#keeper johnny
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Three to Flee
Commission from the very sweet @ignoreprotocol
Someone leaves the door open and the pets get out.
Content Warning:
Established kidnapping situation, unhealthy relationships, collaring
Author's Note:
This does not mean Keeper/Kept is back. As far as I'm concerned, that story is finished, but this was a special case.
Shockingly, it’s not Feral that brings it up first.
The girls are having a little picnic at the edge of Johnny and Shy Thing’s yard, shaded by the tall trees. The men are chatting on the porch, sharing cigars and whiskey, far from earshot. Good behavior has earned them this bit of privacy, and so far, they’ve just used it to exchange keeper notes and offer bedroom advice.
“I can’t believe you don’t even have a fence,” Good Girl muses, glancing at the forest beyond. Her own yard is well fortified. It’s not just the sturdy, unclimbable fence, but also the monitors and floodlights connected to it.
Shy Thing sheepishly mentions a failed escape attempt several months earlier, a mad dash through the woods that ended with her dirty and disciplined. That prompts Good Girl to confess her own ill-fated getaway, a midnight attempt at sneaking out that resulted in a bruised ass.
Feral listens with her head cocked, nibbling at her apple slices. When their eyes turn to her, she shrugs.
“I haven’t tried to leave in a while,” she admits, “but I don’t think it would go well.”
Good Girl frowns. “How do you know if you haven’t tried?”
Feral snorts. “You’ve met Simon, haven’t you?”
All eyes turn to the boys on the porch. And there’s Simon, watching. Feral makes a rude gesture his way and they can see his shoulders shaking with a chuckle.
“Besides… it’s not so bad,” she muses. “Most of the time.”
Good Girl sits back, expression twisting. “I don’t want it to be ‘not so bad,’ I want it to be good. And I want it that way all the time.”
Shy Thing shifts. “What’s so wrong with John…?”
Good Girl huffs and begins picking at threads in the blanket. “He’s… fine. I mean, he would be if I could just leave. Don’t you miss being free?”
Feral hums.
“I… I miss going to the store when I wanted… or just… walking around town,” Shy Thing admits slowly. “I miss coffee shops and parks.”
Good Girl groans in agreement. “I miss the internet. It’s like being a fucking teenager again, having all my activity monitored.”
With a little more momentum now, Shy Things continues, “I haven’t been alone in months. Just… by myself. Doing whatever I want.”
“And not having rules,” Good Girl adds, sipping at the mojito John put in a little travel cup for her. “Fucking… sick of having a bedtime and chores and a fucking collar. Aren’t you sick of it?”
It’s directed at both of them, but Shy Thing nods, hands fidgeting.
“It gets to be a lot sometimes,” she mumbles, “I think I warmed up to Johnny out of pure exhaustion.”
Good Girl huffs again, worked into a proper fuss now. “And they’re so smug about it. Like we’re just these good, trained pets.”
Feral pipes up, “We could leave together.”
Both girls swivel to her with varying degrees of shock, hope, and disbelief.
“You said you didn’t think you could get past Simon,” Good Girl says.
Feral snorts and stretches out on her stomach in a mottled patch of sunlight creeping through the leaves.
“Yeah, I couldn’t on my own,” she explains, “but between the three of us…”
It’s uncomfortably simple when it happens. They just need to wait until the next big mission.
All three of them beg (or in Feral’s case, demand) to spend that time together while the keepers are away. It’s not unusual for the creatures to meet up when one or more of the men are gone. With all three off on a mission this time, they sniffle about being lonely and wanting company. That their houses feel too big and empty, that cooking for one is depressing.
Johnny caves instantly; John agrees on the stipulation that Good Girl is on her best behavior before he leaves. Simon, of course, is a foregone conclusion.
They go to Simon’s house. It’s the safest of the three homes and has the most space. Not to mention the girls will have some sort of access to the outside with the enclosed sunporch.
On the day of the mission, Good Girl and Shy Thing show up with fully packed bags, ready for their extended “sleepover” with Feral. The pets see their boys off, behave as normal for the cameras until Shy Thing gets the “heading out” message from Johnny. That’s the greenlight.
Feral has her own bag of things that she packs quickly and expertly. They fill a fourth bag with nonperishable provisions, just in case. Each of them has cash that they filched last minute from their keepers’ wallets – knowing they wouldn’t check them just before a classified mission.
The girls know it’ll be a day or two before anyone checks on them. Even Kyle is away with the team this time.
And then it all comes down to walking out the door.
The front door is, of course, locked. All the windows have alarms on them, and so does the garage door. But the sunporch…
“He didn’t lock the door,” Feral realizes as it swings open. And the alarm only engages when it’s locked.
All three of them take a single step out into the open air. And stop. Stare at each other a little moon-eyed.
They just left.
They stride at a quick clip around the side of the house and down the road. It’ll be an hour-long walk into town, but they have thick coats and each other for company. They chatter as they follow the pavement, just within the tree line out of caution. Pretend its giddy celebration at their escape and not a distraction from the creeping mix of dread and uncertainty beginning to simmer within each of them.
When they reach town, they blend into the crowds, weaving through the streets until they find a low-end hotel. It won’t be anything fancy, but at least it seems clean enough. Good Girl does all the talking with the receptionist (also a lady, thank god) since Feral and Shy Thing are jittery from so many people. They get a one-bed room with easy access to the fire exit.
It’s only after they’re inside that reality sinks its claws in.
They’re free. For the first time in months, they’re outside with no one standing behind their shoulders or holding their arms. No one to appease, nothing to behave for.
And Shy Thing throws up in the toilet.
“This is scary,” she wheezes, eyes watering. “I’m scared. I want—”
Though she stops, the other two know what the end of that sentence was. Good Girl rubs her back.
“Don’t worry, they’re not going to find us,” she soothes like she doesn’t know why Shy Thing is really scared.
Neither Shy Thing nor Feral reply. The answer hangs in the air, unspoken. We want them to.
Feral, feeling restless, goes back into the main room and begins rummaging through her bag.
“What are you doing?” Good Girl asks, giving Shy Thing privacy to clean up.
“Looking for something to cut that off with.” Feral nods to Good Girl���s collar. “It’s probably chipped or something. We should have taken it off at home.”
She stops as the blood drains from her fellow creature’s face. They stare at each other across the tiny motel room, the weight of their successful plan pressing heavier and heavier with each passing second.
“I…” Good Girl rasps, “I…”
“You don’t want to.”
Her eyes well with tears. “No.”
Feral drops her bag and crumples to the ground, tugging her knees up to her chest.
“Why don’t I want to?” Good Girl whispers, curling her arms around herself. “This… this was my idea. I complain all the time. Why do I miss him already?”
Shy Thing appears in the doorway, sniffling. “I-I don’t know if I can do this. I can’t imagine life without Johnny. I… I don’t know if I want to have a life without Johnny.”
And Feral, still on the floor and trembling all over, just looks at them with huge tears running down her face.
Needless to say, when three rather miffed keepers in full combat gear throw the door open at 3am, they are not expecting armfuls of distraught creatures sobbing into their chests.
#cod#my writing#fanfiction#reader fic#dark fic#commissioned work#commission#keeper/kept au#keeper price#keeper ghost#keeper johnny
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Finders Keepers
"Do not forget that the new groundskeeper is scheduled to arrive today at noon. I expect everyone to be courteous and to clean up their nighttime rubbish before his arrival," Alfred reminds them as they struggle to sit through breakfast.
Last night's patrol was brutal, and everyone was a bit bruised up and sore, not to mention that most only got an hour or so of sleep.
They collectively groan- except for Bruce and Damian, but neither count as full humans anyway, no matter what their DNA says otherwise.
Tim, in particular, is rubbing his hands down his face. "But Alfred, today's my only day off for the next six weeks!"
"I fail to see how your poor time management will change the outcome of doing your chores, Master Tim," The butler states. Tim cowards instantly at the sight of that arched brow on his grandfather's face and melts into his seat.
Pleased, Alfred taps his wristwatch. "You all have three hours. Better get to it."
They scatter. Bruce runs to his office to clean up all his paperwork, knowing some purchases were not Wayne Industries. Jason hits the multiple garages to ensure nothing bat-related is thrown in the toolboxes.
Dick is swinging by the handlers, taping his hands along the beams and pulling out hidden gadgets. Cass and Duke are walking on the roofs, double-checking the boobytraps.
Steph and Damian have offered to patrol the Batcave and the connecting tunnels to ensure the motion sensors are active.
Tim is told to walk along the property and make sure no surprise holes will appear. Bruce fell into the cave system when he was young, so the new groundskeeper might have the same fate. It's the more leisurely job since Bruce obsessively checks since it happened, but they all know Tim can barely keep his eyes open.
Tim doesn't mind because he must pat his bo staff on the ground, stomping his foot ever so often and scanning the environment with his wrist computer. He doesn't even bother to change out of his pajamas- an old pair of sweats and a baggy t-shirt Kon lent him when he once slept over and never returned. It's mostly just a walk, but it feels like an entirety to his sleep-deprived mind.
His eyelids are heavier than usual, every blink feels like a bag of sand, and he still has to check at least three-thirds of the Wayne Manor grounds.
He is wandering towards the east side of the property when he finds a very convenient bush shaped perfectly to block the sun and offer him a tiny nooch to snuggle into.
He glances back at the house and then at the time on his wrist computer. He has two hours and twenty minutes before the groundskeeper arrives.
"One short nap," Tim mutters, getting on his hands and knees to crawl into the bush. He twists to lie on his back, using his jacket as a pillow. His whole body fits inside, so Alfred will likely not catch him. The scrub is soft, and Tim relaxes into his protective shade. "I'll get up in a bit."
The wind blowing through the trees and the bushes around him lures him to sleep.
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"Hey"
A voice cuts through his dream of jumping over the city, chasing after his family but maskless. They weren't running around the roofs fighting a good fight; the Waynes in his dream were just spending time together. Laughing. Goodnaturely teasing.
It's wonderful.
It's everything he's ever wanted.
It's slowly disappearing as he is coming back to consciousness.
Tim groans, trying to roll over and return to the dream, but the voice speaks again. "Hey, man, you can't sleep here."
A hand clamps on his shoulder, giving him a gentle shake. Tim mutters, weakly swapping it away. "No. No. No."
"Come one, man, I can't have the big boss see you. It's my first day, and I don't want to get fired because I let some guy sleep in his yard." The voice continues, sounding pleasing and guilty.
Tim whimpers, rubbing his face against the cold hard ground. "No. No. No. Please, I just want to sleep. I'm not hurting anybody."
"Ancients....okay. Okay. Listen, I will let you sleep a little longer while I work. I'll finish mowing the yards and trim all the bushes. That should be at least five hours. I must move you if you're still here when I return."
Tim doesn't answer, too busy slipping back into his sleep as a hand gently runs through his hair. He snuggles into the warm palm with a sigh.
Someone gulps. "I'm in trouble, aren't I?"
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Tim snaps his eyes open to see that everything is pitch dark. Oh crude!
How long has he been asleep? What time is it? Was Alfred going to kill him!? What was he thinking?
Of course, Alfred would kill him, and unlike Jason or Damiman, the elder would not fail. In fact, from what Tim could make out in the darkness, a man was standing over him wearing white gloves.
He found me! Tim thinks historically. I didn't even have time to run!
The white gloves move closer as if they were going to touch him. He leaps up with a scream, and a man falls over.
"Woah! Woah! Hey, it's okay, I'm not a cop!" The stranger- not Alfred- shouts. Tim pauses, then lets out a louder scream. The man rushes forward to slam his hands against Tim's mouth.
He glances frantically at the manor- it's too far away to see anyone since Tim chose to nap at the very edge of the vast land Bruce's ancestors purchased.- before hissing. "Could you keep it down? Look, I let you sleep long enough; you must move."
Tim blinks owlish at him. His mind is fuzzy- shit, was he hit with something last night? He couldn't remember.- but he thinks he knows him.
Dark Hair.
Blue Eyes.
Pretty facial features.
Oh, it's one of his brothers. Dick? Yeah, it's Dick. Has to be. Tim is sure. He can't think clearly now, but he knows his eldest brother. This guy has the same color eyes. It's him.
Does Dick know he is Tim's brother? Does he know who he is?
"Dick," He tells the man in jeans overalls, just in case he forgets his name. His brother frowns.
"I know. I hate to do it, okay? But you can't sleep here."
"I can't?"
"No, dude."
"Where can I sleep?"
Dick sighs. "I think there is a shelter that-"
"Take me home."
Dick pauses, taken aback. "What?"
Tim leans forward, resting his head on his brother's shoulder. "I'm tired. I want to go home."
"Where do you live? Is there someone I can contact for you?" Dick asks in high pitched voice, seemingly uncomfortable by Tim's closeness but too bad. Tim never gets enough hugs, so he must deal with it because he wants hugs now.
"No, I want to go home with you!" He whines, and the world starts to spin. Quickly closing his eyes against the nausea, Tim tries to hide further into Dick's shoulder. "Take me home with you."
Dick is quiet for a long moment before he slumps. Carefully, he reaches up to pet Tim's hair, and it's so comforting that he almost falls back to sleep. "I'm going to regret this, but something in my core tells me to do what you say. You wouldn't happen to know a Clockwork, would you?"
Tim shakes his head.
"Right. Okay, taking a homeless stranger I found in the Waynor Manor bushes. Seems on-brand to me. Let's go."
Tim follows.
Who was he following? He doesn't remember, but when he climbs into a van with the words "Phantom Groundskeeping," he doesn't feel worried.
In fact, once he's buckled in, head leaning against the window and pulling his legs up to his chest, he feels oddly protected. The driver of the van is also beautiful.
Like wow. Talk about a work of art.
"I love you," He tells the man, who laughs, flickering blue sad eyes at him.
"Thanks. Take a nap. I think you should sleep off whatever your on and then I can get you some help."
"Do you love me too?"
"....sure. Go to sleep now."
"Will I die?"
"What?"
Tim can feel the word fading away, which is terrible; he knows it is but can't remember why. He just knows that when it disappears, he'll never wake up again. He tells the stranger as such, voice just barely above a whisper.
Glowing green eyes snap to him in alarm, and a small breath of blue leaves the stranger's mouth. Tim thinks he's slowly gaining a hint of horror, but his body begs him to sleep.
Tim blinks once, then twice, as the stranger's mouth opens and closes before he snaps his eyes to the road. "What a time to go mad."
The diver's grip on his steering wheel tightens, but Tim can barely keep his eyes open, so he can't see the gorgeous stranger's face as he whispers. "No. I won't let you die. Just....just sleep, okay? I'll figure it out."
Tim does.
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"Crap!" Jason yells, running up the stairs from the Batcave. In his hand are the test results for the standard toxicity screening they all undergo whenever they fight someone who even remotely deals with drugs.
Everyone was too tired to look at them properly, which means they all missed that Tim's blood was covered in what looked like a blend of Poison Ivy's love pollen and some kind of sleep-inducing strain.
Tim is out there, somewhere tripping balls or cuddling up to a stranger or unconscious, slowly slipping into a coma. They all thought he bailed on his work and deserved a day off so no one bothered to go after him.
Now Tim could be dead.
He rounds the large hall, his stomping footsteps barely covering the sounds of Alfred's smooth voice.
"It seems the groundskeeper is asking for a week off already. He just got married and-"
"Crap! Crap! Crap! Bruce!" He shouts, slamming the door of his dad's office open. His grandfather and father both turn sharply to him, and neither misses the paper that Jason throws. Their eyes widen in horror when they read what's on the report. "We need to find Tim!"
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Jazz wakes to find a half-dressed stranger curled around Danny, a ghost contract with drying blood on the ground, and a hastily made banner that reads "Happy Elopement!" thrown on the wall.
The living room looks like a confetti bomb went off in it. Did she miss a party being hosted in her own house? While sleeping in the room next door?
Johnny- her ex and surprisingly good friend after he stop bothering her brother- is sitting cross-legged, eyes glued on the TV.
"What. The. Fuck." Jazz asks, walking over to pour herself a cup of coffee.
"Morning," Johnny replies without so much as turning around. Since Jazz helped plan his and Kitty's wedding, the ghost becomes a brother to the Fentons. "Danny eloped."
"I figured as much by the banner." She mutters, walking over to the couch his brother and her new brother-in-law occupy. She stares at the stranger. He looked....familiar?
"Yeah, don't know all the details, but I guess his hubby was dying, so Danny pulled a Ghost King contract out of his ass and saved him by passing on his healing factor after they were hitched," Johnny says. Jazz takes a sip of her coffee. "I think he thinks he can divorce him or something. But till death due us part doesn't apply to Halfas. They're married forever, even in life or death."
"Shit." Jazz sighs. "Danny got himself into another situation. And he was doing so well recently, too. Became a groundskeeper for the Waynes and everything."
"Waynes pay well?"
"Danny could have paid off my student loans in four paychecks."
"Damn." Johnny whistles. Just then, Kitty floats through the wall wearing a red bathing robe. Jazz will never get used to the fact ghosts could look so human in the morning, with their messy hair and dazed expression. "Morning, babe."
"Morning," Kitty mumbles, leaning down to kiss Johnny. She glances at Danny and smiles. "They're so cute. I'm so happy Danny found his Core Mate."
"Core Mate?" Jazz asks.
"Like a soulmate but more dead," Kitty explains. "They are scarce to find, but once your core finds what it wants, it's fated. That's probably why Danny married so quickly, even if it was to save a life he normally wouldn't have."
Jazz looks back at the boy wrapped around in Danny's arms. Her brother is holding him like he's the most precious thing in either world, even in his sleep, and she knows that no matter what she or anyone says, he's not going to give up- wait a minute.
The stranger moves slightly in his sleep, snuggling up against Danny more, and his hair falls out of his face.
Shit.
"That's Tim Drake. Danny stole away Tim Drake." She deadpans. "Danny went over to cut Bruce Wayne's yard and returned with his son to elop with."
"In one afternoon? I'm impressed." Johnny laughs. "He really said all services included."
"Don't be gross, Johnny," Kitty scolds, but she's smiling. Jazz just shakes her head, reaching down for the contract. She may as well read what kind of dead-brain idea her baby brother got involved with this time.
#dcxdpdabbles#dc x dp crossover#Finders Keepers#dead tired#trigger warning: Druged#Tim get hit with Poison Ivy's pollen#Different Povs#Danny was just trying to do his job#Tim was just trying to nap#Now they married#Danny did in fact think he could marry him pass along his powers though the marriage then divorcé him#Kitty and Johnny are the friends always staying over and munching off your coffee
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"Surprise Party!", Vault of Horror #37, June-July 1954, by Johnny Craig
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Cover art for Squa Tront #9 (1983) by Johnny Craig.
Greystoke Trading Company.
#squa tront#johnny craig#ec comics#horror#horror art#horror comics#old witch#crypt keeper#vault keeper#1980s#greystoke trading company
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𝔍𝔬𝔥𝔫𝔫𝔶 ℭ𝔯𝔞𝔦𝔤
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(1952)
#The Vault of Horror#comic#1952#vintage#Johnny Craig#cover#EC#comic books#horror#1950s#The Crypt Keeper#The Old Witch#The Vault-Keeper#golden age#comics
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i'm going to be so mentally ill about evil ninja mime and fire lord johnny cage now <3
#mk1 spoilers#mortal kombat 1 spoilers#johnny cage#mk1#mortal kombat 1#mk1 2023#mortal kombat 1 2023#ninja mime#FIRE LORD JOHNNY IS REAL! shame he's evil but ah well. pobody's nerfect <3#i am so fuckingggggggggggggggggg#i rly love the way that the writers merged both endings of mk11 but also. not a fan of multiverses tbh#hopefully they don't screw the pooch on this one and make things a fuckstorm of infinite proportions#also johnny and kenshi are so totally banging. shame they didn't have the balls to show any kisses on-screen that weren't heterosexual :/#like yeah liu kang and kitana are my favorite straight couple in these games but like. c'mon. where's the yaoi or the yuri?#must homosexuals be condoned to a life of tender shoulder touches and carries?#has not our keeper of time a heart that understands how deeply it beats and yearns for love and compassion... regardless from whom?#(i mean. he should. he and geras were probably slangin' dong on one another on the regs before the kangtana reunion tour)#i'm just saying if raiden were the keeper of time there would've been an entire chapter dedicated to yaoi and another to yuri#raiden threw the first brick at stonewall#can't believe i get to bring that fucking tag back.#anyway sorry for the big tag rant. overall i rly like mk1 and look forward to seeing what else happens <3#but also i would've loved to have had more confirmation that johnny is actually Straight Up With another person besides the ex-wife#also side note love his ex-wife and her weird inconsistent accent#oh speaking of inconsistent acting megan fox sweetie i love you but i have the feeling you had no idea where you were for these recordings.#like miss thing sounded so confused that entire time#@ netherrealm if you want i could be a kombat pack nitara voice replacement. i'm no megan fox but i am transgender and also homosexual <3#wait nvm i just realized that'd be crossing the picket line. stand with SAG-AFTRA and the WGA besties#anyway. yeah. mk1 (2023) was p good and i'm excited to see what they're gonna do with this new set of events and the new chara alignments#they really did babygirlify shang tsung and quan chi huh#not sure how to feel about that
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Haunt Of Fear (1952)
#Comics#EC Comics#Haunt Of Fear#Johnny Craig#Tales From The Crypt#Vintage#Art#EC#Horror#Horror Comics#Crypt-Keeper#Old Witch#1952#1950s#50s
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Retro-a-go-go will release a set of EC Comics ornaments in the fall. Designed by Doug P'gosh, each hand-painted resin piece measures 5" tall with a magnetic display base.
The Vault Keeper is styled after the work of artist Johnny Craig with an issue of The Vault of Horror. The Old Witch is styled after the work of artist Graham Ingels with an issue of The Haunt of Fear. The Crypt Keeper is styled after the work of artist Jack Davis with an issue of Tales from the Crypt.
The set of three is available to pre-order for $90 with the coupon code EC4ME. Once in stock they’ll cost $130.
youtube
#ec comics#tales from the crypt#crypt keeper#the crypt keeper#horror comics#cryptkeeper#the cryptkeeper#retro a go go#toy#gift#the vault of horror#the haunt of fear#jack davis#graham ingels#johnny craig
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Johnny Craig (1926-2001) “The Vault-Keeper” (1975)
Source
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mmm thinking with my stupid brain about how i'd rewrite mountain tim so hard its making me ill
#mountain tim no longer gross JSUT being an older brother to lucy#and generally meant to be a symbol of a golden heart#the lone golden heart of the cold and mean empty wild west#surrounded by the dark and depressing cast of sbr#surrounded by characters like johnny and HP and gyro and diego and ect who SPEW negativity into the world#and Tim meaning to be this pillar of hope and justice despite the cruelty of man and nature#and his final choices being to protect lucy even at the cost of his own life to do whatever he can for her because she is just a child#she should not have to bear the cruel winds of fate if he can be a breaker to the breeze#but in his death he would pass on the torch of his 'golden heart' to her#i have soo many ideas and thoughts bout lucy being 'the heart' of SBR#she is the keeper of the holy corpse heart in my rewrite#as johnny is to the left hand and didi and gyro to the eyes of the corpse#ect ect#but in the sacrificial death of tim bleed onto lucy her place in the world#to shine bright with hope of the good in the world and of the young innocence of a child#I JUST THINK IT SUCKS SO HARD MOUNTAIN TIM MEANT A LOT TO THE NARRATIVE OF SBR JUST TO BE GROSS TO LUCY IN THE END#I CAN FIX HIM IM SORRY#I CAN MAKE HIM WORTH HIS WEIGHT TO THE STROY
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how would johnny and his shy pet's first time go? (or just any spicy time) does he wait for her to initiate it?
Nope! He’s initiating through and through. He’s so sweet and gentle about it though, even as she’s trying to hide herself away.
He lays her down on the bed, covers her with his body so that she feels protected. They’ve been playing for a while now, and she even reciprocates now, but this is a lot! She’s nervous!
He eases her through the things they’ve already done before, encouraging and sweet, cooing in her ear. Gets her pliant and drowsy, eating her out while he fingers her open.
When she sees his cock for the first time, she squirms and covers her overheated face.
“That’s too big, Johnny! ‘S not gonna fit.”
“‘Course it is, sweetie, you were made for me,” he chuckles, lavishing kisses everywhere until she wriggles with ticklishness.
He’s a little overzealous, she’ll be sore afterwards, but he pauses after he bottoms out, at least. He gets her to the edge before he starts moving, and by then she’s shaking and near tears. Doesn’t seem to mind that slow and gentle quickly devolves into banging the headboard against the wall. She just feels so good.
And of course he come in her; her thighs are so pretty when his cum is dripping down them.
Afterwards, she gets a bath (with him, curled up in his lap) and lots of kisses (that she’s too sleepy to blush at…much) and little snackies (direct from his hand).
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Unpacking references to “Arcadians”
Referring to themselves as “guardians”, [Arcadians] were often composed of societies which had the greatest bio-socio-psycho-emotional link to the lost Earth, and indeed a leading element of the guardian faction was made up of the final generations of survivors from the home planet. This set was determined to re-establish a new Earth on the nearest available Earth-like world, and might be seen as a ludicrous colonial throwback.
— “Posthumanity”, The Book of the War (2002), ed. Lawrence Miles
‘Where are you going?’ Steven asked.
‘The planet Refusis,’ replied the Commander. ‘The Earth is also dying and now we have left it for the last time. […] Only Refusis has the same conditions that we had on Earth. Atmosphere, water, the right temperate zones. […] We are the Guardians!’
— The Ark (1987), by Paul Erickson
Other groups were content to remake or even build worlds to be their new homes. Threatened by the rest of the [posthuman] hegemony, many of the Arcadian worlds eventually united to form a “benign union” (modelled on older world-systems which had displaced classical Greece and Rome as the acme of polite civilisation in the popular imagination). Faced with planetary atmospheres which bred goodwill and quiet contemplation by their very natures, the Arcadians’ enemies simply gave up. The Arcadian Union was isolationist and eventually the majority of its people simply vanished, either sublimating to a higher state of existence or dying of boredom.
— “Posthumanity” (continued), The Book of the War
Finally, on Traken, Nyssa’s home planet, the Master had captured the Source, the font of power for an entire galactic Union encompassing a million star systems. […] Chris recounted the sketchy details that he could remember: Serenity was the only surviving colony of the Union of Traken, a verdant garden world with advanced biotechnology, whose people lived in peace and relative isolation. They believed that at the time of the cosmic disaster that obliterated the entire rest of their galaxy, something called the Source had protected them, at the cost of its own existence. […] ‘We Adjudicators learn about Serenity as an example of a peaceful and just society.’
— Cold Fusion (1996), Lance Parkin
“Waiter! There’s even more Parkin lore in my book!” Or is there? (Emphasis all mine, of course.) From Big Finish’s Lost Stories adaptation of Johnny Byrne’s 1983 television pitch, which he’d shared with Sarah Groenewegen, a close friend of Kate Orman:
Sixth Doctor: Ahh, the planet Serenity of the Benign Union! […] This part of the galaxy, well, holds bad memories for me.
Peri: Do you want to talk about it?
Doctor: Well, you see that patch of darkness there at the edge of the screen? Now that used to be Mettula Orionsis, home of the Traken Union, one of the most harmonious places in the cosmos. […] That was centuries ago. At this point in history, a new union has risen in its place with, at its heart, the world of Serenity. The only planet of the Traken Union to survive.
— The Guardians of Prophecy (2012), Jonathan Morris
#the book of the war#arcadians#posthumanity#the ark#arcadia#cold fusion#the guardians of prophecy#johnny byrne#benign union#the keeper of traken#traken union#the lost stories
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“The Vault Keeper” by Johnny Craig. Cover for Squa Tront #5, 1974.
Greystoke Trading Company.
#ec comics#squa tront#johnny craig#vault keeper#horror comics#horror art#art#pre-code comics#comic books#vault of horror#1970s#greystoke trading company
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Vault Of Horor (1950) #35 cover art by Johnny Craig.
#Johnny Craig#the vault of horror#the old witch#The Crypt Keeper#The Vault-Keeper#comics#ec comics#artwork#painting#cover#magazine#cover art#Illustration#comic#comic art
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