#I also just miss indrid.

[mello-hello]

DAMN. THEY WERNT LYING. THAT AMNESTY SURE CAN *SOUNDS OF CRYING*

[bracketsoffear]

Spiders-Man (Marvel) "He’s a collection of sentient spiders that are Peter Parker and took his identity. They are spiders, but they also manage to maintain the role of spiderman, keeping control over New York City, and probably terrorizing more than one person with the fact that they can disassemble themselves and crawl all over people."

Director Lee Harvey Oswald (The Department of Truth) "In The Department of Truth, the protagonist’s boss (and the director of the titular department) is a much older Lee Harvey Oswald, though it’s not explicitly known which version of him he is. As in, what story of the assassination is true? Is he the CIA stooge? The innocent patsy? The lone gunman? Our protagonist muses this question in the second issue and can only conclude: “He’s probably not the one killed by Jack Ruby.” And looking at the picture the comic paints of who he is now, he seems much more the type to spend his time in Howard Hunt’s circles than Kerry Thornley’s, if you know what I mean. He has become the image of the perfect Cold War-era fed with his browline glasses, dark suit, quips about a new generation gone soft, and an ever-present cigarette. And that’s because he always has been that. He joined the Department as an agent when he was 19, working to counter the Soviets and gain information on their country’s equivalent of the D.o.T. And we, the reader, do not know what happened on November day in Dallas, but neither does he, it seems. Kennedy stood against the Department and it was his job to take him out, but in that book depository, he saw the Scarlet Woman (see the Extinction poll) holding a sniper rifle, ready to tear apart the country’s sense of truth with a bullet. (Well, three.) But as the story of the assassination spread, so did the idea of Lee Harvey Oswald, the concept of the shadowy assassin that was seen on the front pages, the conflicting theories and paranoias made manifest. To quote Hawk Harrison (another character), “the living embodiment of every horrible thing people think the government is capable of, filled up into a man-shaped thing.”

And we don’t know which one was saved and which one was killed. And neither does he. He’s left contemplating whether or not he’s truly real or simply another fiction, but at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter. Reality is relative, he’s no less real than this country is. No matter how human he may or may not be, he might as well be American paranoia personified in function. He’s a man desperate to do whatever it takes to uphold the ideal of what America is supposed to be, that Shining City on a Hill; a man fighting in a war of propaganda and information and disinformation, a war of stories and ideas. To quote Indrid Cold, he’s simply a “dream this country is having.”

For a brief moment though, he tried to escape from what he is in the way so many privileged young people of the 1960s did: growing his hair out and running away to San Francisco in search of drugs, free love, and an answer to his problems and existential malaise. He found the first two, the last is debatable. He finds himself in bed with an unnamed woman with whom he shares his fears about his nonexistence, about the country's nonexistence, only to pull a gun on her when he realizes that she laced his blunt with LSD. ‘Who the hell are you, and who do you work for?’ He asks, pointing the weapon in her face. “Do you know who I am?” She simply answers: “You’re not going to hurt me. I’m just a pawn in a bigger game. A patsy.” She knows. Of course, she does, she’s Company, a CIA agent involved with MKULTA, the agency’s infamous failed attempt at brainwashing its own citizens. “Was it you?” he asks, “Did you pull the trigger?” She tells him that they’re not the ones in control, that “Everyone misses the real conspiracy, don’t they? We’re the little shadow puppets they control. We do what they tell us to do. Some very smart, very dumb people thought they could control what America was without getting blood on their hands. They thought they were storytellers. They thought they were selling Coca-Cola and Chevrolet and hot dogs. They wanted to tell America that “It’s a Wonderful Life,” and they wanted America to believe it. Isn’t that right, Lee? But it’s not a wonderful life. People know that. People don’t want to get along. They want to fuck and feel good and feel righteous. The Department of Truth is selling America its own version of The Truth. Telling everyone Why We Fight. Why We Buy. Why We Believe. But it’s not working, is it? You know it’s not working. You can see the cracks forming all around us. You can see the fracturing. The Counterculture… It’s such a perfect little weapon. These kids think they’re fighting against some big war in Asia, but they’re on the front lines right here in Haight-Ashbury. They eat the lotus flower and they see themselves as little gods, and see their desires as something larger than they are. They sing their little protest songs, but they’ll be voting Republican before their first grays come in. I’m just a pawn. A patsy. I feed the kids the drugs and my bosses tell me that it’s to wash their minds, to see if we can push them, control who they are and what they think. It’s not working… This whole MKULTRA thing… Not how the men in suits want it to work, but me and the kids on the ground, we’ve been seeing it. They do it all on their own. They brainwash themselves. They become rancid, and bloodthirsty, and we have to feed them the blood they want.” “I don’t understand,” asks Lee. “Who killed Kennedy?” “You’re so fucked up that you can’t even how funny that is…” she continues, “Is it my bosses in Langley? Eisenhower’s military-industrial complex? The big bad commie-hating war machine, not willing to back down in the fight against the hammer and sickle, even if means having to kill our best and brightest? Is it Queen J. Edgar Hoover and his black-suited goon squad terrified that the kids are going to rise up and shoot their parents in their sleep? Is it the Italian mob, and Hoffa, and all their mobsters and teamsters angry that they’re losing their foothold,” No, she says. “It’s the same as it was in ‘63. It wasn’t any of them. It was you. It was me. It was all those kids smoking reefer on the street and thinking about free love. You can’t just tell them that things are going to be better forever like your idiot bosses thought. The kids want to fight for themselves. They want to own it for themselves. You need to let them taste glory.”

Lee wakes up with a campaign button in his hand: “NIXON’S THE ONE!” The next time we see him, he’s meeting the new president in the oval office, once again wearing a suit with his hair cut short. He has become almost exactly what the unnamed agent described, with one major difference. He succeeds.

History is, of course, written by the victors, and facts can be rewritten by them as well. After his “death”, the previous Director (Frank Capra, director of It’s a Wonderful Life) put him in the Department’s archives to try and figure out who the Scarlet Woman was, only for him to use the research to find a new way of doing things, a way to shift reality through manipulating what people believe to be true on a large scale through media, and symbolic imagery, and simple lies that serve to reinforce what the public wants to believe about this country, and for that, Richard Nixon appointed him to the job we know him in, Director of the D.o.T. Director Capra was a naïve idealist who truly believed that the American Dream was not only real but could be achieved through hard work. Lee knows that the American Dream is a lie, but my god, he will do what it takes to make it real, no matter how underhanded the tactics. If you can control the narrative, you can control the Truth.

For most of his tenure, it was the height of the Cold War, there was a distinct enemy to push against. It was a conflict of countries, of ideologies, of two superpowers trying to keep their way of life at the expense of the other, and it was the U.S. that won out. There is another version of the 20th century, the one that was once real, where the founding ideals of the USSR were much closer to being realized within its border, it was something better than what it became, but the U.S. won the propaganda war and what was once simply a fact had become a hazy fiction that never happened. And so the victor rewrites history. And how does one become the victor? Through whatever means necessary, from fabricating events that later became real, to assassinations, to media manipulation, to the creation of the Satanic Panic itself, playing off paranoia and Christian nationalism to strengthen the idea that America is something that exists, that the American Dream is worth fighting for. (And of course, in the case of the latter, to deflect media attention from the whole Iran-Contra Deal.)

And what did this victory get him? A hell of a lot of guilt and a shattered, post-truth society that he’s left trying to clean up the pieces of. The Department is no longer fighting an ideological battle against an equally matched enemy, they’re floundering against the misinformation and conspiracies they once spread, desperately trying to keep reality from falling into the hands of far-right reactionaries using their own methods (and in Lee’s case, his own stories) to try and rewrite reality in their favor. The D.o.T. is rotten to its core, an organization founded to uphold American hegemony, but now, they’re the closest thing to the heroes of this story simply because the other side is so, so much worse. Like Pandora desperately trying to stuff the evils she released back into the box, they’re trying to contain the lies they wrought upon society.

The phrase “post-truth society” is often thrown around concerning the present political moment, but the comic posits that this isn’t new. There has never been a unified societal truth. But it sure as hell is worse now when any internet fascist can go and rant about whatever fucking bigoted conspiracy they stake their brand on and sway thousands to their side. And we need to fight that at all costs. But preserving the status quo is not the way; I mean, look where attempting to do that left us. No, there’s another way. And that’s coming clean about everything. No more secrets, no more attempts to shape the narrative towards your ideal, the public needs to know. (And that’s the power of government transparency and the Fourth Estate, babey!)

Finally, I leave you with this monologue: “I know you don’t trust me. I don’t care. I’ve done enough bad shit, and spent the last sixty years of my life lying through my teeth every goddamn day. I don’t need you to trust me. But I need to trust you to know that the ends justify the means. You’re sour over your star-faced man. Hawk told you that he stoked the fire there, tried to make it seem realer than it was. That we had a vested interest in people believing that Satan was lurking behind every corner. I was younger then. I was stepping boldly. I was trying to defend the dream of what America was supposed to be. Not let those Russian fucks dictate our future. I’ve done many things that haunt me, more than you can imagine.”

[ducknewtonscoolhat]

No daily duck art today, working on some suggestions as well as another thing (All Duck related LMAO) but I will share my thoughts this evening! I had a few more thoughts about Aubrey and Duck, and their wonderful sibling relationship. I was planning on having a uhhh- a post about this whole idea but I decided to talk about it a little bit here just about Aubrey and Duck because they make me smile more than I realized. It's very likely that their sibling relationship very much stirs from the fact that Justin and Travis are brothers, but yk. Anyways, I was looking at Taz tiktoks and I saw a cosplay of Duck / some art of the scene were Aubrey asks Duck if she can have the last waffle and he tells her they a'int vegan, it is one of the funniest things in my personal and professional opinion. The idea that even though they've known each other like. I dont remember how long it is, I'm gonna bet like around 2 years at this point and Duck just assumes she's vegan and she's just like, "duck... what????" and is like so confused about it. That is the most sibling thing ever, "I swear to all that's holy you said you were Vegan at SOME point." "Duck, I never said that." And (if you haven't read my other posts this might not make a bunch of sense but yk) the years between the end of Amnesty and when they head to the Amazon, I think Aubrey and Duck spend a LOT of time together. Be it the just hang out with one another, sleep over kinda style, or even going on double dates with Dani and Minerva. I think that they helped each other cope through the grief of Ned passing, and, while it was most definitely hard on Aubrey, I can imagine she took it real fucking hard especially after reading her letter from Ned and realizing that everything wasn't the way she thought it was and also the whole thing with seeing Ned's death? Yeah I'm sure she had a lot in her head, but also I think Duck took a pretty big hit too. We read in the letter that Ned and Duck are old friends and I really believe that losing Ned hurt a lot for Duck. Aubrey was there to help him heal, and even if Ned was gone he had Aubrey, and of course the rest of the lodge, but Aubrey meant and means a lot to him as his family. Again I think she reminds him a lot of his sister and some day he ends up introducing them and they hit it off as besties. But like when he goes to the Amazon, I think he misses Aubrey the absolute most. He misses Mama and Indrid and the rest of the lodge, but being away from Aubrey after all those years is probably a really difficult change for him. I think he gets through it just fine, especially externally, but internally I think he thinks about her a lot. That's all I'm saying.

[thiswasinevitableid]

Kepler Kreeps (Indruck)

The winner of the "sweet more than scary" prompt poll was: You and I are both haunted house actors and tonight is a slow night

Duck’s tent is covered in blood. 

Fake blood, but still. If he ever needed an excuse to buy one he hasn’t had since 1998, this is his chance. 

His room is one of the darkest, with only a tipped over lantern in the corner and glo-strips to help people safely find their way through. Squinting at his watch, he sees there’s still two hours to go before they close.

“Shoulda brought a card game or something.” He whispers.

No response from the darkness across from him. 

“‘Drid? Hey, mothman, don’t conk out on me now!”

There’s a sharp trill and then two, red eyes glow in the corner, “Oh dear, I was trying so hard not to fall asleep. If it’s any consolation, we will not be seeing another group for at least fifteen minutes. Not to mention the screams from Minerva’s scene would have woken me up.”

“True.” They’ve been using the alarm from his friend’s alien abduction sequence as their cue to get in position. After all, they want Kepler’s one and only haunted house to be worth the ticket.

Duck had worked with Kepler Kreeps a few times, usually when they were short volunteers and needed an extra zombie or ghost. The profits always went to the youth center, and Duck liked the chance to goof off a bit. So when he got back from Brazil in need of ways to get back into the swing of things in Kepler, volunteering for this year’s haunted house was a no-brainer. 

He’d been surprised to find Indrid seated in the folding chairs along with him on the first night of planning; last he’d heard the Sylph had gone home, leaving Leo to take up the Winnebago in his place. 

“I tried it for a while. But I was not speaking hyperbolically when I told you I was fond of earth. I missed it terribly and Sylvain…she has another, younger seer. So when the gate re-opened I decided to move back.”

This was how Duck also learned Indrid had been living in the apartment beneath him for three months. He’d taken Leo’s spot on the lease. Given that Duck had never seen him coming or going, he’s mostly just glad the mothman is getting out of the house. 

The group settled on “Haunted Monongahela” for the theme, with each room being a different scene of horror or carnage unfolding in the national forest. As people were chatting amongst themselves about what rooms they could do, Indrid had flapped his hands, grabbed Duck’s arm, and said “I have the perfect idea.”

So now here they are, in the second weekend of the house’s run, waiting for some kids to scare. The first weekend is always busy as the haunted house die-hards and people ready for the spooky season to start flock to the gates. His guess is it won’t get really crowded again until a week or two before Halloween. 

Screams from the front of the house. Now that Sylphs are an open secret, a few are more comfortable being seen in their monstrous forms. In this case, it’s Barclay’s second cousin, Franklin, who after a bout of being feral in Texarkana moved up to Kepler to work as a bartender. Franklin starts the house off in style by chasing guests up a corridor, teeth and claws bared. 

Soon enough, there are horrified shouts from the room closest to them, courtesy of Minerva slicing open the chest of a dummy and sending fake blood everywhere. Duck slips back into the tent and readies himself.

Once the cluster of teenagers is over the threshold, he shakes the frame and scratches at the canvas, screaming like he’s being torn apart. This scares the group away from his side of the room and keeps them from noticing the massive, feathery shape rising up behind them.

All Indrid has to do is open his wings and shriek to send them running to the next room. 

When no more groups come through, Indrid perches on the block he’s using to get further above everyone’s heads and drums on it with his claws as they wait for more victims. 

“You doin’ anything fun for Halloween?” Duck crawls out and sits up in front of the tent entrance, stretching out his back. 

“Most likely joining Barclay and the others at the Lodge for a double-feature. Ooh, unless-”

“Unless?”

“Unless we get many trick or treaters at the complex?” Duck can just make out the lines of his antenna twitching. 

“Decent number, since we got plenty of kids in the apartments and in the neighborhood. Crap, that reminds me, I gotta get the place decorated so they know to come up the stairs and knock.”

“Do you prefer classic decorations or more of a theme?” Indrid cocks his head.

“Usually just do lights and maybe a skeleton or two. I do got this one idea I think would be fun, but it’d take up more space, maybe even get in your way.”

“Duck, you saw where I was living, do I strike you as needing everything neat and tidy?”

“Guess not. It’s kind of a cheesy idea though…”

“I insist you tell me. Please?” The disappearance and reappearance of glowing eyes suggests Indrid is trying to bat his eyelashes at him.

“Okay, okay. I was thinking I could decorate like it’s a haunted tropical island. Put aloha shirts on the skeletons, see if anyone makes a skeletal parrot-”

“Put out some Jimmy Boo-fet records perhaps?”

Duck laughs, “Exactly!”

“That sounds delightful? Would you like some help? We could even decorate both apartments in the same vein for a stronger impact. “

“Hell yeah. You wanna stop by my place after work on Monday? I was gonna run out and get stuff then.”

A flash of teeth in the darkness, “It’s a date.”

—------------------------------------------------------

Duck tosses a few more leis into the shopping cart. He’s debating whether to get a spinning projector that casts ghosts over the walls when Indrid appears, hands behind his back. 

“I have the perfect costume for you.”

Duck leans on the cart, “I swear, if those are bear ears-”

Indrid gasps, mock affronted, “How could you suggest I would sink so low as a Smokey the Bear joke?”

“Smarter than the a-ver-age bear.” Duck swipes the ears from Indrids hand and places them atop silver hair, “besides, you wear ‘em better.”

His friend smiles as he removes the headband, “That’s high praise. Unrelatedly, if we go by the thrift store we will find some shirts that are perfect for the skeletons.”

Indrid’s foresight is spot on, and they also score a “It’s Five O’Clock Somewhere” hat and some unopened skull lights. He’s having such a nice time that he doesn’t think twice about asking if Indrid would like to grab dinner, though he slightly regrets his offer of a ride when his friend discovers the Jimmy Buffet C.Ds in his car.

“You truly contain multitudes, Duck Newton.”

“I had a case of the Mondays!”

—------------------------------------------------------------

“This really was a way better idea than me just playing dead.” Duck says as he and Indrid get into their haunted house positions. The doors open in fifteen minutes, and the presence of an actual line suggests a busy night.

Duck adds, “But I’ll have you know I was always real good at playing dead. Played so many dead guys in emergency trainings.”

Indrid makes an amused face.

“I’m serious. Watch.” Duck lays down on his back, closes his eyes, and goes limp. 

After a moment, Indrid says, “That is rather convincing.”

Duck says nothing. 

“That is also very convincing.”

The lights go out, signaling that it’s time to get in final positions. 

“Oh dear” Indrid sighs, “visitors are soon to be upon us and my fellow scare actor is deceased. Whatever shall I do.”

Duck manages not to laugh as Indrid crosses the floor. 

A tongue mlems onto his cheek and he slaps a hand across his mouth, giggling as he opens his eyes. Indrid is bent over him, grinning.

“Dang, you figured out my trick.”

“Indeed I did.” Indrid flicks him on the nose once with his tongue, then sneaks soundlessly back into his spot.

 Duck’s just glad it’s dark; he’s not ready for the mothman to see him blushing. 

—---------------------------------------------------------

“I expected the Friday before Halloween to be much busier.” Indrid sits on the floor across from Duck as the haunted house stays quiet around them (except for the atmospheric music from Kirby’s room).

“They got that Zombie fun-run over in Huntington. Think a bunch of folks from town went there since it’s a one-night thing.”

Indrid shudders, “I cannot say I’d enjoy such an event. Zombies are…they feel too close to what happened with the Quell at times.”

“I get that.” Duck scoots forward an inch, “I always get freaked out by vampire movies. Something about the biting, all the teeth going into necks, ech” he shivers, “no thanks.”

“Perhaps we should be grateful Reconciliation never sent a vampiric abomination through. Not that I can remember anyway.”

Duck’s hand bumps Indrid’s in the darkness, “Ain’t sure I ever been more scared than when I saw them tryin’ to make a mimic that looked like Jane. Figured it out quick and then I was just pissed but…but there was a second before all that when I thought they’d taken her too. That even though she was far away from this whole mess, I hadn’t been able to protect her, y’know?”

Indrid nods, “I am sorry you had to see such a thing.”

“‘Drid? Can I ask you something weird?”

Another nod and a chirp of assent. 

“What’s the most scared you’ve ever been?”

A rustle of wings, then the lilting voice replies, “When I was young. Before I learned how to manage my abilities. If you can see the future and you are not careful, you can look too far ahead, see the end of everything. When you are a little mothling, huddled in the dark after bedtime, there is nothing more terrifying than to let your mind wander where it need not and see the day when the planet goes dark.”

“Oh fuck, ‘Drid, I’m so sorry, I had no idea.” Duck takes his hand, feels cool chitin as the other three join it, clinging to him. 

“I learned quickly to be careful. But there will still times, times like when I was driving back to Kepler to warn you all your plan would not work, where I could not stop seeing the end.”

“What did you do?” His heart cracks at the thought of Indrid hurtling down some empty highway with no relief from the image of the sky ripping away. 

“I looked to better futures. To the ones where you succeeded. To the little moments that came after, even as the chances of them faded. I took comfort where I could” he lets out a weak laugh, “though I never foresaw such a comforting moment coming to me in a haunted house.”

“Me neither.” Duck thinks on the last weeks, on hushed conversations waiting for guests to come through. He’s about to say he’s glad the haunted house has let them spend more time together, but then he remembers the evenings decorating the apartments together, remembers Indrid appearing at the park to draw, remembers calling through the floor to ask if the mothman would like to come up and share the pizza he got for dinner. 

“Got another weird question for you.”

Indrid’s hands tense. There’s a chirp Duck’s never heard before, unsure and hopeful.

“I know we both got plans late Halloween night to go to the Lodge. But, uh, before then…maybe we could hand out candy together. Since we made the outside of the apartments look so damn good together, seems silly to make trick or treaters climb the stairs.”

“The answer is yes. To both.”

Duck smiles, “I ain’t asked the second thing yet, sugar.”

“The answer remains the same.”

Duck raises onto his knees and kisses Indrid once, gently, and has the unique pleasure of a seven foot tall cryptid turning to butter in his arms. 

Indridr nuzzles his forehead, “Is this the part where I am to say something clever about you being my treat?”

Duck snickers and kisses him again, “Nah. Just warn me if we need to stop kissing and scare folks instead.”

Indrid purrs and cuddles him into his lap, “Consider it done.”

[cloudbattrolls]

A Rough Start

This drabble is preceded by Last Call and followed by Cutting Commentary.

Things didn't go well, at first. Not that you need my ability to have predicted that.

Everyone is assembled in the courtroom - witnesses, defendants, and legislacerators. Indrid Dynast, Ullane’s defense attorney, faces Artair Clonal, the prosecution. 

She is short for her caste, a heavyset indigo with partially teal-dyed hair done up in a proper bun, and wears glasses. He is a cerulean with an unforgiving expression, a claymore gripped in one hand.

Halvir Urtyop is indeed there, along with various other medical staff who were present the night Calcit died. Yarrex is present, and Xrumon came along as well. Chimer Latrai sits grimly with her blueblood guard, Amdzah. Priori is, naturally, watching it all.

Indrid opens the debate by suggesting that the nanotechnology was hacked to cause Calcit’s death, rather than it being a mistake on the clinic’s part.

The prosecutor rolls his eyes at the pointless argument. Objection - this is irrelevant. The defense is already accused of criminal negligence, are they trying to defend themselves as being stupid enough to implant easily hacked medicinal robots into people?

Indrid raises that anyone can be hacked; technopaths exist, and even advanced technology such as nanites can be manipulated by those with the right tools. Sabotage can happen to anybody; there is no evidence to say the nanites were easily hacked, only that it was possibly done by the phone submitted as evidence.

The judge overrules the objection. It's a possibility worth consideration, it may mitigate the sentence if it turns out the machinery was indeed tampered with.

Ullane, silently conscious of the irony, nods encouragingly at Halvir to give his testimony about his patient’s demise as he is called to the stand. 

He shrugs, stating calmly the time that he last checked on the victim and that he noted nothing out of the ordinary. He left, and some time later, the machinery in his room became alerted. When the crash team arrived, it was already too late.

Indrid, worried, inquires that he must have had a very good reason to leave during such a delicate situation, yes? When the patient was clearly brought in close to death?

"When I checked on him, he was recovering. I have at least 5 or 6 other patients to keep an eye on usually. I can't stand in his room the whole night watching him, anyone who's worked in a hospital understands that. That's why there are alarms on the machines, in case something goes wrong. Just a shame we couldn't make it in time." Halvir states. 

Indrid, still concerned: But he was in very bad shape. When did you administer the healing nanites, if it was you who did it?

He shakes his head. "I didn't administer them. They're very specialized tech. Either Friday or Ullane would administer them usually, or one of the trolls trained on it. This time it was one of those nurses."

The prosecutor lazily swings a claymore the size of a small log through the air. "Cutting your own case apart in front of my eyes! Corr, you're makin' this too easy!"

Ullane as usual says nothing, but Friday is here too, looking upset.

Friday raises her hand. “May I speak?”

The judge fixes her with a death glare. "Are you in the stand? No. If you wish to speak, you will come forth to the stand once this cross-examination is finished."

Friday withers a bit and goes silent. Ullane sighs and looks apologetic.

Indrid presses on. "Apologies, your honor. I believe miss Lovely wished to confirm that it was indeed one of her trained trolls who administered the nanites.

Isn't it strange that no other patient at the clinic has ever suffered a malfunction like this, and they have also all had their nanites administered by the same two trolls? Indeed, no other patient that night did either. It was only Calcit Interg. What would either woman have to gain from the death of any patient, let alone a blueblood?

Additionally, Mr. Interg was...known to be considered difficult to deal with by several trolls he came to with his questions." She says delicately. "We have typed testimony from a friend of the deceased. It's quite possible he had enemies who wished him dead."

"So please, Mr. Urtyop. If you can remember anything unusual about that night - anything at all - please do tell us."

He thinks for a few moments. "It was a little weird that a blueblood got brought to us. I mean, we're a lowblood clinic, right? Then again, his condition was bad enough he probably wouldn't have survived trying to reach anywhere else."

Artair, the prosecutor, shakes his head as he rests his blade over his shoulder, but keeps quiet for now.

"His death came as a shock to all of us. I never knew those machines could do that to someone, but I guess it makes sense... I can't think of anything else unusual that night. Well. Unusual for the clinic at least."

At this, the prosecutor squints at him, but still refrains from breaking in.

Indrid, zeroing in on it too. "What do you mean? Not unusual for the clinic?"

"Uh..." he scratches the side of his head, looking a little uncomfortable. "Most of the staff are normal, yeah? But some of them are... not? There's that seadweller who didn't even understand the concept of money, the girl who seems to... well, it's hard to say, but she gives off the strangest vibe. And then there's those mannequins that keep wandering around everywhere. Is that even safe for a hospital?"

The judge frowns, while Artair permits himself a smirk.

"I don't mean any offense, but you have to admit, it's not a typical medical clinic. Even the head of security seems a little off his rocker."

She raises her eyebrows. "How so? Has Yarrex Fissaa caused any issues for you during the course of your work?"

"It's not like I knew the staff before I got hired." he replies, raising an eyebrow. 

Artair speaks up. "Objection, how is this relevant to the case? The defense is clearly wasting our time, the head of security is not on trial for being strange."

Indrid, calmly. "I am asking whether Mr. Urtyop experienced anything out of the ordinary that night. If he can confirm he did not, then that will resolve this line of questioning."

"He already said so, or are ye deaf as well as daft?" Artair snorts, pacing behind his desk.

Halvir nods. "That's right. I said I didn't see anything unusual for the clinic that night. I saw the mannequins meandering around, but they always do that."

Indrid, unfazed. "Yet, the nanites going haywire are themselves extremely unusual, and there must have been a cause. Given what happened to Mr. Jegder as he informed miss Wistim when the sample was taken, it seems highly unlikely that there was no indication of Mr. Interg's decline until the moment it happened."

"If miss Lovely had wished to kill him herself, how could the reaction have been so delayed?"

Artair raises one incredulous, bushy eyebrow. "Are you mad now too, aye? We aren't arguing that your lot intended to kill anyone, just that you're stupid enough to put something that went haywire in someone and got 'em chewed up from the inside."

The judge shakes his head. "Objection sustained. Please return to questioning the witness about the events of the night in question, or turn him over for cross-examination."

Halvir speaks up: "Don't you have the machine readouts? They'll back up what I have to say. He was fine one minute. Then, well... you know what happened."

Indrid remains resolute. "Yet you essentially are arguing such a thing, because accusing the staff of such absurd and out of character idiocy is akin to accusing them of murder by supreme negligence. This has never happened before, so it makes no sense it would happen now, not when there was so much for them at stake.

Yes, we have the machine readouts, and no other readouts in the clinic's history show this kind of behavior. Nor did the patient seem to have any psiionic power or condition that would interfere with the nanites' work. With that said, the witness may now be cross-examined if he has nothing left to report." She nods encouragingly at Halvir.

Artair comes forward as Halvir shakes his head. "Mister Urtyop, you said nothing else was unusual about the night?"

The witness shakes his head, so Artair continues. "And is it true that nothing of this has happened before?"

"That's right. It's the first I've seen it ever happen."

Artair nods. "Aye, new technology be a fickle thing. Do you know how the machines work, then?"

He half shrugs. "Sort of. I know Miss Friday and miss Ullane have to work together on them. I think they're the ones who give them the commands to, you know, fix people. Initially, anyway. Obviously you can't mess with them once they're inside of someone."

Artair smirks, glancing back at the defense for a moment before looking to the witness. "Aye. So, once they're inside a body, they can't be controlled? Do you think that wise?"

Indrid raises her eyebrows. "It's a limitation of the technology, as all technology has while it's still being developed. There is a risk as there is with all surgical equipment; it was not always as refined as it is now, and used to be far more risky to operate on patients with.

Should we not use any advanced machinery at all because it carries some drawbacks? Especially when this is the first recorded case of a death? Far more trolls have died to improperly operated surgical technology, and that is still used in every hospital on Alternia."

Artair looks back again, unperturbed. "All good technology must be thoroughly tested. Nobody walks into a hospital signin' up to be a guinea pig for whatever bizarre machinations you've come up with. Supposin' this fella, eh?"

He looks back to Halvir. "How bad was his condition?"

"Critical. He was suffering extreme blood loss and had multiple contusions and penetrative injuries."

"Meaning?"

"Someone stabbed and beat him multiple times."

"Aye, so... would a blood transfusion and stitches have saved him too, in your medical opinion?"

Halvir hesitates, thinking for a few moments. "His brain was swelling from the beatings. We would have had to relieve pressure on that with surgery. I'm not sure he could have survived with his current blood loss. But..."

"But?"

"It... would have been possible. Especially given Miss Wistim's psionic abilities. The machines are partly made from them, but on her own, she can help heal the injured by speeding up their natural healing processes. In fact, just recently she performed a successful major surgery with them."

"There ye have it," Artair crows, jabbing the point of his sword into the air. "Could have saved him with alternative methods wi'out riskin' using something that chewed him up. All procedures carry risk, but must we pay with our lives in a most horrid fashion because testing them for this is too hard? It's one thing to risk a slip-up mid-surgery, another thing ta' risk chewing a man apart."

With a flourish, he produces the autopsy report and opens it up to read aloud. It describes, in gruesome detail, the extent of damage done to the man's insides. Most of his internal organs were dissolved or torn into shreds. His muscles and bones were being steadily chewed through as well. It is estimated he died within minutes in agonizing pain.

"Nay further questions. I believe that all speaks for itself."

A shocking, damning display, is it not? I admire Clonal, in a way. He is casteist and vicious, but he has a certain style.

[dalishthunder]

Knife kink ? From the ask game?

1/5 for me tbh like if it's done well ig? Like the flat of the knife dragging across the skin so you can only just barely feel the pain

I don't think ramattra would try it 0/5

Indrid is like hit or miss? Maybe he'd be into it and he's down to try anything once after all

Cronus? He's into it probably 3/5

Sun? Simultaneously into it and not

Moon? Also simultaneously into it

[themostlyharmlessfandragon]

I posted 10,744 times in 2022

That's 2,599 more posts than 2021!

24 posts created (0%)

10,720 posts reblogged (100%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@kikimora-apologist

@crispnebula

@fun-with-colors

@one-thousand-bees

I tagged 86 of my posts in 2022

#art reference - 35 posts

#not art - 12 posts

#my art - 12 posts

#fanart - 10 posts

#art - 9 posts

#drawing - 7 posts

#val and isaac - 7 posts

#original - 7 posts

#amphibia - 5 posts

#space dread - 5 posts

Longest Tag: 117 characters

#that were not coming in during a state snow emergency where i literally couldn't get my car out due to unplowed roads

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Screaming and crying rn 🐸

101 notes - Posted May 15, 2022

#4

Spoilers for In Space With Markiplier!

Just like I did for A Heist With Markiplier, I have mapped out the paths for In Space With Markiplier. I wasn’t expecting it to be so different from Heist, with loops and only really one ending, so sorry if the chart is hard to follow. I also haven’t heard of or seen any secrets in the endings like Heist’s code, but if there is one I’ll try to add it to the chart. I kind of wish I had marked which scenarios you encounter by the ending, like if you become a puppet, but again that’s because I expected it to have different endings (shows me for assuming!). Again, please let me know if I’ve made a mistake or am missing something.

103 notes - Posted April 5, 2022

#3

Spoilers for In Space With Markiplier 2!

A full map of In Space With Markiplier 2! If you would like to see my previous maps, check out ISWM here and AHWM here. Please let me know if there are any mistakes, anything you think I should add, or if you can’t figure out where the arrows go (I tried to make them clearer by doing dotted and dashed lines where they cross over each other). I hope this is useful and you have a fun time playing through it, I know I did!

111 notes - Posted May 3, 2022

#2

Indrid Cold in TAZ: Dust. I’m so excited that they brought him back! Dust 2 is great

204 notes - Posted November 12, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Cotton Candy Garnet 💙❤️

219 notes - Posted October 16, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

Note: um I don’t remember tagging that longest tag?? I think there was a time where tumblr was glitching and automatically adding prev tags for a while but I don’t remember if that was this year

[terezis]

taz news update from this week’s ttaazz

first and foremost: taz is going weekly again!

next week there will be a live show, i forgot which one but it’s not balance (eta: it’s “just us 2″)

the week after that begins a short, five episode season of dust… that’s right, baby, we’re going back!!! 

episodes zero and one will go up on the same day. the entire thing has already been recorded.

travis will be reprising his role as dm

justin is also reprising his role as augustus parsons, the nut-ceo/ ghost

griffin will be playing indrid cold, the mothman (?!?!?!)

they joked about crossovers but i don’t know if this is amnesty’s indrid, or a mothman unique to the world of dust

oh and erika ishii will be joining them as a guest!!!

AFTER THAT

justin will be dm-ing the next long-form campaign of the adventure zone. they are playing blades in the dark. 

it is called taz: steeplechase, and takes place in an unfathomably large and beautiful resort-slash-city-state which is separated into different theme park-like areas, where the uber wealthy go to live out their wildest fantasies. it is run by a single family.

pcs have not been created yet, but the general idea is that they will be scoundrels trying to carve out a place for themselves in this world “below the surface”

justin wants them to be irreverent and nasty. no decent people. he missed being able to murder fools like they did in balance. these are going to be some bad guys doing bad things. let’s get fucking nasty

[ethersierra]

Okay let’s see for Bingo…Shret for Ethersea, Rainer Michelle for Grad, Indrid for Amnesty, and Lup for Balance!

ayehehe

Shret:

Why do I associate like every character I've gotten for this bingo with red?? Anyway

She has so much going on! But we don't explore it very much. Like I guess in flashbacks we do but it's not properly and there is SO much background with her and amber but it's kind of hidden since that's the way Amber keeps it. I for one am excited to have an opportunity for fans to explore the missing pieces of the puzzle there, but I also feel like it was left behind intentionally. Who knows.

I don't think she's like the next big bad or anything at all, I think her and amber just have beef because of what happened to their friend and.. Amber's brother??? What the fuck was that a fever dream?

Rainer:

My love. My light. I need to think of her more because she is cool as hell! I really love that Travis introduced her as a character with a disability (WITH COOL MAGIC SHIT :D) but it was just part of her, not her whole deal. She is so sweet and a little creepy and I love her with my whole heart. And yes I will project onto her.

It's like it was cute how she had like a small crush on Fitz probably (from my perspective) but like it wasn't a Thing™ especially when Fitz showed he wasn't interested. And with him being canonically ace + headcanon aro, they just remind me of the way I was with a similar guy at the start of high school before realizing I was gay. I dunno I just thought of that parallel-- it's my headcanon and I'll project if I want to😌

Indrid:

Too slow 💪😏 just posted that one though. Cool dude, he's a moth, enough said

Lup:

BINGO!!

Lup Lup Lup, love of my life. I know I just said that about Rainer but I can have multiple loves.

What is there to say? She's just SUCH a character and she's fun but grounded and has so much love and anger and <3

She is so cool looking. She has pierced elf ears with like the cuff chain, and a cool red jacket and wears patterned tights and shit(all of which I have in my cosplay for her 🥰). But sometimes just messy hair and sweats and I love her just as much either way.

If she were real I would marry her and also be afraid of her. She's so powerful. She wouldn't hurt me though. Unless I was a prick.

I put kinda for screen time because I think the amount we got of her was like.. perfect? For what she needed to do? But yeah I do still wish for more of her but we have liveshows for that. And fan fics

I previously joked about her carrying a little dog with sunglasses in a handbag like legally blonde style and naming it Barry one of the cycles where he fucks up early on and dies and goes lich mode. I still want to draw it.

She is amazing on her own but I especially love her relationship to the other characters, and how she interacts with each of them, and really grounds Taako. It's just so special. It's easy to see why they all fell apart when she left.

[shmothman]

Do you still create Indrid Cold content? I miss my boy and also I love your writing!!

oughfhfhf while I still love him dearly (I miss our boy too 😭😭), I haven’t written anything in months 😭😭 (for any fandoms, not just indrid 😔😔) I am shrimply waiting for my motivation and creativity to return from the War... I can’t promise I’ll be writing any Indrid content anytime soon, but it makes me very happy to hear you enjoy my fics!! Thank you for dropping by to send a message, I really appreciate it!!! 💕💕💕

[the-mists-of-asgaard]

Bands List (Part 9: I)

Disclaimer: My passion and like for the respective bands does not mean that I support them outside of the music-world. I just like the songs, for whatever reason. Also, this took hours of research and mental exercises and checks through older lists I had made in the past, however I might be forgetting some bands, or might have accidentally put the same band twice (blame the human natural error). With this being said, let’s go! I: Insomnium, I Am, I Am Destruction, I Am All Wounds, I Am a Preacher, I Am the Messenger, I Am the Void, I Chaos, I Declare War, I Killed Everyone, I Miss My Death, Í Myrkri, I Refuse, I Swear Damnation, I the Intruder, I Will Tear This World Apart, I Lord Aveu, I Protagonist, I.N.R.I, I.N.R.I, I4896, Iapethos, Iarnvidjur, IATT, Ibéria, Iberian Wolves, Ibex Angel Order, Ibex Throne, Iblissian, Ibyss, Icarus Witch, I Saw the Deep, I Shall Devour, I Shalt Become, Ice Howl, Ichor, Ichor, Icon & the Black Roses, Icon of Curse, Icon of Destruction, Icon of Phobos, Iconic Vivisect, Iconoclast, Icons of Brutality, ICS Vortex, ID: Exorcist, ID:Vision, Ideologies Embodied, Ides, Ishan, Immortal, Infant Anihilator, Inquisition, Invidus, Impaled Nazarene, Impending Doom, Ides of Gemini, Idlegod, Idol of Fear, Idol Smasher, Idolheist, Idolist, If Hope Dies, If I Could Kill Myself, If You See Kaye, Ifing, Ifurin, Igatsus, Ignea, Igneous Human, Ignifer, Ignis Gehenna, Ignis Inferni, Ignis Noctem, Ignis Tellus, Ignite the Black Sun, Ignite the Helix, Ignition Code, Ignominious Incarceration, Ignotus Enthropya, Igor Mortis, Igric, Ihloosuhree, IIIVI Ghost, Iil Ialpirgah, Ikarian, Il Vuoto, Ilathar, Ildjarn, Ildra, Ildverden, Ilhalung, Iliac Thorns, Ilienses Tree, Ill Natured, Ill Tidings, Illarith, Illdisposed, Illidiance, Illimitable Dolor, Illkynja, Illogic Creatures, Illum Adora, Illumina A.D., Illumion, Illunïs, Illusion of Control, Illusion of Fate, Illusionary Funeral, Illusions Dead, Illusions Play, Illvilja, Ilmasai, Im Tode, Images of Eden, Images of Violence, Imago Metus, Imago Mortis, Imber Luminis, Imhla, Immaculate Deception, Immanent, Immemorial, Immense Suffering, Immensity, Immersed in Darkness, Imminent Annihilation, Imminent Ferality, Immiseration, Immolated Moth, Immolation, Immolith, Immorgon, Immortal Force, Immortal Souls, Immortal Threat, Immortalis, Impaled upon the Mountains, Impartial Dismemberment, Impavida, Impending Annihilation, Impenetrable Darkness, Impenitent, Imperative Decreation, Imperator, Imperceptum, Imperfectionist, Imperial Black Ceremony, Imperial Conquest, Imperial Domain, Imperial Slaughter, Imperilment, Imperious Vision, Imperium, Imperium, Imperium, Imperium Dekadenz, Imperium Infernalis, Imperium Sacrum, Imperthean, Impetuous, Impetuous Burial, Impious Havoc, Implements of Hell, Implore, Imposition, Impulsealer, Impulsive Gluttony, Impure, Impure Consecration, Impure Declaration, Impure Violation, Imynvokad, In Abominabiles Facti Sunt Carpi, In Aeternum, In Aevum Agere, In Autumn, In Autumnus, In Blood We Trust, In Caeli Absentia, In Cauda Venenum, In Chasms Deep, In Crucem Agere, In Darkest Dreams, In Demoni, In Dreams of Reality, In Extenso, In Flames, In Grief, In Hearts Wake, In Human Form, In Luna, In Mortis Veritas, In Mourning In My Shiver, In My Silence, In Oblivion, In Place of Hope, In Reverence, In Shadows and Dust, In Staid Grace, In tha Umbra, In the Company of Serpents, In the Gale, In the Woods..., In Torment I Die, In Twilight's Embrace, In Vain, Inactive Messiah, Inanimate Existence, Inborned Lycanthropy, Inbreed Aborted Divinity, Inception of Fall, Incest in Heaven, Inchoate, Incidere, Incinerate, Incinerated, Incinerated Flesh, Incinerating the Infidels, Incinerator, Incinerator, Incinerator, Incisus, Incited Abomination, Incivility Regurgitated, Inclemency, Inconcessus Lux Lucis, Incordia, Incorporea, Inculter, Incursed, Indecent Excision, Index Off Proxy, Indica Blues, Indigo Raven, Indisgust, Indoctri, Indoctrinate, Indricothere, Indrid Cold, Indrid Cold, Inducing Terror, Inequity, Infamous Glory, Infaust, Infected Laceration, Infected Mind, Infecting the Swarm, Infection Code, Infection of Heaven, Infekted, Infera Bruo, Inferi, Infernal Angels, Infernal Blaze, Infernal Coil, Infernal Cult, Infernal Katharsis, Infernal Regency, Infernalectomy, Infernalien, Infernarium, Inferno (XII), Infernotion, Infernüs, Infernus Presence, Infest, (The) Infestation, Infestation, Infested Entrails, Infested Monastery, Infesting Swarm, Infestum, Infibulated, Infidel Reich, Infiltrate, Infinite Death, Infinite Defilement, Infinite Density, Infinite Eclipse, Infinite Purgatory, Infinite Regression, Infinityum, Infliction, Infra, Inframonolithium, Infuria, Ingenium, Ingested, Ingested Lobotomized Remains, Inglorious, Ingrain, Ingress, Ingurgitate, Ingurgitating Oblivion, Ingvar, Inhale, Inhale the Void, Inhaling the Stench of Mustard Gas, Inhaling Cold, Inhepsie, Inherit Disease, Inherits the Void, Inhuman, Inhuman Atrocities, Inhuman Deformity, Inhuman Devourment, Inhuman Dissiliency, Inhuman Rage, Inhumate, Inhumation, Inhume, Iniquitous Deeds, Iniquitous Monolith, Iniquitous Savagery, Inira, Initium Mortuus, Inlandsys, Inmortus, (The) Inmost Blight, Inmost Ego, Inn13, (The) Inner Abyss, Inner Altar, Inner Blast, Inner Dawn Foundation, Inner Fear Project, Inner Maze, Inner Missing, Inner Nocturne, Inner Odyssey, Inner Sanctum, Inner Silence, Inner Suffering, Inner War, Innergrave, Innermoon, Innero, InnerSphere, Innerty, InnerWish, Innocence Écartelée, Innocens, Innominate, Innommé, Innovation Threat, Innse Gall, Innsmouth, Innumerable Forms, Inocculta, Inoculated Life, Inpathos, Inquinamentum, Inquiring Blood, Inquisitor, Insalubre, Insan, Insanation, (The) Insane, Insane Court, Insane Order, Insane Therapy, Insaniae, Insanity, Insanity, Insanity Cult, Insanity Reigns Supreme, Insano Vision, Insatanity, Insect, Insect Court, Insect Death, Insect Inside, Insectos Postmortem, Inseminate Degeneracy, Insepulto, Inside the Sun, Insidious, Insidious Asphyxiation, Insidious Decrepancy, Insidious Disease, Insidious Reign, Insidious Squelching Penetration, Insidious War, Insignificant Existence, Insignium, Insineratehymn, Insistent, Insomnia Creep, Insorcist, Inspell, Instant, Instant Mummification, Instigate, Instinct of Survival, Instorm, Insulter, Insurrection, Integral, Integrity, Integrity, Intellect Devourer, Inter Arma, Intercranial Tremors, Interface, Intergalactic Holocaust, Interior Wrath, Internal Aeon, Internal Bleeding, Internal Cold, Internal Damage, Internal Darkness, Internal Frost, Internal Organs External, Internal Suffering, Internal Vomit, Internment, Interregnum, Interspersing Bone and Blood, Interstellar Abraxas, Intervals, Intervoid, Intestinal Disgorge, Inthraced, Inthyflesh, Intig, Into Chaos, Into Dagorlad, Into Dark, Into Darkness, Into Decay, Into Eternity, Into the Arcane, Intothecrypt, Intra Spelaeum, Intracerebral Hemorrhage, Intracranial Butchery, Întristare, Intronaut, Intronaut, Introspectia, Introspectiva, Introvert Perversions, Intruder Incorporated, Invading Chapel, Invdrs, Inveracity, Inverloch, Inverno Eterno, Invert the Idols, Inverted Cross Cult, Inverted Earth, Inverted Mind, Inverted Virtue, Invertia, Inveterate Extinction, Invictus Infernal, Invidia, Invisible Enemy, Invisius, Inviting End, Invoke, Invoke the Fury, Invoker, Involuntary Convulsion, Invouta, Inward Escape, Io Apreo, Iōhannēs, ION, Iona Death Cult, Iperyt, Ira de Nephilim, Ira Diaboli, Ira Tenax, Irae, Irate Architect, Irden, Ire Wolves, Ireshrine, Iris Divine, Irkallian Oracle, Irminsul, IRN, Iron Altar, Iron Crown, Iron Flames, Iron Flesh, Iron Maiden, Iron Moth, Iron Noose, Iron Pike, Iron Spider, Iron Swan, Iron Walrus, Ironbird, Ironwood, Ironwork, Irony of Fate, Irrbloss, Irreparable, Irreverent Witness, Irreversible, Irreversible Mechanism, Irrweg, Iscariot, Ischemic Necrosis, Isebel, Isenblåst, Isengard, Isengrim, Ishvara, ISIS, Iskald, Isolated Antagonist, Isole, (The) Isosceles Project, Israfel, Isran, Isserley, Istårn, Isvind, It Creeps and It Crawls, Itching, Iteru, Ithdabquth Qliphoth, Ithilien, IV Luna, Ivan, Ivebeenshot, Ixion, Ixtab, IXXI, iwrestledabearonce, Izah, Izthmi, Iðrast

[fourteenacross]

new fic!

last night when we were young (6657 words) by pocky_slash

Fandom: The Adventure Zone (Podcast) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Barclay/Indrid Cold (The Adventure Zone) Additional Tags: Campaign: Amnesty (The Adventure Zone), Memories, Nostalgia, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Comedy of Errors

Barclay keeps all the precious mementos from his life on Earth and his travels across the country in a manila envelope for safekeeping. He probably should have been more careful about leaving that envelope out in public.

(Barclay gets nostalgic, Agent Stern picks up something he shouldn't have, and Indrid is fairly certain the day won't end with Barclay in government custody.)

I am re-listening to Amnesty with my roommate, and the bit where Stern mentions he’s specifically investigating Bigfoot-adjacent missing persons pinged me. This is the result, a story that is wholly not any of the four other things I’ve been painstakingly picking at for the past however many weeks.

Brains. What even.

This is largely hijinks and nonsense and it comes directly after a very merry unbirthday. 

(Also, I am very sorry that I have not responded to comments on the birthday fic that I posted! I have had every intention and I deeply appreciate those comments and I am so grateful anyone is reading at all. I just have quar brain. 💜)

[darkpoisonouslove]

“What Do You See Through the Waves Pulling Us Apart to Who We Are?”

Summary: Griffin readily falls into Valtor's arms every time he returns to the Island despite the knowledge that he's holding his wife when he is on the Main Land. He has in him what she's been looking for all along - someone to see her for who she is. Can hatred win a war against love if they both stem from one heart for the same heart? Part 2 of “The Poison of a Gift”.

Warning for knifeplay and breathplay (though, not sticking to the traditional way it is done). Also the tiniest bit of blood and implied sexual content and cheating.

Some major ugliness transpired between the TDC characters that Griffin and Valtor stand for in this AU and now they're both dead so it might have pushed me to continue this verse. (Also, the fact that I am still so obsessed with that world wtf.) Quick note on the setting - the Volroy is the palace where the Queen and the Black Council are seated. and it is set in the capital of Fennbirn - Indrid Down.

The sheets were soft as flower petals as she crawled on top of him after he unbuttoned her dress and she pushed him back on the mattress before letting the garment fall to the floor and reveal her body to him as well as give her freedom of movement. She had expected different from the cotton of the small inn and she'd been surprised, even if she weren't quite sure she was pleased by that. She'd hoped the discomfort of a meeting spot that didn't cover her standards could shake her back to her senses even if the fact that she had to hide hadn't succeeded.

In all fairness, she would prefer to hide even if it were someone she could be seen with that she was sleeping with. She would hate for her personal life to be all over the capital like the newest fashion trend. There were enough rumors about Griffin Sylvane as it was and she didn't want to give them more to talk about. She certainly couldn't allow it in the present situation. Not when she was with a married mainlander.

He'd had the audacity to look for her in the Volroy, had come to the palace and asked for her like he had any other business there than to cheat on his wife if she agreed to be the other woman. She'd had half a mind to offer him a glass of her tainted brandy–they had clean alcohol in the Council's meeting room but in her personal study it was poisoned through and through and those who did not have her gift had learned to stay away from her bar–but she'd known he wouldn't have taken it. Not after he'd seen her taste for poison. Or so she'd hoped. Otherwise, she'd missed her chance to get rid of him.

She'd ended up on his boat instead–several times since then–where the waves of the port rocking it constantly reminded her she was not on solid ground. She was trespassing in his marriage and she shouldn't have been there. Not when he'd hold her one afternoon and then sail away to his wife for weeks on end, sometimes months even.

And now on a bed in an actual building her head was spinning even more than when she'd just woken up to find out she'd lain with a serpent and even her gift hadn't been able to save her from the pain of his deception that had shot straight through her veins and into her heart to poison it despite who she was. It was her who was on top when they were on her territory, this time truly and not just in her land of make-believe where he was someone she could spend her life with. He was hers anyway and that would have to be enough even when she could only have him when he could tear away from his wife and she could sneak away from her duties and the appearances she needed to keep.

"Feeling adventurous today?" Valtor asked, his eyes sliding over the knife strapped to her thigh in a sheath that was there to keep it from cutting through her muscles, not from tainting her blood with the poison on the blade. He was more likely to fall victim to the poison first and so he did not dare reach for it or even for the skin it covered like it could cut him even wrapped as it was and his trepidation had nothing to do with foreplay but with the question she could almost hear bouncing around in his head and hitting his skull painfully.

It was fun to watch him squirm mentally even if his body was as steady as an island in the midst of the ocean although she had never meant the knife for him. It was for her. For her protection.

There had been attempts on her life so she'd thought it would be good to take her security in her own hands and not trust anyone else to do it better than she could. Her dress had the right pocket opening right above the handle of the knife so that she could pull it out from there and not waste time lifting her skirts. It also made sure she looked unarmed and could lull someone into a false sense of how much effort they'd need to kill her. Though, she was just starting to realize how useful her little tucked away weapon could be for messing with Valtor's head as well.

"It's my favorite," she said as she pulled it out, the feeling of the engraved handle in her palm proof of how true her words were. It was a gift from her sister and it was a knife most beautiful aside from it being perfect for both defense and offense even if it weren't really a throwing knife. "I'd hate to part with it," she said as she drew it out and pointed it towards his throat pushing the tip closer and closer until it held his breath hostage when he didn't try to make a break for the door and stayed put to let her intentions play out whatever they might be.

She felt her blood rushing all through her body and making her heart race to keep up with the ecstatic flow but the true throbbing was between her legs when she saw him keeping from breathing. He knew there were toxins coating the blade and was playing right into her game of being her prey. And she couldn't look away from the tip of her knife lest she saw the lack of fear in his frozen eyes when that was not what kept him suspended the way she wanted him and her hand wavered and cut the man who could understand her without words. She almost hoped he could do that when it was the words that had hurt, that had opened her heart to pour agony in it and drown it even when it'd pumped blood laced with poison through her veins for decades now.

"You would do best to keep still," she said as she let the blade drop flat against his chest, the edge almost pressing into his skin. "It's very sharp and can cut through you like you're paper," she said and was glad to see he was getting the message when he didn't try to inhale. The slightest movement of his chest could make the knife bite into his skin and there'd be no saving him when the poison did the rest and tore his body apart from inside.

She slowly pulled the knife towards herself making it slide down his chest and letting him feel every torturous second. Her own heart was thumping in her ears so loudly that she could only hope he wouldn't go deaf from his own when it was bound to pound even harder. She was playing with fire and could end up burning them both. Granted, with different flames when his insides would be scorched by the sting of the poison and her heart would end up in ashes no mix of herbs would be able to revive, but that would just make it that much more of a shame for her to bear when it would mean she'd failed in her own area of expertise as a poisoner. She did not fail.

She would see it to an end even if she was greatly aroused and distracted by the sight he made for caught in her net of poison. All she wanted was to toss the knife away and kiss him until they didn't need the oxygen they couldn't find anymore when he was holding his breath through the leisurely walk of her blade over his chest. The thought of how hard it had to be for him to halt his life for so long just because she wished it to be so was most seductive and it was luring her in stronger than a poisoner's feast did. She just wanted to sink her teeth into him and bite until he was all inside her and there was no need to worry for leaving any marks since there would be nothing left of him to return to his wife ever again. She would have eaten him all like he was poison and could do no harm to her system. At least then she would have an excuse for being unable to get him out of there.

She finally lifted the blade. Not because she'd had enough of his surrender to her whims, but because she wouldn't get more of it if she didn't let him breathe soon and forced his body to disobey his will in search of life only to push itself right into the death she'd laid on his chest. She didn't want him dead. She just wanted his life to belong to her like she knew it never would.

He was sucking in a breath immediately and the air rushing in his lungs visibly was the most thrilling spectacle she'd ever seen. It let her know just how close she'd pushed him to the edge of a fall he would never come out of alive and she would love to experiment until she had him teetering right on it but his struggle to breathe when he hadn't tried to stop her from taking his life under her control had aroused an indescribable need in her.

She caught his eyes which wasn't that hard when he seemed just as entranced with the idea of her having every part of him as she was and touched her fingertip to the knife's blade to have a drop of blood blooming from the open wound instantly. Her knives were as sharp as her poison was and could kill on their own when guided by her excellent aim but she was happy to feel the toxins on the edge rush through her blood like the adrenaline was doing. It was enough to keep her anchored for now and not have her leap at him when he still needed time to recover from her foreplay.

"What is it?" Valtor managed to get out between his gasps and she almost licked the blood from the cut before she remembered it would leave traces of poison in her mouth that would force her to get up if she wanted to be able to kiss him. Her concoctions never lacked in strength if she hadn't purposefully made them so and this one was tasked with protecting her life so she hadn't spared her poisoner skill when making it.

"Belladonna," Griffin said before she could think better of it and at least add that it was a mix of different poisons and not just a tincture like the gift he'd given her. She was too affected by what he was letting her have and wasn't thinking about what she was giving. She'd done it once before and it had ended with a marriage standing between her and the one man she'd allowed herself to be swept away by. She needed to be more guarded but she'd already pulled her knife away from him without doing any damage when he deserved a hit with the handle at least for the way he'd handled her feelings. That would give him a taste of her pain without killing him which was all she could hope for when her revenge needed to be constricted lest it morphed into self-harm.

"Why don't you find yourself a poisoner?" Valtor asked and she wished she could believe it were the obvious restraints she had to impose on herself when she was with him that were driving the question and not what she'd accidentally confessed while drunk on the excitement and her own poison.

He just wanted to hear that she wouldn't, that she wanted him even when she knew better than that since there were limits even for who she was. Yet, the question sounded genuine enough in his soft voice that couldn't rise stronger when there was still a flooding current of air flowing into his lungs to restore the rhythm of his breathing that she'd disrupted and giving him an answer at least sounded fair after what he'd endured for her.

"A poisoner would only care for my looks," she said, trying to avoid the edge of the thought as it sliced through her mind. "My gift is not special amongst them and they are wary of my mind while you admire all of it." It was true enough. "All of me," she said, trying not to think of how she'd let him see everything only to learn that he'd lied to her. He'd come back to give her everything he had left and if that wasn't enough for her, it wasn't his fault that his embrace weakened her when she didn't have it as she was the one pushing herself into the cutting edge of the reality of their relationship. All of him that she could have, she did have.

Griffin ran her finger over his chest, over his heart, and left a trace of her blood shaped like a snake to mark him. Or maybe it was a wave–like the waves of misery her heart sent rushing through her veins once his boat was gone from the Indrid Down harbor and even the poison in her body couldn't kill the persistent feeling–but she didn't like the thought so it was time to drown it in his skin.

She returned the knife back in its sheath and unfastened it from her thigh leaning as far back and downwards as she could to drop it gently on the floor. She didn't want to damage neither her knife, nor Valtor. Even if Valtor was less of a gift and more of a curse. But what good did that knowledge do when she couldn't pull herself away despite her lack of immunity? Addiction didn't suit her when it was to anything but the poison that couldn't hurt her but it had a tight grip on her that would choke out her breath before it would loosen.

She didn't want it letting go as long as it meant she got to keep his awe of her as well. To him she was special because of who she was and not because of the position she held on the Island and the unfamiliarity of the feeling was running through her like a new poison that she'd never been exposed to before but was quickly becoming her favorite.

All the air left her lungs when she found herself underneath Valtor the moment she was free of the weight of the blade that had kept him in place. His arms were on her and she was pressed into the mattress, not long before she was writhing over the softness of the sheets that she might have just started despising when it wouldn't mar her back with the feel of them, with the feel of him holding her in place where she couldn't escape his ministrations even if she wanted to. It took away the worry of how willing she was to be the victim of his debauchery and left her only with the enjoyment of it.

It didn't take long for him to make her fall apart despite how much they both hated the knowledge. It weakened her in both their eyes and sullied their enjoyment of what he was doing to her even if it didn't mean that he had to stop. She preferred that he would before he could melt her brain completely to the point where she forgot his name was not hers to have, was not hers to scream.

She'd whispered it that first night as it'd been all she'd been capable of as out of breath as he'd left her and he hadn't liked it. Granted, because it'd been so quiet and lacking in strength, but he hadn't liked it and she was glad. She hadn't liked it when she'd learned his name belonged in the mouth of another woman and she'd sworn when she'd started that affair–this time knowingly–that he would never hear it from her the way he wanted it, drenched in her pleasure. Even if it meant never falling all the way into the ecstasy he could give her. It was the only thing keeping her from sinking fully into him and, in turn, that was the only thing keeping her living when the venom of his absence couldn't choke her but the lack of air his presence would engulf her in would do it when she only wanted to breathe him in as she knew he'd be gone the moment she blinked.

Her blood was still on him when he got out of the bathroom–she never went in with him since the whole point was to get clean and that would never happen with his fingertips on her–as if to claim him when he'd refused to scrub it away and she hated the way it sent her heart racing and nearly had her following it into his arms. He had someone else to hold and her traces would be long gone–erased, by his own hand–when he was home, all the way through the sea's waves and on the Main Land, far away from her, and all she'd have would be her poison to drink and dip her blade in.

She strapped the knife back to her thigh to remind herself that was the only gift she had in the situation when he wasn't one. Even if she could find a more beautiful reflection of herself in his eyes than she could in the mirror. He couldn't give her his heart and even if he could, she couldn't take it when she could never hold his hand in public and her fingers needed to stay wrapped around the handle of her knife to protect who she was.

[thiswasinevitableid]

Spring Awakening (OT4)

The “continuation” winner was eldritch OT4! You can read as a stand alone but the first part is very good.  Mild content warning: the prompt does mean there are references to body horror. There are also references towards breeding, but none actually occurs.

Winter has never been Indrid’s favorite season; it’s cold, the first chunk of it is spent with everyone telling him to give thanks and be cheery, and his van always malfunctions more. 

Now he has a new reason: one of his boyfriends hibernates.

It was just after Thanksgiving that Duck told him and Joseph what would happen. 

“It ain’t a full hibernation; I won’t be dead to the world.” Duck’s in his human form, which he favors for serious discussions. Indrid appreciates this, as it’s easier to read emotion on a round, friendly face than an incomprehensible mass of plant matter and ancient divinity, “but when growing things go to sleep, I go with ‘em. I’m alert enough, even in my sleep, to make sure the house keeps standing and that you two are taken care of. Not to mention this big fella will still be here.” He tips his head towards Barclay, whose resting in his bigfoot form by the fire

Joseph had a number of follow-up questions, but Indrid’s main concern was whether Duck would want them to touch him or take care of him while he slept. Phlox poked out of Duck’s shoulders as he smiled and said he’d appreciate it. 

That’s why Indrid is sitting in a nook of their cabin, stroking approximately at Duck’s shoulder; his human form is all but gone, and his eldritch one seems to be melding with the wall of the cabin. A tingle runs through his fingers, as if he was running them over the tips of fresh grass. 

Barclay is elsewhere gathering his offerings, and Joseph has been on assignment for over a month. Indrid ought to go into town and check the P.O box before it starts snowing again. But he doesn’t want to leave Duck’s side, the warmth radiating from the core of his form. 

“I’m going to run some errands, sweetheart. I won’t be long” He leans down, kissing a dark patch of corn silk. 

As he pulls on his jacket, a voice in the air drawls, faintly, “See you soon, darlin.”

He stops first at the general store, Leo waving to him as he helps himself to the small shelf of arts and crafts supplies. Neither Barclay nor Duck can quite manage to make drawing paper, so every few weeks he buys a new sketchbook for his commissions. 

The post office is full of racks of pink, white, and red, all signs of the impending holiday. Valentines’ Day fascinates Barclay, and has promised Indrid he’ll do something special for the two of them, and Indrid’s fairly certain he spotted him trying to make snowflakes take the form of hearts.

He opens the P.O box, pulling out flyers for the dehumidifier store and the strange waterpark on the edge of town; they only have the box  is because the farmhouse by the field has no known address. And a tendency to move around from side road to side road.

Under the multi-colored fliers is a single postcard. It’s a photo of Lake Mendota, with a little, serpentine monster drawn on in pen. He flips it over with a smile.

Dear Indrid, Barclay, and Duck,

Madison is about how I remember it. I can’t say much about the case, other than so far I’ve been right about everything and the other agents lost a car to the thing we’re investigating. 

Indrid, you should come here with me sometime when I’m not working. Might sister keeps demanding to know when I’m going to introduce you, and there’s a lot of excellent places to get ice cream and baked goods. We could even bring some back for Barclay and Duck if we timed it right. 

I miss you all so much. I can’t wait to come home. 

Love, 

-Joseph. 

There’s a meticulously drawn heart after the name. Indrid tucks it safely in his coat pocket and steps back into the cold. 

—------------------------------------------------------------

The frost makes it much harder to feel the decay of the stray fruits and layers of leaves blanketing the earth. So much so that Barclay spends most of his hunting for offerings in town; the high school has something called “home ec” where students' attempts at cooking sometimes end in a trash can of burnt offerings. From the taste of the cake he just finished, the baker would have produced something stunning had they watched the oven more closely. 

Where his body takes in the decay in the deeper layers of the earth, he feels familiar footfalls and Indrid’s voice on the wind. He concentrates his being on the spot, taking his more mortal form in front of the bundled-up human. 

“Hey, little moth. What do you need?”

“I…” Indrid peers hesitantly up at him, “I was hoping you had some time to spend with me today. It’s been a few since I really saw you, and with Duck asleep and Joseph away-”

“Think I get the drift.” He wraps his arms around the human, resting his chin atop his head, “time is weird for us, so thanks for telling me.”

“May I say something silly?”

“Sure thing.” 

“I miss Duck so much. Which is ridiculous, and greedy, I have you and Joseph and that should be more than enough but it isn’t.”

“If we were interchangeable, you wouldn’t want all three of us. I mean, I miss Joseph when he’s gone for, like, a day, even if I spend that whole time making a pillow burrow with you. Pillow fort?”

“Fort.” Indrid mumbles against him, “I feel so selfish, wishing spring would come just so Duck could hold me, really hold me, again.”

“You’re not selfish, little moth.” He nudges Indrid’s hood back and kisses silver hair, “but I got an idea. What are missing most right now?”

Indrid hums, “The way he sort of...envelops me sometimes. Like he did the night we first met; heavy and comforting on top of me, touching me everywhere, like I, I’m something worth treasuring.”

“He and I sure as fuck agree on that part. And I think I have something that might tide you over until spring. Close your eyes for me.”

The human obeys and Barclay unfurls himself, his fur peeling out and away, his body spinning into its true form, mouths tasting the air, the earth, the leaves on the trees and the mushrooms sleeping beneath them. 

He wraps himself tenderly around Indrid, taking care to keep his head and neck free; according to Duck, humans tend to panic if you confine their heads. Indrid sighs as he registers the pressure of Barclay around him. Of his human lovers, Indrid is the one who enjoys being bound and trapped this much; Joseph adores when Barclay holds him down or cuffs him to a headboard or branch, but anything more than that turns the excitement in those blue eyes to fear. 

His hands find Indrid’s zippers and buttons as his pelt slides beneath his feet, insulating him from the snowy ground. 

“Ohhhhh it’s so warm like this.” Indrid’s muscles relax and Barclay clings tighter to be sure he stays upright. Peeling Indrid’s clothes off layer by layer, more and more of Barclay’s hands emerge, eager to join the fun. Before Indrid, he never gave much thought to the texture of his fur. Now his human presses and twists his body against it, biting his lip as his cock rubs along a patch of it. Barclay smiles and his mouths multiply, kissing up long legs as his hands grope his ass, caress his face, tease his chest in hopes of showing him how much he deserves. 

“That’s, that’s so lovely, I-OH” Indrid laughs, “what was that hand made of? It tickled.”

“Uh, like, mossy reeds? You mean this one right?” He rubs Indrid’s stomach and the human laughs again, much louder this time.

“Indeed.” He squirms as several hands find his cock, one thumbing the tip while another strokes the shaft and a third teases his balls, “I, Barclay please I want, I want…”

“Want what?” He rumbles.

“Cover me up all the way, please. I know why you’re, you’re being cautious but I’m not afraid. I know you’ll let me go if I ask.”

Barclay pushes his form up, cocooning Indrid and discovering instantly that this means he can now kiss his lips and cheeks, run his hands through his hair the way people do in the movies Indrid watches curled up on the couch some nights. 

Pleasure is an odd thing when his body is once formless and concrete, not nearly as straightforward as when Barclay is in his mortal disguise. The most sensitive part of him when he’s like this are his mouths, and so he devours Indrid with kisses, savoring each little memory and feeling they bring to his tongues. 

Indrid’s cries turn wordless when a soft, fork-tongued moth finds his cock and sucks hungrily. Human fingers cling to his fur and Barclay revels in the touch, in the pleasure of bringing Indrid this close, of being able to keep him safe, warm, and happy, all while he writhes in delight and cums with an adorable squeak. 

Barclay twists and turns his body through space, bringing them back to the cabin and depositing Indrid into bed. 

“I love you” Indrid purrs, eyes bleary with joy when Barclay removes the red glasses and sets them on the little stand Duck made for them so they wouldn’t keep getting lost. 

“Love you too, little moth.” As he brings his mortal disguise back, a single, green vine snakes up the bed and slowly tugs a thick, mothman patterned blanket over Indrid’s body. Then it picks up the mothman plush from the corner and tucks it into Indrid’s arms.

“Thank you, my sweet.” Indrid gazes towards Duck. 

The vine caresses his cheek as it retreats and the floor creaks, “rest up, darlin.” 

Barclay plants a final kiss on Indrid’s forehead, then goes to see if he can recreate the home ec cake without the char. 

—----------------------------------------------------------

First, the case took twice as long as anticipated. Then there was the deposition in a Michigan case from last year that finally went to trial. Finally, to top it all off, his flight was delayed for two days. 

All this is to say, the most pressing thought on Joseph’s mind is how fast he can drive without putting the car in a snowbank. 

When the “Welcome to Kepler” sign finally comes into view, he relaxes his grip on the wheel and carefully navigates into the library parking lot. It’s a half hour to closing, and the snow is a half-foot high on the book drop. He knocks his boots against the mat and crosses the pine-tree green carpet to return the stack of books he took on his trip. Since he has a few minutes to spare, he scans the new books shelf and the rows of romance for titles for himself or Indrid. 

As he stacks a copy of Red Hot Ranch on paperback of A History of Mysteries, he spots the new sheriff and gives him a friendly nod. The man gives him a tight smile in return and ducks behind a shelf. 

His initial return to Kepler after being tossed into the field as a sacrifice had been so shocking that the previous sheriff fainted when Joseph stepped into the room to explain why he, and the mayor, were being arrested for kidnapping and wrongful imprisonment. Joseph knows Duck needed the energy from the sacrifices, and that he let all but a few go, but that’s no excuse for non-consensually offering people up to him. 

After the arrests, he mentioned to the interim mayor that he’d be setting up a satellite office in Kepler, since there was a lot of paranormal activity in the area. Then he made damn sure that the tail they put on him followed him all the way back to the abandoned farmhouse and watched as he stepped out of the car and into the cornfield, the stalks parting to show him the way back to the cabin. 

In a way, the people in town are more afraid of him than of Indrid, in spite of them both surviving stints in the cornfield with their memories intact and then taking up residence there. He suspects they think Indrid–with his otherworldly face and aloof demeanor–is a god himself. It’s a fair conclusion, given that every tomato plant, pumpkin vine, and apple tree in town got an unexpected, final wave of fruit when he arrived. Which means they think Joseph is the only human in town able to walk with gods without fear. 

He sets his books in the passenger seat and makes his final stop; Indrid asked him to pick up a few groceries on his way home. He tucks a bottle of hard cider next to the toothpaste, hoping he and Indrid can split it tomorrow while watching horror movies on the bed (he bought them some solar cell packs, as neither Duck nor Barclay have much sway over electricity).

Before the field, his last time having sex while tipsy was back in college and not particularly memorable. The more drinking became a social necessity for his work, where he was already seen as unusual and too buttoned-up, the more he was careful to never let his guard down and enjoy himself, unwilling to give his co-workers fodder to further discredit him. 

The past October, he and Indrid had decided to take a picnic into the field and watch Orionid Meteor Shower, the evening still carrying traces of summer. Duck made them a dome of corn husks and sunflower stalks to eat under, the dirt turning to a carpet of impossibly soft clover as they sat down. They’d drunk something honeyed and definitely alcoholic that Duck made them and traded bites of pear cake Barclay prepared as the sliver of a moon rose. 

Dinner was barely done before they were tangled together on the ground, making out with all the excitement and carelessness of far younger men. Then Indrid was on his back, humming as Joseph sat on his face, laughing because it felt nice and because he could. By the end of it there was slick on Indrid’s chin and cum on Joseph’s thigh, neither of them particularly interested in fucking full-on when there was so much of each other to enjoy. 

Then they’d lain on their backs and the dome opened, revealing an infinity of stars as tendrils of grass stroked their hair and the clover turned to thick, soft fur. 

God help him, if the farmhouse isn’t around this next corner he’s going to offroad to cut his time getting there. Snow be damned. 

He’s saved from this poor decision by the familiar silhouette, and turns towards home. Once parked, he retrieves his bags and steps towards the field. The withered stalks try to bend, but can’t get far. Watching them, he understands the worry in Indrid’s voice the last time they spoke on the phone; knowing Duck is at a low power is one thing, seeing the signs of him weakened is another. 

As he’s wondering if he can get to the cabin from memory, a form materializes from the snow. 

“Hey, blue eyes.” 

“Hi, big guy.” Joseph tips his face up so Barclay can kiss him, a hint of winter bonfire and cardamom on his tongue. 

“Lemme get those.” Several more arms appear on his bigfoot form, taking Joseph’s things with ease. Walking close to him seems to stave off the cold, and furry, warm arm rests on his shoulders as Barclay asks about the trip. 

When they reach the cabin, the god sets the bags on the table and the suitcase on the bed. Joseph kneels down to the mass of glowing fungus and twisted plant life and takes the nearest vine in his hands, bringing it to his lips for a kiss. 

“Just letting you know I’m home.”

“Missed you, sugar.” The reply seems to come from the stalks rattling outside the windows. 

The back door creaks and Indrid steps into the main cabin; Duck built him a little art studio–complete with pencils and paints conjured from plants– so he didn’t have to always go into the one he teaches at in town. 

“Welcome home, pet.” Indrid drapes his arms over Joseph’s shoulders. There’s charcoal on his cheek, and Joseph wipes it away before kissing him. Indrid grins when they part, “I have some business with you, agent.”

“I hoped as much.”

“Barclay, will you be joining us?”

“Not as much as I want to.” The god sighs, “The freeze is deep this year, and on top of that, humans seem to burn themselves out on cooking and canning after the new year. So I need to forage a bit more tonight.” He kisses them both goodbye and then he’s gone.

Joseph unpacks his things in a hurry, knowing he won’t be able to enjoy himself with Indrid if the laundry isn’t in the hamper and the groceries aren’t put away. Indrid makes no comment other than asking what on earth can rip the tire off an SUV. As they talk, the domesticity of it all overwhelms him; a home like this with someone used to be no less out of reach than living in a cabin in a cornfield with two eldritch beings. 

“You know, when I was zig-zagging about the states I–oh” Indrid smiles as Joseph gently backs him against the counter for a kiss, “shall I leave the last bag for later?”

“Please.”

Indrid laughs, allowing Joseph to pull him to the bed. Then his grin turns wicked and Joseph is trapped on his back, his boyfriend calling, “Barclay? A moment of assistance?”

Black, fur-lined cuffs appear on his wrist, leather cord leading from each to the headboard. As Indrid fetches a matching collar from a peg on the wall, Joseph groans, “I haven’t gotten to touch you in weeks and this is what you do to me?”

“As much as I love your attentive touches” Indrid closes the collar around Joseph’s throat, “we both know that when you’ve been overwhelmed with work, what you truly need is to be taken.”

“Yes” He closes his eyes, lifts his hips and shifts his legs to help Indrid undress him. He’s still in a dress shirt, but rather than uncuffing him a moment Indrid opts to leave it unbuttoned and shove the undershirt up to kiss his stomach before retreating to remove his pajamas. 

When his boyfriend finally pushes his cock into him they groan in comic unison. Indrid rests their foreheads together and murmurs, “I missed you so much, pet. So much.”

Hands unable to comfort him, Joseph kisses his chin and jaw, “I’m here now.”

Indrid licks his lips, “So you are.”

His boyfriend takes his time, thrusts slow and steady while languidly kissing Joseph to capture his moans. Eventually his hand slips between them, rubbing Joseph’s dick. The collar no longer feels inanimate; now it’s Barclay’s hand, reaching across acres to close around his throat and remind him to be a good boy. 

When he cums it’s with a pent up moan from over a month without the attention he ached for. Indrid switches to quick thrusts, joining him with a little gasp. Once he pulls out, Indrid rolls over, only managing to wiggle his pajama pants back on before cuddling into Joseph’s arms. He pets his boyfriend’s back, tracing his fingers over his tattoos, and spots a single, glowing eye watching them from Duck’s spot. 

He hopes he enjoyed the show. 

Joseph blows a kiss. The eye winks, playful, and then it’s gone. 

—---------------------------------------------------------

On March 7th, Joseph and Indrid wake up to snowdrops peeking through the floor. Joseph says “that’s a good sign” as Indrid sprints across the cabin to where Duck’s form is looking more human by the moment. 

“Hey, darlin. Hey, city boy.” Duck shifts positions, sitting up for the first time in two months. Skin is always the last thing to form on him, so Joseph feels as if he’s looking at an anatomical drawing where the sinews are swapped for roots and stems. 

“Do you need anything?” Indrid’s hands are flapping as Duck yawns and stretches. 

“Nah, I’m okay for now, sugar. It’ll take me a few days, maybe even a few weeks, to be able to do much more’n sit here and talk. By the by, that tree in the orchard that the storm took out is gonna make for some real nice soil. Good job on the decay, big fella.”

“Thanks, man.” The rug by the fire yawns, pushing up onto many hands as Barclay’s bigfoot form takes shape, “feels like there might be more mushroom this year, I kept running into their mycelium.”

“That’ll be nice, gets folks out and foraging, which I like to see. Uh” his posture turns sheepish, “sorry, shouldn’t talk shop when y’all been missin’ me, but I always wake up with all this info about how spring is gonna go.”

“I do not care what you talk about” Indrid takes an earthy hand, “I’ve missed hearing your full voice too much.”

“And I, sadly, have to be at work in forty-five minutes. Catch me up at dinner?”

“Yes” the three respond as one. 

The stalks still struggle to form a path as he walks out. But when he gets to his car, crocuses bloom in the shape of a heart by the driver-side door. 

When he arrives home that night, Duck has hair and a thin layer of skin and as wrapped in a robe of new leaves, Indrid perched in his lap. Joseph takes up a similar position in Barclay’s lap, breathing in crisp air as his boyfriend nuzzles his throat. They stay up well past midnight, just talking, and Joseph is glad tomorrow is Saturday. 

He’s even more grateful for this when he’s awoken in the early morning by a yelp. Indrid, who was a moment ago on his side, asleep, is now being dragged across the floor to where the swirling mass of Duck’s true form is gathering in the center of the room. Even seeing it dozens of times, Joseph’s brain rebels at defining the shape as anything more general than “big” and “covered in bioluminescent patches to act as eyes.” At least he can tell that Indrid isn’t being dragged as he first thought; a tendril of green has his ankle, but he’s being spirited towards Duck by a carpet of small, purple flowers. 

“I, I thought you said you wouldn’t need this kind of, of intensitEEP” Indrid squirms as his clothes are thrown to the other side of the room, “for a few weeks, when, when spring started in earnest and brought your energy with it.”

“That’s how it’s happened every year for longer than anyone can remember. But this year, you’re here, sugar. You put more energy into me just from cuddlin’ yesterday than I’d normally gather in a month. Which means I’m fuckin’ ravenous and it’s time for my little offering to do his job.”

Indrid moans, body fully off the ground in the vines sprouting from the floor and ceiling. Reality bends and cracks so abruptly that Joseph gets a headache. Then Duck’s human form is standing their, studying Indrid. 

“You ready for this?”

“Yes, yesyes, Duck please”

The god takes Indrid’s face in his hands, and for a moment everything, even the air, is still. Joseph wonders what Duck is looking for, if he sees things in Indrid Joseph’s human eyes will never perceive. 

Even tied up, Indrid manages to lean forward and kiss Duck. When he pulls back, the god’s smile is achingly human in its affection. 

Then Indrid cries out as a tendril pushing into his ass, the noise muffled as another finds his mouth. Some of the plant matter pulls him to his knees, bright red flowers spreading out around him as another vine circles his dick and a fourth begins twining up his body.

To Joseph’s surprise, Duck’s attention shifts to him.

“Now, if I recall correctly, city boy, I ain’t shown you all my dicks just yet.”

“I, I cataloged five so far” His tongue is sticking in his mouth and his sleep pants are already a mess. As Duck prowls towards him, he seems to become more solid, more real, with every step.

“Clothes off. Now.”

Joseph obeys as thin, flexible tree branches extend from the wall to fasten his collar in place. Duck manhandles him into his lap, facing Joseph away from him, vines spinning Indrid to face them at the same time. 

The scene across from makes any porn he’s seen look tamer than a Disney kiss. It’s as if all the plant life emerging from Duck’s renewed energy is reaching for Indrid, leaves forming into hands to pull his head back, vines working his cock, binding his thighs to the ground, and tugging at his nipple piercings, while the main two fuck him so deeply it’s as if they’re trying to touch inside him. Tears are coming down Indrid’s cheeks and he’s thrashing with every thrust. 

“Duck? Is, can you tell if he’s alright?”

Hands the temperature of sun-warmed dirt slip around his waist to caress his chest and stomach, “Yeah, darlin, I can. I’ll feel if he needs to stop before he even has a chance to say it.” A kiss on his cheek, gardenia tickling his nose, “thanks for lookin out for him. You want me to show you somethin’ new?”

“Yes, please.”

The head of the cock slides in so suddenly he doesn’t get a chance to look at it. Staring down, he can only see the base, which resembles a hibiscus flower in shape and color. Rather than pushing into him, the base cups his body, and the “petals” begin undulating, stroking his cock and folds deliciously. The cock inside him feels pretty plain, though now and then it seems to ripple.

“I gonna get to get in on the action?”

Joseph’s head snaps up to find Barclay idly stroking his cock as he watches Indrid. 

The vines holding Indrid shove him forward, offering Barclay a much better view of his ass as Duck says, “you can have as much of Joe as you want. But just for today, ‘Drid is all mine.”

“Got it.” Barclay stands, “not like it’s a bummer to just fuck you, blue eyes.” A short, thick, rounded cock bumps his mouth, “open up baby.”

Joseph takes the cock into his mouth, the tightly packed bumps on it already each moving on their own. It’s a wonderful, novel feeling on his tongue and he sucks happily as little growls come from above him. The pressure on his own dick changes, speeding up and pushing him towards his orgasm. He tries to pull off and say this, but Duck holds his head in place, forcing him to keep the cock in his mouth.

“I know city boy, I can tell you’re close. I’m glad you’re havin’ fun, but you cummin’ ain’t what stops this.”

He whimpers happily and surrenders to his orgasm. He can’t see Indrid anymore, but Duck seems to have stopped fucking this throat, and desperate, ecstatic moans are coming from just out of sight. 

“Mmmm, forgot how good you feel, city boy.”

He finds Duck’s hands and squeezes them, snickering when flowers follow the path of his thumbs. 

“That’s it, fuck, you both feel so fuckin good, I’m, I’m gonna-” There’s a grunt like a tree groaning in the wind and then something bursts from the cock inside him, hundreds of disctint sensations, all buzzing. The portion on the outside of his body doesn’t let up in the slightest, and the shaft inside begins not only expanding but pulsing.

“Feel that?” Duck growls in his ear, “told you I had one that had seeds that’d fill you up and get you off at the same time. But that ain’t all” another pulse and Duck purrs, “y’know what it’s doin?”

Joseph manages to shake his head.

“It’s trying to keep ‘em all in and push ‘em as deep as they can go.” A hand slides to Joseph’s stomach, “heard all kinds of stories about humans gettin’ bred by gods like us.”

Words like that would bother him with anyone else, but Duck’s grasp of human genders is shaky at best, and he knows this doesn’t change how his boyfriend sees him. Also that Duck, would never actually do something like that without seriously checking with him first.

So he surrenders to the fantasy, spreading his legs wider to feel the base of the cock widen to keep everything in. 

 “Fuck, you like that blue eyes?” Barclay groans, “then once Duck is done I oughta have a turn. See if I can make it so all you can do is burrow up with me and let me take care of you.”

“Good thinking. We’ll both try today. Whoever’s takes, the other guy will get to put the next one in him. Not, not like I can’t make this cabin big as we need it to be.”

Barclay cums down Joseph’s throat, and the sensation is so overwhelming combined with the way Duck is fucking him that Joseph cums again, certain he’s squirted as well.

“Fuck yeah” Duck holds him down as the cock pushes deeper, “see, your body wants us to know just how bad you want this.”

“Yes” he gasps, Barclay holding his face up so he can watch him come apart, “yes, god please”

“Your wish is my command, darlin.” Duck moans and another wave of cum pulses into him, then another, and another, the vibrations finding all the right spots inside him and he cums a third time, helplessly crying out as Barclay tells him he was made for this. 

Then Duck pulls out and waves of something faintly blue drip down Joseph’s legs as Barclay cleans him and bundles him up into the bed. Indrid is limp in the vines, cum noticeable on the floor, and Duck scoops him up to carry him over, whispering all the while about how much he loves him, how amazing he is, how he’ll always take care of him. 

As Indrid curls against him, Joseph murmurs, “Was that okay? They didn’t ignore you for my sake?”

His boyfriend smiles weakly, “First, pet, do not underestimate how much I enjoy seeing you ruined. But more importantly, Duck was with me, too. A benefit of his nature, I would say.”

“No kidding.” Joseph kisses him softly as Duck and Barclay cuddle up with them, the whole house moving to prepare them breakfast and clean the floor. And when Joseph steps outside after a long nap, he finds the entire structure covered in spring blooms. 

[grievingauthor]

Notes on TAZ Amnesty, Episode 29

So, first things first, these notes don't really go in the same order as the episode, and I wasn't actively listening when I wrote them so there's bound to be things I missed. Please, feel free to let me know connections I missed or theories you've formulated in the notes

Bolded are my initial observations, normal are further thoughts and questions

Eugene's abduction and the Greenbank Telescope Collapse occured on the same day, or at the very least within days of each other. This also lines up with Mama joining the Pine Guard.

The Flamebright Pendent is a part of Sylvain, likely brought back by humans during the war that broke the crystal. It was worn by Aubrey's mother when she gave birth to her and could be the source of Aubrey's powers. Could it have made her the interpreter of the Earth?

Janelle says Sylvain (the being) disappeared after the crystal was broken. Could Sylvain have taken a human form and come to Earth? The Flamebright Pendent is a matrilineal heirloom, could Aubrey be a descendent of Sylvain?

Light Beings (hereforth called Lights) were not hostile in previous encounters. This only changes after the Bom Bom Billy came with was defeated, as it is the one immediately before the Shifter. Was the change in demeanor caused by Billy staying?

The Shifter refers to Billy as "the Partition." This implies he's a separation, a wall of sorts between worlds or peoples. Indrid said Billy would be important, now we just need to find out why.

Minerva Chooses™ people to share her powers with via brain wormhole. This is how she got to Earth, through Duck and Sarah Drake. Will Sarah become a Chosen? Or was that a one time deal?

The Hornets are now working together with the Pine Guard (or at least Aubrey). They're planning some sort of mission, no guns allowed (rip Ned). Only heard from Keith (fuck him, ally or not). Where is Hollis? Is Pigeon alright?

Amnesty Lodge has been abandoned. The Sylphs are likely blending in with the townsfolk. Barclay and Janelle are both at the Cryptonomica, but that may just be temporary. Where is Dani?

Mama was arrested by the FBI, and has been in custody for a few weeks at least. I don't trust Agent Haynes (Hanes?) As far as I can throw him, and he's a fictional character so I can't throw him at all. Agent H. brought up the possibility that Agent Stern is on our side. He has been living with the people of the Lodge for months now, he's probably made friends, it would make sense that he's protecting them.

Thacker is aware now. Aubrey and Janelle seem to have exorcised the thing that had been possessing him. Could the thing have been a Light? It mentioned bringing balance to Sylvain, and the Lights seem to be trying to start a war between Earth and Sylvain. Such a war could completely destroy either planet, which would technically bring balance, but fuck that Thanos shit honestly.

Indrid is brought up, specifically in reference to Billy. He should be appearing soon, as he said the Pine Guard would need him to protect Billy.

Gates opening and closing randomly was brought up. Leo mentions a gate in New York that he protected for years before it closed, and he moved to Kepler. Will the finale center on closing Kepler's gate? Or, if Kepler's has closed for good, finding the next one?

Where is Dr. Harris Bonkers, PhD? Why did he keep the bit about him being Aubrey's familiar but refuses to give us his location? Griffin please?

[heartxshaped-bruises]

✧･ﾟ muses quarantine mood.

Soooo, we all know that the current situation affects our writing motivation and inspiration and also, our muse’s responsiveness for activity. This is what I already get for weeks from mine:

Luce: Unimpressed and desinterested. Withdrew into a corner to read instead of coming out to write.

Donia: Sitting there, a litte clueless and lonely. Has no idea what exactly she’s waiting for.

Oliver: Unsure how to make sense of the situation. Doesn’t really want to be around and it’s showing.

Abel: If you want a mental image - lying face-down on his bed until everything’s over.

Tiio: Kinda restless. Paces around a lot bc she wants to do something but in the end, she doesn’t.

Rhydian: He didn’t even notice something changed. Disappeared into a void bc he can.

Zelda: Has a passive-aggressive do-not-blink-competition with the clock on the wall. Super unproductive.

Peter: Just waiting for someone to chat him up bc he’s ready to pull some shit off. Nothing good can come out of that, though...

Davey: Stands disoriented in the middle of nowhere. Kinda wants to do stuff but feels like he shouldn’t since nobody else is.

Penelope: As always, laid back but in a lazy way. Relaxed but has no desire to lift a finger.

Felix: Miffed. Can’t decide whether he wants to write or not.

Manuel: Has no opinion. Is barely there. Doesn’t care.

Mona: Literally nobody noticed that she went missing last week or so.

Indrid: Keeps his mouth shut but will explode soon. Yet, has nothing good enough to say to break the spell bc he’s an idiot and prefers to scowl.

Robbie: Pretends to sleep so nobody looks into his direction.

Emry: Bored and horny. Unbelievable.