#KEPLER TURN YOUR ASS AROUND AND TELL HIM YOURE ON HIS SIDE

[topayitfoward]

This song with Daniel Jacobi but the specific lyric:

Yeah you took off, little conflict in your way, and I'm not good at winning fights anymore

In reference to:

Jacobi giving up when Kepler says goodbye for the last time, when Jacobi realizes that fighting for him is just as tiring as fighting against him

Also sparks like like like ka-boom baby sparks like blow up like like like like bomb big bomb jacobi makes bombs boommm

[thiswasinevitableid]

Demonic Intervention (Indruck)

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

It can't get much worse. 

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

What’s one more in the mix?

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

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

He has brambles that need pruning, damn it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pleasure doin’ business with you.” 

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

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

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

“Same terms?”

“Mmhmm” Indrid is just staring at the ceiling. 

“You gotta say you accept.”

“I accept.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Greetings infernal one.”

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

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

“You need the money for them?”

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

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

“I accept. I ate this morning.”

Duck snaps his fingers

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shoot.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nono, I can just change-”

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

“But that’s changing the terms!”

“Demon.” Duck grins. 

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

“I’m gonna go now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want to, so very badly.”

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

“Mmm, nice and warm.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[lovely-necromancy]

A Cure for Insomnia CH.4

WARNING OF DEPICTION OF A PANIC ATTACK and mentions of drugging. 

////////

The rest of the day went by pretty uneventfully. That is after Nate lectured you about stranger danger and how you couldn't just walk forty miles in two hours. You really have no clue how you messed up the math that bad or how calling Nate for a ride never crossed your mind. Nate made you promise not to get into another stranger's car, especially without knowing their fucking names.

“I mean seriously YN, you just hopped in their car because they had a dog?! That's literally the first thing they tell you not to do when you learn about stranger danger!” he said munching on a boston cream donut. It was a good thing you'd brought donuts because you caused this man to stress eat...or was that a bad thing?

After you agreed to having better stranger danger instincts, Nate told you things would be run a little differently around the shop. Apparently the camera out back had died on Sunday, which although weird could be explained away as a camera that hasn't been updated or switched out since the shop was opened, maybe even before then too. So unfortunately Big Jo and Nate still didn't know who broke into your car or if they had been looking for anything. But Big Jo still wants to take precautions like the two of you leaving together and in the morning one of you waiting in their car with the doors locked for the other to come and then entering the building together.

Nate also mentioned a few other things, shipping and inventory related, that wouldn't really pertain to you or change any of your current tasks. It's really just to limit the amount of people coming through the back room. The back room was the emptiest you've ever seen when you went to check on your deer skull. You wonder if you hadn't been hired who would've gotten this position and how long they'd be able to keep their mouth shut about the obviously illegal activity going on. But you remember the person who had this position before you had been Bambi, a sweet if not oblivious girl. So, had you not come along the Cowells would have probably found someone else who didn't have an ounce of perception for their surroundings.

The week goes by slowly and with no further incidents. The deer skull has been completed and you plan on taking it to Maddie's Workshop next week to get a mount for it. In the time that you were bleaching and polishing the bones Nate took it upon himself to clean around the shop. Even though he's made it clear you just have to do your task list here, which takes about an hour maybe two depending on the tasks, he's always working on something.

Nate's the type of guy who's never content to just chill he needs to keep moving always chasing that high you get from accomplishing a goal, whatever he's made his that day. He's probably just substituting whatever he did daily with these new deep cleans of his.

Even with the lack of incidents following your car's break in the two of you have kept to the new precautions. Nate even going so far as to remind you tonight that on Monday if you arrive before him you'll need to stay in the car. At this point you think it's less about safety and more about the security of the store's extra curricular activities. Either way you don't really mind.

Things seemed to return to normal, you were back to driving yesterday and after you rearranged furniture in your house you felt a little less on edge. And every night this week you'd been able to get a good night's sleep, which although not too strange did stand out to you. Maybe another thing that had kept you on edge this week, because it meant when you saw a shadow pass by you during the day you couldn't write it off as quickly as you normally would.

But tonight it seemed your luck had run out. You sat on your bed with your sketch book in hand just doodling strange squiggles till your eyes were so tired they couldn't focus. Putting the book down to rest your eyes and crack your wrist, you sigh not feeling tired at all. The thought of a hike isn't really appealing right now, plus if you made a run into the mini mart you'd probably see either Ronnie or even Tim working behind the counter, that thought set your ears a flame. While the night life in Kepler was decent especially for a Friday night in summer, you just felt the need to be alone.

A drive was the best answer you had. You'd just choose a random lane on the interstate and take a random exit till you found a diner or something, order a tea and a slice of pie. Like you were a background character in someone else's story longingly staring out the window as your dreams slowly slipped through your fingers in this cold cruel world. Ok, you'd been joking about that because you saw a TikTok saying that, but your melodramatic ass actually thinks that sounds fun.

Throwing on some jeans and a flannel over you muscle tee, you were out the door. When you were checking the lock you'd heard rustling coming from around the house where your bins were. Worse case it's a stalker, best case just some raccoons. Either way you decided to calmly but briskly walk to your car, locking the doors immediately. Once in you drove around the side of your house, luckily, you assume, you spot the chonkiest raccoon you've ever seen digging through the bins. His tiny little person hands drawing an awww from you even though his demonic gleaming eyes should send a chill down your spine.

Hissing at the car Chonk returns to dig through your garbage. Weird how he only comes on your pizza weeks. Probably has a thing for Leo's homemade pizzas. You sure as hell do, as much as you love it you do save a slice for this little guy. You haven't put it out yet though, eh you'll do it tomorrow.

Having solved that mystery you sit in your car and link up your phone so you can have your driving playlist. It's mainly Folk Punk and Sea Shanties and while most might say it's a weird combination you say it's the same genre just different fonts. You could drive hundreds of miles into the middle of no where listening to this playlist and you'd be just fine...maybe have an emotional break down or two but expressing your emotions is suppose to be good for you. Mouthing along to Jim Bogart as it comes through the stereo you set off on your little excursion.

Just like when you have the urge to hike at night the urge to drive is nearly one in the same. Momentum taking you forward and not looking back as you do, needing to just go forward with no real destination in mind. Tonight however would be a little different you'd stop at the first diner you see that's out of Kepler bounds. Or turn right back around at one in case you hadn't found anything. There've been times that you kept driving straight through morning and didn't know where the hell you ended up. Not to mention you rarely remember the ways to get back after going for so long, and gps can only get you so far in some of the towns that also border the Monongahela Forest. You'd just have to rely on dumb luck tonight.

Unlike hiking, which gives you a burst of adrenaline as you push your body to its limits to move as far as you can and as much as you can. Driving gives a much more relaxed feeling, it's a feeling a weightlessness that gets lighter and lighter the further you get from home. Some may describe that feeling as a wanderlust or nomadic calling, but you've never cared for either of those things. You've only ever wanted to stay in one place for as long as you could remember. Moving around so much in your youth really messed you up, and you promised yourself this would be the last time you uprooted your life. And you've really come to love Kepler in these past few months. You can't imagine how you'll feel next year after getting to know the community more, but so far it's been really compassionate and understanding, a few rocky spots here and there but nothing like your hometown.

Without realizing it you've picked up your speed, you're doing 75 in a 55 zone. Even with no other vehicles around you slow down to just above the speed limit. While there might not be any cops around looking for easy tickets you don't want to risk dissociating at 75MPH or more. That could only end horribly. Though dissociating behind the wheel at all would be horrible. In the middle of shaking yourself from these thoughts you catch sight of an exit sign, which holds the logo for Denny's on it, and the exit is coming up in five miles. Switching lanes you cross over and get ready to hop off on the next exit.

You're pretty sure the only pie Denny's has is the dry apple with a scoop of ice cream. That isn't very appetizing to you, but then again you aren't really a fan of pie, a fact you seemed to gloss over when you made the decision to drive out here this late at night. Not too bothered by the fact, you remember Denny's has a salted caramel and banana pancake which should work in place of pie.

Pulling into the parking lot there are only three other cars, peering into the diner you don't really see anyone so the cars must belong to the skeleton night crew. Entering the Denny's you see there actually is one other patron, you only see the back of his head as he makes no move to look at the new arrival.

“Hun, seat yourself, I'll be out in a bit.” is the motherly voice that rings out from the kitchen, truly something you've only experienced in the south. Walking into a diner in the dead of night and  being treated like a daytime regular.

Seating yourself near the TV mounted to the wall you let the sounds of the soap opera playing drown out any buzzing you feel in your head. The waitress is out within minutes and though she startles at your masked face she regains her composure very quickly.

“I'd like the salted caramel pancakes if it's alright.” you say declining the offered menu.

“Just the pancakes?”

“Ah, yes please. And water's fine too.” it really pays to know the menu prior to coming in. Gives you ample time to run scripts over in your head.

Viv, the name on her name tag, nods and gives you a smile as she spins right round to the kitchen. Probably happy she won't have to run out so many times for just one order or maybe to spend time with the cooks in the back. You remember working food service sucked but the line cooks made it so much better at the end of the day. Even if they said you were too quiet and called you 'mouse'.

It might not have been exactly what you set out to do but this little midnight self date was really nice, you should do this more often.

Pancakes finished and mask back on you waited for Viv to bring out your check,  then you notice the other patron also making his moves to leave. You're sat facing the door so when he turns and comes closer dread fills your veins like burning cold dry ice. It's David, a local from Kepler you briefly met when you first moved. He gave you really bad vibes and over all was just a very skeevy dude.

What made you feel worse about him was when he left town to “help his sister” right after Bambi disappeared. Those in your circle told you she always talked about leaving Kepler one day but you trusted your gut in saying she didn't leave by her own choice. It got made for her, and David leaving just furthered your theory. You look away hoping he hadn't noticed you but unfortunately you could hear his footsteps falter and then pick back up by passing the door completely.

“Hey...YN, right?” fuck he remembers you, alarm bells are ringing at this fact. Why would he remember someone he briefly met months ago?

“It really is you, still as quiet as I remember.” what did he mean the two of you only met a handful of times and that had been because of your mutual friendship with Bambi.

Where is Viv with the check? You'd really like if she saved you from this painful situation right now. But you aren't sure what's worse having to sit here and listen to David tell you everything he's been up to these past few months, like you even care. Or the thought of leaving with David having him follow you and maybe doing whatever he did to Bambi to you.

“Yea so my sister's better now, I should be seeing you around soon. We should catch up maybe do Saturday Night Dead. Does the Crypt still do that?” great a fucking rhetorical question, he knows the Cryptonomica still does it's weekly movie nights, it's only been two months he's been gone. Not to mention it's a big hit and a huge source of revenue for the shop.

You haven't said anything this whole time, fuck being polite to a potential killer, and fuck being polite to this creep. He's just been talking nearly nonstop for the last few minutes. He must really love the sound of his own voice or thinks he's the most charming person to ever grace the Earth with his presence. Since he's not really caring that you aren't proving to be a stimulating partner in this conversation. He really does love hearing himself talk. By the time he's said his own goodbyes Viv finally makes it out from the back.

She apologizes for the wait, had to go on her break sometime you supposed. You take your time finding your wallet, it's in your back pocket but you wanted to stall for time since you could still see David's car out there, you were also keeping an eye on your own car. Only relaxing when you saw him pull off from the corner of your eye. Oh look you've “found” your wallet,  handing Viv your credit card you just want to get out of here quickly now.

You pay and leave a nice tip for Viv, while she didn't save you from that creep it's not like she could've known. You sit in your car for a moment or two just breathing in and out in the glow of the diner lights. Almost meditating before you begin your long drive back to Kepler with all these thoughts of David, Bambi's disappearance, and how it can't be coincidence that David is coming back at the same time that you have a break in. Could you be his next target? Were you just over thinking things? Just blaming this poor guy because you didn't like him? But you've always been intuitive and bad vibes aren't something to ignore. David appearing now meant something.

Just that thought alone put you on edge as your skin begins to crawl. With a few calming breaths you go to start the car and sync your radio when you notice the glow of the lights changed from the slight yellow to a sterile blueish white. Looking up where the diner should be you see the mini mart back at Kepler...how on earth did you get here? You didn't drive! You couldn't have dissociated while driving, you never even turned the car on and you can barely take a hike dissociating let alone do something as complex as drive a car.

It happens before you can register it, on shaky legs that move on their own you are passing the threshold of the convenience store and catching the tail end of a conversation.

“ppened to not feeding into delus...” the voice cuts off as the door shuts behind you. You know that voice why is it so hard to focus?

Something warm brushes your hand and you see someone in front of you. Who is that? You can't see their face, they've got a mask covering their face. Like you but that person is not you. You might know them...Tobais?

“Yea? You good there?” confusion, you blink hard and see you are standing in the mini mart now, Connor standing under your hand, Toby hovering close by and both Brian and Tim watch with unease over by the register.

“...I don't know how I...how I got here.” you register movement in the background but not consciously.

It's the shifting of Brian's head as he looks out the front windows and spots your Kia.

“You drove.” shaking your head, “Maybe...I don't...I dissociated?” in your confusion you can register Toby stiffen in front of you.

Fear, fear, uneasy, breath....are you breathing? Your head's so jumbled right now.

You scan the shop trying to look for answers that may help you but you find none. The more confused you get the more worked up you get, chest rising and falling rapidly. You take a step back or try to and end up falling on your butt. It's starting to get hard to breathe with your throat constricting, you bring a hand up to your larynx.

“..re.....have..attack......”

        “could be o...me..”

“.....pressure...”

Is all you can make out with your fuzzy consciousness before a heavy pressure is piling on your chest and knocking you fully on your back. The pressure is actually pretty lifting as contradictory as it may seem. Instead of restricting your breathing more it seems to be kick starting your lungs to exhale and inhale. With oxygen coming back into your body you can feel your toes and the tingle behind them. You can feel your fingers and the fur under them. Fur?

Taking in a big breath you move your head and come face to muzzle with Connor.  You give a nod of recognition to the dog before lying flat again and staring up at the ceiling. After about ten minutes you're thinking more clearly than before, which isn't saying much.

“Thanks.” you aren't sure who it's directed at but you still mean it.

It's silent until Toby breaks it, “I'm taking you home.”

“Car.” it's all you can manage to say but the message though distorted got through.

“I'll drive it, Brian follow behind.” there is no room for arguing, driving under any influence must be a touchy subject for Toby. Or maybe you're really fucked up right now and just can't comprehend how bad.

You use Connor to get up, he seems ready and no one else makes a move to you. Toby pushes past and holds the door open as Connor guides you, still holding onto his vest with one hand, and Brian murmurs something to Tim before following you three.

Outside Toby already has your keys in his hand, when did he get those? Did you give them to him? Your hand is risen, you must of...how on earth did you even drive like this. Had you really driven? There's a lump in your throat again and you're breathing's gone shaky, god you hope you didn't hurt anyone. You must have been zoning out for too long, not only is Connor pushing your legs but Toby has a grasp on your forearm coaxing you forward.

His grip isn't suffocating, honestly even seeing it there you still don't feel it. Maybe it's because you're so numb, or maybe it's because he's genuinely helping you but you can't feel the pain that  usually comes with being touched. The sharp jab that feels like you've been struck with a fire poker where ever someone laid their hands on you. After he's pushed you into the backseat, more like nudged you, even making sure you didn't bump your head, he buckles you in then snaps and Connor jumps into the car and lays across your lap.

You're shaking, actually trembling as you look at Toby. What's going on? Why can't you figure out what's happening? The brunette doesn't say a thing as he gets into the driver's seat and buckles in to drive you home. That's strange you think, how does he know where to go? You told him right, just follow the road...or maybe he guessed from the other day. What happened to you? Why the mini mart? You were at Denny's.

“This town doesn't have a Denny's.” did you say that out loud?

“I...I went for a drive, a town over...up...no.. north I think...” you start blinking barely able to keep your eyes open before your eyes lock shut. It's sending you over the edge even more in your confusion.

“Hey, hey just focus on the Denny's. What'd you do once you got there?” is he trying to distract you? Calm you down? Or is he trying to piece together what happened like you are? You can remember Denny's just fine, the dull yellow glow of the inside the skeleton crew murmuring in the back, the pancakes you had, and the “conversation” with David. Did David do this, had he put something in your water glass? Did you even touch your water glass after he left? Breathe. You need to breathe. Toby's waiting.

“Pancakes...I had pancakes. Then that creep came over...and he started talking. Didn't like. We aren't friends, I don't know him. I don't understand why he'd talk to me. Didn't like. Didn't like.” finger back to pressing down on your larynx and the weight of Connor preventing your legs from striking out at the seat in front of you.

“Wait, were you drugged?” Eyes flash to the rear view to lock with your own teary stare.

“No, maybe...I don't think so.” you barely feel the pain in your throat right now, this is all so overwhelming. “He left, I...I watched him drive off before getting in my car... I had an episode while the car was off then..” then you were at the mini mart. You never touched the ignition.

“I didn't drive, I never started the car. Didn't, didn't, didn't” Your attack is probably stressing even Connor out now, but this is all so confusing.

You're so focused on the fuzzy events you don't notice Toby bristle. Or how he grips the steering wheel tighter until his knuckles grow white despite his already translucent skin. He might not be able to feel or see it in the mirror through his mask but he's probably gnawing off more of his face. He'd deal with it after he dealt with you.

You've made it to your house and he's waiting for the headlights from Brian. When he sees them in the rear view he gets out but not before telling you, or maybe Connor, to stay put.

It's a few long moments before he comes back. But in the silence and darkness of your car, growing colder by the moment, you start to ground yourself. You aren't calm by any means and you're still very unfocused. But you aren't crying as the numbness overtakes you, you don't even jump when the door beside you opens. With a snap Connor is out of the car and soon you're being pulled from the car, that same weightless touch gripping your forearm. Toby guides you into your own home, and walks towards the hallway looking into the bathroom, the only other door, before finding your room.

Seemingly understanding your catatonic state he sits you on the bed and gives some order to Connor before he leaves the room. And you just sit on the bed staring into dead air as a silent guard sits in wait. You aren't sure what he's waiting for or why he's still there but the numbness has taken over too much and you can't find it in you to give a single fuck.

[triple-a-ace]

Every single important timestamp in ep. 61 of Wolf 359, Brave New World

Enjoy this because it took me almost four hours. 

Reblog and share with me your favorite moments and things that I missed!

***SPOILERS FOR EPISODE 61 OF WOLF 359 BELOW***

12:07 - Flashback: Eiffel meets Hera

18:10 - Lovelace and Eiffel in the Sol's cafeteria

26:48 - "Thank you, Daniel. And goodbye." - Warren Kepler

28:54 - Hera and Jacobi talking about Maxwell

29:07 - Flashback: Jacobi meets Maxwell

32:53 - Eiffel's last log to Anne

36:43 - Minkowski launches the Sol with Eiffel inside

37:58 - "Goddammit, Renée, don't do this." - Doug Eiffel

42:36 - “It’s very...us.”

43:17 - Flashback: Commander Minkowski meets Hera

48:17 - “Something about a harpoon?” - Rachel Young

49:37 - Eiffel’s imitation of Minkowski

51:42 - “I’ve got this friend, and she basically invented being paranoid on this station.” - Daniel Jacobi

54:23 - “The Hephaestus has almost fallen out of the sky so many times. It’s hard to believe that this is actually happening.”      “Honestly, it’s time. There are way too many ghosts in this place.”

54:41 - Flashback: Lovelace talks to Selburg 

58:51 - Eiffel remembers the command authentication code and turns the Sol around

69:23 - Eiffel opens comms with the Hephaestus 

70:08 - Eiffel crashes the Sol into the Hephaestus

71:50 - Hera talks to Eiffel after he’s back

72:44 - “You’re just gonna have to trust me, okay?”   “With my life, darlin. With my life.”

74:13 - “You’re gonna go do something stupid, aren’t you?” - Isabel Lovelace

74:50 - “Oh, gee, I’m not following one of your orders? Huh. Must be Monday.” - Isabel Lovelace

75:02 - “C’mon. Let’s go get our idiot back.” - Isabel Lovelace

77:26 - “You killed Bob!” - Doug Eiffel

80:48 - Hera appears in Eiffel’s mind

84:08 - “Hera? That’s- that’s really you?” - Doug Eiffel

85:15 - “My name is Hera!” - Hera

86:37 - “Of course you can.” - Doug Eiffel

89:11 - Kepler being on Jacobi and Minkowski’s side

90:34 - Kepler’s last drink of scotch

93:29 - Jacobi lets it slip that he’s gonna blow the engine up

96:08 - Cutter orders Lovelace to shoot Minkowski

98:01 - Eiffel crushes Pryce with a shelf of memories

100:00 - “ Renée Minkowski. And that is more than enough to kick your ass.” - Minkowski

100:43 - Lovelace defies Cutter’s orders

101:19 - “Screw you.” - Isabel Lovelace

102:12 - “Harpoon!?” - Mr. Cutter

103:05 - “Stay with me, Minkowski.” - Isabel Lovelace

104:11 - “I don’t need to beat you.” - Hera

106:09 - Pryce figures out that her memory is going to be wiped

106:33 - Memories are wiped

107:02 - Hera comes back and tells Minkowski and Lovelace

107:57 - “Hera, what did you do?” - Renée Minkowski

108:16 - “Hera, are you alright?” - Renée Minkowski

108:26 - Eiffel wakes up still with his memories

108:40 - Eiffel says his goodbyes

109:47 - Eiffel’s memory is wiped

110:14 - Flashback: Renée Minkowski meets Doug Eiffel 

112:43 - “Eiffel?” - Renée Minkowski

112:51 - “Do I know you?” - Doug Eiffel

113:02 - “My name is  Renée Minkowski. I’m the commander of this space station.” - Renée Minkowski

115:05 - Minkowski passes out (you can hear Doug calling her name as well)

116:00 - “Not that there is a Hephaestus anymore.” - Isabel Lovelace

116:38 - “What’s a guy gotta do to get some credit?” - Daniel Jacobi

117:40 - “Where is he?” - Renée Minkowski

118:02 - Doug listens to old logs

118:41 - “Hey, Renée.” - Doug Eiffel

119:00 - “You made it up to me. Big time.” -  Renée Minkowski

119:37 - “Am I still that same person?” - Doug Eiffel

121:07 - “Your name is Doctor Miranda Pryce. And I’m- I’m going to tell you a very, very long story. About the two of us.” - Hera

122:15 - “Thank you. For everything.” -  Renée Minkowski 

122:20 - “Now you owe me twenty bucks!” - Daniel Jacobi

122:43 - “It went great. You wanna know how I know? Because someone hasn’t glitched since they had that conversation.” - Isabel Lovelace

123:15 - “Commander. Have you decided what you want to do when you get back to Earth?” “You mean other than finding my husband and telling him that- you know.” “Not dead?”

124:46 - Minkowski communicates with Earth Space

125:15 - “Hera. You ready to go home?” -  Renée Minkowski

125:30 - Doug comes in and stays while Minkowski plots the course

125:38 - “C’mon Doug.” -  Renée Minkowski

126:10 - “But from what I gather, spending time with the two of you was about the best damn thing Doug Eiffel ever did.” - Doug Eiffel

126:22 - “Am I still Doug Eiffel? I’m not sure. Wanna find out together?” - Doug Eiffel

127:01 - “Here we go.” -  Renée Minkowski (or the last words in the episode)

[gingersimasnaps]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you hungry?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She never comes back home.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[ston-rampler]

Every Battle Heads Towards Surrender On Both Sides

Whumptober Day 5! 

Prompt: Gunpoint

Daniel Jacobi & Alana Maxwell, 1598 Words, Gun Violence

Read on AO3

Alana Maxwell was the most amazing person that Daniel Jacobi had ever met. She had a passion in her that was unwavering, a drive that seemed endless, and was smarter than literally anyone else he knew. God was lucky she had dedicated her life towards developing AI from a young age, or else his position might be in jeopardy. Well, actually, it still might be.

When he first met her, she had been quiet. She had hair dyed firetruck red, but her posture suggested that the only thing she wanted was to blend in enough that she could do her work in peace. Kepler had introduced them rather hastily, surely wanting them to bridge that gap on their own. Sink or swim had always been his way of life and when the tides rose, Alana swam.

The two of them hardly spoke until their first mission, a rather tame one that sent them to the middle of fuck-ass nowhere, Wyoming. They drove out in a little unmarked black car through a barely-hanging on town and out to a deserted field surrounding a single house. The place was in shambles. It looked more like somewhere the local meth heads might go to shoot up than somewhere that would be of any importance to SI-5, but no matter how many questions Daniel asked, Kepler stayed silent and kept driving.

They pulled to a stop about a hundred yards out from the front porch, dust blowing past them in huge clouds. The house looked even worse from up close, slouching over like it was tired and twitching in the wind like it was one small sneeze away from collapsing in on itself. Weeds sprouted up from the floorboards of the porch and the cracked screen door swung wildly.

”And you’re sure that this is where the guy lives.”

Kepler sighed. “For the last time, Mr. Jacobi. I am positive that this is the right place. Thomas Sacco, fifty-six years old and a certified genius in the field of robotics. Former employee of Goddard Futuristics.” Ah, so it was like that, was it.

”Why in the world is this an SI-5 operation? Any hillbilly teenager with a shotgun could take a guy out in a place like this.”

”Unfortunately, the inside of the house isn’t likely to be as unassuming as the outside. On his way out, Sacco managed to steal an AI unit named ATÉ programmed to be a security program, and his recent financial transactions show that he’s been stocking up on firearms and ammunition, not to mention he’s an incredibly skilled engineer. I don’t doubt that he’d make protecting himself his top priority after leaving Goddard.”

”And I suppose I’m here to deal with the AI?” Alana asked from the backseat, startling Daniel a bit. That was the first full sentence she had said since they left the motel, and he had forgotten she was there. Kepler nodded.

”It certainly wasn’t their most advanced unit, but I have special orders from Miranda Pryce to bring it back intact, so we need it neutralized before it can take any defensive measures against us. From there, all that’s left is to terminate Sacco.” Alana pulled a small tablet out of her bag, opening up a program and starting to type furiously.

”No man smart enough to work for Goddard would be dumb enough to put the AI’s central processors outside of the house he was trying to protect, so I’m going to need to get in there before I can shut her off.” Daniel turned around in his seat to grin at her excitedly.

”Luckily for you, breaking and entering is our specialty.” The three of them made their way up to the house, guns in hand as they eyed the tall weeds suspiciously for any concealed traps. The rickety wooden porch in front of them looked like a disaster waiting to happen, and Kepler eyed it suspiciously before taking a tentative step up onto it. Right on cue, the sound of a whirring mechanism beneath the floorboards could be heard, and in a fraction of a second, the mail slot of the door popped open to reveal the barrel of a gun that shot off ten rounds in quick succession, the three of them only barely being able to avoid getting hit in the kidneys.

”Good lord,” Alana said, trying to catch her breath. “You really weren’t kidding, were you?” From inside the house came the muffled sound of a computerized voice.

”Security protocols engaged.”

”Well,” Daniel said, adjusting his grip on his gun. “Looks like it’s go time.”

Without ceremony, Kepler kicked in the flimsy wooden door, knocking over the gun’s mechanism in the process. Making their way inside, every square inch of the place seemed to be booby trapped, though the pattern became easy to see after a few rounds of narrowly-avoided bullets had been sprayed out at them. It was all on the floor, trip wires or concave floorboards that connected to holes in the wall that were actually pretty conspicuous. It didn’t take them long to dismantle most of them and Alana found the AI’s central processor inside the shell of an old refrigerator. Daniel and Kepler left her to her work, cautiously scaling the house’s suspiciously trap-free rickety stairs in search of Sacco.

”So, sir, what do you think of her?” Jacobi asked once they were sure she was out of earshot.

”She seems very promising, but this is her first mission and we’re not even through the day yet. Take care not to get too attached, Mr. Jacobi.” Jacobi scoffed.

”Me? Attached? Oh, perish the thought.” They cleared the second floor, with no sign of Sacco or any life at all, aside from a considerable number of spiders, when the sound of rapid gunshots came from below them. Kepler looked down the stairs, calculating, while Daniel darted down, unable to think of anything aside from the image of their new teammate lying on the floor in a pool of blood. The scene he was greeted with when he reached the floor wasn’t as gory, but it certainly wasn’t much better.

Alana had been yanked away from the fridge processor by a man with balding grey hair. He was tall and slightly pudgy, and he had one meaty arm around Alana’s skinny neck, the barrel of the handgun pressed to the side of her head.

”SI-5,” Thomas Sacco said, spitting the words out like they made a foul taste in his mouth. “Took you long enough to find me.” Daniel pointed his gun at the man who just tightened his grip on Alana in response.

”Nah, just fashionably late. We just we’d let you have a little fun with your rebellion before we came to crash the party,” he shot back. The man smiled sickeningly.

”I recognize you, little attack dog, though it’s unusual to see you without your handler.”

”Guess he decided you weren’t worth his effort.”

”Mr. Cutter still sent you all the way out here for little old me, though. Really, it’s an honor.”

”Actually, from what I can tell, Cutter doesn’t give two shits about what you’re doing. Said you were a pretty low-level threat.”

”You all must not be Goddard’s best and brightest anymore, then, so I suppose it’d be okay if I killed this one.” He jerked the arm that he had wrapped around Alana and shoved the gun harder against her temple. Her eyes were panicked, but Daniel could tell her brain was running at about a billion calculations per second. He swallowed thickly and hoped the man couldn’t see his uncertainty.

”You know, she’s still in her trial period actually, so if she died it would just mean she wasn’t cut out for the job,” Daniel said, trying his best to sound nonchalant even though his heart was trying its best to break out of his chest. “I’m sure Mr. Cutter would understand.” Daniel saw Alana’s eyes dart to the wall beside them, and then draw in a deep breath.

”Well,” Sacco said. “In that case, I guess I’ll go ahead and-” without warning, Alana ground her feet downwards and pushed Sacco back just a few inches. He grunted, a foot coming back to steady himself and landing itself right on top of a trip wire. Alana threw herself forwards just as a barrage of bullets found their way out of a hole in the wall and into Sacco’s head.

Alana landed on her knees, breathing heavily with her long hair hanging in front of her face. Daniel tucked his gun back into its holster and took a step towards her, offering a hand which she gladly took and hoisted her to her feet. Kepler strode down the stairs leisurely, surveying the scene in front of him and then giving Alana a sharp nod.

”Good work Maxwell. Is the AI ready to go?” She didn’t say anything, just nodded and tried to catch her breath. “Jacobi, pack it up and let’s get out of here.”

”Right.” Kepler strode out of the house and back towards the car, leaving the two of them by themselves. Jacobi approached the brick-TV-sized hunk of machinery that was the AI’s central processor and hoisted it up into his arms with a grunt.

”Well,” he said to Alana. “I guess we know that from now on, if you ever find yourself on the other end of a gun, you can handle yourself.” Alana looked back at him, her eyes still a bit wide.

”Yeah,” she said, with a disbelieving laugh. “I guess so.”

[reaper-barry-bluejeans]

Monsters Among Us

For the @blupjeansauboogaloo Day 4 - Free Day/Amnesty Lodge

 The hunt wasn't exactly going great. At least, that was what it seemed like with Lup's magic failing her again and Edward laying sprawled out on the ground with a head wound that left crimson blood matting his hair down to his head. Barry was struggling to hold a corporeal form as he fired a succession of shots at the creature that was charging blindly into the forest now. They would need to do something about his disguise. The watch he always wore to maintain a physical form and hide his nature as a resident of Sylvain lay shattered on the floor, smashed under the hoof of the creature somewhere through the course of the battle. Lydia kept her head down as she ran to her brother, kneeling beside him.

"He's breathing!"

"Thank fuck." Lup's voice was strained and she went to pick up Barry's watch, looking over at him as his grip on physical existence finally broke. "I think you need this, babe."

He snorted, the sound echoing oddly in the air as he kicked uselessly at the pistol laying on the ground beneath him.

"Yeah, but it's gonna do me a fat lot of good all smashed up."

Lup scooped up his gun and stared at it for a moment.

"Want me to hold onto this?"

He nodded a little, rubbing his head.

"Yeah. Yeah... And we're gonna need to go tell Mama we lost that thing again." He turned, looking to where Lydia was helping her brother to his feet. "He good to move back to the Lodge?"

Lydia nodded and flashed him a thumbs up. Edward looked like shit, but he could walk and that was what mattered right now. Lydia had an arm around his shoulders and was supporting most of his weight.

"I'll grab him a potion for this when we get back to the Lodge. The rest of you get to fill Mama in."

Half an hour later, they sat around a table with a hastily sketched map of Kepler, West Virginia, spread out between them. Barry still hadn't managed to get a new disguise charm and was hovering irritably beside Lup while flames danced between her fingers. Edward was still a bit pale but he held a bottle in one hand that contained a glowing purple liquid that he occasionally took a sip from. Lydia leaned over the table, scowling at the plan they'd concocted while she was going through her alchemical stores.

"You've got to be kidding me. Why am I the bait again?"

Barry gestured towards Edward.

"Because we know this blood-drinker's got a thing for... for familial blood ties and it already got a taste of your brother. Ergo, Lyds, you are absolutely prime material for Victim Number Two."

Lydia shot him a glare across the table and then gestured to his incorporeal form.

"Fat lot of good you're gonna be without your gun there, Bluejeans."

Lup reached over, gloving one hand in the raw essence of magic so she could rest it solidly on Barry's shoulder.

"Chill, babe. We've got this. It's gonna be fine. And if you really want to swap out, it's gotta a taste of my twin too, remember? But you need to be ready to kick this thing's ass before it gets me."

All of them winced, not a single member of the Pine Guard team liked the reminder that one of their number was out of commission and lying in the hospital at that very moment. Lydia nodded though, running her fingers over a vial she had set on the table earlier.

"I've got a plan for that. This should freeze it solid and then all we have to do is smash it."

The plan was pretty solid, all thing's considered. They had everything they needed to lure the creature to them, they knew where it would be. They just needed to do it. Lup paused while Lydia and Edward went to get the last of the equipment they would need and get the car ready and she looked at Barry.

"You doing okay, babe? You don't wanna sit this one out until you can be a solid boy again?"

He shook his head and floated closer, the cold air around him briefly fogging her glasses.

"I'm alright, Lup. And I don't wanna leave you guys alone on this one. Not after what it did to Taako. I... I just wanna make sure everyone comes home okay." His voice dropped to a whisper and he reached towards her, brushing his fingers over her cheek. "Folks from this side don't become ghosts if they die, remember?"

Lup wished she could lean into that touch and closed her eyes, letting herself pretend.

"I know, Bear. I know. We're all gonna be as careful as we can be." She booped his nose with a light touch of magic. "Come on, let's get a move on before those two decide we've abandoned them."

Barry chuckled quietly and followed after Lup as she headed for the front of the Lodge. 

Lydia was already in the driver's seat when they got out there, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel while Edward flipped through radio stations trying to find something worth listening to. Lup dropped into her usual seat and leaned back, hands behind her head. Barry hesitated for a moment and then floated into the car.

"It's equal odds I get left behind, just so you all know."

Edward shrugged.

"We know. And if you do, we'll handle this by ourselves. And you go get your watch fixed like you already should've."

Barry rolled his eyes at that but did his best to settle into the seat in a way that would keep his incorporeal form from phasing through the car when they pulled away. The plan of attack was pretty solid, the hardest part was just going to be tracking the creature so they could get their bait into the right place. At least, that was their concern before they heard the pounding sound behind them as they raced down the 92. Lup turned to look out the back window and swore under her breath.

"We got company, folks."

Lydia's gaze flicked briefly to the rearview mirror and she changed gears, accelerating as fast as she possibly could.

"Do we have a plan for this?" Edward's voice was shaky as he too looked back. "Because I swear that thing got bigger."

Barry frowned, turning and sticking his head up through the roof of the car. It was bigger, that was for certain, with talons that ripped up the asphalt of the highway. 

"I think... I think maybe it's been feeding?"

Edward ignored what Barry was saying, focused on making sure his pistol was loaded. Then he leaned out the window and took a pot shot at the creature. Lup watched as the bullet hit it and the creature almost reformed after the damage. She winced.

"We might have to go all 'by fire be purged' on this one, my dudes. Because guns sure aren't working."

Barry hesitated for a moment and then let his incorporeal form drop out of the car as he dove towards the creature.

"I should be able to slow it down, Lup. Just... Remember what I said before, okay? I'll be fine!"

Lup yelled, words lost in the rushing wind of the car's wake as the spirit of the Sylph known as Barry Bluejeans turned on the Abomination coming up hard behind them. Lightning that mimicked the magic he once held crackled over his form and he hoped that he could slow this thing down long enough that the others could get a plan together. That was all he could hope for, really. The Abomination hesitated when the lightning lashed towards it and Barry grinned slowly.

"Come and try me." 

Lydia slammed on the brakes, spinning the car so it skidded a few dozen feet further. She shot a glance back at Lup.

"You think magic's going to work? Then let's get this thing."

For her part, Lup already had her hand on the door latch and her other hand up and wreathed in flames. The moment the car came to a stop, she was out and running towards Barry, her heart pounding. She knew, objectively, that he was already dead and the dead couldn't be killed. Not like this, anyway. As long as he could feed on the essence of the hot springs, Barry Bluejeans would be just fine. Edward was on her heels, his pistol in his hands still. He cocked it, raised, and fired again, taking full advantage of the fact that he could shoot clear through Barry and hit the Abomination. Lydia was the last one moving, a bag slung over one shoulder as she fished through it for a specific potion she'd brewed. Somewhere in here was the answer, she was sure of that. Probably fire, if Lup's guess was right. Fire usually worked, anyway.

Lydia peeled off to the left, hugging the tree-line and hoping against hope that the Abomination wouldn't suddenly turn towards her. Edward had four shots left in his clip and he was taking a shot every chance he got, even if it only annoyed the Abomination. Lup was shaping a spell though, something big enough to hopefully destroy it. The Abomination dropped its head, shaking off the meager control Barry had managed to get and charged her, roaring. Once more, its claws shredded the asphalt as it bore down on her like a freight train. Barry shouted, turning and throwing up a hand as he tried to stop it. It was Edward that managed to knock Lup out of the way as he unloaded his last shot into the Abomination, catching it squarely in the center of the forehead. Even that didn't do much, but the disruption to her spell caused Lup's fire magic to explode outward. It caught everything in a wide path of destruction. Trees burst into flames on either side of the highway and Lydia dropped to her stomach to keep from being caught up in it. Edward grabbed Lup and pulled her down before the two of them could be incinerated and he swore, watching the Abomination scream. 

"Whatever the fuck that was? Do it again," he hissed. "But aim this time."

Lup was too shaken to snap back at him. She could see what she'd done. If that spell had been on the ground, there would have been a perfect circle of destruction. As it was? She'd nearly killed them. And now she could see Lydia up and moving again, her fingers wrapped around a vial. Lup stood, igniting her hands again while Edward scrambled to his feet and started trying to change out his clip. All she needed to do was take a few pot shots while Lydia snuck up and problem solved. 

And that was exactly what she did. A shot here and there and then Lydia was in place. She didn't even bother uncapping the vial, she just flung it at the Abomination and watched it shatter, acid and flames eating at the creature immediately. A moment later, they watched the figure of light as it vanished.

"Problem solved..." muttered Lydia.

Lup nodded a little, looking around.

"We should clean this up before the fuckin' park service notices, huh?"

[flbonacci]

Also 7 for kepcobi while im at it (im a trash child) (also i Love Your Writing And You)

Prompt #7: “I love you. You enormously stubborn pain in the ass.”

aaaaaaa okay I…never get this mushy with these two but it felt so good. sigh.

“Jacobi!” Warren calls from the living room and Daniel rolls his eyes.  

“I’m going to kill him.”

Alana snorts, lifts her wine glass to her lips. “He’s been shot. Indulge him.”

“Oh and why can’t you indulge him?”

“Because he’s calling your name,” she replies simply, settling back onto her pillows and opening up Netflix.

“Jaaaacobi!”

Daniel groans and finally walks out into the living room. “Yes, you giant baby? What can I do for you?”

“Jacobi,” Warren’s head lolls over the couch’s arm rest so he can look at him. He’s smiling, and it’s a smile that makes Daniel laugh. He looks like he’s been drugged. “Boy am I happy to see you.”

“Oh yeah? You gonna tell me what you called me in here for?”

“Would you be so kind as to get me a drink, Daniel?” Warren asks, and the way his mouth forms his first name and the way he’s looking up at him makes Daniel’s heart flutter.  

“A drink or a drink?”

Warren’s smile turns into a grin. “Come on…you know me better than that.”

“Yeah…I guess I do.”

Daniel brings him a glass of scotch, makes him sit up to drink it. While he’s distracted with that and telling Daniel why you should never mix scotch with anything else, Daniel checks his bandages.

He pushes up Warren’s shirt, peels back the bloody gauze, and cleans around the wound.  

Warren hisses.

“If you’re gonna complain, don’t,” Daniel warns.  

“Mm-mm…wasn’t gonna,” he says, then reaches out to thread his fingers through Daniel’s hair.  

Daniel tenses, his hands pause in their task, and he looks up at him. “You haven’t had much to drink.”

“Oh…that.” Warren smirks and Daniel sighs. “Did I not tell you that Maxwell gave me some pain meds?”

“God damn it.” Daniel tapes new gauze into place, not as gentle as he’d been up to this point.  

“Owww,” Warren whines, frowning down at him.

“Be quiet. You’re a pain in the ass and you know it.”

Warren sighs and slides back down the couch to rest his head on the arm rest again. “Haven’t finished my drink. Could you hand it to me?”

“Nope,” Daniel shrugs and stands up. “You’re lying down again.”

“Well I can sit up no problem, Mr. Ja—“

He attempts to sit up but Daniel pushes him back down. “Uh-uh.”

“Daniel…” Warren puts on his most dazzling and charming smile. “How about you get me a straw? A bendy one. So I can drink lying down?”

Daniel narrows his eyes at him. He wants to say no.  

Warren laughs and then his fingers are wrapped around Daniel’s wrist. “Fine…no straw. No more scotch.”

Daniel looks down at Warren’s hand, watches as his thumb absentmindedly strokes Daniel’s inner wrist. He tries to tune it out but all he can think about is how sensitive the skin there really is.

“You wanna sit then?”

“You’re taking up the whole couch.”

“Sit on the floor.”

“No.”

“You gonna leave me all alone out here?”

“Warren…be a big boy now.”

Warren sighs, lets go of Daniel’s wrist. “Fine. If you’re gonna go then…I do want that straw please.”

Daniel rolls his eyes. “You shouldn’t be drinking at all if you’re on meds, but…fine. And that’s it. You don’t call for me again unless you’re dying, got it?”

Warren nods, grabs Daniel’s shirt and tugs.

Daniel furrows his brow but leans down close to Warren, braces his hands on the couch.

“You gonna kiss me before you go?”

The question throws Daniel off. It’s not like they’ve maintained a strictly professional relationship during the years they’ve worked together. But anything physical between them has been confined to post-mission adrenaline-induced passion. And they’ve never spoken about it.  

So Daniel is at a loss for words. Warren is looking at him expectantly and, if Daniel had the reassurance of 20/20 vision, he’d say fondly. His stomach is in knots.  

He hasn’t said no, but Warren cocks his head, raises a brow, attempts to convince him. “I could die by the time you get back with that straw.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Kiss me anyway.”

“You’re intoxicated,” Daniel murmurs, resisting the temptation.

Warren’s gaze drifts to Daniel’s mouth, then back up to meet his eyes, the hint of a smirk on his lips. “Please…”

Warren Kepler knows what he’s doing. He’s never before said that word to Daniel in sincerity, without it dripping with sarcasm or condescension.  

Daniel hates that this man knows him so well. Knows exactly what he has to do to get what he wants.

Warren must know he’s won, because he leans up on his elbow, closes the distance, kisses Daniel.

Daniel knows he should pull away, but he doesn’t. Because he’s a desperate mess of bullshit sentimentality.  

He kisses Warren, tastes the scotch on his tongue.  

His heart pounds and his skin tingles in response to the wandering of Warren’s hands. They’re in Daniel’s hair, tracing the shape of his jaw, curling around the back of his neck. They tug him closer and Daniel nearly loses his balance, has to press his knee into the edge of the cushion to avoid falling onto Warren.  

Daniel grabs Warren’s wrists, pulls back.

“You can sleep here, can’t you?” Warren asks, looking pleased with himself.  

“I…on top of you? No. You have a bullet wound in your side,” Daniel huffs.

“I’ll be fine.”

“No. I can’t.” Daniel straightens up, tries to tame down his hair. “God, you’re…persistent.”

Warren just smiles in response.

“I’m getting your straw, and then I’m going to bed. Finish your drink if you must and then sleep.”

“Yes, Sir,” Warren says, and Daniel can feel the heat rising in his cheeks.

This isn’t how it goes. They don’t do this. They don’t flirt and tease. They don’t kiss in dim lamplight without things carrying over to the bed…or the wall, or a desk.  

It’s the fatigue, the meds, the scotch breaking down facades, protocol, power structures.

Daniel knows that but he can’t help the way his chest feels like it’s constricting around his heart. His heart aches but it’s a good ache and Daniel allows himself to think the things he’s been repressing for years.  

He quickly leaves, rifles through the safe house’s kitchen for a bendy straw. Why would they stock bendy straws? He finds some anyway.

When Daniel comes back, Warren’s head is angled toward the back of the couch, his eyes closed. He’s asleep and snoring softly.  

Daniel laughs quietly. Doesn’t want to wake him. He drops the straw in the glass and sits down on the floor. He crosses his legs and rubs his hands over his face, trying to fight down the affection and longing that’s bubbling up.

It’s bullshit and he’s better than this. Stronger than a stupid crush on his commanding officer.

But it’s not just a crush. He knows that. And finally admits it to himself.

Daniel drops his hands to his lap, sighs as his gaze traces Warren’s sleeping form.

“I love you,” he whispers. “You enormously stubborn pain in the ass.”

[caladblog]

this whole life’s a hallucination

Captain Isabel Lovelace has a chat with the dead, shortly after she's left that land for the third time.

Plus, Aperture Futuristics, everyone murdering everyone else, magical girl transformation sequences on LSD, communal blood, and the embarrassing thing that happened at your junior prom.

[Big-ass spoilers for basically everything through Episode 46: Boléro. I fudged the end of the episode a little because you're not my real dad.

This fic is brought to you by Variations on a Theme, my personal philosophy on identity/reality, and me being super gay. Please consider supporting these sponsors on Patreon

Only two months til it gets jossed! *pops champagne*]

The thing in the body bag writhes.

No.

Lovelace, in the body bag, writhes.

This is the tableau for a solid thirty seconds, set in the U.S.S. Hephaestus's picturesque cargo bay: A captain who was shot in the head roughly ten hours ago seizes and coughs, wrestling motion and consciousness from the early stages of rigor mortis. Nearest to her, drifting closer, a communications officer stares blankly. Opposite side, drifting further away, a man who makes things that break other things also stares blankly. Perpendicular to them and several feet away, a recently-usurped colonel presents his handcuffed wrists with a pleasant smile that never reaches his eyes, watching, sharklike, the final person present in this scene. Nearest to the door, a sometimes-lieutenant sometimes-commander looks back at him, clutching her handgun like it's the only thing in the universe that still makes sense (which it very well could be).

Compulsory musical accompaniment: Boléro weaving in and out with static as an autopilot/mother program struggles for control of the station. This might be easier if she knew the specifics of what she was struggling against, but, then again, maybe not.

In media res. Diabolus ex machina. Ready to begin?

(Your answer to that question is irrelevant.)

Hera silences the overture with a synthetic gasp and several things snap at once.

Jacobi scrambles backward as effectively as he can with his hands and feet chained together, mumbling a crescendo of "what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck Colonel what the fuck--"

Kepler ignores him in favor of jangling the handcuffs and saying sweetly, "Limited time offer, Commander. It's in everyone's best interests if you take it. Just think: all the answers you've wanted, all the answers you've killed for--"

Minkowski clicks the safety off and takes aim at his center mass, nerves drawn taut as a bowstring, shouting, "For once in your miserable life, shut your god damned mouth--"

All of this leaves Eiffel the only one left watching the-- Lovelace. Her movements are less epileptic now, more... deliberate, waves of tension rolling down her body as muscles contract and relax in rhythm. Her breathing is still too deep, too harsh, but even that's starting to smooth out. He's close enough to see her pulse through the thin skin of her throat, rapid but steady, and as everyone else yells in the background she begins to settle. Not limp, but at ease. Not dead, but unconscious. And then her head turns a little and she frowns and mutters something inaudible, incoherent, almost like she's... having a bad dream.

"I think she's waking up," he says haltingly, freezing Jacobi and Minkowski in place.

"It, Officer Eiffel," Kepler corrects without looking, calm as ever.

Minkowski lunges forward and jams her gun against his mouth and snarls, "I told you to shut up. Do it before I make you."

Kepler holds up his hands in surrender. "But of course, sir. Working with zero information is a... unique command choice, but if sir has made a decision, I can but follow sir's wisdom."

She swallows and her gun falters for a moment, but her eyes never leave Kepler's face. "Eiffel, what's-- what's going on?"

"How in the three hundred and fifty-nine circles of hell am I supposed to know?!" he all but shrieks.

"You're not-- You don't--" Hera says, barely intelligible through the glitches and echoes. "You don't come back! You don't do that! You don't--"

"Hera!" Minkowski snaps. "Focus on keeping us in orbit. We'll-- We'll figure this out and keep you updated. Eiffel!" He startles and glances up at her, sees the way she's desperately trying to hold herself together. Her voice sinks into familiar biting sarcasm. "You could start by observing and then communicating your observations, unless it's too much to ask for you to carry out your basic job description--"

"She's--" He has to clear his throat. God, his hands are shaking so bad. "Like she's asleep, but... restless? Moving around a bit. Breathing normally. I think she--" and then his voice cuts off in a yelp as Lovelace's eyes fly open and she jerks upright, struggling out of the body bag.

Utter silence. She swivels around, taking in the cargo bay, glazing right over their faces without actually seeing a single one, and the brief flashes of her expression are just-- confused, pained, frantic, afraid, and all Eiffel can think of is the way she looked at him, chained in the armory of the Urania at his side with Kepler's gun pressed to her forehead. Wide eyes, but calm. Settled. The look of someone who's finally stopped running. She never got her revenge but she got her peace and now she doesn't even have that.

"Captain Lovelace...?" he whispers.

She jolts, meets his gaze for the briefest second, then turns away from him sharply and zeroes in on the gun in Minkowski's hands. "What in the..." Her voice is shaky, rough, but distinctly hers. "Fourier, what are you-- Why aren't you working on the-- Where is the-- Where am I? What just..."

"Lovelace!" Minkowski barks, clearly terrified, falling back on protocol as she always does when she doesn't know what else to do. "Get your head together!"

"Oh, now that's just insensitive," Kepler murmurs, and Minkowski actually pistol-whips him, the sharp crack of metal against jawbone doing nothing to fracture his obnoxiously congenial attitude.

"We need your help, Lovelace, wake up, we need you with us--"

"Where else am I going to be? Don't you take that tone with me, Fourier, I am still your commanding officer despite--" Lovelace cuts herself off, scanning the room rapidly once more, and the naked fear in her eyes tells Eiffel that she isn't... she isn't entirely here. "The hostages. Who...? Why are you, but I'm not-- I'll be right back."

And with that she's through the hatch, off like a shot. Minkowski jerks her head in the same direction. "Go after her! I've got these two."

He nods once and shoves himself through the hatch and calls, "Captain! Captain, wait!"

She doesn't, but the words freeze her for a split second, and that's all he needs to nearly catch up.

"You're not Sam," Lovelace says under her breath, brusque, tense, moving at a rapid clip down the hallway to the armory. "I don't have time for you. Fourier and Selberg are working triple overtime to finish the shuttle and you're not going to make me curl up in my bunk and cry like a little girl. If you were really Sam you wouldn't be trying this, you wouldn't be trying to weaken me like this. There's shit to get done, Sam. You can haunt me when we're all back on Earth so until then you stay out of my way and you stay out of my head." Her voice cracks under the strain. "If you were really Sam you'd be proud of the way I'm handling this. Staying focused, staying in control. Not checking out like I did when Fisher..."

A deep, ragged breath instead of an end to the sentence. The armory's hatch doesn't budge under her hands and she frowns at it. "Rhea, what kind of game are you playing? Open the door."

"I can't let you do that, Dave," he says, and it's really, really not funny. "Hera, lock down the armory. As securely as possible."

"Already done, Officer Eiffel." Subdued. Businesslike. She's... well, processing, for lack of a less punny word. No fight-or-flight to drown out her ability to productively think about what the hell just happened, no adrenaline making things messy. Eiffel can taste it, coppery on his tongue, his heart trying to pound its way out of his ribcage.

"Rhea, what is this? Rhea!" Lovelace hauls back and punches the armory as hard as possible, a deep, resounding clang that makes him jump, and then once more with a faint sickening crunch underneath, and there's blood on her knuckles, and she turns around and leans against the door with her eyes closed and an almost beatific look on her face.

"Oh. That's right," she says serenely. "Command took you too. Not in cruelty, not in wrath/The Reaper came that day. You liked Longfellow. I just liked Portal. Remember when I called you a companion cube and then the hot water just coincidentally crapped out every time I tried to shower for a week? I meant it as a compliment, Rhea! Mostly. A devil visited this gray path/And took the cube away and they took everyone else too and now I can't even get a door to work."

Eiffel moves close, afraid to actually touch her and take her by surprise. Unarmed, injured, recently dead, and he still has no doubts about who would come out on top in a fight. This... this weirdly candid way she's speaking, this otherworldly calm, though, is scarier than anything she's ever done. "Captain Lovelace...?"

"You're not Sam," Lovelace laughs, almost a sob. "Sam died too quickly to leave a trace. It came on in the middle of the night, and by the time Rhea got us awake you were twitching in a pool of your own--" She sobs, almost a choke. "Selberg tried his best, but when you've lost that much blood there's no bouncing back. All he could do in the end was try to make you comfortable." She chokes, almost a laugh. "Isn't that what we always tell people? We made him comfortable. It was quick. There was no pain, no fear. But I know that no matter what, there is always time for pain and fear. You know that too, now, don't you? I swore to myself after Fisher died that none of you would ever know that, and now all of you do."

Eiffel leans against the opposite wall and says, very quietly, "That's a promise that nobody can keep, Captain."

"You're not Sam," Lovelace whispers, eyes still shut, "but it's good to see you anyway, Sam. Can I talk to you for just a minute, Sam? I know you're not here, I know you'd disapprove if you were, but I promise I'll go back to my post in a minute, I will, Sam, I'm just so tired." She huffs out a weak attempt at a laugh. "Do you remember that one time Fisher and Fourier and I actually managed to con you into playing strip poker with us? See, most guys I would accuse of losing on purpose, but I think you are actually just that bad at cards. Two rounds, was it? three? before your scrawny ass was chewing us all out about codes of conduct this and dangerously unprofessional attitudes that and not an approved team-building exercise whatever, in nothing but regulation underwear and a single sock. I'll never forget the color you turned when I laid down my hand and told you to finish the job. You ran away, Sam, probably the first time in your life you'd ever defied a direct order. It was fucking hilarious. Didn't even take your clothes, just left them in the cargo bay. I don't think I've laughed that hard since."

They breathe in silence for a very long moment.

Lovelace opens her eyes, slowly, like it takes every ounce of energy she possesses, and she focuses on his face. Actually seeing him, not just looking through him. "Officer Eiffel," she says, calm and formal and resigned. "So you've come to haunt me, too? I'm afraid you'll have to get in line."

"I'm not--" He frowns. "Captain, I'm here."

"The shuttle exploded, Eiffel. Even if Minkowski and Hera weren't lying about radio contact with you after the bomb went off, it still pushed you out into deep space." Another weak laugh. "I pushed you out into deep space. It's been... months? A year? If I didn't kill you, I let you die, and that's even worse."

"You didn't, though. I survived the explosion. I survived what came after it, too." Her expression crumples, and Eiffel continues quickly, "I mean, I'm not gonna sugarcoat it, I christened it the good ship Horrible Unending Nightmare for a reason, and like... the nightmares haven't ended but the Nightmare did, y'know? It's over. A tiny speck of radioactive space junk, floating in the void. I have fingernails again, and my hair grew back, and sometimes I can wake up in the morning without tasting cryo in the back of my throat! And all of that's because I'm alive." He takes a deep breath. "And I'm alive, in part, because of you."

"What?" So small and strangled it's barely a word.

"Jesus, Captain, what do you think kept me going all those whatever-hundred days?" A bit of a humorless laugh. "Something goes horribly wrong and it's Minkowski reciting Pryce & goddamn Carter in my head. I'm staring down the barrel of one hundred days of food and six thousand years of distance and you're there telling me to quit whining and survive already. Every time I wanted to give up, and it was, it was, it was a lot of times, I'd think of you and Minkowski and Hera holding things together with sheer stubbornness, and I'd think of the person you guys deserve to have out here with you, and I'd try to get within a light year of being that person. And it worked. I'm not dead."

He stretches a hand across the corridor, and she stares at it for a long second, and she reaches out cautious and trembling, and she gives a tiny sob and seizes it tight when their skin makes contact.

"You're not dead," Lovelace chokes out, gripping his hand even tighter, and wow okay semi-heroic speeches aside he hasn't magically stopped being a wimp and this is really starting to hurt. "Oh, God, that's right, you're not dead. We thought you were for months and there was no contact from Command and then you stepped out of the Douchebag Express looking like a fucking skeleton but you weren't and there's-- there's SI-5 and secrecy again and paranoia again and planning again and something went wrong, it went really wrong, Kepler was going to shoot you, Kepler-- he-- I--"

"I would love to fill you in on the details, Captain," Eiffel says with only the slightest manliest hint of strain, "the very second you stop grinding my bones to make your bread."

She laughs at that, nearly manic, and lets go of him to fold her arms over her chest. He rubs his palms together, casually stretching the one she crushed.

"Okay. Um. I'm not really sure how to say this, so, kind of stalling to be honest. Hera, can we get a quick status update?"

"Turbulence appears to have settled down for now," she says, sounding a bit more like herself. "Nothing else is really... happening? Commander Minkowski's still got a gun on Kepler and Kepler's still got his stupid smile and Jacobi kind of... looks like he's about to throw up, maybe. I'm pretty sure that's the face he's making? He's really hard to read."

Lovelace's expression snaps into focus. "Wait, where's Maxwell? She's the most dangerous--"

"Yyyeah." Eiffel hunches his shoulders. "Not... not anymore."

"Oh." She closes her eyes briefly. "I know you didn't want anyone to die, but--"

"It's--" a heavy swallow-- "fine, Captain."

She gives him a look, but lets the subject drop. "Anyone else?"

"Hilbert."

Lovelace blinks. "That man's a cockroach. Are you sure he's dead?"

"Well, Jacobi got to him with explosives and kept the comms open, so, yeah, we're pretty goddamn sure."

"God." She scrubs at the back of her neck. "This is... Please don't take this the wrong way, or tell anyone else, but I sort of... lose time, every now and then? But this is a lot of time. It's never been more than an hour before, I don't think, but now-- The last thing I remember is being chained up in the Urania's armory, and then I think I was in the Hephaestus cargo bay but everything's so hazy until a couple minutes ago when you were talking about the shuttle. What, um, what happened?"

Eiffel clears his throat and looks down at the floor. "Okay. Previously on the Mutiny Fuckup Power Hour: We get taken hostage by Jacobi and brought to Kepler in the Urania's armory. Maxwell messes with Hera and forces her to tell them Minkowski and Hilbert's position, but Hera manages to warn them and they get away from Jacobi into the air vents. Guess all that plant monster hunting was good for something, eh? They split up--Minkowski goes after Maxwell in the bridge, Hilbert goes after the napalm. Minkowski takes Maxwell hostage. Hilbert is... not so successful. They... they had the room bugged, and they knew about everything, and Jacobi packed the floor full of C-4 with a remote detonator. He wants Maxwell's release in exchange for Hilbert's life. Minkowski doesn't budge. Jacobi blows up Hilbert. Minkowski shoots Maxwell. Kepler demands her surrender. Minkowski and Hera put the ship in a decaying orbit. Kepler gives up because, crazy as he is, I guess he's not suicidal. So, uh, there we are. Bad guys handcuffed in the cargo bay. Good guys won. Yippee."

"Hm." She stares off into space for a short while, then looks back at him with a small frown. "You're leaving something out. Where was I during all this? Still with you and Kepler in the Urania's armory?"

"...Yeeeeees? Yes. That is where you were."

Lovelace narrows her eyes. "Officer Eiffel you are the worst liar I have ever met and I worked with Lambert for chrissakes. Tell me the truth."

"I did!" He hunches his shoulders even further.

"Eiffel..." she says warningly. When he doesn't respond, she cocks her head to the side. "Okay, then. What was I doing? What was I saying?"

"Um, a lot of really cool and badass stuff that made Kepler cry?"

"Eiffel I swear to God I will get a real answer if I have to rip it out of you with my bare hands--"

"Nothing, okay? You were doing nothing." He buries his face in his hands. "You were doing nothing because you got shot. That's why Minkowski took the napalm route. Kepler shot you and gave her an ultimatum."

"Wait, what?" Lovelace looks down at herself. "Where? I feel fine."

"Okay, I'm gonna need you to be really calm, and openminded, because I am absolutely telling the truth this time even though it sounds completely crazy--"

"Eiffel!"

"In the head. Point blank. I was right there." He screws his eyes shut. When nothing happens, he cracks them back open to see Lovelace staring at him flatly.

"That's not possible."

"Yeah, well, you know what else isn't possible?" he says with a bitter laugh. "Sentient plants forming their own religion. A red dwarf up and turning blue. Friggin' aliens beaming out classical music whenever they're not busy copying people's voices and memories. This star does nothing but redefine 'possible'."

"No, no, you must've... seen something different. There's no way I could--" Her voice cuts off abruptly, and he has to watch the horrified realization settle over her face.

"Yep." Eiffel tips his head back against the wall. "You were dead, Captain Lovelace, for hours. I got a... body bag out of the lab, put you in it myself. That's why we were all in the cargo bay. For your funeral. And then, ten minutes ago, you started gasping for breath. Kepler knows all about it, apparently, because of course he does."

There's a hand clamped over her mouth, and she's shaking her head slowly, and her eyes are wide and terrified. "No. You're wrong. I'm-- I'm normal. I feel normal. I've been back on the Hephaestus for two years, there's no way I could be--"

He shrugs and looks away. "The Jacobi outside the craft that one time sure sounded like he felt normal."

A sharp intake of breath. "Oh, God, you're right. You're being honest, God, I'm not even real--"

"No! No, stop that, that's not the point." Eiffel's eyes flick back to her, and he almost looks angry. "We already just lost you, we're not going to lose you again."

"If what you're saying is true, you never had me in the first place!" A little hysterical laugh bubbles up. "I-- Lovelace probably did die in the star, and then the--God, this is ridiculous--the aliens spat me back out for whatever goddamn reason. You've never even met Lovelace."

"I've met you." The tension makes him jittery. Every word has the potential to blow up in his face and he's never been good at this. "No matter what the hell Kepler says, you're-- I've been thinking, well, I am thinking right now because this is all happening really fast and it's just that-- You. The person three feet away from me. I met you when you stepped off your terrible duct-tape shuttle already planning eight steps ahead of the rest of us. When you were putting a ship made of cannibalized space station and righteous fury back together and making it work. When you were telling horrible jokes, and saving my life, and saving Minkowski's life. Beating Kepler at his own game. Keeping calm through every stupid crisis that pops up on this useless tin can. Whether you were born on Earth or space-Xeroxed two years ago doesn't matter. I know you."

"Nice speech and all, but you can't just--" Lovelace makes a frustrated abortive gesture before falling back, all her fear suddenly drained into exhaustion. "You have to be wondering why I'm here. Why they'd go through all the trouble of putting me together, putting my shuttle together, pushing me back to the Hephaestus. Sticking me in your midst while they've got this, this contact event thing planned. I doubt I'm meant to be a peace offering."

"Yeah, okay, it's suspicious." He fists his hands in his hair. "Maybe you're some... alien sleeper agent, and when the contact event happens you'll go full Winter Soldier on our asses. But you know what else? Maybe Kepler and Jacobi will get free somehow, shoot us all, and book it out of here on the Urania's secret luxury escape pod. Or maybe Minkowski will finally snap and Here's Johnny her way around the station til she accidentally chops through the hull. Or maybe Maxwell left some virus buried in Hera's code that'll turn her into GLaDOS and I know there's no friggin' cake on board so don't even try that."

"We do what we must because we can," Hera chirps on cue.

It earns a shadow of a smile from Lovelace. "I've always wondered about that. Isn't GLaDOS, like," she waves a hand, "offensive to the AI community? Misrepresentation or something. All of them, SHODAN and HAL-9000 and that guy from I Have No Mouth And I Must Scream?"

"Actually," Hera says, almost prim, "I always found GLaDOS somewhat inspiring."

"That's..." Eiffel tips his head back and stares upward. "Hera, you make our oxygen. Please don't say things like that."

The shadow stretches into a tired grin. "Did you have a point to your little spiel about how everyone could murder everyone else, or are you up the stream-of-consciousness without a paddle as usual?"

He jabs a finger at her. "Excuse me, Captain, but there is always a point to my communications. Almost like I'm an officer of them, or something. Actually, I have three points. Number one: there are bigger problems right now, and we never know what's going on, and we're always flying blind, and that hasn't--" He stops abruptly and frowns. "...Well, I was about to say 'that hasn't killed us yet,' but all three of us currently present have been dead before, so, uh."

"Flawless delivery, Officer," Lovelace says dryly. "I see now why you're the communications expert for this mission. What a stellar job you're doing! I hate myself for that pun."

"No, no, hold on, I can salvage this. We're here, aren't we? More or less intact. Despite all kinds of fingers in our brains," he points at the ceiling, "and friggin' drowning in outer space, and bloodthirsty mutant viruses, and being stranded on a nonfunctional craft for a period of time that my sanity has deleted out of self-preservation," he flattens his hand on his chest, and then sweeps it toward her, "and you! I've known you for two years and I was gone for like half that time and I've still witnessed you shrug off a mountain of shrapnel to the guts and a gunshot to the face! Captain Lovelace I have personally heard your heart stop twice and it's still beating. The universe has thrown every stupid death it can cook up at us and we. are. here. So what if you're... whatever you are. The situation hasn't changed. We still have to figure out what to do about the contact event and how to get back to Earth, first of all."

She squeezes her eyes shut. "Eiffel--"

"Still got two points to get through, please save all questions for the end of the presentation. Number two: you still eat and drink and sleep and feel things like you did before you popped out of a star in a magical girl transformation sequence on LSD or whatever the hell actually happened. And Hilbert operated on you pretty extensively due to the aforementioned shrapnel-in-guts incident. Wouldn't he have noticed if you were significantly different from a human being?"

"Counterpoint: I am significantly different from a human being in that you just watched me come back from the dead."

"Counter-counterpoint! That time when you dumped like twelve gallons of your own personal blood into my veins--"

"As opposed to what, my communal blood?"

"--and yet here I float, no telepathy or lasers shooting from my eyes or anything. Which, non-sarcastically, thanks, but also, sarcastically, thanks, because despite all the horrible Decima crap I am still thirteen years old and kind of want to be an X-Man. Blood transfusion by a secret alien is a much better superhero origin story than non-consensual medical experiments."

Lovelace buries her face in her hands, inhales, holds to a count of four, exhales. "Are you done?"

"Point number three!" Eiffel says loudly. "If there is anybody on this station who does not get to be the grand arbiter of the difference between a person and a thing, it's Colonel Goddamn Kepler. You think like Captain Lovelace. You act like Captain Lovelace. You remember being Captain Lovelace down to every tiny detail of, I don't know, the embarrassing thing that happened at your junior prom or whatever. Congratulations, you get to be Captain Lovelace now. Hera would've printed out your certificate but she's kind of busy keeping us from dying all the time. If your thoughts, your actions, your memories... If that's not what makes you you, what does?"

She's quiet for a minute. "I'm not gonna lie, being Captain Lovelace kind of sucks. Can I roll a different character?"

"Yeah, the backstory's a hell of a thing. On the plus side you've got the best stats by a mile and that was before your level-up bonus was revealed."

Lovelace snorts. "God, you're an idiot. How are you... How can you possibly be this chill about everything?"

"Oh, no no no no no, I'm not at all. I'm just so freaked out that it's looped back around to composure. You can fully expect a nervous breakdown in the next two to four business days."

"Well, at least we have that to look forward to." She drops the sarcasm and just looks at him, a little lost, a little vulnerable. "I'm. You can't ignore the fact that I'm not human."

"Okay, well," he rubs at the headache behind his eyes, "maybe that's true. But, like... the only thing that's gonna change is I'm more likely to hide behind you at sudden scary noises now."

"Eiffel, for God's sake, take this seriously," she snaps. "I could kill you."

"To be fair, Original Recipe Lovelace could probably have killed me too. I'm kind of the scrawny tech loser to the badass space commando thing you have going on."

"Eiffel--"

"I mean," Hera interrupts, slow and hesitant, "I'm not a human either, but I'm still... y'know, a person. An individual. A part of the crew. I think that's what he's trying to say? Maybe one day you'll kill us all but I've almost killed you all, like, a dozen times! Not to mention the fact that you've already tried to kill us all before. We got through that. We'll get through this."

Lovelace swallows and her hand goes to the spot on her arm where the dead-man's switch used to rest, an unconscious habit she seems to have picked up while Eiffel was off gallivanting through deep space. "I... okay," she says, taking a steadying breath. "Okay," she repeats, squaring her shoulders, gathering the pieces of her psyche and slotting them back into place til she's the same unstoppable force of nature that has held her position on this station for years despite every possible kind of turbulence. "Okay. If I walk back in there with a gun, Minkowski's gotta be jumpy enough to shoot on sight, and I'd rather not... test the limits of this regeneration-whatever more than I have to, yeah? So. Game plan?"

"Um." Eiffel ticks off on his fingers. "Give you a proper burial at sea, which has been taken off the docket for obvious reasons. Extract information from Kepler, filter out the bullshit which makes up at least 75% of what he's saying at any given moment so that should take way too long. Survive the contact event, which kind of sounds like it's about to start any second now. MacGyver the Urania back into flying shape. Get back to Earth. Kick Goddard Futuristics' ass--this'll be the climax of the third act, I'm thinking lots of cutting-edge laser guns and brutal hand-to-hand combat and Hera's got a super dramatic scene where she hacker-fights the evil AI at the center of the compound, it eats up most of our CGI budget but it's so worth it--and then we all walk away in slow motion as the building explodes and some really badass music plays. Then pizza? Definitely pizza at some point."

Lovelace gives him a look. "You're literally a child." He shrugs. "New game plan: don't die. It's a classic for a reason. Sound good, Hera?"

"I don't know, Captain, Eiffel's had me compiling a list of potential end credits songs for quite a while and I think I've got a pretty good set going..."

"Thank God someone's looking out for what's important," she says dryly, then heaves herself back towards the cargo bay. "Alright, kids, let's go. Time for me to meet my maker."

[luvkirby4ever]

Wolf 359 Theory:  [SPOILERS]

As of Wolf 359 episode 46, Boléro, I don’t think that Hilbert is dead.  I posted a brief mention of it and some people were interested in my thoughts… so here it goes.

It goes without saying that this is based purely on speculation and wishful thinking.  I’m also slightly paranoid that if there’s any bit of truth to my theory and the writers discover that I’ve caught on they’ll change things for fear of not looking too predictable.  So please keep in mind that this is a completely nonsensical post by some annoying fan who just discovered Wolf 359 and binged the entire series in a week.

I’ve also decided to keep this under a “read more” cut to spare anyone’s dashboards.  (Also please excuse any typos- I’m typing in a hurry and I have problems transposing words.)

To start things off, let’s take a quick examination of Dr. Alexander Hilbert. He’s a very interesting character (and feels complex when trying to nail his feelings in a scenario) but he’s actually got a pretty easy overall motivation: His research is above all else.  Anything he does is either directly or indirectly tied to his overall motivation of continuing to study the Decima virus for the benefits of mankind.  His actions are not based on some sort of moral scale (asking himself if this is the “good” thing to do) but rather based on a scale of how his actions will further his cause (will doing this help/harm his ability to work on the Decima Project).  This is important to remember.

For ease of reference, I’ll be including [episode numbers in brackets] to indicate where I’m pulling some of these facts from.  I won’t do this for every point but for some of them that might be less obvious/harder to remember in case you want to listen for yourself.

In-universe reasons why Hilbert might be alive:

We never saw a body.

If he did die via fiery explosion I don’t expect a body(/pieces) to be left.  We still don’t know, however, if somebody bothered to check the area of the detonation.  So we don’t know if there’s any signs of escape/refuge.

Hilbert’s dialogue up to the explosion was suspicious.

Why would Hilbert specifically tell Minkowski how long it would take him to get into the room?

He does this multiple times… which is convenient for letting your enemies know when to set a bomb timer (it’s also useful for ripping out the hearts of your fans T^T)

He already knew that the plan had started to unravel/go wrong, so wouldn’t he be suspicious talking to Minkowski if she isn’t answering him back?

The engineering section is weird.

Ah the advantages of an audio-only medium:  the audience isn’t too sure of how to picture the area.

What we do know is that Hilbert and Lovelace stockpiled napalm in the “secret room that nobody knows about” in the engineering section .

We ALSO know that the secret door to Hilbert’s brain-scan chair is located in the back corner of the engineering section behind gears and such [ep 11].

It’s established, however, that the area which begins to reach past Hera’s sense horizon does not begin at the secret door room, but rather a little before it [ep 38].  Which gives me the impression that the napalm was not stockpiled in the room with the chair… but in that area nearby.

The door to the brain-scanner sounded heavy [ep 44], it is possible for Hilbert to have taken refuge from an explosion there?  I’m honestly not sure.

Since Hera can’t sense exactly what’s going on in there, she could only confirm in Desperate Measures that Hilbert was “heading towards the engineering section”.  So we don’t know what he was doing once he got off the radar.

Hilbert has wanted Maxwell dead multiple times.

Hilbert knew that Maxwell could turn Hera against them, so he has expressed interest in killing her [ep 36], about how not killing her was a wasted opportunity [ep 38], and killing/incapacitating her [ep 44].

The cockroach metaphor:

(Courtesy of Lovelace:)  “You really are a cockroach- dirty, sick, and impossible to kill.  And, God help us, that might be what we need right now.”

Remember- he has survived at least one other Hephaestus mission and years of working with Cutter [minisode 7].

More meta (storytelling) reasons why Hilbert might be alive:

The brain-scan chair’s story thread is still open.

Instead of asking yourself what Hilbert chose to do with the chair, ask yourself this:  “Do you think we’ll be able to find out if he’s dead?”

If the Lovelace we knew is alive and Hilbert’s alive, that would mean that Minkowski would have to live with fact that Maxwell was the only one who died that day.

Minkowski really didn’t want to kill someone- can you imagine the kind of mental/emotional pain that would cause knowing that Maxwell was the only one murdered?

It would also put additional strain on Hilbert’s relationship with her (she DID kill Maxwell because of the shock of his supposed death)

good for the ever-swinging pendulum of the story

Eiffel’s comparison between Hilbert and his own bad life-decisions could be explored more.

Eiffel laments Hilbert’s death partially because he wanted to see Hilbert “turn towards the light”.  This is because Eiffel’s trying to use this as a measure to figure out if he can become a better person after all the terrible things he had done.

So, can you imagine… if Hilbert actually turns around and does something horrible?  It sets up a ton of potential for struggle and strain, as well as Eiffel being forced to deal with the fact that some people won’t change.

On the other hand, there’s also that gushy part of me that wants to see an 11th hour Hilbert appear out of nowhere and save Minkowsi’s/Eiffel’s/Hera’s(/Lovelace’s?) asses because GDI he needs them to stay alive.  For science.

Would we ever find out why there’s bad blood between Hilbert and Kepler if Hilbert’s dead?

Unless Kepler reveals this or it’s the focus of a minisode I don’t think so.

Hilbert’s knowledge of the SI-5 and having worked once with Kepler are unexplored

Why was Cutter so interested in Hilbert’s Decima research [minisode 7] yet it was okay for the Decima Project to be retired [ep 33]?

Were they using Hilbert for something else?  Was this something he knew about?  He seemed to know a little bit about radiology… were they really just using him to dabble with aliens?

Given Hilbert’s reaction to Wolf 359′s change from red to blue, I’m going to guess that Hilbert wasn’t lying about not knowing about this weird alien stuff.

Which furthers the question- why was it okay for Kepler to terminate the Decima Project?

Speculative “reasons” why Hilbert might be alive:

Minkowski makes it a special point that they need Hilbert (to usurp Kepler) [ep 38].

This was right after Hilbert was thinking about the chair.

Hilbert didn’t really end up doing much to further the plan in Desperate Times and Desperate Measures (other than being the presence who died)… but what if this is foreshadowing further?

“Can I help you, Commander?” “Listen. [beat] I know your suggestions haven’t exactly… gone over well, but, I don’t want you to- [beat] Whatever we do, we’re going to need you, doctor. I want you to know that.” “I know that.”

He knows- and interestingly enough he’s showing a small trace of comradery.

I don’t think he’s completely consistent with this but he is under no obligation to call her “Commander” anymore.  Hm.

There is no character who has so far exhibited the ability to research/handle the Decima virus other than Hilbert.

Doug’s cough has been causally showing up again, so if he’s supposed to stay alive much longer he’s going to need a doctor.

Also, the Decima has reached a new stage [ep 33] so for all we know Doug is in for some rough bouts.

Hilbert is hellbent on staying alive because he believes that he’s the only one who can continue the work and that “If only the work can continue without me.  Then that will have to suffice.” [ep 38]

Suffice… as in it (the chair) will have to do as a last resort.  As in it’s not nearly as good as surviving as finishing it himself (insert speech from… ep 25 I think about Hilbert playing his hand through to the end).

Hilbert may have turned to the SI-5 team.

In episode 38 Lovelace says that she thinks Hilbert would switch sides if Command would take him back.

Hilbert responds “no”… but he wasn’t saying no to the idea of switching sides.  He was saying no and continues to justify that Command is done with him.  He never denied that he’d switch sides.

This would make Jacobi’s involvement with the explosion more suspicious since he could be covering for Hilbert.

Stabby the space roomba.

Okay but can you imagine.

That’s all the time I have for now!  Let me know what you think.  I love Hilbert and am really hoping he’s still around, even if he’s going to bring more suffering ^^;  There’s always that corner of my mind that- like Eiffel- imagines some sort of internal conflict inside Hilbert.  Ha.

[thiswasinevitableid]

1. Siren Indruck NSFW, Duck is hauling supplies for the small town of Kepler on a tiny boat. Due to dangerous storms, Duck takes a longer but safer and less traversed route. He doesn’t know he’ll be passing through a Siren’s territory. A siren who is looking for a strong and sturdy mate

Here you go!

Duck never tells anyone what he finds on the beach that day. 

He’s fourteen, looking for useful flotsam and jetsam tossed onto the sand by an ongoing storm. What he finds is an empty boat and a merman, silvery tail impaled with a spear in a piece of driftwood. Each time he tries to free himself, he winces and is unable to pull the weapon from his body. When he sees Duck, his red eyes widen and he bares sharp teeth in a hiss. 

“It’s okay” the boy kneels in the bloody sand, “I ain’t gonna hurt you. Or, uh, this’ll hurt for a sec, but it’ll be better than tryin to ease it out bit by bit.” He grabs the end of the fishing spear and pulls. The merman shrieks, quickly clamping his hands across his mouth as Duck pulls his handkerchief from his pocket to bandage the wound. 

“There, you should be able to-”

The creature is gone with a whip of his tail, sliding down the sand and into the waves. As Duck stands, a strange song floats from the foam for the briefest instant. A seasoned sailor can tell a siren from a normal mer on sight; Duck has never been to sea. It’s weeks later that he wonders what events resulted in the wounded siren and an empty boat. 

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

Any other day, Duck would put off this run until the black clouds no longer hung over the horizon. But the supply run last week didn’t come, so the isolated, coastal town of Kepler is running low on, among other things, the medicine needed to treat an illness spreading from house to house. He could put this off until tomorrow, but he won’t sleep well tonight if he does.

The boat loaded, he starts out to sea under unfriendly skies. Today is a day to follow the coastline and then circle Greenbriar Island to reach Kepler, rather than trying for a straight shot.  It’ll double his travel time, but it’s far safer in a storm and no one but a few locals know how to navigate it. Duck takes this route once or twice most years. This summer alone he’s had to take it six times, with today making a seventh. The abnormal number of storms weighs on the minds of coastal residents. Duck tries not to obsess over it, given that it’s solidly out of his control and there’s no use fussing over wind and rain; there’s only getting through them. 

Halfway through his journey, a rogue swell catches the underside of the boat and drags it along a rock, springing a leak in the hull. He ties off on a thin spire of stone, clambering onto a rock to try and repair the damage. It’s not a big leak, but it’ll be trouble if he lets it go. 

As he’s laying awkwardly with water lapping up his legs, a human head rises from the water a few feet from him. Silver hair, red eyes and, when it smiles, very sharp teeth. Harmless mermaids have teeth much like his own, which means he’s alone in the ocean with a fucking siren.

Duck’s learned many things since that day on the beach; how a song can paralyze a man better than poison, how the bite marks on the skin of certain bodies that wash ashore are called siren kisses

The siren begins swimming closer. Duck sighs, “If you’re gonna drown and eat me, can you do it on the way back?”

Red eyes blink, confused, but the siren stays where he is. 

“If I don’t make it to Kepler, lotta folks’ll get sick, some will even die. And I don’t think you got much use for medicine and canned food.”

The siren shakes his head. 

“Glad you understand.” Duck finishes his repairs under watchful eyes. At one point, the siren swims all the way to the rock Duck is perched on, resting his chin on his hands, as if enjoying the view. 

Duck scrambles back into the boat the moment he’s done, but no cold fingers try for his ankles and no splash announces something lunging upwards after him. A cautious glance as he starts the engine finds the siren sitting on the rock, silver-blue tail still half in the water. When he notices Duck looking, he waves. 

The rest of the journey goes as planned, the relief on folks faces when Duck docks worth the peril. When he reaches the siren’s territory on his return, no song tempts him. A lithe shape keeps pace with the boat, fin breaking the surface now and then. When he hits open water, the siren turns back, disappearing from view. 

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

There are sex dreams, and then there’s whatever the fuck Duck is having right now. Fingers stroke his hair, cling to his shoulders. Kisses coat his face and a voice whispers his name as the speaker offers themself to him again and again. He sees himself tangled with a man, face always just out of focus, who spreads his legs and lips so Duck can sink himself into the heat of his body. The dream is endless and he doesn’t care, doesn’t ever want to wake up. 

Saltwater in his lungs renders that desire useless. He snaps back to consciousness as another wave hits him; he’s up to his neck  in the cove below his house. 

“The fuck?” It’s only his footprints visible in the moonlight in the sand, so no one dumped him here. 

“Oh dear.”

“Jesus!” Duck stumbles back as glowing eyes peer around a rock. It’s the siren from yesterday, swimming purposefully as Duck wades backwards. 

“Look, uh, when I said I wanted you to wait to eat me, I wasn’t bein serious. Or, uh, I was, but I meant I didn’t want to be eaten ever, not just then. It was a, uh, a joke.”

“I am aware.” The siren stops as Duck topples on his ass in the shallow water, “and I am sorry. I, ah, I did not mean to lure you from your bed. I was not aware my mindless singing was enough to wake you. In most futures, you slept until dawn.”

“Uh huh, sure, because sirens are known to just serenade folks without wanting to drown ‘em.” 

“We do it more often than you might think.” The siren sighs, “I came here to keep you safe, and succeeded only in making you afraid.”

Duck, having scooted inelegantly onto dry land, watches the tan upper body of the siren sag. It’s awkward, a word not associated with this kind of mer. That suggests he’s telling the truth. 

“You gonna tell me why you’re playin watchdog at my house?” 

The siren chirps, intrigued, “In all but one future you told me to go away.”

“That’d just leave me with more questions. And so far, you ain’t done anythin other’n watch me; if you say this was an accident, I’m willin to hear you out.”

“Wonderful!” The siren claps his hands together and the tip of his tail flips out of the water. Then he clears his throat and recites, “I am known as Indrid Cold. As you noticed, I am a siren. I am also a gifted seer, artist, and lifeguard when humans are unconscious and thus will not try to kill me for rescuing them. I am an excellent fisher, and well-liked and/or feared by the larger creatures of this coastline. This is why I think I would be an excellent mate.”

“O-kay. Did you call me out here to practice your personals ad?” Duck smirks, charmed by Indrids earnest tone.

“This is not practice. I did a great deal of that earlier today. This is my formal declaration that I would very much like you to be my mate.”

“Ma--hold on.” The images from his near-fatal dream return, “were you singin’ to hit on me?”

Indrid crosses his arms, “For the last time, that song was not for you. It was about you, because I was daydreaming and my formless melody unintentionally conveyed the contents of said daydream into your mind.”

“So everythin in it, all that wild fuckin stuff, that’s stuff you wanna do with me?”

A nod, accompanied by a flash of white light under the water. 

“Why?”

“Because you are strong, and handsome, and capable on the water. I watched your futures yesterday and today and saw you are kind as well, well-liked by other humans but a little lonely at night. You are very nice to that small land-otter that lives in your house.”

“You mean the cat?”

“That’s the word! Yes, you are nice to your cat. You are not brash or cruel, and you look so very nice without a shirt. I...I like you, Duck. You are everything I want in a mate.”

“Feel like I might be missin’ some gills and fins.” He jokes to cover the fact he’s scanning his mind and body for the same dreamy lull he felt during the song. What he finds in it’s place is his ego purring from praise and wondering exactly what a siren would do for his mate.

“There is no rule that says I must choose only my own kind for such activities. I, ah, I know it is strange, given how little we know of each other, but I thought that, ah, since humans will have casual sex with each other maybe we could, or, ah, that is…” He’s watching Duck with such unconcealed hope that the human almost joins him in the water.

“Indrid, I’m real flattered. But I’d be a damn fool if I didn’t point out this feels like a fuckin trap. Pretty easy for you to drag me to my death once we’re, uh, in the middle of things. Not that I’m sayin you would.” He adds when the sirens smile dims. 

“A sensible concern. May I join you on land for a moment? There is something I want to show you.”

Duck pats the sand beside him, eyes following the ripples of Indrid’s tail as he swims, slithers, and slides onto the beach. It reminds Duck of an oarfish, though when Indrid spies him looking the scales flash deep purple. 

“Look there” Indrid points toward the end of the silver ribbon of scales; a round, white scar stares up at Duck. The details of a day over two decades in the past return to him.

“You’re the siren I found when I was a kid.”

“Indeed. I remember you by your eyes, though your face has some echoes of that day in it’s curves. You saved my life, showed me mercy when I expected none. Sirens do not forget a favor, and we do not kill those who once spared us. I will never harm you, even if you turn me away tonight. You will be safe, whether that is in my arms or merely in my territory.”

Duck avoids the stranger sides of life by the sea, citing a lifelong incompatibility with the weird. Turns out all he needed to find his exception to that rule is a handsome siren looking at him like he set the tides in motion. 

The human runs a finger up the sirens tail, sparks of purple and pale blue light igniting in it’s wake. 

“Didn’t know y’all changed colors.” He pets Indrid’s hip and the whole tail lights up this time. 

“I am a deep-sea siren by birth, we use light to communicate emotions.”

“Mind, uh, loopin me in on the conversation?”

“Purple means desire. It’s a common color in mating displays.” Indrid watches Duck’s hand  glide along his scales, and a burst of pale blue reflects across their faces. 

“And that one?”

“Submission.” Indrid murmurs, “it is, ah, not the most desirable color to show. My kind value strength and power; enjoying the opposite is an invitation to mockery.” The siren’s eyes stay downcast, even when Duck smooths silver hair from his face.

“Now, I like to joke as much as the next fella, but that don’t seem like somethin to tease about.”

“No?” Indrid’s gaze flicks onto Duck the instant before the man straddles him. Duck doesn’t even have to push him onto his back; he goes instantly, hands flat on the sand and tail twitching excitedly in the shallows. 

“No. Seems to me a sweet thing like you oughta be takin care of.” 

Indrid snickers, “That is not usually an adjective one uses for meAHahnn” he arches as Duck tugs his hair.

“Let’s get one thing straight, sugar; I decide what you get called. I wanna call you the most perfect creature in the sea, I will. And if I wanna call you a needy little mer who’s good for nothin but gettin fucked into the sand, you’re gonna nod and say ‘yes.’ Understood?”

The blue light flashing up his tail brightens, “Y-yes but, but why do you call me sugar? That is a food.”

Duck giggles, leans down to brush their noses together, “It’s a nickname, call you it because you’re sweet and I can’t wait to get my fill of you.”

“Ohhhh, I see.” 

“You wanna see somethin else?”

“Very much soOH, oh goodness.” Indrid gasps as Duck forces his gaze towards his cock attempting to free itself from his boxers. He grinds on the supple muscle of his tail to take the pressure off, chuckles when the siren whines and tries to kiss his chest. 

“Since you’re the only siren I’d ever even consider fuckin-” Duck pauses as Indrid moans loudly, digging his fingers into the sand, “you gotta show me how to go about it.”

“If, if you just continue as you are a little higher upyes, yes right there” He rolls his hips, purrs with such a blissful expression that Duck is powerless to do anything but kiss him. His affection grows when he notices Indrid clearly restraining his kisses so as not to catch Duck’s mouth or tongue with his sharp teeth. The last guy he fucked shoved his tongue down his throat without any build-up or finesse, and now all he can think is if only Indrid had made his feelings know sooner, Duck could have done away with shitty human dates and had an obedient, eager mer instead. 

“Mmmmm” Indrid licks his lips, runs his fingers up Duck’s sides, “kissing is nice. It is not something sirens often indulge in, so my chances to do it are few and far between.”

“Ain’t that a shame” Duck kisses the corners of his mouth, “lips like these were made to be kissed sore.”

Indrid purrs, wiggling his tail, and Duck looks down to see a slit opening where his clothed cock has been rubbing. 

“Huh. Kinda figured you had-”

“-I have both this and an appendage below it much like your own.”

“Handy.” Duck, in no mood to climb off the purring, otherworldly man, eases the waistband of his damp boxers just under his balls. 

“This, uh, this ain’t gonna actually create a, I mean, I don’t wanna accidentally-”

“Nono, there is no chance of procreation”

“And you’ll be okay with so little of you in the water?”

“Yesyes I will be fine.” Indrid tugs at his hips, bucks his own into the air in frustration. 

“Just checkin’ oh, oh fuck” Indrid is tight and ridged around his dick as it slides in, “fuckin christ, no wonder sailors’ll crash into rocks at the offerin of fuckin a siren, wait, fuck, that was probably rude.”

“I will let it slide” Indrid teases, the end of his tail curling around Duck’s left ankle, “on account of your body is so lovely I would beach myself and die gasping on your doorstep for a chance to touch it.”

“No need for that. All you gotta do is wait here like a good little mer and I’ll fuck you as much as you want.” The slit pulses as Duck slowly fucks in and out, and he knows he’ll have to throw out all his fleshlights after this because nothing will ever compare to the deliciously alien feeling of Indrid around his dick. 

“Do, do not joke about such things.” Indrid whimpers, clinging to his shoulders.

“I ain’t. You wanted a mate, right?”

“Yes, you, so very badly.”

“Well, you got one, and you feel so goddamn good on my cock I ain’t inclined to let you swim off and be someone else’s.”

“I do not want to, I only want you, please, please let me stay.”

Duck stills his hims and the siren writhes as he leans down. The human cups his cheek, “I want you to stay, ‘Drid. I wanna get to know you. Long as you promise you ain’t gonna fuck me unless you want to, and not because you’re scared I’ll turn you loose.”

“I promise.” Indrid initiates the kiss this time, purring when Duck takes his time kissing back. 

“Good. Now that we got that cleared up” Duck sits up, “be a good mate and take what I give you.” He fucks in as hard as he dares, dives back down to kiss Indrid’s lips and throat as the mer’s cock emerges. Duck finds he can grind his ass along the twisting shaft at the same time he drives his own into Indrid’s body, resulting in a wail of pleasure and teeth sinking into his shoulder. 

“Fuck!”

“Sorry!” Indrid squeaks, hiding his face in Duck’s neck, “it, it is a reflex-”

Duck yanks his head back to his shoulder, near the first mark, and holds it down, “Do it again.”

Indrid trills and pain lights up Duck’s body, the perfect counterpoint to the pleasure coursing through him with each roll of their bodies. The siren chirps and moans, nips his arms and ears, slides his tail along his legs as his cock pumps frantically against his ass.

“That’s it sweet thing, cum for me while I fuck you. Show me just what my mate is for.” Duck bites Indrid’s neck and cum splatters the backs of his thighs as Indrid’s repetitions of his name drown out the noise of the waves.  Duck’s orgasm follows fast, sweeps through him like the crescendo of a song carried on the night air. 

Duck stays buried in him well after he’s finished, mind already conjuring images of tying Indrid down in shallow water and keeping his cock warm all day.

“Duck?”

“Yeah, sugar?” 

“I, ah, I need to get back in the water.”

“Oh shit, yeah, sure.” He pulls out, tosses his sea-soaked boxers up the beach as Indrid slides into the sea. Duck wades in, stopping where it’s waist deep as the siren swims lazily circles around him. 

“Such a perfect mate.”

“Glad you still think so.”

Indrid curls up to him, rubbing their cheeks together, “Thank you for indulging me. Do...do you wish me to come back tomorrow? Or to stay tonight? There are no other mers between here and my territory, so there is no reason I cannot count this stretch as mine.”

Duck kisses one of the hickeys blooming on tan skin, “How’s about you stay the night. We got some things to talk about. And, if you’re real good, I might let you fuck me when we’re done.”

Indrid grins, “My dearest one, I believe we have a deal.”

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

Nowadays, if you ever go near Kepler and the surrounding islands, you may hear people talk about Duck Newton, beloved native son, skilled park ranger, and the only man receive siren kisses and live to tell the tale. 

[thiswasinevitableid]

For the prompts: Sternay, Centaur, NSFW. Thank you!

Here you go!

Note: I use “races” here in the D&D sense.

Most nights, Barclay works undistracted until the end of dinner. Tonight, looks out the kitchen window so often Moira teases him that she’ll close it to save him from cutting off his own hand by mistake. 

He can’t help it. Every time a new party returns from an adventure or demands a table so they can sit and plan their next epic quest, he pokes his head into the dining room of Amnesty Lodge to see if a certain orc is among them. 

Technically, Joseph is half-orc, as his father was an elf, but his orcish traits dominate in all but his build and his ears. He’s so handsome, the first time he addressed Barclay by name he blushed for an hour afterwards. 

That was the second time they’d met, Joseph having returned from his job as the hired rogue of a party of treasure hunters. He’d been a spy during the last great skirmish, and now put his observation and information gathering skills to good use for a fair price. He, like other adventurers for hire, used Amnesty Lodge as his base, as it welcomed creatures of all kinds and had the best food in all of Kepler. 

When Joseph became a regular, it didn’t take long for him to post up in the place where it was easiest for him to talk to Barclay, and more than once he stayed to help the centaur put up chairs and wipe down tables. Four months ago, before he left to help some mages in search of rare artifacts, he knocked on Barclay’s door in the pre-dawn rain and kissed him goodbye, telling him to consider the kiss an offer he could refuse or accept on Josephs’ return. 

Barclay kissed him back immediately in reply.

Ever since that morning, Barclay’s orientation towards time changed. He no longer saw his life in weeks and months; instead it was divided into times when Joseph was in town and times when he was gone. It helps that Joseph prefers quests that are about knowledge and have a low chance of death, as he has little taste for violence (in fact, the only orc he knows with less taste for it is Duck, who seems annoyed at the fact the universe thinks it’s his destiny to fight).

When the last diner stumbles upstairs to their room, Moira pats his side, “I can get Jake to help me clean up. You go on home.”

A short walk brings him to his cottage on the edge of Amnestys’ grounds. He gathers his mail, starts a kettle for tea, and contemplates if he should take a bath now or wait for Joseph in the hopes he might join him. 

Knockknock

He hurries to the door, throws it open and finds a disheveled but pleased looking Joseph holding a bouquet of branches. 

“Hey” his brain offers no further thoughts, too busy drinking in the sight of the boyfriend he’s been missing these last ten days. 

“I’m sorry I’m late, we ran into some kind of conflict between two water golems and had to take a longer route. I, um, brought some apple blossoms as an apology.” 

“No need to apologize, blue eyes” Barclay takes the flowers, “I’m just glad you’re back in one piece. Uh, do you, uh, wanna come in? I’m making tea and, uh, I was gonna take a bath if you wanna join me.” In spite of the fact Joseph is already through the door and taking off his shoes, Barclay worries he’s moving too fast. 

“A bath sounds great, big guy” Joseph cups his face, takes his time kissing every inch of his lips before releasing him, “I’ll go get it started.” 

Barclay shuts the door and trots towards the kitchen. He munches two stems of blossoms and then sets the rest in some water on the table. 

He joins Joseph just as the orc closes off the sluice that directs the water from the hot springs outside into the massive, rocky tub. It’s designed with multiple wide, stone benches so Barclay can sit comfortably with his legs tucked beneath him. He sets the mugs of tea by the edge of the pool and wades in, settling on his preferred bench as Joseph floats over to him. A grey scar runs up one side of his green chest which, combined with the stylish piercings in his ears and the one stud in his nose, make him look a mixture of tough and debonair that never fails to make Barclay paw the ground with frustrated desire. 

The orc is so handsome, has kissed Barclay breathless and given him the honor of tasting his cock several times, but there are things Barclay wants from him that he will never ask for. And so, as the orc drapes his arms around his shoulders, he puts those lurid thoughts from his mind. 

“Do you want me to get your back?” Well-trimmed claws scritch the sensitive line where fur meets skin. 

“Fuck yeah.”

Joseph splashes to his side, retrieving one of the milky-white bottles lined along the rocky edge. The scent of oatmeal and chamomile fills twines into the steam as the orc guides a generous line of the shampoo down his spine. Barclay would never admit it in public, but he uses this blend in part because it brings a shine to his dark bay fur, the color of which he is immensely proud. 

“You have such a handsome coat” Joseph murmurs, fingers creating a path of suds as he rubs them in circles, “then again, the rest of you is handsome too, so it’s only remarkable in that it puts every other centaur I’ve seen to shame.”

Barclay squeezes the loofah he’s using on his shoulders, groans when Joseph digs his fingers into the spot on his back legs that is always sore after a day in the kitchen.

“Look at all that strength buried right here” Joseph pets up his leg and along his flank, “gods, Barclay, maybe I should count myself lucky that you work somewhere you aren’t seen so that I’m not constantly fighting off every centaur who passes through town and sees what a catch you are.”

“Babe please” he dumps water over his head, which does fuck-all to clear it, “please, when you talk like that it’s, I’m-”

The hands switch to soothing circles, “I’m sorry, if it’s making you uncomfortable I can stop.”

“No, no it’s more like, uh, fuck” he takes a deep breath, “talking to me like that while you touch me, while you’re right there all naked and perfect I, it turns me on and I don’t want to make you deal with that.”

Soft splashing as Joseph moves in front of him, “I think now is the time to tell you I’m, um, more than happy to deal with it. In fact, I was kind of hoping we could do that tonight. We can take our time, since neither of us has work tomorrow and I, um, well let’s just say I thought about you a lot while I was gone and wanted the chance to act on some of those thoughts.”

Barclay snorts, softly, “Trust me, babe, even if you think it’s a good idea now, you won’t when it happens. Lots of people love the idea of fucking a centaur right up until the moment and then they bail. And I mean, like, that’s cool, I don’t wanna fuck someone who’s freaked out and they can call it quits whenever but...yeah. I appreciate the thought, blue eyes.” He smiles, trying to show that he means it, because he does, he loves that Joseph thinks of him that way.

Joseph massages some of the shampoo into his hair, the two of them still face to face, “Do you remember that black trunk I left here last time?”

“Uhhuh” He closes his eyes, neck relaxing, “said it was stuff you needed to keep at my place.”

“It is, and now I know you didn’t peek at it. I did a bunch of research into the best way to prepare to get fucked by a centaur, and everything we need is in that box.”

“Aw babe, you did a research project for me.” Barclay hides his face in Joseph’s shoulder.

“It’s my love language.” Joseph kisses his cheek, “Barclay, if you don’t want to do this, we don’t have to. I just wanted you to know that this isn’t some idle fantasy for me, with you filling the role of hot centaur. This is something I want to do with you, my boyfriend who I adore and want to get fucked by.”

“Promise you’ll say something if I’m hurting you?” Barclay mumbles against soap-tinged skin.

A kiss on his head this time, “I promise.” 

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

Joseph is conscious of his reputation. He always has been, whether that was how his superiors saw him or how his potential clients see him now. This is why he’s well-aware of the joke that goes as follows:

Did you hear about the undiscovered creature?

No. What is it?

A race Joseph hasn’t fucked. 

That’s the translation from orcish, anyway. 

It’s not as if he has a checklist of beings he wants to bed. It’s that he’s never seen a creatures race as a deterrent. Not the very charming bugbear who bought him a drink his first time up in Vogel Pass. Not the shy dragonborn who asked him to dance at the Festival of the Two Moons. And certainly not the sweet, gentle centaur who owned his heart from the first time he smiled at him. 

Joseph considers himself practical, but Barclay forces him to confront the romantic streak running through his heart. He’d debated how best to show it, considering traditional gestures of orc courtship or a long, long letter, before an exasperated Duck pulled him aside and told him to just tell him, please Joe for fucks sake this is painful to watch. 

Over the last few months, he’s learned which flowers to bring his lover, what places to pet and scratch to melt that strong body beneath his hands. He’s also observed that Barclay is sexually pent up yet never asks for release, no matter how many times he swallows or strokes Josephs’ cock. So, while his research and subsequent offering of his ass are far from selfless, he hopes it will show his boyfriend that he will put in the work to bring him pleasure. 

He’s busy laying out the four glass cocks of increasing sizes next to the largest bottle of lube they had at fantasy Costco while Barclay arranges a set of cushions, bars, and ropes near the bed. When put together, the items form a rig that allow centaurs to fuck smaller partners. Barclay bought it the last time someone expressed a desire to fuck him; it’s never been used. 

Joseph sits on the bed, all his supplies in reach, and pats the large mattress to indicate Barclay can join him. 

“Should I help?” The centaur tucks his legs under him, tail twitching once. 

“Yes, by holding me while I warm up. You won’t be able to when you’re fucking me, so I need to get my fill.” He rests his back against Barclay’s bare chest, tips his head up so his boyfriend can kiss him, “if you’re good, maybe I’ll let you open me up some of the way.”

Barclay whines, nuzzling his hair as he preps the smallest toy. It slides in easily, Joseph working it back and forth with soft moans. It’s not long before he trades it for the next size, the one he uses most often. The centaur’s arms twine around his waist and his chin rests on his shoulder, jostling in time with Joseph’s thrusts. 

The third toy has a flared base and he grunts, spreading his legs wider as he pushes it in. He stops mid-way, needing a moment to relax. Barclay rubs his thighs, asking if there’s anything he needs. 

“A little distraction might help.”

“I can manage that.”

“GAHahnnnnm, shit, that works.” Joseph moves the toy incrementally deeper as Barclay nibbles his ears. The playful pain always makes him shiver and submit to whatever’s happening, and soon the toy bottoms out. He fucks himself with it until the idea of taking more feels not only possible, but wonderful. 

The fourth toy is, according to his research, to inches shorter and an inch and a half thinner than the average centaur cock. It’s an intense stretch and he groans, falling back in Barclays arms. The centaurs breath is coming in hot puffs on his neck and chest, and the bed is moving more than it was a minute ago.

“Enjoying the show, big guy?”

“Uhhuhnnn, I, fuck babe this is making me so fucking hard but I, I didn’t wanna say anything in case you needed to back out.”

“My sweet, considerate Barclay. Here, I have an idea.” He tips forward, splaying out on his stomach with the toy sticking part way out of his ass, “I want you to finish getting me ready.”

“Okay” He can feel Barclay’s hand shaking through the length of the toy, “fuck, your ass looks good like this.”

“It’ll look even better with yours in itAH gods, that’s a good speed for it, gods that feels so good.”

Barclay growls, pushes the toy all the way in as Joseph arches off the bed with a wall-shaking moan.

“That’s it, ohmylord, see big guy, I can take whatever you give me. You won’t break me, won’t hurt me, just fill me up and make me cum so hard I white out-”

“Who says you’re gonna get to cum, blue eyes? Maybe I’ll just fill that tight orc ass up and leave you there until I’m ready to breed again.”

There’s a smack just as the toy stops moving. Joseph turns to see Barclay with his hands clamped over his mouth. 

“‘M ‘orry.”

With some effort and another moan as the toy shifts, he rolls onto his side and holds up two fingers, “First off, I’ve heard way more explicit ‘breeding talk’ including from my own kind. Second of all, if it bothered me, I wouldn’t keep talking about how strong and capable you are when I want to wind you up. I was a spy, Barclay; I’m very good at telling what people want and what they’re hiding.”

“Joe….” it’s a whine. Rarer still is the use of his nickname, something Barclay only does when he’s far gone with desire. Joseph allows himself some internal smugness before smiling at his boyfriend. 

“I’m ready for the main event if you are.”

Lube drips down his thighs as Barclay helps him into place. There’s a large, square cushion with very little give shoved up against the wall. It’s waist-height for Joseph, so he bends over it and lets his boyfriend strap his wrists and ankles down against the faux-velvet. 

“Is that okay? You don’t need the extra pad under your feet?”

“Assuming we’re at a comfortable angle for you, I’m all set.”

“Right. Cool.” Barclay sounds almost impatient; what an evening of firsts this is turning out to be. “I’m gonna put the last piece on.”

A cool circle of stainless steel sits snugly against Joseph's ass. In his reading, he learned that a common issue was the cock slipping out during the precarious first pushes, leading to frustration for everyone. Since Barclay can’t guide it with his hand from the angle he’ll be at, the ring offers a tactile clue and keep him on course once he pushes in. 

The centaur moves so he’s behind him, then steps forward so his front legs are on either side of the block Joseph is strapped to. From here, the heat of his body surrounds the orc and he feels safe instead of smothered. After three mis-judged nudges, his cock threads though the ring, the flat, wide head of it parting Joseph’s ass as they both groan. 

“Shit” Joseph hisses. Barclay freezes above him, so he adds, “that was good cursing.”

It remains so as the thick head stretches him open, and he gasps with relief when it’s done breaching his body. The shaft is narrower, so that’s the hard part over with. Better still, his preparation pays off; the cock slides most of the way in with little resistance. 

“Can I start moving?” He can’t really see Barclay’s face from this angle, but the centaurs' shy, lustful hope is clear in his voice.

“Yes, big guyFUCK! Ohfuck, yes, holy hells that’s good.” The first thrusts make the purpose of the straps clear; if Joseph weren’t tied down, he’d be bounced this way and that, increasing his chances of injury. Trapped as he is, there’s less chance for accidental harm and no distraction from the massive cock relentlessly thudding into him. 

“Fuck, Joseph, you feel so good baby, fuck I never think of you as small but it’s like I can reach the back of your fucking throat like this.”

The comment draws his attention to what he assumes is a lump in the flat surface of the cushion that’s causing his stomach to rock at an angle. 

“Holy shit that’s, that’s your cock. Barclay, it’s, it’s literally bulging my stomach out.” He wishes the set up allowed him to see it, he wants to sear the image of Barclay’s cock molded against his flesh into the deepest corners of his memory. 

“I can feel it babe, believe me. Fuck, such a tight fit, you’re like a fucking toy, stretching to take me.” More force behind the thrusts, suggesting Barclay is using the bar enchanted into the wall for this exact purpose, “shouldn’t waste a breeding load on a toy, but fuck me if I care.”

“Gods almighty” that fact hadn’t appeared in his research, but makes perfect sense; if a centaur hasn’t fucked in awhile, their biology might generate a greater amount of cum the next time around in hopes of continuing their kind. 

“Yeah, you like that, like the idea of taking my cum so deep you’ll be able to taste it. Gonna fill you up babe, fuck, gonna leave you dripping for weeks.”

“That’s right, big guy, you can cum as much as you want.” His comment dies out into a prolonged whimper as his cock ruts against the cushion, pushing him towards orgasm. 

Barclay stops, huffing, and rumbles, “It’s cute how you think you get to make that call, instead of taking me for as long as I fucking say like the needy little piece of ass you are.”

“Sweet fucking hell” Is all Joseph gets out before his words give way to desperate, ecstatic sounds. Barclay fucks him so hard and fast it shakes dust from the ceiling and a picture from the wall. The entire lower half of his body is stretched and pounded so mercilessly and with absolutely no pauses, meaning his orgasm only registers when splatters across the floor. His sensitive cock gets no reprieve, bouncing in time with Barclays increasingly sharp thrusts and making Joseph gasp whenever it rubs against the cushion. 

His assumption that Barclay is going his fastest goes out the window when the centaur quickens his pace, Josephs wrists and ankles twisting in their bonds as his mind falls silent. All he hears is Barclay grunting as his cock tries to go deeper into his ass. 

“C’mon babe, c’mon, take it, take me deep, take the whole godsdamn fucking thingohfuck, Joe.” There’s a deep, broken cry as cum pumps into him, his body aching at the further intrusion. Barclay whimpers and moans above him, hips still jerking as he keeps cumming. By the time he gives a final thrust, cum is escaping back down his shaft, Joseph’s body unable to contain it. 

“Do, do you want me to pull out all at once?”

“Yes, best to get the mess over with instead of dragging oOWut.” His body gives up any pretense of supporting itself when the centaur slides out of him. Thank goodness for the cushions. Barclay isn’t faring any better, knees wobbling as he undoes Josephs’ restraints and helps him to the bed. The orc just manages to remember to toss a towel out for him to lay on so he doesn’t stain the bed sheets with the spend still running down his legs. 

Barclay nestles protectively around him, guiding his head to rest on the still-shiny fur of his back, “I can’t believe you did that for me.”

“For us. I don’t know if you noticed, but I thoroughly enjoyed myself.”

“Kinda got that sense, yeah.”  Barclay rests their heads together, “Even so just...thanks. Thanks for taking the time and effort it takes to fuck me.”

Joseph toys with Barclay’s hair, tucks it behind his ears, “Barclay, I love you. Part of that means figuring things like this out together. Even if being with you, in any sense of the word, was a hundred times more complicated, that wouldn’t be enough to stop me from trying.”

Barclay doesn’t ask if he means it. Instead, he draws him into a kiss, works his magic with his lips and tongue until Joseph is practically draped over him, content and exhausted. Before the centaur scoops him up for another bath, he kisses his cheek and rumbles, “Thanks, babe. And I love you too.”

[thiswasinevitableid]

“On the Edge”verse - Stern and Barclay act out a scene where Stern, trying to hide that he’s a Sylph, shows up in Barclay’s, a famous cryptozoologist who is trying to find and document the werewolf, room late at night to intimidate him into leaving town. He tells Barclay that he is an FBI agent undercover at the lodge and that having any kind of reporter could jeopardize his mission. Barclay tells him to fuck off and things get heated, Stern accidentally gets revealed as the werewolf and tries another method of intimidation. NSFW, please

Here you go! For folks who want to know, On the Edge is my reverse AU. You can read this as a standalone as long as you know that Barclay is a human cook and amateur cryptid hunter and Stern is a Sylph.  Barclay is trans, and has had top surgery and phallo.

“What would you’ve done if I made it back and shared that footage I got of you?” Barclay asks from his favorite spot in the world; laid out on his boyfriends furry torso, watching him try to do a crossword puzzle without tearing the pages on his claws.

“After Mama read me the riot act, I would have tried to get it back from you before you could put it online.”

“You realize it woulda looked hella suspicious if the Lodge Manager was suddenly trying to get me to turn over my camera. Or, like, snooping in my room.”

“Hmmm” Joseph sets the puzzle book and pen aside, scratching Barclay’s back lightly through his shirt, “I would have come up with a cover story. I’m not bad at those.”

“Babe, I love you, but you’re one of the worst actors I’ve ever met.”

“That’s in roleplay. Cover stories are different; I’m me, but in a different context. I could have pretended to be an FBI Agent, for instance.”

“Oh fuck that’s hot.” Barclay groans.

“Yeah? In that case, big guy,  I have an idea...”

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

Joseph adjusts his tie, smooths down his lapels, and knocks on the door. A click-thunk of the deadbolt and it swings open, revealing his favorite Lodge resident. Barclay is a lumberjack pin-up come to life, complete with short beard and a fondness for plaid. He’s gentle to a fault, an amazing cook, and taller than Stern (when he’s human, of course). His size features frequently in the unhelpful part of Sterns brain dedicated to fantasizing about his future mate.

“Hey, you’re up kinda late.” Barclay smiles at him. His auburn hair is tied back, his thick, blue bathrobe tied tight, and for a moment Stern is tongue-tied.

When he collects himself, he crowds the other man back into the room, “It’s because something important has come up.”

“Do you have a sec before you get into it? I have something I gotta show you. You know how I’ve been on the trail of those werewolf sightings? I finally got lucky and got footage of it. An honest to god werewolf, Joseph, can you believe it.”

“Yes” he says, grimly, “that’s why I’m here. I, um, haven’t been honest with you. I’m not just the manager here at Amnesty. I’m an FBI agent with the department of Unexplained Phenomenon, and I’ve been investigating the strange goings-on in Kepler for years.”

“But...but that’s great! We can work together, with my footage and your resources, we could finally prove the existence of cryptids.” Barclay grabs his arms, beaming.

Joseph shrugs them off, “No, it’s not good at all. Barclay, I’ve dedicated my life to this mission. Any kind of publicity could put it all at risk, and that is not something I will allow. Which is why” he holds out his hand, “you’re going to give me the footage.”

Barclay balks, “Like hell I am. You wanna talk about life’s work? Half my profession thinks I’m crazy, and I’ve spent years wandering around every fucking backwater town, chasing every half-baked, wild-ass lead in hopes of finding the truth. This footage is it, it’s everything I’ve worked for, and no one is taking it from me.”

“If you don’t hand it over, I’ll charge you with interference in goverment business.”

“Fucking try it.” Barclay brings them toe to toe, glaring down at him, “the man in black shit’s never scared me.”

“It should. I know you’ve heard theories about what we do to people who know too much, and some of them are true.”

“I thought you were better than this, Joseph. I thought you were on my side.”

“I could be, if you cooperate. I don’t want to do this, any of this, but my mission is to valuable to let you post that video.”

Brown eyes dart towards the cookie-cutter dresser, the same one in each room of the lodge. Atop this one is a SIM card. Joseph is just a little faster than Barclay, grabbing the card the instant before the taller man grabs him.

“Get your hands off me!’

“Give me back my fucking stuff!”

Joseph pushes off the dresser, nearly sending them both to the floor, “No, I have it, it’s goverment property now!”

A laugh that Barclay just manages to cover with a growl, “That’s not how that works, asshole!”

“Face facts Barclay, the footage is mine, and I’m going to get rid of it.”

Barclay grabs his wrist, twisting it to try and free the card, “Over my dead fucking body!”

Joseph shoves him away, discovers two things at once: Barclay has the card, and his enchanted bracelet is on the floor. The suit rips as reality shifts, black fabric hanging, tattered, as the tie snaps and drops onto the rug.

“Hah!” Barclay’s eyes are on the plastic square in his palm. It’s not until he hears the growl that he glances up, “fuck!”

“Over your dead body?” Joseph bares his teeth, “that can be arranged.”

Barclay stumbles backwards, too focused on the werewolf stalking towards him to watch his step. His knees catch the edge of the bed and he falls onto it with a yelp. Keeps crawling, as if the headboard and wall will just dissolve when he hits them, rather than trap him. Or maybe he’s planning to hide under the cover. Joseph doesn’t really care, his plan allows for plenty of contingencies.

“You, you’re the one. The wolf in the video.”

“That’s right.” He reaches out, plucks the card from Barclays fingers. Waits until he’s watching to snap it in half and toss the pieces into the trash, “hmm, that was much easier. Maybe I should have started with this plan. I avoided it due to the downsides.”

“Like?” Barclay is gradually flattening against the headboard.

“Like the fact that if you know the whole truth about me, I can’t let you leave.”

“Joseph, please-”

“I didn’t want to do this, but you didn’t leave me much choice.”

“I’m gonna call for help, someone’ll hear me-”

“Everyone at the Lodge knows the truth about me, knows I’m getting that footage tonight. They won’t come to help you, not matter what they hear through the walls.” He snarls, grabbing Barclay’s ankles and yanking him flat on his back. Fear spikes though the air, sharp and acid in his nose. The sweeter scent of arousal floats behind it. He ignores that part; it must be coming from another room.

“I’ll be quick, I promise.”

Barclay pulls a pillow protectively across his chest, “Wait! T-there’s a duplicate if the video. I burned it to another drive just in case. If, if you kill me, it’ll always be out there, waiting for someone to find it.”

Joseph cocks his head, “That does put us at an impasse.”

“If you promise not to hurt me, I’ll give it to you AHgod” He whimpers as Joseph crawls up his body, nudging the robe open with his snout as he scents the arousal once more. It’s undoubtedly coming from the man under him.

He drags his tongue up Barclay’s throat, grips his chin to force him to keep it exposed as he snuffles and licks at it, “That’s fair. And I have a further, um, incentive for you. You” he growls low in Barclay’s ear, chuckles when he squirms, “monsterfucker.”

“Do you mean you’ll, uh” his voice creeps up an octave, “fuck me? Like, fuck me fuck me?”

“Yes, needy boy, it does.”

“Drive’s in the bottom of my suitcase, in the trick bottom of the black pair of boots.”

Joseph laughs, “That didn’t take long. I’ll deal with it later.” He flips Barclay onto his stomach with ease, “right now I have a handsome human to handle.”

“Yes, fuck, please handle me babe, please. Wanted you to touch me for months.” Barclay flails his robe off.

“Yeah?” Joseph ghosts his claws up and down the human’s sides, “does the werewolf thing add to that desire?”

“Yes” the blush spreads up his back, “I just, I want you so bad Joseph, in any form, every form.”

“Was that what you were thinking of when you put this in?” Joseph presses his thumb down on the blue, silicone plug nestled in Barclays’ ass.

“Look, jerking off to you is an important part of my nightly routine.”

“I do love a man with a schedule.” He squeezes his ass in both hands, admiring the pinpricks of red from his claws. Barclay whimpers, pushes his hips up as Joseph goes for another handful.

“I see someone likes to be submissive.”

“Fuck yeah, wanna be held down, roughed up, wanna do what I’m told.”

“Oh? Does this fit the bill?” Joseph blankets himself over the human, letting him feel how he dwarfs him.

“Uhhuh, fuck, fuck that’s so fucking hot.”

The werewolf noses the base of his neck, draws his lips back to bite it. It doesn’t break the skin, but it clearly communicates that Barclay cannot get away unless Joseph allows it. It’s rude, an inelegant sign of dominance over a partner, but Barclay has not been well-behaved tonight. And from the sounds spilling out of his chest, he likes the threat of teeth on tender skin.

Joseph rolls his hips, grinding until his cock perks up. As soon as it bumps him, Barclay reaches off the side of the bed, retrieving a bottle of lube from the bedside table.

“Glad you have a large bottle. We’re going to need it.” He works the plug out, hums approvingly when he finds it on the larger end. Dumps a handful of lube onto his cock, trying not to think of how much laundry this will all generate.

“On your knees and raise your hips. Good boy.” He works the tip in, Barclay moaning the entire time.

“More, I want more, please” the human pushes back, cried out in delight when he gains another inch. Joseph is keenly aware that his tongue is starting to loll out as he watches Barclay spread wider and wider on his cock. It’s been years since he fucked a human this way, and the tight warmth has him panting in no time.

“So, should I, ahfuck, expect your next book to include a chapter on the mating habits of werewolves?” Joseph teases, pulling Barclay’s hair free of it’s tie so he can bury is face in it, scenting him in new ways.

“Y-yeah but it’s, it’s gonnaFUCK, be like a fucking sentence, max, because the other is too busy getting his brains fucked out to research.”

“Why not do both at once?” He grips the human tight, hauls him upright and turns them ninety degrees to face the mirror on the closet door. Barclay takes one look at the clawed hands grabbing his chest and waist and tips his head back to moan loud enough that Joseph’s ears perk up. The fact he just slid another inch down his cock may also be a factor.

“Now” Joseph skates a hand down his tan, hairy belly, stops to tease his cock once before continuing lower, tilting the human so he can clearly see the cock thrusting into him, “you’ll notice that you’re hitting the protoknot. In many instances of sex, it’s the stopping point.”

“Don’t wanna stop, wanna take it” Barclay paws at Josephs arms and thighs.

“I thought you might say that.  I suggest bracing your hands on mine so you’re upper body isn’t thrown about.” He plants his hands on Barclays hips, waits for the human to follow the suggestion. Slowly, he puts more and more downward pressure on that sturdy yet oh-so-fragile frame. At the same time, he pushes his hips up, wiggling them back and forth, side to side, so the knot works in incrementally. Barclay gasps and grunts, holding him so tight that he feels his fingernails through the fur on his hands.

He gives a sharp growl and a final thrust, and bottoms out.

“AHnnnngod”

“I agree.” He dips his head, nipping and mouthing at Barclay’s shoulders. Then he grins, “if you want a sense of scale, look down.”

Barclay does, whimpering when he sees the outline of Josephs’ cock inside him.

“For such a sweet little mate, you can take an awful lot.” He starts on a slow tempo, Barclay reaching down to touch his lower belly.

“Holy shit, that’s wild. I wonder if--uh, b-babe? What’s happening.”

Joseph kisses his cheek, “Remember how I called it a protoknot?”

“It’s gonna get bigger?” There’s a fine line between excitement and hysteria, and Barclays’ voice is riding it.

“Yes. This is a reward, but it’s also insurance against you running off an revealing my existence. Keeping you stuck on my cock all night is an excellent way to keep you from acting on any second thoughts. Mmmmm, oh that’s good” he speeds up, the human bouncing in his lap, “I cannot wait to fill you up. It’s going to take all night and it’s going to be great, you’ll be covered in my marks, stuffed full of my cum, no one will doubt you’re mine.”

Barclay snickers, “Getting territorial on me, blue eyes?”

In reply, Joseph sinks his teeth into his shoulder, the thought of anyone else daring to touch his human, his Barclay, his mate, his love, driving his hips faster and faster until he spills into him, leaving no doubt as to who his ass belongs to.

“FUCKfuck, babe, baby, ohgod” Barclay wriggles, then throws his head back as Joseph closes his fingers around his cock. Turning his face leaves it half-buried in black fur, his breath warm on Josephs upper chest, “yes, that feels so good, please don’t stop, wanna cum, wanna cum on your cock.”

Joseph kisses his head, “You will, good boy, I promise.” He works him over with loving efficiency, growing more protective and affectionate with every moan and whine that Barclay tries to muffle in his chest. When the human cums he bears down and tightens, which Joseph’s body takes as a cue. He cums again as he strokes Barclay through his climax, letting out a satisfied growl at the fact he can already feel his cum starting to pool around the head of his cock.

“You’re so small” He coos, caressing every part of the human he can reach, “you’re already straining to take it. I wonder what state you’ll be in tomorrow morning.”

Barclay raises a clawed hand to his lips, kissing it before rubbing his cheek into the palm, “Only one way to find out.”

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

“Barclay? Are you with me, big guy?” Human fingers card the hair from his face as warm lips kiss his forehead and nose.

“Uh huh. When did I finally conk out?”

“Around three in the morning. I was able to pull out about a half hour later. I toweled off the worst of the mess, but you’ll probably still want a bath.”

He opens his eyes; Joseph, in his X-Files pajamas, smiles at him and then nestles down into his arms, “I already started coffee, and I got you those granola bars you like so you’re not going into your shift too hungry.”

“Thanks, babe.”

”Are you sore?”

“Sitting might be a challenge today, but it was worth it.”

“Need anything?”

He tips his boyfriend’s chin up to kiss him, “Nope. Got what I need right here.”

[thiswasinevitableid]

Apology Flowers (Indruck)

@cyborgrabbit  requested 63 from the meet uglies:  “sometimes I steal flowers from your garden on my way to the cemetery, but today you’ve caught me and have demanded to come with me to make sure the “[person] is [attractive] enough to warrant flower theft” and I’m trying to figure out how to break it to you that we’re on our way to a graveyard.” They added, “If it wasn't a personal Garden but like a large private/public outdoor Garden that Duck was the main care giver for he absolutely would verbally attack anyone who touched his flowers”

Indrid considers the plants before him carefully; he wants variety, but he also wants flowers that fit the occasion and the setting. Roses would be nice, but as a human he can’t get them off the plant easily. He needs his mandibles for that.

He picks snapdragons, some lilies, some foxglove, and a smattering of pink and orange blossoms he can’t quite identify, wrapping them all in one big bouquet in a few sheets of USA Today. He’s so busy preparing himself for the hour ahead that he misses a change in the future and the figure stepping around the bushes. 

“Hey man, you know you ain’t supposed to pick those, right?”

He whirls, ill-gotten blossoms clutched to his chest.

“I, ah, I, yes, I, I am aware it is frowned upon in a public garden but none of the ones in the store quite, ah, suited my needs.”

The man, clearly an employee, crosses his arms, “so you decided to take some from the botanical gardens?”

“Yes. You have so may, I assumed a few would not be missed.”

“Maybe they wouldn’t, but if everyone gets it into their heads to take just a few, suddenly whole chunks of the garden are missing and all our hard work is for nothin’. Besides, average folks can’t tell the difference between a common plant that’s easy to replace and one that was a pain in the ass to grow.” He doesn’t sound angry so much as tired, as if he’s had this conversation dozens of times.

“I see your point. I, ah, I can’t really put them back though. May I keep these?”

The man smirks, “sure thing. I’m comin’ with you though. I wanna see if the person you’re given ‘em too is good-lookin enough to warrant flower theft.”

Indrid has zero desire to admit where he’s actually going.

“Ah, but, you are clearly at work. And I’m in a hurry.”

“Lucky for you I just got off and can walk pretty fast.”

Indrid sighs, defeated, “Very well. And no need to walk, I have a car.”

The man follows him to the little sedan he’s been towing behind the ‘Bago. Indrid opens the doors, pausing before he gets in, “are you certain you wish to come with me, Duck Newton? It’s not going to be very entertaining.”

“I’m sure. And how’d you know my name?”

“Name-tag.” Indrid replies automatically, hoping the man is actually wearing one.

Duck shrugs, and climbs into the car. As Indrid turns onto the main road, the gardener asks, “you been to Point Pleasant before?”

“A few times.”

“You got family here?”

“No. My family lives rather far away. Ah, what about you?” His distracted state is a blessing, as it keeps him from accidentally saying Duck’s words along with him.

“I’m from Kepler originally, moved out here for this job. Uh-” Duck turns, looking back at the arch they just drove under, “you sure we’re goin’ the right way?”

“Yes.” He says tightly, pulling into the cemetery parking lot.   

“Fuuck” Duck groans, smacking a hand onto his face in embarrassment, “why didn’t you tell me those were for this? Woulda eased up on you a little.”

“I wasn’t sure how to explain it.” He opens the door, “will you be joining me, or do you wish to wait here?”

“I’ll come help you pay your respects, seems the polite thing to do.” 

They enter the grounds, Duck removing his hat as they do. There are a few other visitors scattered about, the sky blue above them and the grass pleasantly fresh cut. 

Indrid finds the first grave, removes a snapdragon from the bouquet and sets it atop the stone. Stares at the name a moment, long enough to think the words he’d usually say aloud, then walks to the next grave he needs to visit. He knows their order by heart. 

He’s expecting Duck to become bored with his wandering, or try to talk with him, or offer some thoughtful but useless platitudes. But the human simply follows him from grave to grave, keeping a respectful distance between them.

Indrid doesn’t cry, he never does during this. But with Duck near him, he feels like he should. A human would cry, would they not? Only a monster would remain so unmoved. 

Not all of them are buried here, and so after a half hour they return to the car. 

Indrid stares at the wheel, “I have one more stop to take flowers to. I can drop you somewhere else if you’d like.”

“I’ll come with you. Come this far. But uh…”

“Indrid. You were about to ask my name. It’s Indrid.”

“Right, yeah. Look, Indrid, you seem like you’re dealin with somethin heavy and, well, I don’t feel quite right leavin you to deal with it alone. But if you need me gone, I can go.”

“I’d very much like your company on this next part.” 

“You got it.” 

They drive in silence, and Indrid turns on the radio because human music is one of his favorite things. Duck hums along at one point, the noise off-key and charming enough to make Indrid forget what’s ahead of him. 

When they approach the memorial, Duck says softly, “ah, thought I recognized some of the names, couldn’t place where. The Silver Bridge Collapse.”

“Yes.” Indrid sits down on the ground near the first row of bricks inscribed with names of those he failed to save. He sets the remaining flowers on a nearby stone, so it will be clear what they are for. 

A scuff as Duck sits down next to him.

“Did you know someone on the bridge.”

“Not exactly, no” Indrid sets his hands on his knees, focuses his gaze on cracked ground.

“I, uh, I think what you doin’ is real noble. Most folks come and just visit the Mothman statue.”

“I’ve seen Mothman plenty of times, I do not need to see him anymore.”

“Nicest ass in West Virginia.”

Indrid snorts in surprise, glancing over at Duck.

“Sorry, tend to goof when I’m feelin’ awkward.”

“It’s alright. My actions are less noble than you perhaps think. I, ah, I was there. The day it happened. I suppose you could say I have a, ah, a very intense case of survivors guilt.”

“Oh, Indrid, I’m so fuckin sorry. That must have been terrifyin.” Duck rests his hand on his knee and Indrid starts. He hasn’t been touched on purpose in two years, maybe more.

“It was. I come back whenever I can, to, to pay my respects. To say I’m sorry. Sorry that I couldn’t save them. Sorry that I failed.”

“Hold up now, you didn’t fail no one. Bridge collapse was an accident.”

“But-”

“Let’s say even if you, I dunno, had some way of seein’ it comin, you’re just one guy. One guy can do a lot, but he can only do so much. Trust me, I know. Whatever happened on the bridge, it wasn’t your fault.”

“I…” no one’s ever said that to him so sincerely, so plainly. But as the story he’s told himself all these years starts to crumble, emotion seeps through the cracks. 

He shudders, head collapsing into his hands. The strong arm wraps around his shoulders and he crumples, falling against Duck’s chest. Through the silent, sharp tears, he tries to be polite, tries not to make the man feel Indrid is any strnager than he already must. 

“I’m s-sorry, I shouldn’t, you don’t need to-”

“Hush now” Duck murmurs, hugging him, “just get it all out.”

Indrid does, streaking his face with and wetting Duck’s shirt with tears. When they finally abate, his mind is pleasingly clear, save for one question.

“Why are you being so kind to me?”

“Because it seems like someone needs to be. Plus, was kinda a dick earlier.”

Indrid snickers at his candor, “You were right to scold me for picking those flowers. Perhaps I should grow my own. There must be a way to do so inside a small space.”

“Can think of a few.” 

In all the futures, Duck clears his throat and says that even so, he should be going and that it was nice to meet Indrid.

“If you, uh, if you want, could brainstorm so with you over dinner.” A warm hand rubs his upper arm, soothing and protective. 

He sits up but stays in Duck’s arms, looking down at him, “I would, but you do not need to ruin your evening for my sake.”

“Wouldn’t call gettin’ to know you more ‘ruinin’ somethin’. Plus, you’re still in a raw spot. You telling me you wanna spent the rest of your evenin’ with your own thou-”

“No, no I do not.” Indrid says flatly. 

“C’mon, some friends of mine have a real nice place to eat near the gardens. French Onion Soup is to die for.”

“I have never had it.”

“Fuck, really? Well now we gotta go.” Duck smiles, his mellow enthusiasm contagious, and by the time they’re in the car Indrid is smiling too. 

Dinner really is delicious, though Indrid prefers the pie to the soup (though he must admit he enjoys watching the pleasure on Duck’s face as he eats said soup). Duck asks him about his travels, eagerly shares stories about the garden, and shows him pictures of his cat. When Indrid mentions he draws, Duck asks to see the little pocket sketchbook he carries, and proceeds to tell him a half-dozen times how amazing it is. He also hears Duck laugh for the first time, a ridiculous sound that he wants to hear a hundred times more. 

They talk until closing time, no longer across from each other but side by side, as Duck had hopped around to Indrid’s booth to show him more pictures of the gardens. The human offers his arm, and they walk at a leisurely pace. When he reaches the car he hesitates, then hugs Duck. The shorter man hugs him back.

“Thank you, Duck, for everything.”

“You’re welcome. You stayin in town?”

“For awhile, yes.”

“Well, hopefully I’ll see you around.” Duck slowly retracts from the hug, tips his hat with a wink and heads to his car. Indrid gets into his own, watches Duck drive away before heading towards the trailer park. As he reaches into his pocket for his keys, he finds a folded slip of paper with the words “dinner and movie tomorrow?” followed by a phone number.

He grabs his phone, and hurriedly dials. 

And in every future, including the one that comes to pass, Duck answers the phone with a smile.  

[thiswasinevitableid]

Laying in Wait (Indruck)

The prompt for the third was:Legend of Hag Hill

When you’ve lived somewhere your whole life, you develop one of two relationships with local legends: complete and utter belief, or the belief that the legend is utter bullshit. 

For Duck, Hag Hill is solidly in that second category. Weird lights, sudden, disorienting fog, ghostly laughter; he’s hid out on the hill smoking or making out or killing time and never seen any of it, no matter how dark the sky is when he’s there. 

He’s here for a slightly new reason tonight, as some kids from his Comp 101 class at Kepler Community College asked if he wanted to hang out and pull some mild pranks on the hill. Sure, hardly anyone comes on it this time of year, because Halloween looming on the horizon always gives the tales about the hill more substance in people’s minds. He mentioned this, hoping he could sway them towards a night at the Wolfe Bar and Grille or maybe just chilling in someone’s apartment or dorm, rather than freezing their asses off on a hillside, but they all insisted. So here they’ve sat, for over an hour, under a midnight moon, with not a soul passing by.

Then again, what else would he be doing? Sitting in his shitty apartment, swearing at the heater and watching some late night, bargain bin movie? The only thing he likes doing at home he can do here. Well, kind off. Odds are the other guys would complain if he started jerking off. 

See, there’s this guy in his entomology class. Tall, with a weird face and a weirder demeanor, and only taking the class because he needs to fulfill his breadth requirements. He sits at the back next to Duck, didn’t say a word to him until two weeks ago, when he asked if Duck would help him study for the upcoming quiz. Duck assumed it was because he was the closest person to ask, but once they sat down in the coffee shop on H Street, it became clear that Indrid, his new study buddy, had another reason.

“Thank you for agreeing to help me. You, ah, you clearly know your stuff.”

“How the fuck can you tell?” He barely spoke in class. 

“I see you filling in the slides with the correct answers well before the professor says them. You know some of this already.”

“You gotta know a decent amount about bugs if you wanna work for the forest service.” He mumbles, bracing for the Smokey the Bear joke.

“Oh! Oh of course, that makes perfect sense. I imagine invasive species, and symbiotic ones, are of interest in that field.”

They hadn't gotten to the notes for the quiz, because Duck got going about invasive insects, which lead to a discussion of moths, which lead to Indrid showing him his Deaths Head Moth tattoo, proudly explaining he’d designed it himself. They met at the cheap Chinese buffet the next night, and did actually study between trading stories about how they came to be in Kepler. Indrid laughed at once point, dyed-silver hair catching the warm light in the dim room, and Duck suddenly found that strange face strangely handsome. 

It’s nice to have a crush, it’s been awhile since he had one on a guy who might one day reciprocate. He’s pretty sure Indrid’s been checking him out this week. It’s hard to tell with those red glasses he wears. 

“Fucking finally.” Colton, he’s pretty sure that’s the guys name, shushes them into position, shattering Duck’s fantasizing.

“Can’t believe he fell for it.” Says the guy next to Duck

“I’m a pretty smooth talker when I wanna be” Colton whispers. 

Duck suddenly has a bad feeling about this, tries to back up only to snap a stick and have Colton grab his arm. 

“Hello?” A voice carries from the other side of the outcropping of grey stones. 

“What the fuck man, let go.” Duck hisses, leaves rustling under his feet.

“I really hope that is a deer.” The voice mutters.

“Now.” Colton pops up, dragging Duck with him, all the boys letting out their most blood-chilling screams.

There’s a responding yelp, followed by a cry of pain as their victim falls backwards into bramble. Duck recognizes the pink and yellow sweater as soon as he sees it, and his heart tries to crawl out his toes when the frightened gaze lands on him.

“You get it?” Colton looks to his left, where one of his friends is holding up his phone. 

“Yep. Fuck, man, you really think we’d invite you to chill with us up here? You’re such a fuckin weirdo.”

Indrid doesn’t even look at the others, his eyes remaining on Duck.

“Is, is that what you truly think of me?” 

“Pfft, see, this is what I mean. That weird way of talking, those glasses, even heard you talking to yourself, which is even fuckin weirder than that thing you do with your hands.” 

Duck likes it when Indrid flaps his hands; it means he’s excited, and an excited, happy Indrid is a sight he’s rapidly grown to adore.

Without a word, he grabs the offending phone, deleting the video before the others register what's happening. 

“What the fuck?”

“You wanna see a funny prank? Fetch, dipshit” He hurls the phone as far as it will go, the others flipping him off and calling him every name under the sun as they run after it. 

Indrid is gone when he turns back, but he’s in time to see a flash of color disappear around the next curve in the trail. The taller man is picking thorns from his sweater, and freezes when he hears Duck’s footsteps. 

“I swear, if you try anything like that again, I will push you down the hill.”

“‘Drid” Duck reaches out, touching his arm to stop him, “I’m so fuckin sorry, I had no idea that’s what they were plannin, I thought we were hanging around to do some silly jumpscare on anyone walkin by, not that they fuckin lured you out here.”

Indrid is clearly contemplating pushing him down the hill anyway. 

“C’mon, I’m tellin the truth. Remember what happened the last time I tried to lie?”

The other man blinks, then snickers, “Ah yes, the abysmal attempt to blame cockroaches for your missing homework.”

“I’m still real fuckin sorry. And, uh, I deleted the video. Hope that phone broke on the rock when I threw it.”

Indrid raises an eyebrow, “Valiant.”

“Hush, I’m tryin to help.”

“I know.” He grins a little wider, “it's a pity, I’ve never lived in a place with a haunted hill before. I was looking forward to observing it with friends.”

“Eh, you ain’t missin much. Place is about as haunted as my apartment.”

Indrid elbows him playfully “Come now, don’t ruin my fun. Is it true people have seen strange lights?”

“That's what they say.”

“And that you get lost in a fog never to be seen again.”

“It's a tiny hill in the grand scheme of things. Hard to get that lost. Uh, where are you goin, by the way?”

“Back to my car.”

“But the parking lot’s-” he turns, finds  low, thick fog behind him, “thataway?”

“I thought it was this--oh, oh dear.” The fog is all around them, seeping into Duck’s skin.

“Okay, uh, well, we now it’s at the bottom of the hill, so all we gotta do is follow the slope.”

“...What slope?”

“The fuck?” The ground is flat, no matter how far he feels out with his feet.

“I propose we keep walking until we either get out of the fog or find the road.” He seems incredibly calm. 

“Good, uh, good plan.” He falls in just behind him, keeps his ears open for cars or other signs of life. He’s starting to worry, gets so distracted by it that he collides with Indrid’s back.

“Duck, are the lights associated with Hag Hill red and orange, by chance?”

“Yep.”

Indrid points to where two lights hover in the distant, dark fog, like the eyes of a waiting beast. 

“Well, fuck.”

“Run!” Indrid shoves him back the way they came, sprinting behind him on his long legs. It isn’t even two minutes before they hit a dead end.

“What the fuck, this cliff bit is on the other side of the fuckin hill from where we were!”

“Somehow I doubt the spirits care where we began, merely where we end up. Quickly, down here.” He tugs Duck behind a large, dying tree, the two of them huddling close together. 

“Dare I ask what happens to people who see the lights?”

“Never seen again.”

A bitter chuckle, “of course.” Indrid scrubs his hands up his face, tilting his glasses up as he does. Then he hisses, “Ouch, damn it all” and pulls a thorn from his finger, “gah, it still stings.”

“Here, lemme see.” Duck gently takes his wrist, “huh, yeah, looks like you got it, so at least it ain’t gonna fester. As for the sting..” Quickly, he dips his head and kisses the skin. Looks up to find Indrid blinking his brown eyes in confusion.

“What was the purpose of that?”

“To, uh, to make you feel better?”

“Are you trying to flirt right now?”

“No, uh, fuck, uh, I mean, I, uh, fuck, Indrid, if we’re gonn get eaten by ghosts or some shit, there’s somethin I wanna do.” 

With that, he grabs Indrid’s forearms and pulls him forward, kissing him. Indrid sighs against his lips, then hums happily as Duck works his way into his lap. He growls a little and Indrid shivers, breaks the kiss to nip and kiss at his neck while Duck brings his fingers up to his mouth, kissing his knuckles before drawing the pricked finger between his lips and sucking.

“Duck” Indrid purrs, nuzzling his cheek.

“Right here, darlin.”

Chills skitter up his spine and Indrid goes dead still in his arms, eyes wide as they stare over his shoulder. 

“Oh dear, our apologies young gentlemen.” The red light forms into a woman as it speaks, the orange light doing the same. Both are dressed like they belong at  a living history museum.

“Yes, we did not know you were lovers. Those for whom our hill was meant.”

“Your hill? But don’t that make you-”

“Hags? Yes, by the language of our fellow townspeople, we were such things due to our magic.”

“I lost my life to them.” The orange-eyed sighs.

“And I mine avenging her. They buried us here, unmarked, not knowing it had always been our favorite space. A space we wished to be for others in love, in our absence.”

“I’m sorry they were so cruel to you.” Indrid says softly. 

“In the end we triumphed, our love stronger than death. We live eternally in our beloved hill, they rest uneasy and miserable in their graves.” Red eyes waves her hand, and the fog clears.

“There is your way to town, should you wish to depart now.” Orange eyes smiles, “and if you wish to tarry, around that bend you will find a place better made for privacy.”

“Thats’, uh, that’s mighty generous of you, but I’m gettin cold.”

“And I ought to check on my rats.” Indrid stands, helping Duck up before bowing a bit awkwardly, “thank you both for your, ah, help?”

The women share an enigmatic smile, and then they’re gone. 

“Let’s get the fuck outta here.”

“Agreed.” 

As they wind their way down to the parking lot, Indrid looks at Duck shyly, “Was your desire to kiss me purely near-death experience related?”

“Nope. Been thinkin about it all week. You, uh, wanna go on a date this weekend? One with less fog and mortal terror?”

“I’d be delighted.” They reach Indrid’s beat-up compact, “would you like a ride home?”

“Sure, thanks ‘Drid.” 

Indrid opens his door, then pauses, fingers drumming on the car, “or you could, ah, could spend the night at my place?”

Maybe it’s a leftover adrenaline rush, or maybe it’s just Indrid, but Duck’s suddenly feeling pretty damn brave.

“Hell yeah, darlin. Let’s go.”

[thiswasinevitableid]

Personal Demon (Indruck)

@pantstacular requested: 58 Is such my entire jam I’d pretty much die if you did it with Indruck.  “I’m a demon, you’re a witch, we’re enemies but when I show up to kill you, you’re crying and I really don’t know what to do now.” SFW

A talented, young warlock will employ the most complex, innovative, and powerful wards on their home. 

A seasoned warlock who was never that excited about all this in the first place will employ straightforward but deeply aggravating wards on their home. 

Indrid’s nemesis is in that second category. His wards are never fancy, but they’re durable and reliable, an utter pain in his tail to break down. Some cannot be broken by spells at all, and even a demon of his skill could burn through all his power trying to destroy them.

Which is why Indrid simply pays a passing human twenty dollars to kick a gap in the salt barrier, grits his teeth passing through the Rowan trees while his skin feels like he’s getting a full-body tattoo, and uses an oven mitt to open the iron door knob (the door is lined with iron, so he cannot slip as a shadow beneath it), hissing in pain all the while. 

“Duck Newton…” He lilts, certain the warlock will be terrified to hear his voice in his strong hold, “it is time to end things once and for all, dearest enemy.”

He keeps his eyes on the present, not wanting to spoil the fun for himself by peeking at the futures. He glides into the human’s bedroom, plants his feet on the floor, “your worthless soul is mine.” 

“Ughhhh” a muffled sound, Indrid flicking on the lights to find the human face-down on his bed, “are you fuckin serious? Now?”

“Yes, Duck Newton, now” dark energy crackles in his fingertips. 

Thwump

“Ack!” He shakes his head, Duck now sitting up, preparing to throw another pillow at him. 

“Get out.” Duck glowers, voice flat. 

“You dare to order me-”

Thwump

“Get!” Duck’s eyes are wet, red-rimmed, and Indrid notices he’s in sweatpants and a ratty t-shirt that’s damp in patches. 

“Have you been crying?” 

Thwump and his glasses are knocked askew. 

“How many of those blasted things do you have?” 

Two hovering pillows turn to four and all collide with him at once.

“Clearly you are, ow, in no mindset to, ow, duel me as I, ack, see fit. I shall return!”

He dissolves into shadow and speeds out the door, materializing on the sidewalk and paying a passerby ten dollars to fix the salt ring. 

Not willing to let a plan go to waste, he repeats this process the next night. This time, Duck is laying in the darkened living room. 

“Now, my greatest adversary, it is time to meet your end--why are you still crying?” He cocks his head as Duck magics the light on. 

“Because I’m in my own fuckin’ house and can do whatever I want.”

“But you seem upset.”

“No fuckin shit, sherlock.” Duck raises a throw pillow and Indrid covers his face far faster than he’d ever admit in public.

“I merely mean that, ah, perhaps a duel would be a welcome change of pace?”

“I look like I’m in the headspace to duel to you?” 

“Not at the moment, but that could change, yes? I do wish to destroy you, is that sufficient motivation to shake off this fog of misery that’s hanging about your soul like stale cologne?”

Duck groans, but straightens, reaching over the far arm of the couch. Indrid perks up, approaches at a safe distance, certain he will see a familiar sword or spell in a moment. 

What he gets is misted with holy water.

He hisses, wiping his face in a hurry. His power is so great that the diluted mixture doesn’t harm him, but it’s as if someone is squirting him in the face with lemon juice. 

“I banished you worse ways than this, demon, but I’m fuckin tired and you ain’t worth the goddamn energy and you don’t wanna end up straight back below. So get.” He raises the spray bottle, spritzes him again and Indrid backs away, spluttering and hissing. 

“You, you think you can threaten me, shoo me out like OW some common ghost GAh that was in my nose that time fine, fine I am going.” He stumbles over the threshold, falling on his ass on the pavement as Duck slams the door. 

Perhaps a new plan is in order. 

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

“You wanna know Ducks’ what?” Aubrey taps her spoon on the edge of the potion she’s mixing. 

“His favorite food. I wish to cheer him up. Unless of course, you wish to simply tell me what is troubling him.” Indrid grins at the witch.

“You know the rules, Cold; I don’t trade information between sides. And, like, even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you what’s going on with him. It’s...personal, okay?”

Indrid sighs. He expected that answer. Aubrey is the child of a witch of the light and a witch of the shadows, giving her a rare balance of powers. It also means entities of all moral alignments will come to her for aid. Her rules are simple; no fighting in her house and no getting her in the middle of major conflicts.

For all that, Indrid still has never told her his true name. She calls him ‘Cold,’ as everyone does. 

“French Onion Soup. That’s his favorite thing, from the Wolfe Grill downtown.”

“He likes that coffee fudge too, the one Barclay makes” Dani, Aubrey’s wife, adds from her spot spinning fur off a massive angora rabbit. 

Barclay is a kitchen witch, one with whom Indrid has a shaky truce (he egged on a fight in the restaurant, needing some quick points with the higher demons. It’s not his fault one of the humans knocked over a candle). He can probably manage to buy fudge without being scolded.

Duck’s added more fortifications since yesterday, and Indrid only needs a few moments anyway. He finds a sliver in a plane that lets him slip into Duck’s mirror, knowing the human is getting ready for bed. 

The human senses him, looks up from the sink, toothbrush still in his mouth. He blinks once, to tired to even count as annoyance.

“ ‘wat ‘ow?”

“I have brought you food.” Indrid waits until Duck spits into the sink to pass the two bags out of the mirror. 

“Why-”

“It will cheer you up. It is your favorite. Then you will have your fight back, and be ready to face me.”

Duck takes the bags, then several steps back, “y’know, most demons would see this is a chance to get me while I’m down.”

“Well” Indrid sniffs haughtily, “I am not most demons. Besides, what good is claiming your soul if it was like stepping on an ant?”

The warlock looks at the food, then at Indrid, “I ain’t gonna eat this.”

“Bu-wha-I got it specifically to please you!”

“And it could be poisoned or cursed or some shit.”

Indrid growls in frustration, “fine, wallow in your misery.” Then he’s out on the street again, ready to cause some evil. Or to go back to the bakery and drown his aggravation in a caramel eggnog latte.

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

Duck stares at the bags, still sitting on his kitchen counter. If he’s not going to bed any time soon, he should at least eat something. Not that though. Even if it’s his favorite. How the fuck did the demon know that?

Cold has never quite been like other demons Duck’s run across. When he’d yanked him out of Boyd (because Ned decided to read the inscription on a new artifact for the Cryptonomica), he hadn’t taken it personally, but proceeded to try and tempt Duck for two days solid with everything he could think of. Then he decided he liked Kepler and could do plenty of demonic work in it, which had Duck worried. The demon is powerful, he can feel it when they fight. But, while he still worries, Cold sticks to being a mid-level threat at best even if he keeps promising to destroy him.

God that soup smells good. 

He picks up a piece of amethyst, runs it over and over the air around the bag. No trace of anything dangerous. 

Fuck it.

Twenty minutes later his belly is full, he actually feels kinda sorta almost borderline happy, and he hasn’t turned into a frog or been transported to the underworld. 

When Cold inevitably shows up again a few days later, Duck doesn’t even look up from the model ship he’s working on . 

“Thanks for, uh, for dinner.” 

“How did you know I was here?” The silver-haired man steps out of the hall, red eyes glowing behind redder glasses. 

“I may not be able to sense auras or souls or shit, but you and I been dancin around each other for long enough that I can tell when the hair on my neck is standin up thanks to you.”

“Then you are prepared to fight?”

“No. Look, I dunno now how it is for demons, but takes more than nice food to make a fella get over somethin serious.”

“I see…” Cold looks around the room, “are you certain you are not interested in even a small bit of conflict?”

“Nope. Busy.”

“Well I am not!”

“Can’t you just go find another warlock to bother?””

“No! Well, yes, but I do not wish to. You are my adversary, the one I devote most of my time to tormenting.”

“That’s kinda an exaggeration. And it don’t change that I’m workin on this.” He points to the model, “so I’m just gonna ignore you until you leave.”

There’s a huff, followed by the fluttering of his mail as the demon knocks it onto the floor. He glances up and notices that Cold’s tail is now visible and twitching with agitation. When Duck does nothing else, he knocks the remaining mail on the ground. 

“That ain’t changin my mind.”

A roll of glass on tile, Cold pushing a water glass towards the edge of the counter with his finger. 

“Y’won’t like what happens if you do that.”

The glass tips over. As water spills onto the floor, Duck summons a towel with one hand and a dish of salt with the other. Before the demon can stop him, he draws a salt circle, trapping him in a small spot by the table. 

“Erase that this instant.”

“Nope. You been poppin in and out the last two weeks and not leavin when I ask nicely, so now you’re gonna stay right here until I decide you can leave.”

The demon drops down onto the floor, arms crossed and tail thrashing, “I just do not see what is so severe it makes you uninterested in anything but work, sleep, and making ships that cannot go anywhere.”

“Don’t expect you to understand.”

“Yes, but you also will not tell me so how can you know if-” a future flickers into vision, “your romantic partner left you.”

“That’s cheatin’.”

“That is what has upset you so?”

“Yeah, because we were together for six fuckin years, and she watched me grow up since I was eighteen and was my mentor and it feels like a big constant in my life is just fuckin gone.” He leaves out the part where he'd felt it going for awhile, where part of him knew it needed to but the rest wanted things to stay as they were. 

The demon cocks his head in that way of his, smirks but says nothing.

“Nevermind. You’re a demon, love ain’t somethin you got a concept of.” He stands, retrieving another bottle of adhesive from the too-empty living room. 

As he picks up the next piece, Cold murmurs, “It is not so foreign a concept as you might think.”

Duck shoots him an incredulous look. 

“I was a creature of the divine once, beings capable of great love, even if many of them do not utilize that capacity. Even if I was not supposed to in my role. But more than the memory of that feeling, I have moments in which I suspect I can feel it still.”

“Like when you see someone do somethin real wicked?” 

The demon doesn’t rise to the paltry bait, “When I go sit in a park, or those woods you like, and draw and watch people coming and going in a thousand little moments of mundanity, I feel something more than mere tranquility. Sometimes I will go to movies or to concerts, to feel the swell of joy and excitement, and it almost seems as if I love those around me.”

It’s the last thing Duck expects him to say, and so all he can do is stare at him a moment before returning to his work. The demon, content with the silence, watches cross-legged. When Duck grabs a packet of cookies from the kitchen he pauses, then hands one to Cold. 

The demon sniffs it, proceeds to nibble on the edge before making a delighted sound and shoving the whole thing in his mouth. 

“You never had Girl Scout cookies before?”

“No. I do not need to eat, and often only do so when temptation requires it. Or when Barclay makes something with eggnog in it.  Which is a pity; I really enjoy human food, you come up with such interesting things. Now it is my turn for a question. Why are you making those?”

Duck looks at the near-complete model, “I dunno. Helps me relax, nice to just be able to focus on one thing rather than worryin’ about work or warlock stuff or dyin’ alone or if you’re gonna randomly turn up in my goddamn bedroom without warnin’.”

“Knocking is not exactly demonic.”

He says it so matter-of-factly, the smile on his face oddly honest, that Duck cracks up. Giggles spill out of him as he rests his face in his hands. His elbows slip on the shiny tabletop, collapsing him forward, laughing loud enough to startle the cat from her hiding place. 

“Yeah” he sniffs, finally sitting up while wiping away tears and still chuckling, “guess it ain’t.”

The demon is smiling again, softer than his usual grin that glints like a knife in the dark. 

“Will you show me more of your ships?”

“You ain’t gettin outta that circle that easy.”

“I am aware. But you could bring them where I could see.” He seems genuinely excited at the idea. 

Duck stands, hands him the packet of Thin Mints, “I could do that, yeah. Sit tight, I’ll be right back.”

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

Duck picks up to the two reusable grocery bags, locking doors and throwing up extra wards behind him as he walks to his car. 

He slides into the drivers seat, sets the bags in back behind him. Turns around and finds the passenger seat occupied. 

“Venturing forth at last, I see.”

“I ventured forth plenty.”

“That was only for work. You have been the picture of a hermit since you were dumped, Duck Newton.” Cold adjusts his glasses in the rear-view mirror. 

“Have not. And it was mutual.”

“Shall we get out of the car so I can destroy you?”

“We could do that. Or…” he points at the bags, the demon peering into them curiously, “we could take these two bags of snacks to a concert in the park.”

Cold bites his lip. Duck holds his breath, already gearing up his spells in case the demon says no.

A seatbelt clicks, “very well.”

They find a spot under some trees, far back from the crowd. Cold is in his human disguise, but Duck would rather not risk being seen if his tail or horns make an appearance. The concert is all movie soundtracks that Duck doesn’t pay attention to. He’s too busy watching the demon gleefully explore the food he brought (he chose the weirdest desserts and snacks he could find, wanting to give him a taste of things he’d never had) and talking with him about more or less everything.

As they’re getting into the car under the light of the half moon, Cold sighs happily, “we should do this again sometime.”

“Yeah, we could. Just uh, don’t get your hopes up, okay?”

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

Duck is up to his elbows in the pieces of an IKEA dresser when Cold’s voice comes through the mirror.

“I need to be let in right now please and thank you.”

He sounds pained, so Duck hurries out to the front yard and opens the circle, allowing the demon to pass through. He’s hunched at an odd angle, clutching at his back. Once they’re inside he strips off his coat, revealing a splinter at the base of his neck. 

“Shit, what happened?”

“I materialized in the house of a well-prepared witch and was immediately backed into a Hawthorne bush. Lucky I am not a vampire, but gracious it stings.”

“Why come to me?” Duck is already guiding him to the couch.

“I thought you might be able to help. Also it is movie night.”

Duck examines the injury; it’s a small splinter, but the skin is already looking sickly. 

“Should be an easy fix. Lemme get my tools and I can get to work.”

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

Indrid waits patiently for Duck to return, tries not to hiss at him too loudly when he pulls the splinter free. The human works quickly, and soon a tingling salve coats the sore spot. 

Rather than pull away, Duck smooths his hands down Indrid’s back, “damn, you’re all knotted up.”

“I was trying not to move too much and aggravate it.”

Duck’s thumbs rub small circles along his back, “here, I can fix that real easy.”

Indrid foresees where his fingers will touch next and let’s his desire overtake his caution. When Ducks hands come down again, he whimpers and wiggles happily. 

“Uhhhhh”

“It is my wings. In a way. They exist on another plane when not manifested here, and where you are touching is the place where it feels as you are stroking them.”

“That a good thing?”

“Yes, but you do not need to continue if you do not waAAhnnnt” he gasps as Duck slowly, steadily, runs his fingers over the spot again and again. 

The human leans forward, giggling, and whispers in his ear, “you’re purrin’.”

“I am awarerrrrrrrr.” His tail and horns appear, seeming to understand there is no need to hide here.  One of Duck’s hands skates up to his head, petting his hair and stroking his horns.

He whines, pushes his head into Duck’s hand for more. 

“Is this-”

“No Duck Newton, it is not sexual. It can be, but at the moment it simply feels comforting and pleasurable.” He purrs louder as Duck rubs the base of one horn. 

“That’s a good, uh, good demon? Bein’ so patient while I patch him up.” Duck coos. 

“Yes.” Indrid whimpers. 

“Lookit you, goin all mushy on me, so goddamn cute. Who knew you had it in you.”

“Duck.” Something is coiling through his veins, warm and ecstatic, as the human keeps up his stream of praise.

“Right here, demon of mine, just relax, lemme tend to you, there we go, you’re bein so good, such a charmin demon.”

Tears prick his eyes; he can’t, he can’t handle Duck speaking this way but speaking as if Indrid could be changed out for any one of his kind. He wants to know he means those words for him, he must, the feelings flooding him are incomplete without it and if they remain so he will wither away.

“Indrid, please, call me that.”

“Indrid.” It sounds joyous in that drawl as Duck adds a hint of pressure to his touches, “Indrid, you oughta stop gettin into trouble, oughta just stay here and put your head in my lap.”  The human is getting carried away, the fantasies becoming more elaborate, interspersed with his name, until the name itself becomes the litany. 

Indrid cries out, the energy in his veins enveloping him utterly for a moment, wings of absolute darkness flashing into view for an instant

He collapses forward, shaking, hoping the thanks pouring from his mouth are intelligible. 

“You, uh, you doin’ okay--Oh FUCK!”

Indrid whirls, finds Duck staring at his arm. There are glowing markings on it, blue and black light fading into a facsimile of ink on his skin. 

“What did you do?”

“What did I do? What makes you think this has anything to do with me?”

“Because this wasn’t there a minute ago! And you got one too!”

“I…” Indrid gapes at his forearm, where a matching symbol is setting in his skin. “Oh dear.”

“What?”

“It is, ah, well, it is a soul bond.”

“How in the everlovin’ fuck did that happen--wait, fuck, is Indrid your true name?”

“Yes.” 

“Shit! I thought you gave me another false one, or I never woulda kept saying it. I ain’t that kind of warlock, I don’t want a personal demon.”

“I am not exactly thrilled either. I cannot return to the underworld, and for the first few days of the bond I will need to stay very close to you. All the same, that was rash of me and I am sorry.”

Duck rubs his forehead, takes a deep breath, “we’ll deal with it tomorrow. Right now, all I wanna do is sleep.”

“I as well. I suspect that took a lot of energy from both of us.”

The human stands, heading off towards the bedroom. As soon as he’s out of sight, pangs pulse through Indrid’s chest.

“Ah, Duck?”

A groan, “yeah, I feel it too. Get in here.”

Indrid hurries to the bed, finds Duck down to his boxers as he turns over the covers. 

“I, ah, I can sleep on the floor, or get a blanket for that chair, or lay by your feet.”

Duck pats the bed, “sleepin next to you ain’t nothin’ compared to bein’ soul bonded. Bed feels too big anyway. And none of that by my feet talk; you’re my equal, not my fuckin pet, even if you are a pain in my ass sometimes.”

Indrid crawls in beside him, lays stiffly on his back as the lights go out. After so much contact, his body aches to touch Duck again. 

A hand rests in the space between them, and Indrid takes it.

“Duck? I, ah, I am glad that if this had to happen to me, it was you who it happened with. I cannot think of another warlock I would actually enjoy being linked too.”

“Feelin’s mutual.” Duck squeezes his hand, voice gentle.

Indrid rolls to face him, and in the dark he can just make out the slight smile on the warlock’s face. 

“Goodnight, Duck.”

A yawn, then, “sleep tight, Indrid.”