He pressed himself back against the wall, stone cold on his shoulder blades, as Zilla peered through the cracks to see what was to be seen. She ducked back within a few oscillations of the light beam, blinking her eyes furiously to readjust them to the dim light of the stairwell.

“Don’t go into the light, Carol Ann,” Kepler whispered, having to clap a hand over his mouth to avoid giggling.

“So above is our way in,” Kepler mused, trying to think fast. Any struggle would risk damaging the lens. They were also on a schedule, because the Rocket op was going to go down with or without this light being off.

“We would have to be quick, but Hagakure can shadow sneak in,” he said, drawing a line in the air with one fingertip. “If she can make it in one rotation of the light, she can take the thing out.” But that was putting a lot of eggs in one basket. Plus, they didn’t know exactly how much room they were working with and, again, he really didn’t want to damage the lens.

“I really wish I had teleport right about now,” he said, frowning into the low light. “But I think it's our best shot. If it messes up we send in your bird. Deal?”

Hagakure lowered her point to the stone, preparing to shift into shadow.

Zilla Dumay
MISSION

☉

File that under habits he didn’t know he had: Kepler sought Ash’s body heat like a cat, or, perhaps more appropriately, a heat-seeking missile. Nigh on a quarter of a century of touch starvation meets one night of the first positive physical contact he’s ever had and he’s already addicted.

“You’re so warm,” he confesses, as though it’s the simplest thing in the world. Ash threads their fingers together and Kepler is once again in awe at how perfectly they fit: substrate binding into an enzyme, electrons cascading brightly back to ground state.

And maybe he doesn’t know the right things to say, especially when his brain keeps tying itself up into knots (even more so than usual) and his words come out convoluted and akimbo to what he really means. But what he lacks in linguistic talent he makes up for in a sheer inability to control his physical responses; so when Ash says you’re smitten with me his response, instead of saying yeah, duh, is to somehow nestle closer, a proton and its neutron, so intrinsically entwined that the only thing that could pull them apart required enough power to wipe all of Sootopolis off the map.

“Good,” he says into Ash’s collarbones, relief flooding through him at the simple admission because his legs are still shaking through everything that’s gone on and he certainly couldn’t handle the rug being pulled out from underneath him right now: he’d fall and shatter to pieces.

More heat floods his cheeks as Ash explains the pocky traditions to him. He slides one out of the box, other hand still entangled with Ash’s. “If I like it, then, yeah.” Because he is still nothing if not practical.

He takes a bite and considers, for a bit. “It’s not bad. It’s not as sugary as I was expecting.” Any lack of sweetness is quickly stolen away by Ash leaning in for a kiss, and Kepler can’t help but chase his mouth back a bit.

“Or we could just kiss,” he says, rolling over to pursue the topic, “that sounds even better.”

It was absolutely absurd, how dizzy and dreamlike he felt; like he’d been in absolute free-fall for the past twelve hours. Kepler’d never been a big believer in the L-word, but he was certainly feeling… something, that was for sure.

After a bit, he broke away.

“At a minimum,” he confirmed, the thought of leaving filling him with a heavy dread.

Ashley Shepard

☉

Mars finds whatever it is he’s said humorous and Kepler fights the urge to roll his eyes. He’s still full of a burgeoning resentment at getting his face manhandled by a certain shadowy cephalopod.

“Don’t you find that our ever-changing reality really enjoys challenging the bounds of reason?” he shoots back without missing a beat.

Not everyone has super powers. Shut up.

“Not be here, in any sense of the word,” Kepler says, bringing the cup full of watered-down amaretto to his lips. “Not at this party, not in this timeline, in this universe. Somewhere where none of this has to happen.”

He licks his lips, looking back out at the dance floor.

“But it’s Schrodinger’s dimensional analysis. If I possessed the ability to not be here then it would be assumed that I also had the technology to make the meteor not be here and, ergo, the region is both dead and alive until you open the box.”

Martín del Mar
we stan a genderfluid monarch

☉

Maybe the important part was that Isaac didn’t set out to be a hero, but chose to be, instead. Like, you know, maybe the real adventure was the friends we made along the way?

Regardless, Kepler valued one thing above all others: his own life. Which meant that Isaac, having played an intricate part in Kepler keeping his own life, was elevated to hero status, whether the blonde wanted it or not.

“I’ve never built a pillow fort before,” he confessed, resting his chin in his hand and thinking through the metrics. “Though it doesn't sound too tricky. I made a blueprint for a space base on the moon-- couldn’t be much harder than that.” Well, in honesty, the architect in his group had done the blueprint-- Kepler’s simply done the math. No less integral, just less drawing.

He settles into his seat to listen to Isaac finally tell the Mew-Man story. He has a lot of questions. Screaming metal deathtrap? Hoenn News Network? What the fuck?

“Wow, that sounds completely improbable,” Kepler said, in true Kepler fashion. “Like… like you ever watch those monster hunting shows on the Discovery Channel? It sounds like something fresh off one of those.” He realized belatedly that he was coming across a little bit harsh. “I totally believe you, though,” he adds, as an afterthought, before realizing, again belatedly, that he sounds super fake. “I do.”

Ash came at it from a different angle, waxing poetic about how cool is was for Isaac to have met a cryptid and escaped with his life.

“Have you tried getting a hobby?” he asked, unable to fight back the snark that was slowly bubbling to the surface the more comfortable he became. “Like… hiking. Or something other than cooking. To combat the stir craziness? You don’t need to sign your life away in order to enjoy doing things.”

He slid down onto the couch proper, still folded up on himself. “I joined with with no qualms and no hesitations and I still don’t have any. But even I can see that it’s easier to get in than out.”

Isaac Merlo Ashley Shepard
he's such a dick im sorry

☉

‘Some time later’ was an apt way to describe the passage of time say, during, a nap, or perhaps, on a grander scale, the mediocre years of middle-agedhood one falls into on the path to death.

Definitely not how Kepler would describe the best night of his life, but then again, he’s a scientist, and the devil is usually in the details.

Kepler doesn’t have a sleep schedule. He works long hours, survives on caffeine and peach-flavored sucrose, crashes when his forehead hits his worktable after another failed experiment. And even this night couldn’t have been long-- they’d been busy for the majority of it-- but he wakes up feeling more refreshed than he has since… ever.

Maybe this was the missing piece? Maybe the secret to great sleep was great sex? Or, you know, just sex, in general, since, he’d never had any before.

There’s a brief moment of discord when Ash leaves the bed where Kepler makes grabby hands at him in a half-awake state before eventually realizing Ash is already up and awake. His consolation prize is sliding into the spot on the bed that was once-- once his boyfriend’s-- and burying his face in the pillows that still smell so strongly of him.

He wakes up quickly after that because the stunning realization sets in that he’s not in his lab and he freezes, like a rabbit, breathing shallowly for a few seconds before his brain re-asserts itself. It’s okay, it’s okay, we’re safe. We’re better than safe.

Pushing the covers back with a stretch and a yawn, he sleepily stomps out to the living space, where he welcomes the soft familiarity of the couch as he crawls like a cat back into Ashley’s lap. “That sounds atrocious,” he says, head on Ash’s chest, content to fall asleep again. Then he realizes what he’s said and his eyes flash open. “I mean, comparatively. To what we did. I mean, to what ours was.” His cheeks spike red as he rolls onto his back to back and scooches up to examine the-- the pocky? Was that what Ash had called this?

“Yeah, it was-- fantastic. That even sounds like a bit of an understatement. It was incredible and I don’t think I’ll ever need another one. First date, I mean.”

Ash kissed the new color rising in his cheeks. Kepler wished he could just say what he meant without sounding utterly ridiculous. Maybe he never had been able to.

“Is this… candy?” he asks, catching Ash’s hand with the pocky stick and examining them closely.

Ashley Shepard

☉

[attr="class","top"]

She'd brought a baseball bat studded with nails to fight ghosts. It was commendable, and badass, though not entirely practical. But Kepler'd designed lectures on quantum mechanics; he was in no position to comment on the praticality of anything.

He barely restrained himself from parroting her words back at her, pitched up and whining. Don't mouth off to the people carrying blunt instruments studded with metal spikes was a survival instinct that was frequently underestimated.

"Pokemon causing trouble," he said, selecting a different part of her proclamation, instead, and reading it out like it were an instruction manual, "ergo, ghosts." He didn't know any other types that liked to fuck around quite as much.

He pinged the keycard off the reader and the door locks opened with a pneumatic hiss. Ruby blundered right past him, and he suppressed a roll of his eyes, following her into the dark lobby. It was tall and spacious, with large floor to ceiling windows, tiled floors coated in dust, and a circular receptionist's station that protected a series of branching hallways from interlopers.

Kepler squinted into the dark, trying to read the hallway signs and see which one pointed him towards the control room, or the lab, or something like that.

The intercom beeped-- long, low, steady, like someone was leaning on the button. Kepler jumped.

It went on for about ten seconds and then faded.

"Perfectly logical reasoning for that," he said, more for Ruby's sake than his own, finally finding the hallway that read --> SYSTEMS & SECURITY, "if there's power for the door locks there's going to be power for the intercom system."

And he struck off down the hallway.

Ruby Garcia
set just pre-PAAA
wearing

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

He has a boyfriend.

And his boyfriend is-- into him?! Hello?! Holy shit?!

His head is spinning and he doesn’t know up from down and the next thing he realizes is Ash is pulling him into his lap, hands around his waist and then sliding along the outside of his hips, thumbs over his midsection.

He’s not a human being anymore. He’s electricity. He’s-- he’s what broke the law of conservation of energy. He has created something new, right here, within himself.

Ash says it’s okay and then they’re kissing again, Kepler tentative and fumbling and Ash sure and confident.

“I’m not scared,” he whispers into the curve of Ash’s mouth, “not with you.”

Ashley Shepard

☉

It takes every ounce of control in Kepler’s body to not run at a dead sprint to Ash’s apartment. He should honestly win a fucking medal. Hand in hand, it’s a quiet, slightly frantic scramble, to the walk, to the door, to the elevator, to the next door.

Kepler thinks he would destroy all the doors in the world.

He doesn’t need to be told twice when Ash tells him to ditch the candy. He drops it on the table with little fanfare, stumbling across the living room as he struggles to kick his shoes off, not entirely sure what he’s excited for, but knowing he’s excited.

He watches Mercury disappear into a room with Ash’s Scorbunny and he freezes for a moment because he hasn’t gone without his bodyguard since--

Ash’s voice startles him out of his stupor before he can do what he normally does, which is think himself to death. He lets himself be guided down on the couch, and sits, rigid, nervous.

“Yes,” he says, and it sounds a little robotic, even to him; but then Ash takes his hat off and says get along little doggy and Kepler is laughing, tension melting from him, the joke serving its purpose. “It was cute, though. But I guess everything has its place.”

He tilts his head, gaze jumping from Ashley’s lips to his chest and then away.

“I would like that. The-- the ‘just the two of us’ thing. But… I have no idea what I’m doing and for all that it seems like I am, I’m really not used to that.” He smiles, apologetic. “I haven’t even had a friend until-- until now.”

Oh, god, was he babbling? He was babbling, wasn’t he. Welp. He was already here.

“Also, we might die in a few weeks and I would really like to not do so a virgin.”

It comes out in a rush.

"S-sorry. That was very forward. I'm an idiot."

Ashley Shepard

☉

Kepler is on fire. Kepler is made of light and sound and he has forgotten how to think. Is this what Rocket wants of him? Is this what they request? Where he becomes so singularly focused on their goals that his brain shuts off (something he long postulated as impossible?) Because it’s happening.

He can hear Ruby Garcia cursing him out but he pays her no mind. She’s a bodyguard, right? So her job is to guard his body and she can do that however she sees fit and in whatever mood or state so long as she does it. Like a gaseous constant: the identity does not matter, only the presence.

The temperature drops on his reticules (he can’t feel it, he’s in a pressurized space suit) and sends the meters spiraling as stalagmites thrust up from the meteor’s surface. Andraste either weaves around them or raises up to simply pass through them, the ephemeral wisp of her tail refracting the light of stars off the crystalline ice structures.

There’s a thunder of something falling in his audio caches and that must mean they’re close enough to the planet for wisps of atmosphere to catch and reverberate sound. Which is not a good thing.

Flashes of blue light up his thermo reticule again. A layer of frost crystallizes on his space-suit facemask before he wipes it away. A second later and the whole meteor shakes-- then the field of ice erupts and shatters into a million pieces, clearing the path ahead. “Good fucking job, whoever that was!” he calls, still clinging to Andraste’s head fins like she’s a hog motorcycle and he’s a retired 65 year old white man with a fumanchu.

Like a dirty window being wiped clean, some of the rock beneath the mineral vein dissipates, revealing much more of the substance beneath the surface of the meteor. Once they’re there, Andraste slows, and Kepler lets his feet fall to the stony surface (a slightly slowed descent due to the lack of gravity). He keeps one hand on her head fins, flattening the palm of his free hand towards the mineral to make sure he’s catching it all on camera.

His knees knock together and for a second he thinks it’s because he’s shaking-- but it’s just the ground, as something causes more of the meteor’s crust to fracture and split away (it’s Lulu Flint ’s Metagross bouncing off of Eva Morales ’s protect) revealing more of the mineral deposit. “Is-- is the whole rock made of this stuff?” Kepler muses over the comms.

Scattered stray beams of origin pulse hit the ground around him as he draws ever closer to the original mineral deposit, though it seems the Hoopa’s interference has lessened the threat, however slightly. There’s so much going on, though, that he doesn’t really notice them.

A huge boom rocks his audiofeed, barking static and making him wince, as Killian Decker ’s Minior fucking detonates in the middle of the battle.

Kepler watches the crack, the fissure, split through the mineral, almost thinking it's his imagination, at first; but no, it’s definitely there, it’s growing.

The meteor shakes again and there’s a flurry of shocked communications over the lines, causing Kepler to turn to see what the fuck everyone is on about--

“Holy fucking shit.”

In regular illuminati type fashion the triangular shaped rock formation he had originally landed near splits open, birthing--

“Oh, my god, you have got to be fucking kidding me!” Kepler whines into his helmet. “I was just there!”

The glimmering alien takes flight. Kepler feels this is all very unfair. Hasn’t he done everything asked of him? Didn’t he make it through the spaceflight unscathed? Now he’s by this shitty fucking clump of useless gemstone while the amazing feat of-- of whatever the fuck this Deoxys is made of is over where he started.

oscar clayton ’s scream spat warped static into his helmet and Kepler winced, eyes jerking to look for his hero the engineer, assuming he was injured. No, he was there, and he was fine--

--”Shit!”

The meteor beam is eye-achingly bright in the darkness of space. Kepler squeals rather embarrassingly as he scrambles to jump over the mineral deposit, hoping to hide in the carved space where the meteor rock had once been-- ideally banking on it being able to withstand the attack from the creature it birthed. Andraste slips around the gems to hide as well, flattening her fins to the meteor’s surface.

Nestled there, Kepler turtles, like the good parasite he is.

DshK0_i8

Ruby Garcia Cain Toman
subtags:
Killian Decker oscar clayton Eva Morales Lulu Flint skyler dross kyle lopez

tl;dr
kepler arrives at the deposit. he somehow manages to not get hit by all the crossfire.
wonders if the whole rock is made of this stuff?
sees the crack forming
is REALLY PISSED OFF THAT ALL THE COOL SHIT SEEMS TO HAPPEN AFTER HE'S ALREADY MOVED THE FUCK ON
wonders if oscar is okay
when the deoxys uses meteor beam he jumps to the other side of the mineral to hide in its shadow (i think where kyle's hoopa tried to drop it into a pocket and removed the stone?)
using x1 salac to not get vaporized

dragapult hides with him

He expects Ashley to pull away and for them to continue walking. Maybe for a clever comment and a smile and they would go on about their night.

But instead…

“Yeah,” he says-- in agreement, at first, because Ash is right and he can’t say he hasn’t been kissed anymore. It’s kind of a sigh, a little bit dreamy. Then, again, with more force, more insistence: “Yeah,” when Ash suggests they could do that again.

Then, finally, “Yes.” Squeezing Ash’s hand and nodding vehemently.

Ashley Shepard

☉

Ash reminds him that he’s not really had a family before and Kepler frowns, irritated at himself for, somehow, continuing to harp on that fact. He doesn’t mean to do it.

“My parents didn’t believe in trick-or-treating,” Kepler confesses, as though that fact, in any way, shape or form, might equal out, might balance. Great, now he just felt stupid.

“None,” he says, trying not to let his self-frustration show in his tone, “I’ve been on none trick-or-treat dates. I’ve been on zero dates, in total.” He looks up at Ash. “Well, one, now.”

Was it, also, the best one of his life, by sheer virtue of being his only? Yes. Absolutely yes.

Was it continuing to get better? Yes. Absolutely yes.

Ash pulled him to a stop as the rabbits continued on a little further ahead. Kepler’s entire body was just-- just nerves, that’s all he was, a single, flickering bulb beaming fit to beat the moon. He lets Ash tip his face back and his eyes focus in on Ash’s silver ones as their faces draw even closer together.

At the last second, he tries to panic, but it’s too late and Ash is kissing him and holy shit. His eyes half-close, he forgets to breathe; It’s only a second, only the briefest touch, a preliminary trial, an exploration, a run through of the calculations to make sure the delta-G isn’t going to blow them all sky-high and then Ash pulls back.

Kepler is stunned.

Somehow, his brain works again, and it says the stupidest shit:

“I have done that none times before, too.”

It’s barely a whisper. He fights the urge to bring his fingertips to his lips, to chase the feeling. He looks moonstruck. He is moonstruck.

Ashley Shepard

☉

KKepler sighs, a forced, measured exhale that is both a grounding attempt to keep his feet underneath him and a survival mechanism to mind his sharp teeth. Be polite.

“I could be convinced to play nice,” he said, instead of what he wanted to say, which was a liturgy of impudent remarks about hows Mars shouldn’t try to be as smart as him, actually.

He doesn’t understand the man but that’s not saying much. Kepler doesn’t understand people, in general. There’s no mathematical formula for them. You can’t make assumptions like you can with numbers.

Case in point: Mars’ next question catches him off guard. He looks up at the underboss, a little bit suspiciously, then back down across the floor at the gaggle of people intermingling in costume.

“Anything at all?” he asked. “Or anything within the bounds of reason? Is jumping to a timeline where the meteor doesn’t exist out of the question?”

Martín del Mar
we stan a genderfluid monarch

☉