I Want Them To Be Happy - Tumblr Posts

hnghhh i just love badass married couples

Febuwhump Day 9: Voice loss.

Fandom: Star Wars

Timeline: The Bad Batch

Screaming. Hunter had been doing a lot of that. His voice had become hoarse and his throat throbbed. Some imperial soldiers had brought him in. Since then the torture had been endless. They wanted information on the rebels. No matter how many times Hunter said he didn't know they just kept harming him. The interrogator also wanted the location of the rest of the batch. Hunter knew that; Echo was with Rex and the rest of them were on Ord Mantell, But that he would never tell.

    Soon the hoarse yelling became no noise at all. Hunter continued attempting to tell the clone that he didn't know. Nothing came out. "What, cat got your tongue or something?" Crank antagonized.

    Hunter had asked for the soldier's name when he had entered, hoping the gesture would help him out a little and because asking a clone for their name was meaningful; well to most of them. Though Crank had seemed pleasantly surprised it was no use.

    The mercenary opened him mouth to argue but just closed it again.

    The door slid open to reveal Crosshair. "Hello Hunter" he hissed. Then the clone actually looked at his brother. Hunter saw the surprise and worry in his eyes for a brief second.

    'hello Crosshair' Hunter mouthed. The sniper was able to read lips, his mutation helped him immensely with this.

    "Use your voice Hunter."

    'I can't.'

    "Why?" Crosshair whispered low enough for only his brother to hear.

    'Maybe Cross still cares after all' Hunter though. "Screaming took it."

    Crosshair turned to the reg, "You do know we can't use him if he can't speak right? Idiot. I'll take care of him."

    Crank shrugged and left the room.

    It hurt Crosshair to see Hunter like this. The man was bloody and bruised. He'd seen him like this before but that was when he was on his side. Now he was on the side hurting him.

    "I'll find you something for your throat." Crosshair softened.

    Crosshair was never really outwardly kind. It meant a lot to Hunter knowing despite everything; despite every time they left him, the fact that in his eyes they betrayed him, for not trusting him; that Crosshair still cared.

    The door closed and Hunter was alone. For the first time he assessed his injuries. They consisted of deep cuts, colorful bruises, burn marks from electricity, broken bones, and his raw throat. His throat burned. He needed to be able to speak, how else could he lead his family? How could he comfort them or protect them? He couldn't warn them of harm if he couldn't speak. The rest of the injuries didn't really concern him, just the voice loss.

    Crosshair would come back later with a cup of tea. How he managed to obtain the tea confused Hunter but he was thankful. His wrists were freed and he shakingly grabbed the cup. Giving his brother a nod to thank him he took a sip. It was somehow his favorite. This made the man smile. The gesture helped his heart more than it helped his throat.

    Footsteps. Familiar footsteps. The door opened and the batch spilled into the room. Surprisingly blaster fire did not follow. "We're here too... Ummm what?" Wrecker stood bewildered.

    The scene unraveling in front of him was certainly far from expected. Crosshair was helping Hunter. He sat beside Hunter with his hand slightly under the cup, ready to grab it if it fell.

    Echo still held his gun to the soldier. The others had lowered theirs. "Are you sure that's not poisoned." Echo was suspicious and for good reason. Crosshair was an imperial soldier after all. Crosshair gave Echo a death glare.

    Hunter looked past Crosshair and nodded, signaling Echo to lower his weapon. He complied.

    "We need to get out of here. It won't be long before the empire notices we are here." Tech said.

    Hunter tried to stand. His legs gave out on him and he started to fell. Crosshair caught him and lowered him back to the ground. "Wrecker come here" but of course no sound came out.

    "Hunter I think you forgot something there" Omega joked.

    Crosshair had sat beside Hunter once more. "He can't talk."

    "Why not?" Wrecker respond.

    "Likely the torture. Your vocal cords can only handle so much stress before you cannot talk. He should be fine." Tech answered.

    Omega looked worried. Hunter gave her a soft smile which calmed he fears slightly. Wrecker walked over to his injured brother and picked him up. Hunter winced.

    "Sorry." Wrecker had nothing to apologize for and he knew it. However it made him feel a little bit better about any necessary pain he caused.

    "Do you hear anyone?" Echo asked. Hunter shook his head and turned to face Crosshair. He pulled his arm out and offered his hand to Crosshair. He looked tempted. "No. My place is here, your place should be here."

    "We don't see eye to eye on that." Wrecker sighed, "we miss you though."

    "We can't fight for something we don't believe in." Echo spoke. Crosshair nodded.

    "If you ever need us try to let us know okay?" Omega hugged her brother, and then they left.

    Crosshair grabbed the tea cup from the floor and softly smiled. He made the right choice letting them leave over and over. Maybe he'd let them take him one day.

I will never emotionally recover from them

ME FR RIGHT NOW

Refrain, chapter four - a Malevolent fic (The start of Surrogate, season two!)

Kayne's "season one" ended with a choice: whichever father Faroe picked, he was ready to let that slingshot fire.

She picked Arthur. Well, that was nice, wasn't it? Especially since he'd spent almost a year pulling that rubber band back, loaded.

Of course, he had no idea how well it would work. Humans are weird, and pieces of Hastur seem to respond particularly well to prolonged exposure.

It was time to deny a wicked man his prize.

Time to give a good man a second chance and see what he did with it.

Time to take the abused piece of a god and find out how it changed when given to someone else.

Part of Surrogate, a Malevolent AU. Written with @sepiabandensis.

AO3 (chapter four)

-------

They got used to sleeping outside, when the weather permitted. They also got used to welcoming other travelers.

These moments, to Sunny, were unreal. Seated around a campfire, sharing stories; lying beneath blankets of stars. The freedom. The living.

Maybe Parker was right. Even if they eventually did get caught… maybe this was worth the journey.

#

Parker-watching was a good thing to do. Sunny liked when they were in places with reflections; he could see the planes of Parker’s face, and the steady, sharp gaze that missed nothing.

Sunny also noticed whom Parker watched. And whom Parker… watched.

In one small town, within spitting distance of Myngar, they took a room at an inn with some fantastic roasted fisher-bird. The rice-like grain from the nearby floodplains made a light, flavorful beer that was easy to drink, hard to overdo, and just potent enough that even Sunny was warm from the buzz.

Sunny had taken a liking to people-watching, as well. It was good to keep an eye out while they were on a case, but there was a certain kind of simple beauty in watching others, humans and otherwise, go about their lives. It reminded Sunny of a lifetime ago, when he had watched strange and stilted dancing in a bar in Addison, but it was so much better.

Today Parker’s gaze wandered, dragging Sunny’s along with it, but when it got to the bar… it lingered.

The barkeep’s son was a tall, handsome man with lowered lashes and a shy smile who seemed keen on keeping Parker’s glass full. Sunny did not miss when their hands brushed against at another exchange of a glass. He also did not miss how the man’s gaze lingered, too, sweeping back towards Parker, and how Parker met and held that gaze. Sometimes, when the man leaned just right, it was if the flavor in Parker’s mouth changed. Almost like hunger. Almost.

You prefer the male form, Sunny observed.

“Yeah,” said Parker, still watching the guy.

You like that form.

“Kinda,” said Parker. “Guys like that, they know how to move. I like spreading ‘em. Like butter on toast.”

Sunny thought for a long moment. If you wish to indulge, I will not interfere.

Parker had a coughing fit. “Buddy… come on, I’m not doing that to you.”

Larson did. I learned how to… step aside. Away. To put myself away.

“To what?” said Parker, soft. “You what?”

To remove myself from it.

“What, you… you dissociate?” said Parker, recalling the word from a case four years ago. “Are you serious?”

Sunny seemed lost. Yes?

Parker put his hands around his beer. He was silent for a long moment, and no longer watching the barkeep’s son. “I’d rather you didn’t do that, buddy. I’m not gonna put you in a position where you have to.”

But you deserve pleasure, Sunny said, intensely. You deserve good things.

“I’ve had plenty of fun. You know what’s not fun? Screwing over a partner, you hear me?”

It was Sunny’s turn to be silent for a long moment.

“That son of a bitch,” Parker muttered, and did not bring it up again.

#

Two weeks later, Larson hired non-magical goons—natives to the Dreamlands—and these, Parker found harder to spot.

The group caught him fair and square, dragging him out of a town before he’d reached an inn for the night. They beat him up. They threw him in a half-wrecked room with a heavy door and locked it, then got rowdy-drunk in the main room to celebrate the payday they’d snagged.

Parker used a board from the bed and a block from the wall and levered the door off its hinges while Sunny hissed, Yes, Parker!

From that point, they both were a lot more careful.

#

I never want to go back to him, Sunny told Parker after the fourth failed capture. He spoke with the same desperate pleading he’d used when begging Parker not to hurt him on the day they had met. Parker, please. I never, ever want to go back.

“I hear you, buddy,” said Parker, breathing a little hard as he jogged in the wilderness. “But if they catch us and we can’t get out, that only leaves one option, you know?” And Parker wasn’t Larson; he never used Sunny’s words against him, so he didn’t say, you didn’t want to die, or anything like that. He just let it sit. This was Sunny’s hand to play, however he wanted to play it.

Instead, Sunny began to recite a poem.

If we must die—let it not be like hogs Hunted and penned in an inglorious spot, While round us bark the mad and hungry dogs, Making their mock at our accursed lot, If we must die—oh, let us nobly die, So that our precious blood may not be shed In vain; then even the monsters we defy Shall be constrained to honor us though dead! Oh, Kinsmen! We must meet the common foe; Though far outnumbered, let us show us brave, And for their thousand blows deal one deathblow! What though before us lies the open grave? Like men we'll face the murderous, cowardly pack, Pressed to the wall, dying, but fighting back!

Parker sounded stunned. “Oh,” he said, softly. “That’s… that’s it. That’s… everything. You just… damn, Sunny. That’s… that feels right. What is that? And don’t say ‘a poem.’”

If I can’t say it’s a poem, Sunny said wryly, I will call it a war cry. I will not let him take me. I won’t execute you to do it, but… It would be an honor to die by your side, my friend.

Parker set his jaw. It was a good sign; Sunny knew that by now. It meant Parker was ready to throw himself into something, head, hand, and foot, heart, soul, and spirit. “I’m in. I won’t let them get you, if I got any say in it. Let ‘em try.”

#

They said this man was strong. Had knocked out a casting sorcerer, somehow, with just his fists.

They said this man was smart. He’d reinstated the true rulers of Karnath, unraveled the mystery of the Mummy Caves, and somehow brought peace to Princess Y’thgna in her final moments.

They said he was also on some kind of personal quest to taste every single food in the Dreamlands.

Of course, all of that couldn’t be true. But it sure was fun to talk about.

And people did.

#

Parker traveled smart, and kept their head down, sticking to crowds; and so they got to hear the news.

The Games were in Carcosa. (And Sunny waxed eloquent.)

Carcosa was attacked. (And Sunny freaked out.)

The Carcosan princess was missing (and Sunny twisted, trying to figure out who the hell that could be).

The Carcosan princess was found (and maybe was human, and Sunny didn’t believe that at all).

A storm like no one had ever seen crash-landed in the Middle Sea. (And Parker and Sunny were very glad they hadn’t gotten to the coast yet to catch a boat towards Carcosa, because every boat on the water had been turned to toothpicks.)

This slowed them down a bit. Parker knew they were being chased, but… when the storm finally passed, everything was kindling. The closer they got to the sea, the more damage they found. People wept; voices cried names, hoping for response against impossible odds. The wounded moaned, sometimes still trapped in buildings that had fallen.

Parker couldn’t just keep going. He knew they were close; Carcosa was across the water, or so Sunny said. But they couldn’t ignore all of this. “We gotta help, Sunny.”

Sunny had lapsed into that heavy, meaningful silence, but at last: I agree. People are wounded, or hurting, or need to find family, and that is what you and I seem to excel at. Plus, there’s talk of Carcosa being allied with Celephaïs, now—we can always go there to resume our quest, after we’ve helped.

And Parker had to say it, because he wasn’t in the business of tricking Sunny. “Means we’ll be in the crosshairs. And in one place longer than we should be. You still up? Because I am.”

I’m still up, my friend. Larson we will deal with when he comes—we always do. His voice still trembled when he talked about Larson coming after them.

“Glad to work with you, buddy,” said Parker. And they dove in.

#

They weren’t caught for three weeks. Maybe Larson hadn’t considered they’d stay behind, risking themselves. Maybe he’d just assumed they’d avoid the worst of it, because (both were sure) he would have.

But they stayed, and they helped, and though Parker tried to keep it all under wraps, the weird hooded guy with the wisp of gold in his mouth just wasn’t something people wanted to keep quiet about.

#

“Mister,” said a woman one night. “Please. You’re the one helping people, right? Please.”

Parker was tired. Sunny was tired. They hadn’t even had the chance to enjoy their truly excellent hot and sour soup. “Maybe?” said Parker, turning. “What’s up?”

She was a worn woman, tired, too thin. She’d chopped her hair off rather than trying to maintain it in all the chaos, and her clothes were threadbare. “My son. Please. He… we thought he was getting better, but he’s not,” she said, wringing her hands.

“I can’t make any promises,” said Parker, because he always did, “but I can at least try. Where is he?”

“Oh, thank you! Thank you!” she sobbed. “This way. I’m sorry, it… my home is on the other side of town.”

“Eh,” said Parker. “Nice evening to stretch our legs. Lead on, ma’am. I’m Parker. Nice to meet you.”

“Pah… Pakah,” she repeated. “Cill.”

“Hi, Cill.” And Parker did a thing that he sometimes did: he offered the soup to the woman.

Sunny didn’t sigh this time. They could get more soup. They would. That looked really good, too.

She looked shocked. Took it. And, her eyes filling, she turned and hurried off.

Parker followed at speed, hood up. “Spot our tail yet?”

I can’t tell. I still think you’re right and we’re being watched.

“I’m sure we are.” His gut was never wrong. “You ready to move on yet?”

They’re not ready.

“I agree.” Parker navigated around a cart filled with debris, being taken for burning. “Let’s just be careful.”

Cill wasn’t kidding; her home was more than just on the other side of town. It was outside it, on the outskirts, far enough away that its flickering, candlelit windows shone in the night.

So this felt suspicious as hell, but the woman’s distress was real. Her glance, over her shoulder, was desperate and just a pinch guilty as she clutched the soup to her chest and went inside.

Had Larson hurt some kid? “Batter up,” Parker warned softly, and stepped in behind her.

It wasn’t a wealthy place. Essentially one room with bits of mismatched furniture here and there, it had a single bed with a boy, a child who had to be five, at most. Half his face was bandaged; the wound, whatever it was, had turned, seeping brown, and did not smell good. The boy’s breath came fast and shallow.

“Aw, kid,” said Parker softly, and headed for him.

Sunny let out his insubstantial breath. This will be an easy one. It’s like we did for that woman in Thraa, remember? I’m going to let you do this one: focus, and let my magic flow through you.

“Yeah, that’ll work. Cill, how’d he get hurt?” But her look made him pause.

She kept glancing behind him.

Parker looked. There was nothing there. Oh, boy. “Cill?”

“He… when the shipyard was destroyed. It was flying debris. Nails and wood.”

“We can help him.” Parker needed her to know this. “Okay?”

Her look was pleading.

Why does she keep staring at us like that? Sunny’s voice was low.

“Pretty sure it’s a trap, but that kid is really hurt,” said Parker.

“Now, I wasn’t gonna let such a golden opportunity pass by,” said Larson, and he appeared from shadow, hand held palm down over the kid’s head.

Sunny gasped, but it was almost second nature as he took hold of Parker’s voice. “Larson,” he said, softly. “That’s a child. An innocent. Don’t hurt him. Please.”

“You,” Larson sneered, “ain’t in a position to bargain, you truant little shit. Now, let me talk to the big man.”

Parker took in a soft breath, his jaw his own again. “Speakin’,” he said. “You’ve got us where you want us. Yeah? Let the kid go.”

“Sure. Soon as I really get what I want. You are gonna hold damn still, aren’t you? No spells. No tricks. This little game of ours has been fun, but it’s over. I win.”

More men stepped out of the shadows. There was real power here; this must have taken days to set up.

Cill was softly crying.

The kid…

Parker, Sunny whispered. The kid.

They were on the same page, but they’d only get one shot—and only if Larson was distracted. Sunny began prepping the spell like a slingshot, and Parker drew focus back to himself. “So much work for just one guy, right? I must’a really busted up your plans. Whatever they were.”

“You’ll never know them,” Larson smugged.

“Really? I got a few guesses. Educated ones, even.”

“I don’t care,” said Larson, baring his teeth a little.

“No? You don’t even want to know how I keep getting away from you? Just some guy from Boston, fooling the Great White Hunter?”

“What you’ve been, boy, is lucky. And I think we both know why.”

Parker could feel the magic building. Just needed to keep him talking. “Because I’m smarter than you?”

“Because of what you stole,”  Larson snarled.

Parker leaned on his accent, knowing without question that it would grate on Larson’s nerves. “Didn’t steal nuttin’. You know, Lahson… for all we’ve been playing cat and mouse, you haven’t showed up all that much. Ah ya scared?”

Larson was turning colors again. “Just trying not to crack the chamber pot too soon,” he snarled.

“Ooh. Funny. Get that, Sunny? He’s calling you shit.”

I’ll fucking show him shit, Sunny muttered, the power coiling beneath their tongue.

“Enough of this,” said Larson, and his goons shifted, in position. “Stand down, or the kid dies.”

Parker could do that. After all, Larson didn’t say not to speak.

He relaxed his jaw, his lips, his tongue. He gave Sunny his mouth. And Sunny sang.

The power flowed from them like a wave, surging over the kid, bandages burning away as the infection was purged and the wounds knit themselves closed, sight even returning to the eye that was mangled. It was golden light, pure poetry in R’lyehian, and Parker could feel his face smiling as it left a golden glow of protection sweeping around not only the boy, but Cill too.

“You can’t hurt them now,” Sunny said. “As it turns out, this shit don’t stink after all.”

Parker laughed.

Larson stared as if he fully believed they’d gone mad. “That was your shot? Are you out of your damn mind?”

And they came at him, fists and ropes and anger, too much to fight through—but not before he saw the gratitude on Cill’s face.

Take that, you asshole, he thought, and tumbled into darkness.

#

They say he single-handedly turned the tide of the death-toll after the Storm in Zakarion.

They say he lost his life there, captured by whatever evil tracked him down (and various Dreamers imagined this immortal clash as various things, from angels and demons to good and evil enfleshed).

They say he even saved the child of an enemy before he died.

They say a shrine had already been raised, and there would be more. No one would ever forget the names of Pahkah Yang and Sunny, his golden friend.

#

There would definitely be no further chances to get away.

Parker woke and found himself bound to a ridiculous level; chains and ropes, up his arms and legs, around his torso. Every finger had been individually tied. There was some kind of muzzle on his face, keeping his mouth from opening, its straps digging into his cheeks. He couldn’t even turn his head—blocks had been strapped to it, keeping it straight.

Well. It had been a good run.

Honestly? He’d always believed he’d die young, but here, he’d gotten to live twice. He’d helped people. He’d seen things so few had, and really loved this new world.

It was Sunny he felt sick for.

Parker didn’t really know from spells. Not really. But the things Sunny had described about that last one—the one the Outer God interrupted—made him certain Larson had been about to do something terrible to Sunny. Sunny was the one in real danger here.

Parker, Sunny said. Can you hear me? Blink twice if yes, three times if—well, I suppose I’ll know if the answer is no.

He could blink twice. Easy. Also, ow. His head hurt. Whoever did him had done him dirty. Fuckers, he thought, and really wished he had a way to silently communicate with Sunny.

He didn’t want Sunny feeling bad over this. They’d done the right thing, even if it meant capture.

Oh, thank the gods, Sunny said. His voice was soothing and gentle—Parker was reminded of how Sunny had spoken after he’d passed out, when Sunny had healed his bullet wound, what might have been a lifetime ago. I… This is perhaps selfish of me, but… I was afraid of being alone. I’m glad you’re still here. He went quiet for a moment. I’ve decided… I think there are some ways for me to fight against him now. I promised you that I wouldn’t go down without a fight, and I’m going to keep that promise.

Parker blinked twice.

Sunny let out a soft, desperate laugh. Thank you, Parker. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I feel like, maybe, I did something very good. That we did something good. And I don’t know about you, but I can face my end with… fewer regrets. He took a lungless breath. If I have the opportunity, I’ll make it quick for you, my friend. And I’ll look for you on the other side.

Two blinks. And Parker set his jaw. He was all in.

Heh. Heh, heh. Fuck. Somehow Parker could feel Sunny shudder. Should I try to fill our time? Talk? Close your eyes for two seconds if no, or… one blink for poetry, two blinks for songs, three blinks for… something else, I suppose. I’ll figure something out.

Three blinks. Always, he encouraged Sunny to explore. That was just who he was. Consistently.

Sunny knew who Parker was. Parker had lied plenty—Sunny had seen him do it, to get out of things, to get information. But never to Sunny. Parker had tricked, too. Fought. Been quite aggressive… but never to Sunny. And Parker had always had a reason for doing those things, and explained. It made everything better, somehow. Good. Living.

Parker’s heart raced now, of course. His wriggled attempts did nothing. There would be no getting out of this.

Sunny sniffled. Something else, he said. You know, I don’t remember tasting anything before you. I think the entity that put me in Arthur’s head ensured I remembered nothing. So I think that made this the most wonderful. To be able to taste.

“Mmmm,” Parker agreed.

This is perhaps a bit embarrassing, Sunny said with a laugh. But I think the sweets were some of my favorites. I really liked that sipping chocolate we had in Jaren. I think that might have been my favorite—at least of the drinks.

Parker chuckled just a little. A couple of tears slipped down his face, but he said, “Mm-mm-mm,” encouraging.

My favorite meal, though, was when we had—do you remember, Parker, when we had to catch that fish, on the Oukranos? A real laugh, now. And despite the fact that we had it in a trap, it still took us twenty minutes to catch the fucking thing. You got all wet. It tasted so good, though, probably because we were both tired. But you were laughing, and I was still having such a good time. It was like we didn’t have to worry about anything but—

“Fucking hell, you two,” said a bright voice, a strident voice, a voice that Parker sort of knew. Had heard briefly. Most recently, when something pulled him to the roof, when they were going to be caught. “If I wanted mush, I’d have bought the damn cable package.”

Sunny gasped. Parker, it’s him! The Outer God!

“Mmm?” managed Parker, because what the fuck? What does he want? he thought.

“Eh. The usual. A better lemon pie. Six Amy May Wongs with some sharp toys. A better use of time, for fuck’s sake. Anyway! You’re all wound up. Ready to go. It’s time to fulfill your actual purpose, babes.”

That sounded bad. Parker couldn’t see him; he wanted Sunny out of this. Maybe he could bargain.

“Nope, sorry. He’s blow number two to that tender psyche. Ciao!”

Parker! Wh—

Wh—Parker was ripped from the restraints (it hurt, damn it) and hurled.

He hit the floor, staggering into blazing white light that took his sight, into some… presence that thrummed through the room and made his skin tingle, and discordant trumpets hurt his ears.

If this was the Pearly Gates, they needed a tune-up. “What the fuck?” he cried, blinded, half-deafened, staggering

“Parker?” came a voice.

A voice he knew.

A voice he’d listened to, and coaxed to laughter, and pulled into intense detective work, and thought about, and jacked off to, and dearly loved until the owner of that voice had turned around and strangled him dead.

So was he dead again? “What?” he said. “Arthur?”

He turned and threw his hand over his eyes—that was it, that presence, too grand and huge to look at, blinding-bright golden robes shimmering with faint patterns that bloomed and died in his vision, and some sort of limbs like waves of ink spread along the ground.

And he could feel that if not for Sunny, tucked into his head, he would have been overwhelmed.

Buoyed in those tentacles were two people, nestled up against the robe, one a little girl, and the other—

A voice that was and was not Sunny’s spoke. Arthur? Arthur, it… it can't be.

“Parker?” Arthur Lester said.

Arthur… something terrible had happened to him. Scars pockmarked the right side of his face. His hair was long and sweat-sticky, falling past his shoulders. His beard was salt-and-pepper, and gray threaded through the hair at his temples, and those eyes—

They were still fucking yellow.

“Put…” Arthur said, looking up into the darkness of a crowned hood on that massive shape. His voice was ragged. “Put me…”

Gently, tenderly, the tentacle set Arthur on the ground. Arthur staggered forward on weak knees, but his face wasn’t quite orienting the right way.

John had his eyes, Sunny had said, and Parker swallowed.

They weren't looking directly at him, but they sure could still cry. “Parker? Y... you're alive?” Arthur said, voice cracking (and Parker had not forgotten, had not lost any of the memory of that voice).

There was so much… much. Right now. Had Sunny been right? Arthur had murdered, and… vanished? To this place? "You're alive?" said Parker. "Fucking... you... son of a bitch, you're here?"

A snare drum rolled. “And guest star number two!” that voice rang out, the voice of the Outer God.

Watch out! It was a desperate cry, sharp and snarled and full of terror.

“I got this,” soothed Parker, though he absolutely did not.

Arthur stopped as though he’d been gut punched. “Yellow?” he choked.

Parker winced, just as Sunny began to seethe in the back of his head. MURDERER! Sunny cried.

“Easy, Sunny,” said Parker.

No! Parker, get away from him! He’s fucking dangerous! Sunny snarled, a dog with its leg in a trap. He'll hurt you! He... he'll... get away from us!

And then it got worse. Impossibly, it got worse, and it got complicated.

The drum roll rioted, and instruments blared from nowhere, painfully loud. “And of course,” cried the Outer God, his voice weirdly distorted and echoing, “what’s a new season without a new villain? Guest star number three, straight from the wilds of the sweetest digs in the Dreamlands! Covered in the sins of his youth, filled with power from the nastiest rituals you’ve ever seen, scion of the Order of the Falling Star, and one of my favorite puppets… Wallace (ace… ace…) Larsooooooooon!”

The music shrieked, and an unseen crowd bellowed.

And Larson stepped into view, staggering like Parker had. "What? What is... where am I? I do declare,” he said, smooth and calm like this happened every day. “What is this place?”

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaand action!" the Outer God bellowed—and disappeared, along with the spotlights, the crowd, the ambient noise, leaving them all alone in a dark throne room, in thick and near-complete gloom.

It still hurt to look toward that being, whatever it was, though Parker briefly couldn’t see anything but silhouettes. “Fuck,” he murmured.

Larson heard him. “You! Thief! How in the hell did you get loose again?”

Hastur, said the voice that was and was not Sunny's.

You’ve got to be kidding, thought Parker, and wondered if this meant they were all in hell. “Oh, fuck this guy,” he said, wanting to lend Sunny strength. “He ain’t getting you back. You hear me? Try it, asshole!”

Parker, I’m scared, said Sunny, which made him feel half-feral.

But apparently not all feral. Not nearly as feral as Arthur.

Parker knew Arthur. Knew him as a man who’s studied another for years can know, and saw the change. Even in the gloom, he saw the switch flip.

Saw the moment that body language stiffened, saw the moment Arthur’s brain turned off.

Larson turned toward that radiant something that hurt to look at, fell to his knees, and proclaimed a bunch of gibberish.

And Arthur—

Hastur! shouted not-Sunny’s voice.

Arthur lunged with murder his every inch, teeth showing in a white rictus as though he planned to bite Larson to death, fingers curved like claws.

Maybe it’s not hell, Parker thought. Maybe I’ve just gone crazy. And with the habit born of years past, of chasing this man down from the time he was self-destructing in Jack’s Bar to their most twisted child-murder cases, Parker ran after Arthur Lester to stop him from doing something dumb.

Some short, but in my opinion cute headcanons. (Ps: There is a lot with Schlackity...so...dont like=dont read, thank you and have a nice day)

•JSchlatt would leave some kisses on Quackitys scar. (I really like the theme with "kissing the scars")

•Quackity is better with words then actions, when it comes to apologies. Schlatt is the opposite, he will not say that he is "sorry" or admit his fault, to much of a ram for it, but he will try to make up for it with gifts or other activities. Like taking Quackity out for a date, just having nice moments together after a long work day etc.

•JSchlatt has a little tail that he tries to hide with his work blazer or just with pants that go above the tail, it isn't comfortable.

•On quiet evenings, Schlatt would help Quackity to groom his wings, they are sensitive, which is why the duck hybrid was very hesitant at the beginning. It is a sign of trust.

•After his death, Glatt came with Quackity to Las Nevadas. The relationship is shattered of course...but not beyond repair.

•The most accepting of the whole crew is Fundy. He actually missed Schlatt.

•At one of the days, the fox-boy decided to surprise everyone with breakfast....and...well...a surprise it was. There was toast which made Glatt paranoid and he lost the sense of reality, just staying in his "dying room". (Yes. He made himself a dying room.)

•This was the first time that he and Quackity had a long and serious conversation.

•The duck hybrid helped his ex fiance to calm down and believe that he isn't dying again.

•In most rooms there are thick curtains, since Glatt can't go out in the sun. There will always be someone with him, to close the curtains.

I love learning more about you. I’d like to know more. Inspector Koo (2021) dir. Lee Jung Heum

*See's fanart American McGee's Alice and Lies of P Pinocchio together, happy, and healing*

...Yup, you two getting put into The Emperor-Verse...

(Which is set in the Narnia Multiverse for those who are curious)

lost boys

(will be giving out prints of this on both days of wings tour manila!!)

Хотелось нарисовать что-то мягкое и уютное, ещё я немного переслушала вальсов.

I wanted to draw something soft and cozy, I also listened to waltzes a little.

there’s no need to find excuses to kiss your bro, but these two are dorks so

Part 4 Kakyoin makes me sad