrible, clammy skin pale, rapid pulse. I can’t find anything physically wrong, so I’ll probably get a consult down from psych. He wants me to tell you he’s sorry, says he doesn't know what came over him.”

“Tell him it’s alright, we were all sort of freaked.” easy for him to admit in the comforting light of over a dozen spotlights, but beyond that, where the radius of light gave way to the darkness…..

“Oh… and captain, there is probably something you should know. I wanted to tell you earlier, but you had already left.”

“Oh, go on.”

“It’s Conn.”

The commander stood straighter surprised, “Conn, has he woken up?”

Krill was silent for a moment, “Not exactly, but a few hours ago, he started moving around, mouthing things. His eyes are open, but he doesn’t seem to be registering anything. He seems aggressive agitated, and the uh…. Glados and the others seem very upset too. I have waffles taking care of them, but it’s only so much ...”

“Guess everyone aboard the ship is freaked out, eh, anyway, keep me posted.” He finished the conversation and motioned to a group of marines supervising the setup of the hazmat team, “Alright, you guys, on me, we are going to get this party started.”

Since boarding the ship, and seeing that the life support was still functional, they had chosen to take off their space suits, for gear that would be less cumbersome in close-quarters combat. Commander Vir was still not entirely sure that taking off their respirators had been a good idea. The instant he had pulled off his helmet, he had been nasally accosted by a sickly sweet, rotting pungence that permeated the air and wriggled itself into the very fibers of his soul. 

It was also a heavy smell, one that crawled deep into the nose and implanted itself at the back of his throat. So pungent were the smells, that, he felt like he could almost taste it, and was forced to fight bodily against his gag reflex as bile bubbled into his throat. He had quickly ordered better respirators from the med bay, and was currently sporting their crew’s newest fashion trend, a hard plastic mask that strapped around the back of his head but giving his full coverage over his mouth and nose.

Despite their heavy presence aboard the ship, going on almost half a day, no living being had appeared, that in itself did not bode well, considering the remaining options.

Either, no one was still alive to appear.

Or the living had chosen not to.

As for that feeling from earlier? Well here in the floodlit cargo bay, he could almost ignore the distant buzzing of static, and the chills had died down to a cold clamminess, but beneath all the bustling and movement, it was still there, like the ringing in one’s ears that establishes itself as a high pitched squeal, unheard when talking or working, but deafeningly loud when the quiet takes over.

A team of marines formed up around him, augmented by an extra woman to take the spot Ramirez had left. Somehow, she managed to seem surprisingly unphased while the rest of them were close to pissing themselves. Generally, at this point, he would have fallen back to direct from the rear, but left it up to one of the more experienced marines while making his way to the forward middle just behind the woman from earlier. 

He knew how to clear a room ,though this wasn’t his area of tactical expertise.

“Ready Commander?” The marine called form the back.

“Ready when you are, marine.”

“Tac lights on, we are going to do a slow sweep, pause the stick at every door keeping watch forward and rear, middle clearing rooms. Let’s go.”

Behind them, comforting glow of the floodlights faded. To their right, the marine on guard duty for the passaged looked at them with an expression of trepidation, her eyes wide and glinting wetly with the dull glow, “I’m not sure if it’s just the ship, Commander, but I… it sounds like there is something down there.”

He did not particularly appreciate her warning though it was taken into advisement.

Soon, the comforting cacophony of the cargo bay began to fade warping and melding into a strange distant hum. The light dimmed with it, leaving only the thin beams of their flashlights to cut through the murk. He could feel droplets of condensation beading onto his skin in hot, humid droplets. Beams of their flashlights cut down the hall moving and warping shadows across the hallway and floors. The distant buzzing from earlier grew louder and louder, until he was accompanied by a continual stream of static.

Their footsteps thudded loudly on the meta floors despite every attempt to stay quiet.

Halfway up the hall, a warm gust putrid wind blew past them carrying with it a soft, mournful moan. The marine at their head slowed casting her light over the distant hallway.

“Everything alright, marine?” The commander wondered.

“Yes….. I just, for a second I thought…” She trailed off shaking her head, “Nevermind.”

The hair rose down the back of his spine.

“Two doors, right and left.” The point marine called, coming to a stop just past that point. 

“Clear door.” The column stopped, and Commander Vir turned to assist a marine on the left, while another two took the door on the right. 

They found nothing more than abandoned storage rooms, stacks and stacks of crates illuminated in the light of their torches, and continued onwards.

Something plagued him at the back of his mind.

“Commander, the methane levels are climbing. Same with Hydrogen Sulfide.” The group remained quiet at the news.

The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, surrounding them in a dim bubble of light crowded on all sides by darkness. The hallway ahead was silent and empty but for the writhing of shadows. 

“Opening.”

They were directed into a quick fan pattern, one of their members facing backwards against the pursuing wall of darkness as they came into the room. The ambient glow of their torches provided just enough light to illuminate some sort of dining hall, or a kitchen. It was an eerie scene in the dark, chairs pulled form the sides of tables, waiting to be pushed back in abandoned plates left with moldering crumbs upon the counter. Cans and cartons were left abandoned to spoil, like whoever had been here had left in a  hurry and never bothered to return. A single lone chair sat isolated in a corner washed of all color transporting them into a dark, alternate dimension of black, grey eeriness. 

Long reaching shadows stretched grasping fingers into the darkness.

The illumination of their tac lights roved about the room in a thin nebulous columns showing nothing of great interest….. until

A hunched figure came into sharp relief against their lights. 

One of the marines cursed, lights quivered. The commander raised a hand.

Even from here, he could tell the man or woman was dead.

Slowly he motioned the others into the room approaching the corpse himself. Not so much a corpse anymore as grinning skeleton. As the light washed over it, the sockets of the eyes sunk into deep pools of blackness. Teeth, still white in comparison to the stained brown bone, grinned at them with a horrid gap-toothed smile just visible through a ragged tangle of drying hair which stick in vein-like trails over the moldering bone. 

The skeleton was undisturbed.

It sat at one of the tables slumped heavily against the wall. Dried brown stains coated the floor and wall around the corpse in a discolored puddle. The putrid discoloration had oozed onto the wall and slowly wormed its way into the minute seams leaving a cracked and drying crust behind it. The clothes, still somewhat intact, clung stiffly to the bone, rigid and brown with dried residue. 

But strangest of all was how the corpse sat, propped against the wall bony fingers still clutched loosely about an oxidized fork and knife, a pristine white plate sitting before him on the table. Aside from a small amount of dust, and residue shed from the hands, the plate was….. Clean.

The man looked as if he had died while sitting down for a meal, though there had been no food on his plate.

“Its like he just… sat down and died.” one of the marines whispered 

Just then a horrendous screech and crash shook quaked the room. A moment of sheer intense panic seized the commander, like the feeling of being constricted from all sides. The static in his ears roared to a crescendo as their lights sent shadows into a crazed and ghastly dance. Adam would have sworn he saw something large, and fleshy skitter away into the shadows just as his tac light fell on a pan still rolling and rattling against the floor. Frantically he panned his weapon in a tight arc, over the floor and across the walls. 

The sound of skittering, like the movement of a million bugs washed over him, so intense he felt as if he could feel the little creatures crawling up his body, burrowing into the fabric of his clothing, and crawling into his ears. His skin crawled and squirmed with a thousand maggots. They invaded his shoes, squelching between his does, filling his mouth and nose, worming their way down his throat.

He could feel them crawling on his insides carving tunnels just under the skin of his back. 

He gagged against the feeling batting at his arms and neck dropping his weapon on it tac sling to bounce against his upper thighs as he swatted at his face and skin spitting and gagging. 

Something grabbed him by the arm, “COMMANDER!”

The feeling vanished.

He stood in a cold sweat tingling like his entire body had fallen asleep quivering with the remembered feeling.

“Commander, are you alright.”

Adam dashed a hand across his mouth expecting to find bugs, but found nothing more than strings of saliva. He wiped his mouth again, “Shit, what the hell was that?”

“Nothing, sir. No one SAW anything, and we were guarding all the doors.”

His body trembled. So, either it had somehow snuck in, or it had been here the entire time….. If there was in fact anything there? Perhaps one of the marines had brushed the pot handle as they walked past causing it to slip and vibrate against the floor. 

He took a deep breath, unable to quell the urge to spit another gobit of phlegm onto the floor wetting his cracked lips with a raspy tongue, “Deploy the micro-drones. Have them get some samples and take pictures, then we will take care of the body.”

While his orders were being carried out, the rest of the marines busied themselves searching the room rummaging through cupboards and drawers though one marine had backed himself into a corner nervously sweeping his light across the floor and ceiling.

There were no more disturbances, and they found nothing but stacks of tins, boxes and packages. They came across a drawer full of pristine, dusty, coated utensils, but nothing remarkably out of the ordinary. 

Radio calls were made, and another team came to collect the body. Commander Vir watched from a pool of darkness as the yellow-suited hazmat team worked to peal the skeleton from it’s cracked juices. WIth enough urging the bones came apart, and the man was slowly disassembled into his component parts and crammed into a black bag whose surface glittered and shone like freshly pourn tar. 

His hands were the last to go, rusting metal utensils wrestled from the still clutching fingers, and left abandoned on the table next to the glittering white plate.

The sull, hunkered in a bed of its own bones, gave him one last knowing grin, before being zipped shut. 

The hazmat team retreated with their group of marines, taking with them the rustling of their suits, and the solemn comfort of their voices. Again they had been left in that dark colorless place surrounded on all sides by the ghost of an evening that would never come to pass. 

There was no knowing how long it had been stuck like this, though a thick mat of dust covered the floor. Nervously he glanced towards the fallen pot, but the ground was far to disturbed to determine what had actually happened.

But perhaps that was a hand-print?

No, it couldn’t be.

“I’ll take point,” He announced stepping in front of the female marine as they made their way into position. He wasn’t technically supposed to be here, but the fear…. The fear was starting to overcome him. That feeling, from the first moment they had stepped onto the ship, that cold icy sensation that licked slowly up his back to the point behind his ear. His skin crawled and his heart hammered as he tucked his weapon against his shoulder in a low-ready position. The only thing keeping him here was the desire to protect his marines.

Stepping into the hallway, his imagination wandered with him into the dark. His marines sitting silently on the floor of an abandoned back room, their bodies withering with the slow decay of time, their flesh dripping like candle wax from their bones forgotten in the slow progression of time as the cold darkness of space surrounded them, lost and entombed forever.

He shivered, “Door right.” He called, just before his light passed over a second door, “Door left.” He called out taking a few steps forward into the darkness and stopping while the marines readied themselves to breach the room. He kept his body at a slight angle head cocked towards the doors so he could hear, eyes looking off down the hallway. He heard the door open, and the marines entered. It must have been a larger room, for it required more than one marine to actually enter and make the sweep.

He heard them speaking, calling out to each other, and tilted his head just a little further in their direction eyes, momentarily, closer to the marines than it was to the hallway.

And that’s when the sensation came, a malicious presence  rushing headlong  from the darkness, a scuttling evil presence fed by spiteful purpose, carried by the slapping of wet feet, and hands upon cold metal. WIth a cry of alarm, he whipped around expecting to find the ravening beast leap at him from the darkness.

But, as before, there was nothing, nothing but the endless dark hallway stretching back into the gloom. Another sluggish breeze cut past him bringing with it a deep and tenuous moan. 

The commander felt sick to his stomach, his hands shook and his face tingled. Tears pricked at the corners of his vision, and inside every fiber of his being told him to turn back. There was something wrong about that presence, something more horrific than any monster or beast, though that’s what he had called it in his haste.

Though he had not seen it, he could feel it’s malicious intent, its hatred, its unholy evil.

An emotion no animal could comprehend, no alien reconstruct.

A human emotion.

-

He told no one what he had felt when they returned, though Sunny seemed suspicious. The rooms had been sleeping quarters at one point, all the beds put neatly away, dusty family photos left forgotten atop nightstands and laying about the floor. It seemed odd how deliberately the beds had been made though family photos were discarded upon the floor.

Though he wished for nothing more than to turn back, he forced himself to keep going reminding himself constantly of the companionship giving him by the marines, and Sunny. 

They cleared several more sleeping quarters, multiple offices and the occasional storage room, though all were left in similar states of, perfect tidiness or abandoned disarray. None of it had been touched in months. He was beginning to wonder if they would ever find the rest of the crew, when the buzzing began.

It was a distant sound, similar but not holy the same as that soft malefic buzzing that had plagued him through this journey. It was, somehow, more substantial, and as they moved down the hall, the sound swelled, louder and louder and louder until it was almost deafening. 

“Methane readings are extremely high commander.” 

In response, Commander Vir panned his weapon about the hallway causing a beam of light to cut upwards onto a set of doors as well as the ceiling and floor beneath, and stopped. The ground outside the door was coated in a glistening greenish-black sludge, the door itself was lacquered in, hot thick moisture, and, somehow, a trail of rotting putrid mold had begun festering upon the ceiling above the door.  The buzzing was louder now, louder than it had ever been, and inside Commander Vir knew what he was going to find.

And for that reason, he had chosen to switch spots with the female marine behind him. He didn’t want to do it, but he knew it had to be done.

He positioned himself to the side of the door, and motioned for a marine to open it.

The doors slid open with a sickening squelch. Commander Vir took one step in, and then stopped as his tac light fell on the opposing wall. The very room itself heaved a breath as the walls and floors around him pulsed and throbbed expanding and contracting like a writhing vat of putrid decay throbbing like the beating of the ship’s oversized heart.

And the sound a gelatinous high pitched squirming in time with deafening, droning buzz.

Behind him, a marine wretched.

“Not in your mask dammit!” one of the others yelled at him

Commander Vir, couldn’t move. He was frozen on the spot hands like ice knees locked. His stomach clawed its way first ito his pelvis, and then into his throat seeking escape. The feeling returned, maggots crawling through his skin chewing their way through his brain and out through his eyes. He could feel them, as real as anything slithering about his body. 

“Holly mother fuck!” one of the marines whispered, and he too turned away to gag. Finally, commander Vir was able to step away backing out of the door and ordering it closed behind him. 

“Call the hazmat team and get them down here. We have a lot of work to do.”

-

When all was said and done, a staggering sixty percent of the crew was recovered. Krill ,ordered over as the ship’s coroner, had been forced to use skulls to count bodies and determine at least sixty percent of the crew was present. Commander Vir tried not to look at the small skulls instead forced to face the reality that,  some of the crew were still in the active stages of decomposition, which, as Krill explained, meant they had died within the last month, some at least within the last weak. He felt his heart sink.

Perhaps, if they had been a couple days earlier….

The issue was, the bodies were in such a state that Krill was having a hard time figuring out what had been their cause of death. Another team of marines returned from the other end of the ship, towards engineering and reported that they had come upon a locked door. The door, they said had been marred with many strange scratches and dents. They were forced to open it with extreme force, and upon coming inside, they had been, again blocked by stacks and stacks of equipment apparently used to block the door. 

Another ten percent of the crew had been found inside….. 

Nothing was making sense, a least nothing except for what the engineers had found when they inspected the warp core. Whatever it was, it had been a catastrophic malfunction which had taken out all central power to the engines, and sent an emp burst which permanently fried their long-distance communications. The backup life support generator had survived though the main one had also been taken out in the blast. The transmission itself had come from a short-wave radio stored in a sort of faraday cage in engineering. In space, the signal would be practically useless, which is why they hadn’t picked up on it earlier. 

The message from earlier repeated on a loop. 

Those bodies were only just beginning to bloat, and Krill determined cause of death on all subjects to be asphyxiation characterized by petechial and subconjunctival hemorrhaging about the eyes and under the skin not to mention ligature abrasions about the neck. 

truthfully , having Krill here was simply a formality…. No one had been surprised about their cause of death…. Especially not after they had been found, alone, in the dark gently swaying side by side. Not alone…. Even in death.

The real question was…. Where was the other 20% of the crew? 

There was only one small section aboard the ship that they had yet to explore, and Commander Vir wagered to guess they would find their answers there, on the bridge.

-

Most of the ship had been explored by this time, flood lights had been set, and informal safe-zones had been set which included a small team of marines and three to four of the massive floodlights. They began the staging of their last push in the kitchen where the first corpse had been found. It was him, three marines, and Sunny, who with the other female marine had shown no great reaction to the strange eeriness of the ship. The other two had been with him since the beginning, and were damned if they weren’t going to see it through.

He adjusted the mask waiting for the other marines to ready themselves.

His eye was caught by a strange and unusual glint. Turning his head, his eyes were brought towards the darkest corner of the room, isolated from the floodlights and a wide ring of caution tape. The single, white ceramic plate from before glinted at him from the shadows it’s surface empty and glistening, though still coated in a layer of dust.

It seemed out of place, though how a plate could be out of place in  a kitchen remained a mystery. 

He turned his gaze away as the marines announced their readiness, and together, they began their trek down the hallway, now lit by a hundred pale orbs of light lining the path to that first door, which was now sealed off with caution tape, beyond that, the darkness began again. Despite the sealed door, the Buzzing was still there to remind him of what lay behind that door.

A fly landed on his cheek, its hairlike feet sending shivers up his skin, and he swatted it away in disgust knowing form where it had spawned.

He stepped over the greasy smear of brownish film and aimed his flashlight down the rest of the hallway, there were many doors here, though only this one seemed to show hints of what it contained. The bulb in his light flickered and dimmed before brightening again.  He moved forward with his team switching on and off the point position as he moved, sometimes waiting outside, and sometimes falling back to clear a room worried for what his marines would find.

He opened a small door himself, while the two others checked the hall and two more remained on watch. It was a small room no more than  a few feet wide with exposed piping and electrical circuits. He reached out attempting to flip on the main breaker, but other than a dull thud, the lock remained stuck and silent. He rolled his light over the floor and paused in confusion when he saw it resting against the far wall.

A can of what appeared to be brand-generic tomato soup. Head tilted to the side, he slowly crouched, and reached out a hand for the can.

His hearing exploded as the high pitched keening swelled in his ears. All sound dulled, and his vision went white fading slowly to black, the light of his flashlight had gone grey and white, tingles erupted down his back, crawling into his face and bringing water to his eyes. His very body trembled with a sense of terror so profound, it was as if the devil himself stood at his back. Even as he thought that, he could sense it, a hateful rabid demonic presence, crouched just behind him. He could feel its hot, rasping breath on his neck, could sense it’s soulless black eyes boring into his soul, and almost feel those slime-coated teeth chattering with anticipation. The sensation was one so deeply profound it was like being stared at by a thousand eyes. The buzzing static in his head became a hissing whisper, a maddened warbling.. The world around him was a slowed grey expanse of eternity, trapped in a state of indescribable panic. Darkness slowly rose up behind him, the presence lifting thin, elongated arms, too long for its body, fingers too long for its hands spreading outwards like he was sprouting an unholy set of wings.

Plunging downward

A hand came down on his shoulder, and he screamed with raw inhuman terror entire body contracting violently away from the touch.  Time around his was ruptured, and he clattered against the wall, sending the can of tomato soup spinning across the floor.

“Commander!.”

The marine stood over him with wide confused eyes.

Commander Vir gasped and panted against the gut-wrenching panic that still gripped his chest. His vision was tunneled into blackness, and all the shapes around him appeared indistinct, “How long…. Have you been there?” He stammered.

“I came to check on you sir, you'd been gone for like five minutes and we all got worried.

Five minutes…. That hadn’t been five minutes. He checked his watch, but the marine was right, 

“Are you alright, Commander. Do you need to head back?”

“No I…. I’m alright, just… let my paranoia overcome me is all.” The marine reached out a hand, and the Commander took it standing and trying to conceal the fact that his legs were shaking.

There were only a few more rooms left, after all. The door shut behind him closing on that can of tomato soup inside.

The next three rooms were clear, though unlike other places aboard the ship, they did show signs of recent use. Running a light obliquely over one of the surface walls, showed raised discoloration from an oily set of hand prints going all around the room, high onto the walls, and across the floor to meld with similar footprints.

Otherwise, the room was empty.

There was only one door left.

Sunny and the female marine set themselves to the side of the doors allowing Commander Vir and the other marine to breach the room. Commander Vir stepped in first sweeping his light from the nearest corner over and around the center of the room. The other marines took their corners, and together they moved inside.

The bridge, didn’t appear much like a bridge anymore, all the consuls and equipment had been unbolted and stripped from the floor. Stiff, brown fabric buzzing with flies had been strung up from the ceiling and down onto the floor giving the room a strange alien quality to it, like they had walked into a cave, or perhaps the throat of some virulent beast.

To add to the strangeness of it all, almost every available flat surface was piled with open containers, bottles and glasses and jars of water. Pillows lay discarded across the floor their generally white casings stained with filth. The jars themselves seemed to make a pathway through the room.

Sweeping his light forward, Commander Vir followed the trail of stained cloth up towards the end of the path, where a single, stained chair still remained bolted to the floor. It was a large chair sat atop a raised dais, though it was slightly tilted to one side.

The Captain’s chair.

All around it lay bodies, piled together in grotesque poses of death locked into place by rigor mortis 

A horrific amalgamation of naked flesh and rot. These people, they lay together in a mass pile before the seat, somehow reminding him of a thrown as if these people had been prostrated in ritual as they slowly expired.

“The fuck.” Whispered one of the marines

Commander Vir remained silent, his eyes roving over the scene before him. The bodies themselves were in a general state of decay, though in better preserved condition than the ones before. 

Slowly he moved up the aisle boots making a soft thud against the unseen metal below his feet, muffled by the crusted fabric. A single body atop that pile stood out to him, in the wan light of his torch, it’s skin glowed a sickly, pale grey, like the body of a decaying maggot. The thing, more creature than man, was horrifically thin it’s spine protruding like that of a rabid, starving dog, so thin and knobbly that it’s joints were thicker than the surrounding body parts.

Its fingernails were blackened.

Commander Vir paused to take a closer look at the body drawn in b some heinous curiosity. The other marines stood behind him examining the pile of corpses.

“No…. no no….”

Commander Vir leaned in further.

“What?”

A shuffling behind him and a soft, “They were EATING each other.” 

It was then, he realized many things at once…. The missing 20%, the blocaded door, the tomato soup, the clean plate, the storage rooms still full of boxes, the kitchen.

And the fact that this corpse was still chewing slowly, and rhythmically.

“COMMANDER RUN!”

The chewing stopped, and an eye flashed open, a delicate cerulean blue consumed by a black pupils and surrounded by jaundice yellow sclera.

He had no time to react.

He screamed falling backwards as the thing slammed into his chest. His tac light was thrown to the floor and sent spinning across the ground. The room erupted into chaos. He kicked out with one foot catching the creature in the chest and knocking it backwards. It skidded back across the floor on all fours, the greyness of it’s skin thrown into sharp relief, an amalgamation of bruising and torn open sores still weeping clear fluid and infection.

He scrambled backwards, and it scuttled after him. Light rolled around him like a strobe giving him only glimpses of the creature as it crawled towards him gnashing yellowed teeth overcome by bleeding, decaying gums. He scrambled for his sidearm running into something soft, and moist at his back. The lights flashed.

The creature plunged from the darkness, its ragged black nails scrambling for his neck.

He caught it by the arms pushed backwards into a putrid mass. Fabric tore and bone cracked desperately he strained against the creature flailing arms. It was inhumanly strong as it pushed them through the mass of corpses tumbling onto a field of open jars.

Glass shattered. 

Water erupted around them. The thing began to shreak so loud that his ears rang. His hand slipped, and the creature got one arm free, more glass shattered. He could see the gelatinous film coating the creature's eyes, watched strings of saliva drip from it’s open mouth. It pulled its hand back fingers curving into talons pressed close together.

“THE EYES.”

The hand came plunging downwards towards his face, and he scrambled back kicking and screaming. The hand came down, again and again and again stabbing down towards his eye. He tried to catch the creature’s hand, but was only able to block it.

It screamed.

Glass shattered as he deflected it to the side it’s fingers stabbing into the glass coming back bloody.

It straddled him by the hips fighting to gain both hands as it jabbed at him again. Greasy black fingernails rocketed towards his face, seeking his eyes.

Teeth gnashed and champed.

Screaming form around the room.

It grabbed him, and together they plunged through a tear in the fabric. Something sharp crunched beneath him, it grew darker, light dissipated by crusted fabric. 

He felt it coming towards his face catching the creature’s wrist. Light grew in his vision, withering black nails inches from his face. It pressed down with all its might quivering closer and closer to the surface of his eye.

Something glinted at him from the darkness.

A panic, and desperation the likes of which he had never felt overwhelmed him flooding his body with strength. He screamed, wrenching the creature’s arm from his face, grabbing it by the side of the head, and thrusting it bodily sideways.

The things scream was cut off by a sickening crunch.

The glinting, the tip of a jagged broken rib.

He lay there, on his side against a field of bones staring into the glassy face of this…. No… not a creature.

A man.

A man with shocked cerulean blue eyes faded in death strings of white-blond hair still clinging to his diseased scalp, and the ore he looked the more human the thing became. A man in his thirties emaciated diseased, probably in pain. Commander vir looked down and saw a jacket tied loosely around the man’s waist.

Pinned to the collar was a dull set of captain’s bars.

For a moment it was as if he could see his own face staring back at him.  This man, he could be any one of them.

He felt his body heave, and he scrambled away clawing his way through the opening and into a field of broken glass.

“Don’t shoot!” Someone screamed.

“Commander!.”

On hands and knees his body heaved violently again his nose tingled, his throat constricted. Tears leaped to his eyes. The heave turned into a sob, but he choked it back down, staggering to his feet his breath heavy and warm inside the mask. Someone rushed to help him, while another shined his light through the opening.

“Holy shit.”

“Commander, are you ok?”

He waved the marine off his ears ringing, “Order everyone back to the ship RIGHT NOW.”

His orders were not questioned. A radio went on somewhere, and two of the marines helped to support him as they walked down the hall. His body felt numb, it wasn’t that he couldn’t move, but he couldn’t feel his feet on the floor.

Eventually someone else took over for the marines. Two arms supported him from the side, in a strong inhuman embrace. Sunny tried to speak with him, but his mind was too focused to acknowledge her. They had to get out, he had to get them out. He refused to go forward unless he could see his marines checking constantly behind him as they went. Anyone they saw along the way was ordered back to the ship. Leave the equipment they could get more.

He stood in the cargo bay surrounded by bodies filtering through the doors calling out names and checking off crew manifest.  Shuttles were launched back to the ship, and he refused to leave until the last shuttle was opened.

Together with Sunny, and his original team of marines, he stepped onto the shuttle. The darkened hallways lined with cheap LEDs stretched back behind him. Something clattered sending echoes up the hall. A marine sealed the door with a sharp his, and with unwavering hands, Commander Vir piloted the ship into space eyes locked forward, body still feeling nothing.

The light that hit him upon returning to his ship was the most relieving sensation he had ever felt, like taking an elevator to heaven from the depths of hell. The crew waited in the cargo bay as they exited the shuttle waiting with fearful, wide eyes. The marines especially gathered around him, but at that moment he felt….. Nothing.

He looked at the marines. He had to make sure they were ok, “The lot of you, get yourself up to psych RIGHT NOW!”

“But captain.”

His voice dropped low, “Argue with me again marine, and it will be the last thing you do.” 

The group stepped back

He lifted his head, “THAT GOES FOR THE LOT OF YOU. Anyone who stepped foot on that ship or even listened to that transmission better have a psych referral to me by the end of the week on my desk in signed in TRIPLICATE from all three of our attending physicians psych and medical otherwise. NOW GET MOVING.”

No one questioned him, and standing there in the crowd, he felt his body go numb. Cold sweat rolled from his temples and down his collar, he began to shiver violently. His hearing still hadn't come back from earlier, and he was beginning to feel lightheaded his heart pounded even as a great sense of exhaustion came over him.

Before he knew it, he was sitting on the floor. Someone was speaking to him, though he couldn’t concentrate enough to make it out. Only that memory, of the repeated hand jabbing downwards towards his face.

More voices muttering, they elevated in shock, and a second later something cupped him gently about the face tilting his head back. The movement was gentle almost caring. Lights blinded him for a moment, but then a face resolved itself in his vision, paper white, humanoid and with wide black eyes.

“Conn.” He muttered.

“Sleep, Commander, and I will ease your fear.”

A sensation, like someone pouring clear warm water into his thoughts. His shivering died down, and he felt himself float away.

***

Humans don’t die easily.

And sometimes when they do, when they should leave, they linger.