(HEAVY SPOILERS) JOHN AND ARTHUR BOTH LIVE. ARTHUR STAYS BLIND. LILLITH LIVES. HEAVILY IMPLIED CANON (ONE SIDED) ARKAYNE. NOEL IS CANONICALLY ALIVE. ARTHUR HAVING YELLOW EYES IS CANON. BELLA MENTION. DANIEL AND OSCAR ARE BOTH ALIVE AND IN ACTIVE CONTACT. MARIE MENTION. JOHN AND ARTHUR DECIDE TO STAY TOGETHER. KAYNE DOESN'T DIE AND GETS TRAPPED (BY LILLITH!!) INSTEAD. LESTER AND DOE PRIVATE INVESTIGATORS IS CANON. WE'RE GETTING A SECOND SERIES THAT HAS SIMILAR VIBES TO SEASON 1. FAROE IS ALIVE AND AN ADULT AND SHE WILL BE THERE. THE LAST SPOKEN WORD IN MALEVOLENT IS FAROE. OH MY GOD .
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hey so likeā¦ why is nobody talking about how Kayne was going to let Arthur and John die in peace on the beach? Why is nobody talking about how kayne was going to let Arthur spend his final moments with an illusion of Faroe (which Lilith did the same) why is nobody talking about this?
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That skin was niiiiice under my fingers after it was cured, practically a stim toy, and I know for a fact that the fucking bone palace wasnāt made for touching.
Just living in.
Which I did not think of.
Damn it!.
AO3
āāāā
Funny, the thoughts you have when youāre being shoved into a nightmare realm you previously shoved your not-daughter into after youāve lost the biggest wager of your life.
You know. Pretty typical, actually.
My thought was angry because she took my wings. No, no, literally.Ā My wiiiiings!Ā I thought. Like aĀ nerd.
They wouldnāt fit, maybe. I dunno. Maybe she just wanted her own. Her favorite after all, hur-de-hur.
I had to make the wings. Had to. Because John made a palace, and I didnāt fucking think of doing it first.
See, thatās the thing? Heās so muchĀ lesserĀ than I am. Inconceivably weaker, and younger, and all that before he chose to splice himself and pretend to be a person.
But he thought of the palace. The bone palace. And it was fucking gorgeous, and I have eaten Arthurs and enraged Arthurs and skinned Arthurs and fucked Arthurs and deboned Arthurs but in all my fun and games times Iāve never doneĀ that.
I didĀ mostĀ of that when he was alive. Not that it matters. Endless game save states, is what it is. It never gets old.
(Except itās all old. Old, rotten, putrescent. It needs to be torn down, butĀ nooooo, theyād miss their fuckingĀ Bridge Club, and so it all has to continue.)
My wings,Ā I thought, because it was my idea and it was properly horrifying but it came after Johnās fucking bone cathedral and it just wasnāt as good?
I mean. Viscerally more satisfying. That skin was niiiiice under my fingers after it was cured, practically a stim toy, and I know for a fact that the fucking bone palace wasnāt made for touching.
Just living in.
Which I did not think of.
Damn it!
Sure, sure, Super Hell, whatever. I mean. I wonāt stay in here. Any more than she did. Of course I made plans in case they got that lighter on me. You always need a backup.
I saw how she got out; did she really think I wouldnāt leave something of myself outside, too?
Not a pocket-rock, though. Thatās just stupid.
I just donātā¦ feel like leaving yet. To be perfectly frank, Iām embarrassed. Abashed. Discomposed.Ā Humiliated. A condom-break and my favorite chew toy conspired with a deific skin flake and actuallyā¦ won.
Mostly.
It was when he started trying to physicallyĀ fight me like a lunaticĀ that I knew: I didnāt really want to stop existing, and my wager wasnāt going to work.
Not without killing the Manager. (Fucking stupid name. Why that name. What the fuck. Why didnāt I think of it first.)
So sure. I knew. I stood there and let him do damageāsomething he could not have managed if I hadnāt gone docile, not shoving him, not kneeing him in the balls, not even slapping his pretty little dimples. I stood there and let him.
That should have been a clue, you know? I was folding my hand.
Arthur will figure it out eventually. Heās smart; not when heās worked up,Ā godsno, but otherwise pretty sharp. Heās going to realize that a god whose body is literally cosmic would not tear like wet clay in his hands.
Yes, not even if heās the āonly one,ā which he isnāt. Come on, daughter; heās slicing off new versions of himself every twenty minutes on average.
Heāll wonder, and maybe ask John, and they wonāt guess because the answer is too obvious. I let them win.
I still donāt know why he could hold the stone. Or why he could break it. But thatās why Iā¦Ā hnnnnngĀ that man. He surprises me. He always surprises me.
Fuck. Iāll let him have this. For now.
Funny, the things you think when youāre about to leave the nightmare realm your idiot not-daughter shoved you into. I miss my wings. There wonāt be enough Arthurs to make new ones for a while, either, but thatās okay. Thatās okay!
I have to top the bone palace. Azziepop can wait. Iām still doing that. Somehow.
But I canāt let half a rubber ducky top me. Wrong note to go out on. Dissonant.
Iām coming for you, Artie. Eventually.
Once I think of the best and better way to make Johnās bone home look like cheap pre-fab housing, Iām coming.
Justā¦ have to find the right idea. The right format. Make aĀ splash. Ohā¦ I canāt forget the night I met you, Artie. YouāreĀ allĀ Iām thinking of. Some may call it madness, but Iā¦
āāāā
NOTES;
Heās slicing off new versions of himself every twenty minutes on average.Ā Because the average Patreon releases are about twenty minutes each, after which thereās a vote, creating alternate timelines.
