#He would burn everything at the grill. Half-bad luck and half distracted by work calls

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Obsessed with how pathetic you make Jim Guangyao look. The hat. I love it.

Don't let the smile and sweet words fool you, Jim Guangyao has lost everything in the divorce, and continues to lose.

[bangtansbun]

Peaches || Jeongguk

pairing: Jeongguk x f.reader

genre: fluff, smut

summary: you’re in your third year of college, a criminology major and music minor, and you’re still harboring (maybe even nurturing) a crush that you’ve had on a classmate since your first year. You’d seen him around campus, even had gen. eds. with him, but this semester he’s in your chorus class. He’s sat next to you in the tenor section and he just won’t stop calling you “peaches”

word count: 5,239

warnings: slow burn, massive pining crush, perverse thoughts, thigh riding, slight mentions of marking, dirty talk, praise, nipple stimulation, fingering, protected sex, cursing, vague description of squirting, details of JK’s pretty cock, this is kinda soft because he’s a sweet boy

a/n: kadjlaksdjlkj parts of this are literally based off of my high school crush

You’ve finished your first class of the day, Criminal Psychology, and you’re headed to your chorus class now. It’s across campus so you’re moving fast, but also trying to enjoy the walk since it’s flurrying outside and you’re excited for the snowy weather.

You’re hoping you have some good classmates this year, the boys in your Chorus 1 class last year were a nightmare and always pissed off your instructor. You’re okay with a little bit of fun in the class, but not to the point where you’re whipping around in your chair to tell the ignorant boy to “shut the hell up” in front of everyone.

You walk into the room and find your usual seat in the soprano 2 section (even though you knew you many not have that exact seat once your instructor decides where you would blend best). A few of your chorus friends from last year make their way into class too, and you make sure to say hi to all of them. 

Then, he walks in.

You’d seen this cutie around campus since last year and had one- no, maybe two gen. ed. classes with him. He had down the goofy, boy-ish charm that had you absolutely swooning and now your heart is starting to thrum in your chest.

He moves to sit in the tenor section which is conveniently placed next to yours. You’re hoping to GOD that you don’t end up sitting directly next to him because there’s no way he won’t notice that your body is already vibrating at a high frequency.

After everyone is accounted for in the class, your instructor begins to ask everyone to go around and introduce them self – your name, major, and preferred section. It moves through the circle and you learn that the cute boy’s name is Jeongguk and he has a smile that’s both sexy and adorable. How does that even work?

It comes around to you and you dutifully answer: y/n, criminology major, and soprano 2. Before the next person can go, Jeongguk looks right at you and says “hey, peaches” with a smirk. His eyes crinkling at the corners, and you realize he’s referring to the peach colored Northface jacket you’re wearing.

Unfortunately, this causes a blush to cover your cheeks, about the same color as your jacket. All eyes on you. You duck your head and give a curt smile, signaling for the next person to go.

Everything else goes smoothly from that point on, that is, until seat placements are made. Of course, as fate would have it, your instructor places you on the edge of your section, right next to Jeongguk. Your voice apparently blends well with his.

You all take your seats and you make sure to hold your breath when he takes his next to you. Immediately, you notice his cologne. Probably Axe Body Spray, but he still smells good nonetheless, and you’re forcefully having to restrain yourself from rolling your eyes into the back of your head. WHAT is wrong with me?? 

He flashes his charming grin at you as he places his hands on his thighs, rubbing them up and down.

Oh god those thighs-

Stop, stop being such a perv

“’Sup peaches?” You want to be annoyed that he already has a nickname for you, but you can’t help but feel tingly all over when the word graces across his lips. You shake your head slightly, realizing your staring a bit. “Hi, Jeongguk,” you say while avoiding eye-contact now because you don’t know if you’ll be able to break your eyes away from him again. “Ahh, just call me Gguk,” he says this as he ruffles your hair a bit.

Your eyes go wide at the touch, “Oh- I- okay,” is all you can muster, and he chuckles at you. Running his hand through his dark brown hair, “this is gonna  be a fun semester, y/n.”

That’s it. You’re dead meat. You won’t make it the whole semester.

Your thoughts the entire rest of the day were filled with his melodic laugh, his enticing voice, his muscular thighs, and the cute dimples that occasionally made an appearance when he blessed you with his bunny-like smile.

You felt like you were back in high school. Who has a crush this intense anymore? It had your hormones racing, images of his large hands on your hips and his pink lips on your neck as you ride his thig- JESUS CHRIST, I think I need church.

You roll over in your twin bed, groaning, and bring your covers up over your head in an attempt to snuff out the fire that was trying to burn its way through you. You needed to go to sleep and focus on the important major classes you would have for the rest of the week (and certainly not about the one other chorus class you would have with a certain flirtatious boy).

The week flew by without a hitch, but then again, it was only syllabus week so you couldn’t really expect it to be too bad anyway. Except, you had one more class with the boy who had you flustered and fumbling over your words after one conversation.

This time you would have a plan. You’d busy yourself by talking to your friends from last semester, some other soprano 2′s that sat in your section, until it comes time to pull out your sheet music. That should work, right?

Well, that’s what you thought anyway. And it had been going to plan, until he tapped you on your shoulder to get your attention. I mean you couldn’t outright  ignore him, could you? So, to your dismay, you turn around to take in his light wash jeans and blue turtleneck sweater.

He looked so boyfriend it physically hurt.

He was sitting down in his chair and pointing with his thumb to the big windows behind you, where you could see the snow covered ground and more flakes falling. “Wanna go play with me in the snow?” He had to be kidding right? You couldn’t skip class, but also, why would he want you to go play with him? Out in the snow, that is.

His question had you blinking and stuttering, all while he had a cheeky smile on his face, like he knew what he was doing to you. He just chuckled to himself and turned back in his seat, grabbing his sheet music, and clearly not expecting an answer. What were you supposed to say to that anyway? Holy fuck this boy was wild. 

“Gguk is so flirting with you,” you heard from your right side. “Wh-what?” your eyes looking back at your friend. “Oh come on, y/n, you aren’t that dense, are you? Why else would a boy give you a nickname and purposely make you turn  into an idiot in his presence?” Oh my god. “Is it that obvious?” You smacked your palm into your forehead. She simply nodded at you, patted your shoulder and wished you luck. 

You tried your best to focus on your setlist for the remainder of class, but it was so hard to ignore the handsome boy next to you. His voice was better than anyone else’s you had ever heard before, and he kept running his fingers through his hair. You wanted so badly to be able to run your own hands through his soft brown hair.

Despite his distracting charm, you were able to keep your eyes to yourself (or in the direction of your friends, at least) until class was over. It wasn’t until you were slinging your backpack over your shoulder and making your way toward the hall that he grabbed your elbow. “Peaches, wait,” he sounded out of breath for some reason. You turn around with bambi eyes, not sure what he could possibly want from you.

“Where are you going?” he asks as he falls into an easy stride next to you. “Uh, I have a short break for lunch before my next class.” He nods and continues to walk next to you. “What’re you doing?” you ask him pointedly. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m walking you to lunch.” You blinked at him, confusion painting your face. “Wh- why?” you’ve stopped walking now. “You’re cute,” he chuckles, putting his hands into his pockets and starting to walk in the direction of the dining hall. 

You start to walk with him again, “we’re friends, aren’t we? I didn’t think it’d be a problem for me to walk you to the dining hall on my way to class.” Your cheeks start to burn, you feel bad that that you had given him that impression. You were just so confused as to why he was taking such an interest in you. “N-no it’s okay,” but by the time you give this answer, you’re already there and he’s turning slightly to head toward his class. “I’ll see you next week, peaches,” he  shouts to you, giving you a wink, and his milliwatt smile. 

The first half of your semester went by faster than you thought it would, and you had actually managed to stop feeling like a moron around Gguk (most of the time). You and him had gotten into a rhythm, you guys talked to each other in class - sometimes he’d flirt and make you laugh, he’d walk you to the dining hall, and occasionally you would meet up to hang out with him outside of class.

However, that didn’t mean you didn’t still have a raging crush on him that made your mind feel hazy and send heat through your whole body. This much was evident when he decided to skip his class one day and join your for lunch.

You both had opted for grilled chicken and french fries because your dining hall sucks and that was the safest option. The two of you fell into easy conversation with the occasional comfortable silence. He talked about his classes and how in his free time he’s been working on a mixtape. “I mean I figured you liked music considering you’re in chorus with me, but I didn’t know you were that into it!” He gives you a dimpled bunny smile and nods his head a bit, “yeah, maybe you could come over and listen to my stuff sometime.”

There’s a slight blush to his cheeks that you’ve not seen before. If you had to guess, you’re probably the first girl he’s ever offered to share his own music with. So, you take the opportunity to be bold while his coquettish demeanor is wavering.

“Oh, so would that be, like, our second date then?” You take a sip of your water, sneaking a glance over the cup to see the doe-eyed expression he’s giving you now. His mouth bobbed a bit like a fish’s before he managed to get words out, “did I miss our first date?” You giggle at how taken aback he seems to be. “Well, you went through all this effort to skip class and eat lunch with me,” you say with a lilt in your voice. “Oh please, peaches. You call this effort? I’d do way more than just this.”

Now it’s your turn to blush. Your boldness gone the second he calls you by the affectionate name. “Is this your way of trying to get me to take you out?” He asks this question with his tongue poking into his cheek, eyebrows cocked. “N-no!! I was just messing with you!” He grabs your plate, along with his, as you both get up to exit the dining hall. “To late now, I’ll text you when I’ve got it all planned out.” He winks at you as he puts the dishes on the conveyor belt and exits the building with a wave. Fuck.

New Message From Gguk:

[3:04pm] be ready tonight around 7:30

To Gguk:

[3:07pm] tonight?? where are you taking me?

From Gguk:

[3:09pm] don’t worry about it. just wear something casual

To Gguk:

[3:10pm] ugh you’re infuriating, but okay.

[3:12pm] you’re not gonna murder me in some back alley are you?

[3:13pm] omg you are aren’t you??

From Gguk:

[3:14pm] y/n.. our campus is huge with many secluded areas. if I wanted to murder you I would have done it by now 

To Gguk:

[3:15pm] and yet somehow that answer isn’t reassuring at all. I’ll be ready by 7:30

Okay, so this was a bit short notice considering he only told you roughly 4 hours ahead of time, but he said to wear something casual so that should be plenty of time, right?

You decide to focus back onto your homework for the next hour or so. You’re able to do that for about 30 minutes but then you start thinking. I haven’t shaved my legs in over a week. He said casual but I should still look casually cute. What am I supposed to do with my hair now that the humidity is back?? Panic. Panic is setting in.

You slam shut your textbook and notes, and start to make your way to your dorm room. Once you’re there you begin to rummage through your closet and dresser drawers. The flinging of clothes and 45 minutes later, you finally settle on a pair of black ripped jeans, a flowy, strappy white top, and some white converse.

2 hours and 30 minutes left.

You didn’t think it would, but it did in fact take you that entire two and a half hours to finish getting ready, but you were pleased with the way you looked. This was more effort than you usually put in considering no one ever looks nice  when they have 8:00am classes.

You also didn’t think you’d be phased by seeing Jeongguk dressed ready for a date because he always looked good, but the second you laid eyes on him, in his light wash ripped denim, black tee, leather jacket, and matching bucket hat, you knew you were a goner. 

“You know it’s not polite to stare with a gaping mouth right?” he asks as he uses his index finger to gently push your chin up, closing your mouth for you. “I- I’m sorry. You look great, Gguk,” you say as you look down at your feet. You’re avoiding eye contact now since he caught you ogling him. “You look  great too, y/n. I like your converse, a nice touch!” he says in that smooth and charming way he has about him. With that, he grabs your hand and leads you to his car to drive you off to god-knows-where.

Much to your surprise, he takes you to the local town fair. You’d never really participated in these types of things before because you had this ideal (probably from watching The Notebook one too many times) that fairs were romantic and meant for couples only.

However, you both had an incredible night, despite your reservations. He bought you cotton candy to share, you rode the ferris wheel together (sans hanging off the edge of it), scared each other in the fun house, and he even won you a stuffed teddy. It occurred to you that you hadn’t had this much fun in a while, and certainly not with a boy since you started college. He made you laugh, held your hand, and paid attention to you. It all felt a bit like a dream, what with all the pretty colors and twinkling lights around you.

You felt kind of sad that the date was ending as he drove you both back to campus. This date had allowed your crush to bloom into actual feelings and you were starting to worry about the days following. Would everything just go back to the way it was? Would he pretend like the date hadn’t happened? Did he even like you like that?

Luckily for you, you weren’t able to ruminate for too long on those negative thoughts because the car had come to a halt and you were suddenly back on campus. “You’ve been kind of quiet since we left the fair. What’re you thinking in there?” he pokes at your head for emphasis. “Oh, nothing! I had a really great time tonight,” you’re hoping you sound convincing enough so he doesn’t pry his way into your private thoughts. “Well, the night doesn’t have to end yet. We can hang out in my room for a bit if you want? My roommate is never here on the weekends, so the awkwardness of him being there is eliminated.”

Stunned. Yup, that would be an accurate word for what you felt in that moment.

“You’re gaping again, peaches. Am I going to have to be the one to teach you some manners?” He tsks at you and shakes his head, but there’s a smirk on his face. There’s also a darkness to his eyes. One that sends heat right to your core, and has you nodding your head to him in an instant. Your head feels cloudy as you walk to his dorm room, hand-in-hand, as if you’re caught under his spell again.

Once you’re there, the spell seems to drop and your nervousness is back. The room is dark, except for the soft glow of a lamp on his desk that he’s turned on. “I know you said we’d do this on our second date, but I figured we could merge the two,” he says handing you a set of headphones. Broken from your worried state, you realize he’s about to show you his music. The folder is labeled “JJK1″ and his angelic voice starts to flow into your ears, overwhelming your senses. 

He’s singing in a lower register, the words feel emotional and meaningful. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever heard before. You look up at him and he’s not making eye contact with you, “this is amazing, Gguk.” You both listen for another minute or two before he hits pause and finally looks back at you. “Seriously, your music is so good.” You set the headphones back on their display and he does the same. “You really think so?” You nod, and there’s a shift in the air. 

You’re both staring into each other’s eyes, then his own flicker down to your lips briefly. You’re starting to feel squirmy under his gaze, and you move to look away. To say something dumb about how his room is tidier than you thought it would be, but he’s quicker than you, grabbing your jaw to turn your head back and plant his soft, pink lips onto yours.

There’s tingles all over your body the second his lips are moving with yours. He’s careful with you as he brings a hand up to cup your neck. It feels like he’s scared to break you, but at the same time you can feel a sense of urgency lingering behind his tongue. You suppose this whole semester has built up the anticipation of this very moment. You don’t want him to be careful though, you’ve been waiting for this moment the second he walked into your chorus class.

Lips never leaving yours, he slowly walks you over to his bed. He sits on the edge of it and pulls you into his lap. With the tilt of his head he’s deepening the kiss. His tongue skating across your lips, asking for entrance, to which you gladly give him. His expert tongue maps the inside of your mouth as you’re moaning into his own. 

Taking that as a good sign, he runs his large hands over your hips, landing with a firm grip on your ass. He squeezes your flesh, effectively causing some friction between you and his thighs. That has you moaning again. You couldn’t even count the amount of times you’d thought of being in this position. The chance to ride his thick, muscular thighs to heaven and back. You were growing wet just at the thought of it.

“Is this okay?” he asks even though he can probably tell that what he’s doing is very okay. You nod eagerly and make a sound close to mhm to indicate that you don’t want this to stop. The second you give him the okay to continue, his lips are back on yours and he uses his hands to rock you back and forth on his thigh. Even through your jeans, the friction feels electrifying. It appears he feels the same way considering his growing length in his own jeans, creating an obvious tent. 

You break from kissing to let out a series of whimpers and groans from the heat that is building up inside of you. You head lolling back to allow Gguk the opportunity to lick a stripe up your neck to your jaw. Nipping and sucking at you every now and then. Everything feels too good. It’s all so surreal considering you’ve been pining for him for so long. 

“You look so pretty riding my thigh like that,” he says in between planting kisses along your collarbone. “I’ve caught you checking me out before, I bet you’ve wanted this since the first time I sat next to you.” Now he’s lifting your shirt over your head, exposing your light gray mesh bralette to him. 

Your hips never ceasing their movement, he brings his mouth down to your mesh covered nipple and laves his tongue over it. He notices your sharp intake of breath and a barely there fuck coming from you. “I love how sensitive you are to everything,” he sucks the nipple into his mouth for a moment before he makes his way over to the other one. This time he moves the bralette to the side so you can feel the full effect of his tongue. He rotates between swirling and gently flicking his tongue over the hardened bud. 

It’s now very clear to you that the heat inside of you will be coming to a head soon if he continues. He’s very much able to pick up on your impending climax, so he takes the nipple into his mouth and begins to suck, all the while holding you down harder on his thigh as he rocks you back and forth. “Shit, I- I’m gonna come if you don’t stop,” you say breathlessly. “Now why would I want to do that, peaches?” his mouth now moving back to suck on the other nipple. He breaks away with a wet *pop* and brings a hand down to smack your ass. “Come on, I know you can come like this. Come all over my thigh like the good little girl I know you are.” 

Your hair is starting to stick to you a little, sweaty from the exertion used to keep up the hard pace. The string inside of you is ready to snap any second. “Please, please, Gguk,” you whine to him, hoping he understands what you need. With both hands firmly in place on your ass, he sets a deadly pace and a flex of his muscle to cause the friction to burn straight to your slick core. You’re moaning his full name now as you feel yourself come undone around his thigh. Pulsing against him, your head slack on his shoulder, and your hips slowing down to ride out your orgasm. “Such pretty sounds when you come for me. I want to hear it again,” he says as he leaves sweet kisses on your lips.

He moves you from his lap to his bed, helping you out of your skinny jeans because your legs are aching now and you can’t find the energy to do it yourself. He takes in your form and the matching light gray mesh thong you’re wearing. “Were you hoping for this, baby? It’s okay if you were, I was hoping for it too.” You don’t know how you got to this place, but you were thanking whatever god it was that blessed you with this much luck.

Within moments, he’s undressed himself and you hear a wrapper crinkling over by his desk where he’s standing. He climbs back onto the bed and hovers over top of you. “You still doing okay?” he’s more considerate than you would have imagined a guy with his good looks would be, but you’re grateful for it. You smile at him and tilt your head up to kiss his lips and then his cheek. “God, look at you,” he says as he sits back on his heels, admiring the girl in front of him. 

He bends down to press kisses into your inner thigh, bringing two fingers to hook into the waist band of your thong and tug it down. He can see a string of your wetness stretch between you and your thong before it breaks when he brings his fingers to your slit. A drawn out moan leaves your mouth, his fingers feel so good now that they’re finally where you need them. “Fuck, you’re so wet for me.”

He presses two fingers into you and they slide in with ease considering you’ve already finished once before. He uses his other hand to rub soft circles into your clit. Your breathing is becoming heavier now and you desperately want to feel his thick length inside of you. You can see his cock twitch at the sounds you make. It’s veiny and so so pink at the tip, no doubt leaking with precum. You’d be willing to bet anything that you’ll feel so full with him inside of you.

As if to read your mind, he pushes a third finger inside. “You ready, baby? I don’t know how much longer I can wait to feel you around my cock.” His words have you keening and moving your hips in time with his fingers. His other hand now moves from your clit to his length, rubbing up and down before he teasingly slaps it against your core a few times, causing you to bite harshly into your lip. 

But then he’s pushing it in and you swear you see stars. He moves your legs so your thighs are against your chest now. “Ohhhhh my god,” you whine out to him as he bottoms out inside of you. “Fuck, you’re so tight, y/n.” He stills for a moment to allow you to adjust, but then he begins to move languidly. Thrusting ever so gently against that sensitive spot inside of you due to the position.

He leans down all the way to plant kisses along your chest, up your collarbone, and onto your neck. Lazy licks causing your heart to beat rapidly and moans escape your lips. His thrusts become rougher with each passing second, still never missing that signature spot inside of you, and it’s mind numbing.

He brings a hand down to your clit to rub figure eights into the bundle of nerves. “Please, d- don’t stop,” he grunts at the neediness he can hear in your voice. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you. I’ll make sure you feel good,” He punctuates this with a particularly hard thrust into you and you let out a loud moan, curses following behind. 

You’re so wet now and all you can think about is how good it feels to have him inside of you. You never want to let go of the feeling of his strong hands on you, sweat occasionally dripping from his hair, and his cock pounding into you. His first time fucking you and he already seems to know exactly what you like. Knowing not to rub your clit too much because it’s extra sensitive, that grabbing your ass will have your walls clenching around him, and kissing your neck leads to you mewling his name. All of this, in turn, causing him to feel rock hard, ready to burst his load any second. 

“You’re such a good girl, you know that? Taking me so well and ready to come for me again,” he says this as he slows his pace down a bit. He wants you to feel every inch of him, savor the feeling, because soon enough he’s going to have both of you falling apart. He lets one of your thighs down and grabs onto the other, using it as an anchor. “God, you feel so good around me. Come again for me, baby. I wanna see your face this time while you cream my cock for everything it’s worth.

With his thumb on your clit and his words stuck in your head, you’re all of about two seconds away from losing yourself on him. He picks up his pace again, slamming into you over and over and over again until you can’t take it anymore. Juices gush out of you as you practically scream, complete and total ecstasy taking over your body. “That’s it, such a good girl coming for me again,” he says as he helps you ride through your second orgasm of the night. 

“Jesus, y/n, you got.. so.. wet,” his thrusts growing sloppy now. His bottom lip is sucked between his teeth and his brown eyes are filled with need. He quickly pulls out, rips the condom off, and pumps himself just briefly before he’s spilling his seed onto your stomach. A slur of curses and your name leaving his mouth. Rope after rope of the white liquid coating you, his own personal masterpiece laid out in front of him.

When he’s finally finished, he falls back onto his heels, head lolling as he tries to steady his breathing. You think he looks so good fucked out. You could look at him like this for the rest of your life. Then again, you could look at him in any state for the rest of your life. This was a three year long crush (turned into feelings) in the making, after all.

“You look so perfect like this,” he says as he takes in your state. Sweat glistening on your skin, lips swollen and red, and his cum painted on your stomach. “Hold on, I’ll get something for you,” he says before he gets up to go discard the condom and grab a towel. He helps clean you both up and hands you a sweatshirt of his. “It’s pretty late now, you can spend the night if you want and wear that so you’re more comfortable. I’ll turn on a show or something for us.” He changes the sheets on his bed while you change and throw your hair up into a messy bun, ready for bed now.

You both settle into the now clean bed and he turns on New Girl. You curl up next to him, head resting on his taut chest and a leg slung over his. “So I know we just had our first and second date, but does this count as our third?” he says in a joking tone, and even though you can’t see him, you can tell he’s smiling. “I dunno, does that mean we’ll have a fourth?” He chuckles at you and kisses the top of your head, “anything you want, peaches.” 

You had worried at the beginning of the semester that Gguk would flirt and  taunt you endlessly and with no real reward, but you were wonderfully wrong. You were also pretty sure that this was just the beginning and that thought has butterflies swimming inside of you. This charming boy had you wrapped around his finger, and unbeknownst to you, you had him wrapped around yours.

[notveryglittery]

we could fall through december

summary: winter made everything so slow. roman didn’t think it fair.  ship: romantic roceit (roman/deceit) / wc: 1,600 warnings: sympathetic deceit, self-doubt/hatred, seasonal affective disorder, emotional outburst. let me know if i need to add anything. a/n: first fic of 2020 and it’s a gift!! feels good, feels organic. hope you like this, @rusted-but-golden <3 

read on ao3 | @fandersfic-roceit​

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Roman wondered what it was keeping him from getting out of bed.

Was it the “loss of interest?” Maybe it was the “sleep deprivation.” It just as well could have been the “lack of concentration.” Knowing his luck, it was all of the above. It was every symptom Google had listed, the apathy and the mood swings and the fatigue. He had so many things to do. There was plenty of time to do them. It was barely even noon yet which meant he had the entire day to finish the projects he’d started…

The clock flashed mockingly at him, reading 3:27. The projects he’d started had been ages ago. He couldn’t remember the last time he had picked them up. He wasn’t even sure what the date was.

Roman rolled over, burying his face into his pillow. It made breathing unnecessarily difficult. Kind of like how everything else was unnecessarily difficult. Like, why couldn’t he just kick the blankets off and get his feet on the ground? He was a prince! He was a knight! He was tough, self-assured, resilient! He had faced monsters larger than this. He faced blows to his ego like this daily.

Why did the lack of sunshine make so much of a difference?

Besides, it wasn’t like he didn’t have plenty of sunshine in his life already! Patton himself might as well have counted as one’s regular dose of vitamin D. Sometimes, Roman was lucky enough to be on the receiving end of Virgil’s smile or to hear a rare but treasured laugh from Logan. Those alone ought to have been enough to combat any gloomy day.

Finally lifting his head, Roman narrowed his eyes, squinting out the window. Not to mention, Thomas lived in Florida! The Mindscape should have reflected that. They barely had winter! It was more like extended fall. It didn’t even snow or rain (save for their consistent 3pm storm that lasted no more than an hour every day). Sure, the sun was obscured often by cloud cover but… well, it was still there! He had no excuse to be all mopey and sluggish just because the temperature had dropped.

…

Maybe he ought to just take a nap. Roman blinked, hard, and released a frustrated groan. With more effort than he’d care to admit, he lifted his arm and scrubbed the heel of his palm against his eyes, which had, quite rudely, begun to burn suddenly with tears. This was so stupid! Forcing himself to sit up felt like a herculean task, but he shoved the covers away and reached blindly for his bedside table. Instead of grabbing a tissue, though, his uncoordinated movements instead just knocked the box of Kleenex to the floor.

“Oh, come on!” He snapped, choking back a sob.

A knock sounded at the door.

“I’m busy,” he called back, without hesitation.

“You’re lying,” responded the visitor.

Roman muttered a curse under his breath. Any other day, he’d be delighted to see his beloved. As it were, he’d been avoiding Deceit just as much as he’d been avoiding everyone else. Was it a good idea to isolate himself when there was a figurative (might as well have been literal) storm cloud hovering over his head? Of course not. Not like he ever had any good ideas to begin with, anyway.

“Roman,” Deceit purred from the other side of the door.

“Fine, fine,” Roman sighed, unlocking the door with a halfhearted snap of his fingers. “Come in, then.”

At least Deceit’s arrival had distracted him from crying any more. Running a hand through his hair to try and tame his bedhead, Roman watched as Deceit let himself in. He closed the door gently behind him. He looked as exquisite as always, not a hair or thread out of place. He was carrying two containers.

“Move over,” Deceit said, seating himself on the mattress without waiting.

He set the tupperware down and turned to Roman. His eyes scanned over Roman’s face. A lot of good his poker face did him when Roman was intimately aware of every one of Deceit’s expressions and facial tics by now.

“Hi,” Deceit said softly.

“Hey,” Roman replied, muted.

Roman shifted, pulling the sheets more tightly around his waist. God, he hated winter. It was so cold. He didn’t even have the energy to conjure a space heater or electric blankets.

“Brought you lunch,” Deceit offered, picking one of the meals up and prying the lid off.

The container was full of grilled cheese sandwiches, cut into hearts. Roman looked at Deceit, unable to resist grinning a little bit.

“Patton insisted on helping,” Deceit grumbled.

Roman reached for the other and found it filled with tomato bisque. It was warm in his hands. Without a care in the world, he lifted the bowl to his mouth and drank the soup straight from it. His arms ached doing so but damn if it didn’t taste good.

“There are spoons, you know!” Deceit said, scowling.

Roman licked his lips. “Sorry.”

They ate in relative silence after that. Sometimes they took turns dipping the grilled cheeses into the soup. At one point, Roman shyly held up one of his half-eaten heart shaped sandwiches and Deceit rolled his eyes as he held his own half up against Roman’s. Deceit would talk occasionally; about Virgil and Patton taking up the living room for a blanket fort that no one else was allowed in; about Thomas and Joan’s latest additions to Reasons to Smile; about the debate he and Logan had recently regarding whether or not Pluto was a planet.

“Did he end it with viva la Pluto, fuck you?” Roman asked, reaching forward to… His fingers twitched and he pulled back, looking away.

“Of course he did,” Deceit answered. He waved a hand and the containers disappeared. A heated blanket appeared in their place. “Come here, then.”

Roman hesitated. Deceit twirled a finger in the air, changing into comfy loungewear. The next movement was directed at Roman, whose pajamas were replaced with clean ones that smelled just slightly of lavender. Deceit shoved the blanket into Roman’s lap.

God, again with the stupid tears—

“Shh,” Deceit hushed him, hands coming up to cradle Roman’s face gently. “I know. It’s okay.”

“It isn’t,” Roman croaked, allowing himself to curl his fingers around one of Deceit’s wrists. “I’m supposed to be str… stronger than this.”

“Is Patton weak when he has his Days?”

“Of course not,” Roman defended, vehemently.

“Surely, Virgil is when he panics over the tiniest of things.”

“He isn't!”

“Then why, Roman, would you think yourself weak for this?”

“It’s just a lack of sunlight,” Roman scoffed, dropping his hand to his lap, where he proceeded to pick at his chipped nail polish. He tried to turn away, tried to break their locked gaze. He was pathetic enough without having to see Deceit’s pitying expression.

“Ro,” Deceit interrupted those thoughts, tone scolding. He let Roman go, knowing better than to keep his hold when it wasn’t wanted. “Logan’s with Thomas right now but don’t think for a second that I won’t call him here if that’s what it takes.”

“We’re not going to bother him with this—”

“Bother?”

“You know what I mean!”

“Actually, I don’t,” Deceit disagreed, sneering. He hated when it came to that. “Why don’t you explain it to me?”

“The first result for "things people also ask" when you search for seasonal affective disorder is whether or not it’s real,” Roman snapped. “And I’m not real, not technically, so how can something like seasonal fucking depression affect me!”

Roman gestured towards the floor to ceiling windows that comprised one wall of his room. The sky was bright blue. “Even if it did, I have complete control over the Fantasy Realm. I could just pop in for a few hours of basking in the sunshine and I’d be all better! I can’t even do that, though!”

“Dearheart, you know vitamin D in the Fantasy Realm would work just as well as hugs and food do.” Deceit tried not to think about the last time Roman had forgotten this. It’d been… frightening, to say the least.

“They literally have lamps that do the same thing but go off I guess.”

“Alright.” Deceit said abruptly.

He grabbed the heated blanket and draped it over Roman’s shoulders. Then, with perhaps more force than necessary, he pushed Roman back down onto the pillows.

“Hey!” Roman shouted, not appreciating being manhandled, thank you very much.

Deceit didn’t answer and instead just sprawled himself on top of Roman’s chest. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but whenever you start to talk bad about yourself, one of the reasons is because you’re touch-starved.”

“I am not—!” Roman would have finished his sentence if Deceit hadn’t buried a hand into his hair and scraped his nails along his scalp. Goosebumps erupted on his arms and at the back of his neck. “That…” Roman’s eyes slid shut. “That is cheating.”

“We’re not done talking about this,” Deceit promised, carding his fingers through Roman’s locks. “Right now, though, I think you could just use some physical affection and a nap.”

“I’m…” Roman sighed, melting under Deceit’s gentle touches.

“Hmm?” Deceit hummed, shifting so that he was a bit more comfortable and so that Roman could still breathe easily. “What is it, my articulate amor?”

“M’sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for,” Deceit insisted, leaning up just close enough to press a kiss to Roman’s jaw. He tucked his face into the crook of Roman’s neck.

“... Okay,” Roman agreed haltingly. “I love you, darling.”

“I love you, your highness. Rest now.”

Whatever Roman had wanted to say was overtaken by a huge yawn. He shuffled as best he could further under the blankets, warmth wrapped around his shoulders and laid reassuringly on top of him. The idea of returning to this discussion scared him more than he thought it ought to but… He supposed he could work through it if he had someone so secure and patient like Deceit to help him.

[sirkkasnow]

03 Semi-Legitimate Uses Of Gunpowder

Ao3 link

07/04/13 Thursday

The household settled into a comfortable routine over the next few days. Chaos was such an underlying constant in Gravity Falls, particularly with the kids around, that throwing another body into the mix made very little difference.

Clary rose early once she’d recovered from the initial shock. Summer schedules for both kids and adults ran late, which made it easy for her to slip into the kitchen before most everyone else. She’d asked Stan whether she could help cook, he’d offhandedly said sure, and the next thing he knew she was baking things.

The contents of the fridge began to dwindle in interesting ways. Frittatas jammed with too many vegetables materialized on the breakfast table. The sour-cream coffee cake she’d made on Tuesday morning was down to crumbs by Wednesday.

“You’re a guest, not the cook,” Stan argued in exasperation that morning in the crowded kitchen. He dug out a second wedge of egg-potato-and-green-stuff from one of the cast iron skillets.

“If you guys ate anything other than pancakes for breakfast, I’d join you, but I like my eggs. Besides, I don’t see you complaining.” Clary eyed his plate, scrubbing down utensils. Her kerchief for the day – there was always a kerchief for the day, wrapped twice and knotted neatly at her throat, the colors and patterns as varied as Mabel’s sweaters – was a splashy watercolor design of pale yellow daisies. “I’m used to cooking for an army anyway.”

Stan cocked a brow at her in question, and caught the brief flicker of her smile. “My place in Baltimore is this huge brownstone. I’ve got eight bedrooms. I ran a boarding house as a sideline, because what else can you do with eight bedrooms?”

“That sounds exhaustin’.”

“Running tours isn’t? I liked it. Lots of law students, a few graduate accountants.” She chuckled over his groan. “Yes, a very, very nerdy household. We ran DD&MD once a week for years.” Stan saw Dipper perk up from the far side of the kitchen table and started a mental countdown to major geekery. “With that many rules lawyers and number-crunchers around the table things got pretty sidetracked at times.” Clary settled into one of the two free chairs, Mabel leaning over to peep her plate.

“Grunkle Stan? Have you got enough left for one more Stancake? Clary, you have to try one!”

“I don’t usually do pancakes, hon.” Clary begged off gently like she had every morning.

“You don’t get it.” Mabel leaned in, eyes widening. “These are Stancakes. They’re unique. You can’t possibly enjoy the full Pines experience without sampling Stancakes.”

Stan rolled his eyes, took up a rubber spatula and coaxed the last of the batter out of its bowl while Mabel made her pitch. Just enough left for a half-size flapjack, fine, that’d do. He finished that off in the skillet while Clary half-heartedly protested, then slid it onto her plate alongside what was left of her eggs. Mabel applied a river of maple syrup and a scatter of edible glitter before any counter-arguments could be offered.

Clary blinked at the twinkling result for a few blank seconds. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” she finally said, and dug in. Mabel stuck out two thumbs up in approval.

Once the Pines clan scattered after breakfast, Clary had been staking out the battered old couch on the porch. Stan had passed her on the way out to the car two mornings in a row now. She wore a wireless earpiece and balanced a laptop on her knees, the picture of professionalism in her summer togs. Sometimes he’d catch bits of what sounded like German as she talked to the air, cajoling or explaining or arguing with whoever was on the far side of the line.

This time he caught her with the computer set to one side, speaking what was definitely German in a soft tone at odds with the usual steel. She spotted him as he tried to slide by and simply relocated her quiet conversation, slipping into the shade of the pines for half an hour before returning to brisk business.

He made a point of keeping an eye on her, and calling out when it was clear she was off the phone. “Hey, Clary!”

“What’s up, Stan?” She leaned back into the cushions as she squinted out at him.

Lawyer humor had turned out to be a rich vein, if a somewhat single-minded one. “What’s the difference between a good lawyer and a bad lawyer?”

She sighed at him in grudging amusement. “A bad lawyer makes your case drag out for years. A good one makes it last even longer. What’s the difference between a good lawyer and a great lawyer?”

“A good lawyer knows the law, a great one knows the judge!” Stan actually chuckled to himself over that one. He straightened, shrugging a shoulder so he could swab off the drop of sweat stubbornly stuck at the tip of his nose.

“You’re not going to outlast me on those, you know.” Clary set aside the computer and strolled over to the wagon, quirking him a momentary grin as she headed around to the back.

“Maybe not. I’m self-taught when it comes to screwing clients over. You’ve got the degree.” Her faint, indignant snort was just audible around the corner. “Whatcha need?” Stan braced his feet and stretched, spine creaking, then came around to see what she was up to.

“The Fourth is tomorrow and I did something a little reckless. I keep forgetting I have these.” She was waist-deep in the wayback, shifting aside a couple of blankets to reveal a flash of brightly-printed color on cheap glossy paper.

“You brought fireworks.” Stan reached past her to hoist the crate. She’d picked out a deluxe assortment of the biggest roadside skyrockets to be had, and he didn’t bother to stifle a twinge of delighted surprise at her audacity.

“Don’t look so shocked. These are legal in Wyoming and there are stands all along the highway at the state borders.”

“All of which have prominent signage sayin’ it’s illegal to transport ‘em across state lines.”

Clary looked fleetingly guilty, then defiant. “You’re right. I read them all and then I ignored them. I’m guessing you know what you’re doing with low-yield explosives. Are you going to help me fire these off or what?”

“You are in luck, Miz Merrick, because I am what passes for the fireworks committee around here, an’ you’ve just bought yourself a ringside seat to this year’s display.” Stan winked and tucked the crate under one arm. “We’re doin’ it on the lake this year. We’re gonna use the old dock and I’ve actually got a permit this time ‘cause the mayor’s a pushover! Which of course just meant it was a little easier to get hold of the good stuff.”

The faint smirk on her lips widened slowly. “Excellent. I was hoping we’d get to blow something up. So we’re going to fire all of these off when the time comes?”

“That we are. Congratulations, you’ve been deputized! Hope you can handle loud noises.”

“I can handle myself just fine, Pines.”

The morning of the Fourth was spent in a frenzy of preparation. Soos, Melody and a grudging but overtime-paid Wendy had the moneymaking end of the venture under control – they would be running concessions at lakeside all evening.

Stan’s job was of course the attractions end of things, which meant explosions, which meant he and Ford were preparing endless mortar racks and crates of mostly-legal fireworks.

Clary, as the spare adult, was recruited into assisting with the munitions. Soos loaned her a paint-spattered canvas work shirt that draped her frame like a tent. Borrowed rubber gloves were cinched in at her wrists with masking tape. Under Ford’s distracted tutelage, she worked patiently on splicing shell fuses into daisy chains.

Stan watched her quick hands for a curious minute. She put as much careful focus into this as she’d put into the hawkweasel thing, perhaps with more concern for potentially blowing off a finger.

They ferried everything down to the lake in relays that afternoon. The oldest, most distant, most splintery of the lake’s docks was where they’d been given permission to set up. The three adults did the bulk of the hauling, dragging setpieces out along the battered planks.

Stan consulted a scrawled-pencil sketch of the layout to keep things more or less in order. Dipper and Mabel were in charge of setting up ‘command central’, which consisted of a few folding chairs, a burn-scarred camp table, and a bulky battery pack for a motley collection of goose-necked lab lamps.

It was after six before they finished most of it. Clary flopped down on the edge of the dock with feet dangling, reading her way through an Oregon fire-safety manual. Mabel and Dipper kicked off their shoes and dashed off down the town beach to mingle with the gathering tourists and locals. Picnics outfitted with grills and beach umbrellas were in full swing by now and the scent of charred hot dogs drifted on the still air.

“Keys, Stanley,” called Ford. Stan tossed them over without bothering to look up. “I’ll be back with the control console in a bit. You’ve got everything you need?”

“We could set all this stuff off by hand, y’know.”

“And leave lengths of fuse lying all over the place? This is so much safer!”

“Not quite as much fun.” Stan waved his brother off, then collected the toolbox and the random bits of picnic stuff they’d hauled down to make the wait until dark more comfortable.

“This is all they’ve got?” Clary muttered, more to herself than to Stan as he hauled over the cooler and set it at her side, elbowing the lid back to fish out a couple of sodas. “This is a twelve-page pamphlet. Most of which consists of ‘do not set up an amateur fireworks display.’” She glanced up to him, accepting a can. “Ford told me that he and the kids actually built a couple of these shells.”

“Chemistry lessons.” Stan shrugged. “Ford knows what he’s doin’, we’ll be fine. We’re gonna hold those until last so that the kiddos can help fire them off. Besides, we’re no amateurs. I’ve been doin’ this for years. Maybe not on this scale.” He looked down the dock along the rows of milk-crate mortar racks, rather pleased with himself. “Usually we’re just firin’ the suckers off from the roof of the Shack for parties.”

“So you’re a pyrotechnician, among your many other titles.” Clary popped her soda can and tapped its edge lightly against his. “Cheers. Nice layout, though I bet it’s just as much fun to improvise.”

“Probably more. This’s a lot of work, but Soos has been layin’ plans since springtime, and what’m I gonna do, say no? If this goes off well he’ll probably pick it up for future years. Not sure if Ford an’ I’ll be here for the next round.”

Stan pivoted and propped himself against the nearest piling, looking out across the lake at the increasing bustle near the main beach. “Though I gotta admit this is a nice way to blow a couple months and we should probably take advantage of the kids’ vacations until they get tired of us.”

“You’ve got just the two grandies, then?” Clary gestured vaguely off down the shoreline. “None of your own?”

“Nah. Too much goin’ on in my life during that stretch.” Way, way too much, he thought. “You?”

“No. Those stars never aligned for me. I’ve got a niece and a nephew, and she’s got two little girls, so I have grand-niblings of my own.”

“Married?” She didn’t sport a ring, but who knew?

“Widowed.”

Oops. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Don’t be. It’s been a long time. You?”

“Married…for six hours. That didn’t end real well.”

She chuckled hollowly into her can. “Neither did mine. Here’s to independence.”

“Siblings?”

“One older sister. You’ve got Ford, and I guess a brother?”

“Shermie, yeah. He’s what passes for the normal one.”

“Someone’s got to be the white sheep in every family. I can assure you that it wasn’t me in mine.” Watching her relax to this extent was a pleasant surprise. Clary had an elbow propped on a bent knee and the starch had gone out of her smile.

“I don’t believe that for a minute.” Stan made a show of looking her up and down, and she went faintly pink under the scrutiny. As usual she was color coordinated, today’s kerchief mostly red with bits of white and blue, hair clipped back with something glassy and scarlet. “Law-abidin’ lady like yourself? Okay, so maybe you smuggle fireworks every now and then, but who wouldn’t?”

“This is my summer for living dangerously, and believe me I have no idea what I’m doing.” Clary looked off down the shoreline to where Mabel was jumping up and down and waving, then twitched in surprise as her phone started to jangle. “Whoops – I think I’m being summoned. See you when we get closer to dusk?”

“Yep, I’m gonna guard the ordnance, I guess, Wendy’s crew probably has runnin’ bets on whether or not they can swipe a few rockets.” Stan tipped his can back to drain it. “Mind haulin’ over my chair while you’re up?”

“Got it.” Clary levered herself upright, dusted off her backside and jogged down to the pier’s end, returning with a folded lawn chair. “Don’t nod off, now.”

“What, with all this thrillin’ readin’ material? Don’t worry about me, kid.” Stan waved her off, set up the chair and settled down with the safety manual. He was out like a light within ten minutes, dozing comfortably in the late-afternoon sun.

He snapped awake twice as the sunlight shaded into deeper and deeper gold. Each time he winged an empty pop can with terrifying accuracy at overcurious kids, sending them scattering. Wendy’s crew, true to form, showed up as the bluff’s shadow crept across the lake.

Stan pinged Thompson in the head with his last empty. He watched them take off and sat up grumbling to look along the shoreline. The sun was nearly down by now, though it’d be forty minutes yet to full dark. Clary and the kids were making their way back, feet splashing at the water’s edge. Right on time.

Unfortunately the control console and Ford hadn’t shown up yet. That was going to be a problem. Stan checked his watch, huffed in frustration and levered himself upright to start setting manual fuses on the closer fireworks racks.

“Kids!” His voice boomed out across the water. “Need you t’check on Poindexter. Clary, you good to set the trigger wires for the far racks?” He waved an arm vaguely at the end of the dock as the three broke into a jog. Dipper dropped off a paper bag that smelled temptingly of grilled stuff on top of the cooler as he hopped onto the worn planks.

“Got it, Grunkle Stan!” Mabel tapped at her phone as the other two split up. Clary threaded her way between milk crates down to the far end and back again to pay out lengths of trigger wire a few at a time. Dipper rummaged up a roll of masking tape, a marker and Stan’s creased layout sketch, and started labeling wires as he tacked them to the dock.

“Five minutes! Says he found a short!” Mabel ran to help Stan substitute lengths of extra fuse for wires on the closest few racks, her quick fingers making short work of masking-tape splices. “I don’t know why we didn’t just stick to the old fuses. Those worked great last year!”

“Because we nearly burned down the Shack last year.” Dipper accepted the last couple of wires from Clary and tagged them neatly.

“Don’t sweat it, kids, you think I didn’t bring backups?” Stan fished out a battered matchbook, dropped it into his breast pocket for easy access and reached for the paper bag. “Eat up, gremlins, it’s almost showtime.”

Ford finally screeched in as they were all finishing off the last few bites of hot dog. He ran full-tilt up to the dock, gasping out vague apologies about losing track of time. The control console hit the top of the camp table with a thud. Between Ford and Dipper the numbered wires were clipped into the rig at terrifying speed, Mabel angling a gooseneck lamp to illuminate the tags in the near-dark.

“We’re missing two banks – Stanley.” Ford glared as he finished counting wires, and Stan shrugged.

“Didn’t know when you’d be back, set those up with quickfuse. We’ll be fine.” He fished a couple of punks out of the toolbox of backup gear, checked his watch, then looked downshore. “I’m gonna give ‘em fifteen more minutes of desperate anticipation. Then we’ll light ‘em up.”

Clary rocked on her heels in impatience, squinting down along the lake’s edge to the scatter of lights and silhouetted townsfolk at the main beach. Stan leaned over to murmur in her ear. “Your stuff’s all set up on one of the racks we just did fuses for, so I’ll have you touch those off. This’s what we’re usin’….”

He explained the slow-burning punk, basically an incense stick that’d hold just enough of an ember to do the job, and pressed his spare into her palm. “We’ll get that goin’ in a minute. Don’t set anythin’ on fire unless you mean to. Ready?”

Light was scarce, all the color washed out of her profile, but her eyes shone. “Ready.”

“Check the time and cue it up please, Mabel,” Ford said, a little too cheerful as he and Dipper settled in behind the control console with its dozens of little labeled switches.

Mabel tapped a couple of phone buttons and a low, mournful orchestral score started up, tinny through the tiny speakers. The opening bars echoed faintly over the lake from the speakers set up at Soos’ end.

Clary leaned over to peer at Mabel’s phone, brows rising as a baritone voice kicked in. “Tulen Synty? This is Finnish.”

“It’s ‘The Origin of Fire’. Eight and a half minutes. Perfect!” Ford flipped the first couple of switches and a few popping rockets went up from the far end of the dock. Distant whoops of approval drifted across the lake.

Stan tugged out the matches and got both his and Clary’s punks going. “He wanted to choreograph it, the racket will drown most of it out anyhow, and it’s too old for anyone to go after us for royalties. Works for me.”

The display built up slowly, Ford singing absently under his breath as he triggered one batch of mortars after another. It took two minutes of strings and woodwinds for things to get really interesting. Dipper, Mabel and Clary all tilted their heads back to watch while Stan snagged a lamp and angled it at the manual fuses.

At five minutes the men’s choir on the track welled up full-throated. Ford kicked off the first few of the big rockets with precise flicks of fingertips. Half lit from below and chuckling to himself, he looked just a bit unhinged. Might as well get it out of his system.

“Aight – you’re up, Clary, get over here.” She jolted with surprise from the piling she’d been leaning against with Mabel, watching the explosions. “We’re mixin’ in your batch, you get to light these. C’mon, nothin’s gonna bite.” Stan nudged her into place at the right spot. “Right here, just start from the end of this row, there ya go.”

Clary lit four in succession, her grin incandescent in the reflected light of the down-angled lamp. “Good?”

“Good, now step back, kid!” The fuses were hissing fiercely and he half-turned to shield her as the sparks began to fly and the rockets went up, one-two-three-four, screech-flash-bang, chrysanthemum bursts of fractured light reflected in the cool black mirror of the lake. The squeal of delight she produced was nearly as high-pitched as Mabel’s. It was like teenage-girl stereo for a few seconds and Stan laughed, pointing down the line. “Nice! Next batch, go get ‘em!”

They settled into a comfortable rhythm with the last half of the shells. Ford flicked switches with a conductor’s grandiose concentration to fire off his carefully coordinated and ever-escalating barrage. Dipper scrambled up to stand on the cooler, swapping off between three different cameras to get both digital and film exposures.

Stan knelt with the spare punk as the orchestral track soared to its conclusion. With Clary’s help he set off an impressive, noisy and entirely random volley of the leftover rockets to wrap it up.

Once the echoes faded, they all settled back to listen to distant, ragged cheers from the shoreline.

All in all it was definitely one of his better shows.

Stan straightened, hands to hips as he flexed and grunted and felt something shift between his shoulderblades. All that craning to squint up at the sky took it out of a man. “Dipper, Mabel, I’ve got a last batch for you guys to light up, c’mon over. Saved some of the little ones.”

“Little ones?” Mabel was all indignation as Stan dragged over the last couple of racks. Ford unclipped wires by the fistful from the back of his console and jogged off along the dock with a flashlight to check for duds, humming in contentment.

“So maybe I’m a little more wrapped up in safety concerns than I used t’be. Maybe.” Stan made sure Ford’s line of sight was otherwise occupied, then held up a fat, foil-printed skyrocket and waggled it with a wink at Mabel and Dipper. “Let’s fire up this last handful.”

Clary spooled up trigger wire and watched in amusement as Stan handed off the punks and made sure both Mabel and Dipper got to fire off the remainder of the rockets. The two largest he held until last. Those went up with a rising screech and a deep boom, crackling showers of blue and purple sparks cascading down to sputter out before hitting the water.

Both the kids whooped in delight. Ford was startled enough to deliver a brief, stern lecture on safety protocol which Stan waved off. They’d all blown up bigger things than this and seriously Ford had no room to talk.

It was just about midnight when they finished loading the control setup into the El Diablo. The empty racks they left for pickup in the morning, given that everyone was all but swaying on their feet. The five of them draggled up to the car with the last couple of chairs and the cooler.

Clary and the kids packed themselves into the back, chatting sleepily about past Fourths and the best fireworks they’d ever seen. The conversation petered out as Dipper, then Mabel nodded off. Clary turned her tired gaze up to the front seat. “Very impressive, fellas. Never thought I’d get to participate in one of these personally.”

Despite the afternoon nap, Stan was pretty wiped out himself. Ford was still irritatingly alert and chirped up. “Where did you pick up on Sebelius, Clary? I didn’t know you were a fan of the classics.”

Clary settled a careful arm around Mabel, who’d tipped into her side. “I got stranded in Helsinki by a weather reroute last year. There wasn’t much to do at that hour so I just wandered and read everything I could find. Tulen Synty came up in something about the Kalevala.”

“Finland! We have that on the list for next year, perhaps Saimaa if the boat’s up to it. Were you out there for business or pleasure?”

Worn out as he was, Stan picked up on her momentary hesitation. “Some of both, I guess. I have family in Switzerland and I expect to be working in Zurich for a while come fall.”

“That the niece and nephew?” Stan nudged. “And your sister?”

Her eyes tracked to his in the mirror. “That’s the crew. I’ve got a mess of cousins in Alabama, but I can’t say the South ever really agreed with me.”

“Definitely didn’t agree with me. Pretty sure I’m still banned in everythin’ but Mississippi, and that’s because it was never worth my time to get into trouble in Mississippi.” That didn’t quite get a laugh, but he preferred the glimmer of her smile to that look of exhaustion.

Shame Switzerland’s land-locked, he thought absently, and kept her busy with some of the less embarrassing stories about his travels in Dixie until they made it home to the Shack.

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She looks guilty, then defiant. “Are you going to help me fire these off or what?”

No way, she’s a potential liability.

Maybe she can help out with concessions.

Hell yes, let’s blow stuff up!