#when he just wants to get his shift over with and kepler is making him play 20 questions. like. all of a little night music. etc. etc.

[commsroom]

On the station they have many absurd protocols. What do you think is his least favorite. ? Like having to be in uniform or the hours? Just in general

oh, how could he ever choose? eiffel hates protocol as a matter of... well, protocol. uniform code was for sure one of the first things minkowski gave up trying to enforce; eiffel technically wears his uniform, but getting him to wear it properly was always a losing battle. he's never been a morning person, and having to get up early in the morning when there aren't even mornings is just insulting. there's all the repetitive daily tasks that will have to be done again tomorrow. never actually leaving work (and not being able to) really gets under his skin. there are so, so many things that he finds arbitrary, authoritarian, pointless, infuriating, and just plain wrong, but if there's one thing he hates the most, it's gotta be corporate-mandated fun. like, it's one thing to make his life a living hell, but it's a whole other thing to tell him he needs to boost morale about it.

[calculatesguilt]

11 with Dift and Percy mayhaps? :p for the soul

-🔬

11. things you said when you were drunk

Drift shifts as he pulls Perceptor further over his shoulder. The scientist is by no means a lightweight, but he'd caught some jackasses passing him something with a higher concentration.

And Perceptor is... well, a mess would be putting it lightly.

He's never seen the former Wrecker in a state like this— said in the past he doesn't like being inebriated.

Perceptor's head is lolled against his own scope, muttering something or other about Kepler's Laws and planetary rotation. Drift lugs him back to his room, punching in the code that hasn't changed in years.

He guides him, a bit clumsily, to sit down on his berth. "C'mon, Percy. You've gotta get that stuff outta your system."

"I'm fine," Perceptor says, perfectly clear. To anyone else he would appear to be perfectly sober, but Drift knows better.

He smiles despite himself. "How's the world?"

"Positively spinning."

"See? Now lay down, it'll help."

Perceptor does just that, shifting so his scope is folded in a way that allows him to be perfectly flat against the slab. Drift lingers for a while, waiting for his optics to flicker off before leaving. But that never comes.

Perceptor is frowning to himself as he stares at the ceiling. "I'm sorry," he says in a quiet tone.

"What for?"

"This. Me. I dunno. Changing. Everyone misses the old me. You should've had the chance to meet him."

Drift frowns to himself, this isn't a conversation he wants to have with him when he's in this state. "It'd be hypocritical of me if I said you shouldn't have changed. You don't have to worry about that."

"I know. I worry though. I'm a worrier. All the time. Every day. 'm sorry."

"Come on, none of that. Rest."

"No, 's important. 's why 'm so devoted to you. Gave me a chance to live n' shit..."

Shit, that's a new one, and Drift would find the scientist's loose usage of it amusing if not for the topic at hand.

Devotion... Hm...

"You can tell me this when you're not wrecked, alright? I promise I'll listen."

"You do?" Perceptor looks pensive, "Mm... fine... Tomorrow."

He is out as soon as he says Tomorrow. Drift makes himself comfortable in the corner of the room, keeping an eye on the microscope for the rest of the night.

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

The first time he gets laid, it would be so funny because Y/N has to explain everything behind it and he’s so curious that he just keeps asking questions and blabbing away so he’s disrupting the mood without even knowing.

They’re making out on her bed and Harry pulls away, his chest heaving, lips swollen, and eyes hazy as he looks up at her from where she’s perched on his lap, her hands fisting at his baby blue Mickey Mouse t-shirt (which is actually hers, and he’d taking a liking to it because, “The mouse is wearing pants!”) as he grips her hips nervously. He swallows thickly, shifting against the bed because there’s an odd, foreign buzzing sensation radiating between his legs and he doesn’t know how to make it go away. “My...My stomach feels funny.”

Y/N coasts her palms up his sturdy chest, smiling at him softly as she tucks a loose curl behind his ear, massaging the lobe gently and feeling his entire spine shiver at the stimulating motion, his lashes fluttering and brows creasing in curiosity. “That’s because you’re turned on.”

“Humans can turn on? I thought only electronic devices did that. You never said you could—”

A feathery laugh escapes the girl, and she shakes her head lightly, half in amusement and half to correct him. “It’s not like that— not literal. It’s another way of saying you’re horny.”

The alien blinks up at her blankly. “Horny?”

Y/N nods, her hands drifting back down the front of his pecs, her nails dragging over the cloth of his top and leaving the skin underneath burning with an indescribable feeling that he can only decipher as longing. “It’s what happens when your...mating hormones, I guess you could call them, act up. God, that’s such a weird way of explaining it.”

Harry squeezes her hips out of instinct, his body rutting up against her parted thighs without his consent. He doesn’t know why he’s doing it, but he can’t find it in himself to stop. It just feels right, and it helps suffocate the fire lapping inside his abdomen. “‘Mating’? That has to do with reproduction, right? I still can’t believe you guys haven’t evolved corporeal fission. The civilization on Kepler-186F did it...but then again, maybe it’s because the radiation levels emitted from Kepler-452 are more intense due to its superior size and brightness. No offense, but your star is kinda rubbish compared to some of the other solar systems I’ve studied.”

Y/N narrows her eyes at him pointedly. “Are you done alien-splaining?”

“Yeah, sorry. Force of habit, scientist and all. Please continue.”

“Anyways,” Y/N rakes her fingers into the hair along the nape of his neck, and the tiny whimper that escapes his throat makes her breathing throttle. “Yes, mating has to do with reproduction. But it’s...it’s not that simple. Just because you want to have sex doesn’t mean you want to reproduce.”

“Sex?”

“That’s what it’s called. There’s different types, as well. Oral, touching, penetrative. If you want it done right, one session should include all three. You start simple and work your way up— that’s known as ‘foreplay.’”

Harry gazes up at her with wonder evident in the sea glass of his irises. He begins chewing along the inside of his cheek, glancing down at where their bodies are grinding against one another, his brows twitching with interest as he feels something growing heavy beneath his trousers. “Is that what we’re doing right now?”

“Mm. This is referred to as grinding— or dry humping; whichever you prefer— and it’s a type of foreplay, along with kissing.” Y/N reaches up and taps at his mouth with the pad of her thumb. “That’s when we touch our lips together. Tongues, too, if it gets good.”

“So many terms.” Harry mumbles absently, sighing shakily as he feels the bubble in his tummy swell the more he works himself against her. “How do you participate? In sex, I mean.”

The human’s lips twitch at the formality of his speech. It’s hilarious how he manages to make everything sound so regal and robotic, all due to his inexperience and intrigue. It’s cute. “I’ll show you, if you want me to. But if there’s ever a moment where you get uncomfortable or you aren’t enjoying something, please tell me and we’ll stop. Do you understand that?”

Harry nods numbly.

“Harry, I need you to look at me.” Y/N gives his curls a sudden tug, urging him to cast his gaze up from where their crotches are flushed together. The protective sincerity behind her demeanor makes his heart hiccup. “This is important. I don’t want you to do anything you’re not okay with, alright? If you want to stop at any moment, you have to tell me. It won’t upset me, I promise. I don’t want us to do anything you’ll regret later; I want this to be a fun experience for you.”

“Alright.” Harry whispers delicately, touched by her effort to make this as comfortable and seamless for him as possible. Truth be told, he’s slightly scared. How could he not be? He’s about to explore something new he has hardly any knowledge of. It’s good to know Y/N is willing to be patient and support him the whole way through. “I’ll let you know if I want to stop. Pinky swear.”

Harry sticks up his pinky stiffly towards her with a straight expression on his face, and Y/N can’t stifle the snort that rises from her chest. She’d explained to him what a pinky swear is a while back— that it’s an oath bound by touch, and that the intertwining of their fingers symbolizes a tie to their promise— and even though she had clarified that it’s mostly a childish gimmick done for humor, he had come to regard it with extreme respect. When she’d questioned his motives, he’d simply replied with, “I’m tying my honor and credibility to our agreement, and betraying it would mean betraying you. And betrayal garners pain— it means I would be hurting and taking advantage of you, your kindness, and our friendship. That’s pretty fucked up, so treating this promise with the upmost scrutiny should be vital, don’t you think?”

His reasoning had left her cheeks stinging and her stomach fluttering. She doesn’t think she’s ever met someone as good-natured and wholesome as Harry; someone with a heart of gold that carries only the purest intentions towards those around him. It’s refreshing and terrifying all at once. She didn’t think anyone in the world could be so selfless and caring...but then again, Harry isn’t from this world. He’s from somewhere much better— he’s someone much better.

“Alright.” Y/N hooks her pinky with his, giving it a reassuring squeeze before letting it drop. “If you have any questions along the way, don’t hesitate to ask, yeah?”

Harry nods again excitedly.

The girl slowly dismounts from his lap, watching him scoot up the messy sheets until his back is pressed flat against the headboard, his socked toes curling in anticipation. He picks at the black lacquer sheathed over his nails (he had seen Y/N painting her own and she had offered to do his, as well, to feed his endless curiosity about human practices, and to see him smile giddily as he wiggled his fingers while they dried), trying to tame the nerves running rampant across his bones. Everything was so much simpler when he didn’t have bones.

Y/N parts his knees with her palms, situating herself between his thighs and gradually groping her way up his leg, smiling to herself when he starts bucking against the bed. He utters a quiet apology below his breath, gnawing at his bottom lip as he grips the sheets in an attempt to keep his composure. “S-Sorry, I just...I don’t know how to control it.”

“S’okay, H.” Y/N coos daintily, her fingers wriggling into the belt along his slacks and beginning to undo the metal clasp. “It’s a natural response.”

“What are you...?” The alien tilts his head to the side in confusion, eyeing her carefully as she pulls down the zipper to his pants. “Are you going for the excretory organ?”

Y/N’s eyes screw shut at the scientific name he uses, trying not to cringe in his face. “Yeah. It doubles as the main tool for reproduction in males.”

“But you said we’re not reproducing— we’re just having sex.”

“You go through the same motions, but the difference is that I’m on birth control, so I won’t get pregnant.”

“Birth control?”

“It keeps the two reproductive cells from combining by stopping ovulation in my body. No ovulation, no baby.”

“No baby.” Harry repeats the words, as if saying them aloud will help him absorb their meaning. “No ovulation, no baby, just sex. Right?”

“Right.”

“Okay. Carry on.”

“Carry on.” Y/N mimics his voice playfully, rolling her eyes when he gives her a blunt scowl. “Sorry, I had to.”

“Did you?”

“I really did.”

“Dickhead.”

She scoffs into a round of easy laughter, working his pants down his thighs slowly as to not startle him. “You’re picking up my vernacular. Nice.”

“Unfortunately.”

Once Harry’s trousers are down to his ankles, Y/N allows herself to get a good view of his briefs. She’s seen him naked plenty of times, courtesy of finding him nude in that field behind her apartment complex and having to teach him how to bathe and get dressed, but she can’t deny that it’s different now. It carries much different intentions than the usual, and navigating the new tension growing taut between them is leaving her breathless in a manner she hasn’t dealt with in too long.

She glimpses up at her friend from below her lashes, her fingers halting at the elastic band around his waist. “Can I pull these down?”

“I thought I had to have them on at all times except for in the bathroom?”

“You do. But I’m amending that rule now because you need them to be off during sex.”

“Oh.” Harry’s voice softens a tad, and he can feel blood rushing to his cheeks at the prospect of her seeing him naked. He doesn’t know why— she’s seen him unclothed dozens of instances before— but he just knows it feels different right now. More intimate, less domestic. It makes him twitch inside the material of his boxers, and that only makes his cheeks glow brighter. “Yes, you can pull them down.”

The young woman can’t help but be endeared at Harry’s blushing— he just looks so fucking adorable with his dimples decorated with an array of pinks and reds. “Are you sure?”

He doesn’t hesitate to answer. He may be anxious, but he definitely wants this— whatever this is. “Yes.”

Y/N gradually begins tugging the fabric down his flushed thighs, and the second his cock comes into view, her belly begins to ache at the sight of him. He’s big, with a slight curve and a thick circumference that she knows is gonna be a tight fit, but in the best way imaginable, and she knows for a fact that the gentle slope he has is going to help hit all the right places. He’s pretty, too, which is borderline ridiculous because she doesn’t think she’s ever been able to call someone’s dick pretty. It just looks...perfect, for lack of a more creative word. And the thing is, she’s always known that, but now that his size and appearance means something to her on a more personal level (considering he’s going inside her in a few minutes), she’s seeing all of it in a completely new light.

And if it isn’t obvious in the way she’s gawking at him unapologetically, it’s definitely obvious in the small, impressed hiss that streams through her teeth, her voice carrying the same awe plastered across her features. “God, that’s gonna leave me sore.”

Harry looks down at himself with a empty expression, his brows kinking up. “Is that...good?”

“Yeah.” Y/N belts out immediately, not wanting to make him feel insecure or unsure of himself. Especially because he shouldn’t— he’s well-endowed, which is more than most men can say, and she knows that if she can teach him how to use it, he’ll be above average in every aspect now, including sex. “It’s really good. That’s the goal, if anything.”

“To leave you in pain?”

“If done right, pain is pleasure.”

“Elaborate.”

Her eyes glint suggestively in the dreamy sunset-like lighting of the bedroom. “I’d rather just show you.”

Y/N leans down, dragging her plush lips across Harry’s sensitive inner thigh, allowing her tongue to peek out to enhance the sensation. His hands immediately fly to her hair, his nails digging into her scalp as he releases a surprised, “Oh!” and thrashes around at the unsuspected experience. She takes his reaction as a cue to continue, delicately sinking her teeth into the meaty muscles below her mouth, scraping them across the area and sucking fervently until she’s sure that a bruise will be left behind.

“I—” Harry’s digits tighten in her locks, and he jerks closer to her across the bed, as if to eliminate the possibility of her parting from him. His voice comes out strained and conflicted, as if he’s trying to interpret all of his body’s various responses at once. “I— I like that, I-I think. It feels...good? It hurts, but it’s euphoric at the same time. I don’t understand—?”

“More?” Y/N mumbles against his silky skin, rubbing her lips from side to side for more stimulation, moaning inwardly when she sees his cock spurt a bit of pre-cum onto his belly as a result. “Christ, that was hot.”

The colors concentrated in Harry’s face begin to pour down his neck, leaking across his stuttering chest as Y/N rests one of her palms along his pelvis, massaging it deeply. All of his nerves scream at the overstimulation, welcoming it with fervor and demanding more. His accent comes out broken and whiney. “Please don’t...Please don’t stop.”

“You sure?”

Harry bobs his head feverishly, wrapping her hair around his knuckles in order to keep his grasp on reality. “Touch me more. Please? Please.”

“I will, baby.” Y/N assures him, thumbing over the crest of his belly button tenderly as she bites another hickey along his opposite thigh. “I’ll make you feel so fucking good, I promise.”

“I—” Harry’s cock jolts again, beading more pre-cum onto his tummy as he wriggles against the sheets in desperation, his back gluing to the wooden headboard as a thin sheet of sweat begins to materialize across his flesh. “I like it when you talk to me like that.”

“You do?” The human trails her hand lower, cupping his base gently and giving it a firm squeeze, drinking up the shattered mewl he lets out as his hips arch off the bed. “You like it when I tell you what I’m gonna do to you?”

“Y-Yes.” The boy whimpers, his jaw dropping open in a fractured moan as Y/N wraps her fingers completely around his girth and gifts his shaft a single determined pump. “Shit, I didn’t know— I didn’t think—”

“You didn’t know you could do this?” Y/N questions innocently, pouting mockingly as she begins stroking him at a moderate pace. “You didn’t know you could feel like this?”

“No, I thought— fuck, right there!” Harry’s head collapses back against the surface behind him as she tightens her fingers right below the head of his cock, her thumb toying over the leaking tip. “Fucking hell, you’re so good at that.”

“So I’ve been told.” She answer smugly, twisting her wrist repeatedly to provide more pleasure, maintaining a constant rhythm. “This is what I told you about before— about how touching is a type of sex.”

Harry gulps heavily, his Adam’s apple bobbing grandly as his hips lift to follow her stride, and it’s so fucking hot watching him fuck himself into her hand. “You said— you said there were more...?”

“Mmhm.” The edges of Y/N’s lips twitch mischievously. “Oral would be next.”

“Oral?” Even in his wrecked state, he somehow finds it in himself to keep seeking knowledge about the matter at hand. That’s what she gets for fucking a extraterrstrial STEM major. “As in your—?”

Harry’s query is interrupted when Y/N suddenly lifts her head from its resting place against his thigh, spitting sloppily right over tip of his cock. All the young man can muster is a cracked gasp before she’s pushing him past her lips and down her throat, gagging around his length as he fills every inch of her mouth like he was meant for it. He just feels so right sitting on her tongue, dribbling across her tastebuds and squirming under her influence, his eyes rolling back into his head as his hands go limp in her hair.

“Oh my fucking God.”

Y/N bobs her head once, letting him get a feel for the new environment and unexpected emotions, her own thighs clasping together as he squeaks out a series of whines and groans that make her tummy froth. She sinks her mouth all the way back down until her nose brushes his happy trail, keeping him there for a moment and preening at the way he grapples the duvet as his features go slack in bliss. She then guides herself back up to the top, lapping at the bubbling head while maintaining steeled eye contact.

“What— What is that?” Harry grunts thinly, jutting his chin towards the milky liquid covering her tongue and seeping from his cock. “It’s—”

“It’s what happens when you’re getting ready to orgasm.” Y/N replies swiftly, spitting messily over his prick again and blowing over it teasingly, smirking when his fist flies to his mouth so he can bite into his clenched knuckles to avoid screaming. “An orgasm,” she rubs the tip against her textured bottom lip, slapping it against her tongue and rubbing it along the spongey inside of her cheek; the filthy act causes the jade around his pupils to crumble into a darker canopy green, “is the main point of sex. It’s basically a culmination of everything you’re feeling now, but ten times more intense.”

“Can’t imagine anything better than what I’m feeling now.” Harry murmurs tightly, and he can feel his nails carving into his palm through the comforter in his grasp.

“Just wait until you see what comes after oral.”

[thiswasinevitableid]

For the meet Ugly- 13 with Danbrey?

Here you go! I went SFW on this one

13: we make contact before trying to steal the last seat on the subway/bus/train and I end up in your lap and fuck you, I’m going to stay here because I’ve had a really long day and this seat was mine

The bus is not as fun as she remembers.

When Aubrey was a little kid, her mom would use the bus to take her to the museum or the movies or, on the best days, the magic store. Yes, the Little’s had a nice car, but her mom believed that not only was the bus better for the environment, it was a way to remember that there was nothing scary about being around people who come from all sorts of circumstances (Aubrey later learned this was due to her mom once being at a PTA meeting where hands were rung over children using public transportation being exposed to “unsavory” people).

“The world is full of all kinds of people, firebug. That’s not something to be scared of.”

She wipes her eye surreptitiously under the West Virginia sun. You’d think she’d have learned not to think about mom in public by now.

The bus line she’s using for her tour is inexplicably crowded; half these towns are on their way to being ghosts but somehow she’s always fighting for a seat. She doesn’t like her chances for this leg of the ride, since she got distracted reading about the history of Doc Martens and ended up towards the back of the line.

By some luck, there’s one seat left as she squeezes onto the bus, using her body to keep people from elbowing the fabric carrier containing Dr. Harris Bonkers, PhD. But in the time she takes to turn to sit, someone else slips into the spot, so fast it’s almost inhuman.

“Um, excuse me, but this was my seat.” She turns to confront the thief and finds herself looking at a young woman about her age, with honey-blonde hair and hazel eyes which, were she not tired and grumpy, Aubrey would have lots of compliments for.

“No, it wasn’t. I got here first. You’ll just have to stand.”

“That’d be fine if it were just me.” The bus pulls away from the curb, “but it’s bad for Dr. Harris Bonkers to be suspended for too long.” She adjusts the bunny bag, hoping his big brown eyes and wiggly nose will make her case for her.

“Awww” the blonde coos, booping him through the mesh, “don’t worry little guy, you aren’t going too far. You’ll be fine if your person stands for a little bit.”

“It’s not a little bit, it’s twelve hour trip to my next stop!”

A smile full of understated charm and triumph, “It’s thirteen to mine.”

“Aw beans.”

“......are you going to get out of my lap at any point?”

“No” Aubrey turns her head to look out the window, “this is a good seat, even if there’s someone in it. I’m staying.”

It’s not her finest moment, to be sure. But she’s tired and heartsick so she is staying in this seat, damn it. The other woman grumbles something and slumps back against the black seat.

They hit the next stop, but not enough people get off, so she stays in her mystery lady’s lap. Her seat(mate) pulls a baggie of granola from the pocket of her definitely-not-cute-at-all overalls and crunches it louder than necessary by her ear.

“Uh, your rabbit is trying to get out.”

Aubrey glances down to see the mesh front straining as Dr. Harris Bonkers attempts to reach the granola.

“Don’t beg, young man, it’s rude.”

“Can he have a piece?” She holds up a dried strawberry.

“Um, sure.” Aubrey watches as she unzips the top of the carrier and let’s the rabbit nibble the treat from her hand. Aubrey’s a little jealous.

They don’t say anything to each other, but the rabbit gets two more treats before they reach the next stop. The person who’s spent the whole trip asleep in the window seat next to them jerks awake and hurries off the bus. Aubrey scoots into it before anyone can dare challenge her.

They’ve just turned onto the highway when she says, “Thanks. For, um, for sharing your granola.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And I’m, um, I’m sorry for sitting on you.”

“Yeah that wasn’t great, but if someone was going to sit on me I’m glad it’s the cutest passenger on the bus.” She points at Dr. Harris Bonkers, but keeps her eyes on Aubrey.

“We’re both kinda tired. We had a show late last night and we’re nervous for the one tomorrow.”

“Show?”

“I’m a magician and he’s my assistant. I’m known as the Lady Flame” she snaps and finger-guns, setting off a flashpaper, “but you can call me Aubrey.”

“Ma’am, no smoking on the bus!”

“Sorry!” She calls to the driver.

“I’m Dani” the blond boops Dr. Harris Bonkers again, “whose this guy?”

“Dr. Harris Bonkers, PhD.”

“Nice to meet you, doctor.”

“Are, um, are you just traveling for fun?” She unzips the carrier enough for them both to pet him.

“Not really. I was running an, uh, an errand. I’ll be glad to get back to Kepler.” She fiddles with something in her pocket, “could I see more of your act?”

“I think that might get me thrown off the bus.”

“Don’t you have pictures?” Dani smiles.

“Oh duh, right, here, I even got someone to take some videos.” She scooches closer, Dani closing the remaining distance to rest their shoulders together. As they move through the videos, Dani is noticeably excited, even claps a few times. When Aubrey’s battery dies, they say “fuck” in sync.

“...want to play ‘I Spy?”

“Hell yeah.”

The next three hours pass in a flash, the two of them laughing and trading stories, all the while both cuddling closer to the window (to better play the game, of course).

They reach a travel hub, the driver informing everyone that they’ll leave in an hour on the dot. The two of them select a Dennys, since in Aubrey’s experience they tend to ignore her bringing in an eighteen pound rabbit.

She charges her phone while they eat, Dani getting corned beef hash, (“not as good as the one my friend makes back home”) while Aubrey has pancakes. She gets a little syrup on her cheek and nearly asks Dani to clean it off for her. With her tongue.

It’s dark when they get back to their seats, but the driver keeps the A.C cranked to the point that Aubrey is shivering. Dani pulls a shawl from her backpack, draping it around them both like a blanket as the trees become nothing more than vague shapes in the dark.

They talk about Aubrey’s tattoos, about the garden Dani has back home (“lots of veggies, you’d like that, wouldn’t you buddy?”). Last night starts catching up with Aubrey, yawns threatening to steal her attention from the way the light catches in Dani’s hair.

“Wanna see more videos?” That’s low energy flirtation, right?

“Of course.”

As she opens the videos, she hits an older album and an image of her and her mom fills the screen. She freezes, like the highbeams of the past are barrelling towards her and all she can do is watch.

“Aubrey?” Dani touches her cheek.

“Um, sorry.” She shoves the phone in the pocket of her jacket, “I, my, my mom died a little while ago. That was her. Um. I guess that was obvious. Sorry.”

Dani’s fingers find hers, interlacing them gently, “I’m so sorry, Aubrey. I...I get it. My family is, well I made some choices that mean I’ll never get to see them again. I, the reason I went on this trip was because I heard one of my brothers might have, uh, done the same thing. He hadn’t.” She sighs, “I don’t even know if they’re all still alive.”

“That sucks. This all. Fucking. Sucks.”

Dani nods, rests their heads together, “You know what doesn’t suck? Meeting you.”

“Pfffft” Aubrey smiles through her tears, hoping the joking noise will hide her blush.

Dani cups her cheeks, “I’m serious. Getting to know you feels like, like rounding a corner and seeing your house after years away. I, this is going to sound silly but please tell me you’re stopping in Kepler for a show?”

“I’m not but I, um, I guess I could still stop off there? If you really wanted me to.” Something about Dani’s smile, the warmth in her eyes, soothes her grief to sleep for now.

“I do, fireblossom, so much.”

Aubrey blushes, “Think you might be my first fan; no one else ever requests a show.”

Dani kisses her cheek, “I might even request one in private.”

“I could get into that” she yawns, “damn it, I don’t wanna sleep. I wanna keep flirting with you, cutie pie.”

Dani shifts their luggage, scoots sideways and guides Aubrey’s head down into her lap, “Get some rest, Aubrey. Just being able to look at you is enough for me.”

“Awww” Aubrey nestles against her stomach, “you’re so cute...just a...cutie...pie...zzz”

The last thing she feels is a kiss on the forehead and Dani tucking the shawl around her.

-----------------------------------------------

Aubrey does not want to get off this bus; Dani is cuddled up next to her, telling her about what kind of flowers she’d grow her, when he stops come up.

“Whelp….this is me.”

Dani helps her off the bus, passing her the carrier containing a sleeping Dr. Harris Bonkers. Then she smirks, “is your balance pretty good.”

“Yeah? Wh-mmphhoh” She holds tight as Dani nearly knocks her off her feet in a kiss. She tastes like the strawberry poptart they split for breakfast and is not making it any easier to say goodbye.

“Promise you’ll come see me in Kepler?’ Dani murmurs against her lips.

“Promise.”

A kiss on the nose, then a longer one on the mouth that makes Aubrey feel like she’s going to go up flashpaper. Then Dani is gone, off towards Kepler. A town Aubrey has no knowledge of and no idea how to navigate. And she didn’t get Dani’s last name.

“Fuck.” She says to the rabbit.

The rabbit simply snuffles in reply.

-------------------------------------

A few hours after her most catastrophic show to date and getting a gun pointed at her, Aubrey walks into Amnesty Lodge and finds a certain face, haloed with golden hair, waiting for her by the fireplace.

[lovely-necromancy]

A Cure for Insomnia CH 15

////TW Deceptions of canon typical violence and a home invasion near the end////

“Yea so the pizza is not only aesthetically pleasing but pretty fuckin' good too.”you finish your rant on why the two of you should drive out to Point Pleasant some time.

“Not gonna lie it seems more like you want to,” he pops his knuckles, “drag me miles away to sacrifice me to some old god.” the popping gets worse.

Shit, Toby's getting nervous. You probably look pretty sketchy right now considering the fact that you've been suggesting the two of you go out to Point Pleasant for the past thirty-ish minutes. Toby had pulled off to the shoulder lane once Connor's barking started up. Alerting the two of you to his incoming tics. It seemed to be a long episode so you offered to drive off the interstate and on to the side of the road instead. Hoping that maybe the absence of the additional outside stimulants coming from cars driving past you two would calm Toby's tics.

Unfortunately you'd gotten caught up talking about your late night escapades having been taken by the fact that Toby didn't seem to mind. He'd actually understood that restlessness you went on about. And when he asked what was the furthest town you've driven to in one night. You kind of let loose and spilled your guts about the Mothman capital.

For half an hour, on an offshoot of the interstate in the middle of nowhere, he was trapped with no where to run. Of course the poor guy was probably scared of you at this point. He was just indulging you out of fear not out of any genuine interest.

Why couldn't you just read signals properly?

“No!” from his jump you've probably said that way too loudly, “I mean sorry I get carried away – Mothman's cool – the town is a nice tourist trap and I thought you'd think it was cool – but then I just probably just seemed weird to you and now I just....ughr none of that made sense did it?”

“Weeell” he drags out as thought he's thinking on it “nope none.”

Looking at his face you can see his red stained scarred lips pull into a sort of smirk and there's a glint in his eyes. He's being sarcastic, he's making fun of you. He isn't weirded out by you just being yourself and ranting about nothing in particular or running around in circles with a train of thought only  to get confused or baffled by the workings of your own brain.

The smug dick. Letting you spiral while he watched on in amusement. This reeks of Brian, has his fuck boy energy written all over it. You'll just have to spend more time with Toby to make sure the sweet man next to you doesn't turn into a menace to society. Or at least not a menace to you.

“Meanie.” you blow a raspberry in his direction, he returns the gesture albeit a lot messier than he intended. Spit seeps from the gash in his cheek and dribbles down the scarred edge of his lips.

Toby lets out a grunt and looks down at his spit in disgust. Whether that's in himself or just his spit you can't tell. Leaning over the console you pop open the glove box to hand him some emergency napkins you had in there.

“Fuckin' Mary Poppins.” you hear him mutter over you.

Choosing to ignore his teasing and take the high road in this you hand him the napkins and relax back into your seat. Watching him run the napkin up and down his arms trying to get any spit that may have backfired onto him, which was definitely most of it.

“You good?” you ask.

“Uh yea 's just spit no big deal.” it's such a simple statement but you can't help the smile that it brings to your face.

You meant if he'd be good to drive yet since you two had been out here for the better part of an hour now. It was nearly two in the afternoon. Neither of you anticipated the quick slushy run turning into an all day event. And while you wouldn't mind driving around for two more hours or so – you're quickly coming to the end of your battery.

“Meant to drive, dork.”

“Hmm...Yea should be now,” Toby says wadding up the napkins before spinning in the passenger seat towards you and gently flinging the wad of napkins in your face, “and 'm not a dork. You are.”

Returning his spit used napkin to him, tossing it just a tad harsher than he originally had, “You're right you're a brat!”

You exit the car before he can throw it at you again. Though it really doesn't matter when he just pelts you with it from over the hood when you switch seats anyway. Picking the napkin up off the ground you hold on to it and place it in one of the empty slushy containers sitting in your console.

The mature course of action. However, you do poke your tongue out at Toby as you do it. He only rolls his eyes as he huffs out a laugh at you.

Toby hovers over the gear shift waiting for either an alert or one of his tics to rear its head. When neither happens he put the car in drive and you two begin your hour and half drive back to Kepler.

Or would've, had it not been for the traffic you seemed to get stuck in not even five minutes after getting back on the interstate.

“You're fucking kidding me.” Toby says incredulously.

After ten minutes of going nowhere, all the while his leg bouncing was shaking the car, Toby abruptly get out of the car and marches to the passenger door flinging it open.

“You're driving.” is all he says.

You don't think there's any talking him out of it. You're good to drive so that isn't the issue, his abruptness about the situation is what stuns you. Wordlessly you get out of the car and take the wheel. Getting buckled in you see from the corner of your eye Toby grabbing you phone and typing away.

He seems to find what he's looking for as static flows through your stereo. The sponsored ads for the white noise “podcast” start playing before fading back into the never ending static. Your phone is placed back under the radio and Toby reclines his seat all the way.

It's tense for a moment as you wait for something else to happen. Whether it's an outburst or an explanation you aren't sure, the anticipation for anything to happen hangs thick in the car. You keep your focus on the road and traffic in front of you figuring Toby will let you know what's up in his own time.

The sound of shuffling comes from behind you as Connor scoots over to his handler to be of assistance. Only for him to be gently waved off. And he goes back to his spot laying down and honing in on you. Since you are currently driving...even though scooting the car up a few inches in the past twenty minutes shouldn't really qualify as driving. Nevertheless the pup remains vigilant in his work.

It's probably an hour or so before Toby finally speaks, breaking the semi silence he put the car in.

“Traffic jams make me anxious.” he doesn't move from his reclined position, just stares up at the ceiling of your car.

A noncommittal hum comes from the back of your throat. You'd assumed it was something to that nature but didn't want to pry. It must be bad if it was something that made him willingly pass the torch of driving, something that also made him wildly uncomfortable.

“Wanna talk – or do you just need silence.”

The answer came in the form of the silence that followed. It was another long hour and a half before the traffic finally cleared. You weren't even aware so many people could be on the interstate going through West Virginia on a Monday afternoon. Since you were at the tail end of the traffic by the time you got to where you assume it started, by the left over debris in the road and fresh skid marks heading into the median, you really couldn't put together what had gone on.

Your eyes didn't focus in on the leftovers of the accident nor did you slow down like many other vehicles. It's not like you enjoy seeing the wreckage of cars or people being lifted into ambulances but you understand most people give in to that base human curiosity. You just hoped everyone involved was safe and okay.

From your peripheral you catch Toby turning his head to face you every few minutes or so. Disregarding it as a tic you continue on driving. While this accident had cleared you don't doubt the power of stupidity to not influence another reckless driver, who might now be late from traffic, to start weaving in between lanes.

“Are we past it?” comes the quietest voice you've ever heard from Toby.

So stunned by the volume it takes you a minute to register what he'd asked.

“Uh...oh yea. We passed it like fourteen minutes ago?” assuming 'it' had been the crash site, though you hadn't been keeping track of time honestly.

No point when the two of you would be getting back to Kepler after dark anyway. You'd ask Toby if he'd want to grab food before you drop him off at the lodge but his continued silence as he fixes his seat up right clues you in that he might not be up for anything other than turning in for the night. Honestly you're at the point yourself, so you don't really mind the silence driving back.

Just like you thought the two of you got into Kepler a little after eight o'clock. Having been stopped by another accident, this one not lasting nearly as long to get situated, had really taken a toll on Toby's mood though. You could practically feel something eating at him as anxiety radiated off his form.

He didn't offer any clarification for his reactions and you didn't pry. Most times when you get a similar way you find it's easier to just let it run it's course than to try and calm yourself. So you're a little surprised when you reach the lodge and  Toby practically volts out of your car, when he gently taps on your window after he's retrieved Connor from behind you.

“Get home safe.”

Those words hit your ears with a bit more weight than they normally do. Maybe because the day's been full of accidents on the road. Or maybe because of the lack of interaction the two of you have had for the past four hours. Whatever the reason it doesn't change how Toby lingers at your side even after your reply. He finally steps away, once again falling silent, and you're able to drive home after a final farewell to him.

The way Toby reacted today never leaves your mind. While theories and ideas toss around in your head you can feel the bubbling weight in your stomach build as cold sweats break out all over your body. Combating the weight in your stomach is its emptiness. Having only eaten the bowl of cereal today and nothing else has left you on empty since you'd gotten into traffic. However, being so preoccupied with Toby's change in behavior you'd forgone food in favor of getting your friend home as soon as possible.

Pausing when you come to the fork in the road making you choose between going straight home and fighting with cooking a meal or running to the mini mart and grabbing something quick and unhealthy. You normally take a bit to decide, but today it seems your gut is telling you to forgo the food and get home. You can't quite place a finger on what you're feeling – not quite fear or anxiety or even paranoia. All of which would be valid considering how weird your afternoon had been. Instead it feels like a little voice is ever so quietly telling you that you should get home immediately.

The voice pipes up again as soon as you gently shut your car door. It seems to warn you that there is danger near by.

'Fuck' is all you can think about as memories of the evidence of your stalker come into play.

It had been so busy lately that you'd honestly forgotten all about the stalker. Hell your bat was still in your room, so you were fucked if your intuition was right about this. You were at least going to be smart about this and pull up the Cowell's home phone contact on your cell before even getting near the front door. If anything happened you'd call and either leave a message or have a concerned Big Jo over instantly.

The house is silent as you open and shut the front door. Not anything new to you but with the tension in the air you're more than certain someone is here with you. Making your way through the house you peer into the kitchen and living room. The coast is clear on those fronts which leaves the hall closet, your bedroom, and the bathroom right across from your room.

Quickly ruling out the closet because of the limited space for a grown adult to hide in. The only options are your bedroom and the bathroom. The bathroom that has the door open at all times and would make a great place to hide and ambush you while you went into you room. Or a good place to lock yourself in to call Jo in case they were in your room, you'd just have to be ready to sprint out faster than they could register seeing you. Then there's your room, multiple hiding spots and the baseball bat you'd left in there. Even if they came empty handed they were the one with the weapon right now, you had to be careful.

As you make your way slowly and soundlessly down the hall way you hear a small beep come from your bedroom just as you stand in the doorway of the bathroom. You don't own anything that beeps. This thought causes you to freeze in place all but your thumb which hits the dial button.

Just in time too, because in your stupor a large figure in a black ski mask opens the door to your bedroom. You barely have time to react to the sudden appearance before they come barreling into you. A sharp pain bursts in the back of your head as it collides with the wall that you are tackled into. Phone forgotten, instinctively you bring both hands to your attacker's face.

They may be wearing a ski mask but it will do little to protect their eyes against your nails. Thankfully they have a stupid red frowny face decorating the mask, giving you the perfect target for their eyes. Not expecting your quick reflexes the attacker pulls away slightly trying to get out of your reach, and get your hands off of their mask. They must be worried you'll find out their identity, and while that would be nice you'd enjoy surviving this encounter a lot more. So you continue your assault on your would be assaulter.

A large hand comes down and swoops both of yours in a crushing grip. Harshly yanking them away from their face. Unfortunately for them they'd gotten one of your knees pressed against your chest when they tackled you. With the new distance between your bodies you're able to lift your leg up higher and kick at them.

“Get OFF of me..you piece of SHIT.” more force exerted on certain words while you kicked them solidly in the chest.

Their grip actually gets tighter on your hands as you knock the air out of their lungs. Aside from that and their pained grunts they weren't giving much of a reaction. You'd be certain you weren't kicking hard enough if it wasn't for a cough that ripped through them on a particularly powerful kick to the stomach.

There's a distant warble that you can't make out, it's high pitched and annoying. Good, that irritating sound will only succeed in pissing you off more and enabling you to unleash your rage on the fucker holding you down right now.

Before you can give another blow pain erupts through your chest as it constricts. You can't breathe and you see black dots forming in your vision as you're slammed into the tile floor of your bathroom. There's a foggy feeling in your head, and that distant warble gets more frantic and higher in pitch. But you can't focus on that you can't focus on anything that isn't the merciless thudding in your chest, the pounding of your head, and the god awful static that is starting to burn your ears like a white hot fire.

With the first heavy and heaving breath you're able to take as your assailant presses you into the ground, you feel the rush of adrenaline surge through you. Without any leverage you can do little more  than squirm and thrash under the heavier figure. A brief feeling of vindication showers you as one of your arms is tugged free in your flailing. Your attacker isn't quick enough to restrain you this time and you reach your hand up to their face, this time intent on clawing it up from under the mask. That way some one would know based on the nail marks who did this, and maybe the DNA left under your skin would be enough identify them and save a future would be victim.

God you didn't want to be a victim.

Just before you can hook your fingers into their flesh they are thrown off of you. All adrenaline you had before turns into ice as you stare at their companion. The white mask with painted black features. It hadn't been a hallucination.

They hadn't been a hallucination.

They'd been in your home before. While you were there and blissfully unaware. They'd been so still, so quiet that you'd never even thought they were anything more than a messed up part of your psyche. There isn't enough time to dwell on this feeling of pure terror that spikes through you. But you still freeze in the face of the mask, only to be rewarded with an iron grip locked into your hair pulling you up by the scalp. Then you're bashed against the floor twice.

You honestly hadn't meant to play dead. In your shock it was the only thing you could do to just go limp. That once high pitched warble is now a drawn out moan almost, the static is playing at the edges of your mind as you barely make out the sound of retreating footsteps.

You want to roll onto your back but as nausea hits you at just the thought you stay on your side. Eyes fluttering against your will, this time not a tic but in an attempt to heal your body on it's limited energy reserves. You doubt you'd be able to turn over again if you needed to vomit. Hell you'd be lucky to stay conscious till someone came looking for you.

Would that be in the morning when you don't show up for work? Would it be days from now? Wait did you manage to call the Cowells?

The pounding in your head gets worse with each passing second. You officially can't keep your eyes open anymore. There's no reaction from you when you hear your front door burst open and yelling echo through the empty house. You don't stir from your sleep as someone taps you, not shaking you but just gentle taps careful to not exacerbate your injuries.

When Big Jo got to your home he slammed open your door and had his gun at the ready for your attackers. The house didn't look messed with and nothing was out of place, at least to him he'd only ever been out this far to drop little Jo off once or twice. It was quiet in your home except for a murmuring coming down the hall. So he made his way down slowly, vigilant for any sudden movement if there was anyone other than you here. He'd called your name several times since entering and hadn't received a reply.

As he got closer to the bathroom the murmuring became louder, peering in his heart stopped for a beat. The weathered man has seen a lot of shit in his time but he always hated to see a kid in your condition. Beaten with bruises littering your face and wrists all while being unresponsive as he tried to wake you. The source of the noise became clear when he saw your phone a few feet away slid into the corner away from you.

Dia was still on the line and sobbing now. If that didn't twist the knife that was already speared into his heart. Picking up your phone he spoke with his wife trying to reassure her as he felt for a pulse. You had one, one that was faster than normal. Your body was probably still reeling from what you just went through. But he wasn't a doctor and wouldn't count you out of the woods until one assessed you themself.

Jo wasn't waiting long before he heard the sirens, he went out front to meet the sheriff. After you'd been packed into an ambulance and taken to St. Francis Hospital Jo told Dia so she could meet you there. He'd stuck around while the sheriff and his deputy surveyed the area and came back to him for his statement.

“Looks like we've got most of what we needed Jo...But the kid, they got hallucinations you said?” Sheriff Owens asked.

“Why're you asking Zeke?” now wasn't the time to anger the large man as he was barely holding his normal civility.

“Now I don' mean nothin' by it – 's jus' tha' well we didn' find any evidence of a break in.”

“You think the kid coulda done that to themself? The marks on their wrists are bigger than their hands!”

“Jo, in some cases people sufferin' from delusions can do all sorts a things ta themselves... 'm just trin' ta find out if we ought ta have 'em kept in the ward for a bit.”

“They're fine. They've told me themself that they only get visual hallucinations and they can differentiate between the two.” a small lie on his part, he knows occasionally a hallucination will grab your attention for longer than it should if that were the case but he'll keep you out of the damn ward for now because this wasn't a hallucination. He had heard the struggle going on between you and someone else.

Right now his top concern was getting to the hospital and meeting up with Dia to make sure your condition was stable. If he had to lie to the sheriff to do it, so be it. Not like he wouldn't enlist his own detail to figure out what went down here. He'd let you stay with them while he contacted Lydia about updating security on her property.

Sheriff Owens didn't put up a fight on this, and said he'd swing by the hospital Wednesday to get your statement on the encounter. With that the sheriff and deputy piled into their car and left. Jo had found your keys still in the door and locked your home, a lot of good it did you but at least this way a bear wouldn't get in before they set up the new system.

Jo got to St. Francis and was greeted by his teary eyed daughter and sobbing wife. Dia really wasn't cut out for any type of violence. He's have to make sure she called her therapist this week for an extra appointment or two just to help her through this. Looking at his daughter he sees the worry in her eyes as she runs to him.

A doctor comes up to the family to inform them of your condition.

“Ah Mr. Cowell good to see you. Mx. LN is responsive right now, and in enough of their right mind to complain that we are keeping them awake.” The doctor pauses with a slight chuckle, “We have them set up with an IV drip that's giving them fluids, their pain meds, and for tonight they'll also have a caloric infusion. They mentioned that they hadn't eaten much today. So to ensure their body has the energy to heal we thought it'd be the best course of action. We're keeping them up for another hour or so before they can sleep and then we'll be keeping them for observation for at least two days.”

“Can we see YN?” little Jo interrupts.

“Unfortunately we believe they wouldn't enjoy that right now. Their injuries aren't extensive but they are quite cranky due to residual pain and hunger.” the doctor says with a smile to little Jo. “Now speaking of their injuries the worst of which is their slight concussion again we're monitoring that and they seem to be very receptive to us right now. And then there's the dislocation of their left shoulder that we've already mended and the various bruising and mental trauma they're likely to retain from the incident your wife has briefly informed us about. We'll give a card for a good therapist to you and one to Mx. LN on their departure. When can we expect the Sheriff coming?”

“Owens said Wednesday.”

“Perfect, then that should be all. If anything changes or we want to keep them longer we'll let you know right away. And Miss Cowell if you come back in the morning we're sure Mx. LN will be much more agreeable company.”

The doctor waits for a moment letting the Cowells have time to process and ask a question or two. But when nothing comes up the doctor turns away to continue their work elsewhere.

And with that the very emotionally exhausted Cowell family go home. With plans to come visit you sometime tomorrow. Big Jo does however makes a few phone calls before going to bed that night. It isn't lost on him that he's already had one employee mysteriously vanish, he doesn't like the thought that she was targeted and your next on some hit list.

[bellafarallones2]

A/N: so I wrote some nsfw indruck for mermay? angst with a happy ending

Duck usually stayed in his quarters when the rest of the crew raised the drag-net every morning. He didn’t enjoy watching the fish flipping across the deck, watching men scoop them up and snap their necks and cut cleanly down their spines. But this morning, the sheer volume of shouting brought him forth from his quarters and into the ice-cold air.

A silvery tail lay across the deck, flopping weakly, larger than any fish Duck had ever seen. The mesh of the net cut into the fine scales. One of the sailors raised his arm and drove a harpoon through the tail. An unearthly scream made him stumble back, and Duck realized that this was not a fish at all, because the tail was attached to a human torso, with skinny arms and damp silver hair.

The mer mewled pathetically, shivering, and tried to drag itself away from the sailor standing over it, smearing bloody scales onto the deck. For a moment Duck met its frantic red eyes.

“Hey!” said Duck. The other sailors turned around. He wasn’t quite one of them, but his broad shoulders talked. “What are you, an animal?” he said to the man who’d speared it. “That’s not a fish.”

“Yeah, a fish wouldn’t fetch us each a fortune on the London market!” another sailor called.

Duck ripped the harpoon out of the mer’s tail and immediately realized his mistake when it screamed again. “Shit!” Duck said. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He was kneeling, now, trying to staunch the flow of blood with his hands. The mer seemed to be in shock, its sharp teeth chattering. Lord only knew how long it’d been trapped in the net before being pulled up. He couldn’t put it back in the water in this state.

Not knowing what else to do, Duck scooped the mer up in his arms and carried it back below deck. His cabin was dark, lit by only a single porthole window to the outside. Even in that dim light he could see the ice crystals in the mer’s pale hair. Duck put it down on his bunk, curling up its tail to fit.

“I’m going to fix you up,” Duck said, more for his own benefit than the mer’s. When a wet cloth touched the mer’s wound, it hissed and clamped its spindly fingers around Duck’s shoulder. “Shh,” Duck said, and continued gently wiping the blood away. “Joe, help me.” The ship’s doctor, who had been sitting transfixed, leapt into action, preparing a clean bandage and taping it down over the wound.

The mer had stopped shaking, now, and seemed to relax a little into the pillows, shifting to get comfortable. “Please don’t tell me it’s about to die on us,” Duck said.

Joseph shook his head. “Probably just needs rest.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“Hey, if your bed is still… occupied… tonight, you can share mine.”

“I can sleep in my desk chair, but I appreciate the offer.” A shout from somewhere else on the ship, calling everyone aboard to breakfast, made Duck turn back to the mer in his bed. “We’ve got to go, but we’ll be back later, okay?”

--

When Duck and Joseph returned to the room that evening, the mer was awake and alert. Duck distracted himself from the urge to stare - it had a fascinating face, smooth and angular - by laying out what food there was available. Hardtack and salt cod. The mer reached hesitantly for the fish and took a bite.

“Yeah,” said Duck. “The food ain’t great, but at least even the captain doesn’t have anything better.”

The mer took Duck’s hand, and with surprising strength pulled Duck down on top of him. For a moment Duck panicked, thinking he was being strangled, but the mer was only… hugging him?

Face burning slightly, Duck got fully onto the bed. The mer’s lips were only an inch away from his ear, and his voice was barely louder than a breath. “Thank you.”

Duck pulled back. “You can talk?”

The mer gestured at his throat.

“Maybe it’s difficult out of water?” Joseph suggested.

The mer nodded. Even just the few hours in the air had turned his skin dry and cracked.

“Do you feel okay to go back?” said Duck.

The mer nodded.

“Alright, up you get.” This time the mer leaned against his chest as he picked it up and carried him up onto the deck, and the narrow end of his tail curled around Duck’s waist. As soon as he’d lifted him over the rail he slithered down the side of the ship into the water and disappeared.

--

The HMS Kepler followed the red hand of its captain’s compass northward, slipping between the shifting ice floes, until one day there was no way forward. And then no way back. The arctic was a nightmare of a lover, squeezing the ship in a deadly embrace.

While the shores of ice closed in, Duck and Joseph spent the day in their cabin, playing cards. They could hear the muffled noises of the rest of the crew elsewhere in the ship, and then a horrible creaking from all around them.

“Uh, did you hear that?” said Duck, looking around.

“It’s the ice,” said Joseph calmly, putting down a card. “It’s reached the ship.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“No,” Joseph agreed. He stood up and went to the bookcase, where he reached behind his books and pulled out a bottle. It was rum, two-thirds full, significantly more expensive stuff than the swill they got with meals.

“Holy shit, have you had that this whole time?”

“I certainly didn’t pick it up out here. Look, do you want any or not?”

“Hell yeah I do!”

Joseph uncapped the bottle and took a sip before handing it over to Duck. “To our icy doom.” He sat down again, leaning gingerly against Duck’s side. Duck put his arm around Joseph’s shoulder, and they sat there for a while, side-by-side, passing the bottle back and forth.

The captain decided the next morning that they would take their chances out on the ice. They threw a rope over the side of the ship and climbed down, carrying whatever supplies they could on their backs, and started walking. East, towards Greenland.

The sun never set, this far north, so they slept only when they could walk no longer, and walked again when the freezing wind ripped sleep away.

It didn’t take long for their supplies to run out. Duck didn’t know how long. Joseph was counting the sleeps in a notebook he insisted on carrying (“it’ll be helpful to know, if anyone ever finds our bodies”), but Duck didn’t pay much attention.

One of those mornings, while the others packed up their tents, Duck stood exhausted at the edge of a hole in the ice, hoping something edible would surface that he could spear. The regular harpooner had already succumbed, and the harpoon felt strange and heavy in Duck’s hands.

What did surface was a pale head of hair. Duck blinked. A pair of cold hands gripped his ankles and yanked him down into the freezing water. The harpoon clattered onto the ice.

“I’m sorry,” the mer said. It had been long enough since they’d last met that the wound on his tail was only pink scar. “If you stay with your crew you’re going to die.” And then he pressed his chilly lips to Duck’s.

Screaming pain, then, as his legs broke and were re-made, but the water no longer felt so cold. And Duck realized all at once that he could breathe.

He looked down. He had a tail like a seal, thick and gray.

“Oh,” breathed the mer. “You make an even handsomer mer than I’d imagined.”

Duck grabbed him and kissed him again. The mer’s sinewy tail wrapped around his. “Uh,” Duck said finally. “What’s your name?”

“Indrid.”

“I’m Duck.”

“I know.”

Duck mustered a smile and a teasing tone. “Does this mean I get to sleep in your bed now?”

“Yes, but I won’t be as much of a gentleman about it as you were.”

The mer had always been cold to the touch above the water, but now he was warm, and Duck allowed himself to rest his head on the other’s shoulder. He was exhausted. Months of hard work on a ship and, even worse, weeks of struggling on foot across the ice to an uncertain destination would do that to you. But the water washed the sweat and grime easily from his skin.

Indrid lived in a cave at the center of an iceberg, where the layers of ice above them softened the light of the sun. When Duck flinched awake in the middle of the night, dreaming of starvation, Indrid petted him and let him drift off again in the faint glow of his red eyes. When Duck was strong enough to swim Indrid taught him how to hunt, driving schools of fish upwards and trapping them against the surface.

And still they slept with their tails intertwined.

“Indrid,” Duck said late one night as he traced patterns on Indrid’s narrow back.

“Yes?” Indrid raised his head from where it was resting on Duck’s shoulder.

“Do I have a dick?” He’d figured out how to go to the bathroom, but the rest of the smooth front of his tail was a mystery to him.

“Yes.”

“Where?”

Indrid’s smile showed in his voice. “Would you like me to show you?”

“Please.”

Indrid wrapped his fingers around Duck’s wrist and guided his hand down. “Under here. But it only comes out when you’re aroused.

“Can we… do that?”

Indrid’s tail wrapped more firmly around Duck’s, both restraining and holding him close. “I told you I’d take care of you, didn’t I?”

“You sure did,” Duck gasped as Indrid’s hand pressed his against the tender flesh. He relaxed into Indrid’s hold, letting him take the reins.

“Oooh, you’re sensitive. We should have done this ages ago.”

“Yes, we should have, Indrid please-”

Indrid kissed Duck’s neck. “Can I bite you? Just a little, I won’t -”

“Fuck yes, mark me up, want everyone to know I’m yours.”

Indrid’s sharp teeth sank into Duck’s neck, and Duck squirmed in his hold. A slit he hadn’t even known was there was opening near the top of his tail, the unmistakable head of a cock emerging.

“Good boy,” murmured Indrid, and they both saw how his cock jumped. “Go on, touch yourself.” Duck plunged a finger into his slit, forcing his cock out into the water. “I told you you had a cock, didn’t I? And what do you say to me for showing it to you?”

“Thank you,” Duck gasped. Indrid had let go of his hands and was now feeling up his chest. “Please, Indrid, please -” Indrid’s tail had him so tight he could just barely twist his head around enough to kiss him.

“Do you want me to touch you some more?” said Indrid, muffled by Duck’s lips on his.

“Yes.”

Indrid’s clever fingers closed around Duck’s cock, and he didn’t let up with the kisses for a moment as he stroked him, and then with a twist of his wrist Duck was coming, milky fluid dissipating quickly in the water between them.

“Well,” Duck said when he’d finally caught his breath. Indrid had released him, so Duck could look into his eyes again. “Now I know I have a dick. But I have a second question.”

“Oh?” Indrid squirmed as Duck pressed his palm down on the upper part of his tail.

“Do you?”

--

Joseph had been watching, when Duck disappeared beneath the ice. He’d gone to pick up the harpoon and looked down into the water and saw nothing but gray-blue.

It was a shame. Duck’s presence was what had kept the rest of the crew from bullying him. He didn’t allow himself to think about the rest of it.

Not that he had long to ruminate. One day he was looking into another circle in the ice when a face appeared, a face very much like Duck’s. Joseph immediately thought back to determine what might be making him hallucinate: the lead from the cans of food? Plain starvation? And then a pair of strong hands pulled him into the world below.

[esbarnes]

Distance

Part 11

This next part will be bitter and messy. Is it possible that we don’t really know who we are or what we are capable of until we are called upon to prove it. Each new thing that came around the corner seemed more impossible than the next. But we were still here, still fighting and for now that had to be enough. Especially if we were going to save the world and everyone in it.

Eilene’s pov

We were still no closer to figuring out how to get Lilith back and we still needed to get to the bottom of what Foley was really up to. Then came the night of the party and everything shifted. The knights had finally decided to officially join the Order or well return to the Order. This of course drew some hard line between us all. Randall was not happy about it, Jack seemed to realize the advantage of it and Hamish, well I couldn’t tell if he was making a smart play for us all or if he had feelings for Vera Stone. He seemed quick to defend her and an eagerness to please her. In those small moments it just reminded me that he was still lost to me on some level.

To say it had made me cranky was an understatement. I didn’t want Hamish to think I was silly for being jealous but I also didn’t want confirmation that my fears were right. Hamish must have known that something was off with me as he went out of is way to be reassuring. He would stand next to me and lean his hip into mine or his hand would rest on my knee and every now and again lightly squeeze. The night of the party would also be the night that Hamish was kidnapped. He had been drinking and had gotten a text from Vera. Which he explained to me that it was to play nice, get Lilith back and to trust him. With that he slid me a drink he had named Lily Bell, kissed my forehead and left. That night I went to bed alone. Only to wake up without Hamish and the sinking feeling that either something was wrong or my fears were more valid than even I wanted to admit.

It didn’t Jack, Randall and I long to find the kidnapped Hamish which thankfully  led us to Foley. Randall and Jack were interrogating Foley while I helped Hamish get out of the silver chains and give him the clothes I had brought. I was helping him with the buttons on his shirt when his hands covered mine to still their movements. I looked up to him and it seemed like he was mapping my face. I turned my hands into his and squeezed “Hey, It’s ok, your ok.” I said. He leaned his head down to rest against my forehead and took a deep breath. “I...I know, I just feel like an idiot. I put myself in danger and I could have put you in danger.” he responded. We stayed like that for moment until the others brought Foley out. We had to get him to Vera for more answers.

The next few days were full of surprises. Foley had killed himself some how, we learned that Salvador was also a werewolf, we were brought before the Gnostic Counsel to explain the situation and then put in quarantine. To top it all off Vera might be voted out as Grad Magus and if that happened our little pack would most likely be fugitives or worse, dead. As the day progressed we all got a bit more edgy the vote seemed to be taking forever and more members of the Order were dying. But when I saw Hamish wolf out and protect Vera I couldn’t help but feel the air tighten in my chest. But if I’m honest it wasn’t until I overheard Hamish talking to Vera that the things got considerably darker. “I almost died yesterday and now it seems like I might die anyway. Part of me wishes we never got our memories back and I could just go back to being happy.” I was standing just out of sight and I felt that tight air solidify in my chest. Randall bumped into be as I was about to leave. “Eilene are you ok?” but before I could respond Jason Priestly walked in and hit us all with sleeping spell.

After we woke up we were able to finally figure out what was infecting people and how to stop it. Next we got Vera back in her seat of power. I had to shut out all my emotions so that I could focus on what was in front of us. It also meant I had to shut down the bonds. There was just too much information coming through at once to focus. Jack was worried about Alyssa - as usual, Randall was uncharacteristically angry with a hint of excitement  when Gabrielle was around. Lilith felt manic and Hamish, well he was hazy. 

We were able to get a potion brewed to save everyone and once Vera was put back on her throne, I couldn’t think about anything except getting out of this damn temple. I decided to drive to clear my head. I was a knight after all and that would have to come first. My phone buzzed off and on and eventually I just threw it in the back seat. I couldn’t bare talking to Hamish right now. I didn’t know what to say or what I want to hear him say, so I decided we just wouldn’t say anything to each other for a while.

Hamish’s pov

I knew that something was off with Eilene, Hell something was off with me and I couldn’t figure out what I should tell her. I did have a plan. Kepler was going to pay for what she did and then she and Vera were going to fix whatever they had done to our memories. I did admire and respect Vera, but my heart was tied securely to Eilene. It had been hours since I had seen her and I called a few times, but no response. The only thing I could do next was to try our bond. I was standing in my room looking out the window when I closed my eyes, placed my hand over my ribs and then thought of her. Breath in, breath out. I was flooded with a frantic energy and the feel of a breeze against my cheek - she was driving. Then I heard her. Her mind was loud in mine “Hamish” and then I was knocked out of our bond. The blow wasn’t physically real but it pushed me back a step or two just the same. When I tried again there was nothing, she had thrown up a wall. Panic set in and my muscles tightened. I couldn’t loose her again. I needed her home and I needed her to not lose faith in me.

All I could do now was wait. I would give her the space she needed, but there was no way I was going to lose her without a fight. Eventually she would come back to me and we would talk this through. But it would seem that would not be happening tonight, or the next night. On the third night I had had enough. She hadn't come home or called. I was going to find her and I was going to get her to talk to me. It seemed I would have to go hunting for her. If she was going to ignore me she would have to deal with Tundra. 

Part 12 Coming soon - Much sooner than this one came lol

[mosylufanfic]

A Year and a Day

This is for the Killervibe Week Theme Arranged Marriage! (oof I love me an arranged marriage fic)

A Year and a Day

The party broke up early, as these things went. Generally handfast parties went into the wee hours of the morning, but the second moon had barely risen by the time people started drifting out of the town hall and back to their houses.

Of course, Cisco thought, looking across the room at his bride, this wasn't your normal handfasting.

Caitlin Snow had taken his hand and recited the vows without any dramatics, but also without any enthusiasm, and when the ceremony was over, she'd dropped it and turned away. She'd spent pretty much the entire party with her crew, and the whole table had deflected any attempts on the part of the colonists to get to know them.

Great.

Usually handfast parties were a welcome for the new colonist, a chance for them to meet and bond with the people who would be their lifelong neighbors if all went well. But this one had made it clear she only intended to stick around long enough to qualify for permanent citizenship, and then she'd be back on her ship and breaking atmo the first chance she got.

Of course, he'd see her again after that. She was half-owner of the ship that loomed in the moonlight on the edge of town. Now that it was owned by a colonial citizen, it was automatically registered to the colony and would be making runs for them. But it would come back only a few times a year, and he had his doubts she'd seek him out.

They just had to get through the handfast year first.

"Thanks for doing this," Barry said at his side.

He grabbed a bun as the tray went past and bit into it with only a hint of savagery. "You asked," he said through the mouthful of bun.

And Barry had asked him, even though he'd handfasted twice already, because Captain Tannhauser had flatly refused the idea of sacrificing her first mate for the entire year, so Cisco would be making some trips on the Snowfall. He was one of the few people in the colony who could be spared for a week or a month at a time as the ship sailed the lightyears between systems.

"Hey, you'll get to see some of the galaxy," Barry said.

Cisco looked out at the window at the ship. "Yeah," he muttered. "In a tin can."

He'd never left the Trappist colonies, never been to the Kepler system or the Teegarden system or even back to the Terran system, which everyone still called home even if they'd never seen it. Yeah, he might have wondered what was out there, but he had a life here. And he liked it.

"It's just a year," Barry said.

"I know," he replied and let out a sigh. "I know."

He left Barry and went walking over to the table where his bride sat. Caitlin Snow, part-owner, first mate, and ship’s medic of the Snowfall, a year older than him, and in the eyes of the Terran government, his wife. 

Unless they screwed up and managed to get this marriage nullified before the year was out. Then she'd lose her citizenship and the colony would have to pay not only all the fees and taxes for a new, unattached colonist, but also late fines. And after the past few years, they didn't have that kind of money. Not to mention they'd lose access to the Snowfall and have to start hiring out cargo haulers from the inner systems again, at twice the rate the Snowfall charged.

"Hey," he said, and the crew turned to look at him. He cleared his throat. "Long day, right? You want to, uh, to go get settled in?"

They all stared at him for a moment, and he thought, Shit, I didn't threaten to ravish her! I just want to show her my house! You know? Where she's going to live for the next year?

Then the captain nodded sharply.  "We should get started loading her up. The McGee settlement on Trappist-e expects us by tomorrow evening."

"Yep," Cisco said. "Everything's out on the dock, labeled and ready for you."

The captain nodded again, her face rather cold. As if that had been a signal, the crew got to their feet and started filing out. A few of them touched Caitlin's shoulder and one pretty, dark-skinned woman squeezed her hand. Cisco noted that she squeezed back. A friend? A lover? Would she even tell him?

Finally, it was only the captain and Caitlin standing there, face-to-expressionless-face.

"Clear skies, Caitlin," the captain said.

"Smooth landings, Mom," Caitlin said.

The captain nodded one last time and walked out the door, following the rest of her crew. Caitlin reached down and picked up a plain black rucksack, slinging it over her shoulder. "Where are we going?" she said.

"Uh, my house," Cisco said, gesturing vaguely. "That way down the street."

She marched out the door, turning her face away from the crew walking up the street toward the Snowfall. 

He fell into step with her. Normally, he'd be pointing things out - that's the botany center, that's the recreation center, there's the greenhouses, there's the library, there’s the clinic where you’ll work . . . but she didn't seem interested. The silence fell between them and until he found himself blurting, "That's your mom?"

"What?"

"Captain Tannhauser. You called her Mom."

"Yes," she said. "You didn't know that?"

He'd missed it somehow. Of course, Barry had made all the arrangements, Cisco just had to show up. "Well, you have different last names."

"Snow was my dad's name."

"Are you two always so - " He broke off.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Are we always so what?"

"I mean, it's a pretty big day, and she's leaving the planet. Like, now. You're not going to see her for a couple of weeks, easy. But you acted like you were saying goodbye to a co-worker you didn't like that much."

"We're not given to histrionics," she said.

He was so busy gaping at her that he almost missed his own house. "Oh, whoa, whoa, hey! This is me. Right here. My house."

She swiveled and backtracked the couple of steps she'd taken past his front door. He tapped the button and the door swished open. He spread his arms. "Home sweet home."

She stepped inside and looked around.

It wasn't a big house. It wasn't like the ones he read about in old books from Earth, or the year-old holomovies they got out here. Those houses with glimmering smartglass walls and floating beds, 'bot maids and house computers that anticipated your every need. But it was his. He'd painted the walls, built the furniture, woven the rugs on the floors. 

But she'd been so many places. Seen so much. And she was looking around his house without any expression whatsoever.

"So it's - so this is the front room," he said. "Couch, there, very comfy for afternoon naps. That wall over there is where I project stuff. Holos and files and whatever." He reached in his pocket and tossed his comm on the glass-covered table. "This is the charging table. Hooked up to the solars on the roof but it's got a good battery. Kitchen right over there. My chiller. Not big, I know, but I get a lot of fresh ingredients, seasonal, so I don't need much storage. Uh. You like to cook?"

She blinked. Said, "I don't know how."

She didn't know how to cook?

"Okay," he said. "Well." He turned away from the kitchen. "So here are the other rooms. My lab, first, here." He patted the first door on the right.

"Your lab?"

"I build things. It's kind of - it's my deal. I build things. It's a mess right now so I'm not going to give you the tour.  You can check it out later if you want, I'm not precious. Just don't mess with anything or I'll have to go all Bluebeard on you."

She looked at him blankly.

"It's this story - okay. Never mind." Clearly she didn't share his taste for antiquated Terran mythology. "Okay, so, bathroom here. I cleared off a shelf for you to put your - " He eyed her rucksack. Did she have anything in it? "- your, you know, bathroom stuff."

She ignored the shelf in favor of staring at the shower stall. Maybe it was too small for her. He cleared his throat. "This time of year we get more hot water because the pipes are all laid along the roofs and they get the sun on the way in. But during the rainy season, we're all limited to ten minutes because otherwise it's cold showers for half the town."

She nodded. 

"Right," he said. "Okay, so to continue your tour - " He led the way out of the bathroom and to the door directly across the hall. He hit the button. "This one here is my bedroom. Tada."

She walked in, setting her pack on the bed.

"Whoa! Hey, what are you doing?"

"Getting unpacked," she said. She frowned at the bed and unzipped her bag.

"No! No. Oh my god. You're not sleeping here." 

She turned her frown on him. "You said it was your bedroom."

"Yeah, mine! Not yours. You don't have to share with me." He stepped back and pointed at the last door. "There. That's your room. There."

She picked up her rucksack again, following him to the door as he opened it for her. She didn't make any move to go in. "This is where I'll sleep?"

"Yeah. It's all ready for you, sheets on the bed and everything." He gestured as he spoke. "Uh, you got your charging table here, some shelves, right, put whatever you want. The closet, obviously, hah. The window opens if you like to sleep with some night air. I oiled the latches." 

The room was the same size as his lab and his own bedroom. But it looked plain and small, suddenly.

"You can do whatever you want to it while you're here," he said quickly. “Paint, pictures - Allegra got really into weaving, and like textiles? She had literal tapestries up. It was wild. She took them all with her when she moved out."

"Who's Allegra?"

"My last handfast. You might have met her tonight."

"You've been married before?"

"It's not a marriage," he said. "It's a handfast. This isn't forever." He stepped back. "I'll let you get settled in."

--

This house was huge.

Caitlin set her rucksack in the center of the bed and stared at it for a moment. Then she shifted it to the end of the bed and sat. She let out a squeak as springs creaked and the mattress sagged under her. Unprepared, she almost brained herself on the wall before springing back up. 

There was no storage under the bed, or above the bed. Not like her snug berth on the Snowfall. Just shelves and hooks. Clearly everything was just supposed to sit out in the open. Loose. Not secured at all.

She desperately wanted cabinets, doors to swing shut and latch. Some way to fold the furniture up into the walls. If you had things just out like this, they'd all go flying if you had bank hard to avoid an asteroid. If there was a rough re-entry, you could come back and everything you owned could be all over the floor if you hadn't secured it properly.

No asteroids, no re-entries. She was on land. Nothing was going anywhere.

She nudged the table next to the bed with her foot, and it scooted across the floor.

It wasn't even bolted down. 

A comm, he said. You can charge your comm here.

She didn't have one. She'd never needed one. The Snowfall had a PA system. You just found the nearest terminal and  called out for whoever you needed. They would come find you. It never took more than ten minutes, even if they were on the other end of the ship. Sometimes she carried one of the ships' comms when they'd made planetside and she was out in the port city to shop for supplies or explore. But it wasn't hers. 

She felt lost, in freefall. She'd lived her whole life on that ship. Slept every night, after she could sleep on her own, in the berth tucked up against the engines, their low basso hum the only lullaby she'd ever needed.

He'd asked if she liked to cook and it was as if her brain shorted out. She enjoyed preparing the ship's meals, when her turn came up on the rota, but it was all dehydrated, freeze-dried, powdered items that she put together, from recipes that had been meticulously planned. 

He'd talked about fresh ingredients. She didn't know how to cook with those. Fresh fruits and vegetables were a rare treat, reserved for Rosh Hashanah or when they got a bonus for bringing the cargo in early. And actual meat like they'd had on the tables at the party? Not reconstituted protein, but honest-to-Terra meat? The idea of cooking with that struck terror into her heart.

She must have looked like a total rube, gaping at the water shower. She'd seen water showers in movies. Read about them in books. But water was too heavy to carry more than what they needed for drinking or rehydration. She'd used sonics all her life. She couldn't picture getting clean by pouring water all over herself.

She went over to the window and flattened her hands against the glass. There was a latch. It opened, Cisco had said. Oh, no, no, no. Having a window was going to be bad enough, all that land out there, so wide open she thought she might float away through it. No, she wouldn't be opening this window at night. Or possibly ever.

There was a low, familiar rumble, and Caitlin pressed her hands hard to the glass. The Snowfall rose above the houses, her bow already tilting up. Her stern glowed with the blaze of the engines.

Caitlin had seen her like this before, times when the port authority made them change docks. But she was always lifting up and coming down again a little ways away, and Caitlin could walk over and join her again. Mostly, she was onboard, feeling the pressure of G's mounting, pushing her into her seat in the cockpit as they lifted up into the blue sky and watched it turn black and fill with stars as they broke atmo.

 It seemed to hover for a moment, and then it lifted away, pushing up into the atmosphere, getting smaller and smaller.

Gone.

Something bubbled up in her throat, and she pressed her hands to her mouth. Instead of vomit, tears poured down over her hands as she watched her ship, her home, her family disappear.

Don't be stupid, she told herself fiercely. Don't be such a child. You knew this would happen. They'll be back. You'll see her again.

But the tears wouldn't stop.

Over the hiccuping gasps of her breath, she heard a light knock. She shook her head but couldn't make herself say anything.

"Caitlin?" he called. "Everything okay?"

Go away, she thought, but an especially loud hiccup of a sob escaped instead.

The door swished and his footsteps echoed on the floorboards. Not the familiar thunk-thunk of boots on a deck, but a sound of bare feet on wood. "Caitlin?"

She turned her face to the window. "I'm not crying."

"Sure," he said. "That's why there aren't tears all over your face."

She dragged her sleeve over her face. "Please go away."

"God," he said. "You're acting like fucking Persephone kidnapped by Hades."

"Who?"

"It's this old - you know what, never mind. I mean, you're acting like this is the end of the world. It's not that bad here, okay? I mean, I like it."

Startled, she lifted her head. Tears still dripped off her chin.

He stood in the middle of her room, arms crossed, a scowl on his face. "So we're not a full planet yet, we don't have cities or operas or - I don't know, whatever it is you're used to. But it's nice here! You see those mountains? I fucking love those mountains, okay? Prettiest place in the galaxy and you can quote me on that. The ocean's an hour away by speeder and in a month or two it'll be warm enough to go swimming and sailing. The people are great. We have an ice cream parlor! We make ice cream now. There's, there's - it's not that bad, all right?"

She stared at him. "It's not about being here," she said. "It's about not being there." She pointed up to the star-filled sky that had swallowed her ship. "It's about my ship flying away and I'm not on it." The tears started up again and she turned her face away.

He was silent for so long she thought he'd left. But then the soft scuff of footsteps warned that he was coming closer, and two strong arms came around her. "Oh my god," he muttered. "Oh my god, I'm such a jerk. I'm sorry. Shhh. You're okay. You're okay. Let it out. You'll feel better."

She never cried in front of people. She hated it. But for some reason, she dropped her head to his shoulder and sobbed as he stroked her hair, crooning softly.

Her head ached and her face felt sticky by the time she'd cried herself out.

"Better?" he said, taking her shoulders and looking her in the face.

He'd been right. She nodded, wiping her face on her sleeve again. 

He let out his breath. "I'm sorry I was such an asshole right now. I thought you were crying because you hated it here."

"Your planet's okay," she said. "It looks nice. It wasn't that."

He fished in his pocket and offered her a handkerchief. She blew her nose and mopped her face, then tried to give it back.

"No," he said blandly, "you can keep it. That's okay. I've got others."

She managed a smile and tucked it in her pocket. "I'm sorry," she said. "It's just - the Snowfall left. And I was here. And I couldn't - "

"Yeah," he said, with a depth of understanding in his voice. "You're homesick, aren't you?"

She felt her lip wobble again, dangerously. "I've never been off my ship," she said.

"Never?"

She waved her hand impatiently. "I've walked on land," she said. "I'm not that much of a space baby. I just - even if I was at a hotel or something, I always knew she was close, and I was going back soon. But she's gone."

He reached out and undid the latch, swinging the window open. He leaned on the sill, looking out at the stars. "How old were you when you started flying?"

"Neonatal," she said, looking at the window, all open to the elements. Cool air washed around them, smelling sweet and green.

It took him a moment. "You were born on that ship?"

"My dad was the ship's medic. My mom was the first mate. They fell in love. They bought out the last captain when I was five and renamed her.” She edged closer to the window, cautiously. She failed to fall out. “When my dad died a few years ago, I inherited his shares. I know it looks like a tin can to you, but to me, it's home."

He winced and looked out at the stars. "Why did you agree to this?"

She studied his position and copied it, bracing her elbows on the sill next to him and propped her chin in her hand. He felt sturdy and warm at her side. If all that openness out there tried to swallow her, he would catch her. "Do you know how docking fees work?"

"Huh? No . . . "

"Every time we make planetfall, we pay a fee to the port authority. They give discounts based on the owners' citizenship. But nomads pay full price. Always. Everywhere."

"Nomads?"

"Ships whose owners have no citizenship. We used to be registered to the Starlabs station off Mars,  but - "

"Yeah, we heard about that disaster, even out here. Why didn't you apply for refugee status on some nice planet?"

"We would have had to stay wherever we applied. We couldn't have flown. So we flew as nomads. But that wasn't working."

"So you handfasted with me to avoid the taxes?"

She groaned. Why had she expected a rockfoot to understand any of this? A colonial rockfoot, too; everybody knew what they were like. "We have to figure those fees in anytime we bid for a job, and nomads bid for all our jobs. If we bid too high, we don't get the job, of course not. But if we bid too low, we don't make a profit."

"And that would be terrible."

"Don't give your utopian colonial attitude. We need to buy fuel and supplies. We need to pay the crew a fair wage. We need to perform maintenance so we pass annual inspections or guess what? It's another fee. My mom and I aren't some greedy fatcat ship owners like you see in the holos, cackling over our piles of money. We're in the red. All the way down. Drowning in red."

He took that in. "So you - could you lose the ship?"

"If we'd had another month like the last six, we would've."

He was quiet for a moment. "So that's why you wanted citizenship. And the cargo runs that Barry was guaranteeing." 

Caitlin sighed, remembering her own indignation at that list of runs, half of which were colony-to-colony in the Trappist system. Not to mention the stipulation that they'd carry any colonist where they needed to go. We're not planet-hoppers, she'd snarled to her mother. And we're not a passenger ship!

Her mother had snapped back, For the next year, we'll do it with a smile, because those runs are a sure thing.

She said, "Colonial ships pay the lowest fees anywhere, and they don't pay any fees between colonies in the same system.. But we barely had the spare change to pay our crew for this last run. We couldn't buy into a colony."

"Most people can't," he said. "And you know, we pay a lot of money to the inner systems for unattached colonists, too. That's why almost everybody who was born here has done at least a couple of handfasts to bring new blood in. We couldn't afford to expand, otherwise."

She turned her head to look at him. "How many people have you married so they could come here?"

"Two," he said. "Chester Runk and Allegra Garcia. You'll see them around town.  And again, it's not a marriage. Marriage is . . . it's different. It's forever. Handfasting is just one year. And people here aren't really going to treat us like a married couple. We're more like roommates. Or a mentorship."

"Is that why you didn't want me in your bedroom?" She'd felt strangely insulted by that. She wasn't a virginal princess or anything. She'd had port lovers, and one short-timer on the ship who'd spent most of his off-time in her bunk in between Proxima Centauri-B and Teegarden's-C. "You're not allowed to sleep with your handfast?"

He laughed and - blushed? It was hard to tell in the moonlight. 0"No, nothing like that. A lot of handfasts sleep together during their year, and there's a handfast baby every now and then. It's just - I didn't want you to feel like it was required."

"Did you sleep with your other handfasts?"

"Ah - " He scratched his eyebrow. "With Chester. But Allegra was more like my little sister. I am attracted to women, but I wasn't into her like that."

Hmmmm. He'd been very quick to make that clear, hadn't he?

He reached out and brushed her hair out of her eyes. She felt herself go still, holding his gaze. "Look," he said in a low voice. "This is new and strange for both of us. Did you know I've never been off this planet?"

She felt her eyes widen. "Never?"

He shook his head. "Not even once. You want the truth, I'm kind of terrified of going into space."

"Don't be. It's beautiful. Wait until you see it."

He smiled at her and it was a completely different smile than the ones he'd aimed her way all day. Those had been bright and shiny, pasted on. This one seemed to come from all the way inside him, beaming out at her like sunlight.  "Okay," he said. "You can show me. But for the next year, the longest we can be apart is seventy-one hours.”

She nodded. She’d read the contract closely. If they hit seventy-two, the Terran government would nullify the contract. “I know. I’d lose my citizenship.”

“And then you lose your ship and the colony loses a shit-ton of money we can't afford. It's disastrous for both of us. All of us, if you think about it. We're in this together. So let's try to do this together, okay?"

A ship couldn't fly if the crew was all at cross-purposes. She nodded. "Okay. Together."

He straightened up. "Get some sleep, okay? You're getting the grand tour of the town tomorrow, and we're totally having ice cream."

It made her smile. "I'll hold to you that."

He smiled back and started for the door.

Something prompted her to call out, "Cisco?"

He paused. "Mmm?"

"You said that marriages were different than handfasts."

"Yeah," he said. "Handfasts are about convenience, and growing the community. Marriages are about love. Partnership. They're forever."

"Does a handfast ever turn into a marriage?"

"It's happened," he said. "Why do you ask?"

She shrugged and turned away from him to close the window. "I was just curious."

FINIS

[thelonely]

MAJOR ep. 28 spoilers

(find it on ao3 here)

Mama has been to more than her fair share of funerals.

Well, if you can call them all funerals. Her line of work didn’t do kindly by folks looking for a traditional burial. All too often, she’d had to scoop up ashes post-battle and spread them, collect bones and dig holes for them, lose sight of a coworker mid-fight and never catch hide nor hair of them again. There were too many anomalies to be explained, too many questions raised. Seeing those names slowly sink on the “Missing Persons” list and knowing still hurt, after all these years.

And hell, some folks in the past didn’t want to go through the ceremonial bullshit; they just wanted some dirt over their remains and a salute, before sinking off into that eternal sleep. Fair enough.

Mama’s definition of a “funeral” wasn’t always clean enough to entail the hearse, coffin, and grave plot. It was the exception, rather than the norm.

Which is why she’s surprised that Ned Chicane, of all people, wanted—and got—a traditional funeral. Let alone a crowded one.

(Maybe it was for the theatrics of it. Scratch that, it was definitely for the theatrics of it.)

Ned Chicane, once again, brought the town together—they had watched him go down the first time, and they were here to watch him go down for good. They owed him that much.

Duck and Aubrey and Mama and Barclay, Jake and Leo and Kirby and Sheriff Owens, Agent Stern and Hollis and Kevin and Eugene. People who loved him, people who dealt with him, people who hated him. People who disagreed with him, people who were inspired by him, people who thought he was a scam and disgrace. In this little ski town where everyone knows everybody, it does not go unnoticed that two particular people are missing. But, considering the circumstances, no one can blame them.

The residents of Kepler hover by the graveside as a priest says a few words; Ned didn’t strike anyone as a particularly religious man, but the sentiment is nice, regardless.

Duck gets up and chokes out a speech—it’s hard to tell if it’s due to the occasion, or just public speaking nerves. But he gets through it nonetheless, talking about the mysterious man that one day emerged as the owner of the once-dinky Cryptonomica, and how he wasn’t an open man but he was an amicable one. A brave one.

And because Ned had no one else that was willing to speak, the speeches end and the crowd breaks briefly before burial.

The Amnesty Lodge group gathers, talking idly with flowers and programs in their hands. It’s probably the first time that Mama has seen Duck not in the ranger uniform—but of course, he’s still wearing the hat. Barclay has trimmed his beard close, and Jake is in dark hues instead of neon ones.

Aubrey is also not her usual self. That much is obvious to anyone with any degree of familiarity with her.

The normally chatty magician is quiet; she stands eerily still, hands curled in her black dress as she listens to everyone chat. Her weight is subtly shifted to her good leg—she refused to use crutches at the service.

Mama is used to strange situations: to magic and monsters and violence. But nothing ever feels quite as strange, quite as wrong, as a funeral.

“I wish I had some… some, I don’t know, some cryptid keychains I could drop in, instead of these flowers.” Duck raises his bouquet accordingly: pink carnations. “I mean. Twenty-two years, and I never saw a damn flower in his place, not once. Did he even like flowers?”

“If he did, I sure doubt he would’ve told us—or if he did tell us, whether we would’ve believed him,” Mama replies. “Damn near everything that came out of that man’s mouth sounded like a lie. I don’t think dropping flowers will be an egregious sin against him.”

“I thought about maybe bringing some Nerf darts. I guess that wouldn’t go over too well, though, huh—”

Suddenly, Jake nudges Aubrey’s arm. “Hey, look.”

His pointed finger gets the group’s attention; they all turn to look at the item of interest: the grave marker, a couple yards away. They hover for a moment, scouring the letters. Eyebrows lower, foreheads wrinkle. Aubrey averts her eyes.

“Well, this sure solves that mystery, don’t it,” Mama finally says.

The marker reads: Edmund Kelly Chicane.

“I found it on some legal documents around the Cryptonomica,” Kirby pipes in from behind them, noticing their stares. His black suit fits baggy around the legs and tight around the belly, and it feels alien to see him without an RC Cola in hand. “Seemed more official, to put the full name on it.”

Mama nods and Kirby turns back to whatever discussion he was already having. The group is quiet for a beat. Then:

“...Just feels wrong,” Duck mumbles, removing his hat and shifting it from one hand to the other. “Having his full name out here, well, it’s like—like seeing the guy naked. Jesus Christ. Let the man have some privacy, he freakin’ beefed it.”

Mama stares for another moment, then: “I think I’m partial to ‘Ned Fuckin’ Chicane.’”

That earns a small laugh from the group—from everyone except for Aubrey. Mama looks at her with barely concealed concern, but Aubrey doesn’t seem to notice.

“Okay, but really: this all feels wrong. The flowers, the name—hachi machi,” Duck says again with a note of disgust. “This ain’t Ned’s style.”

“I’m not exactly sure what else we’re supposed to do?” Barclay says. “He’d at least like the high turnout, if that’s any comfort.”

But Duck is barely listening. He pivots, looking at the scene around them: the townsfolk, the marker, the rows of chairs, the grave itself, the program in his hands—

And then he gets an idea.

He slides a pen out of his front pocket, flips the program over, and jots something down in loose letters. Clicks the pen closed and stares at his handiwork for a moment. Rips off that last page.

Aubrey, standing to his right, merely looks up at him with the question in her eyes. Duck, catching her stare, turns the paper towards her.

It reads: Fucking.

The park ranger shrugs. “This felt like something he’d appreciate more than just some stinkin’ flowers.”

And with that, he strides towards the grave, gives one final look at the coffin within, and drops the piece of paper. He glances up at their group. He mouths the name: Ned Fucking Chicane. And then he walks back.

This action does not go unnoticed. As Duck makes his way back to their group, other attendees peer into the grave—some laugh, some look appalled, some smile nostalgically.

“Duck,” Barclay says, his voice verging on giddy. “Where did you come up with that?”

The park ranger doesn’t seem to share the same excitement for the act. As he gets closer, he slaps a hand to his face, head bowed.

“What did I just fuckin’ do,” he moans under his breath. “I go to a man’s damn funeral and drop curse words on his grave? Have I gone bonkers? Why didn’t any of you stop me?”

“Duck—” Mama interjects.

“Fuckin’ hell, guys, I might as well have just shouted a big ol’ cuss in the middle of his final rites—”

“Duck, stop. No, look,” Mama says, planting a firm hand on his shoulder and giving him a small shake. “Look.”

Pens have emerged from pockets and purses, and the residents of Kepler are scribbling on their own programs. They write, and then they line up.

Everyone contributes something.

Boss, Bastard, Conspiracy. Danger, Superstar, Entrepreneur. Black Diamond, Flamboyant, Brave. Fuckin’, Effin’, Fucking.

The coffin is almost entirely concealed by paper. Middle name after middle name tumbles down into the hole, and it takes a good twenty minutes for the stream to taper out.

Aubrey watches her friends and neighbors drop their pieces in. And yet, she can’t bring herself to join. She just doesn’t know what to write.

(After everything… what could she write?)

She still hasn’t written anything by the time that they’re told to gather around for the end of the ceremony. Feels a swell of panic when the first shovel breaks the ground and tosses earth onto the pile.

Dirt cascades into the plot and the town watches silently as his titles are buried—until the only name that remains is the one on the gravemarker.

And then the service is over. People hover by the filled plot, saying final goodbyes to each other, exchanging hugs and words. It’s a flurry of movement for all but Aubrey.

Instead, Aubrey thinks.

She thinks as she says goodbye to the other attendees, telling her that they’ll see her soon. Barclay says he’ll have some soup at home. Duck says he’ll pop into the Lodge sometime tonight.

She thinks as the bulk of the town shuffles away, quiet conversation bubbling between them:

Remember when Ned crashed that stupid drone into a tree and the national parks office got flooded with calls of Mothman sightings for three whole days? Remember when he had the live studio audience of kids for Saturday Night Dead, and how he scared them senseless by dressing up in a yeti costume and jumping them? Remember when he went on Google Reviews and made the Cryptonomica the most upvoted place in Kepler—. And then they’re too far away to hear.

She’s almost alone: just her, Mama, and a heavy silence remain. And finally, Aubrey writes something down.

She walks on numb legs to the grave, coming to a slow halt beside it. With a slight wince, she bends over and slots her paper into the freshly turned dirt. She rises and gives it one final glance.

Mama calls from a few yards away, eyes shining with sympathy; Aubrey nods and rejoins her.

“You ready?” Mama asks, her big hand spanning Aubrey’s entire back.

“Yeah. I… I’m ready.”

They slowly move away, towards the trees. Neither of them look back.

A lone piece of paper flutters in a soft wind, unread.

The sun sinks and the stars twinkle into existence overhead, clear and cold. They shine brilliantly, beautifully over the headstone, and while the man beneath them is gone, this final middle name is not.

Written in careful, cursive letters:

Friend.

[tabarnaks]

It’s around 7 p.m. on a day in the middle of December, and, for the first time, Duck has just told Minerva that he won’t be her pawn in the crazy future she predicts. The air in the room is cold, numbing the tips of his fingers. The heating broke last week, and money’s been just a little too tight to comfortably pay to get it fixed. Duck knows he should get up and turn on the space heater in his room, but he’s laying on his bed staring up at the ceiling, considering the plastic glow-in-the-dark stars he stuck up there as a child. He knows he’s avoiding the actual questions he should be asking himself. He knows, he knows, he knows. He wonders why he hasn’t taken them down. They haven’t glowed in years, and he isn’t a child anymore. He knows it doesn’t matter, and the real issues he should be thinking about sit heavy in his chest. Duck moves his arms, ignoring the needles in his cold fingers, and crosses them over his chest, pushing everything he desperately wants to avoid down.

It’s around 11 p.m. on the last day of March, and Duck doesn’t know it yet, but, today, he saw Minerva for the last time in decades. It’s been a rough few months for everyone. They fixed the heating on the first week of March, just in time for the temperature to start rising again. Duck had a long tumultuous talk with his mother. A new inn opened, apparently unaware of the failing tourism industry in Kepler. Duck cut his hair, gave half his clothes to Jane and Juno, and slowly got used to the stares on the street and whispers in the school halls. They stopped on the second week of March, when the new gossip finally came in. It’s much more interesting to talk about the kid who disappeared in plain sight by the river. But Duck can’t think about it. Duck won’t think about it. He’s been forced to consider many things since his initial refusal in December. He’s considered things about the state of the world, about himself, about his choices. He’s made the right choices. He must have. Still he doubts.  “Juno,” he says, knowing there’s little chance he’ll remember the conversation the next morning, “Do you think I made the right decision?” And Duck knows she’s just as messed up as he is right now, and Duck knows they’re not talking about the same thing, but he decides to just let her words ease all of his guilt. For now.  “Of course you did,” she smiles at him, and the weight on Duck’s chest finally melts off, joining the snow spring has slowly been eating away. He wakes up the next morning, and though it’s all a blur, the heaviness hasn’t come back.

It’s around 3 p.m. on a special day in November, and Duck has just woken up from surgery. He knows already that he has no regrets about any of it. He feels like a new man. Jane is so proud of him. So is Juno. His mother is too, according to Jane. He’s a grown man, he shouldn’t be so hurt by her absence, but he is. 

It’s around 2 p.m. on a more regular day in December, and the doctor has just finished telling Duck how amazing he’s healing. A memory that’s not quite yet an old dream comes to Duck. Something about having superior protection from harm. Duck shakes the thought away, and thanks the doctor for her work before leaving.

It’s around 10 a.m. on the first weekend of May, and Duck is walking through town holding a tightly wrapped relic of his strange past in his right hand. He almost misses his destination, though the new owner has apparently made sure it’s impossible to miss. The new sign is big, and very bright. Duck’s sure Victoria would have hated it. Well, at least the guy waited six months before putting it up. Duck walks in, ignoring the exhibits, and heads straight for the main desk. The man behind it is entirely unfamiliar, Duck knows instantly he’s not from Kepler. The man starts talking, introducing himself as Ned, and starts trying to sell his museum. Duck interrupts him, “Sorry, I’m not here for any of the exhibits. I just heard you deal with strange objects and I have something I think you might be interested in.” He puts Beacon on the counter with a heavy thud.  The man’s face shifts, from cheesy salesman to an unreadable half smile, “Well, what is it? Please, I’m always open to making deals, especially in regards to things directly from this beautiful town.” Duck pulls away the cloth tied around the sword, letting Ned eye it for a few seconds before motioning for him to inspect it more closely.  “It’s a sword…” Duck’s mouth suddenly feels very, very dry, “that I have.” Ned picks it up, puts on a pair of small glasses that Duck suspects are just for show, and starts slowly inspecting Beacon, “And what’s so special about this thing?” he asks. “Well,” Duck swallows, biting his tongue to keep from saying anything he’ll regret, “Well, it talks sometimes.” It doesn’t make sense, but Duck knows it’s true. It had talked this morning when he’d taken it out of the box at the bottom of his closet. It’s the final proof that Minerva was something more than a weird side effect of teenage hormones, dysphoria, and weed. And Duck’s determined to get rid of it right now, leaving it with this stranger. Ned looks up at him then back down at the sword, “With the mouth?” “Y-yeah. Also, you’ve never seen anything like it, right?” The other man puts the sword back down on the counter and puts his glasses away, “Well, you’re right about that.” he pauses, finger gently tracing the sharp blade, “It actually is a real sword, huh? How much for it?�� “Oh, you can have it for free. Consider it a donation to your museum.” Ned smiles, a genuine smile this time, “Why didn’t you tell me that immediately! Of course I’ll take such a fine item if it’s a donation from one of Kepler’s esteemed residents, the very generous, um, I don’t believe you’ve introduced yourself.” “Oh, sorry. I’m Duck Newton,” he reaches out a hand to shake Ned’s, “I’m a forest ranger.” “Well, it’s great to meet you Duck,” answers Ned, “and it’s even greater to humbly accept your donation to The Cryptonomica.”

It’s around 1 p.m. on the second Sunday of May, and Duck knows he’s already dreadfully late, but he’s dragging his feet anyway. He doesn’t know how his sister looped him into this. He finally pulls up in front of his childhood home. He wants to stay in the car, he wants to turn the ignition back on and drive away, he wants an escape. He wants to do the easy thing. But Jane had made him promise before leaving for her first international trip. Duck gets out of the car, locks the doors, and doesn’t even have to knock before the door is open. “Duck,” his mother says, the word feels foreign in her voice, Duck almost doesn’t register it as his name, “I’m so glad you came.” She looks a lot older than she did before. Duck guesses he must look older now too. He looks into her eyes, and he knows the conversation they’re about to have. Maybe she’ll push it back for a while, maybe she’ll wait until dessert, maybe they’ll finish eating and then she’ll ask him to stay. Duck doesn’t know her well enough anymore to know what she’ll do. But he looks in her eyes, ignoring the ache in his chest, ignoring the old wounds that never really healed opening up again, and he knows what he’ll say to her. He knows she’ll be genuine, he knows she’ll mean her apologies. He knows he won’t be able to forgive her. He’s not ready.  “Me too,” he answers.

It’s around 7 p.m. on a hot day in July, and Duck’s looking at the sword sitting heavy in his hand. It’s still as heavy as when he’d first held it when he was a teenager, but this time there’s something different about it. He knows he’s not ready to accept the destiny Minerva’s imposing on him again. He can’t do that, even now, it’s too much for him. He’s just a regular guy. But the sword sits in his hand, steady and warm to the touch, and Duck knows that he has to at least do something. He’s never going to save the world, Duck knows that, but he can at least do some real good using Minerva’s gifts.

It’s around 2 a.m. on one of the days following Christmas, and the world somehow doesn’t make sense anymore. Duck is awake, and has been for too long now. His eyelids shut despite him, even though the light is open, even though he’s on his old couch and not in his bed, even though he desperately wants to stay awake until things start to make sense again. He never wanted Minerva’s powers. He never wanted to be some hero doomed to save the planet. Still, he finds no relief in the possibility that he doesn’t have that responsibility anymore. Sure, he’s still part of the Pine Guard and he’s going to continue that, but the pressure’s off. It all feels meaningless. The cat makes something fall in the other room, and Duck can’t remember what he was thinking about anymore. A few moments pass, and the realization of how easy it would be to kill him right now comes back to the forefront of his mind. One unlucky step, one scratch, one bite, anything, anything, anything could kill him now. His eyes close for a second and he opens them back up fifteen minutes later. He passes a hand through his tangled hair and lays down on his couch, ignoring how uncomfortable it is. He closes his heavy eyes again. He hopes Minerva’s okay. He needs Minerva to be okay. His world fades away for the night.

It’s around 4 p.m. on one of the last days of February, and Duck’s burying a friend. Not many people are here, just Aubrey, Kirby, Dani, and Barclay. He can’t really blame the other Sylfs for being absent. Being out like this with all the FBI presence around is dangerous. He sticks close to Aubrey, who’s holding Dani’s hand tight. Duck wants to cry, feels like he should be crying, but he can’t muster up any real emotion right now. Kepler’s cemetery is small. Duck’s acutely aware of how close he is to the last person he buried here. He wants to stay for a few minutes after they’ve paid their respects to Ned. He wants to tell her about what’s going on in Kepler right now. He wants to tell her about what’s going on with him right now. But then Aubrey’s hugging him, and he’s hugging her back, and there are tears in her eyes, and, finally, finally, Duck is crying too, and he knows he can’t go wandering off, even for a few minutes. He needs to stay with his friends, at least for tonight. 

It’s around 4 a.m. on the first hot day of March, and Duck is woken up by some shuffling in the living room. Since the mountain, it’s been a pretty common occurrence, between Minerva who seems to follow a different sleep cycle and some of the Sylfs who are just naturally inclined to get up at various hours of the night. He turns in his bed, ready to go back to sleep, when he hears a fumble, the breaking of glass, all followed by a soft “Fuck” which Duck recognises immediately. He sighs, silently moving out from under his covers and heads to his living room, where Aubrey is picking up pieces of glass off the floor. “At least use the broom,” he says, heading to the kitchen to get it. “It’s just for the big pieces,” she answers, but she takes the broom anyway when Duck hands it to her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.” “It’s okay, it happens.” They stay silent while Aubrey finishes cleaning up. As the last pieces of glass go in the trash, Duck speaks up again, “Are you alright?” “Yeah, yeah, I didn’t get cut or anything. Though we should probably pass the vacuum when everyone’s awake just for the super tiny pieces.” Duck shoots her a look, and Aubrey sighs throwing herself down on the couch next to him, “I just keep thinking about Ned.” She moves her hair out of her face, showing the tired, impossibly sad look on her face, “You know the last thing I ever said to him was essentially to fuck off and never come back to Kepler again.” Duck’s surprised, but it does explain the state of The Cryptonomica when they’d gone back there, “I’m sure you didn’t say it like that,” It also explains the letters he’d left both of them, Duck realizes. “It might as well have been. What difference does it make? He died-” Aubrey voice breaks and she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, “Ned died thinking I wanted him gone.” “Did you?” “I don’t know. Maybe? I did before he died.” They stay in silence for a few more minutes, staring at the black screen of Duck’s old TV. “You know, Aubrey, when I came out to my mom, she took it really bad. Like, real bad. She didn’t,” Duck bites his tongue, he’s never talked about this with anyone. It’s always felt like a bit too much, but if someone’s ever going to hear him out, it’s going to be Aubrey, “She didn’t kick me out or anything, but it was rough. I went into dorms for college, and I chose not to go back to the house until a decade later. She apologized when I came back. We had lunch, we talked, she explained how she was obviously wrong. She meant every word of it. She regretted her old actions, she regretted every wrong thing she’d done to me, every wrong thing she’d said about me. I still couldn’t forgive her. I wasn’t ready.” “Oh,” Aubrey gasps, barely even audible in the quiet of the room. Duck sniffs, and wipes away the tear that had started to fall down his face, “We saw each other a little after that, Christmas dinners here and there, but nothing real. She died a few years back. She died and I hadn’t ever really forgiven her. Well, I hadn’t told her if I had anyway.” “I’m… sorry.” Aubrey says. There’s another pause, this one feeling even heavier than the last one. “Do you regret not telling her?” “Oh yeah, definitely. It’s hard, because I think that I only would have really forgiven her last month if I still could, but, man, people dying makes forgiveness way easier than it actually is.” “Do you think I’ll ever… I don’t know. Do you think I’ll ever stop feeling so guilty about Ned?” “Yeah, of course you will, Aubrey. ” Duck takes her hands in his, squeezing reassuringly, “It’s awful to live with, and maybe it’ll never be easy to think about Ned’s death, but life continues on, and your grief will slowly ease away.” She looks at him with her bright eyes, and Duck thinks for a second that she’s about to argue, about to tell him he’s wrong, but she just sighs, “Thanks, Duck. You’re a good friend.” She pulls her hands away from Duck’s to get a tissue, “I guess we should go back to bed now, huh?” “Only if you want to.” They watch the sunrise that morning, both smiling at the memories of Ned’s shenanigans.

It is 9:30 p.m. on the day of the apocalypse, and Duck is surrounded by friends. He’s been terrified of this moment for his entire adult life, even when he wouldn’t acknowledge it. But now that it’s here, now that he knows that every part of their plan is in place, now that there’s no choice but to face the monster that lies just beyond the gate, Duck is calm. Well, as calm as he can be anyway. He’s holding Beacon in his hand, Aubrey to his right, and Arlo to his left, and they’re waiting for it all to kick off. He takes a deep breath, and realizes, that maybe for the first time in his life, he’s ready.

He’s ready.

[gingersimasnaps]

Every heart needs a beat (Order AU/Hannibal fanfic)

THIS IS SERIOUSLY ONE BIG MESS. Remember True colors, my Order AU fanfic? It can be found here on my blog. Well, Laura, Vera’s niece was briefly mentioned there. And because I’m my usual weird me, I had a dream about the first third of this work. So I sat down to write it. It turned into something bigger, and I’m somewhat proud of it. 

So, let’s pretend Laura Stone, Vera’s niece, starts to work in Blue Rose Law Office, under Kepler’s supervision, and gets to advocate Margot Verger in Verger vs. Verger case. They fall in love, and Mason finds out. And things go bad, bad, bad way.

As I said, this is pure mess and I’m still not sure about sharing, but hey, world belongs to the brave, right? :D

Every heart needs a beat (Order AU/Hannibal) Margot Verger/Laura Stone (OC) Word count:  3563 Angst; hurt/comfort; character death

Margot sees her through the glass door. She's so fragile, so broken, so -

Some young doctor is currently trying to talk to her, but Laura just stares to nowhere, blinks occasionally, so quiet, not reacting at all, like the life is sucked out of her, and Margot just can't hold herself any longer. She all but bursts through the door and –

"Laura," she only whispers, but it's enough for the young redhead woman to lift her head. There is pure disbelief visible on her face, but in a second, she stands up and runs to her, and Margot catches her in her arms.

"Margot," sobs Laura, her voice stranded, "you're alive... Are you alive?"

"Of course I am, honey, I'm here," Margot cooes, but question after question runs through her head -  why? what makes you to ask this? What did he do to you?

Laura holds tightly, tighter than ever, and her sobs soon turn into guts wrenching weeps. Her whole body is shaking and Margot wants to cover her, hide her, protect her, so no one would touch this beautiful creature, sent to her right from heavens again, especially not her masochistic brother, but she can only hold her and it looks like it can’t be enough.

"He told me you're dead," Laura cries, "he showed me - he sh - he showed me your - your dead body, a pic – cture of it, and I - I couldn't - I was thinki - and he said you’re not - and, and -"

"Baby," whispers Margot, pulls her closer, even though it looks impossible, and while Laura dugs her fingernails deep into her skin for the reassurement that it's real, that Margot is real, she fights the pure rage flooding through her veins. She could kill Mason with her bare hands now, not even batting an eye. She deals with what he did to her every day, and sometimes she even feels okay, thanks to her lover -  but this is completely different, because this is Laura. It's Laura, cheeky and ironic and sassy at the first glance, but innocent, soft, tender, gorgeous inside and out when you get to know her, and it's her's Laura. No one is messing with the source of her happiness, let alone Mason.

"I'm here, love, I'm alive, we're both alive..." instead of rage, Margot fights tears now. She has broken woman in her arms. And her own blood caused it.

She knows Vera is probably crawling the walls up outside the private wing of the hospital, or maybe clawing Hamish's eyes out simply because she's worried sick and waits for Margot's call, but she can't bring herself to move. She just wants to hold the redhead as long as she can.

"I want to go home," she senses more than hears Laura whisper. Her dry lips are touching her neck and it just feels so wrong. Her lips are always soft and strawberry-like. Except now they aren't. Nothing is like it was two weeks ago.

"We are going home," Margot says, and the doctor's head snaps up.

"You can't go home. Miss Stone is staying here."

"No," Laura moans painfully. "I want to go home, Margot, please..." and another panic attack hits her and she again tightens her grip. "Please, don't leave me here alone, please, please!"

Margot looks at the doctor, eyes hard. "Laura is going home with me," she states.

"No," snaps the doctor, and her eyes darken behind her glasses. Typical bossy girl, probably resident, who thinks she owns the whole hospital.

At first, Margot wants to fully release Laura from her embrace for a moment to talk to the doctor, but then she sees Laura's face, stricken with incredible fear, pain, hazel eyes full of panic, and takes her hand.

"I'm not going anywhere. Never. Just give a moment, and then we will go home," she says and kisses Laura slightly on her forehead. Never letting go of her hand, she turns to the doctor, who looks like she's ready to call some security to stop them from leaving.

"For the last time, Miss Stone is going home with me. You and your snobbish ass have no idea what she went through and don't even tell me you read it in her file, because words can't describe a single second of the past two weeks. She was abused and tortured enough already and I'm not letting you torment her any further. And if you say another word about her staying here, God help me but you will know how the glass from your fake glasses feels in your eyes."

Laura manages to walk behind the corner when her legs finally give up, and she feels her head sway backwards, but two soft hands hold her.

"Laura, hold on for a while more. Just a few minutes. Do it for me, please, I know you can. Just keep walking. I love you," she hears and it's enough to gather all the remaining strength and walk again, Margot's arm around her waist.

It's bright, sunny day, when they exit the hospital. Just like the day when Mason killed Margot, as he told her. But Margot is right next to her, big blue eyes are saying it's real, so that means Mason didn't kill her. It also means the tiniest sparkle of hope. Laura reaches up and puts her hand on Margot's cheek.

Before she can say something, someone who smells familiar, like men's cologne Werewolf by Hermès and women's Magic by Cartier, her aunt Vera, is holding her, and Laura feels how her body stiffens. She loves Vera, but she can't feel her right now, she can't feel anyone but Margot. Yet, she keeps reminding herself to stay still, and Vera eventually pulls back.

"You have no idea how happy I am right now," says Vera and kisses her on her cheek. Laura tries to smile. It comes out as a pained face, but she's glad to see her, and such an outburn of emotions from Vera‘s side means she was really scared out of her mind.

"I missed you, Vera," she manages to say, and her aunt gives her one of her rare, genuine smiles. Hamish is there also, he's always there of course, but he's smart enough not to touch her, so he just talks to her a little, and Laura is able to answer him. She watches him intertwine his fingers with Vera's, and even though it hurts like hell to move, she spuns around fast, because what if Margot disappeared -

She's there. The most beautiful woman on Earth, and she comes to her, takes her face in hands, eyes shining with emotions.

"I'm so sorry I let him hurt you," whispers Margot with a sharp, pained end in her voice. Laura shakes her head.

"I would let him to do it again and again and again if it would guarantee me your safety."

Margot cries when she kisses her on lips. "Let's get you home."

Hamish drives. Vera sits in the passenger seat and has her hand placed over his on the stick shift, but her eyes are trained on Laura in the rearview mirror. Laura knows, feels it, but refuses to look back at her, or open her eyes at all. Margot has her arm around her, breathes softly in her hair, and Laura wants to be like this forever. But after roughly half an hour, Hamish parks in front of the apartment building.

"We're here," he says, as if it isn't obvious, and Margot moves, so Laura has to move too. They all get out of the car and if the world wouldn't be so hazy, Laura would probably be surprised to see Vera with watery eyes.

"Be safe, Laura, please, " she says, and it contains more of everything  than million of words.

"You too," answers Laura, and this time, she feels ready enough to shake Hamish's hand. His touch isn't uncomfortable, and Laura thinks it's simply because it's Hamish, and she already knows him as a partner of her aunt.

Eventually they get into Margot's apartment. She was there before, but it feels different now. Margot brushes the hair from the side of her head.

"Are you hungry?"

"No," the redhead answers. "Can I... Take a shower please?"

"You don't have to ask," assures her the beautiful black haired woman, and opens the bathroom door.

"Will you go with me?" Laura hates herself for asking, but she can't be alone now. Margot wears the kindest smile and nods.

They go to the bathroom together. Margot starts to undress her. Laura‘s body is so scarred, edges jagged, it looks like someone - not someone, Mason, wanted to rip her into tiny pieces.

"Margot, stop. I'm - hideous. Don't look at me," the ginger woman whispers, and Margot stands up and circles her arms around her.

"Laura, my sweet, beautiful baby, you're the most gorgeous woman I've ever laid my eyes on. These scars are a reminder of how brave and heroic you are. Don't you ever say you're hideous, please, it's not true at all."

The redhead whimpers and Margot understands she's coming to the breaking point. She quickly undresses herself, helps her into the shower, turns water on, sits down and Laura collapses against her. Margot pulls her closer to her chest, also scarred, and kisses her hair, temples, cheeks, jawbones, everywhere she reaches, while Laura cries a river, sobs wracking her even worse than in the hospital.

"I love you," whispers Margot, and repeats it over and over, until the water is cold and Laura calmer. She picks her up from the tub and almost winces at the fact she's light as a feather.

In the bedroom, shades closed but dim light from a little lamp on, because Mason kept her in dark and Laura is scared, Margot kisses every single one of her scars and then holds her. When Laura finally falls asleep, completely exhausted, the dark haired woman remembers their first encounter, and how Laura was the strong one, assuring her that Mason Verger is going to be punished, and how she believed the young, fierce lawyer every word. How their meetings shifted from professional to personal. She can almost feel the champagne taste of their first kiss.

And here they are, a year after, and the only person punished is Laura. Because Margot loves her, and she loves Margot.

She doesn't go to sleep, and in a less than a hour, she brushes nightmare away from Laura's face with her hand, reminds her she loves her, and that she's safe now.

She's more than ready to face the difficult months that are ahead of them.

*

She watches in awe when Laura goes fully back to her lawyer mode only a week after, but slowly, the awe turns to worries. It's understandable she wants justice for Mason, but it eats her alive. Margot begs Vera to do something, and Vera does - she literally forbids her niece to enter the Blue Rose building. Laura understands quickly it's Margot behind it, and screams at her on top of her lungs for solid hour, before something breaks inside her and in a second, she's crying, kissing her face, begging for forgiveness. Margot simply hugs her and that's it, their first big fight is over.

The night before the trial is warm, stars are shining brightly together with almost full moon, and light breeze plays with the curtains in their bedroom. They go to sleep early, but when midnight passes, Laura sighs, throws blanket away and goes to stand on the balcony. Margot joins her after few minutes. „It’s going to be alright,“ says Laura, and Margot can’t pinpoint who she wants to assure more. „As long as we’re rogether, it is alright,“ she answers.

When morning creeps through the curtains, Laura rises from the bed and dresses herself into a white shirt and black skirt. She also puts black tights on and crowns the whole outfit with black heels. „You look like Vera,“ muses Margot. Laura smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes and it’s visible she’s totally focused on the trial.

The courtroom is full. Vera and Hamish are there, her psychologist Alana Bloom is there, even Elizabeth Kepler, that lawyer bitch who is responsible for Laura’s kidnapping and Mason’s escaping, because she left them alone and unguarded, is spotted. Vera kicked her out of the office and made sure she will never get a job as a lawyer again when she found out, and Margot is beyond satisfied with it.

Vera seated next to her almost flips over when she sees who is Mason’s lawyer, and of course it’s Edward Coventry, with a sly grin on his face, and when the actual trial starts, Margot understands he’s good, very good. He throws away evidence after evidence, and the judge seems to believe him.

„It looks like there isn’t enough evidence against Mr. Verger,“ he says after 3 excruciating hours. At that, Laura closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Then she rises from her seat and starts to unbutton her shirt. Margot trembles at the sight, Vera crushes Hamish’s hand, and Mason’s face gets new shade of grey with every single button.

It doesn’t take long and Laura is standing in front of the judge and with her back to the whole courtroom in her underwear and thigths only. „My body is the evidence you need,“ she says, and even though Margot can’t see it, she knows there are tears streaming down her beautiful face.

„I wake up and go to sleep every day with these scars, and I will do so for the rest of my life. But I don’t care to be honest, because it’s not only me he tortured. It was his sister mainly, someone who falls asleep next to me in the evening, and I see her scars, and it hurts me way more than this mess of mine. She went through fucking hell and back several times, and if for nothing else, he has to be punished for doing this to his own blood. Is this finally enough?“

The judges is shocked and feels like he needs to vomit. His daughter is probably the same age as this young lawyer in front of him, and if someone did this to her, he would probably kill the one behind it. And from the ashened face of Mr. Verger, he really does believe it was him.

Laura wins, of course. There is no place for debate after what she showed to everyone there. As soon as the judge gives the judgment – death sentence – and releases them, Laura stands up and goes straight to Margot’s embrace, breathing out in relief.

Later, when night slowly sets above the city, Margot finds her sitting on their bed, crumpled paper with the judgment in hands. „What’s wrong?“ Margot asks. Laura slowly lifts her eyes to her. „Does – does that make me a monster too? That I’m happy he’s gonna die but at the same I know there are better ways to kill him? What’s the difference between me and him if I feel this way?“

Quick, firm „no!“ comes from Margot. She shifts so she can bring Laura closer. „No, love. You don’t want every man on Earth dead, do you? It’s only Mason, and he’s gonna get what he deserves. And we’re being gracious here, because he deserves much more than one simple, quick death.“ Silence falls between them for a while. „What better ways?“

Laura swallows. „I was… You know, I think it would be… good… if one of his fucking eels would suffocate him.“ Margot wants to laugh, because the would be one hell of a death for Mason, but when the redhead whispers „make love to me, Margot“ pleadingly, she lets her sadistic brother go, and concentrate her whole being on kissing her lover. It’s tender, slow, full of admiration, and Laura tells her milion times over how much she loves her, and that she will love her forever.

Mason Verger gets electric chair two weeks after. Margot wants to watch it, but Laura talks her out of it. „How about we let the past bet he past?“ she says, and it’s the strong, fierce, insanely beautiful lawyer in her again, the one Margot fell in love with. Mason didn’t break her at all. So during the time of his death, they go for a walk instead, scarred hand in scarred hand, sweet lips against sweet lips, both women finally free.

It’s ordinary Tuesday a few weeks after, when Laura storms through the door. She was at the court and it wasn’t nice. Images of blood and records of screams for help. The woman was torturing her husband, Laura’s client, and Laura realizes everyone can be the bad one. She also realizes how fragile is the thing called happiness, and that she doesn’t want Margot’s, hers, theirs happines be destroyed. So she pulls a little box out of her purse, kneels in front of Margot, who is cooking dinner, and asks her to marry her. Margot cries happy tears and says yes. The dinner ends up burnt but they can’t care less.

Vera and Hamish surprise them with pregnancy announcement. It’s a little hesitant, especially when they know Mason made sure to forbid Margot from having children, but she beams at them, and everything feels alright. Months go rather fast and suddenly it’s August, and Isabelle Duke meets the world. Hamish is dad for the first time and Vera is frightened she will lose Isabelle just like she lost Katharine, so they’re both scared, but thrilled over the moon, and it’s obvious the baby has the most loving parents.

Isabelle turns six months just two weeks before the wedding. Future wives picked a gift, but Margot is a little ill, so Laura goes to see her – their – family alone. Her wedding dress is already in their bedroom, next to Margot’s, and they exchange a dozen of last-before-I-go kisses, because just the thought of the wedding is making them both incredibly soft.

„I really have to go,“ the ginger eventually sighs. Margot watches her with her big blue eyes, filled with so much love it makes her breath hitch. „I know. I wish I could go with you. Kiss Isabelle from me, okay? And tell her I can’t wait to dance with her on our wedding.“ „You act like I’m gonna let you go out of my arms, baby,“ answers Laura with a smirk, and leans to get another kiss. „I love you, Margot.“ „I love you too, honey,“ says Margot, and kisses her. „I’ll be back in two hours tops,“ promises the younger girl, and finally goes.

She never comes back home.

Instead of wedding dress, Margot wears black skirt, black shirt, black coat, and holds a bouquet of white roses. Her eyes are crimson red and her throat hurts, because of all those tears and screams. She still doesn’t believe it, she doesn’t believe that life can be so cruel to take the whole world away from her when things went the good way for once. This isn’t fair. They don’t deserve it. Laura didn’t deserve it. And it’s a fucking irony the funeral is today, on their wedding day.

Vera seated next to her holds Isabelle tightly, and silently cries in Hamish’s embrace. She should probably comfort Laura’s aunt, but she has no energy for that. Even breathing hurts. Everything hurts. Mason and his torturing feels like some game against this kind of pain. For a moment, she hates Isabelle. If it wouldn’t be for her, Laura would never cross the road, and an eighteen-year-old, drunk man behind the BMW steering wheel would never kill her. But it’s not the baby girl’s fault.

It’s her own. She was a fool when she thought that she could be happy, that she could love without sacrifices, that universe is somehow repaying her for all those years bounded with Mason. Turns out Mason was only a prequel.

She goes to the open coffin. Laura is lying there, her young face is beautiful as ever, but the eyes under the soft eyelids are not loving and kind anymore. There is just blackness and nothingness, just like inside Margot. Her body is still alive, but the real Margot Verger died on the road also.

„I love you, Laura,“ she whispers brokenly. „I do. I will always do.“ She wears her wedding ring, and Laura’s is strung on one of the roses. Margot wants her to have it. Maybe it will lead her closer to Margot once they will both be at place of no return. „Wait for me, please,“ she says with one last kiss on her cold, non responding, dead lips. The fact there is no answer breaks her once again, and she wishes for some black hole to swallow her. As every single of her wishes, this one also falls on deaf ears.

That night, lying in her cold bed alone, she realizes she doesn’t feel it. Every heart needs a beat, but she doesn’t feel it. Her heartbeat was buried today under a pile of clay.

She presses her face to Laura’s pillow, breathes in her scent, and cries her dead, empty heart out.

[izuris]

TAZ: Amnesty Playlist

I wrote out the song list and an explanation for each song, major spoilers of course so be careful!

Bad Moon Rising / Creedence Clearwater Revival / a good way to set the tone imo, upbeat but impending doom

Alien Boy / Oliver Tree / a fun song to introduce otherworldly life

arrow / half•alive / "Life begins to happen when I plan something else/ Trying to be somebody, but all I got was someone else/ But my plan's always changing, always rearranging, no/ Slow it down, release control, slow and steady, let me know" /Reminds of the pine guard as a whole. They all had different directions they wanted to go and ended up here with newfound powers or responsibilities

Dancing in the Moonlight / King Harvest / a fun way to capture the tone of Amnesty Lodge "When that moon is big and bright/ It's a supernatural delight/ Everybody's dancin' in the moonlight/ Everybody here is out of sight/ They don't bark, and they don't bite/ They keep things loose, they keep 'em tight"

Send Me On My Way / Rusted Root / reminds me of the pine guard starting off as a team, I can picture a montage of them to this fun bop

Wake Me Up / Avicii / a bit cliche I know, but it reminds me both of Aubrey and Duck "Feeling my way through the darkness/ Guided by a beating heart I can't tell where the journey will end But I know where to start/ They tell me I'm too young to understand/ They say I'm caught up in a dream/ Well life will pass me by if I don't open up my eyes/ Well that's fine by me"

Secrets of the Stars / The Milk Carton Kids / a Duck song, gives me duck vibes

In Blue / Declan McKenna / just another amnesty lodge atmospheric bop

The End of Love / Florence + the Machine / the amnesty lodge family in regards to the water monster plot

Crazy / Gnarls Barkley / Thacker is found

Hard Times / Paramore / next stressful bits of plot for the gang, again, I can picture a montage

Renegades / X Ambassadors / the hornets, specifically Jake and Hollis

Salt / Bad Suns / I'm not sure which character this represents for me, I just felt like it fit a vibe, especially with a shape shifter going around

Not a Damn Thing Changed / Lukas Graham / reminds me of the hornets after they were attacked

Dream On / Aerosmith / I picture Ned and Aubrey singing this in the van

-These next few songs remind me of episode 28-

Dread in my Heart / Mother Mother / the sick feeling rising in everyone (specifically Ned's) stomach about the situation

No Children / The Mountain Goats / Boyd and Ned song

The Chain / Fleetwood Mac / confrontation between Ned and Aubrey

Try to Change / Mother Mother / Ned. This is about Ned. "In a decadent age I try to/ change/ all my decadent ways but I just can't help but/ stay the same./ In a decadent age.// Carry a cane./ I carry/ a cane./ 'cause I tried to change/ and I tried too hard/ so I hurt my leg and/ well, overall/ I just stayed the same./ Now I carry a cane."

Weight in Gold / Gallant / NED! Specifically him coming to terms with the consequences of his actions, also his apology to Aubrey and taking the fall for what was technically Boyd's fault "I'll take the fall for the both of us" I just love this song for him

Satellite / Guster / the cut to Duck and Minerva fighting on the satellite, just a fun cool song for those two

Spirit in the Sky / Norman Greenbaum / I imagine this song playing as Aubrey is running through the woods, crying, while trying to stop Janelle from destroying the mountain

Unbearably White / Vampire Weekend / this song just holds a lot of interesting vibes for me and I can picture it to several scenes. The mountain, the aftermath, etc. interpret how you will. One of my favorite lines is "sooner or later the story gets told, to tell it myself would be unbearably bold"

Meet Me in the Woods / Lord Huron / Thacker returning from madness! I can't even pick lyrics to write here cause they're all so good!

Homesick / Sleeping at Last / Kepler during lock down, reminds me of Aubrey and Dani

Deep Blue / Arcade Fire/ the gang plotting to take back Kepler and save the world

Put Your Money on Me / Arcade Fire / executing their plan!

Raise Hell / Brandi Carlile / this is an Aubrey fight song

Dark Days / Punch Brother / Aubrey & Sylvain relationship mood

Big God / Florence + the Machine / ALSO Aubrey and Sylvain ! And maybe even the Quell too

Flower of the Universe / Sade / Aubrey AGAIN I just love her she's so powerful How Far We've Come / Matchbox Twenty / yay! We defeated the quell! It's over.... or is it??

Black Sheep / Metric / the final fight "(Black Sheep, come home) Hello again, friend of a friend, I knew you when/ Our common goal was waiting for the/ world to end/ Now that the truth is just a/ rule that you can bend/ You crack the whip, shape-shift and trick the past again" I just think this song has a different vibe from the rest of the playlist that sets up a great mood for how the finale felt. Also it makes me think of Billy

Violin Tsunami / Kishi Bashi / Thacker's ending (with the quell) "When our faith/ was on the edge/ Of the winds/ The summer days on end/ Memories of the/ setting sunlight/ Would tell a different way to be/ To be, to be/... When in song we are blessed to be/ Mending the rift of our apathy/ I have the answer/ You will remain/ Days on end after the end of the cancer/ One day you will follow the sound of laughter/ One day we'll/ Fall in love" it just feels like a great song to represent his freedom in the wilderness and his guide to the quell as he teaches them to love and heal

Dog Days Are Over / Florence + the Machine / Aubrey's ending, I could hear this as I pictured her running through the fields growing flowers and trees, healing her world

In Our Bedroom After the War / Stars / it just felt like a great mundane song for Duck's ending, but the swell of the music at the end parallels the message he had to share

Take Me Home, Country Roads / John Denver / ♥

[thiswasinevitableid]

Demonic Intervention (Indruck)

Prompt for the 7th: “Hell is empty, and all the devils are here.” - The Tempest (William Shakespeare). This fill is NSFW

It can't get much worse. 

Indrid is barely scraping by. He can count his friends in town on one hand. He’s gay in a tiny, rural community and one of the few men like him is a goddamn priest. His house is a mess. And his every waking moment is filled with the demons of his past or the devils lurking in his future. There are so many of them in his present too, roaming the streets of Kepler. 

What’s one more in the mix?

He lights the stubby black candle by the bed, scratches the symbols on the floor, and retreats into his cocoon of blankets to wait.

--------------------------------------------

Duck hates when it’s his turn on the summoning shifts. All this ancient knowledge and power and he’s stuck waiting to see if some yahoo in a graveyard or a wannabe cult leader will call him up into the world. 

He has brambles that need pruning, damn it. 

His name isn’t well known among humans, so he only gets summoned if someone is just rooting around for a demonic entity without caring who they get. He’s only been summoned twice in the last hundred years. The tingle in his horns tells him it’s about to be three. 

The room he arrives in is gloomier than any graveyard; the lights are off, the curtains are shut, and the place looks like it got hit by a tornado with a grudge. By the light of the candle, a pale-haired head emerges from the blankets of the small bed. A hand reaches for the floor, comes back with a pair of red glasses.

“Greetings, infernal one. Thank you for answering my summons.” The man’s voice is flat.

“Even demons got manners. So, uh, what’s the job?”

“There are so many dishes in the sink that the thought of doing them is an insurmountable task. Please do them for me.”

“...You realize I’m takin somethin’ from you for this, right? Like a piece of soul or a month of your life?”

“Mmmm” The man rolls over and says nothing else. 

“A day of your life for this.” Duck feels like he should haggle more, but then he’d had to pretend he actually thought a higher price was fair. 

“I accept your terms.” A crackle of green and black electricity flickers in the air in the form of  Duck’s signature and the other man’s name: Indrid Cold.

“Pleasure doin’ business with you.” 

Indrid says nothing. Duck is sure to wash and dry before he goes. 

The next day he’s summoned to the exact same room, in the exact same state of depressing mess. 

“Greetings, infernal one. Please clean this room.”

“Same terms?”

“Mmhmm” Indrid is just staring at the ceiling. 

“You gotta say you accept.”

“I accept.” 

Duck snaps, turning on the light, and gets to work. Technically he could do all this with a wave of his hand. But then he’d lose his chance to learn a little more about the guy who’s settled on demonic deals instead of a maid service. It’s the opposite of the usual problem he has in these kinds of situations, where the humans reveal their deepest secrets, desires, and fears within five minutes of meeting him. 

The records he stacks near their player, the clothes all go in the hamper to be magicked clean, then are hung in the closet; they’re loose and soft, not a scratchy fabric to be found. Tarot cards and candles abound, as do art supplies, and under a pile of drawings he finds magazines featuring muscular, hairy men in various sexual positions. Some of them even look like his preferred human form, the one he’s wearing now. 

He glances at the bed; Indrid is on his side, facing him, must have been watching him at some point but has dropped into a restless sleep. The blankets are slipping, showing a The Sonics tank top hanging off skinny shoulders. Right, that was one of the bands in the record stack. 

Duck doesn’t tend to pry into souls or auras or shit like that; there are whole heaps of trouble that lay that direction. But as he flicks the dust from the bookshelf covered in paperbacks, he feels the edges of Indrids and nearly falls on his ass from the wave of exhaustion and loneliness. 

When it’s time to go, he pauses to pull the blankets back up around him, sets his glasses on the bedside table, and turns the calendar on the wall from “September 1974” to “October 1974.”

When he’s summoned right back to Indrid’s room the next evening, he spots the same tank top on him as he sits up in bed.

“Greetings infernal one.”

“You can just call me ‘Duck’. It’s a nickname.” 

“Oh” Indrid blinks, perplexed, “very well. I, ah, there are some bills that need to be paid to keep the lights on.”

“You need the money for them?”

“No, just for someone to fill out the forms and checks and put them in the mail.”

“Okay. But my fee’s a little different this time: you gotta tell me when you last ate.”

“I accept. I ate this morning.”

Duck snaps his fingers

“Two days ago!” Indrid yelps, then slaps his hands over his mouth. He glares, “why does it matter?”

“Because while I’m payin those bills, you’re eatin’ dinner.”

“Everything in the fridge is disgusting and I can’t go to the store.” 

Duck takes the short trip out to the kitchen, opens the fridge to the new sound of Indrid’s footfalls behind him. 

“You got lots of decent stuff in here; could make you some eggs?”

“No, thank you.” Indrid shakes his head, looking a bit ill. 

“Well, what do you want? I can summon it up.”

“I’m out of Lucky Charms.” The humans says sheepishly, staring at his bare feet. 

A fresh box of cereal appears on the table, Duck pulling out the half empty bottle of milk. He thinks back to the drawings he saw yesterday and conjures a bowl covered in a pattern of brightly colored moths. 

He gathers the stack of bills of while hearts, stars, and horseshoes rattle into the bowl. After a few moments of crunching he hears, “May I ask a question?”

“Shoot.”

“Why is your nickname Duck? Does that word mean something else in demonic speech?”

Duck stuffs paper into envelopes, “Nah. It’s, uh, kinda silly but, uh, most demons learn how to take on an animal form. When it was my turn, they asked me which I wanted and, uh, I said I wanted to try bein’ a duck. Liked it so much I stayed that way for three months.”

There’s an odd, strangled sound that makes him look up; Indrid has one hand over his mouth and is shaking with little squeaks. He’s laughing. 

“I’m, I’m s-sorry but, but I, I cannot get over the image of you as a little, feathery waterbird.”

Duck smirks, “Only part that ever gave me trouble was the quackin’; always came out too deep.”

He just manages to pull the envelopes back as milk comes out the human’s nose and he giggles uncontrollably. 

“Ow, ow, heeh, oh g-goodness, I’m s-sorry I, I just haven’t laughed in so long, ugh, there’s milk on my shirt-”

“Guess you’re gonna need to shower now too.” 

“Nono, I can just change-”

Duck waves the bills back and forth, “Uh uh, if you want me to actually put these in the mailbox, you gotta agree to shower.”

“But that’s changing the terms!”

“Demon.” Duck grins. 

“Very well. Let me finish my dinner first.” Indrid scarfs the rest of the cereal, pads back towards the bedroom while Duck cleans the table. He waits to hear water running before going to the mailbox. When he gets back he sticks his head into the steamy bathroom.

“I’m gonna go now.”

“Oh, alright. Thank you again.” Indrid pokes his head out from the shower curtain and Duck resists the temptation to make the whole barrier disappear just for a peak. What can he say? He’s always liked his humans a bit unique looking. 

He draws a special sigil in the steamed-up mirror and heads for home. 

---------------------------------------------------

Indrid sets the candle on the table, lights it, adds the symbol he found in the mirror, and then starts unpacking his groceries. 

“Lookit you doin’ chores.” The whiff of burnt pine needles accompanies Duck’s voice and draws the tension from Indrid’s shoulders. 

“I’ll have you know I swept today as well.” Indrid turns and crunches the bag of potato chips in his fists; Duck hasn’t put his horns or claws away, and his shirt is half unbuttoned. 

“Caught me while I was gardenin, which is why I ain’t as put together as normal. What can I do for you?”

“This may sound strange but, ah, what is the fee for just talking with you?”

Duck’s eyebrows shoot up and then he chuckles, “You’re full of surprises, little moth.”

Indrid touches the luna moth on his shoulder; how much had Duck studied him when he was here? Did he like what he saw? Does he give everyone he makes deals with nicknames that come out in a drawl like summer honey?

“Hows a little nibble of the old soul sound?”

“I accept. Ah, would you like some cookies? A friend of mine brought them over to me.”

“Sure. The fella on the fridge bring ‘em?” The demon indicates the picture of himself and Barclay, the one he can’t bring himself to throw away. 

“No. My friend Dani, she’s in charge of the gardens for the little co-op in town and when the bakery has seconds she often drops them off for me.” 

He really needs to stop staring at Duck’s chest, even demons probably find ogling rude. Duck’s eyes--one blue, one brown-- catch his own and suddenly claw tips are undoing the remaining buttons. Indrid goes pink but manages to get the cookies and two glasses of water on the table without incident. 

“You know, you never told me why you stayed a duck for so long.”

“It’s the least demonic thing you’ve ever heard but, uh, I just thought it was nice. Bein’ out in the woods, paddlin’ on the lake and watchin the world go by. Sleepin under the stars. Just makes you feel like you’re part of somethin’ bigger than yourself. Now, I got a question for you; why go to all the trouble of summonin’ me just to do your chores?”

Indrid bites his lip, “I knew I was in the kind of mental place where I could not manage it myself. And it felt safer to ask you than to ask my friends. Not that they wouldn’t help me. It’s just, when my mind is like that it turns so inward I can’t conceive of a world that might contain things for me.”

The demon says nothing for a moment, sips his water with a thoughtful look. Then he sets down the empty glass, “Glad you’re feelin a little better.” He tilts his head to indicate the sketch on the counter, “that new?”

“Yes” excitement bubbles up in his chest, “I was reading about--ah, well, it’s, it’s sort of a long story, I don’t want to bore you.”

Duck kicks his feet up on the spare chair and gestures for him to continue. So he does, tells the demon about reading every book he could find on the mythology and folklore of the Mexico and the American southwest, about his new inspiration for a series of drawings, his worries that no one will like them or purchase them and he’ll be stuck running his little psychic side business until he dies 

Duck, in turn, tells him about life as a forest demon, about his hellcat, and about the fact he routinely comes up to the human world for french onion soup because the stuff made in his realm never tastes right. When Indrid next looks at the clock, it’s well after midnight. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you so long.”

“No complaints here. But I oughta get home and feed Winnie before she shreds my cabinets again.” The demon stands, rounding the table, “gotta get my fee first.”

“Right. How should I…” Indrid stiffens as Duck bends forward, wondering if the sharp teeth that smiled at him all night are about to pierce his skin. 

Warm lips meet his forehead and he sighs at the tenderness in the gesture. Duck, however, moans as he pulls back, then quickly covers his mouth.

“Uh, that, that’s a totally, uh, totally not, uh, un-normal reaction, uh, fuck, see you around.” 

He’s gone with a campfire crackle, leaving Indrid to wonder how a demon can be such a terrible liar.

--------------------------------------------------------

“Sweet fuckin hell.” Duck gasps as his living room forms around him. His lips still tingle from kissing the human’s forehead, from the sheer force of the want and yes that came when he took that sip of soul. It’s never like that, never comes so willingly and eagerly, like the soul is searching for someone to look after it. 

Technically, there’s nothing stopping him from zipping right back up there and pinning Indrid to his bed while he takes what the human seems so happy to give. 

Duck takes five deep breaths, then ten, and then goes to retrieve Winnie from the cabinet she clawed her way into.

------------------------------------------------------------

When Barclay suggested Indrid find someone to confide in, Indrid’s going to guess he didn’t mean, “routinely invite a demon into your house to play cards or listen to music.”

Most times, Indrid isn’t even summoning him; they have two standing dates a week, plus a game night with Dani and her new girlfriend, Aubrey (who Duck seems to know but refuses to say more about how). Duck will sometimes drop by unannounced, and he hardly ever collects a fee these days. When he does, it’s always a taste of Indrid’s soul, taken via a kiss on the cheek. 

Indrid would let him take it any way he wanted. He’s well past denying the fact Duck is type in all his forms, that he’s gentler than most humans, and that he’s so charming Indrid would eat out of his hand. 

Duck even goes out with him, like the boyfriend he wishes he had. When he puts on his human form to accompany Indrid around town, he radiates enough residual, demonic energy that the people who normally make Indrid’s life a living hell stay far, far away. In fact, tonight is the first night in months he’s had something close to a disaster, and it was mostly an accident. He’s peeling his beer-soaked shirt over his head when he feels mis-matched eyes on his back.

“Have a little too much fun bartendin’ tonight?” Duck holds out his hand, rendering the shirt fresh and clean when it touches his palm.

“Some caveman hit on one of our regulars and would not back off when asked. She threw a full pint of beer on him and I happened to be standing right behind him when she did.” He wiggles out of his jeans, let’s Duck give them the same treatment he gave the shirt, “ugh, I need a bath, I smell like Rheingold.”

“Allow me.” Duck waves his hand and steam wafts from the bedroom, goes into it and grabs the bubble bath from under the sink as Indrid follows him in his underwear. Duck’s constant glancing at his crotch and legs makes him bold. 

“What’s the fee for such excellent service?”

“No fee, little moth. I’m just doin’ a favor for my friend.”

“And what if your friend wants to repay you anyway?”

When the demon looks up from the tub, his eyes are glowing, “Only if he’s doin’ it because he wants to and not because he owes me.”

“I want to, so very badly.”

In a flash Duck is in the tub, beckoning Indrid to join him. Indrid tests the water with his finger just to be safe.

“Mmm, nice and warm.”

“Hellfire, sugar. Now get your cute ass into the tub or--oh fuck yeah.” Duck growls as Indrid strips and climbs in with him, drags him into his lap and traces his claws up his sides while Indrid yanks him into a kiss.Curious, Indrid reaches one hand up to rub the base of his horn, the dark brown curls like smooth bark beneath his fingers. 

“Fuuuck” Duck groans, “feels like gettin a back-rub.”

“Then I better keep at it. Oh, oh my” Indrid sits back to admire the vines of green appearing in Duck’s skin, “you’re absolutely beautiful.”

“Kinky little thing, you like that I’m a demon.” Duck scrapes his teeth along Indrid’s shoulder, “that really why you summoned me? You were hopin I’d have my, uh, demonic way with you?”

“N-no, I, I, it’s no secret I’m attracted to you but I, you make me feel so happy, I’m so safe when I’m with you, and, and if all your care and affection towards me has been part of some malevolent plan please, please just tell me because I, I think I’m falling in love with you.” He kisses Duck with far more force than before, forestalling the inevitable confession that this was all just a game for his soul and his own, pathetic admission that he’s not sure that changes anything. 

“Oh, sugar” Duck keeps brushing their lips together as he speaks, “First time I tasted your soul I knew I was fucked. Knew I wanted to keep seein’ you, even if you never gave me another goddamn thing.”

Indrid buries his face in Duck’s shoulder, letting out shuddery sighs as Duck pets his back. He’s never leaving this spot, Duck is just going to have to carry him about while he does his infernal business and his housekeeping.

“Tell me what you want, little moth.” Duck kisses the shell of his ear. It still tingles, even when his soul stays put.

“Please fuck me? Oh! Oh that’s very efficient and extremely strange.” He squirms in Duck’s lap as his ass turns slick and stretched, like someone has pulled four fingers from it.

“Do it the traditional way some other time” The curved head of a cock bumps his ass, “you wanna feel just to be sure you can take it?”

He flails in the water a moment, finds a warm, responsive shaft with four, bumpy ridges leading to the head. It’s no bigger than the one toy he splurged on during his last trip to the city.

“Yes, certainly, oh, oh, AHHhnnnn yes.” The cock is hotter than his body as it slides in and he wonders if it will just melt him from the inside out, if Duck’s cum will be just as warm, how it will feel on his tongue and down his throat when he drags the demon into his bed.

“That’s it sugar, take it all the way. Fuck, been jerkin off to the thought of you on my dick for months.”

“Nnngh” Is his eloquent reply, the ridges of Duck’s cock making his toes curl and his fingers dig into Duck’s skin. 

“You like that idea, little moth? Knowin I could be out temptin anyone I wanted to and instead I was in bed thinkin’ about you?”

“Mhhmmm” He whines, the desire pouring off the demon wrapping around him and soothing his insecurities. 

Duck slows the thrusts of his hips and his voice is gentle when he whispers, “Course I did; no one can compare to you, ‘Drid.”

“Ohgod, Duck, please, please, please, want to be yours, always yours-”

“Careful,sugar, that sounds like you’re anglin’ for an infernal marriage.”

“A, a what? OHhhhnnyes” He moans as claws knead his ass.

“It’s a special kind of deal where a human agrees to marry a demon. Soon as they’re dead, they go straight to their spouse, no other options provided.” Duck cups his face, holding it steady so he can look into his eyes, “but there ain’t no need for that right now; way I see it, we can do this like we were just two normal fellas for now.”

“But it sounds fun.” Indrid offers a teasing pout and gets an adoring kiss in return. 

“Yeah? What if I tell you a lot of demons mark their spouses by piercing these” He pinches Indrid’s nipples, the pain making him bounce more determinedly on his dick. His demon growls, drops one hand down to thumb at the head of his aching cock, “pierce here too. Won’t even do it in public like you’re supposed to; do it at home so no one else will see just what a sweet, needy thing you are for me--whoah, fuck, did not expect you to cum just from playin with this nice dick a little.”

“V-very sensitive” Indrid gasps against the green swirls in Duck’s shoulder, his orgasm such a surprise he’s still registering it, hips twitching and tongue threatening to loll out of his mouth.

“Keep that in mind for next time. Might even bring a cage so you don’t cum too early and spoil my plans. Now, hold tight, little moth.” 

Indrid clings to the warm bulk of Duck’s body as his cock pounds up into him, the demon easily holding his hips up and his ass open so all he can do is whimper and writhe on it. When he cums it’s hot enough that Indrid squirms

“Don’t hurt does it?” Duck pets his sides, concerned. 

“Nono, it, it’s nice, just very strange.” Indrid winces as Duck pulls out, watches him wave his fingers to clear away the mess. When the demon makes no move to let go, Indrid looks up, “you really meant what you said? About wanting me as a boyfriend?”

“Damn right I do. Now c’mere, lemme get the beer outta your hair.”

Indrid hums as Duck scrubs his scalp and runs warm water over his skin, talking all the while about how they should go camping as a first date so no one will bother them, says he’ll even turn into a duck to make Indrid smile. 

Indrid says he knows just the spot, let’s his boyfriend dry them off and bundle them to bed and then, for the first time, falls asleep with a devil in his arms.

[laptoplocked]

Apologies, I wrote this on my phone, so I cannot put it under a cut.

But here’s a little one shot I wrote about an AU I had for the Hermits, temporarily called the Planet AU! You’ll see why if you read :P

Enjoy!

———————————-

This was probably the most boring part of his year.

He drifts along, steam wafting behind and around him in a glowing red halo; his rings gently bob around his movements, never in his way or inhibiting his fluid motions.

He runs a finger along the glowing dust that forms his rings, disturbing their compact nature. Bits of glowing red dust clings to the steam seeping above his skin, twirling around his slender fingers in a complicated knot.

A sigh blows a strong wind across his atmosphere, stirring the clouds and gases to ripple across his entire being.

He knows the importance of absorbing the rays and lights that his sun provides his surface, it hardens the rivers and oceans of red liquid that stains him, giving his inhabitants the means to travel across his plains and gather the resources to better their civilisations.

He survives on the heat and light, but it also means he can’t be visited by a lot of his celestial companions.

Iskall and Stress were always lucky to be ice beings, their surfaces coated with snow, ice and crystals coloured green and pink respectively. Because of their heavy atmosphere, too much exposure to the sun would result in mass floods and boiling waters, destroying their landscapes and their civilisations that were developed.

If he didn’t desperately need to gather sun then he would most likely be gliding around with Iskall, mixing their resources to create new celestial bodies or electrical creations. His dust is full of electric impulses whilst Iskall has special light refractions and conductive resources that he freely uses for their technical projects.

That would be so much more fun.

A spark in the corner of his eye peeks him up from his slouched posture, his rings becoming more solid; spinning faster.

Oh boi.

A bright yellow sparkle zooms past his sight, friction and flames leaving a burning afterimage in his eyes. A giggle is barely concealed by the rumble the burning ball of gas constantly produces.

He shakes his head before a sharp burning spark is flicked just behind his ear, causing him to jerk away, his rings wobbling at the offence.

A snort and a flash in front of his face produces the gremlin leaning in with a shit eating smile, his molten surface glowing in glee.

Grian, one of his newest friends from a far off solar system. He apparently got sick of his system and flung himself to the loneliest star, not realising that just next to it was the hermits newest energy source.

His old system was slowly dying, the red dwarf ready to extinguish, not able to handle the velocity that Grian and the others were flinging themselves around in their orbit. Old habits die hard, meaning Grian is usually seen hopping orbits and zooming around their mature sun. A visit from the Kepler planet usually brings chaos, unbearable heat and companionship. Which would explain why he is already sighing and preparing for the worst.

“Heyyyy MumbyJumby! Whatcha up to?” Questioned the molten mass as he floated closer to Mumbos face.

Pushing the other planet away with his rings Mumbo replied with a fond smile.

“Well, I was relaxing near the sun until a certain someone came along to disrupt my peace.”

This caused the Kepler planet, now perched on Mumbos middle ring, to huff out a breathe of molten heat, causing some of the ice still left in Mumbos top rings to melt.

Irritated and genuinely curious, Mumbo continued.

“So, hows your little project coming along!”

Apparently not well if the long groan of exasperation is to be noted.

Grian collapses on top of his ring, face smooshed against and moving around the granules of debris, ice and hardened substances; which were now slightly liquefying and condensing into gas under Grians heat.

“I can’t figure out how to actually make the dang thing! I didn’t know rings were this hard to make; you and iskall make them look so easy!”

Smirking in pride, and continued irritation, Mumbo replied.

“Well if you let one of us HELP you, you wouldn’t be having this problem.”

His only reply was a boiling hot raspberry being blown, punching a hole out of his middle ring.

Now getting annoyed, Mumbo commands his ring to spin, flinging the little Gremlin off with the speed.

Letting out a yelp, Grian gains control of his newfound momentum, using it to swing around in a tight U shape, zooming back to his much larger friend with an offended expression which shifted into mischief.

“Now that wasn’t nice! And after I came all this way to deliver a gift to you too!”

Now that gained Mumbos attention, eyebrows quirked he floats closer to the now absolutely shining Kepler planet, analysing every inch of him in search of his gift.

Leaning an elbow on Mumbo shoulder, Grian flourishes his free hand, sending sparks into his weak orbit. The sparks are flung around until they dissipate; much to Grians displeasure, leaving weird afterimages in their wake, disrupting Mumbo vision.

Whilst blinking to recover his sight, Mumbo missed the quick gesture of Grian zooming around to his other side, now holding large clumps of green and blue crystals in his orbit.

“Iskall knew you would be bored out here, so to stop you from complaining when you get back he sent some of his crystals over.” As he finished his grand statement, Grian grinned proudly at completing his task, his magma surface glowing even brighter through the large chunks of solidified magma that makes up hits surface.

Blinking away his confusion, Mumbos eyes brightened, his red stone rings beginning to jitter in excitement. He raised a finger towards the small bundle of resources he was being gifted, allowing his superior gravity field to grasp the crystals from Grians weaker field, ignoring his friends pout.

Iskall knew exactly how to cheer him up. They had been examining the properties of Iskalls crystals before Mumbo had to leave. He remembered Iskall mentioning that he would like to see what would happen with his crystals if they absorbed the suns energy. By giving him this gift Iskall can answer his question and Mumbo can actually do something interesting!

Glancing at his literal hot headed friend shows that Grian was smiling, genuinely happy that he helped cheer up his friend. Before Mumbo could thank him, Grian held up his hand for silence, his posture straightening.

“No need to thank us, especially me; since afterwards you can help me with the ring project.”

Mumbo huffed in exasperation as Grian gives up the act and let’s out an evil snicker.

Despite the teasing Mumbo still decides to thank him.

His largest redstone ring twirls faster, some of the debhris breaking off and forming a mini ring around Grian, much to his shock.

Chuckling at his friends reaction Mumbo decides to have mercy on the little planet.

“I will 100% help you when I get back, watching you struggle with rings is painful. The ring I just gave you is just to help you figure out what kinda ring you want, so it’s just temporary so be careful and go slow with it!”

Grians shock began wearing off, replaced with a huge grin. With a large whoop, Grian shouted his thanks as he zooms off into the distance; completely disregarding Mumbos advice.

Sighing and chuckling, Mumbo turns away from his still retreating friend, glancing at the precious bundle of resources.

He grins with genuine excitement, beginning to travel closer to the sun carefully.

This will be fun.

[lovely-necromancy]

A Cure for Insomnia CH 14

Somehow someway you had ended up spending the night in Toby's room. What had started out as sitting next to him turned into laying down next to him. And after a while of no talking or movement, just the steady sounds of breathing. You more or less closed you eyes for a minute.

Before you knew it you were waking up to sun in your face. And found a blanket haphazardly thrown onto you. Though honestly you probably just moved a lot in your sleep. A quick glance around the room tells you you're alone and by the looks of it have been for a little while now. Weirdly there doesn't seem to be a clock in the room and when you go to check your phone the battery is dead.

'Oh God what time is it?' you worry as you gather yourself to leave the room in search of a clock.

Even though you have the strongest suspicion that you're already late for work. Fuck Nate is gonna kill you. You hope you don't get fired for this. That doesn't really seem like the Cowell way but you really don't want to risk it. No where else in town would pay the bills plus give extra cash for doing jack shit.

Just as you closed the door behind you you see Toby and Connor walking up the corridor. Toby has two bowls in hand and his steps falter a bit when he sees you.

“Shit did I wake you up?”

You can see the veins in his arms as he tenses, poor guy must have a tic coming on. You hold your hands out to give him the option of handing them over so he can relax. With no hesitation on his end he does just that.

“No? I don't think so, I just woke up. What time is it?”

Toby's hands jolt in place. A large tremor of movement, thankfully you took the bowls from him so he wouldn't have splashed...cereal? Your confusion must have shown because you get a nervous laugh in response.

“It's like eight twenty or something.” seeing you visibly deflate he adds, “Barry told me to tell you you're excused from work today.” He took a bowl back from you and placed a hand at the small of your back to push you back towards his room. Apparently done with having a conversation in the hallway and letting your breakfast get soggy.

“Barclay.” you remind him, your efforts award you a shrug, “and are you serious? Because making me late for work wouldn't be very funny.”

He plops on his bed and a bit of milk sloshes out of the bowl dropping on to the sheets. In the back of your mind you think about how Barclay more than likely is going to ban Toby from the lodge for anything other than an emergency. At least if he ruins the bed by dropping food all over it...actually you're pretty sure Jake's mentioned there being a rule about eating in the rooms.

“I'm serious, you can go ask him yourself.” his face flushes as he shovels a spoonful of Captain Crunch into his mouth, “twey shed somfingu bot ah ahpawawgee for da kid”

You give Toby a sneer as you process what he just said. Even normally your brain didn't always process what was said to you properly and Toby speaking with a full mouth certainly didn't help in any case. But you can kind of gleam a bit more context from his red cheeks that your spontaneous three day weekend is thanks in part to Jo hanging out with you yesterday.

Really you didn't mind that she hung out with you. But you would accept the apologetic day off for her attempting to give you a love life. You aren't one of her gossip stories nor do you wish to be.

“First, gross dude. Second, I'll take it.”

He snorts, “Watching me chew through the hole in my face is ne-neat but me talking with my mouth full is where you draw the line?”

“Honestly I never even thought of that.”

You can't help but let out a chuckle at how dumb that must have made you look. Geez you were such a dork sometimes. On the other hand it seems like that must have been the funniest thing Toby's heard in a while as he roars with laughter. Soon your chuckles turn into full blown laughter from Toby's contagious mirth.

“I'll get out of your hair after I finish eating.” you finally say when the two of you calm.

“...you don't have to do that. I-i thought we cou-cou-could hang out?” he says sheepishly.

Toby tends to stutter when he's nervous you notice. Maybe this was to be expected you kind of did solidify that you both wanted to be friends. Of course that would mean opening up to hanging out together on purpose more often.

“I'd like that! Did you have something in mind?”

The room goes quite, well more accurately Toby goes quite as you finish your cereal. Looks like someone hadn't thought this far ahead. At least you aren't the only dork in this room or this friendship for that matter.

Toby's dark eyes scan around the room, not really looking for something while he thinks of something you could do today. Instead of just staring at him like a creep you turn your attention to the rottweiler looking at you with hopeful eyes. Connor's eyes briefly moving towards your bowl where a tiny bit of milk sits and then back at your face. Licking his chops as he looks you dead in the eyes.

Having a pretty good idea of what he wants you look for Toby's bowl. If it was on the ground that'd be a good indication that Connor's allowed a bit of cereal milk if it was on the bed well then you'd still have your answer.  And sure enough right next to Connor's butt is an empty bowl.

Yup, Barclay is so gonna ban Toby from the lodge.

Throwing out any thoughts of the lecture you'd get if Barclay were to find out you let a dog eat from his bowls you place the bowl in front of Connor. Who sits in his position and won't stop making eye contact with the bowl. Tail going a mile a minute as he stares at his prize in anticipation. God he really is the best boy in the whole world.

“Thank you Connor.” you whisper to the dog before he attacks the bowl.

As the pup rips into the left over cereal milk, which wasn't even that much, you can't keep yourself from flapping your hands right by your chest. The fast movement seems to catch Toby's attention and brings him out of wracking his brain for ideas. Giving you a moment to just enjoy the happy stim he just watches. It isn't until Connor has bounded over to you letting you pet him as a 'thank you' for giving him a treat, that Toby speaks up.

“Is there...what's there to do here?”

Looking at Toby as you shake Connor's ears around, you don't immediately say anything. Honestly thinking of just what the two of you could do in this small town. Something that wouldn't prove to be too distracting and maybe give the two of you a chance to get to know each other better. Something without too many interruptions or things to get you off topic.

“Wanna go get a slushy?”

Toby's brown eyes cut as he stares at you unimpressed.

“I kno-rrow that we're in a small town but, 's not that small.”

“Oh no it's actually smaller.”

He rolls his eyes with a huff ready to bite in with a snarky remark no doubt until he catches your eyes and the serious expression. He stares at you, eyes darting across your face looking for a sign that you're joking.

Thankfully you aren't one to leave a friend in the dark.

“Tobias, the gas station Tim works at is the only one for this town.”

“That can't be right, it's not even in town. What about...” once again Toby's eyes shift as he tries to think of any other gas stations within Kepler.

When he comes to the conclusion that you are indeed not fucking with him and Kepler does just have the one gas station his shoulders slump. Almost like he's in shock that he hadn't caught that sooner. You can feel the tinkling sensation of a tic coming up, at the base of your neck. Timing it mentally as you watch Toby go through the stages of grief you miscalculate and ruin your tic.

Head jolting into your right shoulder rather than jerking above it. Letting out a small “fuck” at the fact that you're about to be in an uncomfortable sensation, not totally unlike when you chase off a sneeze but still do need to sneeze. You feel the tic at the back of your head but know it won't be going away anytime soon and all thanks to your hubris.

Looking back at Toby you find he's moved on from the single gas station fact and is looking at you mildly amused. Briefly you wonder if he's ever chased off a tic and felt the uncomfortable sensation you're now dealing with. That leads you to ponder if he's ever even felt the anticipation of nerves before a coming tic. It's not really a painful sensation but discomfort sometimes goes in hand with pain so maybe CIPA affects that feeling too. You'll have to ask, but first you have to shut his stupid face up.

“Shut it.”

“Didn't say anything.” he smirks.

His smiles are really growing on you. They feel special and very genuine despite the awkward nature of his facial movements.

“Hey wait, the mini mart doesn't even have a slushy machine.” he says as the realization finally sets in.

“Yea we have to drive to another town for one. So far Franklin has the best slushies but it's like two hours away.”

You lean your weight back onto your hands watching as Toby's wide eyes stare at you in disbelief. Actually in this light you really can't tell if Toby's eyes are blown wide or in their normal state. Judging from the way his lips curl over his teeth you figure they must be as he stares stunned by something you've said.

“Do you seriously drive two hours for a slushy?” the disbelief in his voice is thick, but not thick enough to cover the thinnest hint of amusement. Maybe even pity.

“Not all the time, sometimes its only like thirty. One night I actually drove five hours without realizing it...though to be fair I did get lost.”

Lost in your thoughts on that particular night some how you'd ended up in Point Pleasant. Instead of a slushy you'd gotten a Mothman themed iced coffee. A nice trip over all but one you didn't want to go on at the moment.

Coming back to the present in time to catch Toby flopping back on the mattress his curls bouncing up over his face as he did so. He let's out an exaggerated groan.

“Still, Brian's got the car today.”

Pfft that's not an issue.

“I have a car.” you say plainly.

That must not be the issue because Toby raises himself onto his elbows to look at your lax form on the carpet. Leaning back on your hands with Connor splayed across your lap looking ready for a nap. Toby opens his mouth to say something before shutting it and looking off to the side. He seems to collect himself quickly but not enough to look at you.

“Uh..I, that's not really the...” well maybe he hadn't collected himself that much.

Brow furrowing as you squint at the man before you. The two of you don't know a lot about each other but from what you've noticed Toby has some hang ups about drivers and driving. Although he's let you drive him home once that doesn't mean he was comfortable with it or wanted a repeat performance. And while you don't consider yourself a bad driver you'll spare Toby the difficulty of admitting he isn't comfortable with you driving.

“You can drive.” dark brown eyes are on you the instant the words spill from your lips, “You've driven my car before. Plus I don't mind I like not driving.”

His eyes dart from you to Connor and back up into your face. Even though they're darting slightly you know he isn't such evaluating your expression. He's thinking and weighing his options.

“You sure?”

And with no hesitation at all, “Absolutely, you've driven it before.”

Though he hadn't been thinking of that particular issue with being given the choice of driving your car. It did bring up another insecurity before hastily stomping it into the ground. He has driven your car, albeit once, before and you are giving him explicit consent to drive it again. Regardless of his tourette's, Toby honestly can't believe you have such blind faith in a person you've just befriended. Then again that's friendship isn't it.

“Ok then...let's go?”

After a nod from you Toby grabs Connor's gear to get him ready for the drive. Meanwhile you take the dishes back downstairs to the kitchen, letting Toby know you'd meet him by the door. Unsurprisingly Barclay is in the kitchen when you get down there to place the bowls into the sink.

Seeing as it's just the bowls and spoons in the sink you decide you can wash them before placing them in the sanitizer rack.

“Mornin'.”

“Good morning.”

“Basket's on the table.”

“Thanks.”

A quiet settles over you two and you can feel Barclay's brown eyes trail towards your form every few seconds. Finishing the dishes you turn, leaning your butt onto the counter, to face the lumbering man.

“Can I help you?” you raise a brow at him. Clearly he had something more he wanted to say.

“I, I just thought we were closer than that.” he sighs.

Okay what now? Your confusion goes ignored as he continues to speak.

“Seriously YN, you didn't need to sneak away last night if you wanted to spend the night here, and with your boyfriend. I wouldn't have judged.”

“My who? Tobais? He's a friend!” you whisper scream in case Toby is near by. God could at least save one of you this embarrassment.

“Really YN? From the things I'm hearin' you two are a bit more than friends.”

“Ok seriously where are you getting your info from? We haven't done anything. Like just YESTERDAY we agreed we were friends. We've known each other maybe a month?!”

“See that's why this is confusing, you don't touch just anyone. And suddenly you're handsy with some new kid.” Barclay had the decency to start whisper screaming with you. He's gesturing vaguely towards the rest of the lodge before bringing his hands before him and flailing them away. As if to say 'what am I supposed to do with this now?'

“He's neurodivergent!” you say bringing your palms up in front of you.

“So are Jake and Aubrey.”

“And I high five Jake so much.” throwing your arms outward to indicate how much you two high five. “Plus he gets a hug nearly every time I see him.” hands brought back to emphasis this point.

Barclay thinks on that for a bit, “Point taken,” he stands from his hunched position and crosses his arms over his chest, “so y'all aren't dating? Nothin' happened last night?”

“No and no.”

“Don't have to deep clean the sheets today.”

“Gross and no.” best keep the milk droplets out of this, you'd really like to leave the kitchen sooner rather than later. Preferably with no lecture about hygiene and the importance of respecting other's property.

Barclay looks down at you scanning your face for something you aren't quite sure of. But you have a feeling he's treating you like a child for a very specific reason.

“I'm not a virgin.” you deadpan as the man before starts to sputter.

His eyes wide with disbelief. So he really thought you were a virgin this whole time? You wonder who else thought this, you hoped they wouldn't try to confront you about your nonexistent relationship.

You'll just never understand why people assume you're a virgin and why they try their hardest to butt into your life when they think that way. This topic tends to put you in a sour mood and you can already feel it on your face. It's disgusting how people can't mind their business about baseless assumptions.

“Jeez sorry YN,” he does look it as he rubs the back of his neck, “it's just you've never shown an interest and I guess we all got swept up in the possibility of seeing you happy.”

“I am happy?”

“I mean in a relationship, happy in a romantic relationship.” He claps his hands gently on your shoulders. A touch you've gotten used too, had you not wanted it you would've taken a step back.

“Kirby's not in a relationship.” you point out.

“Kirby's gross, and you're adorable.” he chuckles at your glare, “a-dor-a-ble.”

“I will bite you.” he lets go of you with a laugh.

“We're just...trying to keep you safe.” he sighs, and though you don't understand what any of their weirdness has to do with “keeping you safe” you nod. Just to get this over with faster.

“Can I leave now? Tobais and I were gonna get slushies.” he didn't need to know your plans but you didn't want him assuming you two were sneaking off for a date.

“Yea yea, sorry for keeping you.” he leans against the counter as you grab your basket and head out of the kitchen and towards the main door.

Toby and Connor were already waiting for you. If the swaying of his weight was anything to go by they'd been waiting for you for a bit. Seeing you coming his subconscious movement stops and he opens the door. Keeping it open for you.  You lead him over to your Soul as you look through the basket for the keys.

“Keys?” he questions as you pat your pockets.

Toby stops walking with you as you begin to panic. You've lost your keys. Before you voice that though you look through the basket once more, placing it on the hood of your car so you can use both hands to check. His eyes follow you and are caught by a gentle swaying.

“You are a serial killer's wet dream.”

He opens your passenger side door and comes out holding your keys that had been in the ignition. If the blank look he gives you is anything to go by he's not impressed.

“I,I,I was in a hurry!” you say flustered that you did something so stupid. His expression doesn't change.

“Could you pop the trunk please?” you ask not looking in his direction.

The click of the lock is all you need to hear before you rush around him to place the basket in the back. As you do you catch sight of the deer skull still in your trunk. With everything going on you hadn't been to see Madeleine for a mount for the guy. You'll have to remember to stop by her shop this week.

Toby had already gotten Connor situated in the back by the time you sat down in the passengers seat. After buckling in and plugging your phone in to charge you stare ahead of you waiting for Toby to start driving. When you look over at him you see he's staring right back at you with a brow raised.

“Yes?”

“Where are we going?”

Yes the key detail of any road trip, the driver needs to know the destination. Unfortunately for you and Toby you've forgotten to tell him one crucial detail. You drive with no sense of direction. And you relay this to Toby. He looks seconds away from getting out of the car and claiming he's never seen you before much less ever been friends with you.

He takes a deep breath and collects himself.

“Y'know what Brian's worse with directions.” he says more to himself than to you.

He calmly puts the car in gear and heads off to town. No input from Connor, you may have chosen a really good day for this drive. Your phone hits one percent as you pass Resort Row. You know the Hornet's Nest is coming up and that intersection leads to the interstate despite not having legible signs.

“Hey when you get to the Hornet's Nest swing right then drive straight, we'll end up on route 3 onto the interstate.”

“Hornets' nest?”

“It's a skate/stunt park. You'll see it after we get away from the mountain.”

Just as you said Toby saw the Hornet's Nest as he turned onto the road leaving the mountain. By the time you were on route 3 your phone had charged up to seven percent. Enough to turn it on and put on a playlist. You put on one of your sea shanty and folk punk combos.

Toby hasn't even let the song get thirty seconds under way. “No vetoed, we are not listening to sea shanties.”

So he does have music preferences, fair enough. You switch to a playlist with a more chilled electric vibe that has a few oldies tossed into the mix. Toby hasn't heard this playlist before and you are determined to learn his music tastes today.

“Wait wait wait, so you'll listen to folk punk but not sea shanties?”

“How are those even related?”

“They are literally the same thing.”

The two of you continue to bicker back and forth about how similar, or different, shanties and folk punk are. Occasionally it's broken when you read a sign, noticing Toby's horrible squinting, to see if you're on the right route to...well you don't know the destination Toby's been ignoring most of the exits for the past forty minutes though you're sure you two could find a gas station with a slushy machine at any one of the surrounding towns.

You don't mind though you're really enjoying the ride. The soft sounds of the car cutting through the wind at seventy three miles an hour. And the dull hum from the engine falling into the background as They Might Be Giants plays softly through the radio. With a majority of his focus being directed to the road  and the handful of other cars around you, your conversation is limited to topics that don't require much thinking. Really you've just ended up playing twenty questions with the other pulling uno reverse.

Not life altering secrets or deep talks...well until the question was favorite romantic comedy.

“How is Venom a romantic comedy?” Toby laughs after you answer.

“They kiss!” Toby just snorts.

“No Venom in Anne's body kisses Eddie.”

“Yes Venom kissed Eddie. Romance.”

You hear the murmur of 'oh my fucking God' come from Toby as you giggle in your seat. Having been egged on by that simple phrase you continue.

“Eddie is always giving Venom chocolates.”

“Oh yes, sorry, that's very romance.” Toby laughs out rolling his eyes.

“Thank you, I'm glad I could enlighten...” you pause as a sign for the next exit catches your eye. Had you two already driven two hours? Time really does fly when you're having fun. “Hey next exit, Franklin.”

“Thanks got it.” this time he turns on the blinker to get over into the exiting lane.

“What gas station am I looking for?” smart man. He's stopped asking for specific directions and is now asking for a land marker.

“Giant baby.” the car comes to a stop at a red light and Toby takes his eyes off the road to face you.

“...is this...will I just know when I see it.” “When you see it” you say the last part in unison with him nodding solemnly.

To his credit Toby has gone a long way with your weird antics, despite being your official friend for less than a full day. Keeping up with this pattern he doesn't ask anymore questions about this giant baby, keeping his eyes peeled for anything worthy of that title. His valent efforts are rewarded not even ten blocks from the turnpike.

“Is that...”

“Giant baby.” you nod knowing he sees the giant opposum decal in the window of the beat up gas station.

Opening your glove box you remove a spare mask for yourself before offering a sealed in package one for Toby. Who readily takes it after he parks your car in front of the store. Turning to look at you, you can read all the skepticism on his face. It's funny how this is where he questions you, your destination and not like the way over here-or the moment right after you told him you had no sense of direction.

“They have the four divide mega slush.”

“What the hell is that?”

With a coy smile you put on your mask and exit the car waiting at the front for your friend to get his shit together. He doesn't take long to follow you, Connor's lead in hand, into the gas station.

For as dingy and beat up as it looks on the outside it isn't bad once you step inside. Might actually be cleaner than the mini mart in Kelper. Toby glances around taking a mental tally of all the patrons in the store and their positions. He does this a bit. Just hyper aware of everyone when in enclosed spaces.

Dragging him over to the slushy machine after acknowledging the cashier's greeting. Showing him the four divider mega slush cup you demonstrate how it works. Choosing the only three flavors you like and adding a random extra of the three into the forth slot.

The face he makes when you stick the straw in the middle is priceless.

Toby demonstrates how a slushy should be made. Grabbing the single cup and over filling it with cherry flavored ice. He doesn't pick up a straw and you two make your way to the counter.

Since Toby drove here you had no problem paying but he was quicker to get his wallet out and hand the cashier a ten for your slushies. They give him back his change and you two wind up back in the car, taking off your masks.

You take a long sip from you drink.

“I can't believe we drove for two hours for you to just wreck your taste buds.” a playful disdain in his voice.

“Not 'we', you.”

He cuts his eyes at you before shaking his slushy into his open mouth. Guess he couldn't use a straw when he was missing part of his cheek. No suction there.

“So?” you say adding the questioning lilt to your voice.

He shrugs, “It's good.”

“Worth the drive?” He shakes his head.

“Nah - drive made it worth it.”

[stillpartofthisworld]

where to start-Ch 1(TAZ Amnesty)

Now on AO3!

I will be updating this every other Sunday, hopefully. Please yell at me if I don’t.

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They choose Earth.

Well. Duck chooses Earth.

It's not a big decision for any of them-Aubrey follows Dani, Thacker follows his dreams. Mama and Vincent follow their occupations, settling back to defend their home planets from-well, nothing, anymore.

Duck just wants to go home.

He says his goodbyes to everyone, buoyed by the possibility of reuniting-but he's not holding his breath about it just yet. He thumps Vincent on the back, grinning at the goatman, this minister of defense who was too curious for his own good. He shakes hands with Thacker, thanking and congratulating one another for surviving the short while they fought together. "We'll be in touch, Duck," He says, tapping a thin finger to his temple. He doesn't doubt it.

He hugs Aubrey tight, pretending not to notice the tears pricking at the sides of her eyes. "Take care, okay?" He says softly, and she nods at him, smiling. "Don't do anything too crazy."

"Nothing is too crazy! I'm a literal goddess!" She jokes, waving her hands to produce sparkles that settle on both their noses before blinking out. He laughs, mostly to relieve the squeezing in his chest as she grins back at him. God, she's still just a kid, and she's been through so much. He hopes life treats her well.

His laughter dies down as she hugs him again, squeezing him hard and fast. "Take care of Ned's shit, okay?" She says softly. "He'll probably haunt us forever if the Cryptonomica gets shut down."

There's a lump in his throat, but he manages a nod and a squeeze of her hand. "I'll be seeing you soon, you arsonist."

"I was a camper! I was camping!"

"Eh, matter of scale."

Aubrey laughs, and he feels his chest relax.

He turns around and sees Minerva. She's staring at the two portals, a perplexed and thoughtful look on her face. He goes up to her, reaching up and tapping her on the shoulder. "Minerva?" He says, and she turns to face him. "Yes, Wayne Newton?" She replies, her voice booming through the room. "Have you made your decision? Which world shall you choose?"

"Well, the Earth is a bit of a no brainer," He says, gesturing to the dilapidated room shimmering through the space-time-whatever rip. "I mean, I got a cat to feed, rent to pay, a job, you know?" He ticks them off with his hand, one by one. "So as cool as Sylvain is, I can stand being away from it for-uh, a while, as Billy fixes it."

(At the mention of his name Billy perks up, waving and typing out a "Tight, dude," into his voice generator.)

"Hmm! A wise and thoughtful choice, Wayne Newton!" Minerva grins, and Duck manages to smile back at her through the cringe of being called by his first name. "And, uh, what about you, Minerva? Where you headed, hm?" He asks, and her face grows pensive again.

"Well, I am drawn to Sylvain." She looks back at the portal leading to the city. "Its' architecture and magic system are quite similar to my own, you see, and is an interesting enough place for a warrior such as myself." She mirrors his previous gesture, ticking off her reasons with her six fingered hand. All reasons to leave Earth. All reasons to leave him.

He is not surprised-Earth can be pretty boring by anyone's standards, especially an alien's. But it doesn't stop the pang of hurt and fear that flashes through his chest.

But then she looks at him, and her calculating expression softens, for just a moment. "However, I think I shall choose Earth, Duck Newton. I shall be coming with you." She puts a hand on his shoulder. "I think that I would much rather live in a world that has you in it."

He gapes at her for a second, and she hurriedly adds, "And I must taste those frozen waffles once more! They are a delight!"

He chuckles softly at this. "Yeah, I'll make sure we stock up on 'em once we get home."

They smile at each other.

And then they step through the rift.

Mama drives them home, pulling up to Duck's apartment complex after making a quick pit stop for one waffle box, paid for by the loose change that miraculously did not fall out of his pocket. She puts the car in idle as they step out, looking out at the two of them from the passenger side. "Minerva, you sure you dont want to stay at Amnesty for the time being?" She asks warmly. "I ain't got much, but I do have a bed and some hot springs that ya might find to yer likin'."

"Many thanks, Madeline Cobb!" Minerva replies, and Duck sees Mama visibly wince at the use of her full name. At least she got it. "But I will be staying with Wayne Newton for tonight."

He is not sure why she chose to stay with him, only that she did and that he preferred it that way, anyway.

Mama nods, and pulls out of the driveway.

-------

Duck takes a shower first, which leaves Minerva to toast the waffles. She's got the hang of it now-simply rip open the packaging and place the pastry into the double slotted box that Duck calls a "toaster". She pushes the little tab down-gently,gently-and waits. She can hear the pounding of water hitting the tiles from the bathroom. She focuses on it. She'd rather focus on it that on the nothing that clouds her mind, the void where there should be planning for the next battle.

There are no battles to plan. They have won them all.

The waffles pop up.

She's spreading some Nutella on them (a heavenly condiment! what an ingenious use of modern technology!) when she hears Duck come out of the bathroom and head to his room. She looks at the waffles on her plate and, loathe to give them away, puts two new ones in the toaster.

She spreads these ones with honey (Duck's usual choice, though she is not sure why anyone would pass up Nutella) and is just about to enter his room when she hears him saying something.

She peeks in. He's lying on his bed, back towards her and phone in hand. The phone screen is lit up, dancing with colors for a moment before a face comes into focus. It's a familiar face, but not one she's seen in person. It's the face that's on the photos that litter Duck's living room, the one that's smiling with him on his phone screen.

It's the one that she saw encased in glass, eyes closed and mouth slack as they floated in the liquid that was the organic printer.

"Hey, Janey."

Duck's voice is soft, tired. The phone crackles before the woman-Jane, answers.

"Hey hey, Ducky." She sounds tired too. "What's up?" She yawns. "Why're you callin' at 12 AM, doofus?"

"It's 2 AM here, goofus."

"Ah, semantics." She sees Jane smile through the screen. It's very similar to Duck's, all soft with teeth just barely peeking out. "So, what's up? Wildfire or something? I heard about the blockades." Her voice shifts, sounding more awake. "Wait, is something wrong? Your signal is good, did the feds pop up a signal tower again? What's happening over there?"

"It's all good, Jane. Nothing's wrong." Even with his sister's alarm, he's still calm-relieved, even. "Just...just wanted to see your face."

A pause. Then, she hears Jane laugh nervously. "God, Duck, you give me a heart attack sometimes, checking up on me like this," she says. "I'm worried about you, you know? You never used to do this."

Duck is silent for a while, contemplative. "Do you...can you get away for a while?" He asks her, and this time his voice is soft, timid in a way Minerva has never heard him be before. "A weekend. Come visit Kepler. I...I have some things to explain."

She agrees immediately, settling on a date two weeks from now. "I'll see you soon, Ducky," She says softly, and the screen cuts to black.

Minerva hears Duck sigh, and the rustling of a duvet. When she peeks back in again, he is laying on his side, away from the door.

She decides to eat the waffles.