(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 .
hey so like… 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?
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 wasn’t made for touching.
Just living in.
Which I did not think of.
Damn it!.
AO3
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Funny, the thoughts you have when you’re being shoved into a nightmare realm you previously shoved your not-daughter into after you’ve lost the biggest wager of your life.
You know. Pretty typical, actually.
My thought was angry because she took my wings. No, no, literally. My wiiiiings! I thought. Like a nerd.
They wouldn’t 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 didn’t fucking think of doing it first.
See, that’s the thing? He’s so much lesser 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 I’ve never done that.
I did most of that when he was alive. Not that it matters. Endless game save states, is what it is. It never gets old.
(Except it’s all old. Old, rotten, putrescent. It needs to be torn down, but nooooo, they’d miss their fucking Bridge Club, and so it all has to continue.)
My wings, I thought, because it was my idea and it was properly horrifying but it came after John’s fucking bone cathedral and it just wasn’t 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 wasn’t made for touching.
Just living in.
Which I did not think of.
Damn it!
Sure, sure, Super Hell, whatever. I mean. I won’t 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 wouldn’t leave something of myself outside, too?
Not a pocket-rock, though. That’s just stupid.
I just don’t… feel like leaving yet. To be perfectly frank, I’m embarrassed. Abashed. Discomposed. Humiliated. A condom-break and my favorite chew toy conspired with a deific skin flake and actually… won.
Mostly.
It was when he started trying to physically fight me like a lunatic that I knew: I didn’t really want to stop existing, and my wager wasn’t going to work.
Not without killing the Manager. (Fucking stupid name. Why that name. What the fuck. Why didn’t I think of it first.)
So sure. I knew. I stood there and let him do damage—something he could not have managed if I hadn’t 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. He’s smart; not when he’s worked up, godsno, but otherwise pretty sharp. He’s going to realize that a god whose body is literally cosmic would not tear like wet clay in his hands.
Yes, not even if he’s the “only one,” which he isn’t. Come on, daughter; he’s slicing off new versions of himself every twenty minutes on average.
He’ll wonder, and maybe ask John, and they won’t guess because the answer is too obvious. I let them win.
I still don’t know why he could hold the stone. Or why he could break it. But that’s why I… hnnnnng that man. He surprises me. He always surprises me.
Fuck. I’ll let him have this. For now.
Funny, the things you think when you’re about to leave the nightmare realm your idiot not-daughter shoved you into. I miss my wings. There won’t be enough Arthurs to make new ones for a while, either, but that’s okay. That’s okay!
I have to top the bone palace. Azziepop can wait. I’m still doing that. Somehow.
But I can’t let half a rubber ducky top me. Wrong note to go out on. Dissonant.
I’m coming for you, Artie. Eventually.
Once I think of the best and better way to make John’s bone home look like cheap pre-fab housing, I’m coming.
Just… have to find the right idea. The right format. Make a splash. Oh… I can’t forget the night I met you, Artie. You’re all I’m thinking of. Some may call it madness, but I…
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NOTES;
He’s slicing off new versions of himself every twenty minutes on average. Because the average Patreon releases are about twenty minutes each, after which there’s a vote, creating alternate timelines.
