#i remember the ned/boyd days good times

[thiswasinevitableid]

Gift (Indruck)

A second fill for @crepuscularlives

16. we didn’t read the invitation that said this party was formal so we’re in our ugly christmas sweaters. SFW

Duck’s fully prepared for Aubrey, and maybe even Mama, to tease him for his Newton family christmas sweater. When he gets to the Lodge to find everyone dressed swanky, he thinks it’s some sort of elaborate prank. He decides to ask Barclay, since he tends to be less invested in pranks than the others. 

“Uhhh” Barclay points to a stray invite, “it said formal, see? We thought a change of pace would be fun.”

“Fuck. I just came straight from a family thing, didn’t think it’d matter.”

Barclay pats his shoulder with a warm smile, “Don’t worry about it, man, it’s not like anyone’s gonna toss you out for it.”

Duck grumbles something about not wanting to stick out as he turns, and spies an even uglier sweater across the room. It’s bright green and fire-engine red with, covered in old-school colored bulb christmas lights, blinking like fireflies. 

Somehow, it suits Indrid perfectly.

The Sylph waves when we spots Duck, coming over to join him by the drinks table. 

“Hello Duck, I’m glad this is the future where you’re here.” He ladles himself a mug from one of the two crockpots of eggnog. 

“Howdy, ‘Drid. Glad I ain’t the only one who went for the ugly sweater vibe.”

Indrid cocks his head, “This is the nicest thing I own.”

Duck groans, reaches up to hide behind a hat that isn’t there.

Indrids smile widens, “I’m joking. It was a, ah, what do always call it...ah yes, a goof.”

He laughs, relieved, “Jesus, you got me good.”

“It’s payback for the time you convinced me that squirrels were carnivorous.” 

Duck snickers at the memory of Indrid, in his moth form in the woods, eyeing the squirrels warily. 

He joins Aubrey, Thacker, and Dani by the fire, and Indrid wanders over to oin them, taking a seat next to Duck when the human scoots over to offer him it. Thacker talks about the library and the regrowing cities, and Indrid’s face turns wistful. Duck suspects only he can see it, Indrid’s glasses showing enough of his eyes from the side to make emotions clearer. 

(Indrid always sits across from people. The last few times they’ve met up, he sits next to Duck).

In spite of only some gentle ribbing about his clothes, he keeps picking at the sleeve of the sweater. It’s a little itchy, and he could have worn that nice green shirt with the pine tree tie that he likes. And every time he catches a glimpse of himself in a window, he’s back in space, watching an evil hivemind recreate it’s pattern on a mimic of his sister. 

“Is it bothering you a lot?” Indrid murmurs.

“N-no, uh, I, uh, just, fuck, it’s nothin,” He stops talking, flees Indrid’s red stare to refill his cider. He pauses to talk with Kirby and Ned, is looking around the room for a new spot to sit (and for Indrid), only for a tan hand to wave him into a hallway. 

“Here, try this.” Indrid ties a discarded gift ribbon around his wrist, and he’s no longer looking down at the wool sweater and jeans. He’s in a deep gray suit, with a green shirt and a silver tie. 

“Holy shit. Wait, do I look-”

“-different? No, I left your physical form intact. I can make disguises of different magnitudes. A simple clothing swap is easily done. And I, ah, I did not want you to spend a night with friends lost in frightening memories.”

Duck’s about to thank him when the words sink in. 

“There was a future where you told me. I, ah, you’ve mentioned what you saw at Reconciliation before, but not that detail.”

“Wasn’t scared so much as pissed.” Duck glances at his shoes, now well-shined loafers. 

“Understandable. And useful; the odds were not in your favor, believe me. But well-timed anger can change the course of fate. Just as choosing mercy--even when others urge for violence--can. Punching me also reset fate rather dramatically.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.”

Indrid’s smile is small, and stunningly fake, “It was for the best. I’m going to get some more nog. Would you like some?”

“Nah, still gotta finish this. But I do wanna try some of that salmon dip.”

“In true bear fashion.” Indrid’s smile turns genuine when Duck snorts and elbows him. 

They talk and mingle with their friends, Indrid making frequent returns to the nog bowl. Duck steps outside for air, comes back and spends a moment watching Indrid by the fire. Stern notices him, steps away from an animated conversation with a ghostly Boyd about art forgery to join him. 

“Quite the dapper costume change.”

“Thanks. ‘Drid did it for me.”

Stern follows Duck’s gaze, then casually sip his wine, “Have you told him yet?”

“Told, uh, told him what?”

“Duck, you spend more time with him than almost anyone else.”

“Half my friends live on another planet now.”

“And every time you look at him, your smile changes. His does too. According to Barclay, he talks about you like you’re the most fascinating thing on earth. Right, love?” He kisses Barclay’s cheek as the cook joins them.

“Yep.”

There’s a crash as Indrid loses his balance and knocks over a lamp, which Aubrey freezes mid-air.

“Shit, he’s hammered.” Barclay sounds surprised. 

“How much rum did you put in the nog?” Duck doesn’t remember the sip he had from Indrid’s cup tasting that strong. 

“I made two batches, one with booze and one without. Indrid was drinking the non-spiked one earlier. Wonder when he switched.”

“About the time Duck changed clothes.”

“...How did you not catch us durin the Pine Guard days again?”

Stern smiles, “Barclay can be very distracting when he wants to be. And none of you have ever asked exactly how much I worked out.”

He has a point. As does Barclay when he points out that Indrid should have someone take him home after the party.

When Duck offers him a ride, Indrid chirps excitedly, bonks his forehead on the roof of the car, and climbs in. By the time they get back to the ‘Bago, Duck knows he can’t just leave Indrid here.

“You’re staying?” Indrid bounces on the bed as Duck turns on the space heaters. 

“Just ‘til you sober up. I’ll stay out in the main cab so you can sleep.”

Indrid lets out a chirr that intensifies when Duck slips the ribbon from his wrist. It almost sounds perturbed. 

“I mean, uh, I can go if you really need me to.”

Indrid shakes his head, barely managing to get his shoes off before burrowing under to covers, “Please stay as long as you want.” 

Duck nods, excuses himself to use the bathroom, and comes back to Indrid chirp-snoring into the pillows. He’s such a cute, weird man. Duck will just sit down a second to make sure he doesn’t wake up and need something. 

The one small seat is taken up by a binder, which opens when Duck lifts it. Instead of the expected paper avalanche, he finds drawings, each in their own plastic slip. He flips through it as he settles in the chair. Interspersed with the drawings are papers labeled in one or two two words of Sylph, and Duck reverse engineers their likely meanings from the images that follow them. The section with all the plants and animals must be “nature,” the one with parties and state fairs “events.” There’s even a section that’s all elements of winter holidays; the Rockefeller tree with decorations that suggest the 1930s, a menorah in a window, candles on the table of a house that’s seen better days.  Towards the back is a section that has to be “friends.” There are one or two people who appear in images with Indrid. Including the kind that make Duck quickly turn the page. The further he gets in that section, the more familiar faces he sees; Barclay, Aubrey, Jake, Ned. 

He sees himself, returning from saving the world, battered but alive. 

“The odds were not good”

Tucked at the very back of the section, between the final empty pages and the binder, is a folded paper. Curious, Duck opens it. 

It’s him. With Indrid. They’re on Indrid’s tiny bed, kissing.

God that looks nice. 

Startled by his own thoughts, he tucks the picture back into the binder and sets the whole thing on the floor. Decides one of the paperbacks strewn on the floor is a better way to occupy himself then accidentally finding more personal images. 

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

The world is ending, everything is ripping away into the sky, everything he’s fought for is gone. He failed. He didn’t want a destiny, and he’s failed the fucking thing anyway and it’s all gone and there’s no future for him now but to be torn into ash-

“Duck, Duck wake up” 

He jolts, whams his head into the wall of the very intact Winnebago at the edge of the still standing Monongahela while a very alive, now-sober Indrid leans over him. 

“Owfuck.”

“Oh, oh no, I’m sorry, you were very clearly having a nightmare and I figured you’d like it to stop.”

“Yeah” He rubs his head, “yeah I did. Thanks. Sorry if I woke you up.”

“Given that in many futures our positions were reversed, I don’t have a lot of room to complain about someone shouting in their sleep.” Indrid sits down on the floor next to the chair, stays silent as Duck coaxes his breathing to even out. A hand hesitates in the air, then touches his arm, rubbing it reassuringly. 

No one else saw it. Not even Minerva or Leo, the only people who could understand the horror of seeing a thing unfold with scant chances of stopping it. 

Indrid’s hand brush lightly over his own before returning to his arm. 

No, not the only people. 

“Indrid, can I ask you somethin?”

“Of course.”

“The day we let The Quell through and saved the worlds did you, uh, did you see what woulda happened if Aubrey hadn’t blown the gate apart?”

“Yes.” The reply is quiet.

“Do you, uh, still see it sometimes?”

“Now and then, but I have far more bad timelines in my mind, and more failures in my past, for my nightmares to draw upon than you do. That is half the reason I drank so much tonight. Around the time of the winter solstice, my nightmares increase in frequency and intensity, Sylvain only knows why. Sometimes substances dull that.”

“Oh, ‘Drid.” Duck turns in the chair. Indrid’s gaze stays straight ahead, but his fingers shred a nearby scrap of paper. 

“The irony is, I love this time of year on Earth, in spite of the chill. I love the winter holidays, the gathering of warmth and light to hold one over until the spring returns. But my enjoyment of it is dampened by the workings of my powers and mind.”

“Fuck, guess I oughta count myself lucky I only got a few bad visions to remember.” The joke falls flat, and Indrid glances at him. 

“That vision is nothing to laugh at. I’m glad you had it all the same, glad you triumphed and survived.”

“Woulda really sucked to accept my destiny only to fail at the last fuckin second.”

He shuts his mouth to stop the next thought from escaping; Indrid doesn’t need to know that he sometimes fears that everything he’s done and wants to do now that fate is no longer hanging a talking sword over his head will somehow be hollow.

“You were so much more than your destiny, Duck Newton. You still are.” 

The sincerity, half-obscured in shadow and red lens, is too much. He doesn’t know what to say, or if he should say anything at all. 

“Guess, uh, guess you likin the holidays explains that section in the binder.”

“Yes. Wait. Did, ah, did you look through the whole thing?” Fear slips into his voice. 

“Uhhuh.”

“Even the, ah, the last page?”

“Yep. Some real beautiful drawin’s in there. Some mighty interestin ones too.”

Indrid nervously taps his fingers together, “Since you are about to ask, that future took place shortly after the cottonwood. You, you came by to apologize for punching me and to tell me you were glad I was alright and, and ask me to stay in Kepler and when I asked why, you did that. Just one little kiss. That’s as far as I got before the timelines changed. It’s, it’s alright, of course, that’s how timelines work, and you did eventually apologize.”

He did, two or three separate times, and each time Indrid brushed it off, insisting it was what needed to be done.

Duck sinks to the floor, turns on his knees to bring them face to face. 

“What are you-” Indrid stiffens as Duck gingerly pushes up his glasses. He’s never seen Indrid’s face like this, uncovered but still human, and it takes all the air from his lungs.

“Which eye did I hit?”

Indrid touches the right side of his face. Duck tips forward, balancing his fingers on Indrids thighs, and kisses the corner of his right eye.

“There. Now it’s a real apology.” He whispers in Indrid’s ear, close enough that faint, hopeful chirps reach him. He moves a few inches down and over, lips the barest strip of air away from Indrid’s own. 

“You, you don’t have to. Just because something appears in a future doesn’t mean it’s fated to happen.”

“What if I want it to happen?”

Indrid surges forward, cupping Duck’s face. His kisses re feather-light and sweeter than nectar, and Duck wants to drink them down, knows that after this taste he’ll never be full. 

“Duck I, h, I want” Indrid clings to him, his words turning to chirps nd clicks, as he’s so overwhelmed by a little kissing.

“Want me to keep, uh, ‘apologizin?”

“So very much.”

“Then take me to bed, darlin.”

The instant they hit the bed Indrid pulls Duck atop him, fingers fawning over his body as he kisses him over and over. When they stop to catch their breath, Duck remembers something,

“‘Drid, what was the other half of the reason you got drunk?”

“A problem of my own making. I did not foresee just how you would look in your suit, and I was trying to avoid an, ah, embarrassing bodily response. Alcohol helps my kind of Sylph in that regard.”

Duck chuckles, nips Indrid’s lower lip, “want me to put it back on?”

“Not just yet.”

“Want me to kiss you ‘til we fall asleep?”

“More than I’ve wanted anything for Christmas in a long time.”

Duck kisses him, keeps teasing their lips together as he murmurs, “then consider me your resent, darlin.”

[ladyfl4me]

Hi please yell about boyd and stern in TCOS and TMWCIFTC :D!

Anon, THANK YOU for enabling me, you have my fucking life in your hands

I’ll preface all of this by saying that everything in this post is related to my long-form Amnesty works, The Moth who Came In from the Cold and The Children of Sylvain. If you haven’t read those, then you’ll be pretty damn confused, so I guess now is as good of a time to plug them - and the series - as any. A heads up: I started it back in 2018, and everything in TCOS is just… very VERY loosely associated with Amnesty canon at this point. Same root premise, same characters, but back in 2018 even I couldn’t predict where arcs 4 and 5 ended up going. TMWCIFTC was written as the logical progression, in my head, of an alternate arc 4, and everything that happened in TCOS is based off of that progression. It’s got almost no connection to the actual canon at this point. I’ll be recapping some of the more important plot points for context, though.

Here’s hoping the read-more works. This was 7 pages long in the google doc I prepared this in, so I apologize in advance to everyone on my dash if this got fucked up. Spoilers for TMWCIFTC ahead, as well as general vague spoilers for Amnesty.

So everything’s coming up roses. Fantastic. Let’s start with the biggest thing: how the characters of Agent Stern and Boyd Mosche have changed from canon to this AU.

Boyd’s Changes:

We’ll start with Boyd, because this motherfucker is UNRECOGNIZABLE from canon. On god, that is all Griffin’s fault. Pretty much all of Boyd’s character was concentrated in arc 4 of Amnesty, and honestly? He was a fantastic character there. Loved him as a counterpart to Ned. He gave off an air of “the ends justify the means” in almost everything he did - especially how he was willing to do anything, including blackmail Ned to hell and back, to get back to England - which I’ve grafted into my version of him. The angst-loving part of my brain seized on the tragic possibilities of his relationship with Ned and was bumping “No Children” by the Mountain Goats every time they interacted. Great stuff, interesting complexity, was genuinely surprised when he kicked it.

All that happened after I introduced him as a character in TMWCIFTC. My version of him retains the smooth-talking Britishness of him, with the aforementioned “ends justify the means” logic for everything; I’d probably sort him as a chaotic neutral, with basically all of his points in wisdom, charisma and strength with very few in intelligence. I tried to work with that for the start. We knew nothing about Boyd at the time I was writing TMWCIFTC, so my brain wanted to fill in that blank for jokes and giggles and haha funny’s and was like, “Yo what if Boyd was a Sylph this entire time? Wouldn’t that be fucking hilarious?” 

And that’s what I did. What happened to make this version of Boyd was a bit of a random “perfect storm” of influences and choices, which really only got sharpened because of my one-shot The Devil Went Down To Georgia. That one’s the main source of all Boyd lore, even though I barely reference it these days because he’s gone so far off the rails it’s a miracle I can keep him straight. 

I’ve talked about The Devil Went Down To Georgia a lot in relation to Boyd on here. TL;DR, I decided to make him two things: a violinist and a Sylph/cryptid, specifically the Jersey Devil. Yes, he is still British. I chalk it up lore-wise to a few things: the original Jersey Devil is more of a distant relative, Boyd crossed over from Sylvain and ended up in Britain sometime after that, and just willingly chose to keep up the British persona Bastard. I don’t think about it too much. He’s been a criminal from the very beginning; he’d been in prison on Sylvain, went through some shit there that made him steal a crystal and book it, and he continued to do crime on Earth to survive.

The violin thing is mostly me desperately wanting a character to have that background, because I played for seven goddamn years and want to put that knowledge and catharsis somewhere. Boyd probably either picked up a Sylvan instrument that was similar, or learned it in the early 20th century when he came to Earth, and just held onto it. He held onto the skills and got good - good enough that he could have gone professional, and tried in 2007, but that didn’t go super well, as anyone who’s read TMWCIFTC can attest. 

In terms of the type of cryptid he is, I’ve made the Jersey Devils a subspecies on Sylvain that takes cervids (deer, moose, etc.) or bovines (goats, antelopes, cows, etc.), as well as canines/felines of any shape and size, puts them into a gashapon machine with pterodactyl-style wings, awful teeth, and a snake’s tail, and calls it a day. You can get a tiny Jersey Devil that’s a combo of a tiny cat and a dik-dik; you can get a jacked nine-foot-tall terrifying amalgam of a lion and a moose, with a fucked-up mouth of multiple rows of teeth and huge claws.

That last one is Boyd. Don’t call me a monsterfucker for this, I have no defense.

So where does that leave him in relation to the Lodge? Back in 2018, before I started developing the lore that factors into TCOS about Sylph communities outside the Lodge (namely the Manhattan Sylphs that Leo worked with when he was a Chosen One), I figured that it’d be funny if every single cryptid kinda just… knew each other, or hung out near the Lodge. As you know if you’ve read TMWCIFTC, he got into some trouble in 1967, which Barclay, Indrid and Mama “bailed him out of.”

Once they found out he was a fellow Sylvan, though, it became less about “report this guy to the authorities” and more about “we have to make sure we keep an eye on this guy so he doesn’t get himself, or other Sylphs, in trouble” thing. He basically became Mama’s mostly-socialized half-feral cat, slinking through the halls of Amnesty Lodge, eating random food, falling asleep wherever, sitting in rooms where people are doing interesting things and just watching them. And everyone... kind of likes him. Sure, he doesn’t have a sleep schedule, and they have to get soundproof panels installed in his room at the Lodge because he’ll stress-practice violin at 3 in the morning, and he keeps shoplifting stuff from local stores to give to people like a cat bringing back dead mice. But he’s a good man. And he’s getting better every day.

Then he got got by the Ashminder in ‘98. He bolted, completely forgot everything about the Lodge but had the address of a former Lodge resident on his body after his memory was wiped, found a still-alive but memory-wiped fellow Lodge dweller, and fled to that address. Boyd lived there for years, trying to clean up his act and try to anchor himself a bit. Then in 2007, something on his path went wrong, and the stress break he went through after that made him run from that place. That’s when he met Ned, and they had a few years together before Boyd ended up in jail.

Then, once they killed the Ashminder and the memories it had eaten came back, Voidfish-style, Boyd remembered everything: the people who’d taken care of him, the friends he’d made, the love he’d found, the time and effort he’d put into getting better, the rewards he’d reaped because of it. He remembered fighting monsters and defending them. He got hit with it all at once, and missed them. His parole date was coming up; he could bide his time until he was released, and run down there.

But then, at the start of TCOS, Something Happens that makes all Sylvan disguises and spells shit the fucking bed; his disguise spell, which has been hiding a nine foot-tall jacked demon out of hell, flickers, and the invisibility spell that had been put on his disguise item to hide it failed. Boyd knew he was fucked if the jail folks found out he was a Sylph, so he decided to fucking Kool-aid Man out of there, becoming a wanted man in the entire state of West Virginia and getting a bit roughed up in the process.

But hey. Whatever it takes to get home, right? 

Stern’s Changes:

Stern’s changed too, though, and here’s how. It was relatively simple to tweak him, because so much of him was a blank slate to begin with. First: that name. Garfield Kent Stern is his full name: Garfield for the cat/Deals Warlock, Kent after Kent Mansley, the irritating dipshit FBI agent antagonist from the classic animated movie The Iron Giant. Poor bastard. He started as a walking meme who I was going to kill off; I came up with that name long before we got his real name in canon, and didn’t want to retcon it out. 

I’m a sucker for secret connections and familial ties, too, and back in 2018 the headcanon gashapon gave me “what if Stern was a cousin of Duck’s, but there was family drama that made their parts of the family split when they were kids, so now 30 years later they don’t remember each other?” 

And that’s exactly what I did. Gary is Duck’s first cousin on Duck’s mom’s side; their mothers are sisters. Gary’s uncle Arnie was a Secret Service agent who tangled with an Indrid trying to stop the Kennedy Assassination once, and he keeps telling that story at Christmas, much to everyone’s chagrin. Gary remembered those stories, and even received Indrid’s old disguise glasses - knocked off his face during his uncle Arnie’s chase - and carried them with him for a long time.

He didn’t start off as a baby cop, though; he was more interested in hitting the books, finding out the logic and doing the research to figure things out. I have him become a history major, getting a PhD with a few bits and bobs here and there that I haven’t worked out yet. Whatever the case, he spent a LONG time in academia, from undergrad starting in 1996 to graduation in about 2005. 

Things weren’t as peachy as he thought they’d be, though. Gary wrote and published his thesis, like a good little PhD candidate, but someone was watching him. In his thesis, he’d been trying to cobble together various cryptid-related legends across the word and making connections between them, among other things. He’d managed to link up and explain something that Unexplained Phenomena had been trying to figure out themselves. They immediately intercepted his thesis, kept it from being disseminated anywhere else, erased all copies of it after graduation, and reached out to Gary independently to bring him on.

Make no mistake: he went willingly. Despite the whole thesis coverup, Agent Gary Stern wasn’t coerced into being a government stooge, and he wasn’t blackmailed - he was given an offer to work with the cryptid cops, and he enthusiastically took it. Government benefits were decent, he’d heard; post-grad options were looking slim, especially going into the recession. In his mind, there was a bit of allure to it all, too. A secret government organization looking into suspicious and possibly supernatural things all over the nation? Fantastic. More opportunities to do research. He was in. Gary accepted their offer and started basic FBI training in 2007 - the same year Boyd had that mental break and went AWOL, returning to his life of crime and meeting Ned.

Biggest mistake he’d ever made. But then again, if he didn’t take them up on that, he wouldn’t be here, would he?

So he joins UP, goes up the ranks. They had him researching and charting the Bigfoot case for a while, and he was the only one who was willing to work on it at all because… well, Bigfoot sightings weren’t as sophisticated as some of the other projects that were out there for UP. (See: Area 51. We don’t talk about Area 51. Nobody talks about Area 51. Definitely nothing shady and unethical going on in there, no experiments on anyone or anything, no sir.) 

Gary’s diligent, though, and doesn’t like to back down from a challenge. That’s all hunting Bigfoot was: a challenge. No personal stake, no empathy. It was a job to get done, even though an entire person’s life was at stake.

And he got so caught up in this challenge that, when he went to Kepler, he EASILY got attacked by the Ashminder and destroyed within an inch of his life. He got the very memory of his job and intent in Kepler torn out of his head; once the Ashminder died, and those memories came back, they didn’t feel like his anymore, or like they’d been part of his life plan to begin with. Overcome with confusion and guilt, he decided to clean up his act and try to work against the FBI, with Mama’s blessing. 

His goal? Quit the FBI, get them off the Lodge’s back, and then see what happens next. Maybe he’d go back to academia, or teach, or something - just get as far away from the FBI as possible, as far away as he can be from hurting people. But he’s got to bide his time, because if he bolts now, they’re going to get suspicious and put the Lodge in even more danger. And that’s where he is now.

So why have they changed?

Simple answer? I don’t want to rewrite them to fit with canon. I just don’t. I don’t want to make Boyd human; I don’t want to change Gary’s name to Joseph and make him a Bigfoot groupie. I don’t want to rewrite hundreds of thousands of words of work to fit last-minute decisions made in the end times of Amnesty’s canon. My fic has diverged so much from canon that the canon versions of the characters don’t belong here anymore. Besides, Stern was such a background character in arcs 3 and 4 that he barely mattered, making his reappearance in arc 5 a bit of a clumsy follow-through, and Boyd was a one-act wonder. A little expansion couldn’t hurt. Making Gary something other than a direct antagonist made the narrative load a little easier, too, at least on my end. I hate giving a cop screen time, but it’s easier to justify his existence by rewriting his backstory and making him slog through the hell of a redemption arc. He’s had that coming. 

This leads us to TCOS, though, where the arcs of our player characters turn a bit more towards the plot, as opposed to the emotional fulfillment they got in TMWCIFTC. Characters like Gary, Mama, Boyd, and Alexandra take center stage for emotional and backstory development, while the original player characters take a temporary backseat. Alexandra’s a key linchpin of the story as a whole, both emotionally and narratively; Mama gets lore expansions and has personal things to settle; and Gary and Boyd are… here. So:

How do these two work with each other in TCOS?

It’s great. It’s fantastic. These two are my favorite to write in TCOS because their conflict is just so fucking FUN. On the one hand, you have an almost-ex-FBI agent who’s been taken in by the Lodge, is related to a Pine Guard member, is trying to keep his coworkers off the Lodge’s back as sneakily as possible without drawing suspicion, and is desperate not to screw up this second chance he doesn’t think he deserves. On the other hand, you have an ex-con who got a second chance from the Lodge, sees them as his last best option to be safe as long as nobody reports them, and wants to keep them safe out of a sense of familial obligation he’s reluctant to admit to, even to himself.

That’s two people with questionable morals, with a semi-familial attachment to a place that gave them second chances, each seeing the actions of the other as a threat to their - and everyone else’s - safety. Claws come out almost immediately.

At the start, Boyd and Gary go together like apple juice and toothpaste. Boyd sees a narc who’s threatening the one safe place he has left; Gary sees an impulsive, selfish threat, a domino that - if it falls - threatens, you guessed it, the one safe place he (and other people, sure) has left. Boyd breaking out of jail means the entire state of West Virginia, and probably the whole East Coast, is on high alert looking for him, and if that attention comes anywhere near the Lodge? They’re fucked.

Neither of them believe that the other is capable of change or anything but selfish, malicious harm. Boyd has more of an argument than Gary because Gary is still actively reporting things to the FBI, but in Gary’s defense, the moment that he stops reporting anything to them, they’re going to suspect things and might end up sending more people to the Lodge. The Pine Guard can’t afford that, so Gary has to play by the rules until he’s in a position where he can quit. I’ll pull a specific argument they have from TCOS that I feel really exemplifies this:

"I don't want you to get caught."

Boyd scoffed. "Something tells me you're not worried about me."

"I'm not."

"Well, thanks."

"I'm worried," Gary went on, "about someone seeing you, and connecting you to the Lodge. You just used the hot springs as your personal landing strip, in broad daylight. We're on the upper half of the mountain. And I don't know how big your Sylvan form is, but -"

Boyd grinned. It looked more like a snarl. "Oh, plenty big enough," he said.

Gary ignored that. "Big enough for someone to see you from down the mountain?" he challenged. Boyd's lip curled, and he looked away. "Yeah, that's what I thought. I'm just thinking ahead. What if someone came beating down our door looking for you? What if it was a cryptid hunter? What if it was the cops?”

"Yes, yes, fine, alright," Boyd snapped. He threw his hands up. His eyes were hard and cold. "It'd put us in danger. I get it. But you're still here. I think the damage is already done."

A knot of cold rage formed in Gary's stomach. "I'm trying to keep this place safe, Mr. Mosche," he spat. "I've got a responsibility to keep."

Boyd scoffed. "Oh, you have a responsibility? To Amnesty Lodge? That's fucking rich."

"You've got one, too! It’s about time you started keeping it!"

They’re both very, very set in their ways and their ideologies, and they take a long time to get to middle ground. 

One of my friends described it as middle child syndrome in overdrive. Gary thinks Boyd’s the Lodge golden child, come to replace him in the Lodge inner circle. Boyd thinks Gary’s the Lodge’s new redemption-arc fixer-upper, come to replace him. And both of them feel thrown off by that, because they both thought that the Lodge was accepting them completely into the inner circle. It’s unfamiliar, it’s confusing, and when the Lodge as a whole regards them both with suspicion/unease (Gary) and polite detachment due to the passage of time (Boyd), it makes them both feel on the outside.

And when you’re in the same shitty canoe, you’ve gotta row it or sink. So that’s exactly what they do. 

Ultimately, they get faced down with bigger and worse foes that snap them out of their spat, because their common interest is “keeping the Lodge safe” and uniting will help them get there. When they do start to have each other’s backs, though, that’s when they reluctantly start to get to know each other. Gary feels like something’s off about Boyd and eventually suspects - thanks to some comments from Haynes and some digging of his own - that Boyd had something to do with the fire that burned down Aubrey’s house, but it remains to be seen what he’ll do with that information. (The Gary of November 2018 would have turned Boyd in to the FBI. The Gary of almost six months later, though… a different story. It’ll be interesting.)

The kicker is, they’re both really similar, at the heart of it. Both of them were the Lodge’s fix-em-up pet projects, brought into the fold in an emergency and protected/cared for as long as they swore to clean up their act. They see each other and feel a bit out-of-place, though - something contributed to by the way the Lodge treats them.

Gary’s still held at a distance by many, despite being Duck’s cousin and a mostly-valuable member of the team, because the stench of the FBI is still on him - how he dresses, how he walks and talks, how he acts. And Boyd has just swanned back to the Lodge after 20 years gone, with all his memories of the Lodge from back in ‘98 driven back into his mind - and part of him is expecting the Lodge to be the exact same way it was when he left. But it’s not. You can’t go home again. The Lodge has moved on without him, which he never expected, and coming back to them is… awkward.

It’s simple. They don’t know what to do with a version of Boyd who’s missed the past 20 years of their lives; Boyd doesn’t know what to do with people who have changed from the folks he knew 20 years ago. He’s lost, floating, and alienated, like going to a high school reunion after not having spoken to a living soul since graduation. It sucks for him. And the only wholly unfamiliar face there, other than the main Pine Guard - who he’s mostly fine with, except for Ned - is Gary, and he can’t help but be irritated with him. That changes, though.

What I essentially want to do is set these versions of the characters up as foils. Similar characters, similar pasts, similar situations that got them to this point. All that’s different is how far in their respective arcs they are. So I’m going to have them be friends. Give each other a chance in the face of a bigger threat, open up a little more, have conversations, talk about things with each other because they’re the only ones around to listen. The Lodge gave them second chances when they needed them most. Maybe they can do that for each other.

This is also to say, I would be a massive fucking liar if I say I haven’t considered having that unfold into a rivals-to-lovers arc. Yeah, I said it. I’ve considered it, at length and in serious detail, since I started drafting the arcs for TCOS. In fact, that’s what I’m probably going to do. I’ve gotten too hooked by the possibility to give it up. I outlined hypothetical futures for the whole cast after the final battle in Sylvain and, given the things I want to happen in that battle and the messy post-war fallout, it makes sense that these two would gravitate towards each other.

It makes a lot more sense in context, believe me. They’ve got a long row to hoe before they trust each other enough to become friends, or even push the envelope towards a romantic relationship - they’d have months and even YEARS to wait to pull that off. Whatever I end up doing with them, they are easily my favorite part of TCOS to unravel, mostly because I  - and, honestly, everyone else - probably never saw it coming.

Thanks for the ask, anon. This made my week. So sorry for the long response, but I have so many thoughts on what I’m doing with these idiots, and putting them down on paper was really fun. Any other questions or comments about this? Fire away, I’d be more than willing to answer! 

[birdiethebibliophile]

Definition of Good

ft. me crying about ned. mostly unedited. enjoy.

-----

Ned Chicane was not a good man.

He was a liar and a coward and a thief, and he would be the first to admit it. He ran with the wrong crowd; he stole and he cheated and he never used the same name twice. He was a swindler, a good-for-nothing, a man full of words and empty of anything else.

One day, he made the biggest mistake of his life.

He hadn’t meant for it to happen, out of cowardice more than anything. Boyd had said the house was empty. But Ned, for all his faults, never wanted to hurt anyone, and when he saw the evening news report three towns over that night (House Fire, Thousands Stolen, One Dead) he set down the shitty burger he’d ordered and pushed it away. Dead. He’d never left anyone dead before. And Boyd arrested, and he himself lost –

Ned Fuckin’ Chicane had always known he wasn’t a good man, but thinking that felt different, now.

He drove. (That’s all he was really  good at.) It was some nondescript vehicle he’d hotwired, that he figured wouldn’t be missed, and when he ran out of gas, it was right next to a sign that said Welcome to Kepler  and he walked into town and picked exactly the wrong (right) place to steal from, and suddenly, quite out of the blue –

– he had a friend.

Her name was Victoria, and she was a jaded son of a bitch but hey, they got along, and Ned stayed, and he stayed, and Ned Friendly Chicane realized he liked Victoria and he liked the Cryptonomica and he liked the people around (Duck – it’s a nickname), and –

– Victoria started coughing, and then she didn’t stop.

Running the Cryptonomica wasn’t the same without her. They’d scraped by, together, and afterwards (after a week-long hospital stay and a funeral consisting of a spare handful of people), afterwards, Ned hired Kirby and tried to drum up some interest and he started scraping the bottom of the barrel, and then –

– and then he saved Bigfoot (whose name was Barclay, who had once served him a Monte Cristo – of course he remembered Barclay), and he learned the truth about Amnesty Lodge and Kepler, and he met Mama and Aubrey, and they saved the town from a monster worse than any Ned Fuckin’ Discretion Chicane had on display.

Ned wasn’t a good man, but now he was a man with friends.

He had friends, and he was still a liar and a coward and a thief but all the same he distracted a big fuckin’ water monster and dove into it and swam up and up and shot right into its heart, because, he supposed, that was what friends did for each other.

They shot water monsters, and they listened to their friends enthuse about soup, and they blasted themselves into Pizza Hut signs –

– and killed their mothers.

He hadn’t forgotten that night – he never could – but hearing Aubrey through the half-haze in the hospital bed made his heart sink and reminded him of what he’d known all along.

Ned Trustworthy Chicane was not a good man.

He was a liar.

(You could’ve told me at any time, Ned.)

And a thief.

(Did you steal my statue, Ned?)

And a coward.

(Run, like you always do.)

He should’ve known better.

For a moment, when he was in the hotel room and Boyd Mosche (not a good man either, but he’d been a friend, for a while) was dead at his feet and the horror of seeing himself give everything that mattered away was fresh in his mind, all he wanted was them.

Aubrey.

Duck.

Ned Chicane wasn’t empty anymore, but what was there hurt, and he wanted his friends because fuck, he was scared, and he didn’t know what to do, and then –

– and then.

And then Aubrey was standing in front of him, and she was holding the pendant he took from her house the night her mother died, and he knew, with a strange, aching sense of loss, that he was not a good man.

He saw her hands catch fire, and he begged her to set this aside so they could fix this mess, and for a moment he thought she was going to do it – that she was going to burn him to ash, and he knew he’d deserve it.

What she did do was worse.

So Ned did as she said. He packed up, and he prepared to run. And as he did, he packed up his friends too – the memories from the past months. Aubrey’s smile. Duck’s grimace. Every abomination they’d fought, every night in Amnesty Lodge, every weekend that Aubrey had helped him set up for Saturday Night Dead and every meal with Duck at the ski resort.

Before he ran, though (because he would run – he was a liar, and a coward, and a thief) maybe there was one more thing he could do.

He didn’t go to the archway with sacrifice in mind. Of course not. (He was a coward.)

He just didn’t want anyone else to get hurt because of him.

But when he saw Dani and heard the shot ring out, he was already moving, and –

– he thought of Amnesty Lodge.

He thought of Duck, turning down his destiny because of all the French onion soup he hadn’t tasted. He thought of Aubrey, crying into Mama’s shoulder by his hospital bed. He thought of Barclay, and Moira, and Jake Coolice, and he thought of the time he couldn’t drag everyone out of a burning building but damn if he couldn’t take a bullet.

Ned Chicane was not a good man.

He was a liar.

(With love – Edmund Kelly Chicane.)

And a thief.

(I’m a thief, not a robber. I never meant to hurt anyone.)

And a coward.

(Ned doesn’t want anyone else to get hurt because of him.)

The stars were so beautiful.

[ohducknewton]

42, moschicane?

“I’m only here to establish an alibi.”

Duck and Aubrey glance between Ned and Boyd, silently trying to figure out if there’s any truth behind Boyd’s words. For his part, Ned just rolls his eyes. “He’s kidding.” The two of them sit down on the frankly hideous couch the bowling alley has provided for its patrons. “Always were one for good first impressions, huh?” he teases.

“Not really a first impression if we’ve met before, love.”

Ned hums, putting his arm around Boyd’s waist. “Well you know what they say, there’s always a second chance at a first impression.”

“Yeah uh, that definitely ain’t how the saying goes,” Duck comments from his end of the couch as he finishes tying his bowling shoes.

Aubrey laughs, “I like it though, sounds good.”

“Oh don’t encourage him,” Boyd shakes his head, smiling all the while. “Now are we going to bowl or what?”

“Well before we get this show on the road, why don’t we make this a bit more interesting?” Aubrey smiles- A smile that Ned knows means she’s up to something. “I’m thinking me and Duck versus you and Ned? Bit of friendly competition? Help build teamwork skills and all that?”

“And what do the winners of this ah, friendly competition get as a reward?”

“Losers buy drinks for the night?”

Before Ned can reply, Boyd shoots him a look. “Prison wasn’t exactly known for its shining bowling lanes and we both remember what happened the last time you attempted to bowl”

Laughing a hearty laugh, Ned pulls Boyd closer to his side. “Have faith Boyd! They don’t call me Ned ‘Lanesmen’ Chicane for nothing.”

“So we gotta deal?” Aubrey holds out her hand and Ned glances one more time to Boyd before taking it.

“Deal.”

After getting some bowling shoes of their own, Boyd gets up from seat and up to bowl, Duck ready with a pencil and paper to record his score …

Which wasn’t really necessary because he got two gutter balls in a row.

That’s how the game went- Ned and Boyd getting it straight in the gutter or maybe knocking down a few pins once in a while. Meanwhile, Aubrey and Duck were absolutely destroying them. Ned found out three rounds in that Duck had actually worked at this particular bowling alley in high school. He’s good, Ned will admit it.

Also, the whole thing is a lot of fun. Ned is silently thankful that Aubrey and Duck seem to be taking to Boyd. He might not admit it, but he really does want them all to like each other. Hell, Duck and Aubrey hadn’t even believed that he had a husband when he casually mentioned Boyd the first time- They thought it was another one of his joking-lies. And you know what? Ned didn’t go out of his way to correct them. He would talk about needing to get home for a date with Boyd or how such-and-such reminded him of his vegas wedding, and Aubrey and Duck truly thought it was all an intricately spun tale. It had only ended the day that they had run into him at the grocery store and Boyd had greeted him with a kiss and a question of whether he’d be home in time for supper.

The look on Aubrey’s had been priceless and the pitch at which Duck exclaimed “Oh fuck he’s real?!” is one that Ned thinks about sometimes to cheer himself up.

But now that Boyd’s not a cryptid in his own way, Ned wants them all to get to know each other.

“Good game everyone” Duck says as they count up their points. Not that they really needed to. People across town probably could see how bad Ned and Boyd had lost. “Looks like y’all will be picking up tonight’s tab then?”

“Now hold on just a second,” Boyd looks at them with nothing short of sheer determination. “Double or nothing.”

Duck raises an eyebrow. “Uh, you sure? We can continue playing, no bets or nothin’ if y’all want?”

Boyd shakes his head. “No, I think I’ve got the hang of it now. How about you love? Think you’re up for another little wager?”

“Perhaps, I certainly feel warmed up now, but don’t you think we should ah, up the stakes as it were?” He turns to Aubrey and Duck. “How about this- You win and Boyd and I will be your assistants for your next magic show at the lodge and as for you friend Duck,” Ned pauses, trying to think of what Duck would want. “We’ll look after both Beacon and your cat during that little weekend getaway you’ve got planned with Indrid.”

“And if y’all win?”

“Hmm?” Ned taps his chin. “How about this, for next week’s Saturday Night Dead, I’m planning to show some real classics- Creature From the Black Lagoon, The Wolfman, all the good stuff. And well, I need some volunteers to don the masks and truly become the titular characters.”

Aubrey and Duck share a quick look between themselves and then to Boyd and Ned and then down to the score sheet.

“Deal.”

Boyd smiles, gets up once again and grabs a bowling ball. But instead of going towards the lane, he strolls back over to the couch and leans down next to Ned. “Kiss for luck?”

Laughing, Ned pulls him down even more and gives him a kiss. “As if you’ll need it,” he whispers.

And then Boyd goes back to the lane, glances behind him, gives Ned a wink, and then in one fluid motion, surges forward as he brings his arm back and forward again as he lets the ball go.

Now Ned was pretty focused on how nice Boyd’s ass looked in those jeans of his, but he’s pretty sure that isn’t what his fellow Pine Guard members are staring at.

Because Boyd just got a strike.

Ned knew he would.

Duck is silent.

Aubrey’s mouth hangs open.

Boyd’s smile is infectious as he comes back over, wrapping an arm around Ned as he sits down.

Finally, Duck turns to the two of them, looking like he’s just barely holding back laughter. “Did y’all hustle us?”

Ned shrugs, his own laughter barely contained either. “Like I said, they don’t call him Ned ‘Lanesmen’ Chicane for nothing.”

Thinking about it, maybe Ned and Boyd will need an alibi for how much they’re about to murder Duck and Aubrey at bowling.

This should be fun.

[tinydemondragon]

This came from a random hc about moschicane cuddling in the moschicane server and Fae asked me to post it so here we are!! (just did a quick word count check and this thing is 1.5k holy crap)

The first time, it's an accident. 

They're on the run and need to dip into a hotel room. It's easier to get away with a single, if someone is looking for two people. They stay up late, later than, perhaps, they should. Breaths held, adrenaline shooting their heart rates up. 

After a while, it becomes obvious that no one is going to be there and they laugh at another job done, another close call. They try to decide who's going to take the bed, but it's late. And it doesn't really matter, does it? They've fucked before, in that post heist success, no strings attached kind of way. Sure, they always went to separate beds afterward, if they even made it to one in the first place. But, this shouldn't be that different, right?

So they settle in, stiffly at first before laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. Ned's being dramatic, flopping on Boyd, draping himself over him. But they're tired, and eventually they fall asleep. Separated, distance between them that they're sure that they can maintain. But. 

It's morning the next day. Afternoon, really, and Ned wakes up first. It's dark and he feels trapped and he panics a bit, hearth thundering in his chest. But then, he realizes he recognizes that scent, knows what it's like to be trapped by those arms and he relaxes again. 

Then he starts panicking for another reason. They're fuck buddies, partners in crime and in bed, but they aren't partners in the romantic sense. Ned doesn't know how to risk it, how to be anything more, it terrifies him. It doesn't matter how much he wants it, the heart of the matter is he's scared. He contented himself with post heist laughs and fucks, and was so so desperate to keep that line firm, to not put his heart in danger like that. But. This is. Nice.

Perhaps, just this once, he can let the lines blur a little more, perhaps he can let this happen. Just this once

Ned falls back asleep, resolute in his thought that this would be the one time he'd let this happen. Boyd though, Boyd wakes up after Ned goes to sleep and his heart aches. 

He knows what he wants. He's a greedy man, he knows this. He wants and wants and wants. Money, food, treasure. More than all that, though, he wants this. Ned at his side, be it in a mansion they're raiding, or in his bed, fucking him hard and fast and dirty, in an alley after they've celebrated a job well done and can't wait to get to the shitty motel of the week. 

More than that, though, he wants to hold Ned close, to love him and protect him and be with him. He thinks that, maybe, if he could just have this man next to him, if he could just have him and be had by him, he could content himself with that.

He thinks he could put all this aside, all the danger and the thrill of a heist, all of it could be put aside if it's what Ned wanted. If he was who Ned wanted.

But, he isn't. This isn't a story, and he doesn't get a happy ending. He doesn't get the prince, he's the dragon that keeps him locked in the tower (no matter that it's only because the price doesn't want to leave, that the prince is more happy in the company of dragons than he is of men. He doesn't know this, how could he when the prince never says so?). 

Maybe he shouldn't do this to himself. It's only going to hurt later, when Ned wakes up and laughs it off and never lets it happen again. But, he can't help himself, and so he lays there, arms wrapped around Ned's waist, holding him close and indulging in fantasies best kept quiet, until Ned starts to stir. Then, he slides his arms out from around him, and gets up, and pretends that this hadn't happened, that he hadn't had everything he's ever wanted in his hands.

And when Ned asks him what’s for lunch, he smiles and says whatever he wants, knowing that at least he's lucky enough to have this. Even if it's not everything, it's more than he thought he would have, and it has to be enough. If it isn't, well, the heists are fun too.

it's been months, now, since the first incident. They've had to share a bed twice now, and each time, Boyd has awoken first and disentangled himself. He's always been the one who was holding Ned, and getting out of the situation without waking Ned is difficult each time.

Still, a part of him is soothed by the fact that he can even do it in the first place. When they were just starting out, Boyd even getting up out of bed from the other side of the room would wake Ned up. Now, they are far more comfortable with each other.

(That is, perhaps, something that isn't good. One day, someone is going to break in and well, that's a story for another day.)

This time, however, things are different. One) Boyd's head is on Ned's stomach, Ned's arms around him. Second, Boyd remembers that they had had sex the night before, and both are (surprisingly) naked, so Boyd can feel, skin to skin, everywhere they are touching. Thirdly, and most surprisingly, Ned is awake.

Ned is awake and stroking Boyd's head in very soothing motions.

Boyd freezes. This is... new. He doesn't know what to do about this, exactly. They've not done this before.

"Good morning," Ned rumbles, voice still heavy with sleep.

"Good morning," Boyd returns. And that's that.

They don't talk about it. For months, the subject is never brought up. Instead, they fall into bed together, more and more often, and now it occurs even when they don't have sex. They can be on the couch, watching tv, relaxing between jobs, sharing a blanket, one arm draped behind the other, curled up together. This is their new normal now. They don't talk about it.

Until they do

It's been about eight months since the first incident, five since it became a regular occurrence. It's in those sleepy hours, where maybe it's one day, or maybe it's the other. Time is blurred and undefined, and all that exists is this moment. They're not doing anything, not really. Ned is laying on Boyd's stomach, and they're reading a book together. Boyd suspects that Ned isn't really reading, but that's neither here nor there. 

"This is nice," Ned starts, soft and unsure, so unlike himself. Boyd blinks.

"Yes, it is," he agrees. He continues flipping pages, but he's not really paying attention to the words on the page, not anymore. His mind is alive with questions, with possibilities. Why would Ned say that?

He had said it in his quiet voice too. The one he uses when something really matters to him, but he's afraid, because it means too much for him to spoil by speaking it aloud, as though speaking it into existence would shatter it. 

"I love you," Ned blurts, and Boyd drops his book. It's unfortunate that it's a hardback, even more so since it lands on Ned's side with a thud. Ned winces, more out of reflex than actual pain, and keeps his head down, eyes not meeting Boyd’s.

Things are quiet for a few moments as Boyd processes. That didn't happen. Yes it did. Does Ned love me? He did say it, is he lying? No he wasn't using his lying voice. What is going on.

After a minute, Boyd realizes he hasn't answered yet, and that Ned is starting to slip from his arms. "Stay, please," Boyd says, wrapping his arms around him, glad that the book had slid to the floor after it fell on Ned. "Why?" Boyd asks, knowing it't not the right time to ask, but needing to know anyway.

"Because," Ned says, but he trails off, shrugging his shoulders. "This is nice," he repeats again. And it's not an answer, not really, but Boyd still understands, and he knows it's enough of an answer for now.

"I love you, too," Boyd answers, tightening his arms around Ned. And it's not everything, not yet. They're still on the run, still have things they have to answer, still are stuck in a life on the run where funds and always fluctuating. But they have this, they have each other and, for now, it's enough.

[wormy-business]

Betrayal

**Warning! This fic contains major spoilers up to episode 25 and 26 of The Adventure Zone; Amnesty!!**

Summary:  Ned and Boyd reunite in a hotel room, but Ned seems a little, off. Nothing reminiscing about the old days can't fix! Or, can't it?

Word count: 1,083

Read on A03

Three knocks rattled a hotel door, The visitor standing outside, less than pleased to be there, coughed a little and then cleared his throat.

“Mosche? Open up. I got the damn thing.”

A smirk pulled at the lips of Boyd Mosche as he adjusted his jacket and stepped up to the door. He took a moment to check the peephole, just to make sure Ned was alone. He was, he stood by himself scowling at a bag that was tucked under his arm. No doubt the sculpture was hidden neatly away inside. He gleefully swung the door open, one arm outstretched.

“‘Ello, old friend.” He set his outstretched hand atop Ned’s shoulder, “Why don’t you come in? These days I prefer carrying out my business in private. Besides.” He made a motion with his shoulder, alerting Ned Chicane’s attention to the security camera at the end of the hallway.

Boyd walked backwards into the hotel room until he hit the bed, where he plopped down. Ned entered after him, shutting the door and locking the hatch. He turned back to face his old partner, sitting with that damned shit-eating grin and expectant look.

“Let’s just get this over with. I want my-”

“I know, I know. You’ll have everything back, I swear.” Boyd produced a key, Ned wasn’t entirely sure where he had taken it from, and held it between two fingers. “Bank deposit box number 454.”

Ned sighed, grumbling as he spoke, “always have to make things more difficult than they need to be, eh Mosche?”

Boyd gave a chuckle, setting his hand back down on the bed. “What, did you expect me to haul your entire sideshow into a hotel room?”

“It isn’t a sideshow! The Cryptonimaca is so much more than that. Plus, you have all my other shit!” Ned spoke, hands moving to his hips.

“Right, right, excuse me. Now, Ned, just give me Shade Tree and I’ll let you on your way.” Boyd leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees and chin resting in his hands. “Besides, the sooner you have your museum back perhaps, the sooner we could reconnect? I’d hate to leave off on another sour note. Perhaps we could just, go for a good ol’ fashioned ride around in that truck of yours, like old times.”

Ned sighed, shoulders slumping forward, setting his bag lightly on the ground. A smile pulled at his lips as he sat next to Boyd, his knees popping as he moved.

“Y’know old friend, I think I’d really like that.” He looked at Boyd, and their eyes met for a moment before they both looked away from each other again. “Like old times. It was a bit nicer back then, huh?”

“You and I against the world, pulling every small job we could. And all that time on the road. We used to be so close.” Boyd’s fists tightened, as did his eyes as he closed them. He hated being like this in front of anyone, even if it was Ned “gentle lover” Chicane.

“Yeah, it sure was nice. Y’know, I miss those days a lot. But, we’ve both, we’ve changed, Boyd. Do you, d’you really think things could be like, like back then?”

A grin pulled again at Boyd’s lips, and he pulled himself back up, fingers curling around Ned’s scarf to drag him closer. “Why don’t we find out?” This was like the old times. Boyd teasing Ned from the passenger seat of the car until Ned pulled over on the side of the road.

Time was moving slower as the two men drew closer, Boyd had Ned by the scarf, one of them closed his eyes, and the other became stoic and cold.

A hand wrapped around Boyd’s neck. His eyes shot open in surprise, and then he bit his lip and spoke in a low, teasing tone. “Usually this doesn’t happen until gah-!” His voice was cut off by Ned’s other hand that shot up to his neck, and squeezed hard. His body was pushed down into the mattress, Ned grunting as he got over top of him. Boyd struggled, tears falling from his eyes as he tried to kick and grab at Ned’s hands. He knew Ned was strong, he was always more of the muscle of the two of them, but he never remembered him being quite this strong. This was different. This was wrong. Ned had never done anything like this. Why was he acting like this, why would he be doing this? How could he do it? Boyd’s heart ached as through his tears he saw Ned’s face, a blank expression emphasized by cold, dark eyes. He held Boyd down as if he meant nothing to him. All those years, everything they did and went through, was it all really nothing? Was it worth it to kill him?

But Boyd could hardly think anymore. He scratched at Ned’s hand as he struggled more and more to stay awake, fighting his body’s urge to slip into the darkness.

Ned adjusted the grip he had with his left hand, and through this Boyd was able to catch a slight breath, and choke out a single word through clenched teeth.

“Why?”

With one last hard squeeze, Boyd’s life faded to black. Though his body was unmoving, it would take several more minutes for the job to be complete.

The abomination pulled its hands from the body, a bruises in the shape of handprints were already blooming on the still warm skin. It raised its hand up over its mouth as it coughed, a sickly red liquid coated its palm and it wiped the substance onto Boyd as it grabbed his body with ease, and tucked him into the closet.

Wordlessly, it snatched the deposit box key from the bed and tucked it into the constructed pocket of the dark parka it was dressed in. It picked up the bag it had dropped on the floor and tore a rift open in the space in front of it. It took a moment to look in the mirror, and readjust the scarf that was tied around its neck.

Bank deposit box number 454.

It’s work here, for now, was done. Almost everything was in place. Just a few more scores to settle, and some property to relocate. It’s job here in the hotel was done, for now at least. It smirked to itself in the mirror, and cleared its throat again. “This will all be over soon.”

[ppbpencilcrayon]

Amnesty Sylvain Theory(?)

Ok so I was relistening to some amnesty episodes, (mostly 28 and 32 because I love making myself cry apparently) and I had some thoughts. I dont event know if the information I'm basing this theory off of is even 100% accurate but I'm gonna try to make this as understandable as possible because it's just gonna be me rambling for a couple paragraphs. I'm on mobile rn so I don't think I can put a keep reading thing so sorry, this is gonna get long.

Oh yeah and spoilers for up to episode 32

So here's what we know so far and I apologize if I'm getting some of these wrong.

Sylvain, the entity, is missing

Aubrey can hear the thoughts and memories of Sylvain's Interpreter who I cant remember the name of at the moment

Sylvain is missing because a while back some humans went to Sylvain and broke off pieces of the crystal

Aubrey can interact with the crystal, but instead of giving her energy like it does to other Sylvans, (is that the term? Or is it silphs? I cant remember) she gives energy to the crystal

The Flamebright Pendant has been passed down throughout Aubrey's family and is made of the Sylvain Crystal

Aubrey thinks her powers were what caused the fire the night Ned and Boyd robbed her house

Aubrey met Magic when she was trying to revive Deputy Dewey

Dani told Aubrey that recently she realized that she felt at home when she was with Aubrey

Naturally when given this information, some people have come to the conclusion "oh, Aubrey might be Sylvain" but I don't think that's the case. I'm gonna try and go over my thoughts on that and try to be coherent because my thoughts are very scattered as I type this. One big thing that I keep going back and forth on is how Dani told Aubrey that she felt like home. And she even specifies, not sentimentally, literally. There's probably a good couple of ways you could interpret that, but the way I've seen people interpret it as is "Subconsciously, you remind me of Sylvain". But that also doesn't make sense. When Dani is expressing her worries about which side of the gate to land on, she mentions that part of the reason she was having such a hard time with that decision was that Sylvain no longer felt like home.

But here's where my little theory(?) (and I put a question mark with that bc honestly I'm still not sure about it) comes in. What if Sylvain is in the Flamebright Pendant?

Ok, yes, I know, it's a bit of a reach bc for most of amnesty the flamebright pendant has been locked in the back room of the cryptonomica, but hear me out. (I would like to emphasize, there's a whole bunch of connections I'm just kind of bullshitting with no data to draw from so you might want to take this with a grain of salt)

My main reasoning is that if memory serves, Sylvain went missing the day the crystal got broken, so who's to say that she(?) didn't get trapped in one of the shards? And that shard hadn't just been providing the Little Family some luck, but also a little bit of magic that got passed whenever a family member passed the pendant down to their descendant? That could be why Aubrey's powers manifested that night specifically, not just the danger, but because her mother gave her the pendant. She wasnt wearing it, but maybe all it took was Mrs. Little vocalizing that, yes Aubrey was the next owner of the pendant. Then even after Ned took the pendant, that magic was still fairly linked to Aubrey, just not as strong.

The real question is, why would Aubrey's magic suddenly reactivate again at some random magic show? Mama. Mama, who is constantly working with the former inhabitants of Silvain. Mama, who has probably been to Sylvain multiple times. Whatever piece of sylvain is connected to Aubrey might be able to sense that? So her magic sparks again and she's brought back to Amnesty Lodge where there's even more Sylvain energy because not only is the gate right there, but Aubrey, without even realizing it, is closer to the pendant than she has been in years. So now that the connection between Aubrey and Sylvain is stronger than, probably ever, she's now starting to get more access, more control, over her powers.

Why does Aubrey have access to Alexandra's(?) memories? Maybe because they both have fairly strong connections to Sylvain, they have some amount of connection with eachother by association? (Another interpretation could also be Alexandra is Sylvain and Aubrey is the new interpreter?)

With the crystal stuff, I feel like maybe Aubrey is drawing her powers directly from Sylvain? And while the crystal is the battery, Sylvain is the energy source. The crystal only has so much energy to give out before it's drained, but Sylvain was its constant source. So that could explain why instead of giving energy, the crystal takes from Aubrey. (Of course this could be the crystal's reaction to all humans, we just dont know since Aubrey is the only one we've seen touch the crystal so far).

And finally, when Dani tells Aubrey she literally feels like home. I know what I already said but there's something else I didn't mention. The thing that Silvain provides that all of its inhabitants require to stay sane. Everywhere Dani has been, everywhere she has called home, as had that one specific similarity. It had to, or else all of the sylphs stuck on earth would have long gone feral. Whatever energy is given by the crystal and the springs by Amnesty Lodge. Dani also mentioned it was a recent thing. Aubrey getting her pendant back was also a relatively recent thing.

(Also I feel like they're gonna find some way to bring Sylvain back bc it would make sense that the big loose end of "where the hell did Sylvain go" is something that got tied up at the end and this seems like a good way to do it)

Congrats you've finally made it to the end of this absurdly long post. Next time I go on desktop I'll edit this and add that keep reading option.

TLDR:

[transagentstern]

Updated Prompt Q

Tumblr’s not letting me edit again!

1.  ➼ being famous isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, so after a particularly rough day, I turn to you for a hug and we’re both surprised when it leads to a kiss

Moschicane, for @gaytaako (hit me with that good good content my dude)

2.  you run the night club beside my bakery so 3/4am is the only time we see each other

Danbrey, for Rowan (I’m really looking forward to this one!)

3.  you misdial at a telephone booth and ask in a very upset voice if I can pick you up, and I don’t know why, but I ask where you are so I can pick you up

Indruck, for Rowan (gettin me with those really fitting prompts man)

4. Special Prompt for @bisexualducknewton  ned tells aubrey and duck abt boyd and they’re excited to meet his boyfriend (thank u)

5.  I’ve come to your remote B&B to get away from my life so I can write my next novel and I’m having fun getting to know you and your townsfolk or I’m constantly asking you for resources on murders at the library, and you never ask me why until one day I complain that I’m having issues getting a scene right and you blurt, “oh, thank god!”

Sternclay, for @actually-a-taco YOU ARE A BLESSING IN MY FUCKING LIFE I LOVE THIS SO GODDAMN MUCH

6+ got a couple options from @therowdyzone

7. Movie Tropes Moschicane from @peach-tea-goddess

two characters giving extremely biased flashbacks to the same event that each paint the other as an incompetent loon’

Thank YOOOOOOUU

as always if you’re interested check out my guidelines and the prompt list i’m currently doing and shoot me an ask! thanks y’all <3 Remember that I love you all but also I’m a full time student and these may take a bit!

(ALSO- given the sheer volume of sternclay requests here- remember that we’re always taking new people for the sternclay discord!! ily)

[twins2994]

2018 American League Central Preview

Chicago White Sox:

Additions: Luis Avilan LHP, Joakim Soria RHP, Thyago Vieira RHP, Wellington Castillo C, Daniel Palka OF, Hector Santiago LHP

Subtractions: Alen Hanson UTIL (SF), Cody Asche 1B/3B (KC), Derek Holland (SF), Mike Pelfrey RHP (Retired), Al Alburquerque RHP (TOR)

The Chicago White Sox have one of the best farm systems in baseball and we should be able to see those talented youngsters soon. This year the Sox will still be rebuilding in the hope that a massive tear down and rebuild will get them back into contention like the Houston Astros did in the past. The Sox picked up a solid catcher in Wellington Castillo after having Omar Narvaez and Kevan Smith catch for a huge part of last year. Jose Abreu should have another solid year and Yoan Moncada might make the next step and become a full time big leaguer. Avisail Garcia is so talented and is becoming the superstar that they wanted him to be. The Opening Day pitching staff isn’t much to look at, but remember names like Michael Kopech, Reynaldo Lopez, Carson Fulmer, Thyago Vieira, and Zack Burdi. Hector Santiago made the club in the bullpen and Daniel Palka is on their 40-man roster. 

Cleveland Indians:

Additions: Yonder Alonso 1B, Matt Belisle RHP

Subtractions: Carlos Santana 1B (PHI), Jay Bruce OF (NYM), Austin Jackson OF (SF), Bryan Shaw RHP (COL), Joe Smith RHP (HOU), Craig Breslow LHP (TOR)

The Indians didn’t change a whole lot to their club this offseason. Yonder Alonso was signed to replace Carlos Santana at first base. Alonso should do well replacing a guy like Santana. He had a career year in 2017 and maybe something clicked in the power department. Matt Belisle made the club after signing a minor league deal. The bullpen will miss Bryan Shaw though, who was a work horse for Terry Francona. The Tribe are the team to beat in the American League Central this year. 

Detroit Tigers:

Additions: Mike Fiers RHP, Francisco Liriano LHP, Leonys Martin OF, Ron Gardenhire MGR, IF Niko Goodrum, IF Pete Kozma

Subtractions: Ian Kinsler 2B (LAA), Andrew Romine UTIL (SEA), 1B Efren Navarro (CHC), Anibal Sanchez RHP (ATL)

The Tigers are a year behind the White Sox in the rebuilding process after being a contender for a long time in the division. Detroit traded away Justin Verlander, Justin Upton, and JD Martinez last summer and a lot of talent left the Motor City. This offseason, Ian Kinsler’s option year was declined and he signed with the Angels. Anibal Sanchez’s option wasn’t picked up and now he’s on his second team this spring. The Tigers made a few moves and hired Ron Gardenhire as their manager. I feel like it’s not going to end well for Gardy with the Tigers. He’s going to take some lumps for a few years and I don’t know if he’ll still be around to see all the work he put in. Gardy brought back some old friends of his to Detroit. Rick Anderson is the bullpen coach, Francisco Liriano will be a pitcher for him, and Niko Goodrum made the team as a utility man. Miguel Cabrera looks poised for a comeback year and Victor Martinez is healthy (I hope). The Tigers still have some young talent in Daniel Norris, Matt Boyd, Michael Fulmer, Jeimer Candelario, and Jose Iglesias. The Tigers still have some talent and might surprise some folks this year. 

Kansas City Royals:

Additions: Lucas Duda 1B, Mike Moustakas 3B, Jon Jay OF, Blaine Boyer RHP, Ryan Goins 2B

Subtractions: Eric Hosmer 1B (SD), Lorenzo Cain OF (MIL), Brandon Moss 1B/OF (OAK), Joakim Soria RHP (CWS), Trevor Cahill (OAK), Chris Young (SD), Peter Moylan RHP (ATL)

The Royals are starting life without some of their key World Series pieces. Eric Hosmer left Kansas City in an odd way. He bolted for millions of dollars to San Diego and stop talking to Ned Yost after the season. Lorenzo Cain left for Milwaukee to be in that talented outfield. Joakim Soria and Peter Moylan were key bullpen pieces that left too. The Royals did retain Alcides Escobar and Mike Moustakas though. Ryan Goins impressed this spring, but I’m not sure if he made the team. Lucas Duda was added to replace Eric Hosmer and could have a bounce back year. Jorge Bonifacio had an 80-game suspension after a solid year last summer. Jon Jay and Jorge Soler will try to take his spot. Whit Merrifield is a budding star and I love watching that guy play. Cheslor Cuthbert might get back to his old form and the Royals will have a good offense. The pitching staff will take Kansas City as far as they can. Blaine Boyer also made a spot in their bullpen... 

Minnesota Twins:

Additions: Jake Odorizzi RHP, Lance Lynn RHP, Fernando Rodney RHP, Addison Reed RHP, Zach Duke LHP, Logan Morrison 1B/DH, Jake Cave OF, Ryan LaMarre OF

Subtractions: Chris Gimenez C (CHC), Daniel Palka 1B.OF (CWS), Randy Rosario LHP (CHC), Nik Turley LHP (PIT), Ryan O’Rourke LHP (BAL), JT Chargois RHP (LAD), Michael Tonkin RHP (Korea), Buddy Boshers LHP (HOU)

The Twins had an interesting offseason to say the least. They added some nice and cheap pieces in Jake Odorizzi, Lance Lynn, Fernando Rodney, Addison Reed, Zack Duke, and Logan Morrison. The solid young core will join those veterans in what should be a talented squad for 2018. I think the loss of Chris Gimenez is bigger than people will think it is. He was a huge leader as a backup catcher on the bench throughout last season. Ryan O’Rourke and JT Chargois were good arms, but injuries caused them to leave the organization. The Twins offense will be one of the best in the American League. The pitching staff is very deep and the bullpen should be a lot better. I think the Twins will contend with the Indians and maybe if Cleveland has injuries than the Twins could win the division. It’s going to be a great race for the American League Central this summer. 

-Chris Kreibich-

[thiswasinevitableid]

Chemistry (Sternclay)

The last of the meet ugly requests. NSFW, because why not end with a bang?

# 33  you’re a nobody actor who comes in for a chemistry read for the part of my love interest but we end up arguing instead of reading [maybe I like that about you and demand for you to be hired or maybe I’m annoyed that you spoke to me like that so I say that I don’t want to work with you and they hire you anyway]

Stern is starting to feel self-conscious. 

He’s been drooled over in every tabloid from here to Tokyo, gets fanmail by the boatload, and once did a photo shoot for Out that nearly broke their website. 

But they’ve been doing chemistry reads for three days now and no one is clicking. True, up until now his action roles have never had a serious love interest. But is he so bad at flirting that he can’t even act appealing to someone?

He’s not the only frustrated one; Ned, the director, has chewed his nails down to stubs, Kirby has tweaked the test dialogue twice to try and help, and Mama, the producer, currently has her head down on the table. 

“Alright Chicane, who’s next?” She groans as she sits up. 

“Barclay Jones.”

Stern remembers his audition tape; for an actor with zero screen experience, he’s quite compelling on camera. Easy on the eyes, too. 

Boyd ushers the other man in. He’s even taller in person, which Stern isn’t expecting. Having to look up during this scene will be novel. 

“Lovely to make your acquaintance, dear boy.” Ned stands, shaking Barclay’s hand. 

“Uh, same to you. Mr. Chicane. It’s a huge honor to even get here.” The baritone is soft, nerves obvious.

“Now now Barclay, flattery will only get you somewhere.” Ned winks, turns to the table, “this is Kirby, our head writer, and Madeline Cobb, one of the top producers at Amnesty Studios. And of course, you know Joseph Stern.”

Barclay looks at him and his brown eyes go wide, “Holy shit. Uh, sorry, yeah, I mean, everyone does. I had no idea I’d be reading with you. I’m a huge fan. Uh, everyone probably says that don’t they?” He shakes Stern’s hand. Lord almighty, even his hands are big and strong. Stern wants to wrap himself up in that voice too.

“A lot do, yes. But it’s always nice to meet a fan, and a fellow actor at that.”

Kirby gets Barclay his pages, allows him a few minutes to read over them as Ned briefs him on the scene. 

“Now, your character and Agent X, that’s Joseph, have been working together to solve a string of mysterious disappearances in the southwest. The electricity between you two has been growing, and we’re only a scene away from you finally confessing your feelings for each other. I want to feel the tension in the air.”

They take their positions, Stern waiting for Ned’s cue to begin. 

“You almost got us killed out there!”

“Whose idea was it to try breaking into the compound without an escape route?” Rather than moving towards him like the script indicates, Barclay leans back against the provided couch, arms crossed, forcing Stern to stammer as he tries to keep the momentum of the blocking going. 

“If we’re playing that game, who got the car totaled in the first place?”

“I did because I was saving your ass, Lucky.” Barclay straightens up, but holds his ground. 

“I never asked you too.”

“Excuse me for not wanting to lose my partner.”

Goddamnit, why isn’t he moving, it’s throwing Stern off. 

“Uh, um..oh please, like you don’t see me as expendable too.”

A perfectly timed shift in facial expression, “I don’t.”

“I find that doubtful--is there a reason you’re not following the blocking?”

“Huh? Oh, uh,” Barclay tightens his hold on the script, turning to Ned, “I was reading through it, and it kinda feels like my character wants Agent X to come to him. Like, he knows Agent X kinda keeps things close to his chest, at least if your version is staying close to the books, so he wants to make him be the one to admit their shared feelings first. I thought, uh, kinda keeping me in one place and making him move would add to that balance.”

“It’s throwing the whole scene-”

“Into a new light!” Ned exclaims, “yes, I liked how that looked a great deal.”

“What? Ned, Agent X isn’t the kind to be, be, jerked around.”

“Not by most characters, but, like, think about it; when you’re really into someone but are trying to deny it, you’re often super-fucking open to them messing with you.”

“No offense, Barclay, but one of us has far more experience developing characters for the screen than the other.”

Fuck, that was uncalled for, even accounting for how exhausted and touchy he is. He should apologize. 

“Look, pretty boy, just because I don’t have a handsome face and a fucking porn-star body doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Do you think I’m coasting on my looks?”

Barclay holds up his hands, “you said it, not me.”

“Do I sense someone upset that all the hunky mountain parts passed him by because he can’t read his fucking blocking?”

“Gentlemen, please, that’s enough.” Ned waves Boyd over, “thank you so much for your time, Mr. Jones. We’ll be in touch in a few weeks.”

Barclay’s shoulders sag and he thanks them for the opportunity. Stern just thanks his lucky stars he’ll never have to see him again.

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

“You did what?!”

“I offered Barclay the part, and he accepted.”

“Lord almighty Ned, what did I do to get on your bad side?”

“Joseph” the director sets a hand on his shoulder, “I know how much this project means to you. So trust me when I say that, argument included, you and he had the best read out of all the other people we tried. If we want this movie to do well, we need him.”

“Fine. I’ll work with him. But I won’t like it.”

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

He still doesn’t like it. But even he has to admit Barclay portrays Agent A exactly as he should be. He takes direction well, is popular with the crew, and looks aggravatingly perfect in his black suit that matches Stern’s own. If he doesn’t end up a star after this comes out, Stern will eat his right arm. 

They have a lot in common, which Stern could enjoy more if they weren't constantly getting into arguments. He can’t remember what ninety percent of them are about, just that it feels necessary to have them.

They’ve been arguing a lot today, because they’re shooting the first kiss scene and it’s been fifteen takes with no success. Part of that is both of them want perfection in their craft. But the larger issue is…

“Joseph, kindly try to look like you actually want to be kissing him.” Ned massages his temples

“We all know why that’s difficult.” Stern mutters. 

“We’re actors, pretty boy, our job is to pretend.” Barclay snaps back.

“And Barclay, please make it look as if you’ve already made the decision to kiss rather than punch your partner, rather than as though you’re still torn.”

After two more failed takes, Ned calls them done for the day. Stern is pacing in his apartment near the studio when his co-star knocks on the door.

“We need to work on that scene.”

“Work is over for the day, and I just got off a phone interview with Empire. So, no, no we don't.”

“Joseph” Barclay steps into the living room, shutting the door, “look, I know things are weird between us, but you can afford to not nail every aspect of this performance. I can’t.”

“Don’t be so sure; fame is tenuous even for the best of us.”

“Think of yourself pretty highly, pretty boy?”

“No! And stop taking everything I say as being about me. I...I don’t even think I’m that good. Not compared to some people out there. I can’t even get a fucking kiss right.” He cards his fingers through his hair. 

“Neither can I. And I’ve had less practice. Uh, on camera, that is. I’m just so fucking nervous this’ll go wrong and I’ll blow my once chance at being in movies. So for both our sakes can we just fucking try to get this right?”

Stern holds his finger up, “One hour. Then I’m taking a bath and going to bed.”

Barclay sighs, the one he always makes when Stern reacts in a way other than what he hoped for, “Okay.”

They hit the midway point twice, working through some hiccups in tone, Barclay taking his suggestions and Stern following Barclays lead several times. Then they come to the kiss. 

“Damn it” Stern pulls away, “that didn’t feel right either.”

“No shit.” Barclay steps out of his embrace, “it’s because you kiss like you’re scared of something.”

“My kissing is not the problem here.”

“What, you think it’s mine?”

“It’s like kissing tap water; flat and boring.”

“Take that back.” Barclay growls. 

“Make me.”

Another growl, so feral Stern’s neck prickles, and then Barclay grabs him, kissing him like he’s trying to smother him, large hands cupping his face and tongue shoving between his lips. Not to be outdone, Stern grips the back of his neck with one hand and his auburn hair with the other, as if he could force them closer than they are. 

“That brave enough for you, big guy?” He bites Barclay’s ear and gets a snarl in his own in return.

“Dunno, pretty boy, am I still boring you?” Barclay slams their lips together as Stern tries pulling him closer. What he manages to do instead is send himself backwards over the edge of the couch and onto the waiting cushions. 

“Shit, Joseph, are you okayAhnngmph” He’s on his feet before Barclay finishes the question, lunging into another kiss, the pair shoving and spinning, and groping their way down the hall to the bedroom. 

Barclay moans exactly the way he hoped when he bites his bare chest, shirt hitting the nearby chair along with Stern’s. Stern smirks up at him, savoring the sight of him panting and licking his lips, trails frantic kisses down his chest and belly, only stopping when his knees hit the floor. Barclay whimpers for the first time when he bites his hip, undoing his jeans as he sucks a hickey into it. He slips one hand into Barclay’s pants, drags it along his cock once, teasingly, before standing again. 

“I’m sure you can manage the rest, big guy.” He strips off his pants and underwear, is down to his undershirt and socks when Barclay chuckles and grabs him from behind. 

“Of course you wear fucking sock garters.” His beard tickles his neck, making him squirm in the hold. 

“I, I hate it when they fall down.”

“I don’t mind a little falling.” He shoves Stern forward onto the bed, climbing on behind him and running his fingers up his ass. 

“Fuck you look good like this, pretty boy.”

Barclay’s voice has never sounded like this; not a few moments ago, not on camera, not in Stern’s wildest fantasies. Stern is nothing if not versatile in bed, and right now he knows exactly what he wants. 

“C-condoms, bedside drawer, please.” He wiggles his ass in anticipation at the sounds of sliding wood and crinkling foil. 

Barclay pushes his legs apart, “trust me, you’re gonna need ‘em wider.”

“Someone confident about his siIIze! Fuck, oh my lord.” Stern buries his face in the nearest pillow.

“Like I said” Barclay snaps one of the garters, Stern yelping in response, “need you spread wide for me. Now what do you need, babe?” He snaps the other, slowly thrusting as he does. 

“Need, need you to fuck me, Barclay please, need it so bad.”

“Want it hard, or something else?”

“As hard as you can.” He whines, rolling his hips in hopes of speeding things up. 

“Okay.”

“FUCK! Fuckfuckfuckfuckingfuck.”

“You wanted hard, babe, so you’re getting it fucking hard.” Barclay growls as he rams into him, bed hitting the wall with enough force to chip to the paint. Stings ripple up his legs as the garters are snapped, his cock aches for attention, and he’s drooling onto the pillow. 

In other words, he’s in heaven.

Barclay digs his nails into Stern’s hips, “fuck, shit, like to say I’m gonna fuck you like this all night, babe, but I’m close already. Comes with fucking the nicest hole in town.”

“Don’t, not yet, please, fuck-” tears of pleasure well up, his brain and body awash with ecstasy at Barclay’s words, “feels so good, want to come.”

Barclay pats his head, “don’t worry pretty boy, you will. Now be good and take me while I cum.”

“Yes, yesyes, BarclayAHhnn, fuck, fuck.” He whacks his hand into the bed as Barclay’s hips jerk violently, “please.” 

A drawn-out grown as Barclay thrusts all the way in and stays there, fingers clenching and unclenching in Stern’s skin. Then one hand slides down, rubbing his cock as Barclay’s lips find his shoulders. 

“That’s it, so good, so good for me Joseph, fuck, love feeling you all wet and hard ‘cause of me, most flattering thing in the whole goddamn world. Mmmmm” he purrs, nuzzles Stern’s throat even as the smaller man desperately ruts into his palm, “fuck you’re amazing.”

Stern cums with a weak cry, collapsing onto the bed, muscles no longer interested in supporting him. A comforting weight leaves the bed, water runs in the bathroom, and Stern fights the urge to call Barclay back. 

It turns out he doesn’t have to. 

“You with me, Joseph?” Barclay rolls him over, running a washcloth over his sweaty forehead and neck.

“Yes. I, um, I, what, are we, gah it’s so hard to get my words out after sex like that.”

“Flattering.” Barclay smiles gently, kissing his cheek, “I guess, uh, what, what did that all mean to you? Were we just blowing off steam?”

“I...I don’t think so. Or it doesn’t feel like it was only that. What do you want from me, Barclay?”

“To be your friend. Or more, if you’d let me. Gotta say, I think part of the reason we kept fucking up that scene is that we do like each other lie that, but got off to such a bad start we don’t wanna admit it.”

“That about sums it up. I’ve wanted to tell you I’m sorry for awhile now but, well, pride has always been my chief sin.”

“Not lust?” Barclay bumps their noses together.

“If what we did was sinful, I’ll sin any day of the week.”

“Hate to say it, but my reason was kinda similar. I, uh, I’m always the one to apologize in life, I’m always trying to make things okay even when I’m still hurt and I just couldn’t do it this time. I didn’t want you thinking I was a pushover.”

“Mission accomplished. Lord, what duo we are.” Stern laughs. 

“Yeah. Do, uh, do you think we could try being a different kind of duo?”

“I would certainly like to try.” Stern kisses him tenderly, and the feeling of Barclay’s lips on his is so perfect, the way they fit in each other’s arms so snug that he wonders how he could have missed it for so many weeks. 

They talk in bed for hours, until Stern;s stomach rumbles and Barclay insists on making dinner. They fall asleep in bed, kissing lazily and lovingly until Barclay’s head flops into Stern’s chest. 

And in the morning, they nail their scene on the first take. 

[thiswasinevitableid]

Rockstar (Indruck)

A friend on discord, @morganeashton, requested #28 of the meet ugly list for Indruck: I’m a famous singer and you’re the new techie who just tripped and pulled the plug out of my microphone mid-concert [extra awkward if they lip sync, extra badass if they keep singing and their voice is still on point]. This is NSFW.

A peril of high quality sound equipment is that when it goes out, it’s very obvious.

The mic goes, his guitar and Dani’s bass cut out, and the effects are gone. For a moment it’s total silence as the audience watches him. 

Then he picks up exactly where he left off, notes coming as easy as breath. After a moment Jake starts up quieter than usual on the drums, giving him rhythm. By the time he finishes, the mic and instruments are back on and the applause is deafening. He smiles to himself.

He’s still got it. 

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

Duck knocks on the dressing room door. 

He’s so fucking fired.

“Come in.”

Mr. Cold is sitting at a mirror, takes note of Duck’s reflection.

“Ah, Duck, I thought it might be you. Mama said you were the one who disconnected our sound tonight.”

“Yessir. I, uh, it was an accident, I was movin somethin in a tight space and caught my foot on the cord without noticin’. I’m, uh, I’m real sorry, and, uh, I’ll, uh-”

Mr. Cold holds up his hand and Duck shuts his mouth. The singer turns, in his chair, face now free of make-up. His features still have that alien edge to them, the strange mix of young and old that’s made his attractiveness the subject of much debate. Duck knows where he falls on it; anyone who thinks Indrid Cold is anything other than sex on legs should get their eyes checked. 

That won’t help him, he knows that.

Indrid leans back in his chair, “you don’t need to plead your case to me Duck, for two reasons. One is that I’m not the one in charge of hiring or firing the road crew. That falls to Mama and Joseph completely, and if I ever tried to toss someone out for an accident they’d put me in my place very quickly. But more importantly, I’m not angry with you for what happened. Quite the opposite.”

“You...wait, really?”

Mr. Cold counts off on his fingers, “The space was small, so everyone could still hear me. There’s been rumors I’ve been using a dub, so this ought to quell them nicely, and” he looks at Duck over his trademark red glasses, smile widening, “it was unexpected, something that’s rare for me these days. When you get to this level of fame, everyone is terrified of not having a flawlessly executed plan. But that is not how the world is; it’s not how art is. So it was nice to have the chance to show everyone that the unexpected can be invigorating. Thank you for that.”

“You’re, uh, you’re welcome?”

Mr. Cold  smiles as he stands up, “you should sit down, you look like you’re about to pass out.”

“It’s fine, uh-”

The singer simply rests a hand on his shoulder and gently pushes. Duck sits. 

“Would you, ah, like a drink? The hosts here left a very nice bottle of tequila.”

“Sure.” Duck tries not to stare as he bends over to retrieve a glass and a bottle, pouring Duck a shots worth of tequila that costs more than his rent. Duck mumbles a thank you when he hands it to him, then gawps when Mr. Cold sets the bottle aside and retrieves a Capri Sun from the mini-fridge.

“I can’t stand alcohol. Used to try for the sake of fitting in but” he makes a face like a disgusted cat, “eech. One moment, I need to change.” He disappears around a corner, leaving Duck to wonder what the fuck the polite thing to do is. Mr. Cold is always polite to his crew, but he keeps to himself much of the time. Not to mention Duck’s only been with them since the tour started a month ago. 

A photo on the table catches his eye, and he scoots his chair closer to get a look.

“Was, uh, was this an alternate cover or somethin?”

“Hmm? Oh” a light laugh, “no, though you’ve got a good eye; we shot it the same day we shot the cover image for The Cryptids. That was a shot that was nixed because we looked too silly, I think Vincent had said something funny and cracked Barclay up, who set me off. I bring it with me to every show, a sort of good luck charm mixed with a reminder of where I came from.” 

From the faded photo, nineteen year old Indrid Cold smiles at him. 

“I take it you’re a long time fan, then.” Mr. Cold reappears in a pink and yellow bathrobe, the last color scheme Duck would have assumed he owned. 

“Yeah, over a decade. I, uh, I was sixteen when The Cryptids released their first album. Scraped together fifteen bucks to buy the C.D and wore the damn thing out I listened to it so much. Never heard anything like it. That’s, uh,” he scratches the back of his neck, “that’s not why I took the job, though. Mama didn’t tell me who I’d be crewin’ for until after I accepted.”

“If you’re afraid of looking like a ‘fanboy,’ don’t be. Do you know how Joseph came to be our manager?”

“Uh, story I always heard was he came backstage during a show on your first tour and offered.”

Mr. Cold chuckles, “he did. But what very few people know is that he came back in his lovingly homemade  ‘Bigfoot’s Boy’ t-shirt and a a lot of glitter--remember, that was the E.T tour so everyone was space themed--clearly having left the house with the intent of trying to get into our bassist’s pants, and instead proceeded to tell us he’d seen how our manager operated through the night and we could so better and here’s how.”

“Jesus.”

“He was remarkably intimidating in spite of the glitter and his argument was airtight. So we fired Hayes and hired him. He did eventually bang our bassist, but that was perhaps obvious.”

“Given that they’ve been married for like five years, yeah. Still can’t believe Barclay went from beiin a rockstar to bein’ a chef.”

“He was always an ingenious cook. He once made breakfast using nothing but the still-hot engine of a mini-van.”

“AGH, god, why?”

“We were broke and hungry and there was nowhere to buy food.”

“That’s hardcore.”

“Mostly just oily.” Mr. Cold grabs another Capri Sun, sitting down across from him, “hmm, if you were sixteen when we started, did you ever get to see us?”

Duck shakes his head, “only kinda. Y’all mainly played twenty-one plus places even after you started gettin big, then you weren’t tourin nearby. When you announced the farewell tour, my friend Juno and I drove to Richmond to hear y’all play from outside the stadium. She’s still got a picture of us from that night somewhere, all geared out, tryin to look cool enough to be there.”

“You’ll have to let me see it, so I can determine if you pass muster.” Mr. Cold teases. 

“I ask if she can send me it. Christ, I remember bein’ so fuckin bummed when y’all announced The Cryptids were disbanding, then so fuckin relieved when you said you were gonna keep makin new stuff and performin just as Indrid Cold. Your voice is fuckin amazin.”

“That’s not always the word used.”

“So you don’t sound like Bruno Mars or some pop diva, big fuckin’ deal. You sing and people listen because they ain’t ever heard anyone like you. No one in the world sounds like Indrid Cold.”

The singer gives him an odd smile, “that’s very kind of you to say.”

“Sorry, guess there’s still some fanboy hidin’ out under the roadie.” His cheeks heat up as he finishes his drink.

“I think we should both get some rest.” Mr. Cold stands, ushering him to the door, “and that we should talk again sometime. And thank you again, Duck, for your happy accident.”

‘You’re welcome, Mr. Cold.”

A famous smile that’s never stopped being weirdly captivating, “please, call me Indrid.”

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

“You sure Indrid wants me on the bus and not just to, I dunno, load it?”

“Yes indeed.” Ned, Indrid’s publicity man, gestures grandly to the open door of the tour bus, “now kindly get yourself and your bag on it so we can get a move on.”

Duck climbs aboard, awkwardly sets his bag on the carrier shelf as he nods hello to Boyd, Indrid’s driver and part time bodyguard. 

Indrid is lounging on a black couch, but sits up when he sees Duck, “ah good, you decided to join me.”

“Yep. Uh, did you ask me for a reason or?”

“I like talking with you.” Indrid cocks his head, as if puzzled by the question. Duck wants to point out that the a god of the alt scene, a musical genius, who could have anyone he wanted for company, seeming to be excited by hanging out with a roadie is a bit confusing.

Indrid, meanwhile, is shoving drawings and notes aside so Duck can sit down, “mind you, I don’t expect you entertain me or something; I’m working on some poster art right now, for that fundraiser, so if you have things you like to do on the road, you’re welcome to do them. My room is that way if you want to nap, and it has a t.v as well if you want to watch something. Oh, and we have wi-fi, of course.”

He sounds like a college kid showing off his first apartment and it wrong-foots Duck enough that he just grabs his book from the pocket of his bag.

“Thanks, uh, think I’ll read for a bit.”

Indrid grins, goes back to his drawing, pen scratching hurriedly as the bus jolts to a start and pulls onto the road. 

After awhile, Indrid glances at him and asks mildly, “what was your favorite album? Of The Cryptids, I mean, not my solo stuff.”

Duck taps the spine of the book against the table as he thinks, “I mean The Cryptids  has that whole edge by bein’ the first, because there was nothin like hearin’ your sound for the first time. But I gotta say...Unsolved. Whole thing is fuckin amazin, but your vocals on “To a Flame” still give me fuckin chills.”

“I haven’t played that song in a long time.” Indrid says softly, smiling, “it was always a favorite. I wrote it about someone I could never have.”

“You can feel it. In, uh, in the way it’s arranged, the way you sing, gives this whole feelin of someone who’s decided to love someone completely even though they’ll never be loved back.”

Indrid looks at him a moment, that same odd, small smile quirking his lips, then returns to his drawing. When the road gets bumpier, they move to a couch in the middle of the bus with a low table nearby. Duck pulls out his laptop and plugs in his headphones, pulls up Planet Earth as Indrid’s head starts drooping. Two episodes in, the singer falls asleep, flopping sideways so his head is in Duck’s lap. 

He should move him, Indrid will probably think this is weird when he wakes up. Then again, he looks so cute like this. And it’d be rude to wake him up. 

Duck’s to the episode on jungles when a slender, tan hand reaches up and plucks his left earbud out. Startled, he looks down to find Indrid putting it on and adjusting his head in Duck’s lap, clearly engrossed in the carnivorous plants onscreen.

“Do you want me to just turn the normal sound on?”

“No” Indrid murmurs sleepily, “this is perfect.”

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

Duck assumes the bus will be a one-time event, but he’s ridden with Indrid each time since. Which is why, when his phone dings, Indrid is sitting right beside him. 

“Looks like Juno found the, uh, the photo.”

“Let me see” Indrid grabs the phone from him, cackling with delight when he sees the image, “you two were really the pair of cryptozoologists, weren’t you?”

“Told you we were tryin too hard.”

“On the contrary, I love it, it’s exactly the kind of weirdness we wanted to inspire in people. And if seems you did like to collect our merch, that shirt you’re wearing was a limited run.”

“I know. I, uh, I saved up for it, way I always did if something had art of yours on it.” He slaps his hand over his mouth, embarrassed by the admission.

“That’s very sweet.” Indrid smiles at him, then lifts his glasses for a better look, “what does the collar you’re wearing say?”

“I, uh, fuck, I don’t remember, got, uh, got amnesia, collar specific amnesia, fuck, uh-”

“C, O, L...you were wearing a collar with my name on it.” Indrid’s grin takes on a hungry edge, “someone was downplaying whose fanboy he was.”

“I, I didn’t want you thinkin I was creepy, or that I was just bein nice to you because of the crush I had on you in college.”

“I don’t, I promise, though I appreciate the consideration. Here” he hands the phone back, but as Duck takes it he leans in and whispers, “but you really should wear a collar more often.”

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

“Sooooo how’s it going with Indrid?” Aubrey, Indrid’s magician opening act, sits down next to Duck at dinner.

“Good. Wait, shit, are people talkin about us?”

“Kinda? I mean, Indrid hangs out with the band, and with me, plenty, but none of us get to be on that bus. Not like I’m complaining, Dani and I have our own sweet ride.”

“There ain’t anythin goin on between us. It just...Indrid seem like he likes bein’ friends with me.”

“That’s awesome!”

“Yeah” Duck sighs, wistfully, “y’know, it’s funny. Even after I started workin here, he was still Indrid Cold in my head, the guy who sang like he was diggin down in my head, who did wild shit like kiss his male bandmates on stage, who was always so fuckin cool. And now he’s Indrid, this guy who’s kinda awkward and wears way more pink than I assumed and flaps his hands when gets excited and somehow that’s even better.”

“Awww, someone has a cruuUUshh.”

“Had, Aubrey. Had.”

“Whatever you say, Duck” she winks at him, “whatever you say.”

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

“Are these yours?”

Duck shakes himself awake. They’ve been driving all evening and well into the night, and he must have nodded off and knocked his notebook over. Which is why Indrid is now holding several sheets of loose paper.

“Shit! I mean, uh, yeah, but they ain’t anythin special.”

“I didn’t know you wrote songs.” Indrid scans the pages with a critical eye.

“Sometimes. Like I said, they ain’t anythin to make a fuss over.” 

Indrid makes a noncommittal noise and picks up a nearby guitar, tuning it, “you can go back to sleep, I’m just going to fiddle about for a bit.”

Duck lays down on the couch, and falls asleep to the sound of Indrid’s hums.

He’s shaken awake two hours later, and is thoroughly confused to find Indrid in tight black pants and silvery shirt, black boots on his feet and a deep green on his lips; that’s his stagewear, not his pajamas.

“Put on your most punk-rock outfit, and make it fast.”

He manages to get an old Cryptids t-shirt on along with black jeans that, if he does say so himself, make his ass look good, and is tugging on his boots when the bus pulls into a dusty parking lot.

“It’s the only goth/gay bar in the county.” Indrid says by way of explanation as he pulls Duck out the door, Boyd following them as Ned stays behind to watch the van (“in case we need to make a hasty retreat”).

“Wait, holy fuck, I always thought that was a myth, that you would stop at random clubs and play.”

“Not in the least, though it’s been awhile. Ooh, whoever is already playing sounds very good.” He pushes open the door, the smell of smoke and stale beer and sweat pouring over them in waves as they enter. Indrid keeps to the side of the room, holding Duck’s hand all the while, and spots the tiny merch table with “The Hornets” painted on a yellow sign on the front. 

“Wait for me here.” He kisses Duck’s cheek and disappears into the crowd. When the band finishes the song, a youngish woman waves them over to the side of the stage, strangers in the crowd turning to each other to ask what the fuck is going on.

The guitarist and lead singer reappears, giant H on their shirt,  and grabs the mic, “y’all aren’t gonna believe this, but the Hornets have just acquired a new singer and it’s gonna blow your fucking minds. Give it up for one of the gods of horror-surf, the grinning man, the mothman himself, Indrid fucking Cold!” 

The crowd screams loud enough to shake an entire coat of dust from the walls as Indrid steps on stage, beaming and waving.

“Thank you very much, Hollis. I’ve got four songs for you tonight, including something very, very new. So, without further ado” he grabs the mic, flicks his hair, “let’s prowl.”

The Hornets launch into the opening notes of “on the prowl,” the crowd cheering and hooting and singing along with so much energy that Duck can’t hear Indrid’s voice until the last verse. He claps along with everyone else as Indrid takes the mic of the stand, “and here’s one I haven’t sung in far too long.”

The bass and guitar start in a minor key, half country swing and half horror sting.

“Always on the outs, always in the dark.” Indrid shuts his eyes as he croons, “always so hungry for one little spark. Always so willing to play your game. What can I say? I’m like a moth to flame.”

Duck knows the song by heart but he’s never heard Indrid sing it live, like there was someone in the room he was hoping would hear it and know it was for them. He doesn’t breathe until the song ends; he doesn’t want to miss a single note, miss the way Indrid’s voice curls around the room as if searching for him. 

As the crowd applauds at the end, Indrid crosses to Hollis, who hands him their guitar. He loops it over his shoulder, returns the mic to the stand. 

“Now, this next song is very special, it doesn’t have an arrangement yet, so you’ll have to live with just my melodious voice.” He picks the guitar, brow furrowed in concentration, and Duck gasps. 

He knows this song, he’s just never heard it played anywhere but inside his head. Indrid sings it flawlessly, the crowd swaying in time with him, and Duck realizes he must have practiced nonstop while he was asleep. 

The short song comes to a close and he tilts his head, “what did you think?”

The audience bursts out cheering and Indrid grins, “yes, that’s about how I feel too. I can’t take credit though, it was written by a friend.”

He returns the guitar, nods to the band, and purrs into the mic, “the sun goes down and the moon comes up.”

Shit how did he know? Does he know? He can’t know.

He can’t know this is the song Duck used to jack off to. A cover of a cover, a video where Indrid growls and purrs and nearly fucks the mic as he sings. 

“You better duck, when I show up, the goo goo muck” he writhes in time with the music, “I’m a nightmare, honey, looking for some head.”

God, fuck, how could he have forgotten just how Indrid sounds when he sings this, like the monster under the bed came to life, turned out to be hot, and really wants to fuck you. Indrid is on his knees now, working the front row, dragging his free hand across his body with moans between the words.

“He must really like you, mate.”

“Gahfuck, Boyd.” Duck jumps, but doesn’t take his eyes off the stage.

“I’m just sayin’, he’s never let anyone come to one of these before. I only do because Stern’ll kill us if we let him go without some kind of backup.” Boyd pats his shoulder, heading back towards the door. 

Indrid finishes the song panting, the Hornets looking harried from keeping up with his energy. As the crowd screams and claps he bows, and hurries off the stage. In cries for an encore and the darkened house, Indrid finds him again, grabbing his hand and sprinting outside.

“God I missed doing that!” He laughs as they run, “did you have fun?”

“Fuck yeah, Indrid, fuck, you really liked my song?”

“Of course. And it seems they did too.” The bus doors close behind them, but Indrid doesn;t stop moving, “we’re both very tired, going to bed now, goodnight!” 

Duck’s about to point out he sleeps on the pullout couch, not the bed, when the bedroom door slams shut and Indrid yanks him into a kiss, tongue in his mouth and hands in his back pockets, groping him with a growl. 

When Indrid breaks the kiss, Duck’s certain he has stars in his eyes. 

“Is this alright?”

“Hell fuckin yeah it is.”

“Good” Indrid shoves him backwards onto the bed, “shirt off.”

Duck obeys, Indrid stripping his own away and tossing it on the ground. As Duck fights with his jeans, Indrid retrieves a condom and something black from a box, setting them on the bed. He notices his struggle and shakes his head as he prowls on top of him, “ah ah, we don’t have time for that.”

“Butmmmmfff” Duck gasps and moans as Indrid kisses him again, demanding and messy.

“Get them low enough for me to fuck you.” He bites Duck’s lip and sits up, wiggling his own black pants down enough to free his cock. By the time he gets them free one leg and down to his knee on the other, Indrid has the condom on.

Indrid tosses away his glasses, gives him a long once over, licking his lips, “good boy.”

Then he’s on top of him again, cock inside him and fingers tangled in his hair.

“Oh fuck, you’re soaking, god, what got you so wound up, hm?”

“You, just you, watching you, Indrid, god please fuck me.”

“Gladly, goodness, fuck, that’s it sweetheart, you take me so well.” Indrid hammers into him again and again, kissing him each time he whimpers or moans. 

Duck wraps his legs around him, manages to get his head up enough to tease his tongue along Indrid’s nipple. 

“AH! Good boy, mmmm, I knew you’d be perfect to fuck.” He adjusts so he can run his hand up Duck’s throat. There’s no pressure in the gesture, but plenty of possession.

“What do you think, shall we get you a new collar?”

“Yes, yesyesyes, Indrid, god, fuck please.”

“Oh you like that, mmm” he switches to slow, deliberate thrusts, a counterpoint to Duck’s frantically jerking hips that makes them moan in tandem, “we could get you several, would you like that? I could put them on you according to my mood and what I wanted you to be that day.”

Duck means to say yes, whines instead, grinning breathlessly when Indrid strokes his cheek.

“Good. I’d like it, too. Nnnh, god I’m close.” He stops entirely, awkwardly shifts and pulls them until he’s on his knees with Ducks ass in his lap, “but I want you to cum first.”

“I, I can try.”

“It was an order.” He reaches down, revealing the black object from earlier; a vibrating wand.

“Oh fuck yeah, fuckFUCK” his legs thrash when the vibe presses against his dick, “Indrid, sugar, ohmyfuckinggod.”

Indrid grins, wide and wanton, and turns the toy up, eyes flicking between Ducks face and cock as he cries out and bucks his hips. 

“What a good boy, getting my cock so wet” he wiggles his hips with a moan, “you feel delightful when I use this on you, perhaps tomorrow I’ll have you sit on my cock and do the same thing over and over again, edge myself with the feeling of you needy and tightening around me.”

“Indrid, fuckplease, yes, yes, fuck, I’m so fuckin close darlin, ple-fuck, ‘Drid!” He cums with groan, whole body shaking as pleasure overloads his nerves. 

The vibrator thunks to the floor as Indrid lunges forward, pinning him to the bed and fucking him hard and fast, cock thudding into him in time with his purring groans. 

“So, so good, my Duck, so very good, god, yes, yesyes” he’s moving so violently Duck is now grunting from the force of the impact, “that’s it, good boy, take what I give youAHHnnn, Duck, Duck.” His hips slow as he groans, Duck drinking in the sight of him, orgasmic and loving above him.

Indrid pulls out, condom hitting what is hopefully the trash and not his guitar case, and immediately curls around Duck, kissing his neck and face.

“Thank you, thankyouthankyou.”

Duck giggles, kisses him back, “why are you thankin me? I’m the one who just got to fuck a rockstar. You got to fuck some regular dipshit.” He bumps their foreheads together to show he’s teasing. 

“Incorrect. I got to fuck you. You, who are funny and charming and to the point, and who has taught me a remarkable amount about plants.”

“S’important to have hobbies.” Duck mumbles into his shoulder. 

“Indeed. My point is, you make me happier than I’ve been in a long, long time. And while fucking you has been on my mind has been on my mind lately, it was not actually what I planned to do first. I, ah, I” he rests his head on Duck’s shoulder, hides his face in his neck, “I wanted to ask if you wanted to be my boyfriend.”

“Hell fuckin yeah.” Duck hugs him tight as he laughs with relief, “Indrid, I wanna be with you, the real you, not the one I had the crush on all those years ago. I wanna make you happy.”

“You do that just by existing, but I have some other ideas as well.”

“Oh yeah?” Duck kisses his nose.

“Well, for starters” Indrid’s eyes gleam as he looks up at him, “how would you like to write some music with me, boyfriend?”

“I think that sounds fuckin amazin. Boyfriend.”

[ladyfl4me]

someone needs to give ned chicane (and clint) a fucking hug

every time i hear clint say that ned’s feeling like a failure, or that ned’s trying hard to pull his weight in the team, i just. oof. i want to give ned a hug, but i am also really fucking terrified - because clint is saying these things in griffin’s earshot. it’s not just subtext. he said that he bought the crépes by monica van specifically because he felt like he wasn’t pulling his weight in the pineguard; and in the actual investigation at the bar in episode 21, he took a break from the investigation because he didn’t feel like would actually be able to contribute anything, if i remember correctly.

and that hurts. ned is really doing his best. he’s trying hard to do his best. and frankly, this scares the shit out of me.

from what i understand of ned's internal struggle, he's starting to come back onto the straight and narrow thanks to the pine guard - he's caring more about the people he's working with, he's caring more about the town beyond it being just his home base and where his business is. and in the face of that, he feels helpless. at the end of the day, he's just an ordinary dude with no funky magic powers and no cool ass sword. whatever he does, in his head, isn't going to measure up to whatever duck and aubrey are capable of, and because of that, he feels like he's failed them by not meeting the same standards they've set. 

and that, as a character flaw, can be exploited really heavily by other characters. if he feels like a failure, ned will be willing to do anything to redeem himself. if he feels inadequate, he'll do whatever it takes to bring himself out of that slump and start to matter to the team - or whoever he cares about the most in the moment. like he jumps to help aubrey out right away when aubrey asks him to help convince dewey to stay away. he's starting to get willing to go to ridiculous lengths in order to "pull his weight." 

the fact that Ned, specifically, was the one who saw that rift and the eye looking through it is not a good feeling. the fact that boyd is coming back now, of all times, and asking ned to help, plying him with chances at riches and fame and the old days when they were friends, when they were a team - that is not a good feeling.

this might be a long shot. but i think that ned's going to get targeted by whatever's hunting kepler this time around, either in the course of pine guard investigation, by whatever boyd gets him into, or both. and whatever the end result is, it's not going to be pretty. i'm genuinely scared for him now.

[transagentstern]

AU prompt Request Q

So people know where i’m at!

1.  ➼ we’re both camp counsellors and our cabins are in a rivalry so we have to make out in secret

Sternclay, Anon ( I know it’s you bud)

2.  I wrote someone a love letter declaring my crush but I opened the letter with ‘dear you/beautiful/handsome’ and the letter got delivered to you instead

Dani x Aubrey x Pigeon, @actually-a-taco (wlw hell yeah)

3.  after a huge fight, we fall out of touch, but it’s our high school reunion and I don’t want to lose you again, we sit around telling spooky ghost stories and now I can’t sleep because yours was so good

and/or 

you’ve been one of my body guards for three years but I usually speak directly to your partner until one night we’re snowed in/at a safe house just the two of us

Sternclay, for @sternspatreon (we’re gonna see how i’m feelin)

4.  our teams/sororities/fraternities hate each other, but sometimes i think maybe you and i could get along if we weren’t always in competition

Jakeith, for @cqrvid (bless u for the good dynamic vibes as always)

5.  ➼ being famous isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, so after a particularly rough day, I turn to you for a hug and we’re both surprised when it leads to a kiss

Moschicane, for @gaytaako (hit me with that good good content my dude)

6.  you run the night club beside my bakery so 3/4am is the only time we see each other

Danbrey, for Rowan (I’m really looking forward to this one!)

7.  you misdial at a telephone booth and ask in a very upset voice if I can pick you up, and I don’t know why, but I ask where you are so I can pick you up

Indruck, for Rowan (gettin me with those really fitting prompts man)

8. Special Prompt for @bisexualducknewton  ned tells aubrey and duck abt boyd and they're excited to meet his boyfriend (thank u)

9.  I’ve come to your remote B&B to get away from my life so I can write my next novel and I’m having fun getting to know you and your townsfolk or I’m constantly asking you for resources on murders at the library, and you never ask me why until one day I complain that I’m having issues getting a scene right and you blurt, “oh, thank god!”

Sternclay, for @actually-a-taco YOU ARE A BLESSING IN MY FUCKING LIFE I LOVE THIS SO GODDAMN MUCH

I’ll take a couple more so if you’re still interested check out my guidelines and the prompt list i’m currently doing and shoot me an ask! thanks y’all <3

(ALSO- given the sheer volume of sternclay requests here- remember that we’re always taking new people for the sternclay discord!! ily)