SeerOfTime
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If there was one thing Charlie had rotated in his mind over the years, between being unceremoniously spat out back on earth and wrangling himself a job at the Force, complete with a shiny new suit, tie, and name—if there was something he allowed his thoughts to wander back to when he woke up, alive, for what must have been the dozenth time in his life, his throat stained crimson as he looked up at a starless sky, praying to whatever benevolent god was cowering in some corner of the cosmos as it unraveled around him—it was that he needed a fucking vacation.
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Charlie tries to help his companions enjoy a day at the beach and finds that, maybe, he was helping himself along the way. -
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Normal was another word, and one that, in the passing weeks, John had developed a severe distaste for. Whether it was because of the blurred grimaces Arthur could make out on his face, or the way he would try to change the subject, or even the way he’d interject with a small “Arthur,” his friend had made a visible effort to stop saying it, at least concerning either of them. It was up there with expected, and sometimes should.
Normal implied there was only one solution or one way to act in any circumstance.
Normal made humanity unachievable.
Then, there were some words that went unused for so long they began to collect cobwebs, corroding in the corner of John’s mind until a poem or song or radio broadcast rattled them loose.
Or a little girl, pointing to the inky shadows beneath her bed.
"Monster."
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John learns of a particular fear of Faroe's that hits a little too close to home.Series
- Part 2 of Faroe Lives AU
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Fine. He could run a quick bath, change clothes, then clean up the kitchen before returning to his friend’s side with nothing to signify his absence other than the faint smell of soap.
So…why did everything in him recoil at the thought? Why did the mere notion of eyeing his naked body in the mirror and feeling it move under his palms make him want to retch? Why hadn’t the fucking walk cleared his head like it was supposed to? And now he was just causing more of a mess wherever he went, just like he always did because he could never be fucking grateful for what he had, what Arthur had given him, what—
“I could wash them for you.”
John’s brain barely registered the offer, much less the subject. “What?” He was becoming a fucking broken record.
“Your feet,” Oscar clarified. “I don’t mind washing them. If you want me to, that is."
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John returns home in the dead of night to find some unexpected company. -
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There were two things John had noticed in the past week that he didn’t even need to be a private investigator to figure out:
One, Arthur had started drinking again.
And two, he thought he was being fucking subtle about it. (He wasn’t.)
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Relapse: the act or an instance of backsliding, worsening, or subsiding, especially in regard to a disease after a period of improvement. -
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He’d been crying (John remembered that much, remembered thinking he actually possessed the ability to reach out and dry Arthur’s face if his stupid fucking arms weren’t so heavy), tears streaming down his cheeks and dribbling over his chin, panting so hard that John feared he might black out and crumple to the floor next to him in a pile of too-thin limbs.
And he remembered what his friend had said to him in that moment, breath practically nonexistent, voice saturated and breaking and—despite it all—with such an overwhelming undercurrent of relief, the kind of which one only felt after years upon years of unmitigated pain.
“She’s alive,” Arthur Lester had sobbed, clutching his little girl to his heaving chest as he fell forward, trusting that his other half, now outside, would catch him. He did. He always would. “She’s alive, John.”
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In which the deal comes to fruition.Series
- Part 1 of Faroe Lives AU
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- 12,084
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John fears the dark, but maybe worst of all - he fears what he will turn into if left to himself.
Luckily, Arthur is there to remind him he will never be alone.
Bookmarked by SeerOfTime
24 Jun 2025
Bookmarker's Notes
Holy moly, I have always headcanoned that John and Arthur saying each other's names as a form of endearment, and this fic encapsulates that to perfection. Every single line bears the most elegant prose. WOW. 💛🖤
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when everything breaks, you are the anchor that holds me by nerdfaerie
Fandoms: Malevolent (Podcast)
11 Nov 2024
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Arthur doesn't know how long he’s been here, awake with nothing to show for it — long enough for the sun to rise, the small slivers of warmth seeping in doing little to alleviate the chill that's taken residence in his body. Long enough for the street noises to invade through the windows, impossible to block out, for the normally-soft mattress to start feeling like a stone pillar against his spine. Arthur isn't sure he cares. He wants to drift into some silent empty vastness, away from the world. Away from himself.
Except that John, sitting on the bed beside Arthur, seems intent on keeping him tethered.
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Arthur is not okay, but he's also not alone.
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Their first night post-separation, John and Arthur stumble into town and try to recover from the freezing rain and the emotional crash that comes after everything.
Bookmarked by SeerOfTime
15 Jun 2025
Bookmarker's Notes
Such a poetic, gut-wrenching, soul-warming post-separation fic. Absolutely exquisite prose. 💛🖤
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His head turned towards Arthur reflexively, towards the window, towards even more light.
His eyes had barely gotten used to it now but he could finally see the man, a halo illuminating the sharp edges of his body with warm sunlight. Brown hair shimmered golden around the edges and there was concern in his eyes, even though they didn’t meet his.
He looked holy. There were still flecks of blood on his hands.
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After the Tear Arthur says goodbye at the hospital. A while later he says hello again.
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It is disproportionately confusing, like showing up at his home address only to find a different house on the lot. It isn’t like that, though. No part of this should feel wrong.
Noel’s fingers are touching his wrist. “John?”
“It’s fine.”
“You know,” Noel says, moving to get the bandages. “You’re only a little better at lying these days, daffodil.”
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John nicks his finger while cutting fruit.Bookmarked by SeerOfTime
24 Apr 2025
Bookmarker's Notes
Absolutely exquisite and beautifully haunting. John physically trying to *find* his own soul and in a body that Still Doesn't Feel Right is such an Incredible concept. I think my breath left me with every paragraph.