WIP Wednesday
I was tagged by the lovely @dear-massacre <3
I recently finished this part of my fic for the CollaBang. It's an AU of And Then There Were None. Derek is caught a bit between a rock and hard place at the moment, but he's going to make the best out of what he can.
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The twisting of his nerves subsided as he watched Stiles’ breaths even out. His body ached with the fear he wouldn’t get another chance like it again. Maybe that was why he suggested it. Maybe Derek would make it home and maybe he wouldn’t. If he didn’t, then this would bring him enough peace to last the rest of his life. If he did and he didn’t have at least one chance to listen to Stiles breathing beside him, he’d regret it.
He squeezed the blankets tightly as the bitter taste filled his mouth. Neither were options he would be entirely pleased with. He didn’t want to die there and he didn’t want to leave knowing someone else who touched him would be torn away too soon. The air caught in his throat on the exhale. Two people couldn’t survive; not according to the poem. Even if more than one person was going home, who could guarantee it would be him and Stiles? There were too many things to go wrong that plagued his mind, dragging Derek away from sleep.
The ocean was receding, the rain had stopped, there was nothing else to focus on to lure him into a false sense of peace. The faces of his family ran through his mind. Were they wondering what happened to him? He did tell them he was going out of town, but were they worried? No communication, no known location. Was Cora making new friends? Was Laura keeping busy? Were his parents keeping Peter in line? Did his parents tell his sisters he was going? He didn’t text his sisters. Did any of them magically know they may lose their son or brother at any minute?
A heavy exhale made Derek open his eyes. Stiles had turned onto his back and his arm was outstretched, as if to hold Derek’s hand.
Did the sheriff worry about Stiles? He didn’t mention his mother. Were they close? Was she alive? The sheriff had to be busy, would he notice if Stiles was gone longer than the weekend? The boat depended on the weather and if it stormed on Monday, when would they leave? Derek heaved a sigh. Professional overthinker. He missed the radio. He would fall asleep to anything if it would get him to stop torturing himself. Any one hit wonder from the eighties or even Call Me Maybe were better than silence.
But he still didn’t yearn for his own bed. He moved closer to Stiles, careful not to awaken him, and laid his head over Stiles’ heart. The rhythmic beats were enough. They were better than the radio; something Derek feared he wouldn’t have a chance to get used to.
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I tag anyone who would like to participate!
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It always seems like such a good idea in the moment (Patreon)
The first four are in reference to a great idea I had of - since I’ve finished my lower-limit page number testing for making books; shorter fics take up less page space, and just increasing the font size isn’t as handsome! - simply making a mini book! All it would take would be to halve the pages again, right? Just cut them right down the middle! Easy peasy!
As I’m sure you can tell by the second, no. Not easy peasy. Difficult painful un-fun >:(
Obviously I still did it tho! What do you take me for, someone who could have the idea of an even tinier book and then not do something about it?? No
It’s also the only one so far to have a paper bookmark rather than a ribbon!
All told it’s a bit smaller than your average manga (I love the monochrome covers on these under their dust jackets haha <3) - you can see even with effectively doubling up the pages by halving their size, it was still very small-spined!
A quick shot while it was still being made hehe ♪ It’s Out! Paired here - and the earlier one, just without its dust jacket haha - with my Zarla SC2 collection (ft. Family, Negotiations are Going...Well, and With No Obligation) - I absolutely kicked myself after the fact for not including Out as the run-up to everything, I was really trying to make a full collection in probably-chronological order! Out would’ve been a perfect start! And it only would’ve taken like four pages!!
Ah well, it was still quite a learning experience - I probably wouldn’t make another standalone of under 4k-ish just for formatting reasons but I did get some good ideas of how to do so if I wanted to! Although, my next project is going to be even more of a formatting nightmare........I’ll get there when I get there! Lol
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The Tenno holds no memory of who or what suggested he pay Cetus a visit. Were he the sort to gamble, he may have begrudgingly placed his credits upon the Lotus, who remains ever eager to tug his strings one way or another across the stars. The particulars of this memory escape him, as so many others do, and it is only when he is attending to his weapons in orbit of Venus does the thought of passing nearby Earth even occur to him.
Conferring with Ordis confirms that his docket, nebulous as it has been these past days, could certainly allow him a detour from wherever it is duty takes him next. The Tenno considers it while he oils the barrel of the Vectis he's taken to lately. Slowly, slowly, his ship crosses into Venusian night.
New Loka can wait. The thought of dealing with the Perrin Sequence agitates him more than he thinks he can bear. Of the Red Veil, he remains uncertain and uneager for rendezvous, overdue as it may be. So, the matter is settled.
"Set a course," the Tenno says aloud in a ship near silent as a grave, and he prepares himself for planetfall.
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The very last thing he takes note of is the smell of it all.
Fondness for Earth is more instinct than anything. It is the home he cannot fully recall, the mother he knows only through hearsay and missives and histories available to him only by other accounts. Its atmosphere is bruised with toxins yet to heal, ugly whorls that, he is told, once existed only in cautionary tales well before planetary invasion was ever a possibility. That the planet is now infested by Grineer boils something deep within the Tenno, hateful without truly knowing why. This, too, is an instinct so deep it may as well be primal, and as the orbiter peels beneath atmosphere and crosses before the face of a singular, tremendous tower of suspiciously Orokin design, he prepares himself for the worst.
He hears the ocean before he disembarks. He hears other things, too: the barking of people from across the settlement, the shriek and laughter unmistakably belonging to children no older than he himself once was before the Void cracked he and so many others open. The Saryn he commands this day, jet black and indomitable in combat, barely makes it off the landing pier before he is rushed by young faces - young human faces, who babble excitedly at him in a language he does not recognize. And when they are chased off, herded by an older woman built like a barrel, thick in the middle with arms that look as though they could bend steel, the Tenno can only stare. Dark smears of blue enshroud bright, steely eyes, as well as a brow the Tenno only belatedly realized is arched, unimpressed.
She lifts a meaty, beckoning hand, and then she is gone, swallowed by the course of natives and travelers both that pour into Cetus.
Outside his consciousness, the Tenno hears Ordis chirp, "Oh, doesn't this seem like fun?"
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The sight of other Tenno has long since ceased to fill him with wonder. Not that it really ever did after the first few encounters: the novelty of their misfortune and the realization that it is shared lost its luster quickly enough, and when he crosses them in the field or upon the relays, he himself tends to keep his distance.
Here, they are impossible to avoid. It is a far cry from the clinical cleanliness of the relays, with their broad bulkheads and pristine corridors. Here, the ocean itself is drowned out by more chatter than the Tenno can remember hearing in his life; here, the narrow passages between tables and stalls and craftsmen hunkered down on small, rough-spun rugs are teeming with Warframes and people alike. Someone cries out about knives and dashes of viridian, cerulean, the colors to make the eyes of a lover shine bright and brilliant. Another hoists a sliver of some sort of flesh for the Tenno to presumably appreciate, though the color of it is immediately off putting. People in bloodied aprons cry over people with sharp blades, and then the people with pottery and stoneware and small jeweled keepsakes join in the cacophony, loud as seabirds, louder than the sea itself.
It is alive in a way the Tenno cannot immediately parse. This small settlement persists at the very edge of a world that, for all the galaxy knows, no longer welcomes them. Yet still they smile and laugh and raise their hands to greet the metal-and-curse beings that mill amongst them, weapons of war with weapons of war strapped to their spines. Yet still they live.
It is unlike anything he can remember. It is too noisy and too wet and there is a smell, he realizes, of salt and animal blood and sweat and strange fruits and hearth-fire, a bouquet so strong compared to the sanitized and recycled nothing of his vessel that he genuinely fears it will imprint upon and stain his senses permanently, that anything and everything forever more shall be overpowered by the smell of Cetus.
Another Tenno, cloaked in the form of a Rhino, gently buffets him aside. He tracks their form to a narrow stall near the center of the thickest part of the markets, where a young human is masked in the crude but unmistakable affectation of a Trinity. Behind them, rows of other masks are loosely hung upon a rack, where the Tenno can recognize Volts and Mags and something else, bulbous about the brow like some deep sea fish. The Rhino gestures, says something the Tenno cannot hear, something that makes the young stall-keeper laugh bright and loud and shameless.
There are worse smells, the Tenno decides then, watching small, delicate things pass between hands both living and false. The Rhino holds a Volt mask with care, as though it were still a living thing and not just carved from formerly living things. There are worse smells, the Tenno decides, than salt and sea and life.
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