#i like the idea of him keeping his old sweater from the inquisition days and just mending the shit out of it

[trebuchet151]

Using my screenshots as studies/references

Giving Ithelanas some slight redesign bc its been a decade and he shouldnt have the exact same hair and clothes lol

[spencersawkward]

top shelf//MGG - part 1

summary: broke and having a bad day, Reader runs into Matthew outside a café. after a couple encounters, his financial support and friendship become something more.

word count: 3k

content warnings: swearing but nothing else!

pairing: Fem!Reader/Matthew

A/N: hi! welcome to my new series. i don’t think this will be super long in terms of parts, but i’ll try to update as frequently as possible for you all. this chapter is pretty expositional, so i’m sorry in advance lol. also i know i made it short but lmk if you want them to be longer. also shoutout my sweet sweet angels @reidsconverse and @voidsfilm bc i would literally cry without both of you. also THANK YOU to @dr-spencerr-reidd for this concept bc i probably wouldn't have written it without your ask!! sending hugs :)

you throw your phone down on the passenger seat with a frustrated groan. after everything that's happened today, you're now stuck on a congested street with your car barely inside the parking spot alongside the sidewalk.

your screen sits there beside you, blank and unresponsive, and you know you're going to have to go inside the coffee shop to ask to use their phone and call Triple A. of course it's not working because nothing is working today. you might as well just sit in your car and cry.

but you can't, because you have a huge project for work that you need to get done by next week, and you've already procrastinated enough. a red glow from the headlights of other cars on the street shine through your windows like melted wax, distorted by the rain. it's been pouring all day.

bracing yourself for the onslaught, you grab the old umbrella from the foot well of the passenger seat and open the door of your car. the torrents hit your body like a wall of ice, soaking you as you try to get to the safety of the café. the umbrella helps a little, but then you get to the overhang and have to actually close it before you head inside.

your fingertips slip around the metal, trying to shove the thing closed while water drips off the bridge of your nose. it's frustrating. your footsteps are still determined as they move towards the entrance, but you're distracted by the stubborn nature of the object, so you don't see the man walking out.

it's not even a bodily collision, really. it's so much worse: the sopping material of the umbrella pokes him in the stomach, knocking the hot cup of coffee all over his sweater.

your eyes widen.

"oh my fucking god, I'm so sorry--" you stutter over your words, completely at a loss. his face is twisted up in an expression of concealed pain. it can't feel good to have hot coffee seeping through your clothes after being prodded by a piece of metal. you move your wet hair out of your face in order to look at him full-on.

"it's fine, really." he gives you what's supposed to be a friendly smile, but looks more like a grimace. your stomach twists; he's hot. like, if you saw him at the bar you would stare at him all night kind of hot.

"no, it's not," your face heats up, despite the cold, damp air. "let me buy you another coffee."

"I--" he glances down at his sweater, which is knitted with cute foxes on the front, then back at you. he pauses a moment and you have to bite down on your tongue to keep from collapsing. he's considerably older than you, but he doesn't dress or act that way. maybe late thirties, if you had to guess. "sure. thanks."

a flowering relief in your chest, partly because he doesn't seem angry and partly because you'd like to look at his face just a bit longer. your eyes stay on his until someone walks through the door of the café and reminds you of where you are.

without a word, you brush past and go into the building, him trailing behind.

Matthew watches as you walk ahead, your clothes spattered with rainwater and your hair somewhat messed up, too. he smiles to himself at the way you almost bump into the corner of a table, nervousness evident in nearly every movement.

you head to the counter, setting your hands on the granite while the barista checks out your unkempt appearance.

"hi," you smile at her before realizing you have no idea what this guy wants. you turn around and see him standing slightly behind you, suppressing a smile. he can tell how flustered you are, and now you look like a fool. "what coffee do you drink?"

"can I have a medium Americano, please?" he asks the barista with a friendly smile. he's got straight teeth, dimples... holy shit. you wish he had been unappealing so that this whole situation would be less humiliating.

you pay for his drink before getting out of the way, both of you slowly walking to the pickup counter.

"again, I'm really sorry. that stupid umbrella." you shake the thing at your side, raindrops falling to the floor. you run a hand through your wet hair.

"it's okay. I appreciate you getting me another cup." he flashes that smile again and you remember that his sweater is all stained. before you can think to do anything else, you pluck a handful of napkins from the self-serve station and start to dab at the material.

he looks down at you for a second, surprised by the way you grab his clothes. Matthew feels your hand pressing into his stomach innocently, and he feels himself blush a little. it's only when you pull away that he's able to regain his head.

"it's still bad," you throw away the napkins and re-evaluate the garment. "jesus christ, it's a nice sweater, too."

"hey, it's totally fine. I can just wash it out." he lets out a slight chuckle, and the sound makes your heart flutter. he's got a dad laugh. deep in his chest.

"baking soda and water." you say abruptly. he frowns.

"what?"

"to get the stain out? I use baking soda and water for coffee stains and it usually works." you explain gently, your eyes meeting again. his irises are a brownish hazel color, warm. the laugh lines by them are charming.

"oh," he grins. "do you get coffee stains often?"

you twist your mouth to the side and glance at the windows of the coffee shop. he's teasing you and you'd be remiss if you said you don't want to play along. "more than I'd like to admit."

you can feel him looking at you with that stupidly brilliant smile and it's really setting you off-kilter. someone shouldn't be that attractive; it's not fair. and yet you want desperately to stare, if purely for the sake of aesthetic enjoyment.

"I'm Matthew." he extends his hand, which is decorated with a series of rings. you realize that you don't even know his name.

"Y/N." you shake. his fingers are softer than you expected.

"nice to meet you, Y/N."

"and under such fortuitous circumstances." the corners of your mouth turn up as you relax a little.

he laughs at your words, the delightful ring of it interrupted by a new Americano showing up on the counter. he glances at the to-go cup, then at you, then goes to get his drink. you wish you knew what he was thinking, but he's not displaying anything past friendliness.

"well, um." something like disappointment settles in your stomach as you recognize this will be the last of your interaction. there's no reason for him to stick around, and you need to get back home to work, anyway.

"I'll let you get back to your day." Matthew doesn't seem nervous, just unsure as he grips the coffee in his hand. you open and close your mouth like something impressive enough to keep him here will come out. you know it won't.

and then you remember the state of affairs, the existence of your useless car and the useless phone in the front seat, how you're going to have to call Triple A and then your roommate to come get you.

Matthew realizes that you aren't going to say anything and he gives you one last smile and an awkward wave before turning to go. you watch in silence as he crosses the room to the door. two more seconds until he's out of your life forever. so of course you choose this exact moment to speak.

"wait."

his head jerks suddenly to look at you. this is embarrassing, but you have nothing to lose.

"can I... borrow your phone?"

Matthew tilts his head to the side slightly, frowning as though deeply confused. and you suppose it is a strange thing to ask, especially given that you're a younger person and most people your age carry their phones everywhere. "sure." he walks back over to you, pulling his cell out of his pocket.

"I just--" you fumble with the device while you decide how to phrase it without sounding like a pathetic mess. "my car keeps breaking down and my phone battery is, like, totally fucked, so it just turns off and on constantly and it’s still in my car but it’s raining and I just wanna see if it’s back on so I can call my roommate." you immediately cringe at yourself. the rambling isn’t cute.

he’s not too bothered by your panicking, though, his mouth only forming an O shape. "it’s no problem."

you dial your number, fingers trembling while he waits. he's turned his eyes to the rest of the coffee shop, but it still makes you nervous that he's standing right there. you put the cell to your ear and pray that it rings out.

you’re greeted by the sound of your own voice telling you to leave a message. great. with a frustrated sigh, you hang up and Matthew gives you an inquisitive expression.

“it’s still off,” you explain. “I’m gonna call my roommate.”

he nods and shoves his hands into his pockets while you punch in the other number. for a split second, you peek his way and admire his side profile. he really is something to behold; a model, maybe.

"hello?" good thing Cecilia has no problem answering unknown numbers. you bite your lip.

"hey, it's me."

"Y/N? whose phone are you using?"

"uh, someone I just met--" you frown as you try to find a way to describe him without something as insulting as a random guy. "anyway, my car broke down so I was wondering if you could pick me up."

there's a pause on the other end of the line, like the movement of sheets and the slightly disappointed groan of another person. she probably has her boyfriend over again. "sure, of course. where are you?"

you give her the address and hang up before dialing the car repair company. Matthew gestures to a table off to the side so that you two don't need to stand, and then you sit down across from him. you're so distracted by the person on the other end of the line that you don't even think about it.

Matthew twists his rings on his fingers. he's fidgety and it's sort of cute. you try not to stare at his hands, at the black spot of ink on the outside of his pinky. either he writes a lot or he's an artist. you have to focus on the table in order to keep from blushing.

finally, you finish up with the phone and hand it back to him. "you're a life saver."

"do you want me to wait with you until your friend gets here?" he gestures out the window. your immediate reaction is to say yes. it'll be awkward to sit here alone without your phone, without coffee. but you don't want to keep him any longer than you already have.

"it's okay, I'm sure you have places to be." you smile accommodatingly. he chooses his next words carefully, it seems.

"I don't, really. but I'll leave you alone if that's what you want, too." the way he speaks, offering his company without trying to impose... something about it makes your heart melt a bit. you appreciate his thoughtfulness. it makes you want to know more.

"okay," you nod as you make your decision. "if you wanna stay. it shouldn't be too long."

"great," he settles back into his chair, the light from the café lights above you reflecting off the lenses of his glasses. "why does your car keep breaking down?"

you exhale sharply at the thought. "that's a really good question, because I don't know the answer. it's super old and I'm too broke to afford a new one."

he nods.

Matthew's mind turns to different avenues at this knowledge. he knows you're young and that usually means that there isn't a lot of spare income. and he doesn't know if you have a job. but what he does know is that you've got an energy about you-- a sweet, well-intentioned manner that draws him in. every once in a while throughout the conversation, you throw out certain phrases that hint at a quick-witted intelligence.

you're funny, but not boldly so. and when you two get on the topic of how you ended up rain-soaked, shoving your way into a Los Angeles café, you tell him about your day.

"--and I have this shitty job right now working for one of my old professor's friends, so it's not like I can afford to constantly repair the damages. all my money is going towards my savings so I can pay for grad school, anyway." you sigh. he listens intently to your words, and he never shies away from eye contact. every time he nods along, you practically feel your heart leap.

"what do you do?" he asks.

"I write for a wellness magazine, but I'm sort of a fraud." you joke.

he laughs. "why's that?"

"I don't know, a lot of it is about different yoga methods and meditation, stuff like that-- but I don't do any of that in my daily life." you admit. it should be embarrassing, but you don't feel ashamed of the fact. he seems to find it funny.

"working your way toward a different kind of job, then?"

"I'm hoping for a more editorial role, honestly, but..." you lift your eyes to his. they're bright, he notices; full of a deep-rooted hope. "gotta start somewhere, right?"

"very true." Matthew wants to tell you just how much he understands, about the roles as an actor he's taken and the hours he spent making films in college, just hoping that one day he'd be able to make things on his own, but he doesn't want to scare you away or sound like he's bragging. it's not your fault you don't know who he is.

"sorry," you speak through a silence he doesn't realize he's left between you two. "I've talked your ear off and you don't even really know me. what do you do?"

"oh--" Matthew actually blushes this time. you see the pink creeping up his neck. "I'm an actor."

in the same way they did when you ran into him, your eyes widen. "an actor?"

"yeah," he smiles at the expression on your face. "you know that show, Criminal Minds?"

the name is familiar, but you've never seen an episode. "yeah, of course."

"I'm in that."

you don't know a lot about the program, but you've heard it talked about and you know that it's a popular show. so this guy is an actual actor, not just some LA wannabe. that makes him about five times more intimidating. you feel even more idiotic for not seeing it before.

"oh, shit," the words tumble out. Matthew grins at the bluntness of your reaction, and you scramble to recover. "sorry I didn't know who you are."

"no worries!" he laughs it off. "it's not a big deal."

"do you like it?" you ask. "being famous, I mean."

he shifts in his seat for a second as he makes a face like he doesn't know how to answer. you wonder if there's something deeper to him that you just haven't seen, yet. secret feelings about the subject. "I'm really not very famous, but I love the work."

genuinely humble. you can see it in his face, the sparkle in his eyes. and maybe he's just charming and you're just a girl blinded by his attractiveness, but your gut tells you that he's being real.

this time, you're the one who falls silent. admittedly, you get a little in your head sometimes. and it makes sense, now, the smoothness of his behavior and the sheer beauty of his face. this is a show business city-- of course he's famous.

Matthew's phone rings and he jumps, as if jolted from a dream. your attention moves immediately to the screen and you recognize Cecilia's number. he pushes the device over to you.

"hello?" your voice sounds far away.

"hey, I'm here. where are you?" she says.

"I'm just inside the café."

"oh, okay, I'll park and come in--" you hear the click of a seatbelt and start to panic. she can't see you in here with him.

"no!" you say too loudly. Matthew's head jerks up to frown at you.

"why not?" Cecilia asks, confused.

"no reason," god, you're a bad liar. "I'll come out and we can wait for the Triple A person in your car." you and Matthew make eye contact again. he gives you an understanding smile. your stomach flips.

"sounds good." she hangs up and you grab your umbrella. time to go.

"thanks for letting me use your phone." you stand, not really wanting to say goodbye but also lacking a reason to stay. he remains in his spot, seemingly now settled into this little corner of the café. it sort of suits him, this place. all cozy and slightly strange.

“happy to help.” you notice the tip of his tongue dart out over his bottom lip as if deliberating whether or not to say anything further. but he doesn’t and you feel awkward just standing there by the table.

“I’ll, uh…” you could ask for his number. but that would be weird, right? he doesn’t really seem to have an interest, anyway. “I’ll see you around, then.”

“yeah. it was nice to meet you, Y/N.” he gives one more of those killer smiles and you turn around, almost bumping into a display of coffee beans before correcting yourself and heading back outside.

taglist (lmk if you want to be added or removed!): @la-vie-en-amour1 @reidsconverse @voidsfilm

[queenmuzz]

Devil’s Advocate

You’ve read the Dante’s Valentine’s Day Special, now it’s his brother’s time!

You awoke to the soft delicate scent of roses, and knew your ‘secret’ admirer had made yet another appearance.  ‘Secret’ was definitely a bit of an exaggeration, but still, you enjoyed these clandestine little gifts you had received, and were willing to wait as long as it took for the man responsible to reveal himself.

That man, of course, was the stoic, stony, yet surprisingly sensitive Elder son of Sparda, Vergil.  As a demon hunter yourself, you had come into contact with the Legendary Devil Hunter, Dante quite a while ago, but only recently, had you met the twin brother he’d never spoken to you about.  You never asked, but you sensed some tension, albeit rather gentle tension between the brothers, but you had decided ‘any friend and/or relative of Dante, is a friend of mine’.  And so, you attempted to befriend the aloof man, and though it took a while, it actually wasn’t as hard as you had expected.  

You had proven yourself an adept fighter, a voracious reader, and a perceptive listener, to the man, and cautiously, (and much to Dante’s surprise), you’d formed a friendship with him, a silent understanding that you had each other’s back, that he’d be at your side when fighting off the denizens of Hell, and you’d be there when he tried to figure out how to navigate a (frankly terrifying) world he hadn’t been a part of for over two decades.  

It HAD been nice, enjoying his silent presence, until your friendship had blossomed into something more serious...at least on your end.  Even a blind man could tell he was attractive, and behind his stony mask, there was a man who was deep down, courteous and kind.  A man you could imagine spending the rest of your life with.  But there was a teensy weensy fly in the ointment: You had no idea if Vergil would ever reciprocate your feelings.  It had taken so much time and patience to form a platonic relationship with him, and you didn’t want to destroy what was a perfectly good friendship over something as trivial as unrequited feelings.

But then, a box of chocolates had appeared on your desk one day.  Your favourite, the ones with the silky smooth French Vanilla filling, straight from the little chocolatier from across town.   Dante also had been hovering around, just out of sight, and just happened to walk in as you opened the box, making you suspect he had gotten them for you.  But seeing as he was more interested in ‘helping’ you eat the contents, as opposed to your reaction, you chalked it up to a thankful client.  Strange, it didn’t have a note accompanying it.

Then, a few weeks later… something appeared on your dresser in the small room you ‘rented’ (AKA, helped Dante keep the lights on) from the devil in red.  It was a beautiful green leather planner, with a matching enamel pen, all wrapped simply with a sky blue silk ribbon.  It had been your first clue that the box of chocolates were not just a gift from an anonymous client.  

Because you had seen this exact planner in the window of a little out-of-the way boutique while you were out running errands, and had stopped to admire the fine craftsmanship, but winced at the price tag.  You had planned to buy it later on, when you got paid from your latest job, but by then, it was gone, purchased by another customer.

The fact that this was the exact same handcrafted book that had been on display, and was now your possession, was no coincidence.  And...who was with you to run errands on that very day, who watched your eyes lit up as you peered at it through the glass?  Vergil.  There could be no doubt, the man was leaving gifts for you.  A token of friendship?  Both gifts could be seen as purely platonic, but there was always the chance…

And yet, when you came down the stairs that morning, to see Vergil sipping on his morning tea, trying to figure out the new fangled ‘cell-phone’ his son had given him, he barely gave you anything but a perfunctory nod, which made you question if he really was the gifter.  After all, even someone so emotionally guarded as Vergil would give some sort of clue, a slight inquisitiveness at why you couldn’t get that darn smile off your face.  But nothing. Perhaps the poor man was too shy to admit his feelings, or even quite understand his feelings for you...romantic or not.  And so, you would not mention the gift to him or anyone else.

A week later was the thing that really made up your mind.  Not only were you awoken by the scent, you could have sworn as you opened your eyes, a flash of bright blue, and what sounded like someone hurriedly leaving your room in a tremendous hurry.  (Like Dante when you caught him eating the last of your chocolates)

There, placed delicately on the pillow beside your head, was a single blue rose, its soft velvet petals unfurling in the morning light.  It had been freshly picked, and had no blemish.  You sat up, and cautiously picked it up, as if you weren’t quite sure it was a figment of a rapidly fading dream, and inhaled its scent.  This was no dream, the sweet scent was too real, too vibrant.

This sealed it.  The gift was from Vergil, and the meaning was clear.  One did not leave secret flower gifts to people they considered as ‘just friends’.  You spun the stem between your fingers, admiring its beauty from every angle.  You’d have to find a way to thank Vergil for such a thoughtful gift, to admit you had feelings for him too...but first, you’d need something to place the rose in, to preserve its beauty.  And Dante must have a vase in his kitchen somewhere….

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

It turns out, Dante did NOT have a vase in his kitchen.  Still, there had been a champagne glass, with the words “HAPPY NEW YEAR! 2007!” written on it, so it would have to do.  It didn’t dampen your happiness as you hummed and spritzed the flower with water, as you placed it in the newly cleaned glass. You were so happy, that you hadn’t noticed that someone also had entered the kitchen, and was silently watching you.  Only when you spun around, finally deciding on a perfect place to place it, did you come face to face with Vergil.

He seemed pale, even more than usual as he stood there, still in his pajamas, not looking at you, but at the flower in your hand.  After a few moments of awkward silence, he spoke. “Where.” a pause, as if he was having trouble voicing his thoughts, “where did you get that?”

You were taken aback.  Why would he ask such a question?  Surely he had given you the gift!

You decided to answer as truthfully as you could.

“It was on my pillow this morning.  I thought maybe you had given it to me…” you trailed off dumbly as he just stared at you.  “Along with the chocolates and the notebook…” Now Vergil looked alarmed, and you realized you had just misjudged the situation.  It was obvious that he hadn’t given you anything.  But even now, you searched his face, hoping against hope that he was just joking, that he was playing dumb, even though it would be totally out of character for him.

And without warning, he spun around, left the kitchen with footsteps that were quiet to a normal person, but for you, they sounded like the angry stomps of an elephant.  Out of sight, you heard him ascend the stairs, and then...his bedroom door slammed.

You stood there, confused and upset, the blue rose petals trembling in their makeshift vase.  You felt like something had changed between yourself and Vergil, and you were pretty sure it could never be restored. 💙💙💙💙💙💙

To say Vergil was angry was an understatement.  He was absolutely livid, as he stalked up the stairs and into his room.  Not at you, that was absurd.  You were innocent in all of this, an unfortunate victim.  His anger was directed at one person...himself.

He yanked open the nightstand drawer, and to his fury, the chocolates he had placed there a month and a half ago were gone.  He had heard you and Dante speaking about sweet tooths, and you had admitted that there was a little shop that sold dark chocolates with gooey french vanilla filling that you could die for.

And so, without really thinking, he had gone there, and purchased a box for you.  Why?  As  a token of friendship? A way of saying ‘thank you’ for being patient and understanding with him?  In the end, he couldn’t really decide WHY he wanted to give them to you, and so he placed them in the bottom of the drawer, away from prying eyes, (or his brother’s sensitive nose).  Maybe he could give it to you when he had a plausible excuse, such as your birthday.  But now...it had vanished.

Beginning to panic, he ran over to his wardrobe, and began pushing things aside on the top shelf.  The planner, which he was certain he had hidden under several of his sweaters, was also nowhere to be seen.

What you’d been doing that day, he couldn’t quite recall, only that he felt some compulsion to come with you.  To protect you? No...it was just to run some errands...then why had he felt better by your side?

As you and him chatted about plans for his son and grandchildren to visit, you had suddenly stopped at a storefront window, your eyes locked on something in the display.  A beautiful, handbound planner, with a matching pen as a mate.

“My old one is nearly used up...I’ve been looking for one to replace it, but something a bit more durable than what you get in a big box store, you know?”  Why had his chest hurt when he saw your crestfallen look at the price tag, and how you reluctantly walked away?

Only a day later, when he went back to purchase the book, did the clerk help him realize why he was feeling the way he did.  

“Ah a gift for someone special?” they asked as they tied a decorative bow around it.

“Yes...It’s for…” a friend?  No...that wasn’t it.  It was something more, at least for him.  He honestly didn’t know what you felt about him, and frankly, he was terrified to find out.

“It’s for someone very special to me”

And yet, when he had come home, instead of handing it to you, taking secret delight in the joy on your face… he had hidden it, out of sight, out of mind.  Because what if he was overstepping?  What if you saw him as just a friend, and nothing more?  Could he ever face you again, after destroying something he and you had worked so hard to build?

And now...he looked at his dresser, to find nothing but a glass of water.  The night before, he had, on a whim, stopped at a florist and purchased one, perfect blue rose.  This time, unlike the chocolates and the planner, who had a much longer lifespan, the rose would lose its lustre in a day, forcing him to give it to you, to confess his feelings for you.  

And yet, as you smiled at him as he walked in that evening, telling him that supper was almost ready, did he change his mind.  He’d just place it on the dresser, and let it bloom for him, and him alone, a reminder of his cowardice.

How you had gotten a hold of all three things, made no sense to him.  

Wait...three?

You had mentioned the book and chocolates, and he had seen the rose in your hands, but you hadn’t said anything about the fourth intended gift. He had been contracted to kill a demon that had been summoned by some robbers trying to break into a jewelry shop, (a creative way to destroy the security systems, but it had backfired immensely, as demon summoning usually did.)   The elderly owner, in gratitude, had offered him the pick of anything in his collection.

Vergil was going to pass on the offer, as there was only one piece he had worn, and it was long gone, but then his eye fell upon a delicate silver chain, with a pendant of sapphire and tiny diamonds.  You would certainly love it, he had decided, and so the grateful owner had placed it in a black velvet case and given it to him.  But as a gift, it was far too forward on its own...it was best given after he had confessed his feelings to you… and so it had laid, under his bed, waiting for him to work up the courage to do something.

He quickly got on his hands and knees, frantically searching for the box...but nothing…  Just a dust free spot outline where it had been.  Where did it go?  You didn’t have it, or you would have mentioned it.  It wasn’t in his room…  The only person who could have access to his room would be...Dante…

He grabbed Yamato, intending to wake up his no doubt still slumbering brother with an impalement.  It was so like his little brother, taking things that didn’t belong to him. And the implications troubled him.  Was DANTE trying to court you?  You and him had known each other far longer, but he’d never expected his idiot brother to try to undercut Vergil’s attempts for your affection…

Ah, but you never did anything in the first place to court them, he reminded himself, you were never even in the running…

Still, by the time he was done… There would be nothing left of Dante to court you-

He stopped in his tracks.  There, standing in the doorway, was an ethereal blue figure. His doppelganger, its face unreadable as it stared at him intensely.

“Out of way,” he ordered, but all he got was an amused huff.

Vergil was not amused and tried to barge past it, tried to summon it back to him, but he met both as if they were a solid brick wall.  This was odd, in battle his companion would always follow his directions,  why not now?  Whatever it had in mind, it wasn’t going to let him through.

“My brother has stolen things from me, don’t you understand why I am angry?”

He’d never seen his familiar  show any emotion, but now… he was certain it was laughing...

Laughing at him…

“What,” he said between gritted teeth, “do you think is so amusing?”  But all he got was the creature striding past him, and opensx the drawer of his nightstand, mimed taking something out, and then going to the wardrobe, and pretending to retrieve something from the top shelf.  And then, claws clicking the hardwood, it walked to the dresser, and plucked an invisible rose out of the glass, before turning back to him, a look of pride on its face.

And now the pieces were falling into place.

His Doppelganger had given you the chocolates

His Doppelganger, an extension of himself, had given you the planner

His Doppelganger, himself without his stony emotional wall, had given you the rose.

He stood there, unable to think.  Betrayed, by all things....himself.  And yet, he felt a wave of relief. As he watched you humming, and cleaning the glass to place the rose in, he saw the delight and happiness in your eyes.  And you seemed to already guess it was him that was giving you the gift.  Perhaps, his fear of ruining his friendship with you was unfounded.  But his reaction to the scene in the kitchen a mere few minutes ago threatened to ruin everything, and he had no idea of how to fix it.  Vergil was never fond of apologizing, nor very good at it.

And then, with a flourish, his doppelganger’s tail flicked around, and the tip hovered before him, wrapped around a familiar narrow black velvet box.  It seemed his companion hadn’t given away everything just yet.

Sighing in defeat, he took the box, and only then, did the ghostly apparition allow him passage, and followed him down the hall, until, after a moment’s hesitation he paused by your door.  It had been open when he had first come down the stairs, but now it was closed, indicating you had holed yourself in there after his confrontation with you.  Looking down at the box in his hands, he realized he had one chance to make things right.  He took one last glance at the doppelganger, who merely stood a distance away (blocking the stairway, he noticed)

💕💕💕💕💕💕

You sat on your bed, unable to take your eyes off the rose on your dresser, looking a bit less vibrant than before.  Where had you gone so wrong?  You had let your feelings colour your assumptions, let your blossoming affection for the man made you think that he must obviously felt the same for you.  But obviously you had misjudged, and now the carefully laid relationship was on the verge of crumbling, never to be rebuilt again.  Hopefully you two could still work together.

A soft knock came from your door, and hesitantly, you approached, knowing exactly who would be on the other side, but unable to figure out what to say.  Apologise?  Act like nothing happened? Pretend it was all a joke?You took a deep breath, and hoping for the best, but preparing for the worst, you opened the door.

There stood Vergil, stiffly, with his hands behind his back, looking like a boy forced by his mother to apologise for egging his neighbor's house.  For an awkward few moments, both of you first stared at each other, then looked at the floor, as if suddenly interested in the pattern of the hardwood.  Finally, when you could take it no more, you spoke first.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed that you had gotten me those things...I guess I had just,” you paused, desperate to not cross this rubicon, but seeing little other choice, “I guess I had just hoped that they were coming from you.  That they meant something I had hoped was true…”

Vergil pursed his lips, opened his mouth to say something, closed it again, and looked like he was about to turn away, before a  threatening rumbling grumble down the hallway, just out of sight, rooted him to the spot.  You saw his adam’s apple bob up and down as he attempted to form his words.

“No…” he began hesitantly, “I did not give you those gifts, although I wish I had.” You blinked at that last part, about to ask him exactly what he meant before deciding not to interrupt him, as it seemed he was working so hard to muster up what he wished to say.

“The chocolates, the planners and...the rose, were given to you, not by me, but by it…” he motioned to the side, and you peeked out your door to see Vergil’s doppelganger, tail practically wagging, waving to you like an eager schoolchild.  You barely caught in the corner of your eye, Vergil sighing in embarrassment.

“But wait,” you were connecting things together, “isn’t...your doppelganger basically...you?” Vergil bit his lip, then nodded.

“Yes, it’s an extension of me, but a version unshackled by doubts and fears…” he admitted, looking more and more uncomfortable by the minute.  

“So...you and it have the same feelings, same thoughts...just that it is able to act on them...which means…” The sudden realization made your mouth very dry.

“That I had...every… intention to give you those things, but my own weakness, my own fears of how you would react prevented me from following through with my plan.  Apparently,” he nodded back, almost in a gesture of thanks towards the ethereal creature, “Even I was getting sick of my own procrastination, and so...IT took matters into its own hands...or claws, as that is a more apt description.”

You did your best to suppress your giggles as the doppelganger smugly stuck out its chest, no doubt being quite pleased at itself.

“But…” Vergil’s voice yanked you back, “It also gave me one final chance to make things right, to take that step I have long feared to tread.”  From behind his back, he pulled out a long black velvet case, and gently, under your widening eyes, undid the clasp of the box, revealing a beautiful, delicate silver necklace, with an amulet that was a deep blue, and glittered like the entire Milky Way had been shoved inside of it.

“Will you forgive this hapless fool?” he asked as he offered it to you.  “I may not be as skilled with my emotions as I am with the blade, nor do I truly understand this whole ‘courting’ business but-”

He never finished, because you grabbed his arm, and pulled him in for a deep long kiss.  The necklace was beautiful, there was no denying that, but it wasn’t the gifts, nor even the way they had been ‘given’ to you that had attracted you.  It was the man, the frustratingly complex handsome, adorably awkward Vergil, that you had fallen in love with.   And silently, you pulled him inside your room, and silently shut the door, giving you both the privacy you both deserved.  No doubt it wouldn’t take Dante long to figure out what was going on, but that was a problem for the future you.  The future BOTH of you…

But as the door shut, you swore that down the hallway, you heard a very pleased, very demonic, rumble of a chuckle…..

[heartbeatan]

Devil's Garden: Chapter 4

Return to Chapter 3.

Return to Table of Contents.

Return to Desperado Series.

Return to Taehyung Fanfictions.

Return to Masterlist

Chapter 4

You fucking idiot, Taehyung cursed himself when everything clicked. He knew that name. Stintsons. Fuck! He even wrote it down, double-underlined it so he could come back to it. He had the missing piece in his fucking hands for two days. He could have saved you from this. All he had to do was just been a detective for a fucking second, instead of fucking around with his thoughts of fucking his married client.

“He understands,” Mina’s gazed moved to Taehyung when your face showed no signs of overcoming confusion. He could see you turn to him in his periphery, but he didn’t look back. He had no time now to sympathize or explain, or to feel embarrassment or shame for not picking up on the connection sooner.

“We have no idea what he’s been up to, or what he does, and we don’t want to know,” Taehyung spoke, trying to keep his voice from vibrating in anger. “Let us go. We won’t talk to anyone; we’ll forget he exists. Erase him.”

“What?!” you breathed out at his proclamation. He winced wishing you had just kept still instead.

“I don’t think so,” said Mina. “Like I said, you showing up today is of great convenience to me, given the circumstance. I’m going to need you to do something for me first.”

Taehyung sighed and closed his eyes. When it comes to the mob, you never just “do something first.” That “doing something” leads to more doings, to incrimination, until you’re trapped, in jail or dead.

“I’ll do it. Whatever you want, just let her go. She doesn’t need to be apart of this,” he finally adjusted his tone towards Mina in his attempt at a plea. The corner of her mouth pulled up in a smug satisfaction to finally see him grovel.

“She’s already involved,” Mina said as she turned to walk out of the room. “It’s you I don’t need. So, you decide how long you’ll be sticking around. But…” she pointed her finger towards you, “…she’s not going anywhere.” The two burly men followed her, closing the door behind them, leaving you alone. But Taehyung knew they would be back soon.

“What does she want?” you turned to Taehyung the moment the door closed. “Is she going to kill us?”

“I know we just met,” Taehyung cut you off before you could spin out. “But I need you to trust me. I need you to listen to everything I say from here on.”

“I do trust you, Taehyung,” you responded without missing a beat. His gaze darted to your eyes immediately, shocked by how easily those words slipped from your tongue, knowing that trust was something he wasn’t worthy of. “But you heard her. She doesn’t need you. You should leave if she’ll let you.”

“No,” he said firmly, ensuring you received the message without question. “This is my fault. I’m gonna get you out of this.”

“It’s not your…” your retort was interrupted when the door swung open with an industrial squeal.

The two men had returned. The brute, the one who had clocked Taehyung not long ago with his fist, pulled a knife off his waist and headed towards you. Your body tensed, leaning back into the chair as if you would be able to escape him.

“No!” Taehyung called, his heart beginning to pound. “No!” he called again, this time pulling hard at the ties around his wrists, nearly breaking skin as he did.

The man reached you, and with a strong grip pinned your arm still against the chair. He then dug the blade between your wrist and the zip-tie, and with a smooth flick the band snapped in half and fell underwhelmingly to the floor.

Taehyung let out a heavy breath, and he was fairly sure you did to. They were just releasing you from your confines, but he wanted to kick the man’s ass for being so fucking dramatic about it.

Once your second wrist was free, he turned the blade around, pointing the handle in your direction to take it. Rubbing your wrists, you looked back up at him, unsure what he was asking. The man nodded in Taehyung’s direction, and taking the blade, you understood what he was asking.

“Don’t try anything funny,” he said as you knelt before Taehyung and worked away at relieving his wrists of the zip-ties.

As Taehyung watched your trembling hands do so, his mind began to wander and plot. What if he took the knife from you? Could he overpower these brutes? Sink the blade into their necks? Take you by the hand and make a break for the exit? Adrenaline began to course through his veins as he thought about it, his body on edge ready to act the moment the second tie was removed – but, as he looked down at you, the dried blood still staining your face and hair, he realized that if you were both going to make it out in one piece, he would need to take a softer, more rational approach.

Now both released, you handed the knife back to your captor who returned it to its sheath. He then roughly grabbed you behind the elbow and pushed you in the direction of the door before he turned to Taehyung to do the same.

You walked down a long corridor, the floor covered in an aged carpet tile and the walls a large, off-white brick. You were in an office.

Is this…? Taehyung thought to himself until a door opened and you were both pushed out into the sunlight. It was. You were at Stintsons… Ezra’s office to be exact.

“Take this,” someone shoved an old cellphone into your hands. So old it had one of those walkie-talkie features on it. He flicked the dial for channel 04 and you could hear a static beep. “Don’t turn it off. Follow everything we say.” He then ushered you towards a car.

“You’ll drive,” someone slapped a set of keys into Taehyung’s hand and pushed him as well in the direction of the car. “Watch for speed bumps.”

Fuck, Taehyung said under his breath.

He climbed into the driver’s side, with you sitting next to him in the passenger’s seat. His eyes scanned the car quickly for anything that could be of value before checking the mirrors. He could see people climb into an SUV behind you. He looked forward and saw another party doing the same in a truck ahead.

“You’re gonna take Industrial to the 17, then make a right at the second light,” a voice came through the soundwaves.

Taehyung took a long breath through his nose, then closed his eyes as he pressed the clutch and turned the ignition. The engine – to his relief – roared to life without incident. He sure as fuck hoped Mina’s people knew what they were doing.

Before he put the car in first, he looked over to you. He didn’t know yet if he should tell you, but you looked calm – given the circumstance – as you sat next to him in your hoodie, holding the phone in your palm.

“Tuck your hair into your sweater,” Taehyung said. “Then pull your hood all the way up.”

You looked back at him inquisitively, but you did as he asked – brushing the strands off your face and tucking it all into the hood as he pulled the car out into the street.

“Pull it down as much as you can,” he insisted. “And look down the whole time we’re driving. Don’t look up at the CCTVs.” You understood then, he wanted you to hide from the cameras. It seemed counterintuitive, given that you were the ones being held captive, but you said you’d listen.

“How about you?” you inquired, noting he had nothing to protect his identity.

“Check the glove box,” he said, and you did. Finding it empty, but you didn’t stop there. You check the centre console, then stretched into the back, dipping your hands into the seat pockets in search of anything you could use.

“Ah ha!” you exclaimed as you returned to the front with a ballcap brandishing the Stintsons company logo across the front.

He took the cap and popped it onto his head, pulling the beak down as much as he could to hopefully protect his face enough.

“Take the next left,” a voice came through the phone again. Taehyung did as he was asked but noticed the SUV behind him had continued on straight, leaving your tail. You notice the truck you had been following hadn’t taken the left either.

“Why are they just leaving us like this?” you asked.

“There’s a bomb in this car,” he replied.

“What?!” you exclaimed. “How do you know that?”

“Stintson’s is just a front for the Uzo-Tuk.”

“You mean the gang?”

“Yeah,” Taehyung nodded. “They’re more than a gang. They’re a powerful crime ring. Drugs. Money. Weapons. People.”

“You better make that fucking light,” the voice came through the phone again. Taehyung peered up to see the yellow light too many meters ahead of him. But he did as he was asked, hitting the gas and speeding through the intersection. You grabbed the handle above the door, holding on for life and to your breath as the car rushed the intersection.

You made it through, though. An angry screech of a horn and a fuck you from a pedestrian you made it through the light as instructed.

“You think Ezra knew it was a front?” you asked when your stomach had settled from the rush.

“He was supposed to do a job for them, Y/N,” he didn’t mean for his tone to come off as patronizing, but it did. “I think he more than knew.”

“How do you know there’s a bomb?”

“It’s just their M.O. They park a car next to a target and then set it off remotely.”

“Was this what Ezra was supposed to do for them?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s on the next corner. Pull up to the curb as close as you can,” the final instruction came through the phone. “Then walk through the alley across the street and up the hill. Bring the phone.”

“Get out as soon as we park,” Taehyung said as he pulled the car towards the curb. “Keep your head down, take my hand. Don’t run.”

The car had barely reached a halt when you swung the door open. You made your way around the front as Taehyung close the driver’s door behind him. You took his hand as he had asked, kept your face low, and he guided you in a hurried stride across the street and towards the alley. The crumbled road ended in just a few metres, and led to a steep, dusty staircase that led from to a parking lot that elevated above the buildings. Henchmen greeted you when you reached the top, grabbing you roughly and dragging you towards the rest of the group.

Several of them held beers in their hands or a joint in their mouth while they laughed and joshed as if they were at a party. You had stayed glued to Taehyung’s side the best you could. He assumed you, smartly, were trying to stay out of the line of any of their sights. But it didn’t work. Taehyung watched as one of them, he appeared to be the leader, adorning a white tank exposing his sleeves of tattoos, looked over to you next to Taehyung and in an instant he knew he wasn’t going to leave you be.

“Hey, girly,” he called to you. “Come here for a second.”

“Leave her alone, man,” Taehyung groaned, trying to be as non-cholent as possible. But the man didn’t like that. So he walked up to the two of you, adjusting his presence to appear as menacing as he could, and pointing his finger in Taehyung’s face.

“I wasn’t fucking talking to you… MAN,” he said, and Taehyung almost laughed at his pathetic display of macho-ness. “Come here,” he said again to you, but this time grabbing a hold of your wrist and dragging you away. Strong hands grabbed Taehyung from behind, being sure he wouldn’t follow or try something. The tattoo’d man brought you to a spot on the ledge, so you could oversee the buildings below with perfect clarity. “You see that?” he pointed down to the street. “That’s the car you drove, right?” You didn’t answer, but he didn’t need you to answer. Instead, he pulled a phone from his pocket, tapped through the buttons until he handed it to you. “When I say, push the 'call' button.”

“Don’t fucking do it, man,” Taehyung called out. “Don’t make her do it!” How fucking cruel could these people be? Taehyung could see your expression change as you realized what was happening. You weren’t being asked to call someone – he wanted you to set off the bomb.”

“No. No, no, no,” you refuted as you pushed the phone away from you. “No, please. I can’t do that.”

“C’mon, baby. You can,” he patronized you with a disgustingly flirtatious tone. Taehyung jerked, trying to get a heavy hand off his shoulder.

“She’s not apart of this!” Taehyung called out again. “Just leave her out of it!” The hands holding him tightened their grip and he tried again to shake them off, but it only earned him a solid punch to the gut, leaving him breathless and kiltered over.

“Don’t!” you screamed when another one kicked Taehyung hard in the ribs, and you too tried to break away to come to his side, but the man had you held tightly. You turned and spat in his face. It was instinctive. You didn’t even realize you’d done it until it was too late. You didn’t have the time to consider how reckless it was, but before you could even think of what to do next a heavy hand clapped hard across your jaw, knocking you flat onto the earth.

“Fuck you!” Taehyung spat as he swung and arm trying to injure anyone near him.

Then… he heard a click, and his heart stopped.

He looked back. You were still on the ground. Mr. Tattoos standing above you, his arm stretched forward, in his hand a silver gun, arrogance lining his features, and rage making his veins visibly pop even under their array of ink. He wasn’t pointing the gun at you though. He was pointing it at Taehyung.

Everyone at the scene froze. It felt like someone had hit the pause button on a movie. It was possible at that moment that oxygen was no longer a human requirement, since no one on scene was taking any in.

“Stand up,” tattoos spoke, his command directed at you. Taehyung watched as your gaze followed from the gun to the place it was pointed, and when you saw it was pointed at Taehyung, when you realized that if you didn’t behave then something terrible was going to happen, you pulled yourself from the ground.

Taehyung wanted to call out again, but the stakes were too high now. But it hurt him to think about what this was going to do to you. Hurt him more knowing he could have been the one to keep you from this.

“Take this,” the man said as he handed you back the phone. “And when I say… you fucking push the button. Or else, your boyfriend here is dead.”

You looked back at Taehyung one last time. Your eyes filled with terror, and already filled with guilt and grief. Taehyung could tell you were asking him if it was alright. He nodded solemnly, although he didn’t know what your decision was going to be. Him? Or those innocent people, down there, on the street.

“Okay,” said tattoos. “Push it.”

[julemmaes]

“If I go on a date with you, will you bring the dog from your profile picture?” for Rowaelin or Elorcan maybe? 🙂

Puppies - October 15th

Elide Lochan x Lorcan Salvaterre

A/N: I think I’m running a fever and I’m pissed cause it’s not the ideal right now, don’t you all think? But still, I wanted to post this and PP chapter 6, but I cannot for the love of god try and translate that too, so I hope I can do it for tomorrow, in the meantime enjoy this fluffy/cute thing since I’m always giving you just angst.

Enjoy:)

Oh and I think I’m gonna write a part two to this, just like for the Rowaelin one when I get the time and I finish every prompt. Also, again, I’m sorry if this is taking so fucking long, I do understand it’s December and this thing is called October Something so yeah

Word count: 3,883

Lorcan could not get over the fact that a beautiful girl like Elide had agreed to go out with him. Or rather, he could not understand how a beautiful girl like her had asked him out on a date.

A hint of panic crept into his mind, causing his smile to waver when he remembered his best friend's mocking words. "She didn't ask you out, she just wants to see your dogs." Rowan had joked when he had explained why he was taking the dogs for a walk dressed so elegantly.

Lorcan had eyed his black skinny and his beige sweater with an arched eyebrow, feeling sorry for Aelin if Rowan thought that outfit was elegant. He told him he had to meet a girl and his friend demanded to see some photos and Lorcan knew he would never let him out until he pulled out her tinder profile.

Rowan had opened his eyes wide in front of Elide's black-haired, pearly-skinned beauty, then burst out laughing, slamming his hand on his back and telling him he didn't stand a chance with someone like that.

Now, as he walked with Opal by his side with Maya pulling them both way too excitedly, he felt the anxiety grow with every step.

They had exchanged numbers almost immediately and talked for a week, sending pictures of what they were doing and eating, and when Elide had sent him a picture of a meat plate with rice, he had asked her where she was. She had gone out with some friends to her favorite restaurant in town and from there a conversation about their favorite places had started and Lorcan had mentioned that he should try the dish she had ordered, because it was as if he could smell it through the phone. At that point Elide had told him that she would gladly accompany him and Lorcan, like the idiot he was, had asked her if she was serious and she had sent him a message: "If I go on a date with you, will you bring the dogs from your profile picture?"

He had grinned like an idiot, happy to know that she didn't think they were vicious beasts. His two little dogs, two sisters, had entered his life when they were only a few weeks old and now he couldn't imagine his life without them, but sometimes it was difficult to convince other people, especially strangers, that they weren't aggressive and wouldn't tear them to pieces.

They had decided to meet at the Gardens of Orynth so that his two pitbulls could run a little bit free, instead of having to walk around the city with muzzles all the time and Elide had sent him a short video of her jumping happily at the idea of meeting him.

He was looking around for the girl, when he heard someone calling for him and his head snapped in the direction of the Turtle Fountain.

He opened his eyes wide, chuckling in dismay when he realized that Elide was dressed almost exactly like him. A beige sweater tucked on the front of her black pants, torn at the knees, which did absolutely no justice to the legs he had seen her show on her tinder profile. Even the shoes were the same, simple black lumberjack ankle boots, years old in appearance. The only thing differentiating them was the religiously black jacket she wore, which enveloped her figure perfectly.

That moment of distraction in which he admired her cost him the grip on Maya's leash, which with a sudden snap managed to pull him forward and free herself. The pitch black dog ran up to the girl and Elide smiled widely, crouching on the ground and opening her arms. The little dog immediately started to welcome her, licking her face and getting up on her hind paws, scratching her legs with those in front.

Lorcan cursed loudly and ran towards them, Opal looked up at him for a moment, starting to toddle next to him a second later, to keep up.

"Hello you beautiful," Elide was saying, rubbing her hand on the dark fur, "you must be Maya." When the dog started whining, wagging her tail even more, she giggled, "Yes, it's you."

Lorcan was sincerely surprised by the scene, but when Elide looked up, smiling at him with bright eyes, he remembered that he should speak. "I'm so sorry, normally I can hold her." He apologized, scratching the back of his neck.

She shrugged, "Don't worry about it." Then she went back to the dogs, extending her hand to Opal, who seemed just as excited as Maya, but sat next to him.  When she sniffed Elide's hand without approaching, she stood up and Lorcan saw with horror that she had mud marks on her pants. He felt himself blush, "Fuck, I'm sorry," and then she handed him Maya's leash, shaking her head. He touched her hand and his brain short-circuited.

"Don't worry," she said smiling and showing her teeth, "really." she repeated when Lorcan glared at the dog. Then she tilted her head to the side, "Hi."

Lorcan smiled in turn, looking at her. God, she was so beautiful.

"Hi."

She leaned towards him, leaving a light kiss on his cheek and immediately returning to her place, adjusting her bag on her shoulder, "I like the way you are dressed, excellent choice."

He was dumbfounded for a moment by her spontaneous gesture. Not that no girl had ever kissed his cheek, but her lips had been so soft and warm against his skin and at the same time so confident and solid. He quickly recovered, pointing to her clothes, "Yes, I must say that your taste is impeccable too."

She smiled at him, shifting her gaze to the dogs for a few seconds, then those black puddles locked on him, "So, how's your day going so far?"

Maya kept circling around her and Opal seemed less and less uncomfortable, her ears now low and her tail moving slightly behind her. The most excitement she would show for a stranger, Lorcan knew. But he was still happy that she was not hiding behind his legs.

He grinned at her, "Very well, I was looking forward to going out with a certain girl," he joked.

Elide snickered, looking him in the eye, "Yes, I was quite excited to meet this new friend of mine too." Then she turned to the dog pen - a huge section of the park reserved for animals, so that people wouldn't bother them while they too were running free. "Shall we go there?" she asked, pointing with one hand.

Lorcan nodded, urging the puppies to walk.

The second he released the leash to both of them, the dogs snapped forward, starting to run in the area. The two of them sat down on a bench just right by the fence and when he turned towards her, Elide was giving him a bright smile.

"What?" he asked her, arching an eyebrow.

She shrugged, "Nothing," she muttered, "I just thought you'd be a lot more chatty, you know."

Lorcan felt himself blush again. It was true, by message and the few times they had called each other, Lorcan had talked a lot and there had never been a second he hadn't had his line ready, but now it was almost as if he no longer had the ability to have a normal conversation. He gave her a frustrated look, "Sorry."

"You don't have to apologize," she giggled and Lorcan felt his chest tighten to that sound. She turned to the dogs when she heard Opal barking and he was breathless when her smile widened even further, seeing the silvery dog running in their direction, "What did you do this morning that was so important that you couldn't answer me?"

He forced his body to relax under her inquisitive eyes, "I had to convince my roommate that calling a plumber to fix the toilet was a much better idea than trying to solve the problem on our own and-". Lorcan puffed, passing a hand through his hair, "Sometimes he can be difficult."

Elide became pensive, "Are you talking about Rowan?"

He nodded, surprised that she remembered the name of his best friend.

"If it's any consolation, my roommates are headstrong too," she said as she opened her eyes wide, "and most of the time it's just as hard as childbirth to have someone else help us around the house," she sighed, "Asterin drives me crazy, too, for other reasons."

Lorcan raised an eyebrow, asking tentatively, "How come?"

He had heard about her roommates, Asterin and Manon, only a couple of times and Elide hardly ever answered his messages when the two girls were present, she always found an excuse to end the conversation.

Initially, Lorcan had thought that Elide simply wanted to spend time with them, but the more days passed the more she avoided him when they were home. He started to think that she didn't want them to know that she was talking to a loser like him, which hurt him more than it should. He was used to people avoiding him on the street and judging him too soon because of his grumpy attitude and the grimace always present on his face, but Elide had found out more about him than any other person had ever done in twice the time and he believed there was a connection between the two of them.

Perhaps it was not the same for her.

When she took a while to respond, he looked closely at her, seeing that she was biting her lip.  Maybe he shouldn't have asked. He should have left it alone.

Before he could tell her that they didn't need to talk about it, she said, "She always brings new people home and" she made a noise that sounded more like a grunt than a laugh, "I have absolutely nothing against having a different partner every night," she said.

Lorcan stiffened beside her and saw her eyes open wide. Now that he thought about it, she was hardly ever free in the evening to call him or to stay on face time.

She carried her hand to her mouth, snorting, "Oh God, I didn't mean it that way -" she stopped, "I don't do- I never- Shit." She cursed out loud and took a deep breath, "I meant Asterin is big and vaccinated and can do whatever she wants, I'd just rather she was less noisy." she concluded sighing and carrying a hand to her chest.

Lorcan looked at her gently, "You know," he offered to comfort her, "there would be nothing wrong with it if you had a-" he choked on his words and coughed, "a different partner every night."

The idea disturbed him more than expected. Not because he saw such a thing as distasteful - he, too, had had his golden days when he was younger by Rowan's side - but because the idea of someone else touching Elide as he had only once dared to dream about, gave him chills.

She looked at him carefully, frowning, and he had to shift his gaze to the dogs because he couldn't stand the emotion on her face. He could not decipher it.

He spoke in a low voice when he said, "But I'm not looking for something temporary or a fling, Elide." he gave her a thoughtful look, letting her see the sincerity in his eyes, "I'm quite tired of the occasional stories I find myself in every time."

His mind went straight to Maeve and a shiver ran down his spine.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and when he turned around, she was smiling, "I've never dated anyone, Lorcan," she whispered, as if she was afraid of his reaction. Her hand slipped away from his body and he missed that touch immediately, "I'm serious." Then she grimaced, "I've never even had a boyfriend, but that's a story for another date. Definitely not for our first time out."

Lorcan studied her carefully as Opal approached them and let herself be pampered by Elide. Maya somewhere playing with the other dogs.

She seemed upset and if the deep frown between her eyebrows was not enough to let him realize it, her bouncing leg confirmed his doubts.

Whatever they would talk about that night, neither of them would bring up the subject of relationships, and he felt relieved, if only slightly.

"I didn't want to meddle in your affairs, I just wanted to make it clear that I don't want anything casual." he bent forward, resting his elbows on his knees and crossing his fingers.

He was surprised when she murmured, "Neither do I."

He threw a stunned smile over his shoulder and she took a deep breath. Then she chuckled, scratching behind the dog's ears and making her mumble, "And not to mention Manon." She closed her eyes and dropped her head backwards, without letting go of her grip on Opal's snout, "That girl will be the end of me."

This time he remained silent, waiting for her to continue.

"She's been dating a guy for years and it seems like their fucking honeymoon phase never ends." she grunted, "Between the two of them I don't know which one makes me feel worse about my non-existent sex life."

Lorcan laughed, covering his face with his hands. He liked how comfortable she was talking about such things with him. All the girls he had dated up to that point had been uneasy just because he used bad words in his daily life, but Elide seemed to use them in turn, so she certainly wouldn't dump him and tell him she couldn't be with a longshoreman.

He leaned against the backrest, extending an arm behind her and maybe it was his imagination or maybe not, but it seemed to him that Elide moved closer to him. "I feel you, Rowan and Aelin, his girlfriend, are the loudest couple I know and it's so agonizing sometimes that I have to go to sleep at our neighbors' house. And even there I can still hear them, but at least I can fall asleep." she looked at him amused and shocked at the same time, "They have been our friends for years too," he explained quickly.

Elide nodded, "I have no neighbor to seek shelter from."

He caressed her shoulder lightly, "You can always camp in my living room, they tell me that the sofa is very comfortable."

She laughed, "Thank you," then looked at him, licking her lower lip, "I will consider your offer the next time Dorian or the stranger number two thousand will be our guest."

They didn't notice Maya running towards them until a big heavy black hairy ball threw itself between the two of them and Elide let go a noisy breath, laughing, when the dog gave her a muzzle against her chest with all her strength.

"Maya!" Lorcan scolded her, gasping. The dog wagged his tail on their legs, hitting them both in the face as she turned to lick his face first and then hers. Lorcan tried several times to push her away to prevent her from ruining Elide's light makeup, but the girl didn't seem to care at all and when Opal got on the bench, laying her snout on her leg, Lorcan gave up completely.

They played for more than half an hour with the dogs, even getting up at a certain point to throw sticks and balls and when the sun began to set, Elide turned towards him, short of breath for the various races made to chase the dogs, "What do you say if we head towards the restaurant?"

Lorcan sniffed, trying to catch his breath, "I'd love to."

Putting the leashes back on Maya and Opal, Elide asked him if she could carry one. He didn't even think as he passed her Opal's. Surely if he had let her carry Maya, it would have ended badly and she would have fallen over and he didn't feel like finishing the night in the emergency room at all.

They were walking along the perimeter of the park and Maya was pulling as usual, dictating the pace and Lorcan tried as much as possible to pull her back so they wouldn't have to run, but it seemed impossible.  He tried to slow down every time Elide started talking and by the sixth time she had to stop mid-sentence to catch her breath, Lorcan wondered if everything was alright.

At one point, she had taken his hand and now, while they were talking about this and that, he was trying not to squeeze her fingers too hard every time he had to squeeze the leash. The gesture was a spontaneous reaction of his body.

When Maya made them speed up one more time, Elide whimpered and stopped talking, stumbling slightly in her footsteps. Opal turned around in a flash towards her, stopping a few steps in front of them.

Lorcan halted, taking his hand away from Elide's and turning completely towards her. Her breath was wheezing and her forehead was sweating and he could see she was suffering. Panic poured into his stomach.

"El," he murmured that nickname silently, opening his eyes wide in front of her pained expression, "what is it?"

He, too, had been out of breath, but it was already twenty minutes they were walking along quietly, and even though Maya seemed to want to give them a slimming workout, she shouldn't have been so tired.

She closed her eyes, shifting her weight to her left leg and jerked, grunting, "It's nothing." she breathed, looking at him with blurred eyes, "Don't worry," she smiled slightly.

Nothing-

"I shouldn't worry?" he put his hand on her arm, pushing her gently toward a bench nearby, "It looks like you're about to die." the fear was clear in his voice. Elide held back another groan, but Lorcan heard her gasp under his grasp. "Are you having an asthma attack?"

He said the first thing that came to his mind and was surprised to hear Elide giggling beside him.

The second she sat down, her expression changed completely and she seemed to relax. She stretched her right leg forward and his eyes fell on her ankle. Only then, with her pants pulled up slightly and her shoe shifted, did he see the scars that marked her skin. He held his breath.

When he met Elide's gaze again, she had a guilty grimace on her face.

"I'm sorry," she murmured to him.

Lorcan shook his head, closing his eyes, "Sorry, mh, why are you apologizing?"

Elide sighed, passing her hand over her face, "Normally I can walk on it for more than an hour without any problem, but with running before and Maya pulling now, I think I strained it too much and it's really hurting me." In the meantime she had leaned forward, her hands stretched out on her leg while she was massaging her calf going further and further down towards her ankle.

He sat down next to her, making sure that both dogs were sitting on the opposite side of her, so as not to risk worsening her already difficult situation.

He didn't know what to say, too many questions were going through his head.

"Why didn't you tell me? We could have taken a cab or we could have met directly at the restaurant," he told her, putting his hand on her back when, touching the swollen part of her ankle, she whined.

Elide looked at him from under her eyelashes, "Because guys normally don't want to go out with cripples. Or a girl with a cane." Then she turned down again, "And I really wanted to go out with you tonight."

It warmed Lorcan's heart, but he was still annoyed that he made her think he was that kind of person and that she didn't trust him enough to tell him the truth - or hide it from him. Then he felt sick at the thought of how many more times Elide had had to face that conversation and who knows how many more times someone had told her that they were no longer interested after finding out the truth.

He swallowed, choosing his next words wisely, "I don't care if you have scars or if you have difficulty walking without support, Elide." He told her sincerely, "I understand why you didn't tell me, but I'd rather you didn't hide these things from me from now on."

He would not ask her questions about how or why her leg was damaged in such a way.

Elide sat up, covering her face with her hands, "Do you think you could slow Maya down a little bit?" the sound muffled by her fingers, "The restaurant is right on that street." she pointed out a road only a hundred meters ahead. Then she looked at him and her eyes were shiny and Lorcan's throat tightened.

"Are you alright?"

He immediately regretted the question. It was obvious she wasn't.

It didn't seem to bother Elide in the slightest. She nodded, then moved her foot in a circular pattern, biting her lower lip so hard that Lorcan thought she was going to tear it off. "Yes, I'm fine," she said with wheezing breath.

Lorcan looked at her with worried eyes, "You don't look well though."

Elide stared at him taking deep breaths, "Because the bones in my ankle are rubbing against each other and I have no water behind me to take painkillers," she said honestly, "But I can make it to the restaurant and on the way back I'll take a cab or call Manon or Asterin to pick me up."

Lorcan looked at her and then the restaurant, then her again, "Are you sure you can make it?"

"What other options do I have?" she smiled at him.

He nodded, "You're right."

She sighed and put her forehead over his shoulder. It seemed so familiar to Lorcan that he risked tearing the skin off his face so quickly he smiled.

"Can we rest for five minutes?" she asked him in a tired voice.

Lorcan put his arm around her shoulders and held her closer, feeling brave and kissing her temple, "We can rest all night as far as I am concerned."

Elide made a verse of approval and when Lorcan looked at her, he noticed that her eyes were closed and although she still had a sweaty forehead and a grieving expression, she was smiling.

They sat down for more than five minutes and only when Elide was able to take more than five steps without flinching, Lorcan decided that they could go to the restaurant. An arm tied around her hips to support her and the two leashes tightened in his free hand.

He did not know for what grace of God, but even Maya seemed to have realized the situation, and had slowed down her pace drastically, trotting alongside Opal undisturbed.

Inay, the owner of the place, had made them sit inside, near the large window overlooking the river, and there, Elide and Lorcan enjoyed the first of a thousand other dinners they would share.

tog taglist (if you wanna be added or removed dm me or send me an ask)

@maastrash @ireallyshouldsleeprn @sleeping-and-books @ladywitchling @thegoddessofyou @ghostlyrose2 @claralady @queenestarcheron

[heauxplesslydevoted]

And They Were Roommates (Bryce Lahela x MC)

Summary: A surprise leads to a major shift in Bryce and Casey’s relationship

A/N: Eeeek, this is my first time ever writing a Bryce x MC fic! The day you guys see me writing something not Ethan centric is the day you should play the lotto because it’s more rare than a unicorn sighting.

Anywho....please enjoy!

Tags: @drakewalker04 @canknot @lapisreviewsstuff @senseofduties @maurine07 @badchoicesposts @ermidc @sundaescreamcheese @danijimenezv @starrystarrytrouble @the-pale-goddess @gogotomago95 @have-aheart @aworldoffandoms @zaffrenotes @anotherbeingsworld @to-fangirl-or-not-to-fangirl @nazariolahela @the-unconquered-queen @writinghereandthere @omgjasminesimone @parkerattano @silent-storms-posts

~v~

“Okay, are we going out to lunch?” Casey asks, twisting her fingers into her skirt. From the passenger seat of Bryce’s car, the bustling streets of Boston fly past her. A tendril of her curly hair whips around in the wind, settling on her lip as it sticks to her tacky lip gloss. Bryce is a freaking speed demon and drives too fast for her liking.

But she does like looking at him when he’s behind the wheel. His grip on the wheel is relaxed, much like his posture, slouched low in the seat, right hand drumming against the gear shift. While it’s still winter, the sun is shining brightly, making the highlights in his hair and the light dusting of freckles adorning his nose stand out. Her boyfriend—even thinking that word makes her giddy—makes a pretty sight to behold.

“No, that’s not the plan. But we can go get food once we’re done,” Bryce answers..

“Ice skating?” Casey guesses. She watches as he shakes his head. “But ice skating sounds so fun.”

“We can go ice skating some other time, Case.”

“We’re going to the movies?”

Bryce chuckles. She’s been trying to guess all morning what he has planned for the day, and despite getting every single guess wrong, Casey comes up with another one at the drop of a hat. The persistence is admirable. “You’ll find out soon enough. Stop being so nosy.”

Casey pouts, feigning hurt. “I resent that! I prefer to be called naturally inquisitive. It makes me sound smart.”

“You’re nosy,” Bryce deadpans. “But don’t fret, we’ll be there in like, 5 minutes tops.”

He’s been excited from the moment he told her to get dressed, and Casey can see that his leg is bouncing up and down underneath the steering wheel. Whatever he has planned, he’s really excited about it, so Casey decided to keep quiet and enjoy the rest of the ride.

They enjoy the rest of the short ride, Casey scrolling through Bryce’s different Spotify playlists until she settles on the perfect song, but he’s pulling in and parking his car before she can even hit play.

An apartment complex was not what she was expecting to see. It’s a very nice apartment complex, located a few blocks away from Boston University. Casey can see the college students milling around, some adults walking their dogs, a few older more established couples, some with kids, some without going in and out of the building.

Now her curiosity is piqued. Is Bryce dragging her along to some surgeon friend’s apartment? Is this his idea of a Saturday adventure? Granted, he never promised her an adventure, just a surprise, and while she likes most of his surgical cohort, she’d rather be doing something else. Nonetheless, Casey doesn’t say anything, letting Bryce intertwine their fingers and lead her through the building.

They ride up the elevator in silence until they reach the 4th floor. It isn’t until Bryce reaches into his pocket and pulls out a key do the alarms go off on her brain. “Bryce? Did you–”

“I got a new apartment!” Bryce exclaims, cutting her off. “Surprise!”

Once the door is open, he’s pulling her in, his excitement palpable. Casey looks around the place. It’s unfurnished, the hardwood floors beneath them bright and freshly waxed. And even though she hasn’t looked around, she can already tell it’s much larger than his current 1 bedroom.

“Oh...wow,” is all that manages to come out of her mouth.

“I know! It’s in Keiki’s school district, thank god. And it’s a brand new unit, all stainless steel appliances, marble and quartz countertops, which are apparently huge deals when you’re apartment hunting. In-unit washer and dryer, walk-in closets, there’s a gym and a pool downstairs, a game room–”

Casey watches him as his animatedly rattles off all of the features in the apartment. His face is flush, pink with excitement, his words are breathless and tumbling out of his mouth all at once. She takes a step forward, cupping his face between both hands. “Bryce, I think you should stop and breathe.”

The command makes him flush hard, now from embarrassment. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. You can continue now.”

“That was pretty much it. The main draw is that it’s a two bedroom, two bathroom apartment, so I don’t have to sleep on the couch anymore. Now Keiki and I will each have our own space. Do you think she’ll like it?”

“Will the 15 year old girl like having her own room, and not having to share a bathroom with her older brother?” Casey nods. “Absolutely. Keiki is a lucky duck.” She takes a few steps further into the apartment, silently appraising it. It’s beautiful from what she can see, and she hasn’t even seen the bedrooms. “Question: how are you affording this place? You’re a surgical resident, living in Boston is expensive, and I’m pretty sure Sallie Mae is eating most of your paychecks.”

Bryce looks down at his feet, shuffling them back and forth much to Casey’s dismay. He’s going to scuff the floors doing that. “I uh...I talked to my parents.”

“When?”

“A little over a month ago, before I enrolled Keiki in school. I called my parents and gave them quite the earful about not contacting Keiki once since she’s been in Boston, and I kinda let them have it. Turns out I’ve been holding in a lot of pent up...stuff regarding my parents.”

Casey’s eyes soften at his confession. They hardly ever have conversations about his parents, and when they do, it’s never good. “You want to talk about it?”

Bryce shakes his head, memories of that conversation trying to bubble to the surface. His mother tried her hand at making awkward small talk as if they hadn’t gone years without talking, while his father said nothing at all. He bites the inside of his cheek, willing the bad memory to go away. Negative thoughts of his parents don’t need to invade this space.  “Nah, it’s not important.”

Resisting the urge to call bullshit, Casey simply nods. “Agree to disagree, Bry. But we’ll table it for now and just continue your story.”

He’s grateful that she’s willing to listen, but not pushy enough to force him to talk, leaving the ball in his court. “Long story short, I told them that Keiki is welcome to stay with me in Boston and I wouldn’t make it public news that they all but abandoned their daughter and drag social services into things, if they allowed me to be her legal caregiver.”

“Really?”

“Yup. So I can be in charge of her education and medical decisions while she’s out here. It’s less permanent than me filing her guardianship, and my parents still legally have rights, but it makes things easier. And because of that, my parents are giving me a pretty generous monthly allowance for all of her expenses. Housing, food, school supplies, the works.”

“So child support?”

“Pretty much, yes. I didn’t ask for it, but the Lahelas like to throw money at their problems. Some of that money goes towards the rent here, the rest I put in a savings account for Keiki. I’ll gift her the money when she starts college, so she’ll have a bit of a nest egg, and won’t be dependent on ramen noodles and the McDermot’s dollar menu like I was.”

Bryce shoves his hands into his pockets and looks at Casey, trying to gauge her reaction. “I know I dumped a lot on you, and you probably think I’m insane for taking all of this on but–”

Casey wraps her arms around his waist and cuts him off with a quick kiss. “If I could look at you with literal heart eyes right now, I would.”

“Really?” 

“Really.” She leans forward, resting her head against the solid expanse of his chest. The faint scent of his laundry detergent and his cologne invade her senses, and she relishes in it. He smells like comfort, if there was ever such a thing. “I can’t believe you accomplished all of this in such a short period of time.”

“Well my lease was up, and I was trying to get Keiki situated in school, and it all sort of fell into place at the right time.”

“Stop trying to downplay it,” Casey orders. “You are strong, and brave, and you take initiative in any situation. I don’t know too many 27 year olds that would spring into action and volunteer to raise their teenage sisters, all while being a resident and trying to juggle their own personal life.”

The way she says it, the awe and idolatry in her voice makes his stomach flip. Bryce considers himself to be a pretty self-assured guy. He has a healthy level of self esteem, but something about Casey praising him always causes him to short circuit, without fail. “You make it sound so much cooler than it really is.”

“It is cool,” Carey argues. “You’re doing a noble thing, so let me give you compliments you deserve.”

He doesn’t meet her eyes immediately, the bashfulness still holding him tight. Eventually, Bryce looks up at her, her expression open and earnest. “You make me sound so much better than I really am.”

Casey grabs hold of his sweater and tugs him closer, forcing him to crane forward and be at her eye level. “Mhmm, it’s a hidden talent of mine. I happen to be an excellent salesperson.”

Bryce smirks, their lips barely brushing against each other, and mumbles “You’re such a dork,” before capturing her in a kiss. Casey responds instantly, matching his eagerness and fervor. It doesn’t take long for things to get more heated, his tongue slipping into her mouth, hands going to grip her waist.

She breaks to kiss to inhale sharply. “You’ve lived here for 5 minutes and you’re already trying to defile the place.”

“Can’t help it. You make me feel like a horny teenager again, baby.”

“Well stop it.”

Bryce rolls his eyes. “You’re no fun.”

“Come on loverboy, show me around. Give me the grand tour.”

They wander around the apartment at a leisurely pace, Casey pointing out all of the different things Bryce could buy to furnish the place—“What do you mean you’ve never gone to Home Goods?”—and admonishing his idea to shop on Craigslist. He’s an adult, not a college freshman, and his home should reflect that.

“You want to know what the best part is?” Bryce asks, leading Casey back to their starting point, the living room.

“What?”

“Keiki’s bedroom is on the other side of the apartment, separated by a pretty sizable living room.”

He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, and she shoves at his chest, laughing. “And? Are you trying to say something?”

“Yeah, that one of us—you—can be pretty loud at times.”

Her cheeks heat up and she blushes furiously. “Well I’ll make sure to keep it quiet on the nights that I sleep over.”

“What if you didn’t just spend the night over here?”

He instantly regrets the way he phrased that sentence because it sounds like he just told her he doesn’t want her in his apartment. Casey frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Sorry! That sounded weird.” He flushes, stumbling over his words. Something about Casey Valentine makes him very nervous. “That’s not what I meant, I promise.”

Bryce grabs both of Casey’s hands, holding them close to his chest. “Move in with me.”

Her eyes widen at the suggestion. He wants to do what? “What?”

“I spent all of last year tiptoeing around our relationship, trying to keep things light and breezy when I really didn’t want that. And it took you being in that...horrible accent for me to finally reveal the full extent of my feelings for you. Now that we’re together and official, I don’t want to waste any more time.”

“I would like to go to sleep with you every night, your ice cold feet pressed against my legs, and your curly hair tickling my nose because you’ve invaded my side of the bed. And I want to wake up to you every morning, because even though you think you look crazy in the morning, I think you’re absolutely beautiful. I want us to cook together every day, or just you because you’re a much better cook than I am.” Casey giggles at his jokes, which only spur him on further. “Besides Keiki, you’re the most important person I have, and I want you here with me, permanently.”

When Casey doesn’t say anything immediately, Bryce understands. He just dropped a bomb—a few bombs actually—right at her feet, she needs time to process. But the silence stretches until it grows into something long and uncomfortable, and a thin sheen of sweat forms at Bryce’s hairline. Did he just shoot himself in the foot? Did he seriously overestimate her feelings for him, and the nature of their relationship?

Before he can open his mouth to renege on the invitation, Casey speaks. “We’re going to have to talk to your landlord, or the property manager, because a new lease needs to be drawn up.”

“W-what?”

“I mean, I assume it’s just you and Keiki listed on the lease, and I don’t want to just be a permanent guest staying in your apartment. I want it to be our apartment, so I need to be on the lease agreement,” Casey explains. “And I know you said your parents cover most of the rent on this place, but I want to contribute, so I guess I’ll be in charge of the–”

She doesn’t get to finish talking because Bryce is on her in an instant, his mouth crashing into hers in a fiery kiss. His fingers dig into her hips, walking her backwards until her back bumps into the kitchen island. In a quick show of strength, Bryce lifts her onto the island, and Casey has to break the kiss to hiss. 

“Shit, that’s cold!”

“Sorry baby.” He’s not the least bit sorry, flashing her his signature smirk. “I’ll warm you up.”

“And you say I’m the dorky one,” Casey teases, laughing as Bryce kisses her between each word.

“You are,” he insists, kissing down her neck. She squirms away from him as his lips find a particularly sensitive spot, but he holds her in place. “We bring that out in each other.”

He kisses her a few more times, some softer than others, some so deep, she feels dizzy when he pulls away.

“We’re really going to do this?” Casey asks rhetorically. “This whole living together thing?”

“We are. I asked, and you said yes, so you’re stuck with me, little lady.” 

There’s a smile on his face, so huge, Casey really thinks he might blind her with his pearly white teeth. She hasn’t seen him this relaxed, this unabashedly happy in a while. She can’t help but to smile back.

“You have to let me have creative control on furniture and decorations though.”

“This apartment is going to look like a furniture store magazine spread.”

Casey nods. “It’ll smell like the inside of a Bath & Body Works store in here, too.”

“You’re going to go crazy on the candles, aren’t you?”

“Oh absolutely. They also have cute wall plug-ins.”

Bryce laughs. “I don’t care. You and Keiki can do whatever you want to the place.”

“Mhmm, now you’re talking my language, Lahela.”

They talk excitedly, basking in the fun that this new journey is going to bring their relationship. They don’t know how much time has passed when the conversation finally dwindles down.

“Hey, Bryce?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you let me down from here?” Casey asks, gesturing to the countertop. Bryce has her caged in, arms on either side of her. “Despite your best efforts to warm me up with a make-out session, this thing is freezing cold.”

“No one told you to wear a mini skirt like this in winter, you naughty school girl.”

“I resent that! This skirt is very cute, and it would’ve looked even cuter had you taken me ice skating.”

Bryce rolls his eyes. He’s gonna have to take this girl to the ice skating rink, and soon. He trails his hands up and down her legs, taking in all the goosebumps that have popped up on her smooth skin.

“You want to know where this skirt would look even better?”

“Where?”

Gripping the backs of her thighs, Bryce lifts Casey off of the countertop and into his arms. “The floor of our new bedroom.” 

[makaylajadewrites]

Almost Heaven

Summary: “You’re a very fascinating man, Spencer,” Hotch said simply in response, a suggestive message going unsaid. Reid frowned a bit, looking down to see that his wine was already more than halfway gone. When did that happen?…

This wasn’t mindless sex. This was love, existing between the two of them at degrees unquantifiable by mere human tools. It was perfect, and Spencer tried to imagine the rest of his life without experiencing this moment.

Pairing: Hotch/Reid

Potential tws: Smut, unrequited love, cheating/infidelity, angst

Word count: 3727

Read on AO3 here

--

Hotch had been staring at him all day. He could feel those dark, dangerous eyes tracing the shape of his figure while his nimble fingers worked over the map, pushing in color-coordinated thumb tacks. Red for dumpsites, blue for locations of interest, and black for local hotspots. That was only relevant because their four victims all happened to be teens and young adults, so by determining where they spent most of their time, they might be able to determine the common denominator between each victim.

But he couldn’t concentrate with Hotch’s constant and unwavering gaze. It was enough to make Reid somewhat uncomfortable, and the squeak of weight lifting off of a chair was enough to send a shiver up his spine. He didn’t look back, trying to keep his attention on the map in front of him when Hotch came to stand directly beside him. The lack of space between them was anxiety fueling for Reid, and he slowly turned his head to acknowledge his superior with a quirked brow, though the way his bottom lip caught between his teeth didn’t go unnoticed.

Hotch eyed him with an intense, yet oddly expressive look, and it sent a shiver directly down his spine. “Sir?…” he questioned, his voice cracking from his nerves. They had both been making predictions and voicing theories, and the sudden change from Hotch was a little disconcerting for Reid. He didn’t let it show though, save for the apparent confusion on his face which Hotch barely even paid attention to.

“I have a proposition for you, Spencer,” he said out of the blue, and Reid jerked his head upwards in surprise towards his unit chief, the mere two inch height difference now seeming bigger than ever. He felt small, insignificant beside his superior, but the eye contact between them never wavered.

“A proposition?” he parroted, feeling his heart racing in his chest now, faster than ever before.

“Yes,” Hotch confirmed, his voice low, enough to make Reid aware that he was being quiet on purpose. “After this case… We should blow off some steam together. Maybe some drinks at my place,” he suggested, and Reid swore his eyes had bulged out of his head from the shock of the statement, and a familiar tingling built up in his stomach.

“Wh-Wha-Sir, th-that’s… we can’t—“ Reid’s incessant rambling was cut off by a finger pressing to his lips, and Hotch acknowledged him with a strangely humored quirk of his lips and rise of his brows. Spencer felt his cheeks burn, and the blush on his face and neck was prominent. “Reid, if we aren’t at work, we can be friends. You’re friends with Morgan and JJ right?”

“And Penelope and Emily…” he hummed in embarrassment, and the chuckle that rumbled above him was uncharacteristic enough for Spencer’s eyes to fly upwards again.

“Exactly my point. Relax, it’s not worth stressing over. You can always say no, of course,” Hotch reminded gently, his hand gently coming up to cup the curve of Reid’s elbow, and Spencer couldn’t help the instinctive flinch at the unexpected contact, but Hotch’s hand didn’t move and he felt an odd sense of calm from its stabilizing hold. He nodded and swallowed nervously, forcing a smile on his lips since it was very difficult to tell a man like Hotch no.

That lingered on his mind all day, and Reid found himself both nervous and excited at the prospect of spending time with a man like Hotch.

~

Spencer had known he was abnormal for a long time. Ever since he was a kid, really, since he had never been able to fit in with the others. But that probably had something to do with the age gap between him and his peers, because while Spencer was barely on the cusp of puberty, the teens in his graduating class were nearly full grown adults. They had explored their sexuality, grown into themselves and expanded on their ability to network with others. But Spencer? Spencer was still just a child; he had no idea who he was yet, despite the fact that he could solve the most complicated of equations within a matter of seconds. He was inexperienced even now at the age of twenty-four. He had never kissed anyone before, not a man or a woman.

Aaron was definitely handsome to Spencer, even if he was ten years his senior and, most importantly, married with a baby. But growing up the way he had, he was more accustomed to spending time with people who were older than him, which probably explained why he found older people more attractive. They were mature, grown up, and much more responsible than young adults like himself. Even he was an old soul, preferring a good book and a cup of coffee over blinding club lights and sickly sweet alcohol.

Spencer, despite his participation in sexual activities, liked to identify himself as bisexual. The older he got though, he realized he had a lean towards men over women. Women were pretty, men were handsome, but something about being with a man seemed more appealing to him. A lot of women were attracted to the typical alpha male, and Spencer was honestly no different. He found Derek attractive for one, but they were better off as brothers than lovers. Besides, Derek was as straight as they came, and he couldn’t possibly hold any interest in men, least of all Spencer Reid. But Aaron? Aaron Hotchner was on a whole other level. Even if he was married.

That was probably why Spencer had been able to convince himself that spending time with Aaron might not be so bad. He sat in his car, parked across the street from the Hotchner house while scrubbing his sweaty palms over his dress pants. He still had on his clothes from work that day, although his sweater vest and tie were absent and currently on his bedroom floor. His coat was wrapped around himself, his thick glasses perched on his nose. He was biting his lip, gnawing the sensitive flesh between his teeth while staring at the lighted porch, noticing that only one car was in the driveway - Hotch’s car. This was beginning to look more and more like a suggestive escapade, and he was growing anxious.

He needed to get himself together.

This was just two friends hanging out after work, having a few drinks, doing guy things.

That was all it could be. Hotch wouldn’t cheat on his wife and Reid would never let it get that far.

With a deep breath, Reid got out of his car and stepped foot on the porch, his trembling hand wrapping against the mahogany. God, he was nervous, more nervous than he should have been, and he was afraid of embarrassing himself in front of Hotch, a man he found both attractive and admired deeply. This was a terrible idea, but he didn’t have the chance to back out, because soon, the door opened and there stood Aaron, as casual as could be, wearing a pair of jeans and a dark, v neck tee shirt.

Spencer felt like a fool, more than he ever had in his entire life. He was so insignificant compared to Hotch, even now, outside of work hours. Hotch was a handsome man, married with a kid, he owned a house all his own, a nice car, and still, he could look at Spencer and make him feel things he had never felt before. It frightened him a bit, and it made him somewhat worried about what was to come. He paled in comparison to Hotch, and Reid was definitely feeling that now, dressed like he was while Hotch was as comfortable as could be in normal out-of-the-office attire. He should have just left when he had the chance, just drove away and gone back home where he felt safe in his little bubble with a book and—

“Come inside,” Hotch said as friendly as could be, the ghost of a smile touching his lips. Reid’s lashes fluttered in slight apprehension, but he entered the house and stood awkwardly in the foyer while Hotch closed the door behind him. “I have bourbon and wine. The wine is Hailey’s, but she won’t mind,” he said dismissively, and Reid watched incredulously as Hotch strode across his living room in the direction of the kitchen as if this were the slightest bit normal.

“I-I can do a glass of wine…” he settled eventually, Hotch’s inquisitive stare meeting him from the kitchen.

“Good. Make yourself comfortable,” Aaron said calmly, and even though his nerves were on high alert, Spencer did just that. He slipped his coat off before sitting on the couch, holding it awkwardly in his lap while he waited tensely for Aaron to return. Alcohol was definitely sounding better and better. He needed something to help him relax anyway. Aaron eventually came back, carrying two glasses; wine and bourbon. Spencer took the wine glass hesitantly, and the second their fingers brushed together he felt a spark shoot up his arm, but he knew it had to only be him since Aaron didn’t react at all.

“I’m surprised you came,” Hotch said, sitting beside him on the couch, angled towards him with one of his legs crossed over the other. He regarded Spencer with an expression that was not unkind. In fact, it lingered somewhere near fondness and warmth. Spencer took a sip of the wine, hoping that one drink alone would settle his nerves some.

“Me too, actually,” he murmured rather embarrassedly, and Hotch let another rare smile form on his lips. Spencer smiled back shyly, reaching a hand up to push his bangs back, even though they seemed quite fixed, over his forehead.

“I’m glad you did though,” Hotch countered, and Spencer gulped down another drink before even bothering to think of a response.

“Why?” he questioned then, turning his upper body to face Aaron, his brows raised a bit since he genuinely was curious as to why Hotch would want to spend time with him of all people. It seemed to him like Hotch would have a much more enjoyable time with someone like Gideon, but for some reason, he was interested in Spencer. He didn’t quite understand it, and regardless of Hotch’s response, he doubted he ever really would.

“Do I have to explain my every motive to you?” Hotch said almost teasingly, and Spencer was realizing how much he liked to see him smile. He looked down and shrugged a bit, a smile lingering on his own face.

“I guess not. I just never would have imagined you would willingly want to spend time with me. Not many people do,” Spencer explained briefly, as deprecating as it was. But it was the truth, and Hotch must realize how odd it was for him to spend time with the young doctor outside of work.

“You’re a very fascinating man, Spencer,” Hotch said simply in response, a suggestive message going unsaid. Reid frowned a bit, looking down to see that his wine was already more than halfway gone. When did that happen?…

“Am I?” He asked, his voice a bit quieter. He looked up towards Hotch again through his dark lashes, and Hotch’s hand slowly came over to rest on his thigh. And the worst part was that it wasn’t unwelcome either.

“You are,” Hotch clarified, his own voice dropping as that hand slowly slid up and up and up to the juncture of his hip and thigh, and then back down to his knee where it squeezed just slightly. Reid’s eyes followed the movement very closely, his tongue flicking out over his lips. He downed the rest of his wine, and Hotch’s hand gently took the glass from him, setting it aside in favor of touching Reid again.

“We shouldn’t, Hotch,” he said, finding his voice eventually even if it was nearly a whisper. His hand came over top of Hotch’s on his leg, but Hotch didn’t waver at all. “What about Hailey?”

“What about her?” Hotch murmured, and the young doctor gasped in surprise as Aaron’s lips attached to his neck, suckling gently and trailing kisses up to the curve of his jaw, nearing his chin.

“She’s your wife,” Spencer reminded through quiet hums, and Hotch’s hot breath exhaled over his collarbones as he sighed.

“Forget about her,” Aaron murmured, rising his head up and cupping Spencer’s cheek with a warm palm. “Only think about me.”

The second their lips connected, Spencer felt all previous apprehension and hesitance leave his body. He was caught up in a whirlwind of desire and Aaron Hotchner, and although it scared him, he couldn’t back out now. This was happening, and Spencer was enjoying it far too much to even think of pulling away now. Hotch’s lips were warm against his own, and despite his own inexperience, he was guided through his first kiss very carefully and slowly, and he never knew that it could be that nice. “Come here,” he heard in a whisper, and Spencer instantly slid closer, Aaron’s hands leading him gently on top of him. Spencer’s legs straddled Aaron’s lap, and he looked down from his newly elevated position at Aaron’s face. Aaron looked more pleased than ever, his dark eyes locked onto his face while his hands found purchase over his bony hips.

A hand rose to his chin, gripping it gently and bringing him down so that their lips could meet once more. It was brief at first, just a gentle pressure, but soon it turned into something much more. Reid shuffled above Hotch as they kissed, and he moaned into the other man’s mouth as their hips slotted together, their arousals evident to one another. Hotch pulled back slowly, not saying a word as a hand danced down the column of buttons on his shirt, and one by one, they were undone and his chest was bared. Spencer shivered at the warm hands that touched his cool skin, and he felt more alive than he had in a long, long time. A muted moan burned in his throat as fingers flicked over his nipples and pinched the sensitive buds, and Aaron rumbled in laughter beneath him. “Sensitive, hm?” He murmured teasingly, and the younger man bit his lip, nodding his head frantically.

“A-A little…” Spencer confessed embarrassedly, his hands gripping onto Hotch’s shoulders. Hotch didn’t respond immediately, running his fingers over every inch of his torso before stopping suddenly. A hand came to his neck, the thumb brushing over his jaw.

“Bedroom?” He suggested, and despite the moral contradiction raging on inside of Spencer’s head, he nodded his head.

It felt wrong, to be laying half naked in Hotch’s bed where he slept with his wife. But his mind was taken elsewhere as a hand swiftly undid his pants and slipped inside to pay attention to the heat built up in his groin. Spencer moaned as that hand cupped his arousal, and he gazed up at Hotch, pupils blown wide with lust and kiss-swollen lips parted erotically. Hotch must have liked what he saw, because he loomed over him and bowed his head for their lips to meet once more, his hand fondling his cock through the wet fabric of his boxers.

“Oh god,” Spencer heard himself breathe, the friction of his boxers over the head of his erection enough to send him over the edge. He whimpered, evidence of his climax now coating the inside of his boxers. His face glowed red in embarrassment, but Hotch didn’t view him with any negative judgement. Instead, he smiled and slipped his hand out of his pants, stroking down his side and letting his fingers dip into every indent of his ribcage. Spencer panted quietly, looking away to hide his shame.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“Don’t apologize,” Hotch said without missing a beat, licking his lips, “You are gorgeous, Spencer.”

Spencer’s eyes widened a bit, and he grasped onto the front of Hotch’s shirt to drag him upwards, craving his attention once more. He had yet to initiate a kiss on his own, but he did this time, and while it was a bit sloppy, it was still passionate. Hotch didn’t seem to mind either, moving to take off Reid’s pants and soiled underwear. He pushed them over the edge of the bed before returning his focus to Spencer’s now bare body. They both moved back from the kiss, and the young doctor pouted a bit beneath Aaron, his lanky legs spreading almost on instinct while his arms dropped to rest over his head. “I don’t like being the only one naked,” he hummed, and Aaron chuckled, leaning in to kiss his cheek almost affectionately.

“I guess we’ll have to change that then,” he mumbled, sitting up on his knees between Spencer’s thighs and slipped his shirt off over his head, his toned abdomen making Spencer feel so small yet again. Hotch’s pants and underwear soon followed, and Spencer bashfully looked over Aaron’s body, his own insignificance shining through to him, although he didn’t bother to voice it. It was too humiliating, and he was just glad that Aaron didn’t seem to think of him that way.

“It’s never too late to say no, Reid,” Hotch reminded him gently but sternly, running a hand up his leg, from his calf to his thigh, and letting it rest there steadily.

“I don’t want to say no,” Spencer admitted, and that was enough for Hotch. He reached over into the bedside table, withdrawing a gold-packaged condom and a bottle of lube. Hotch wasted no time in squirting the lube over his fingers, smirking slightly at Reid as they slipped between his legs. A digit circled his puckered entrance and Spencer gasped at the sensation, looking up at Hotch nervously. Hotch didn’t say anything, but he made sure to maintain eye contact between the two of them. Spencer realized then that this was so much more than a measly one-night stand. This was genuine affection, and Hotch’s gentleness and concern for his wellbeing made him aware of that. That didn’t mean this was any less wrong.

A finger slipped in slowly, twirling against his tight walls in hopes of helping him relax. Spencer took a deep, shaky breath, exhaling slowly to aid that process, and soon, one finger turned into two. Aaron’s other hand had raised to his cock by then, pumping him slowly while his fingers scissored open his hole. Spencer was not a quiet man in bed, he had learned. He was very vocal, very responsive, and that seemed to egg Hotch on more.

A third finger breached his entrance soon thereafter, a breathless moan passing Reid’s lips. Hotch brought one of his legs over his shoulder, pressing kisses to the side of his kneecap while his fingers slid in and out of his ass with audible wet noises. Before Reid could slip over the edge again, Hotch’s hand stilled and he withdrew his fingers, his tight body barely letting them go. Hotch leaned down to press their lips together once more, their foreheads knocking together gently. “Are you ready?” Aaron asked in a whisper, and Spencer quickly bobbed his head yes without even considering the consequences. Aaron made him feel real, and he never wanted that to go away.

It was more painful than Spencer had remembered. His body fell apart in Aaron’s hands, his walls stretching around the other man’s cock as he bottomed out within him. Spencer was already a panting mess, their eyes never straying from one another.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Hotch breathed against his lips, giving Spencer all the time in the world to adjust the intrusion. Spencer had no idea sex could be this good, but Aaron’s constant praises probably had something to do with his new realization. They lazily kissed each other while giving the pain time to subside, and when it did, Spencer’s hand came up to Hotch’s face. The older man instantly moved to press his face further into his palm.

“Move,” Spencer breathed, and Hotch’s hips instantly began to rock back and forth at a slow, steady rhythm, his cock slipping in and out of his body with little resistance. This wasn’t mindless sex. This was love, existing between the two of them at degrees unquantifiable by mere human tools. It was perfect, and Spencer tried to imagine the rest of his life without experiencing this moment. His lips parted, moans slipping from him effortlessly as Aaron picked up the pace, moving much quicker than before and essentially turning Spencer’s brain to mush. This was almost heaven, and even though he was being fucked by a married man, he wouldn’t have it any other way, because this was close as he could get to heaven.

“Aaron… Touch me Aaron,” he begged in between his cries of pleasure, his voice reaching octaves unheard before. Aaron’s hand wrapped around his weeping cock once more, and that was pretty much the breaking point. Less than two minutes later, he was coming hard, sobbing out loud as his release spurted over Aaron’s fingers and onto his own belly. Hotch continued his own movements, gradually growing sporadic while his own grunts and groans grew in volume. Soon, he reached his own climax, milking himself in Spencer’s tightened passage for several thrusts. He pressed kisses across Spencer’s face, their lips meeting on several occasions until he rode out his orgasm, slipping out unceremoniously. He rolled the condom off of his softening cock, reaching over for a few tissues to clean up his younger partner.

He laid down after and gathered the younger man in his arms, a hand rubbing up and down his back. “Good… That was really good,” the older man murmured lowly into his hair, now damp with sweat. Spencer was faced with the realization of his actions, his eyes wide and watery, the emotions coming in shockwaves. Despite this, he huddled further into Hotch’s chest, the older man falling asleep shortly after. The overwhelming feelings of guilt and despair manifested in his very being, tightening his throat and collapsing his lungs until he was caught in a silent fit of sobs besides his temporary lover’s sleeping form.

This wouldn’t last.

It wouldn’t be forever, but perhaps it was never meant to be.

[anotherdayinchuckletown]

I'm so fucking mad, y'all.

Ever since I rewatched Charlie and the Chocolate Factory the other day, I keep thinking up little bits and pieces of a plot. I'm probably never going to write this, but I just had to get these ideas out of my system before I exploded (I would add a "read more" if I wasn't on mobile, lmao).

Charlie wonders how lonely his mentor Mr. Wonka must be alone in his enormous factory. Sure, he has the Oompa Loompas, but he doesn't seem to talk to them outside of business matters.

Mr. Wonka offhandedly complains about how boring balancing the books is one day, and that's when Charlie enlists Ms. Eliza Weber.

Ms. Weber is his math teacher, a kindhearted, albeit rigid, young woman with an unmatched passion for numbers, who happened to mention one day that she doesn't really do much outside of the classroom. When Charlie first comes to her privately and invites her to work at the factory in her spare time, she merely raises an eyebrow, thinking it a joke. With enough convincing, she eventually agrees to give it a try, mostly out of curiosity.

Mr. Wonka is initially quite miffed to learn his apprentice has hired someone behind his back. He's expected to let another person into the factory, into his own office, to do a job he's perfectly capable of doing himself? Someone he's never met, someone he has no idea whether he can trust? It takes some finessing, even more than with Ms. Weber, but he finally caves.

To Charlie's immense relief, it turns out to be a great fit.

"I'm surrounded by adolescents all day. It takes a little more than this to faze me, Mr. Wonka," she explains one day in her usual monotone, gesturing vaguely around the factory.

As for Mr. Wonka, he finds himself with a grudging respect for his new helper. She gets along with the Oompa Loompas, going so far as to begin studying their language without prompting. And he really did hate having to do all that humdrum accounting and paperwork himself. Besides, the woman is so quiet and unassuming that it's easy to forget she's even there. Once he ascertains that she has no insidious motives, he mostly leaves her to her own devices.

She does a stellar job - so stellar, in fact, that she gradually gains more and more responsibility, until her job description matches that of a full-blown personal assistant. She organizes his calendar, schedules his semi-annual haircuts, picks up meals for him, etc. But accounting remains by far her favorite thing to do.

"Of all things, why on earth is it boring old numbers?" Mr. Wonka asks one evening as she's packing up to leave. He's seated in the half-chair behind his half-desk, arms resting atop his cane, looking up at her inquisitively, seeming genuinely interested.

"Boring?" Ms. Weber repeats the word in utter disbelief, staring at him as though he's sprouted a second head. He knows he hasn't because that's definitely not a possible side effect of any of his creations currently in its testing stages. "How can an innovator like yourself call them boring?"

"Quite easily," he replies with an amused grin and a short nod. This is the most emotional reaction he's ever seen from her. So this is really where she draws the line? "And you answered my question with a question, so you haven't really changed my mind yet."

With a sigh, she adjusts her glasses. "I happen to find them beautiful," she sniffs.

Beautiful? Why, this ought to be good.

"As you know, Mr. Wonka, numbers are everywhere," she begins thoughtfully. "They're in everything that we do and everything that we are. We devise formulas to understand how our universe works, and it's only because the numbers line up so precisely that we can exist at all!"

He opens his mouth to reply, but she continues. "And the same goes for you and me! We are a latticework of intricate formulas, just the same as the world around us. Those boring numbers connect me to you, and connect you to the sun and stars and planets. And it's all because we have this...this perfect equilibrium that we're still constantly learning new things about!"

This is easily the most he's ever heard her speak at once.

"And that concept," she muses with the faintest trace of a smile gracing her features, "...is as beautiful to me as any Beethoven symphony."

A pregnant silence fills the room. Mr. Wonka simply regards her for a moment as her words echo in his mind - Eliza Weber, with her sensible shoes and her sweater buttoned up under her chin and her dark brown hair immaculately tied back from her usually deadpan face.

Except right now, there's a fire in her green doe eyes that's never been there before, that overtakes her entire being. Mr. Wonka can't help but think it's as if he's seeing her for the first time.

Under his scrutiny, she falters. "I just...don't see why things that are...austere, orderly, and logical can't be beautiful at the same time," she mumbles, meeting his unwavering gaze uncertainly.

"...It would appear that they certainly can be, my dear lady." He sits up a little straighter and flashes her a smile, never breaking eye contact.

Ms. Weber looks shocked for a split second, but firmly nods once, content that she's converted him - or, at least, she's made her case. "I'll be taking my leave now," she announces, picking up her purse and heading for the door. "Good night."

Just before the door shuts behind her, she hears him reply, "Good night, Eliza."

...That's strange, she thinks as she's returning home. He's never called me Eliza before. Perhaps he's getting sick.

Meanwhile, as Mr. Wonka retires to his quarters for the night, he contends with an odd fluttering deep in the pit of his stomach. He simply shrugs it off. Perhaps he's getting sick.

[jawsandbones]

I’ll Go First - Part Eight of Ten

Rating: E

Summary: An unexpected leader, unlikely allies. Bound by the Breach, Alexi Trevelyan is trying to hold it all together. Thankfully, he doesn’t stand alone.

Pairing: Cullen x Male Trevelyan

AO3 Link: Click Here

Chapter Eight: Conflicted

Boots curls in the hood of his cloak, nestled on his back. His tail curls out, flicks occasionally. Alexi adjusts the falling sleeve, makes sure the cloak stays upright and proper, dragged down from the weight of the cat. “They found a few stray demons, but Adamant has been successfully dismantled,” Cullen says, his eyes fixed on the report he holds, “anything useful has been carted away and either distributed or sold.”

“It has given us a fair bit of coin. I would suggest perhaps expanding the borders of Skyhold with proper housing? The weather is tricky at best, and always quite cool. Surely the tents used by the refugees cannot be comfortable,” Josephine says, punctuating her words with her quill.

“Permanent housing or temporary? Once Corypheus is dealt with, I doubt many will choose to stay. The novelty of the Inquisitor will also wear off,” Leliana says, her hands clasped behind her back.

“That is something we can discuss. We will have to see what areas are fit to be developed and what our options are. If the Inquisition is to persist past the defeat of Corypheus, it must continue to be seen as a favorable organization with a favorable location. Lacking proper accommodations will not inspire merchants, traders and others of note to take the route through the Frostbacks.”

“I thought the tavern was all the proper accommodation we needed,” Cullen mutters under his breath.

“You jest, but places such as the tavern give us a certain amount of legitimacy. We have the chance to accrue resources from both Ferelden and Orlais. Not only material resources, but that of the mind. To that end, Inquisitor, I believe the Grand Enchanter wished to speak with you on something of this matter,” Josephine says.

“I’ll find her after,” Alexi says, moving his staff from one hand to the other, “or more likely that she’ll find me.”

“Please keep in mind that with these people we are… accruing, there is a chance that those of a lesser quality could slip in with the crowd. We have no way of knowing if Red Templars or Venatori hide within our mist,” Leliana says.

“It’s a chance we’ll have to take,” Alexi says.

“The Orlesian soldiers have settled in, and are restless for something to do. We could have them take up increased patrols around Skyhold. It would dissuade any from taking action against us, and would likely make most of the refugees feel safer,” Cullen says. Alexi smiles gratefully, and nods in his direction. If Cullen acknowledges him in return, Alexi doesn’t know it.

“They will need to be trained on the borders of Skyhold, perhaps by a few Inquisition scouts? It is an agreeable but temporary solution. The Orlesian soldiers will only be with us until Corypheus’s defeat,” Josephine says.  

“Then they’re with us until then. We can look for a different solution when we need to. This will work for now,” Leliana says. “I have a few scouts in mind who will work well for teaching the terrain.” Alexi bites his bottom lip, pulls at the hem of his cloak. He can feel Boots shifting against his back, sitting up to perch his head on Alexi’s shoulder. The echo is always at a point of neutrality. A circle around him, a way to orient himself. He focuses it, finds Leliana and Josephine. Their colors are steady, sure. He can feel the tired ache pouring off of Cullen.

He resists reaching out further. He knows the cracked red has struck deeper – lightning lines into an uncertain ocean. Cullen would know the touch of his magic, so, he holds it back. Boots perches himself atop Alexi, paws biting into his shoulder, and deftly leaps down onto the war table. He sits, paws at one of the lion statuettes, and knocks it over. Josephine clutches at her writing board while Leliana half giggles, leans over the table to prop it upright once again. Boots briefly swipes at her hand, playfully rolling onto his back so she can rub his belly.

“Well,” Cullen says, rubbing the space between his brows, “if that’s all for today?” Leliana pulls her hand back, and Boots, with a disappointed mewl, hops off the table and slips out the cracked open door.

“One last thing. I have no doubt that Merrill is waiting outside that door to speak with you, Inquisitor. She and Morrigan have tasked my scouts with running down a few leads, but she requested that she be the one to explain everything to you,” Leliana tells Alexi as she rounds the table, briefly putting her hand against his back. “I think you’ll find it fascinating.” True to her word, the moment they leave, Merrill pushes herself away from the wall she had been leaning against. Josephine and Leliana stroll leisurely together. Cullen hastily speeds away, walking around them, down the hallway.

Merrill slips her arm into Alexi’s. “I have something to show you,” she says, in a voice filled with breathless excitement. A most welcome change from the more serious nature of the war room, Merrill gives his arm a fond squeeze.

“So I’ve been told,” Alexi says, his smile widening, utterly amused and taken by her glee.

“It’s finally arrived from Kirkwall,” she says, “my eluvian.”

“One of these days you’ll have to tell me exactly how you fixed it,” he says.

“First I’m going to show every clan,” she says. When they enter the Great Hall, a hush falls. It’s only for a moment, a single held breath. On the exhale, the voices pick up once again. Masks have found their way into Skyhold, as though this place is an extension of the game. The Inquisition knows better and Skyhold is no Winter Palace. His staff leans against his shoulder, and he takes comfort in the swaying of the all the trinkets affixed to it. The crystals, the chime of bells. Herbs wound with twine, ribbons keeping bright hold of all of it. It helps to distract from the way the colors of the Orlesian nobles seem to follow him.

There is one, one which actually follows him. Fiona’s steps are pointed and purposeful, cutting a path directly towards him. “Inquisitor. May I join you?” Her lightly accented voice cuts through all the other noise.

“Hello Grand Enchanter. You’re very welcome to walk with us. How are you? I hope the addition of the Orlesian troops haven’t disturbed you,” he says. From his other side, Merrill waves at Fiona.

“I’m well, thank you. No, they haven’t disturbed us, but I believe they are restless to know where they are going to be fighting,” Fiona says. She carries a single book in her arms, walks with her back straight and her head held high. They weave through the crowded hall together, most moving out of their way as Merrill guides them both towards the gardens.

“Aren’t we all?” he says, a sigh on the very end of his words. Fiona smiles, clutches her book, and shakes her head.

“Not all of us. Many of the mages welcome the current quiet, as uneasy as it may be. Most of us have seen more than our share of fighting,” she says. Instantly, Alexi’s gut wrenches with guilt.

“Yes,” he says softly, “of course. I’m sorry, I haven’t spoken to them as much as I should have lately. How are things with the Templars?”

“Barris keeps them in line as best he can. There are more than a few that are keeping with the old prejudices, but it’s nothing we haven’t seen or heard before. We’re managing,” she says. Managing. His grip tightens on his staff. “But that’s not why I wanted to speak with you. There is an empty tower on the battlements. I was hoping to turn it into a tower specifically for the mages. We need a place for research, experiments, and for compiling our knowledge. A place to teach and foster magical skill, away from the Templars.”

“Oh that’s a wonderful idea,” Merrill says.

“I agree,” Alexi says with a nod, as they step out into the gardens. He feels the warmth of the sun against his face, and the coolness of the breeze cannot slip through his cloak, his scarf, and his sweaters. Grass bends to their every step, soft earth underneath. It must have rained last night. It still drips from the gazebo.  

“Your advisors said you would be agreeable to the idea. I’ll track down Lady Josephine and begin discussing details. I’m certain many of the mages will have their own lists of things we should acquire,” Fiona says, putting her hand on Alexi’s arm, slowing him with her. “You’re always welcome to join us. I think we’re all a little curious about what goes on inside the Inquisitor’s head. Sharing your work with defensive magic would be a boon to us.”

“I do miss the comfort of being surrounded by fellow mages,” he says.  

“Merrill, you’re also very welcome to join us,” Fiona says, nodding at her.

“Oh, I’ll have to think about it. But thank you!” she says.

“Then, I’ll leave you to it Inquisitor, Merrill. Good day.”

“She’s very nice,” Merrill says, as she watches Fiona stroll back the way they came. No doubt to march right into Josephine’s office with the Inquisitor’s freshly given approval. “I don’t think I’ll be at the tower much, though. Are they going to call it a Circle? I think the Circles should stay gone.”

Alexi leans in close, “as do I,” he says. Merrill leads him to a door in the offshoot of the gardens. One of the many abandoned rooms, which had been lacking purpose. Rooms they had meant to re-fit with beds and such for nobles – but now Alexi makes a note to approach Josephine and the others about filling these rooms with refugees. Morrigan is already waiting for them, standing still and silent beside the eluvian.

He knows that Morrigan had shed the regalia of the Orlesian court, now wears clothing of the Inquisition. A chameleon, her colors ripple towards what suit her surroundings best. She and Leliana had been as thick as thieves the moment Morrigan had come to Skyhold. Alexi had asked them once, if they knew where the Hero of Ferelden was. He knew better than to press at their silence, their half-answers. The Hero was no longer necessary, but… He’d be happy if no one else looked to him for all the decisions.

“Inquisitor,” Morrigan says, as Merrill slips from his arm, goes to her eluvian. His echo doesn’t know exactly how to decipher it. He’s been told it’s a mirror with no reflection, a thing of impossible beauty. His echo returns something scratched, broken, an everything surrounded by the nothing. Framed chaos. He holds out his hand near it, the bells of his staff chiming as he moves. The moment the anchor draws near to it, a spark seems to shoot straight through him. He instantly pulls his hand back.

“I have a suspicion that Corypheus may have limited access to a few eluvians. They would bring him from one point to another, a way of transporting his army over long distances without detection, but they do not bring him to the real prize,” Morrigan says. “That lies inside eluvians opened with the right keys. Merrill’s, for instance, has been unlocked towards what he seeks.” Merrill walks past them, into the eluvian. Her colors swirl in the pit of nothing, and she seems untroubled by that sudden loss. Morrigan soon follows, and Alexi can do no less.

He shudders as he walks through it, submerged in a sudden pool of ice water. His hand instantly clenches into a fist as the anchor shudders with him, squeezing painfully around his fingers, his wrist, and his arm. Alexi half gasps when he comes out at the other side. Morrigan smiles with understanding, puts a steadying hand at his back. “Yes, it’s quite uncomfortable the first few times,” she says. It isn’t the utter blackness of the Fade. This is shades of grey, unintelligible static. He frowns, focuses his echo towards a point. It changes nothing. It’s so near, the sister of the Fade, something cut from the same cloth, but with wild differences in the thread.

“I’ve taken to calling this place the Crossroads,” Morrigan says as she gently pushes him forward. The static interferes even with his tether on her, and with Merrill a further distance away, he can barely make out her green.

“It’s as good a name as any,” Merrill says. She hums to herself as she walks between rows of eluvians, her fingertips ghosting against their frames. “I think my people called it something else, long ago. There’s always been ruins. Places we know the elvhen have been, but no roads.” She turns, claps her hands together, and rushes towards Alexi. “These eluvians, this place, are their roads.” Curiosity takes him, and he brushes touch against an inactive mirror. He dares not touch the glass. That magic sleeps, and as he clenches his hand into a fist, he fears the anchor might wake it. It does not like this place. Or perhaps it does, he cannot tell. Either way, small tendrils of pain wrap up his arm.

“All eluvians join here, when opened correctly, no matter where they may be,” Morrigan says. “It is difficult to say how this place is even possible. It is very near the Fade, however, it is not the Fade. It is perhaps formed from the fabric of time and space. Your guess would be as good as mine.”

“If someone came to the Crossroads, or a place like it, with enough power, they could tear down the walls. That’d open a way to the Fade, a way you could enter it physically, just like Corypheus wanted to do with the anchor,” Merrill says.

“So if he had an eluvian and a compatible key, he could come here?” Alexi asks, tilting his head upwards. It does nothing, simply more grey. The promise of color, built upon a lie.

“Correct. Merrill and I have made a list of all possible eluvians which could be opened. They are either opened easily, or the key is readily available. We’ve given the list to Leliana, who has her scouts monitoring each location,” she says. “The moment any hint of Corypheus or his army is detected, we’ll be able to move quickly.” Alexi’s shoulders ease when they step back through the eluvian. Color rushes back to him, and he breathes in deeply the air of Thedas. Lighter, not as heavy as the Crossroads.  

“Don’t worry Alexi,” Merrill says, “we’ll find Corypheus soon.”

“I hope so. Thank you, both of you, for all of this. If this is the answer – well,” he says. Merrill smiles, sways on her feet.

“I’m glad Hawke wrote to me,” she says.

“As am I,” Alexi tells her softly. She and Morrigan stay with the eluvian, while he steps back out into the garden. He thinks that perhaps, he might go back to his room. That would require walking through the Great Hall again, however, and at the thought, a sigh rattles him deeply. It’s the same with trying to make his way down into the workshop, or finding Boots – all paths lead to the Hall. Instead, he finds himself taking the long way around, into the Courtyard. Past the entrance into Skyhold, towards the stables.

He smiles as he stands near the horses, who nudge him carefully with their noses. He takes care to pay attention to each one he passes. “Hello Dorte,” he murmurs to one, “hello Arthur,” to another. Dennet is using a pitchfork to place hay inside a few stalls, and his greetings are plain and passing. Alexi wanders into the barn, expecting to find Blackwall. He bumps into the carving table accidentally, and reaches out to find what Blackwall had been working on.

A curved beak. Sanded down, smooth and complete. Intricate details carved with care. Wings, legs – ah, a griffon. He had drank with Blackwall last night, having seemed out of sorts. A conversation on what exactly makes a good man. Alexi’s hands move from the griffon, find the slip of paper before it, and he fears he didn’t give him the right answers. “Master Dennet,” Alexi says. Dennet wipes the sweat from his brow, leans on the pitchfork, and waits expectantly. “I’m sorry for disturbing you, but I was wondering if you could read this for me.” He holds out the slip of paper.

Clearing his throat, Dennet takes it, his eyes moving over each word. “Inquisitor, I think you should have your spymaster tell you what it says,” he says handing it back to Alexi after a moment, “it’s not for someone like me to read.”

“Oh.” There’s an unease. An imbalance. “Thank you Master Dennet.” He pulls his cap back down, goes back to his work. Alexi clutches the paper in his hands, and tries not to seem as though something is wrong. He climbs the stairs to the battlements, finds his way to the rotunda. Up and up, until the cawing of crows is practically beside his ear. Leliana looks up from her desk when he enters the rookery, the quill perched in her hand.

“Alexi, what can I –” Alexi thrusts the paper towards her. Leliana takes it quickly, reads it much the same. “Inquisitor. You’ve been a friend and an inspiration. You’ve given me the wisdom to know right from wrong and, more importantly, the courage to uphold the former. It’s been my honor to serve you,” she reads it in a flat and impersonal tone. A pause, and then she sighs. “I didn’t want to think much of the reports that Blackwall was seen leaving this morning.”  

She stands, begins rifling through papers on his desk. “We spoke last evening and he seemed distressed. I don’t think – do you think it has something to do with that? I thought that we… he seemed better when I left,” Alexi says.

“I think you gave him the courage to come to a decision. I had thought it harmless before, but Blackwall had gone through my things. He had taken a report on a minor incident which occurred in Orlais. One of the perpetrators of that incident has been caught, and is scheduled to hang. Blackwall disappearing now would give him time enough to attend that hanging,” Leliana says, finally finding what she was looking for, and holding it up, re-reading a section. “Lieutenant Cyril Mornay.”

“Val Royeaux?”

“I’ll send word you need a few horses prepared, and Josephine will manage your schedule. If you intend to make it in time, you should leave now,” Leliana says.

How fitting that it rains. It comes down in a cascade at first, an almost unstoppable torrent. It begins to let up closer to the hanging, some few sorry tears still falling. It soaks his shoulders, seeps into his hair and cloak. “How miserable,” Cassandra says.

“I’d have to agree with you there,” Varric murmurs. Despite the rain, it seems all of Val Royeaux has come to watch. Together with Dorian, they push their way through the jeering crowd. A cacophony of shouting, of people far too eager to watch a man die.

“Cyril Mornay. For your crimes against the Empire of Orlais, for the murders of General Vincent Callier, Lady Lorette Callier, their four children, and their retainers…” The man standing with Cyril has to practically scream it out over the crowd in order to be heard. Alexi clutches his staff. “You are sentenced to be hanged from the neck until dead. Do you have anything to say in your defense?”

“What does he look like?” Alexi asks Cassandra in a quiet voice. She crosses her arms, squints at Mornay.

“Plain. Older. A few scars on his face. Nothing that stands out,” she tells him. The silence from Mornay stretches out, and so the executioner hauls him to his feet.

“Well this is grim,” Varric says. Alexi says nothing, agrees silently. A spectacle of death. “What does Blackwall want with this?” The noose settles around Mornay’s neck. He closes his eyes, bows his head. A deep breath.

“Stop!” Alexi immediately throws out his echo, stretching it further than he ever has before. There. At the edges. Blackwall climbs the steps of the makeshift platform, towards Cyril and the executioner. “This man is innocent of the crimes laid before him. Orders were given, and he followed them like any good soldier. He should not die for that mistake!”

“What is he doing?” Dorian sounds almost amused.

“Then find me the man who gave the order,” the executioner challenges Blackwall, closing the distance between them.

“Oh,” Varric says, “shit.” Alexi watches Blackwall’s colors turn towards him. He’s looking at him. Speaking to him.

“I was called Blackwall, but I am not Blackwall. I never was Blackwall. Warden Blackwall is dead, and has been for years. I assumed his name to hide, like a coward, from who I really am. It’s over. I’m done hiding. I gave the order. The crime is mine. I am Thom Rainier.” He speaks it solidly. Absolutely. Without a chance of error, so no one could call this an accident, or a mistake. The crowd roars, and the authorities swarm around Blackwall. Rainier.

“We have some time before they organize a punishment. They’ll be keeping him the cells,” Cassandra says as she watches Blackwall being dragged away. “If you wish to do something, we should send a message back to Skyhold now.”

“Do it,” Alexi says.

“Right, I suppose we’ll need to find some long term accommodations. Please don’t spend the night sleeping in the prison with him,” Dorian says. Alexi is already off, following them towards the prison. Varric waves the other two away. He’ll wait, and keep watch.

The guards can hardly deny the request of the Inquisitor, close ally to the Empire. Alexi waits impatiently as they jail him, mark his imprisonment. He reaches up, wraps a hand around one of the crystals. One marked by Vivienne – impossibly cool, incredibly calm. He takes solace in her strength. He feels it as he’s allowed down into the cells. Each step is precise, slow. The stone is slick with wet, only a few torches lit. Not that the darkness bothers him. Still, as he steps near the only occupied cell, he lights the torch nearby.

“I have… keys,” Alexi says, fumbling with them as he finds the lock on the cell. “I had to promise that you wouldn’t try to escape.” A turn, a click.

Blackwall wraps a hand around one of the bars, holds the door shut. “Leave it Alexi,” he says. “Leave me.”

“I can’t. You know I can’t,” Alexi says. “Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice seems so impossibly small in this place. He feels impossibly small.

“I didn’t take Blackwall’s life,” he says defensively.

“I know. I didn’t think you did.”

“I traded his death. He wanted me for the Wardens, but there was an ambush. Darkspawn. He was killed. I took his name to stop the world from losing a good man. But a good man, the man he was, wouldn’t have let another die in his place.” Alexi leans his staff against the opposite wall. His hands move over Blackwall’s, gently remove them from holding the door closed. Blackwall steps back, takes a seat on the bench in the cell, and Alexi joins him.

Sitting beside him, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. “You saved that man. That took courage.” He wishes he knew what face Blackwall is making. Any sort of detail of what he’s feeling. Instead, it’s that swirling color, the uncertain red, a stronger orange. He finds his answer in the strained way Blackwall speaks, the anger and grief in each word.

“Courage? I killed innocent people… destroyed Mornay’s life and the lives of others like him. One moment of courage will not make up for that.”

“It isn’t one moment of courage. Think of how many Wardens you saved at Adamant because you convinced them to join us. How many Venatori have you fought and killed? How many lives have you saved?” Blackwall shakes his head, unable to hear meaning in the words.

“Why are you here?”  

“I needed you to know that you aren’t alone in this.”

“Don’t you understand?” Blackwall pushes himself up from the bench, paces in the cell. Alexi’s fingers press against his knuckles. “I gave the order to kill Lord Callier, his entourage, and I lied to my men about what they were doing! When it came to light, I ran. Those men, my men, paid for my treason while I was pretending to be a better man.”

“Blackwall.”

“No! This is what I am. A murderer, a traitor… a monster.” He leans his back against the wall, slowly slides down. Legs bent, knees at his chest, his hands clutching his head. Alexi moves carefully. He reaches out with a trembling hand, tests a touch with his fingers before resting his palm against Blackwall’s knee.

“You are more than what you say. I’ve seen it. The whole of the Inquisition has seen it. You can’t see it, not right now, but it is there,” Alexi tells him. “Who you are now – you aren’t that Rainier anymore. You haven’t been him in a very long time.”

“How can you say that? Now that you know what I’ve done?” Alexi smiles fondly, goes to sit beside him. The stone isn’t anything close to comfortable, but Blackwall’s side is warm, and so he’s content to stay.

“I think I like you more, now, knowing. A monster wouldn’t have regret. A monster wouldn’t sacrifice himself for another. If you were a monster before, you aren’t that now. It takes great effort to overcome one’s nature. To take the more difficult path and walk one that may or may not be better,” Alexi says.

“Mornay is the only one I could save. The only one I sought to save,” Blackwall says.

“You’ve faltered, but you’re here, now. It doesn’t excuse what you’ve done. You’ll live with this your entire life and I’m not the one who can give you the forgiveness you’re looking for. But trying to be a good man? It isn’t for nothing,” he tells him.

Every day, Alexi finds himself down in that prison. Most of the time they sit in silence. Sometimes Alexi is in the cell with him, sometimes not. Blackwall doesn’t want to speak more of it. Still, no one wants to wait alone. He soothes Blackwall as much as he’s able, as much as he’ll allow him. His cracked colors make more sense now. Two different people, butting heads inside him. A struggle he had never spoken of until now. He isn’t the only one with cracked colors.

Alexi’s gut twists with guilt. He had said something like it before – who you are now is what matters. The hypocrisy of himself, to forgive one instantly but not the other. When the Inquisition does come, it isn’t Leliana or Josephine. “I have Leliana’s report on Thom Rainier,” Cullen says, catching him in the evening as Alexi goes to leave. He pauses, so close to the door, and turns towards him. He leans against his staff, waits patiently.

“Looks like our friend was once a respected Captain in the Imperial Orlesian army. Before the Civil War, he was turned, persuaded to assassinate one of Celene’s biggest supporters. He led a group of fiercely loyal men on this mission, and told them nothing of it. His men took the fall for him. A few lucky ones, like Mornay, managed to escape,” Cullen says, quickly followed by a sigh. “What do we do now?” He raps his knuckles against the nearby table, thinking quickly. “We could have him released to us, so that you may pass judgment on him yourself.”

“If it were up to you, what would happen?”

“What he did to the men under his command was unacceptable. He betrayed their trust, betrayed ours. I despise him for it. And yet he fought as a Warden. Joined the Inquisition. Gave his blood for our cause. And the moment he shakes off his past, he turns around and owns up to it. Why?”

“He wanted to change. To prove that he’d really left his past behind, he had to face up to it. Be honest to us. Stop hiding away from it. You don’t think he’s changed from Rainier?”

“I’m not sure what to think. I used to – well. Saving Mornay the way he did took courage. I’ll give him that. But I can’t tell you what to do.” He speaks so haltingly. As though he had an opinion, once, which had been recently changed.

“Have him released to us,” Alexi says without hesitation.

“It will be done, Inquisitor,” Cullen says. Alexi reaches out, touching the back of Cullen’s hand.

“Please call me Alexi,” he half whispers it, the frown perched between his brows. He pulls his touch away quickly, but Cullen rubs his other hand over where he had been.

It proceeds quickly. Rainier is taken out of Val Royeaux under the cover of night, chains around his wrists and around his ankles. Judgement on the criminal will be made by the Inquisition. It will attract a fair bit of outcry, with the Orlesians having been denied their own justice. Alexi prepares an apology to Josephine on their ride back to Skyhold. She’ll have a lot of smoothing over to do. Still, when he recites the apology to her, she only smiles and waves it away.        

“It will need to be official. The nobility of Orlais currently with us need to see judgement being dispensed. I’m sorry, but you’ll have no privacy with this. He must be presented as a criminal,” she tells him. They prepare the Great Hall. He hates the throne they’ve given him. He sits well in it, made to his height and size, and still, he feels as though it doesn’t fit. Rather than rest his arms on the arm rests, his hands fidget in his lap.

“For judgement this day, Inquisitor, I must present Captain Thom Rainier, formerly known to us as Warden Blackwall,” Josephine says, mostly for the benefit of those attending the judgement. Alexi clenches his jaw when he hears the chains, knows that Blackwall is being dragged forth by Inquisition guards. “His crimes… well, you are aware of his crimes. The decision of what to do with him is now yours.”

“You could have left me there. I accepted my punishment. I was ready for all this to end,” Blackwall says, shaking his head, not daring to look up where Alexi sits.

“Thom Rainier. Someone has already passed your sentence. Warden Blackwall found you, and deemed you should serve the Wardens. I won’t do any less.” At this, Blackwall does look up. Alexi sits forward in the chair, a kind smile on his lips. “You have spent your time atoning for what you’ve done as Blackwall. Now, you’ll atone for it as Rainier. After you have aided the Inquisition in defeating Corypheus, you’ll be given to the Wardens. You’ll become what you were meant to be. What Warden Blackwall meant you to be.”

“Alexi…” Blackwall forces himself to stand up a little straighter, bear the burden of the chains.

“I’m told not all survive the Joining, and the life of a true Warden is difficult,” he says.  

“If I die, it will be no less than I deserve. And if I live… I’ll make it count.”

“I know you will.”

 ---

“A few have gotten lost during training,” Leliana says, “but they’ve all been found without trouble. They know their routes now, and they no longer stray from it. They’re even becoming more helpful in guiding the refugees.” Snow flattens under their feet as they walk through the tents together. The Orlesian soldiers have taken to their new task splendidly, patrolling throughout Skyhold and the valley. There’s a bit of a crowd following them, all wide eyed to see the Inquisitor in their midst.

“Has anything been found regarding shelter?”

“Mason Sturhald has a few ideas, but I think those skew towards the more permanent side,” she says. Alexi nods. The further out they get, is where the newer ones are. Tents pepper the hillside, some half buried in snow. Cold breath fogs out around him, and the chill seems to permeate through everything. Living like this?

“Even if it’s permanent, whatever we can have as soon as possible… Leliana, there are children here. If it gets any colder, I – well.”

“We all feel the same as you do. I promise, at the first viable solution, it will be done,” she says.

“Thank you Leliana.”

“Of course,” she says, moving to clasp her hands behind her back. She watches how others watch him, all so curious to catch a glance. She steps closer to him, her shoulder brushing against his arm. “I’ve noticed you haven’t taken any more books to be read.” Alexi immediately turns his head in her direction, floundering for an answer. A grin bursts across her face. “I’m surprised Cullen would turn you down.”

“He didn’t! I just – I know you know,” he says.

“I have no idea what you mean,” she says, feigning complete innocence.

“Has he said something?” Alexi asks, giving into his curiosity. Leliana chuckles.

“Nothing of the sort. He’s been suspiciously quiet, which says everything,” she says.

“I feel like such a fool. I knew he was a Templar. I’ve had experience with Templars, and I – I thought he was different. Maybe he didn’t actually want to be a Templar, or maybe he was one of the ones who helped the mages escaped but… I read the book. I’ve asked others. I know what he did in Ferelden and in Kirkwall. I know what happened to him and I, I just…”

“His being a Templar makes him different from Blackwall. Blackwall was easier to forgive, but Cullen isn’t, correct?”

“I had told him before that his past didn’t matter, and that who he is now is all that does. Then Samson said those things, and,” Alexi shakes his head, “I couldn’t feel past it. We were so close. I thought he trusted me with everything, but he wasn’t even the one to tell me. He skipped over the parts in the book. He said and did such terrible things.” He squeezes his hands around his staff.

“Blackwall became who he is away from you. You didn’t get to his struggles, or his growth. What he did seems so distant, because he’s so different now. Cullen is still struggling, and trying to grow. He’ll make mistakes, Alexi. I don’t believe it was ever his intention to hurt you,” she says.

“I know. I’ve let it go too long without talking to him,” he says, “I just don’t know what to say.” Leliana smiles, links her arm with his and leans into him.

“You could start with hello.” He begins to laugh, lean against her as well – only for his laughter to stop abruptly. His steps stop as well, Leliana stopping with him. She watches as he frowns, his head turning towards the opposite direction.

“What is it?” she asks.

“Leliana,” he whispers it to her, “there are Red Templars in the camps.” She pulls him tightly towards her.

“Keep walking. Pretend you feel nothing. Turn your head towards me. Smile. Laugh. Nothing is wrong,” she says, her voice light as she tugs him forward. “How many are there?”

“At least four. The lyrium in them is small, only just starting to grow. I don’t think they’d be showing any outward signs that they are Red Templars,” he says, forcing the smile onto his face.

“Easier for them to slip in and hide with the refugees. There’s a patrol up ahead. We can quietly pass the word, and hopefully apprehend them before anyone is hurt,” she says, her pace quickening. Alexi shakes his head.

“They’re following us.” Leliana wraps her hand around the hilt of the dagger in her belt.

The soldier is breathless as he bursts into Cullen’s office. “Attack. In the camps. Inquisitor. Spymaster. Red Templars,” he wheezes out. The chair tumbles backwards as Cullen half leaps out of it, holding the hilt of his sword, resisting the urge to draw it. Cullen points at a few guards nearby, rallies them to follow him. Morrigan, seeing them cross the Courtyard, follows with the staff in her hand. His breath is fire in his throat as they run down the drawbridge, into the valley.

Morrigan makes a disappointed noise as she closes the distance between herself and Leliana. She reaches out, wipes away the streak of blood on her cheek. Leliana waves away her attention. “Commander. You’ve quite missed all the action,” Leliana tells him. The bodies of six Red Templars lay strewn before her, their blood seeping into the snow. The few soldiers already there have piled them neatly, ready for them to be taken away.

“Where’s the Inquisitor?” Cullen asks, his hand finally leaving the sword, but still tightened into a fist. Leliana gestures with a tilt of her head, and Cullen whirls. Alexi stands tall amongst the tents, the other refugees. He half towers above them, but there’s a smile on his face. He bends down, speaking to the few gathered around them. For an attack having just taken place, the area is surprisingly calm. Alexi holds the hand of an older woman, alleviates the pain of arthritis in her joints.

“I have a few herbs which will help better. I can make a poultice for you, but you have to promise to apply it every night,” Alexi tells her.

“I’ll do my best not to forget,” she says. From one, to the next. Cullen is content to stand nearby, finally able to catch his breath. He rubs his eyes, the leather of his gloves colder than even the snow. His eyelids burn with a need for sleep, but he forces his thoughts to focus. He barely notices Leliana and Morrigan move up beside him as his hand falls back to his side.

“The bodies will be taken up to Skyhold proper. We need a better way of detecting them which doesn’t compromise our intake of refugees,” Leliana says.

“I believe this attack had a specific purpose. To distract you,” Morrigan says. “One of your scouts has finished giving a report to me. Some of Corypheus’s forces have been spotted in the Arbor Wilds. He means to go for the eluvian in Mythal’s temple.”

“Then we’ll need to begin preparing our armies immediately. We must begin marching now if we are to have any hope of arriving in time,” Leliana says. “I’ll begin discussing things with Josephine, if you’d join me Morrigan. Cullen, you can inform the Inquisitor. We’ll see you back at the war table.” Cullen acknowledges her with a nod. He takes a seat nearby, on a crate, leaning back against a pole. He crosses his arms, closes his eyes, listening to Alexi speak. His echo is warm, soothing, comforting. No wonder they flock to him.

“Cullen.” A shake at his shoulder. “Cullen.” Where once it was afternoon, evening now covers. The sun slips behind the mountains, and Cullen struggles to shake himself awake. He looks up, and immediately rocks to his feet. Alexi keeps that hand on his shoulder.

“I, ah, I was to inform you that we’re to make preparations to head to the Arbor Wilds,” Cullen says as he rubs the back of his neck. “Morrigan says there’s an eluvian there.” Alexi says nothing and Cullen clears his throat. “She said that this attack was likely a distraction to keep us from noticing troops on the move. Keep our attention closer to Skyhold, less so elsewhere.” He still isn’t speaking. Instead, his hand moves to his cheek. Alexi is wearing his usual fingerless gloves. He runs touch through the stubble on Cullen’s cheek.

Alexi leans down, his nose briefly touching against his, and presses the kiss lightly. It’s almost something impossibly chaste, almost the ghost of a real kiss. “Alexi,” Cullen murmurs, putting a hand on his hip, moving it around to splay at the small of his back. The second kiss is deeper, inhaling breath that’s impossible to exhale. Lips slide against lips as he opens his mouth to him, tongue pressing insistently. The staff anchored between them, Alexi’s other hand curls in Cullen’s cloak. He doesn’t care who sees. Cullen holds him tightly.

He’s reluctant to let the kiss go. It lingers, Alexi’s hesitation showing in it as well. Alexi leans his forehead against his, fingertips brushing against Cullen’s earlobe. “We should talk,” he says softly.

[hermannsthumb]

Hiiii Maria! Seasonal Newmann u say? How about uhhhhh wine tasting + corn maze for them guys

HAPPY OCTOBER 1STTTTTTTT

Anonymous said: For the prompt meme,,, corn maze pls

from autumn fic meme here: 18. wine tasting + 27. (x2) corn maze

———————————-

It was a bad idea from the start and destined to fail, Newt will admit that. At the time, though (after a long day of ingesting as much sugar as possible at the fall fest, rounded out with a genuine wine-tasting in a big spookily-lit tent) it sounded great. And Hermann agreed it sounded great. They’re scientists, Newt said. They’re some of the greatest ones of the century, probably. How many scientists have hooked their brains up to an alien hivemind and lived to talk about it? Exactly two–and it’s them. He’s pretty sure they can solve a stupid corn maze. Even tipsy. Shit, they could probably finish it in five minutes.

Twenty minutes in, the wine has worn off, the temperature is dropping with the sun, and it’s becoming very clear Newt overestimated their abilities.

Hermann is not amused. “We’ve passed that scarecrow already,” he says. “I’m certain. We’re walking in circles.”

Newt gazes up at the one Hermann’s pointing to. It’s hokey and cliche, just like the rest of the maze (with its jack-o-lanterns and fake cobwebs everywhere): creepy sack head, plaid shirt, pitchfork strapped to a hand that sways in the wind. If they were in a horror movie, it’d probably come to life and chase them. It doesn’t. Newt can’t tell if he’s disappointed or not. “I think they just all look the same, dude,” Newt says. “Look–” he points to a corner. “That pumpkin looks new.”

“It looks like every other pumpkin we’ve seen today,” Hermann says, scowling at its jagged, flickering smile, “because it’s the same one.” To really hammer in his point, he repeats “We’re walking in circles.”

“Even if we are,” Newt says, “which we’re not, at least it’s giving us some quality time together, right?” Hermann turns his scowl on Newt. Newt, unphased, inches over and takes his free hand. “It’s just you, and me.” He strokes his thumb over the back of Hermann’s knuckles, through his stupid-cute red mittens. Hermann’s scowl begins to twitch into a smile. “And that evil scarecrow.”

Hermann snorts, and doesn’t pull his hand away, which Newt counts as a win. “It is unsettling,” he agrees, and makes a face at the scarecrow’s sack head. It flaps sadly back at him. “Come on. I don’t fancy being stuck in here after dark.”

“Wait a sec,” Newt says. He digs around in the deep pocket of his overalls before finally producing a small brown bag of candy corn. At Hermann’s inquisitive stare, he adds, “I know it’s gross, but I’m hungry.” He needs the sugar rush. Get his brain working. The wine made him sleepy.

“You ate four candy apples today,” Hermann says, but takes a handful himself. 

Twenty-five more minutes pass. The sun sets. Newt’s pretty sure at least five bats pass overhead. They finish off the candy corn. They make out against a few hay bales for a bit until Hermann complains that it’s irritating his skin. Eventually, they reach a small fork in the path, which Newt thinks is probably a good sign, because they haven’t seen one of those yet–only four-way splits. “Well, babe,” he says, “left or right?”

“Left,” Hermann says immediately.

“Oh,” Newt says. He scuffs his boot against the dirt ground. “Uh. I was actually kinda feeling right.”

“Hm,” Hermann says. His voice gets the way it always does when he’s preparing to condescend to Newt. He adjusts his glasses. “I see. Only, you know, Newton, we haven’t taken any left turns yet–”

“Haven’t we?” Newt says.

“We haven’t,” Hermann says. “I’ve been keeping track.” (Probably why they got lost in the first place.) “I think we ought to take a left.”

“There’s nothing down that way,” Newt says. “There are more pumpkins down the right way. Look.” A row of more flickering jack-o-lanterns down that path, lining the corn hedge, more cobwebs. The left side is dark.

“Obviously an attempt to fool people like you,” Hermann says, “who take directions from pumpkins.” He gives Newt’s hand a sharp tug. “Left, Newton.”

“No, you dick. I’m not–”

Something moves directly ahead of them in the corn. Newt freezes. 

Hermann does not freeze. “Oh, what is it now?” he sighs. Earlier, when they’d done the walk through of the “Haunted Manor” in the main part of the fair (an old farmhouse decorated with more hokey Halloween stuff, employees dressed as ghosts leaping out from corners, and a foggy backyard full of punny styrofoam gravestones), Newt kept grabbing his shoulder and hissing boo in his ear to make him jump, so Newt has a feeling he’s all spooked-out at this point. And all patienced-out. Unfortunately, it’s not Newt this time.

He shushes Hermann and draws him a little closer. “I think there’s someone over there,” he whispers.

“I’m not falling for that again,” Hermann snaps. “Don’t–” More rustling cornstalks, closer to them, this time. Hermann jumps; he clings to Newt’s arm. “What is it?” he hisses.

Newt’s imagination takes that chance to run wild: one of the scarecrows, magically brought to life with nightfall and stalking after them. A giant monster with a pumpkin head. The ghost of someone who got lost in here years ago (just like them) and starved to death and is going to take its revenge. Aliens. “I don’t know,” Newt hisses back. Heart pounding, and for lack of seeing any better weapon, he snatches a dried and hardened corn husk from the ground and wields it like a sword in front of them. He nudges Hermann behind him protectively. “Stay there.”

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Hermann says, but Newt does anyway.

“Hey, asshole, what do you want!” he calls at the corn.

The rustling stops. For a second, Newt hopes he’s scared whatever it is off (definitely aliens, they probably recognized Newt and Hermann from how they handled the kaiju and were too afraid to try anything), but then it picks up–faster–coming right towards them–and then something bursts out at them, blinding them with a bright beam of light.

Newt screams (but only a little). Hermann swears. They stagger backwards, clinging to each other, nearly falling on their asses.

And then the light is lowered. “What are you guys still doing in here?” their assailant says, who looks less like an assailant and more like one of the minimum-wage teenagers in orange vests and flannel who have been working stands at the festival all night. Newt lowers the hardened corn husk and blinks, dazedly, at her. She’s holding a flashlight. “The farm closed thirty minutes ago.”

“Why,” Newt squeaks. He clears his throat. “Why were you sneaking around in the corn? You scared the shit out of us.” (Hermann mumbles something along the lines of speak for yourself, but Newt can feel the bastard’s heart pounding away even through his fifty layers of turtlenecks.)

“Some kid lost a cell phone in here and my boss is making me look for it.” The girl rolls her eyes. “We are closed, though, so–”

“Of course,” Hermann says. He brushes dirt off his sweater and tries to play it cool. “Apologies. We were, ah, having some difficulty figuring a way out of the maze…”

“Oh,” the girl says. She shines the beam of her flashlight to their left. “Go that way, and then take another left, and you’ll be out. Happy Halloween.”

Newt and Hermann return the sentiment, and, both red-faced and more than a little mortified, quickly scurry away. They’re out of the maze in minutes.

“I told you it was left,” Hermann mutters.

Newt elbows him. “Shut up,” he says, fondly.

[waitinginthedarke]

It Consumes Me

A BTS/Kim Namjoon Fanfiction

Summary: The minute he laid eyes on her he knew she was the one. But love is a battle of the mind and the heart, and when the voices in your head start winning, how can your heart possibly compete with a choice that consumed you before the very start…

Type: Angst/Love

Disclaimer: This story contains strong themes. Should a chapter be potentially triggering, it will be stated beforehand. (This chapter contains more direct reference to triggering subjects, most prominently EDs)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6

Chapter 7

It was always mesmerizing to you, when you could circle the little brown spots on your arms, smiling weakly at the way they’d disappear when you pressed them like a button, before reappearing when you moved your fingers aside. It was like when your tummy grumbled and you would press on it hard, and like magic it would stop, leaving you with quiet; peace.

You were too busy pushing on the spots to notice when he arrived, tilting your head curiously as you distracted yourself from the cold with your new interest, a quiet voice in the back of your mind regretting your choice of clothes; thin, long sleeved, over-sized,  black sweater over a thin tea dress with your regular converse. You’d forgotten a coat as you’d rushed out the door, having only brought your pre-packed bag with you which lay at your feet, and a stomach full of nerves.

‘Am I going to have to start bringing two coats with me everywhere I go, just so that I have one for you?’

His voice has your head snapping up in surprise, grin growing slowly on your face when you see him, and you hurriedly pull down your sleeve as you do so, so that you can stand up to greet him. Without pause you’re threading your arms around his waist, squeezing him tight as you draw the scent of him into your lungs, feeling your muscles weaken with the light-headedness that came with the action and thanking the powers that be that his automatic reaction was to do the same back to you.

He was so warm.

‘I missed you, beautiful.’

The night peeking out from behind his arm seemed to lighten with those words, tinges of white seeping into your vision in your delirious happiness, and you cant help but turn your head up to look at him so that you can catch his gaze, smiling before flickering your sights to his mouth and eagerly stretching up to touch a kiss to his lips.

It was like a movie the way you end up bent backwards, still secure in Namjoon’s arms whilst yours lay delicate against him, your lips barely grazing in the taste of a kiss, before he pulls away, the dreamlike scene scattering delicately with the minute frown that appears between his brows.

‘Are you okay?’

His voice is filled with concern, and the muscles in his shoulders bulge with tension beneath his coat, but the butterflies in your stomach were battering away too loudly for you to really cotton onto his meaning.

‘I’ve never been better.’

The answer seems to at least partially satisfy him as he lifts you back onto your feet with a smile, eyes darting behind you and tightening before he replaces his face mask back onto his face and proceeds to remove his coat.

‘Put this on before you catch a cold.’

You do as you’re told, having not stopped smiling at him since he’d found you, and feeling your cheeks hurt when instead of picking your bag up to return it to you after watching you put his coat on, he slings the pastel coloured beaten backpack onto his shoulder, before sliding his hand into yours and beginning to pull you away down the street.

Being surrounded by the smell and warmth of him had you distracted for all of 30 seconds, before you registered the feel of his stare on you, and you turn to see him smirking at you, pausing momentarily, before quickly pulling his facemask down and swooping down to plant a soft kiss to your lips, the taste of him being cola and cherries.

‘Now that I have your attention after you ignored my question five times in favour of staring at my coat that you’re wearing- with an adorable smile on your face, might i add…Have you eaten yet?’

The whole way through him talking you could feel your cheeks burning with heat where he’d caught you out for not paying attention to him, yet when he reaches his actual question, you feel the heat dissipate rapidly as you turn the words over in your mind in search of an appropriate answer.

But as it turns out, your body decided to answer him instead; your stomach rumbling loudly enough for him to hear it over the street noise.

‘Well, that’s one way to answer.’ He chuckles, seemingly paying no attention to the unsure look on your face as he switches your bag onto the opposite arm so that he could slip his arm around your waist, the move distracting you from the conversation as he proceeds to continue down the road with you, his warmth surrounding you the whole way back to his.

He’d asked you all about your day on the walk back, and even though you’d been actively responding for the most part and getting lost in his little tangents he’d take every now and again as he’d share an anecdote from his life- which you’d noticed he’d been much more open about since you found out about his occupation the other day- the moment he’d announced you were almost there, your senses had become acutely tuned into your surroundings, your mind wanting to process every tiny detail about the place he called home.

In fact, it wasn’t until you were stood before a large dark wood door within a building that appeared on the outside just as ordinary (if not a little cleaner) than all the rest, that the nerves of the situation you were about to find yourself in, and the reason you were stood there in that moment, really sinks in.

‘Hey, are you okay? You’re shaking.’ He suddenly comments, turning to you just before he goes to knock on the door, instead lowering his hand slowly to allow his palm to cup your cheek, gently lifting your gaze to meet his.

‘Im fine.’ You hurriedly murmur, offering a fragile smile, before letting it go and sighing shakily, ‘I’m just nervous about meeting the rest of your friends. I know you’ve said they’ll love me, but I’m still worried that they might not. I mean, im awkward, and shy, and nerdy, and-‘

‘And you’re funny, and brilliant, and beautiful beyond comparison, y/n. Believe me, …they’re going to adore you.’ He cuts you off, his face looming closer and closer to yours as he bends down slightly until his ungodly beauty is the only thing that your brain can process as your eyes lock with his.

‘I wouldn’t let you meet them if I didn’t think they’d love you; hell, I wouldn’t be stood here with you now if I didn’t think that I’d still find myself stood by your side in well over ten years’ time…and they know that, y/n. And when they know im serious about something, they make sure that they at least try to understand why.’ He says, smiling softly at you, before dropping a quick kiss to your forehead.

‘So,…yes, they might be a little inquisitive and imposing tonight, but I can promise you, its just because they want to understand why you mean so much to me.’

As much as you could appreciate that this sentiment was meant to relax you, the idea that you’d be on a podium for the entire evening as his friends examined you only proved to cause your anxiety to raise, your poor job at concealing your worry being easily signaled to Namjoon and leading you to suddenly have all thoughts vanish from your mind,  finding yourself becoming over taken by the feel of his mouth caressing yours roughly and his hands clasping at your back as his torso presses desperately against yours. Your hands raise up to cradle his neck, a bubble of need surging up through your chest as the taste of him drowns out the noise of your thoughts, the excitement the feel of him beneath your fingertips caused leading you to want more as your lips begin to work harsher against his, all shyness being left behind as you forget all hesitation caused by your surroundings, shivering repeatedly with the feel of his hands caressing your body.

‘God, you’re intoxicating.’ He murmurs against your mouth, a breath of space following his words before he suddenly pulls back and looks quickly around you both, relaxing visibly when the only person within reaching distance was an old couple outside of their shop across the alley road, both shooting you disapproving looks before returning to peeling their vegetables.

‘Come on, if you’re going to be playing me like that, we should really be somewhere more private.’ He says, winking at you when you look up at him to object, before you realize you still had your arms tied around him and you hurriedly pull them back down to your sides, pulling his coat tightly around you when you notice that your dress underneath had ridden up to expose the tops of your legs.

‘I was just joking, y/n.’ he says quietly when you look back up at him, voice filled with concern, and you quickly plaster a smile on your face before gently tiptoeing to kiss his cheek, grinning when his face tinges pink in response.

‘I know, pabo. I’m just nervous…and also slightly dizzy after that kiss.’ You tease him, biting lightly on your bottom lip where you find you really were slightly tense at the evening to follow and noticing his gaze lock in on the move, his chest expanding suddenly as he draws in a deep breath, before he snaps his eyes back to yours.

‘You make me nervous.’ Is all he mutters under his breath before knocking on the door before he could hesitate again, his comment causing you to smile to yourself, becoming lost in your thoughts at its sentiment, this being the way you stay until the latch unlocks on the door and light from within suddenly spills out onto you.

‘Hyung, what took so long? Jimin has been waiting for ages- he keeps annoying me because he’s so excited.’

The sight of an irritated Jungkook relaxes you minutely, the casual look he was sporting making you smile until his eyes snap to you and he hurriedly bops his head in greeting.

‘Oh, sorry y/n noona.’

You grin at him in greeting, putting him at ease as he hurriedly scurries back inside, Namjoon guiding you in with a gentle arm around your waist and helping you remove his coat-although you put up a tiny fight where you wanted to keep it on just for the fact that it smelt like him- before he slips his hand easily into your own, and with one last reassuring smile, begins to pull you into the house.

First appearances show that it was all decorated and accentuated with the same dark mahogany, the expected smell of men not really being apparent with how neatly they kept the space- with the exception of the front porch area, which seemed filled with more shoes than a shoe store. Upon emerging into the living space your eyes immediately drink in the sight of the floor to ceiling windows that line the far side of the room, the scene beyond of the han river at night, twinkling with the lights of peoples lives in their own homes, the reflection of them upon the river mesmerizing you past the point of noticing the new body that enters the room just as Namjoon goes to pull you over to the corner sofa.

‘Ah, Jin-hyung. Just in time, I’d like to introduce you to someone.’

Namjoon’s voice pulls you back to the present as you turn in the direction of his attention, hurriedly bowing in greeting as your brain simultaneously registers Namjoon’s use of honorifics, offering a timid smile when you look back up at him, and feeling the blood drain to your toes when you see the man before you staring at you with a look of confusion and slight skepticisim.

‘Aish, Namjoon-ah, is this the lady you were on about?’

The man’s sudden change from intimidating confusion to relaxed joker almost feels like it causes you whiplash, but before you can let the feeling sink in, you’re focusing on Namjoon’s reaction to him, attempting to gage the appropriate response to him.

‘Yah, you didn’t forget what I told you yesterday did you, hyung? I made sure everyone was okay with her coming over for the evening- we had a debate about it for almost two hours!’ Namjoon insists, the disbelieving smile on his face signalling that you could relax with the humour-filled banter passing between the two of them: - that was until their attentions were turned back to you.

‘So…you must be y/n.’ the man Namjoon had called ‘Jin’ says, offering you a welcoming smile as he approaches you in polite greeting, looking between Namjoon and yourself and letting out a short, quiet chuckle.

‘I’m Jin. I don’t know who out of the others you’ve met yet, but you can refer to me as the friendly older brother- as well as the comedian of the group.’ He offers, winking at you, and the action makes you laugh in relief, despite the way your fingers were twisting together with your nerves. The feeling of Namjoon’s palm suddenly sitting warmly at the base of your spine has your attention drawing back to him, and you notice the slight tension in his jaw which wasn’t there before, the sight causing you to raise an eyebrow questioningly.

‘Its nice to meet you, Jin-sshi.’ You offer, turning back to the older man and seeing him nod his head at you, before he draws in a deep breath and looks awkwardly back to the corridor from where he’d came as though he’d become just as nervous as you and was seeking comfort in the nearest opportunity.

‘Well, I was just about to run to the store, so…I guess I’ll see you in a few.’ He explains, raising his hand as a farewell, before hurrying down the short corridor towards the door, out of sight.

‘See, that wasn’t as bad as you thought was it?’

You narrow your eyes at Namjoon’s playfully condescending tone, turning away from him as you make yourself comfortable on the sofa, and smiling cryptically as something enters your mind, and you watch him follow your lead, leaving only the slimmest gap between your bodies as he settles beside you.

‘And on a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being the easiest person to meet and 10 being the most unsociable, how would you rate him?’ you ask, turning your head to look at him inquisitively, having to look up a little cause he was still so much taller than you even when you were sat down.

‘Uhhh…maybe…a 3? Perhaps even a 2?’ he offers sheepishly, chuckling when you hum in tense anticipation of what he would pose as a 9/10, but becomingly easily distracted by the feeling of his hand reaching over to find your own to offer comfort, the way he pulls it into his lap to gently trail his fingertips over every knuckle and line pulling a warm smile from you as you watch his inspection.

‘Are you nervous with me here?’ you ask quietly, drinking in the features of his face as his eyes narrow with the smile that pulls at his lips, ears reaching back into his hair line and his adams apple bobbing lightly as he draws in a breath; every movement he makes being mesmerizing to you.

‘I can’t help but be- you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, ever had the pleasure of calling mine, and I’ve brought you into an apartment with 6 other men, all of whom have their own charms, and undoubtedly they will have their own ways of making you smile, and yet for some reason I want to be the only one who makes you smile. I have this rage of irrational jealousy burning in my chest…all because I cant bear the thought of seeing you with anyone else. The human mind baffles…’

You watch him intently as he explains, subconsciously intertwining your fingers with his when he mentions wanting to be the only one who made you smile, not noticing the smile that creeps onto your own face…or the way you end up sneaking closer to him until your arms brushed and you practically had your chin sat on his shoulder.

‘I love your mind.’

The quiet mutter from you has him turning his head slightly so that he could make eye contact with you from the corner of his eye where he’d been too shy to look at you during his confession of jealousy, his mouth curling up at the edge in a smile causing the butterflies in your chest to riot before you find yourself stretching up to touch your lips timidly to his, not being able to resist the temptation presented before you, and biting your lip sheepishly when your brain catches up with the action and you pull back suddenly.

‘You’re such a tease.’ He whispers, the fire in his eyes that had been ignited by the kiss being accentuated through his grip tightening on your fingers.

However its just as he leans closer to you, holding your hand in place so that you couldn’t escape (not that you ever wanted to), that the two of you are interrupted by a cacophony of noise coming from the direction of the front door, causing you to pull back from him a little, being stopped from going too far by his grip on your hand, and you look up at him worriedly, fear twinging through your veins momentarily, before you see the sultry look in his eyes and your heart reverts from panic mode, turning your automatic reaction into a shakyily shy smile- but not before you’d already watched his expression flicker from sultry to surprised, before finally settling on confusion with the hint of resolution.

‘Hey Namjoon-ah! Jin said your friend was here already, can we meet-‘

Upon hearing the voice you’d already started to your feet, being stood ready for inspection by the time the owner of the voice emerged into the room and watching him trail off when his sights land on you.

As you inspect the first guy, two others trail in behind him, all of their eyes immediately locking onto you and you cant help but smile awkwardly as you all become caught in a bubble of hesitation, the pause giving you a moment to suss out what you could from their visuals.

The first guy who’d entered the room was a bit shorter than Namjoon, but you guessed older by his lack of honorifics, his warm brown hair being brushed back under his cap, the shade of which accentuated his cheekbones which in turn drew your attention to the strong line of his jaw and the statue like build of his eyes and lips, immeasurably precise compared to the proportions of his face. He was wearing simple clothing; a white shirt under a dark denim jacket paired with plain basketball style shorts, as though he’d just come back from sports practise- or in this case you’d guess ‘dance rehearsal’.

That was still gonna take some getting used to.

The first guy who emerges from behind him has a similarly lanky build, the two not much different in height, although you already found yourself mesmerized by the angelic softness of his face, his inquisitive puppy-like eyes as they dance over you and the child-like tilt of his head as calculations about you begin to dance behind his gaze. The way his fringe frames his face brings your attention to the bright blonde of his hair and the cuttingly sharp angle of his jaw, before your eyes wander to the impeccably white shirt he was wearing that he’d paired with black slacks, almost as though he’d just come from a business meeting; the look completely contradicting the first man’s outfit.

It wasn’t until you’re about to turn your attention to the final guy who enters the room a few seconds after the first two that Namjoon stands from where he’d been apparently bracing himself on the sofa, angling himself minutely in front of you as he addresses his friends, before slowly sliding an arm around to lay his palm on your lower back in comfort and to demonstrate a certain level of possession of you to the other men.

‘Hoseok-hyung, Taehyungie, Yoongi-hyung, This is y/n; this is the girl I’ve told you about-‘

‘You mean the girl you haven’t stopped telling us about for the past 24 hours since you broke it to us that she was coming to stay for the night?’ The first guy cuts him off, smirking playfully at the man beside you, before he approaches you with ease and offers you a tiny bow in greeting.

‘It’s very nice to meet you, y/n. I hope you don’t mind the mess, its Namjoon’s fault.’ He comments, the tiny quip making you chuckle as your eyes dart to the pile of books in the corner next to the bookcase (note: not ON the bookcase, despite there being space), and remembering the few shoes in disarray out in the hall.

Its only then, as the two begin to joke around- a few shoves being given and received- and the conversation beginning to go off on a tangent, that your gaze moves to the final person who had arrived with the little entourage…

…and you find him looking right back at you, with an unreadably dark expression.

So this would be the 10.

(T.B.C)

[mwub]

Hmmm, thought I had posted this but evidently I didn’t, it was supposed to be a multichapter but I couldn't figure out how to continue it.

Toward Tomorrow

”Hey Lucy, what do I look like?” Came to a playful snicker from Lucy’s now open window as a young man with vibrant spiked pink hair that seemed like it hadn’t met a hairbrush in weeks pulled himself into the windowsill. Although the guild liked to joke otherwise, Natsu was quite handsome, not classically like Gray or princely like Loke but he held a certain spark that drew one's eye.

“What do you mean?” Lucy absently hummed as she sorted through clothes, holding up a powder blue sweater with an inquisitive look before tossing the sweater to the side with a derisive shrug.

“I mean, what do I look like?” Natsu responded with a slightly impatient edge to his naturally husky voice. At his tone, Lucy glanced his way to take his appearance in. The sunlight seemed to dance on his hair in knots and waves, one moment a soothing salmon color the next a bright Sakura pink, almost as if it couldn’t decide what color it wanted to be and changes from moment to moment. Oddly enough it perfectly suited his tan skin and his sharp dark olive green eyes that often sparkled with mischief. The mischief that wasn’t absent now as Natsu rocked back on his heels in order to gain a more comfortable balance on the window, a bright fanged smirk gently pulling on his lips as he studied the blonde.

Lucy was supposed to be packing for the 100-year quest that Natsu claimed they were going on, they just were now awaiting Makarov’s permission to do so which they surely would receive. Of course, Lucy was taking forever to pack, choosing each outfit carefully despite knowing it probably wouldn’t matter anyway when it came down to a fight. Natsu thought she looked beautiful always, even though he wouldn’t say it aloud with her in earshot, the only one he had openly admitted his feelings to was Happy and he was tied and bound in secrecy under the threat of no fish for a month.

Lucy looked especially beautiful to him right now, a millennial pink knit sweater suited her pearly skin, bringing out a natural blush under her skin that’s not ordinarily seen unless you were looking for it. Her hair was tied back in a curled ponytail with a simple white ribbon and white ruffled skirt that ended mid-thigh accentuated her legs that seemed to go on for days before ending in a pair of delicate sandals. Natsu felt a warm glow of pride when he saw a pair of gold flash from Lucy’s ears as she bent to scrutinize a pair of dark jeans. A pair of red ruby eyes glared back at him in the form of two small dragon shaped dangly earrings, they were a gift for Lucy’s birthday a month before and it amused Natsu to no end to see her wear them so often.

Natsu knew he didn’t own Lucy, that he had no claim over her, she was her own person and couldn’t possibly ever be owned. But the fact that he had managed to give her a that she appreciated so much gave him a warm feeling in his heart.

Lucy quirked her eyebrow as she saw his eyes falter and glaze over slightly as he asked that question again, “Like the same Natsu I’ve always known, am I supposed to notice something different today,” Placing a hand on her hip, smoothing down her skirt, “did you get new clothes, cause most of them look the same to me.”

“No… nevermind,” Natsu grumbled, breaking his gaze before flopping forward onto his back, landing with a soft thud on Lucy’s pink comforter before grabbing her pillow and burying his face from view. “Just hurry up already, we are leaving in a few days, we don’t know when we’ll be back so you’ll need you’re more travel-ready clothes anyway. I don’t see why ya wanna pack those daggers you call heels.”

“I know that I still think we should go on one more job before we leave, the more rent money I give to my landlady ahead of time the longer I can help you guys finish whatever this quest is. It doesn’t have to be a big one, just another months worth of rent should be enough.” Lucy finished with a pleading look, her pink lip poking ever so slightly out in an adorable pout.

“...Alright fine, we’ll take that one job in Hakobe forest clearing out some were-rabbits. Shouldn’t be too dangerous as long as we catch them by surprise.” Natsu reluctantly agreed finally, “Pays 200,000 Jewel, that sound like enough to you, we’ll stay two days and be back in 4 days.”

“Thank you! You’re the best, a little extra cash never hurt anybody right?” Squealed the excited blonde as she rushed over and squeezed him into a tight hug, Natsu struggling to hide a slight blush as he was painfully aware of how soft her rather large bust was pressed against his own toned muscles. How she didn’t notice how tight her sweater was he didn’t know but he wasn’t gonna complain if it meant he got the occasional sneak peek that other the other guys in the guild drooled after. Just because he respected her as a person doesn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate her gorgeous looks and all its assets.

“I’ll be here tomorrow morning to pick you up and we can walk there.”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN WALK THERE, IT’LL TAKE TWICE AS LONG TO WALK THERE AND BACK!”

“Fine, walk there and train back, unless you want me to have my insides become outsides the entire trip.” Natsu quipped slyly, knowing he won by the way the girl in front of his eye twitched at the prospect of playing nurse the entire trip.

“Fine.”

~~~~~~

“You complain about wasted time and yet you insist we stop at a Hot Spring.”

“Give it a rest Natsu, it was a great deal, two nights and three days for the price of one and there’s a to die for Sauna along with a open bar.” The blond finished with a prideful smirk.

“It’s only a great deal cause they are closing it to be renovated soon and desperately need customers. Probably no one there except a few stragglers and old people” Natsu said dismissively, shuddering slightly at the thought of seeing old crotchety men fight over sauna rights.

Would there be unisex saunas and baths? I hope so, these types of things are better with Luce’s company anyway. Natsu thought, getting slightly excited at the idea of teasing Lucy again for being so embarrassed wearing such a small towel. She was so weird sometimes, at least Happy was staying with Wendy and Carla, the idea of Happy teasing Lucy into a rage was not a pleasing thought even if Happy was his best friend.

“We’re here”

Before them stood the Gin No Taki hot springs, a rather large old Edo-era style building several stories tall with gorgeous paned windows reflecting like mirrors silhouetted by overarching maple trees, their leaves beginning to shift color from green to red in some places, leaves rustling with the gentle breeze and the buzz of nearby cicadas harmonizing with the distant trickling sound of running water. It looked heavenly.

“Let’s go inside!” Lucy squeaked in excitement, grabbing Natsu’s hand and dragging him along in her wake.

After being greeted by the staff and selecting a room, being fitted into their respective yukatas, they finally settled down for a late lunch consisting of a wide variety of local fish and vegetarian delicacies. Not enough protein for Natsu’s taste but it would whatever it takes to keep the tank full.

After choosing a piece of grilled fish with a side of steamed rice and pickled plums, Natsu couldn’t help glancing at the woman beside him. His jaw slightly going slack at the vision before him, a almost shimmering periwinkle robe hugged her curves, accentuating every crevice. Clouds and cranes dances across the fabric, almost luring him into finding out where they lead, where the clouds and birds chase on the river's breeze adorning the blonds skin. Her hair was pinned into a loosely braided bun held together with a set of pins adorned with silver crescent moon and stars, her hair almost seemed to shimmer pure gold in the afternoon light.

Being caught in a daze Natsu didn't immediately catch what Lucy said until she repeated herself with a slight laugh.

“You look nice Natsu” She giggled, hiding her smile behind her hands in amusement, having noticed his ogling a moment before.

“Thanks” Replied Natsu stupidly, staring down at his own chest. His was a lot more barbaric than hers, black with fire breathing dragons spiraling across it, he felt a certain pride while wearing it as the mere decorations injected him a with a new boldness he didn’t know he needed before. Interesting.

“Have you checked out the saunas yet, I heard there's a communal one… if you want to join me? I-I mean you don’t have to, just don't want to be separated from my partner is all haha” Lucy finished nervously letting loose a shaky chuckle, unconsciously nudging the shoulder of her robe off, displaying more lush cleavage.

Gulping and trying to hide his own blush, Natsu replied as nonchalantly as possible so as to avoid suspicion, “ Yeah, I’ve seen it, we can go if you want, doesn’t really matter to me” Yes it does “ And probably shouldn’t be apart for too long in case something happens to ya”

“Y-Yeah, well, my back is feeling a little stiff carrying that backpack all day, let’s meet there in an hour, ‘kay?

“Fine”

~~~~~~

“You’ve got to be kidding me”

The sauna was packed with at least half the members of SaberTooth. Apparently, Sting had thought it would be a good idea to have a guild-wide excursion to this exact hot spring to celebrate a recent unspecified victory of theirs. Which meant there was almost no room in the damn sauna, not with everyone filling it to the brim. Lucy’s eyes searched over the crowd of heads spying a pink head conversing loudly with Sting.

Picking through the crowd, squeezing her way past a gossiping Minerva, Lucy finally made her way over to Natsu, only come to find out it was just as crowded. Natsu put the man in man-spreading, Mavis does he have no shame? Sting was no better, if not worse.

“Lucy, It’s been a while, how you been? Come sit with us” Called Sting, beckoning her over, oblivious to the seating situation.

“ Yeah come sit” Natsu joined in, ignoring her indignant sputtering; “ I was just telling him about that time we went Celestial spirits realm thing. It was wild man, even if they are so weird. I’ll never understand how Lucy deals with them.”

“Maybe cause they listen when I’m talking to them, if you haven’t noticed there’s nowhere for me to sit peabrain.” Lucy groaned in exasperation.

“Yes there is, right here” Natsu smirked, smacking his thigh, “If ya wanted a seat you should’ve just asked.”

“No way, I’ll just wait until someone moves”

“Suit yourself” Chirped Natsu, eyes glimmering with amusement at the flustered girl. “By the way, met someone on the way in here. Apparently, they had the same idea on going to a cheap hot spring”

“Aye sir!” Came a high pitched voice, “Carla said she wanted to take a bath, kinda weird for a cat to want that but whatever she wants I guess.”

A familiar blue cat came floating lazily into view only to stop to sit on the bench next to Natsu’s right leg, “You’re all sweaty Lushi”.

“Uh, that’s the point dummy.”

“NATSU, LUCY IS BEING MEAN AGAIN.”

“AM NOT!”

Natsu could only double over in laughter as his Nakama argued over what the point of a sauna was. That amusement only doubled as Lucy, who had not been paying attention to her surroundings, was bumped from behind and toppled over.

Well, almost toppled over, if it weren’t for the fact that Natsu caught her just in time, pulling her firmly into his lap between his spread legs. A rosy blush soon bloomed across the girls pretty cheeks in a heated flush, quickly becoming aware of the precariousness of the situation she has now found herself in.

Natsu’s warmed calloused hand spanned across her flat stomach, fingertips peeking just under her thin white towel and ever so slightly squeezing the underside of her full breasts under his firm grip, holding her close to him.

Heart racing at this sudden action, Lucy couldn’t help but glance at the man for only to find that he was now engaged in a rather one-sided conversation with Rogue, who seemed rather disinterested sauna as a whole.

Relaxing slightly, Lucy leaned back into his well-toned chest, feeling the ripple and flex of his pectorals and abs after each laugh, after each breath. Lucy took note of the water and steam collecting in the laugh lines of his face and dusted his hair like diamonds. He was exquisite, he was exotic, he was might she dare say enticing. He looked like a god.

Feeling a bit bolder, she pressed even firmer back against him, wiggling her butt to fit more snugly against his shoulder and lean her head on his collarbone. Only to stop when she felt him stiffen slightly at the motion and relax again.

Lip quirking slightly, Lucy repeated the motion again, a bit firmer this time. Making sure to push the softness of her rear to the apex of his thighs, daring him to respond. And he did.

Fingers tightened around her waist, slipping even farther under the fold of her towel. A low, rough growl rumbled from the chest next to her ear, exciting her, and challenging a deeper part of herself.

“What do you think you are doing”

~~~~~~~

If you guys think I should rewrite and continue the next 2 chapters let me know, I had written a second one but I didn't like how it turned out😅

[winterrose527]

You take me higher than I’ve ever been (baby)

Another one for my baby @octaviahales who gave the lovely prompt: “hi!!! It’s sansaclarkes alsjfjskak sorry to bother you on here but I didn’t wanna totally clog up your comments & was wondering & only if it strikes your fancy if you’d do a have never met eachother before jonsa stuck in an elevator one shot? they could be going to meet robb or Ella at work or something? I know it’s SUPER cliche but eh & again only if you want to! ☺️☺️”

Keept them coming! And I'm sorry that I tweaked it a little...

Sansa was running late. As a rule Sansa Stark was never late. 

She’d planned on walking to her family’s company headquarters but then it had been pouring so of course she hadn’t been able to get a taxi for ages and when she did she was stuck in bumper to bumper city traffic and her new suede boots might as well be ruined and… well it just wasn’t a very good start to her day.

She usually wouldn’t be starting her day at noon either but she’d just moved back a couple weeks ago and she hadn’t exactly settled in yet so she had been waist deep in curtains and dishes trying desperately to get her apartment together in advance of starting her new job on Monday. 

The point was that by the time she entered Stark Industries and saw those elevator doors about to close she had had it, so she did an inelegant sort of yelp and an ill-advised karate kick and stumbled in - right into the arms of a very confused and very gorgeous stranger. 

“Seven hells,” he grunted as he caught her. 

She braced herself against his chest, his deliciously muscular chest and looked up at him. He had the most unbelievable charcoal eyes that matched the soft wool of his sweater and he was holding her upper arms and had a bemused smirk on his face. 

“I’m so sorry,” she said, shaking her head, regretfully disengaging from him. 

He let her go and the smirk turned into a grin and he scratched his beard, “Don’t be, I just had no idea that the gods’ timing was quite so perfect.”

“Hmm?,” she asked in confusion. 

“Oh, yeah, I was just standing here thinking it had been a really long time since I’d seen a truly knock you over beautiful woman and - well here you are,” he said. 

It sounded like a line but for some reason he didn’t seem like the sort to drop them. 

“Well I didn’t knock you over,” she said flirtatiously, “Technically.”

“The day is young,” he said flirtatiously back and then colored and cleared his throat, “That sounded… I mean… by the gods I am such an idiot.”

“Well I am the one that just did a karate kick into an elevator so…,” she pointed out.

“That was impressive by the way, black belt?,” he asked her. 

“Could’ve gone pro, but didn’t want to be in the spotlight, you know?,” she joked and he grinned and nodded as though he did know. 

They road in silence for a few floors, and she saw that he had already pressed the button for the top floor - 55, the Executive Floor of Stark Industries. 

The elevator stopped at floor 6 and a group of loud businessmen got in and she and the stranger both moved to the back of the elevator and ended up quite close together. He smiled at her sheepishly and she smiled back, trying to determine what exactly he smelled like. 

Whatever it was she wanted more of. 

The businessmen got off on floor 8 and she and the stranger both moved a half a foot away from the other. 

“Stark Industries?,” he asked her.

She nodded, “My brother is taking me to lunch. Do you have an interview?”

Please say no, please say no. 

“Oh, no, I’m just meeting a friend,” he said. 

She had the strange desire to know if the friend was a girl, feeling a pit in her stomach that it might be. That was ridiculous, they’d only just met, she had no right to feel jealous or - anything - really when it came to him. 

“It’s a guy,” he said and then cleared his throat, “The um…friend.”

It was strange that a guy this gorgeous would be so horribly unsure of himself. Strange and endearing and terribly adorable. 

“So is my brother,” she said automatically and then closed her eyes and groaned.

He chuckled and said, “Oh one of those male brothers, interesting…”

She was about to give him a haughty retort when the elevator stopped again on floor 19 and a very old woman got in. 

“Oh Sansa, darling!,” she said. 

“Nanny!,” she exclaimed happily.

She embraced the woman, smelling her familiar smell of peppermint. 

“Oh we are so happy you’ve come home,” she said, smoothing her hair, “The wolves were not the same without you.”

“I was not the same without them!,” she said honestly.

“You’ll come for tea? Next weekend once you’ve settled in?,” Nan asked her.

“I’d love to, I’ll call you next week,” Sansa promised and Nan nodded and stroked her cheek as the elevator doors opened on floor 23 and she got out.

“Sorority sister?,” the stranger asked her and she bit the inside of her cheek.

It didn’t work and she let out a laugh in a snort and he let out a deep chuckle that she felt in her entire body. 

“Where did you move back from?,” he asked as they climbed higher and higher.

“King’s Landing,” she said with as much strength in her voice as she could muster. 

“The weather bring you back?,” he asked with a grin. 

She willed her heart rate to slow. She was going to have to get used to answering this question. 

“Something like that,” she said with a smile but she knew her voice sounded hollow.

He looked at her like he wanted to ask something further but he didn’t so they simply road in silence another ten floors. 

They stopped once again on floor 42 and a large group of people entered in only to get off on floor 43. 

This time when the people left neither her nor the stranger moved away and they inched higher and higher.

At floor 50 he cleared his throat and said, “Look um… I’ve only got five - four more floors to ask your name, so… what’s your name?”

“I’m Sansa,” she said, smiling at the idea he’d ridden 50 floors curious about something as simple as her name. 

“Jon Snow,” he said and held out his hand. 

They couldn’t have been together for more than four minutes but even still it felt charged when their hands touched. 

He didn’t let go and neither did she until the elevator doors opened on floor 55. 

“Well, Jon Snow,” she said with a small smile, “It was nice to meet you…”

“And you Sansa…,” he said.

She shifted her bag over her shoulder once again and gave him one last smile before she turned left and began to walk down the familiar corridor.

To her surprise she felt him behind her and she turned with a bemused expression. 

“I promise I’m not following you,” he said with his hands up. 

Too bad she thought as they fell into step beside one another.

She opened the glass door to the executive inlet and waved at the receptionist Ros. To her surprise, so did Jon and they turned left again. 

She saw the familiar golden hair of her oldest friend, Ella Baratheon and grinned. 

To her surprise Ella furrowed her brow and stood up crossing to her, “Dovey? What are you doing here?”

“I’ve got lunch with -,” she started. 

Robb popped his head out and smiled when he saw her, “Dovey!,” he said and embraced her before turning inquisitively to Jon. 

“Jon, what are you doing here?,” he asked. 

So at least she knew Jon wasn’t a total stranger who had just followed her here.

“He’s here for lunch with you,” Ella supplied. 

“But I made lunch plans with Sansa,” Robb told her as though she should have known that. 

“And did you put it in your calendar?,” Ella asked him with a raise of an eyebrow. 

Robb colored, “No.”

“So whose fault is it that you’re double booked?,” Ella asked, clearly trying to hide her smile. 

“Mine,” Robb said and hung his head. 

Ella clucked her tongue and winked at Sansa who couldn’t help but giggle in response. Robb had hired Ella as his assistant when she was first out of college but in the past year it had become increasingly unclear who in fact was working for who. Though Robb was completely dependent on her and unquestionably in love with her. 

“Jon I’m so sorry about this,” Robb said and then turned to her, “We met on the Tarly merger, have you two met? Jon Snow this is my little sister Sansa.”

“So this is that male brother of yours?,” Jon asked her with a grin. 

“Afraid so,” she nodded.

“Oh good so you two have already met,” Ella said with a small smile, “Well I think the solution is very simple here… you should all go to lunch.”

Robb and Jon looked at each other which gave Sansa the opportunity to narrow her eyes at Ella. Ella’s only response was to stick her tongue out at her so Sansa decided payment in kind was the right course of action. 

“Well then you’ll have to join us,” she said and tugged on Robb’s arm, “Won’t she Wolf?”

“Oh… you know,” Ella said, “I have to um…man the phones. I mean what would Theon do if he couldn’t get a hold of him?”

“Theon isn’t the only person who calls me!,” Robb protested. 

He really shouldn’t have protested so hard, he was the youngest CEO in the country at one of the top companies. Even still, Ella Baratheon reduced him to a pile of mush and he couldn’t help flirting with her.

“You’re right but you’re Mom has your cell phone number,” Ella teased. 

Jon chuckled and said, “You definitely have to come. Something tells me the two of you know how to keep Robb on his toes.”

“They bully me,” Robb nodded, and then grinned, “And I love it. I’ll grab my coat, Ellabell you are officially off duty.”

They all walked towards the elevator and even though Ella was off duty Robb still fell into step beside her as though he couldn’t help it. 

They took the elevator down and found that the rain had thankfully stopped and they walked the short distance to a little bistro that was her favorite in the area. 

“Stark party for 4,” Robb said to the maitre’d who swept them towards a table. 

They all settled in and began looking at menus and chatting. It turned out that Jon’s assistant Gilly was the girl Ella and her were having drinks with tomorrow and that Jon and Robb were heading out with her fiance Sam so it only served to reason that they would all meet up at some point.

Robb and Ella were chatting happily, seated next to each other while she and Jon did the same. It was all very neat and tidy. 

A little too neat and tidy, she realised.

“Wait a minute,” she said, interrupting everyone. “If Robb double booked us by accident…how did you already have a reservation for four?”

Robb colored and Ella bit her lip trying not to grin. She looked over at Jon to see if he was in on this too but he looked just as confused, though not exactly displeased she was happy to find. 

“Well,” Robb started and then looked at Ella. She raised her eyebrows and tilted her head like she was not going to help him out of this and he let out a deep breath and said, “We thought you should meet.”

“So that little ditty about him not putting it in his calendar was just - what?,” Jon asked Ella.

“My time in Vale University’s drama department put to good use,” she said primly. 

“You were in that department for a semester,” she reminded her. 

“Yeah well it was a short ditty,” Ella said stubbornly and Robb looked at her with an open-mouthed grin. 

He took her hand and raised it to his lips, kissing the back of it. She looked up at him and her beautiful face turned transcendent with happiness as their eyes met.

“Wait a minute…,” Jon said, “You finally did it?”

Sansa looked in between her brother and her best friend and forgot all about their theatrics, “Really? Truly? How? When?”

“The short version is that Alys Karstark called to ask me out to dinner and Ella gave her two weeks notice in a fit of jealous rage,” Robb said with a grin.

“And the long version details the ways in which Robb interrupted date after date of mine with work emergencies for six straight months and didn’t bother to tell me that Alys Karstark was calling to invite him to dinner to meet her new girlfriend just so that I would get jealous and give my two weeks notice in… a very dignified manner,” Ella corrected.

“You called me an asshat!,” Robb said with a chuckle.

“Well if the ass fits,” Ella mumbled. 

Robb grinned at her and threw his arm around her, pulling her towards him by the side of her face and pressing kisses to her cheek until she blushed. 

“Is this what tomorrow night is going to be like?,” Jon asked with a grin. 

“Probably,” Ella told him honestly. 

“Count me in,” Sansa said happily, sipping her lemon water. 

She’d been waiting ages for them to get together and she wasn’t going to let a little PDA get in the way of her absolute giddiness. 

“You know you could have just introduced us then” Jon pointed out. 

“Yeah but where’s the fun in that?,” Robb asked with a grin. 

“Seriously, this is such a better story,” Ella nodded. 

Sansa didn’t point out that it would only make a good story if Jon was interested in her. 

“You can tell it at our wedding,” Jon said with a teasing grin just for her. 

Maybe it was a good story after all. 

[theharellan]

Was it Only a Kiss?

repost of a thread from @theshirallen​‘s old blog. set a week or so after their arrival at skyhold, solas approaches ian with the intent to bring up the kiss they had shared on the evening of corypheus’s attack on haven.

unfinished. updates will post in the thread tag.

Solas

A week had passed since they had come to Skyhold. Slowly, the debris had been cleared from the main hall and repairs were begun. All around him were the sounds of work. At first it began with bent backs and physical toil, and he watched as apprentice mages struggled to carry burdens magic might bear. When Solas first cleared the door to the rotunda with a gesture, matters changed. More mages gingerly coaxed a pile of rubble onto a tarp for others to haul it off with ease later, or drew dust from forgotten corners with a wave of their hands, rather than break their necks trying to reach with feather dusters. Suddenly, it was as if the mages had magic, rather than weapons.

The development was almost enough to distract him. It occupied him, yes, guiding unsure hands with a firm voice, but his eyes flickered towards the courtyard, towards the healing tents, often enough that week that he could not fool himself into forgetting. He had more that the path before them on his mind, something as terrifying as it was exciting. Someone that made him feel lighter, even on this side of the Veil, even at the mere sight of him.

Yet since arriving they had scarcely spoken, any conversation interrupted by Ian being called away by new stragglers finding Skyhold, whose need was far more urgent than Solas’s. The eagerness with which Ian took his leave made him second-guess himself, wondering if the affection he had felt in their kiss at Haven was a figment of his own imagination. This world offered no answers, the Veil drew heavy between them, and each coy word exchanged left him more exasperated, more eager for an answer.

A week, he decided, and a week he waits. ‘Til new arrivals trickle and the work slows, and Skyhold begins to look more like herself again.

On the seventh day, Solas finds himself glancing down towards the courtyard with more frequency than usual. When he spots Ian sitting idle, he wastes only enough time to brush anything that clings to the front of his sweater before he descends down towards the healing tents. His hands tangle together behind his back, feet brushing bare stone before they nestle upon worn grass. The path through the courtyard is already worn by soldiers’ boots, Solas leaves less of a mark on his path towards Ian.

The smell of pipeweed is in the air, freshly burned, and he feels almost guilty for interrupting a moment Ian no doubt stole for himself. It does not stop him, however, nor silence the gentle cough he clears his throat with to attract the other elf’s attention.

“Ian,” he began, a simple start he had debated to himself for days. To use his name, or something else… “Do you have a moment?”

Ian

The events that have transpired since the attack at Haven run together when he stops to think–a blur of cold winds and warm blood. Ian has seen little of the Inquisition’s new home since their arrival–indeed, has seen hardly anything besides the canvas spread of the healing tents and an occasional glance at a cloud-spattered sky. The stains on the backs of his hands, the way blood grits under his nails. Tired smiles on his patients faces–those that they’ve managed to help. The others…

He hasn’t seen much of Skyhold, yet. There is much to be done, and more every day.

He’s grateful, even through his weariness. That he is busy means that the Inquisition’s forces have survived, and he has always preferred the weariness that comes with tending the wounded than the heartache that accompanies tending to the dead.

The days blur together–the nights, too. Ian loses count of the sunrises, would fail to notice them save for the brilliant way the light mounts the ramparts to announce the coming day.

The urgency of his work begins to slow. Wounded arrive in straggling groups, and between their need he finds himself with time to sit, to breathe. Not to think. When he thinks, everything runs together in an unintelligible blur, and he remembers a clumsy kiss when the world had felt more certain.

Nothing feels certain, right now, and when he has time to think he considers the fool he’s made of himself. Solas has been busy–everyone has been so busy, but if Ian has time to breathe, that busy might have finally found itself a pace–but Ian knows it’s too much to hope the fool in him is forgotten. His heart tightens, fear and frets worrying about in his chest, and he tries to turn his thoughts.

A moment to himself, and he almost spends it letting his jumbled thoughts work him into tighter knots. Almost. He counts the seconds between his breaths, and pulls his pipe from the pouch at his hip, letting his eyes close when the smoke warms his lungs.

He tries to turn his thoughts, but he does not imagine the sound of his name. His heart–so recently calmed to a reasonable pace–leaps into his throat, and he can’t help the way he jumps, half-turning in his start, grateful he hadn’t been in the middle of an inhale.

“Solas!” Despite himself, he tries a smile. “You startled me.”

“I–” It feels desperate, the way his mind flies–trying to think of something, anything, to keep him from having to make a further fool of himself. Nothing occurs to him; there are no excuses to be made that do not ring as what they are. “Yes. A few moments, even.”

Solas

His ears flatten at the reaction: the smile that turns Ian’s lips, but does not crinkle the corner of his eyes, the beginning of a thought that does not end as it began, as if Solas had successfully cornered him. It is not an idea that settles well, and his stomach turns with nervousness. “If you would rather spend them alone, you will hear no further argument from me,” he says. “But we have scarcely spoken since we have arrived, and I confess, I have missed the sound of your voice.”

It is no idly spoken compliment, but the truth. Regardless of how his plans unfolded (and how often does everything fall neatly into place for him?) he will be grateful if something similar to the rapport they had before can be achieved. Solas steps several paces closer, hands hidden behind his back. “And it occurred to me– you likely have not had much time to see Skyhold. I remember you mentioned a garden in the Anderfels, and thought you might enjoy seeing what will become Skyhold’s.” The rubble had been cleared just a day ago, and no work has begun. It will be quiet, albeit overgrown, tangled from decades (centuries) of disuse, but he is confident Ian will see its potential.

Solas unclasps his hands, stretching one out towards Ian for him to take. Tugging him off the ground is like lifting a feather, and he tries not to imagine what would happen if he pulled Ian a few inches further towards him. He releases his hand, though the sensation lingers even in Ian’s absence. It flexes by his side absently, as his eyes lift towards the the entrance to the main hall, open for the first time in ages. “This way.”

His feet brush grass tips as he moves back the way he came, now with Ian at his side. His hands rediscover the spot behind the small of his back, and his mind rushes as everything he has been meaning to say hounds him at once.

Before another word leaves him, however, a question occurs to him: “How have you been?”

Ian

“No. I’ve–I’ve missed your company.”

He taps his pipe–nearly finished anyway–over to clear the ashes, tucking it away in his belt before gesturing, plaintively, for Solas to help him up.

Solas’s hand against his nearly stops Ian’s heart. He’s pulled to his feet and somehow loses his breath in the motion, a sudden swoop that lifts him beyond what heights he can reach on his own. Solas’s words simultaneously ease and agitate his fears–the lightness in his chest and head are disorienting, but he cannot help but take note of how quickly Solas releases his fingers.

“There’s a garden here?”

It’s an alluring thought–almost so much that he might forget how difficult it is to hear past the rushing in his ears. Those ears cant forward as he lengthens his step to bring him even with Solas.

“I–busy.” His ears fall again, and he grimaces. “I do not know if I can say I would rather I was not needed–I can better serve the wounded than the dead–but Haven…it’s been a very long time since…since I’ve seen…” Denerim, he thinks. The last real battle he’d been in. “But I have my health, yet. And my…my skills.”

Solas

Ian’s confession, soft though it may be, rekindles lost confidence. ‘Pride’ may be his name, but it is not blind pride. He is under no illusion that his company is universally pleasant, and if he were one moment spent with Sera will quickly rob him of that delusion. He smiles, gladder now than it was before, heart swelling foolishly. “Not a garden, but a potential one. Inquisitor Cadash expressed interest in using the space as such. For the moment it is still what nature made it.”

But most of all it is quiet, with less of a chance of prying ears hearing what he has to say. That is one thing he will miss about Haven, the snow always seemed to dampen the sound, and midnight chats were intimate even if someone slept in the hut beside them.

They pass banners freshly planted in the earth, Inquisition heraldry crowned with dwarven metal. A reminder, for any who try to forget the Herald is no human. “Haven was a terrible thing to live through,” he responds gravely. “And I fear it will not be the last battle before our goal is realised, but now that Corypheus has revealed himself he has lost the one edge he had in this fight. We will not be taken by surprise a second time.”

Skyhold’s doors welcome them, and as they enter a handful of faces turn briefly from their work to smile in greeting. The main hall still bears marks from an age of neglect, but light shines in from the windows upon the second floor. Yes, perhaps it highlights the cobwebs that persist, but it is not nearly as stifling as it felt a week ago. “I set up a workspace, should you find more time to spare in the days to come,” he says with a gesture to their right. The door is thrown open, inside a pile of debris is still shoved against the wall, but a desk has already been moved in. “It is rudimentary at the moment, when work on the main hall is finished I hope to do more with it.”

His arm sweeps around Ian’s shoulder, brushing them, guiding them to their left. The door to the gardens is still beaten and bent from the rocks that had been piled against the frame, but it opens with a gesture, magic greasing old hinges. “But this is what I wanted to show you…”

Beyond the door, a rudimentary path has been carved through rotted wood and crumbled stone, towards what will one day be a garden. From here he can see vines that have grown over the walls and up the columns that align the walkway, curling towards the heavens. Solas pauses, allowing Ian to pass through first.

Ian

He follows Solas, though his own strides gain less ground. Whether or not Solas notices, Ian is uncertain. He pauses as they turn, and Ian closes the distance even as he shies away from the rise of stone walls. Solas’s workspace is spacious, high reaching walls and a circling stair, but he feels it tightening his throat as he takes it in. Skyhold is still a castle, and her walls are thickly mortared, and he prefers the courtyard and the canvas tents to the stones that circle him now. With the doors flung wide, he hasn’t far to look to find relief, but it will take some adjustment before he can convincingly portray anything but ill ease.

Solas’s touch at his shoulder is gentle, and prevents his thoughts from wandering too far. Ian follows his gesture, forcing a steady breath through his teeth  as magic wills an aged door to yield. Something akin to a path expands beyond the threshold, soft dirt sighing beneath Ian’s boots as he follows its wanderings. Solas hangs back, gesturing for Ian to step ahead, and Ian is glad to return to the mountain air and the feeling of sun on his skin. It has only been a matter of moments, but he turns his face upward to let the rays brush his cheeks before he truly attempts to take in the garden.

“Oh…” It isn’t quite an exclamation, isn’t quite a sigh. The utterance is one of quiet wonderment, though the garden is, as Solas had warned, more as nature has made it than anything. Dark vines wind up partially crumbled columns, broad leaves disguising the stone as though behind a curtain. Grasses burst in uneven, ambitious clumps, stretching to reclaim what had once been paved. Tiny, unruly wildflowers–weeds, refusing the confines of any recognizable sense of order–scatter the field, thickest where the sunlight splashes.

Ian’s fingers catch at his lips, and he can feel the stretch of his smile beneath them. He almost wishes that the Inquisition might leave this place untouched, though he knows that an organization will have to present a ‘proper’ garden, if a garden they have at all. “Oh…Thank you. For–for sharing this with me. I have–I have been so…thank you.”

Solas

From behind, Ian’s pleasure is still obvious. The tension that had coiled in narrow shoulders loosens, now, as though sinking into a bath. Unsatisfied with the view, Solas moves forward, drawing level with the other elf. The garden is spared only a passing glance. Lifted hands are not enough to disguise the smile that steals across his face, eyes crinkling at their corners. The sight coaxes an affectionate smile from Solas. “Ara melava son’ganem.” Elvhen comes to him first before he adds, in a quieter voice, “You’re welcome.”

With some effort, he tears his eyes away from Ian and onto the garden. It is different than he remembers, but few things in Skyhold are the same. Human stonework has claimed it, but still its elvhen origins linger in the air. He wonders what Ian sees, what colour the blue wildflowers are to him, what emotion he thinks of when he beholds them. It is tempting to ask, but he pushes through the temptation, knowing the answers will only distract.

He allows his hand to touch Ian’s arm in passing as he continues on into the untamed garden. “I remembered what you said about gardening in the Anderfels,” he begins. The break in the wall that should allow him to pass through has been blocked by a bush, and so, instead, he climbs over the pony wall that has kept back as much nature as it could. Some vines have stolen over it, brushes his toes as he swings one leg over, and then the other with a soft grunt. “Then I imagined what you could accomplish here, where the environment is not so unforgiving.”

Grasses bend in his passing, either through magic means or the weight of his feet. Through the weeds he spies stone benches whose seats have been stolen by ivy. He half-turns, under the pretense of seeing if Ian has followed, but truth be told he more wished to set eyes upon him again.

The pretense does not last long, his gaze lingers, and his smile broadens. “And I thought the wildflowers might find a companion in your face. It seems I was correct.”

Ian

Fingers brush the fabric of his sleeve, and something warm and cold thrills up his spine. He stills until the touch passes, holding his breath as if it might aid the moment’s endurance. The warmth that blossomed shifted, taking root behind his ribs. When he inhales, the world spins, just for a moment, until the touch has ended and Solas has braced himself against a wall, heaving himself over. Ian hesitates, hovering until Solas has cleared the wall before he follows. He pulls himself up, but doesn’t quite drop over to the other side, perching on the wall amongst the ivy, one knee hugged close to his chest.

“You–um.” Ian’s voice catches, and his hand rises again, lips trembling against his fingertips. His fingers curl, and he tries again. “I didn’t–you remembered.” He tries to recall precisely what he had said, knows it had been a passing comment. Hardly worth hearing, let alone committing to memory. It’s surprising, though not unpleasant. It leaves him off balance, heat rising across the bridge of his nose and over his cheeks, and he ducks his head when Solas turns to watch him.

He’s still looking down when the compliment catches, and the heat in his face spreads until his ears burn too. He pulls his knee closer, toes curling within his boot. “Solas…” He tries to begin, but his voice rings of pleading, and he isn’t certain just what he is pleading for. Ian’s mind reels as he tries to reconcile the sensation of fingers at his arm and the unabashedly forward nature of Solas’s words with the silence that had persisted ever since arriving at Skyhold. There’s a certainty in his gut that competes with the fluttering in his chest–this sureness that Solas has brought him here to rebuff him against this hope that perhaps he has not. He doesn’t try to speak again, only shakes his head a little, eyes downcast until he sees little but the trailing ivy that creeps past his perch and the wild tufts of grass that meet the wall at its roots.

Solas

It isn’t the reaction he had hoped for, his name whispered against the wind. Yes, his cheeks grow red beneath the vallaslin that spans his face, but one can blush from shame as easily as they can flattery.

Solas looks down, penitent, though it is not an apology he gives shape with words, and so means nothing in this world. Once, it might have flooded the world around them with contrite thoughts, and the blue flowers might have turned white out of sympathy. Upon the wall, Ian seems to curl in upon himself, knee tucked against his seat upon the wall, back bent over his leg. It is a distressing sight, and the blood in his veins seems to sour. In the pit of his belly, anxiety coils, until it feels potent enough to melt his stomach lining.

He had been hoping to lead Ian in gently, like a bath ran too hot, but seeing him now, he reconsiders. Perhaps, for both their sakes, it is better he take the plunge.

“I do not idly forget moments shared with you,” he says, soft, but strong enough to carry. His chin lifts, the sun breaking the shadows on his face. He retraces his steps towards the wall, careful to follow the path he had carved a moment ago. There are moments spent with Ian that bring him shame to think about, now. Moments where he had looked at his face and was not quite sure if what he saw was an echo of what was, or else an illusion. Where what he sees now was not even considered.

He stops short of Ian, hand reaching out to place upon a column that has seen better days, its edges eaten by rain.

Haven feels close by at Ian’s side, even upon this side of the Veil, where it is still buried beneath a mountainside of snow. While Ian’s gaze is at his feet, Solas keeps his trained upon where their eyes ought to meet. He can feel his heartbeat in his fingers, but the ground beneath bare feet steadies him.

It has been seconds since he last spoke, but feels a lifetime before he opens his mouth to add: “I have not forgotten our kiss.”

Ian

Solas’s words are delivered gently, offered in a soft tone that almost sounds as an apology. But what has Solas to be sorry for, save–save that Ian’s worries are well-founded. He feels his shoulders fall, and swallows an apology of his own, knowing that the words will trip against his teeth and worsen the situation.

He hears Solas’s return, the pivot that carries him back across the garden until he stands just beyond the wall where Ian perches. Absently, he wonders just how he manages to hear the pace of bare feet and the soft yield of new grass when his own heartbeat thunders wildly within his skull. His face burns, and teeth drive into his lower lip as he forces himself to breathe past the worry that tightens his throat.

The next words spoken, however, startle his heartbeat still. Silence overwhelms the drumming in his ears, muffles its sensation in his chest, and despite his anxieties, he finds his gaze lifting, eyes wide behind his blush. “I–oh. Ah–” The words catch, stumbling as he’d feared–as he’d known–they would, and he bites his lip again, trying to rearrange his thoughts into something resembling coherence. “I thought, maybe–maybe you wanted to. Forget, I mean.”

Gloved fingers curl into the fabric of his trousers, thigh tight against his chest where he hugs his knee. He searches Solas’s face, unable to quite meet his eyes but seeking hints of Solas’s intention all the same. “I didn’t–um. I don’t…I had–had thought, maybe–but…but it’s alright. If you–I mean. We don’t have to talk about it.”

Solas

It isn’t until teeth drag over freckled lips that Solas realises he is staring. He jerks his gaze away, his own teeth mirroring Ian’s body language. Since their moment in Haven, he had found himself lapsing into a habit only reserved for deep contemplation, only it was not ancient tomes on his mind of late. “Wanted to?” he echoes, soft. “I doubt I could, even if I did.”

Perhaps part of him does. The sensible part, that does not judge with what he feels, but measures every action against a grander scheme. Words come to him, unbidden, the one that came them voice forgotten to him:  ‘ I would sooner mistrust in calculations, particularly if no heart might temper their direction.’ It was not logic that led him down the path he walks now, but feelings. Feelings too potent to ignore.

“Had the night gone differently, perhaps I would have said this then, rather than now. Then again– it has given me time to think.” Were the world right, they might have had centuries, not months, to grow the seed they had unwittingly planted that day Ian had returned with questions, and not accusations. Adrenaline lights his blood aflame, as though the few steps over to Ian had been a marathon.  One hand reaches out to the wall beside Ian, to hide how it tremors, and he allows his gaze to drop to watch it.

“I have seen centuries from the Fade, heroes and villains whose names are written in books across Thedas, but you…” His face is hot, cheeks mottling a unflattering pink, but he pays it no mind, eyes lifting to see the same blush paint Ian’s cheeks. “I have not seen your like since my deepest journeys into the very heart of the Fade, and had not thought to see again. The memory of your kiss,” he adds, lips parting in a grin brought on by the mere thought, “I will treasure it, even if you meant for it to be only a kiss.”

The thought dampens his spirits, but they are truly spoken.

“Though, it would be dishonest if I did not admit to hoping you meant it as something more.”

[returntothefalls]

Growing Pains

Return to the Falls, a Gravity Falls fanfiction

Dipper and Mabel return to Gravity Falls for another summer with all their old friends.  But of course, nothing is ever normal for long at the Mystery Shack, and soon Dipper is forced to realize his greatest fears.

(Chapter 2 of “Return to the Falls”, a Gravity Falls fanfiction.  The up-to-date entirety can be found here.)

The relative peace of the hazy afternoon was disturbed by the piercing screech of brakes as the Speedy Beaver bus rolled up to its stop.  The doors opened with a hiss, releasing a burst of chilly air into the sweltering atmosphere of the woods.  A single gnome poked its head over a stump to watch as the bus deposited its sole passengers:  one boy, one girl, and one pig.

The boy tipped his trapper hat to the driver as he passed.  “Thanks for the ride, Dale!”

“And thank you for cleaning up the pig vomit.”

The driver’s tired sarcasm was lost on the girl, who squatted down to rub the expectant pig’s stomach.  “Waddles gets bus-sick,” she said, giving the pig a quick kiss on the snout.

“Don’t feed him so much corn at the rest stop next time,” Dipper said, even as Mabel took another ear from her sweater pocket and stuffed it into Waddles’s open mouth. 

Mabel hopped off the final step, dropped her suitcase, and pumped both fists in the air.  “Hello, Gravity Falls!” she screamed, sending a flock of birds scattering from the treetops.  She spun in quick circles, beaming as wide as her cheeks could stretch, but her smile faded as she realized the clearing around the bus stop was empty.  “Gotta be honest, I was expecting more of a turnout,” she said as Dipper and Waddles stepped down onto the grass beside her.  The gnome waved from atop his stump and was promptly snatched up by a hawk.

“It is weird, I thought someone would be here,” Dipper said, giving a last wave to Dale as the bus doors closed.  “Guess I’d better lower my expectations before I get a big head.”

“Too late,” Mabel said, snickering. 

“Mabel, our heads are literally the same size.”

The bus roared to life and pulled away from the stop, drowning out their voices and masking the sound of approaching footsteps.  A pair of strong arms wrapped around the twins from behind and lifted them off their feet.  The instigator of the embrace was a large man, wearing a black suit, an eyepatch, and a familiar maroon fez.  Only one person in the world could possibly deliver a bear hug so enveloping in its warmth.

“Soos!” the twins exclaimed.

“’Sup, dudes!” Soos said, placing the children back on the ground.  “I just had to be here to meet you, I couldn’t wait any longer!”

“We’re glad to see you too, Soos,” Dipper said.

Mabel surveyed Soos with a scrutinizing eye.  “I’m digging the ensemble, Soos!” she said.  “The Mr. Mystery look really suits you.”  She poked Soos’s stomach and he giggled.

“Thank you, Mabel!  And I love your sweater,” Soos said, pointing to Mabel’s shirt.  The purple sweater bore a picture of a goldfish with a sword strapped to its forehead.  “It’s, like, a sword fish.”  He paused.  “Whoa dude, that’s, like, a pun.”  Mabel tried to high-five him, but his hand missed hers entirely.  “Sorry dude,” Soos said, flipping up his eyepatch and blinking several times as he adjusted to the light.  “I’ve got like no depth perception with this thing.”

“So how have you been, Soos?” Dipper asked.  “Is running the Mystery Shack everything you dreamed it would be?”

Soos took off his fez for a moment to fan himself.  “It’s all that and more,” he said.  “I really feel like I’m makin’ some magic for people, y’know?”  A slight flush came to his cheeks, though it might have just been the heat of the day.  “I think Mr. Pines would be proud of me.”

Mabel squeezed his hand.  “I know he will be,” she said.  “So where is Grunkle Stan?  Got a hot date?  I bet she’s beautiful.”

“Sorry, the Mr. Pineses aren’t back yet,” Soos said.  "They ran into some trouble with a canal or a canary or somethin’ like that.”  Dipper and Mabel’s faces fell, but Soos patted both twins on the back.  “Don’t worry ‘bout it, dudes!  They’ll be here real soon.  For now, Melody and Wendy are waitin’ back at the Shack and they really wanna see you.”

Dipper perked up at the mention of Wendy’s name.  “Well, no use standing around here all day.  Let’s get going!”  He pulled a small glass bottle out of his pocket and gave a few quick spritzes to his already-sweaty armpits and neck.

“Oh no, not the cologne again,” Mabel said, pinching her nose.  “Dipper, we talked about this.  That stuff smells like expired milk and motor oil.”

“Sorry, Mabel, but I’m maturing,” Dipper said.  “And that means smelling mature, like all those buff guys in the Hatchet Body Spray commercials.”  He pointed to the label on the bottle.  “This is the Mega Manly Musk.  Guaranteed to attract the attention of every lady that catches a whiff.”

Mabel squinted at the fine print on the label.  “And moose.  Do not use during mating season.”  

“Whatever,” Dipper said.  “You just don’t know what a real man smells like.”  A passing bird dropped unconscious at his feet.

Mabel rolled her eyes.  “Please don’t tell me you’re doing all this for Wendy.”

“Hey, I’m over that silly crush,“ Dipper said.  “Wendy is one of my best friends! We’ve been texting for months about out all the fun stuff we’d do this summer.”  He puffed out his chest.  “I’m a teenager now, I can really fit in with her friends.”

“I didn’t know Wendy’s friends were all giant stinky nerds,” Mabel said, giggling.  “But nah, I’m just teasin’, broski.  I can’t wait to see my besties too!“

“Then let’s roll out, dudes!” Soos said.  He turned and started walking toward the edge of the forest.  “Just one stop first, I gotta do my business in the woods.”

Mabel glanced at Dipper in concern.  “Does he mean…?”

“It’s Soos,” Dipper said.  “He really might.”

The twins followed on Soos’s heels, eager to see what “business” he had in store.  Mabel launched into a detailed account of her and Dipper’s grand adventures in school, starting with her rise and fall as the mighty Painted Empress of the art club.  Soos listened with rapt attention, nodding along as Mabel gesticulated wildly, nearly smacking her companions with her suitcase.  Waddles plodded along at a safe distance behind her, wandering off the path every few yards to sniff at a mushroom, occasionally sending an unseen critter dashing away through the underbrush. 

Dipper leaned back and stared up at the emerald canopy of leaves and needles, filtered through with specks of dazzling sunlight and the bluest sky he could imagine.  A woodpecker peered down at him from a low-hanging branch, tilting its head inquisitively before turning to peck at the bark.  This was summer, he thought, inhaling deeply from the fresh warm air, feeling his lungs swell with the crisp sweetness of the woods.  Of course, he would always think of his parents’ house in Piedmont as his home. But here among the towering ruddy pines and gangly silver birches, he knew he was right where he was meant to be.  The scent of mystery and intrigue - or maybe it was just tree sap - was heavy on the breeze, carrying with it the promise of three more unforgettable months in the Weirdness Capital of the World. 

“And so my reign was cut tragically short by the Great Acrylic Rebellion,” Mabel said, dramatically throwing her arms over her head.  “And I learned that it is better to be loved than feared.  Though Candy tells me that both is preferable.”

Soos slowed his pace as Mabel finished her story. “Sounds to me like you were a wise and just leader,” he said.  He paused, examining the surrounding area until his eyes lit up with recognition.  “This way, dudes,” he said, leading the twins through a short patch of undergrowth.  Waddles disappeared into the mass of green, but Dipper could still hear his quiet snorts and snuffles. 

A clearing opened up ahead of them, a circle of bright green grass in the midst of the uneven scattering of trees.  Dipper froze.  Nine months ago, he had stood here. Images flashed through his mind:  Stan kneeling on the ground with a blank expression on his face, hysterical tears flowing down Mabel’s cheeks, Ford embracing his unresponsive brother.  Dipper felt his heart beating faster and he wordlessly took Mabel’s hand in his own. 

And across the clearing, in the shade of the pines, was Bill Cipher. 

This was no memory, no vision, no mere specter. The dream demon himself sat twenty feet away, his wide unblinking eye staring back at Dipper.  Here was the monster that had stricken terror into the hearts of billions across the multiverse, the harbinger of chaos that had “liberated” his home dimension with fire and brimstone.  He’d laid waste to Gravity Falls, petrified the townspeople, tortured Ford, threatened Mabel.  He had nearly killed Mabel.

Of course, Dipper knew that Bill was dead.  Stan and Ford had made sure of that.  This was only the demon’s physical body, a cold hunk of stone half-embedded in the ground, now overgrown with a few thin vines.  The essence of Bill was long gone, nothing but dust on the winds of the dreamscape.  But the sight of the statue was wrong, this whole place was wrong. 

Dipper fought to keep his voice level.  “Soos, what are we doing here?”

Soos crossed the clearing to the statue, with Mabel following a few tentative steps behind.  “Just here to spruce up the exhibit,” Soos said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a spritzer bottle filled with green liquid.  “Mr. Pines had the great idea to make Bill an official Mystery Shack exhibit.  Figured as long as he was here, we might as well make some money off of him.”

“That does sound like Stan,” Dipper said, rolling his eyes. 

“So I started running the ‘Meet Mr. Triangle Man Mystery Tour,’” Soos said.  “People pay ten dollars to come out here and see him.  And then another fifteen to shake his hand.  And an extra twenty-five for a souvenir photo.”  He patted the top of Bill’s hat.  “So I’ve been coming out here to spray the weeds and vines that grow on him.  Gotta keep him looking presentable.”

“It is a good use for the isosceles jerk,” Mabel said. 

Dipper glanced between Soos and Mabel in disbelief.  “Does no one here see a problem with standing around the body of the trillion year old monster that nearly destroyed our dimension?  Let alone bringing naive tourists straight to it?  This is Bill we’re talking about, who knows what kind of backup plans or booby traps he might have left for us.”  His breaths came shorter and faster, uncontrolled.

Soos looked to Mabel for a moment, but she simply shrugged.  He kneeled down in front of Dipper.  “It’s okay, dude,” he said softly.  “I know you’re worried, and like, you’ve got reason to be.  Ford was against this too, but he did some sciencey tests and he says that Bill is gone for good.  He wouldn’t let us do this if it wasn’t safe.”

Dipper took a few deep breaths, closing his eyes as he steadied himself.  He knew that Ford would never have approved if he thought there was any danger at all.  But Ford had been fooled by Bill before, and so had Mabel, and Dipper himself, and countless others.  Was being rid of the demon really this simple?  In the months since Bill’s defeat, Dipper had kept himself from thinking about the demon too much, but now he wondered just how permanent their solution had been.  After all, Stan’s memories had resurfaced over time.  Was it unreasonable to believe that Bill might as well?

With one more slow exhalation, he opened his eyes and nodded solemnly at Soos.  “Okay.  I believe you guys.”  He looked the statue up and down, reminded of the occasional little triangles he’d found himself doodling on the edges of his notebook in class.  “I’m just glad to know that Bill’s doing more good for our family now than he ever did in life.”

“You can say that again,” Soos said, giving a few final squirts of weed killer to the vines on the statue.  “If he keeps bringing in money at this rate, I might finally be able to afford my dream body.”  He pulled a picture out of his pocket and held it down to Dipper and Mabel.  It was an image of a tiger with flaming wings drawn on its back in marker.  A photo cutout of Soos’s smiling face was pasted over its head.  “Anyways, let’s go,” he said, putting both the photo and the spray bottle back in his pocket.  “We’ve got a lotta fun stuff to do back at the Shack!”  He hoisted Mabel up onto his shoulders and she cheered aloud, with Waddles oinking in response behind them.  He led the way toward a trail on the other side of the clearing, marked with a wooden sign which read “Pay Your Bill Bill at the Mystery Shack” in streaked red paint.

Dipper hesitated and looked back at the statue, feeling a cold bead of sweat run down the back of his neck as he stared into the stone eye.  He stumbled and fell forward, landing on his face in the grass.  Groaning, he stood up and brushed away the curling green tendril that had somehow snagged his ankle.  The long vine seemed to be stretching out from the statue itself, all the way across the clearing.  Dipper shuddered and turned away.  He’d had enough nightmare fuel for one day.

After a short walk through the woods, a familiar structure appeared beyond the trees.  It was a homely hodgepodge of a cabin, probably more duct tape than wood at this point.  A hook-beaked totem pole stood before it, a resolute watcher of the house.  The rickety weathervane, bearing the letters W-H-A-T, creaked and spun in the wind.  And atop the roof, a giant sign declared the name of the wondrous attraction for all to see.  This was an icon, the crown jewel of tourist traps.  Of all the hokey huts and supernatural sideshows in the Pacific Northwest, none could measure up to the rustic royalty of the Mystery Shack.

Dipper was impressed to realize that the “S” in the “Shack” sign was actually still attached; it had spent most of the last summer discarded in the dirt, having been repeatedly knocked down in various incidents.  “Looks like you’ve been taking good care of the old place, Soos,” he said.

“You know it,” Soos said.  “Keeping this place mostly functional takes a lot of work, but it’s nothin’ a handyman like me can’t take care of.”  He broke into a wide smile as the front door swung open and a woman in a brown hat and question mark t-shirt stepped outside.  “Of course, I’ve had plenty of help.”

“Nice to see you again!” Melody said, coming down the steps to greet the twins.  “It sure has been a long time, hasn’t it?  Soos hasn’t been able to quit talking about you for months now, we were all so excited for you to get here.”

“And we’re excited to be here!” Mabel said.  “Melody, you’re really rockin’ the Soos look, I love it.”

Melody glanced down at her shirt.  “What, this?  It’s just my Mystery Shack uniform.  Soos made it official right after he took over.”

Dipper raised an eyebrow at Soos, who merely shrugged.  “Mr. Pines said he’d get confused if he walked into the gift shop and didn’t see someone wearing that shirt.  Shack tradition, he called it.  But we still can’t get Wendy to wear one.”

“You can have my flannel when you pry it from my cold, dead hands.”

A shadow passed overhead as a slim figure leapt from the roof of the Shack, grabbing onto a neighboring pine and sliding down the trunk, disappearing behind the gift shop entrance.  A second later, a red-haired girl in a green flannel shirt rounded the building, tipping her baseball cap to the twins as she approached.  “If you’re expecting a bellhop, sorry, but you’ll have to take your bags upstairs yourself.”

“Hi Wendy!” Mabel said, jumping excitedly around the older girl.  “You’ve got to fill me in on everything juicy that’s happened since we left, now that we can gossip together as teenagers.  It’s gotta be so much more interesting than middle school gossip, right?”

Wendy smirked.  “I’ll tell you all that I know later, but I’m sure it’s nowhere near as interesting as whatever you’ve got going on back in California.”  She turned to Dipper, who was wringing his hands and smiling awkwardly up at her.  Without warning, she snatched the trapper hat off his head and gave his hair a quick ruffle before slamming her pine tree-emblazoned cap down in its place.  “Here you go, I kept it nice and warm for you,” she said, adjusting the trapper hat back onto her own head and giving Dipper a wide grin.  “Good to have you back, Dip.  It’s been pretty boring around here without you.”

“Piedmont was pretty dull without you too,” Dipper said.  “I tried making some new friends, but most kids don’t seem to share my taste in the paranormal.”  He sighed.  “One girl gets possessed by a cursed amulet in gym class and suddenly no one wants to hang out with you.”

“Well that won’t be a problem anymore,” Wendy said.  “You’re in our town now, and we’re gonna have more fun than you know how to handle.”  She sniffed the air and her nose wrinkled.  “Maybe take a shower first, though.  You smell like death.”  Dipper blushed and Mabel snickered.

“First things first, dudes,” Soos said.  “I need a little help around back.  Can you give me a hand?”  He rounded the corner past the gift shop entrance with Melody on his heels.  Dipper glanced at Wendy in confusion, but she simply shrugged and followed Soos.  The twins stepped around the corner, their curiosity piqued.

A chorus of cheers rang out and bursts of confetti filled the air.  Dipper nearly jumped out of his skin, tumbling backwards over his suitcase.  Everyone in town had gathered in the yard behind the Shack.  Mayor Tyler sat on Manly Dan’s shoulders, both of them whooping and hollering.  There was Lazy Susan, waving wildly, oblivious to the fact that she was spilling drops of scalding coffee from her mug onto Shandra Jimenez and Bud Gleeful.  Sheriff Blubs and Deputy Durland ran through the crowd, waving flags and blowing noisemakers.  Soos’s grandmother sat on the porch, watching the others with a small smile on her wrinkled face.  Gompers bleated a greeting to Waddles, who snorted in response.  Even Toby Determined was there, clad in a sparkling red onesie and dancing with a cane.

“Sorry for the scare, dudes,” Soos said.  “But we all thought a surprise party would be the best way to welcome you back!”

Mabel let out a shrill squeal and hopped up and down.  “I can’t believe you’re all here!”  A small figure leapt from the crowd and tackled Mabel, tumbling into a heap of limbs on the ground.  A moment later, both were lifted up by a pair of burly arms, drawing them into a tight embrace.  “Candy!  Grenda!”  All three girls spun in a circle, laughing and hugging until Grenda released the others, setting them back on their feet.  “It’s so great to see you guys!” Mabel said, her whole body practically vibrating with excitement.

“We were going to meet you at the bus stop, but Soos asked us to wait,” Candy said.  She held up a shredded coil of rope.  “Grenda is hard to hold back.”

“I don’t have time for patience!” Grenda said.  “It’s been too long since these Grenda arms gave a Grenda hug!”

“Well hang on tight,” Mabel said.  “I think I feel another Mabel hug coming on!”

“The Candy hug has to recharge,” Candy said.  “It is too powerful.”

Meanwhile, Dipper found himself surrounded by teenagers – fellow teenagers, he thought with a smile.  “Dr. Funtimes is back in town!” Nate said, cheering as Lee hoisted Dipper up onto his shoulders.  Thompson stumbled after them, trying to carry enough cups of punch for everyone.  After laughing for a moment at Thompson’s frantic attempts to stay upright, Lee put Dipper back down and moved to help. 

Robbie, who had been standing to the side with Tambry, feigning disinterest, finally spoke.  “Hey, dork.  Guess you’re gonna be hanging out with us again this summer.”

Dipper scowled.  “Nice to see you too.”

Tambry glanced up from her phone.  “Robbie’s been talking about you kids a lot since that whole Weirdmageddon thing.  He feels special that he got to be part of the big prophecy.”

“Tambry, don’t tell him that!” Robbie said.  He turned to glare at Dipper.  “Look, I’m only here because Wendy and the others dragged me here.  It’s not like I like you or anything, i-idiot.”  He pulled his hood up over his head and slunk away, muttering under his breath while Tambry held his hand.

“What a dweeb.”  A familiar girl with probably-fake-blonde hair strutted up to the twins.  “Maybe I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve, but at least I’ll admit I like you.”

“Hi Pacifica!” Mabel said, pulling away from Candy and Grenda for a moment to give her a quick hug.  Pacifica half-recoiled, but she fought off the instinctive reaction and reciprocated the embrace.

“I’m a little surprised to see you here,” Dipper said.  “I thought the Shack was too rural for your taste.” 

Pacifica shrugged.  “I’ve gotten used to living around the blue collar folk.  Though my parents are still struggling a bit.”  On the other side of the yard, Preston and Priscilla Northwest watched with undisguised horror as the Woodpecker Guy attempted to settle a dispute between his wife and a rival blue jay.

Dipper laughed.  “Seems like upper-middle class life is doing your family some good.”

“Hey, we’re lower-upper class,” Pacifica said.  “We still have our dignity.  And a servant who puts all our mail in that metal box outside the house.”

“That’s the mailman,” Dipper said.  “He does that for everyone.”

Pacifica frowned.  “So, what, are we supposed to tip him?”

Mabel opened her mouth to speak but Dipper interrupted her.  “Five bucks a day ought to keep him happy,” he said.  “Maybe a little higher if you want to be nice.”

Pacifica scoffed.  “Please.  People should be paying me to be nice.”

“Pard’n me, Pacifica, if ya could allow me a quick word with the twins.”

The voice appeared to be coming from a puffy marshmallow in a blue suit.  “Heyyy Gideon,” Mabel said, flashing her braces in a too-wide smile.  For once in her life, she did not seem eager to offer a hug.

“Dear Mabel, yer as beautiful as the day we last met,” Gideon said, giving a short bow that threatened to absorb Mabel into his hair.  “I’ve been countin’ the days til I could see you again.”  Dipper cleared his throat loudly and Gideon looked up, startled.  “And ’f course I’ve missed you just ’s much, Dipper!  Might I say yer also lookin’ rather dashin’ today?”

“I think we’d all be more comfortable if you didn’t,” Dipper said. 

“So how have you been, Gideon?” Mabel asked.

“Pretty dang good!” Gideon said.  “Folks weren’t so trustin’ ’f me at first, what with the whole ‘fake psychic’ thing, but these rubes – I mean, nice people – found it in the kindness o’ their hearts t’ forgive widdle ole me.  So now I’ve reopened the Tent ‘f Telepathy and I perform my songs and dances every day.”  He winked.  “Season tickets are on sale now, I could give you two a hefty discount.”

“Oh gee, sorry,” Dipper said, his smile wavering.  “We couldn’t possibly take advantage of your … uh, generosity.”

“That’s enough yammerin’, kids!” 

Dipper jumped in surprise at the sudden appearance of a shrunken, bearded man behind him.  He didn’t think he’d ever been happier to see Fiddleford Hadron McGucket.  The old man winked, fully aware that he’d swooped in just in time to deflect Gideon’s attention.  “We’ve got all summer to catch up!” he said, tapping his feet rhythmically.  “Let’s kick this hootenanny into high gear!”  He pulled a remote out of his suspenders and pressed a large red button.  With a loud clanging of metal, a hatch opened in the roof of the Shack and a rickety tower of speakers and strobe lights rose up, blaring pop music and bathing the yard in swirls of bright color.  The crowd roared and surged together into a dancing mob.

“Shindig in the United States, by Mona Arizona!” Mabel said.  “My favorite party rock anthem!”  She grabbed Dipper by the wrist and dragged him into the throng of townspeople.  “Come on, Dip, dance with me!”

Dipper held back.  “I don’t think so, Mabel.  You know I’m not much of a dancer.”

“Oh come on, you big baby,” Pacifica said, snatching Dipper’s other hand and helping Mabel pull him forward.  “If I can do it, so can you.”

“Yeah!” Grenda shouted, giving Dipper an extra shove from behind.  “Embrace your inner party animal!”

Dipper held up his hands in resignation.  “Alright, alright.  But if any of you laugh at me, I’m locking myself in my room for the next three months.”

The party raged until long after sunset.  It was midnight by the time Dipper and Mabel had unpacked and settled into their beds in the attic.  In no time at all, the musty old room was restored to its former cluttered state, covered in books and clothes and stuffed animals.  Mabel hopped excitedly on her bed while Dipper pinned up the last of his “supernatural investigation reports” on the bulletin board, this one detailing a recent sighting of what he suspected to be a fearsome wererabbit.  Exhaling with relief, he sat down on the edge of his bed, wiping the sweat from his brow.  Mabel flopped down on her back on her own bed, sighing contentedly.

“Sure is nice to be back, huh?” she said.

Dipper nodded.  “It feels like we never left.”

Mabel rolled over to face him.  “Too bad Grunkle Stan and Ford couldn’t make it.  They’d have loved the party.”

Dipper tried to imagine Ford dancing to the greatest pop hits of the 2010s.  “I’m sure they’re having plenty of fun on their own.”  He slumped backwards onto his pillow and stared up at the ceiling.

“What’cha thinkin’ about, Bro-Bro?” Mabel asked.

“I dunno,” Dipper said.  “Just … wondering how this summer is gonna turn out.  Last year certainly went differently than I expected.  In all of the best and worst ways.”  He put a hand on his chest.  “I don’t know if my heart can take that much stress again.”

Mabel waved a hand dismissively.  “Aww, don’t worry about it.  Bill’s gone, Stan and Ford have made up, and Gideon has turned over a new leaf … I think.  There’s no one left to bother us but all the kooky monsters in the woods, and we know how to handle them.”

Dipper took a deep breath.  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right!” Mabel said.  “I’m Mabel!”

Dipper rolled his eyes.  “Well, I’m pretty tired.  Today was a long day.”

“A good day!” Mabel said.

“A good day,” Dipper conceded.  “And tomorrow is gonna be even better.”

“That’s the spirit!” Mabel said.  She clapped her hands and Waddles plodded into the room, hopping up and nosing the switch on the wall to turn off the lights before curling up at the foot of Mabel’s bed.  Mabel blew a kiss in his direction.  “Good pig!”

A small smile crossed Dipper’s face as he pulled up the blankets.  It was the little moments like this that reminded him just how lucky he was.  “Goodnight, Mabel.”

“Goodnight, Dipper!”

Dipper laid back and closed his eyes, enveloped in the comforting sound of the breeze and bugs outside the window.  It took only a few seconds for the natural lullaby of the woods to lull him to sleep.

*****

“Dipper!”

Mabel.  That was Mabel’s voice.  He spun around, but there was nothing but whiteness in every direction.

“Dipper, help!”

An enormous shadow loomed up from the whiteness, two long lines growing up to a sharp angle at the peak.

“Please, Dipper!”

Dipper spun around.  Bill towered over him, larger than life.  Mabel was clutched in one giant fist, struggling to escape.

“Well well well, look who’s here!” Bill said, his voice booming in the infinite expanse around him.  “Sorry, Pine Tree, but you’re too late!  I’ve already got what I came for!”

“Let her go now!” Dipper growled, clenching his fists.  “We beat you before, we can do it again!”

Bill laughed, the cacophonous sound ringing out from every direction at once.  “Go ahead and try, kid.  But right now, I’m the one holding all the chips!”  He lifted Mabel high over his head, his grip tightening around her.  She screamed again.

“Don’t do it, please!” Dipper said, tears brimming in his eyes.  “I’ll do anything, just let her go!”

“No deals this time!” Bill said.  “I’m playing for keeps!”  His eye narrowed in his version of a smile.  “Now it’s time for this Shooting Star to fall!”  He held up his free hand.  “So make a wish!”

Then he snapped his fingers and the world erupted into flames.

*****

Dipper’s eyes were still heavy with sleep when he made his way downstairs for breakfast.  Though rattled by his nightmare, he had managed to get a few hours of mercifully dreamless rest.  Mabel, Soos, and Abuelita were already eating when he stepped into the kitchen. 

“Mornin’, dude!” Soos said.  “We saved some Sooscakes for you!”  He heaped a stack of pancakes onto an empty plate and pushed it across the table toward Dipper.  “Stan taught me how to make 'em.  I think they’re pretty good.”

Dipper sat down and took a bite, chewing unenthusiastically.  Mabel eyed him with concern.  “Geez, Dipper, you look awful.  Was there another bat in your bed this morning?”

Dipper groaned and rubbed at his eyes.  “No, just a bad dream.  Nothing to worry about.”

“Don’t sweat it, bro,” Mabel said.  “You can hang with me and Candy and Grenda today while we wait for Stan and Ford to get back.  We’ll have so much fun you forget all about that lousy nightmare!”

Dipper gave a faint smile.  “That actually sounds nice.”

“You just have to promise not to use any more of that cologne,” Mabel said.  “Seriously, Soos could use that stuff to kill the weeds.”

“Come on, Mabel, I’m not even wearing it!”

“But you’ve got it in your pocket.  I think it’s starting to melt through the bottle.”

Abuelita breathed in deeply.  “My sense of smell, it has returned!” she said.  Her nose wrinkled up.  “And I wish it had not.”

Dipper crossed his arms sulkily.  “Fine, but I still think you guys are exaggerating.”

Soos chuckled.  “Wouldn’t it be funny if you said that and then the smoke alarm went off because the smell was so bad?”  He paused for a moment, as if waiting for the sound to ring out.  “Oh yeah, Mr. Pines sold all the smoke alarms years ago.”

Mabel quickly scarfed down the last of her pancakes and jumped up from her chair.  “Alright, let’s get rolling! We have a full day of goofing off ahead of us!”  She tapped her foot impatiently as Dipper finished eating.  “And of course, there’s a good chance that our peaceful sunny afternoon will turn into some crazy mystery adventure,” she added. 

Dipper swallowed his final bite and grinned.  “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“You dudes have fun!” Soos said.  “I’ll hold the Shack together while you’re gone.”  The lamp string on the ceiling suddenly snapped and the bare bulb fell, shattering in the middle of the table.  Soos gave a thumbs up.  “I’ll get right on that.”

*****

“And then Pacifica punched him right in the mouth!  That was the last time anyone said that her roots were looking a little brown.”

“Some say his tooth stuck in her knuckle and she had it set into a ring.  That is what I would have done.”

“Dang, go Pacifica!  I can’t believe I missed so much!”

Dipper reclined against a tree and smiled as Mabel, Candy, and Grenda continued their banter.  Weird as it might be, he found it comforting to listen to their mindless chatter again.  Their voices were as much a part of the Gravity Falls ambiance as the natural sounds of the forest. 

He reached into his inner vest pocket and pulled out a thick hardcover book.  The cover was marked with a pine tree symbol, perfectly matching the one on his hat.  He flipped through the first few pages, which consisted of some rough sketches and sparse notes on various oddities that he’d encountered or researched in California.  Finally, he settled on the next blank page and began to write.

After what felt like the longest school year of my life, I am back in Gravity Falls.  When I first arrived last summer, I dreaded the sleepy town that awaited me.  Now I’m back, and there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.  The people may be a bit backwards, but they’ve become as good as family to me.  And the mysteries – so many mysteries!  There’s always something new for me to investigate.  Maybe I’ve taken care of all the big secrets already, but I’m okay with that.  Exciting as it may have been, I’d really rather not go through another Weirdmageddon.  So I’m looking forward to three months of creature hunting and code cracking with all of my favorite people!  Sometimes I get the feeling there’s still something huge hiding here, but whatever that might be, I know I’m ready to handle it.  After all, I’m a Pines.  I’ve got the best backup an adventurer could ever ask for:  a family I can trust.

“I hate to be a critic, but you do realize what a cheesefest this is, right?”

Dipper yelped in surprise and fell forward, dropping his journal in the grass at his feet.  A brown-bearded gnome leaned against the tree trunk, flashing his most dazzling smile.  Dipper stood up, fists clenched at his sides as the girls walked over to see what was happening.  “What are you doing here, Jeff?” he asked.

“Whoa whoa, I’m sensing some hostility,” Jeff said, holding his hands up defensively.  “You don’t have to worry, we’ve moved on from that whole queen thing.”  He glanced sideways at Grenda and his eyes widened.  “But please, can someone introduce me to this bulky beauty?”

“Sorry, she’s taken,” Mabel said.

“I’m engaged to be engaged!” Grenda said.

Jeff’s face fell.  “Man, a gnome can’t catch a break around here.”  He straightened up.  “Sorry, that’s not why I’m here.  I need your help.”

Dipper narrowed his eyes.  “I don’t know, you asked us for help last summer and that ended with you turning into a dark giant and trying to kill us.”

“Hehe, yeah, that Gemulet ordeal was a bit of a nasty mix-up,” Jeff said.  “But I’m serious this time.  Gnomes have been going missing and we can’t find out why.”

“You guys are the smallest creatures in a forest full of supernatural beasts,” Dipper said.  “The answer seems pretty obvious.”

“It is true, we gnomes have many natural predators,” Jeff said.  “Wolves, bears, mountain lions, large birds, small birds, protein-deficient bunnies – regardless, more gnomes have been vanishing than normal.  This isn’t just the circle of life at work.”  He swallowed a lump in his throat.  “Shmebulock disappeared this morning.”  He wiped a tear away.  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m okay.”

Mabel frowned.  “Dipper, this sounds legit.”

Dipper shrugged.  “Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t.”  He turned to Jeff.  “We’ll keep an eye out for anything suspicious, but I’m not making any promises.”

“I would’ve appreciated a more enthusiastic response,” Jeff said.  “But this is good enough for me.”  He raised his hand in a finger gun motion at Grenda.  “And if you ever decide to ditch your fella and marry a real colony of magical creatures, you know where to find us.”  With one last wink, he jumped back into the bushes and disappeared into the woods.

“Well that was weird,” Mabel said.

“That’s Gravity Falls for you,” Dipper said.  “Never a dull moment.”  He looked down at his journal, which lay open on the first page.  A thin green vine from the grass rested on the paper as if it had grown there, its tip pointing to a small pencil doodle of Bill Cipher.  Dipper brushed it aside and closed the book.

“So are we going on a gnome hunt?” Mabel asked.

“Just like Easter,” Candy said.  “With little bearded eggs.”

Dipper shook his head.  “Not just yet.  I’ve got something I want to look into first.”

“Hey dudes!”  Soos waved to the group as he walked past.  He was holding the spritzer bottle of weed killer.  “I’m just goin’ out to spray the statue again.”

“Perfect timing,” Dipper said.  “I can take care of that for you, Soos.  I’m heading out in the woods anyway.”

Soos frowned.  “You sure?  You seemed pretty freaked out about Bill yesterday.”

“I’m fine now,” Dipper said.  “It’s the least I can do for you.”

“Whatever, dude,” Soos said, shrugging and handing the bottle to Dipper.

Mabel raised an eyebrow.  “Dipper, what are you up to?”

“I’m just doing a favor for Soos,” Dipper said.  He paused.  “And doing a bit of investigating of my own.”

“Well then count us in!” Mabel said.

“Yeah, we’re always ready to party!” Grenda said.

But Dipper waved them off.  “This is the first day you guys have gotten to spend together since last summer, I don’t want to interrupt your fun already.  And if Jeff comes back, you guys can be here to talk to him, or punt him into a tree, or whatever you want to do.”

Mabel nodded slowly.  “Okay, just promise you won’t get in over your head, okay?”

“I promise,” Dipper said.  He smiled.  “You can trust me.”

“I do.”

*****

A cool breeze whispered through Dipper’s hair, a stark contrast to the hot air of the forest.  The orange light of the afternoon sun enveloped the woods in a drowsy haze.  Wendy trudged along behind him, twirling her trusty axe like a baton.

“You sure didn’t waste any time getting down to business,” she said.  “Second day of the summer and you’re already back in the mystery-solving saddle.”

“I do want to figure out what’s happening to the gnomes,” Dipper said.  “But that’s not the main reason I’m out here.”

Wendy’s expression didn’t change.  “You’ve been thinking about Bill again.”

“I never did in Piedmont,” Dipper said with a sigh.  “At least not beyond remembering everything that happened.  But now that I saw him again, right here in the woods…”  He shuddered.  “It’s like he’s back inside my head.”

“And you haven’t talked to Mabel about this?”

“She’d just worry about me.  This is my problem, not hers.”

Wendy raised an eyebrow.  “So why’d you ask me to come?”

“Because you’ll let me do this,” Dipper said.  “You’re the only person that won’t try to hold my hand through the whole thing.  I want someone here with me, but I still have to do this myself, y’know?”

“I understand,” Wendy said.  “No one else can face your fears for you.”  They walked in silence for a minute before she spoke again.  “You know that applies to Mabel too.”

Dipper furrowed his brow in confusion.  “What do you mean?  Mabel’s fine.”

“She’s got as much reason to be scared of Bill as anyone,” Wendy said.  “She’s the one he tricked to kick off the apocalypse.  Are you gonna tell me she doesn’t think about that?  That she doesn’t sometimes wake up in the middle of the night after a dream where everything didn’t turn out okay?”  She grimaced.  “I do.”

Dipper’s face fell.  “She’s never said anything about it.”

“Have you ever asked?”

Dipper opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out.  Wendy put a hand on his shoulder.  “We both know Mabel,” she said.  “She’ll still be bouncing off the walls no matter what’s going on in her head.  But I bet there’s a lot you two could talk through together.”

“I don’t want to bog her down with my worries,” Dipper said.

“And she’s probably thinking the same with you,” Wendy said.  “And even if she isn’t, she’s your twin!  You two wouldn’t have survived last summer if you couldn’t trust each other.”

Dipper sighed.  “You’re right, like usual.  I’ll talk to Mabel … later.”  He stopped in his tracks.  “But I’m still doing this myself.”

The clearing opened up before him.  Bill’s statue faced him, its outstretched hand beckoning him forward.  The growth of vines had thickened since the previous afternoon, to Dipper’s surprise.  Larger green tendrils climbed up the face of the statue, snaking around its arm and hat.  Soos would probably need more than basic weed killer to handle this problem.

Dipper took a deep breath.  “Alright.  I’m going to … talk to Bill, I guess.”

Wendy brandished her axe in both hands.  “And if he talks back, I’ll come chop that stupid hat right off his head.”

Dipper stepped out into the clearing, forcing himself to keep moving as he approached the statue.  Its eye stared blankly ahead, but the feeling that it was watching him still unnerved Dipper.  He stopped a few feet in front of the statue and glanced back at Wendy, who gave him an encouraging grin.  Steeling himself, he turned back to Bill.

“So, uh, Bill,” Dipper said.  His cheeks flushed.  Somehow he hadn’t thought talking to a statue would feel this ridiculous.  “You, uh, you’re looking crummy.  Those vines can’t be very comfortable.”  He frowned.  “But hey, you’re the one who tried destroying the town and killing my family.  So you deserve what you got.”

There was no reply from the statue.  Of course not, Dipper chided himself.  His voice grew more confident as he continued.  “I’m just here because Soos needs you looking spick and span,” he said.  “You’re doing some good for our family now, how weird is that?  Mabel was right, this really is the best use for you.”  He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a bottle, giving the statue a quick spritz.  A couple vines immediately began to shrivel.  “Wow, this stuff works fast – oh.”  Dipper looked at the object in his hand and groaned.  It wasn’t the weed killer, but his Hatchet Body Spray.  He could hear Wendy’s barely-stifled laughter behind him.  “Ha ha, very funny,” he said.  He put the cologne back in his pocket and pulled out the actual weed killer, spraying around the statue until he was satisfied he’d covered it all.

He stepped back and surveyed the statue up and down one more time.  “You really had me going, Bill,” he said.  “I heard about the gnomes disappearing and immediately wondered if it was you.”  His face fell.  “The thought that you might still be able to hurt anyone scared me so much.  I had to make sure that it wouldn’t happen again.”  He straightened up.  “But you’re gone.  I guess I just needed to come see you again to convince myself.”  He reached out and grasped the statue’s extended hand.  “Goodbye, Bill.  And good riddance.”

Dipper released the statue’s hand, and the vine on its arm uncoiled.  In one rapid movement, it wrapped itself around Dipper’s wrist, locking his hand firmly in place against Bill’s.  Dipper looked down at the slender vine gripping him and his whole body went numb.  The bottle of weed killer dropped from his free hand, its top popping off as it hit the ground.  Dipper turned to the statue itself, but nothing had changed.  Its unblinking eye stared back at him, lifeless as ever, while the spilled liquid soaked into the earth at its base.

Metal screeched off stone as Wendy brought down the head of her axe on Bill’s arm.  The severed vine fell away, lying motionless in the grass at her feet.  Wendy pulled Dipper away from the statue, putting herself between him and Bill.  A ripple ran through the vines and they lifted away from the surface of the stone, their tips angling directly at Dipper and Wendy.

Wendy kept her gaze trained on the vines as she spoke.  “Dipper?  What’s going on?”

“It’s him,” Dipper said, barely able to conjure breath for a whisper.

“Are you sure?” Wendy said, a faintly detectable trace of fear in her voice.  “These woods are weird, maybe they’re just scary monster vines.”

Dipper shook his head.  “You saw how it happened.  It has to be him.”

“Then what do we do?”

Dipper’s heartbeat pounded in his ears.  Whatever logical reasoning he might have had abandoned him.  Only one solution seemed viable.

“Run.”

Neither he nor Wendy hesitated as they turned and bolted from the clearing.  Behind them, the vines exploded outward from the statue and an unearthly shriek split the quiet of the evening.  Birds, squirrels, and deer scattered through the underbrush, fleeing the source of the horrible sound.

Dipper looked over his shoulder and immediately wished he hadn’t.  Dozens of green tendrils snaked along the path behind him, reaching ever closer.  He screamed as one snapped at his heels, brushing over the back of his leg, only for it to be cut down by the blade of Wendy’s axe.  She twirled the weapon frantically, cutting down any vine that drew too close.  Despite his mortal terror, Dipper couldn’t help but admire her work.

“Wendy?”

“I know, dude.  I’m the coolest person you know.”

“You don’t have to be smug about it.”

They kept running, Wendy fighting off the plants all the way.  Dipper noted that the vines weren’t as numerous as they had been just a minute earlier and fewer grew close enough to be cut down by Wendy’s swings.  Just as she sliced through the last visible vine, the Mystery Shack appeared through the trees ahead.

“Wendy, we made it!”  Dipper burst into the open and turned back to the woods, breaking out in a relieved smile.  Wendy stepped out behind him, breathing heavily.  “That was a close one,” Dipper said.  “Are you –”

Wendy’s legs were yanked out from under her and she fell face first into the grass, her axe slipping from her fingers and embedding itself head-first in the ground.  Screaming, she clawed at the ground, the vines around her ankles pulling her back toward the trees.  Dipper froze, watching helplessly as she struggled against the plants, before instinct took over.  He charged, letting out a yell that was half fear and half anger.  Before he could even comprehend his own action, he lifted the discarded axe in both hands, grunting from the effort as he brought it down hard, chopping away both vines in one swipe.  Wendy leapt back to her feet and grabbed Dipper by the wrist, backpedaling away from the forest with Dipper in tow.  For a long moment, they waited, tensed in anticipation, but no more vines emerged to pursue them.  Sighing, they turned back to the Shack.

Dipper handed the axe to Wendy, smiling sheepishly.  “I guess we’re even now,” he said.

“Seriously?  I killed like twenty of those vines while we were running.  We’re not even close to even.”

Soos stepped onto the porch, whistling to himself until he noticed Dipper and Wendy approaching.  “Perfect timing, dudes!  Melody and Abuelita went to Greasy’s Diner while I was closing up, you wanna join them with me?  Dinner’s on the Soos tonight!”  He paused, noticing Dipper and Wendy’s torn clothes and disheveled hair.  “Whoa, you look rough.  Did you guys, like, roll back home?  I used to do that, but these suits are way harder to patch up.”

Wendy pushed Soos back inside and Dipper closed the door behind them.  “Sorry, Soos, but we’ve got trouble,” Dipper said.  “Bill trouble.”

“No worries, dudes,” Soos said.  “Mr. Pines taught me how to make all the bills disappear.”  He lifted the edge of the rug with his foot, revealing a stack of dusty envelopes underneath.

“No, it’s Bill Cipher,” Dipper said.  “I went to the statue and the vines, they –”

“Guys, come look at this!” Mabel’s voice called from the living room.  “Vines are attacking the town!”

“Whoa, hold on, Dipper,” Soos said.  “This sounds serious.  You can finish your story later.”  Dipper pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation as he followed Soos and Wendy.

Mabel sat on the edge of the armchair with Waddles at her side, her eyes glued to the TV screen as the others entered the room.  Shandra Jimenez stood in Greasy’s Diner, which was filled with terrified townspeople.  “Breaking news, Gravity Falls is under attack by paranormal forces once again,” she said, her voice and expression stoic.  Behind her, Manly Dan and the Corduroy boys cowered under a table while Melody tried to coerce Abuelita away from her unfinished dinner.  “A horde of giant vines has appeared throughout the town, attacking people and structures indiscriminately,” Shandra continued.  “Mayor Tyler has ordered that all citizens remain indoors and stay away from windows to alleviate risk that the vines will, and I quote, ‘git ‘em.’”  Something crashed offscreen and the camera panned to the doorway, where Lazy Susan was beating away vines with a flaming broom.  Sandra stepped back into the camera frame, ignoring the battle in the background.  “If the town is still standing, we’ll be back at 10 for your nightly news.  I’m Shandra Jimenez, and I am going to hide in the bathroom.  Back to you, Toby.”

The feed abruptly cut back to the studio, where Toby Determined was sitting on top of his desk, eating a meatball sub in his underwear.  The “on the air” light flashed red and he jolted in surprise, falling backward into his seat and dropping his sandwich on the desk.  He stared wide-eyed at the camera and cleared his throat.  “As a reporter to the people, I know how important it is to remain professional during these trying times,” he said, wiping away a smudge of marinara sauce from the corner of his mouth.  Without warning, a vine smashed through the studio wall, grabbed Toby, and pulled him offscreen.

Mabel turned to Dipper and Wendy.  “What the heck did you guys do to make all the vines go cuckoo bananas?” 

“My dad told me that someday the plants would come for revenge against us lumber folk,” Wendy said.  “I didn’t think he meant it this literally.”  On the TV, a second vine peeked up over the anchors’ desk and snatched Toby’s abandoned sandwich.

“It’s Bill,” Dipper said.  “I don’t know how or why, but all this is coming from him.”

Mabel’s eyes widened.  “But Ford said he was gone.  He and Stan beat him for good.”

“Obviously they were wrong,” Dipper said.

“I wish they were here now,” Soos said.  “Maybe I can be Mr. Mystery, but I don’t think I can beat a demon.”

“We should wait for them to get back,” Dipper said.  “Ford will know what to do.”

“That could take days!” Mabel said.  “Those vines are going to hurt everyone in town!”

Wendy put a hand on Dipper’s shoulder.  “She’s right,” she said.  “All of our friends and family are in trouble.”  She lifted her axe.  “I say we remind Bill why he doesn’t mess with Gravity Falls.”

“There’s all kinds of pointy metal lawn stuff in the closet,” Soos said.

“Perfect!” Mabel said.  She ran to the closet and came back with a handful of threatening looking garden tools, dropping them in a pile on the floor in the middle of the group.  “Arm yourselves, everybody!  We’ve got a weed to pull!”

Dipper nibbled at his fingernail as Mabel and Soos sorted through the heap of potential weapons.  “Guys, maybe we should work out a plan first.  If we’re going to have any chance of fighting Bill, then we need to know what we’re doing.”  His words came faster, so quick he could barely keep track of what he was saying.  “I mean, I know we can beat him, we did it before, but, how – I’m not sure – we have to have a plan.  Right?”

Soos and Wendy exchanged glances, but neither seemed willing to answer.  Mabel took a deep breath before speaking.  “Dipper, I know this is really scary, but we –”

A loud bang rattled the Shack, shaking the floor itself.  Waddles squealed in fear and dashed out of the room.  Dipper swallowed nervously.  “So, uh, what are the odds that our old magical unicorn barrier still works?”  As if in response, a sickening crunch of wood resounded from the gift shop.  Dipper peered around the corner just as the first vine crept in through the splintered remains of the door.  “Okay, forget what I said, we need to leave!”

Soos opened the back door and peeked outside.  “No vines back here, dudes,” he said.  “We can make a run for the golf cart and get out of here.”

Dipper reached into the tool pile and grabbed a shovel, as reasonable a weapon as he thought he could manage.  Mabel lifted a weedwhacker in both hands and revved the motor experimentally.  She pursed her lips and nodded in satisfaction. 

“Get to the cart!” Wendy said, waving the twins through the back door just before the vines slithered into the living room.  “Come on, Soos, let’s go!”

Soos glared at the vines.  “Go with Dipper and Mabel,” he said.  “I’ll hold them off.”

“Soos, we’re not leaving you!” Wendy protested.

“I said go!” Soos said, brandishing a rake toward the vines.  “I’m Mr. Mystery.  It’s my duty to protect the Shack and the kids!”

Wendy hesitated, but nodded in acknowledgement and stepped out onto the porch.  “Stay safe, Mr. Mystery.”

The vines reared up like snakes, looming over Soos, but he stood his ground, keeping himself between them and the door.  He slammed the rake handle-first on the floor and unleashed a battle cry to shake the very heavens.  “You shall not pass!”

Dipper and Mabel piled onto the golf cart seat as Wendy gunned the engine.  “Hang on tight,” she said.  “We’re taking this fight to Bill.”

A large cluster of vines withdrew from the Shack, clutching Soos tightly in their coils.  “Oh no, they passed!” he yelled as he disappeared into the forest.

“And I guess we’re saving Soos too,” Wendy added.  She pressed the pedal to the floor and the cart shot into motion, spinning in a tight curve and smashing through the underbrush.  The cart swerved onto the dirt path and careened through the woods, nearly tossing Dipper and Mabel out of their seats. 

“So, uh, do we actually have any kind of plan?” Dipper asked.  A vine lashed at them from the right side, but Mabel cut it down with the weedwhacker.

“Get to Bill,” Wendy said.  “We can wing it from there.”

“Okay, cool,” Dipper said, trying and failing to force a smile.  He yelped as more vines snapped at the cart.  Mabel whooped excitedly as she swung the weedwhacker in wide arcs.

“Dipper, watch our back,” Wendy said.  “Don’t let anything catch us from behind.”

“R-right,” Dipper said.  He leaned over the back of the seat, holding his shovel defensively in his shaking hands.  Immediately, a vine grabbed the shovel and ripped it away from him, nearly pulling him out with it.

“New idea,” Wendy said.  She turned and hopped over the seat to stand on the back of the cart.  “Take the wheel.  I’ll fight.”

Dipper scrambled for the wheel while Wendy whirled her axe at the approaching vines.  “I don’t like this,” Mabel said, eyeing Dipper skeptically.  “Bad things happen when you drive the golf cart.”

“Bad things happen when anyone drives the golf cart,” Dipper countered.  “Clearly the cart is the problem.”

The cart lurched as it hit a root and Wendy tumbled back into the seat.  “Stop insulting the cart, Dipper!” Mabel said.  “It doesn’t like that!”

Dipper rolled his eyes.  “Mabel, I don’t think the cart cares if I –”

A particularly large vine snagged one of the back poles of the roof.  Everyone screamed as the cart veered sideways, tearing through the vine but losing all traction.  Dipper fought to correct the cart’s trajectory, but it spun out of his control, crashing through the trees and bushes before flipping onto its side.

Wendy groaned, standing up from the wreckage and pulling the twins out with her.  “Just once, I’d like to have a highspeed chase in this cart that doesn’t end in a wreck,” Dipper said, adjusting his hat.

“Heads up,” Wendy said.  “We’re here.”

For the second time that evening, Dipper found himself face to face with Bill Cipher.  The statue still rested in the same spot across the clearing, with newer, larger plants erupting from the ground around it.  More vines lingered at the edges of the tree line, rising and falling softy in unison, as though they were a single huge, breathing organism.

“Hey, dudes!”

Dipper, Mabel, and Wendy looked straight up at the sound of the voice.  High above, suspended in a virtual cocoon of closely-wound vines, Soos’s smiling face peered down at them.  Numerous smaller green clumps hung around him, some of which were visibly wriggling.

“Don’t worry, Soos!” Mabel called.  “We’ll have you down faster than you can say ‘photosynthesis!’”  She and Wendy stood back to back with Dipper between them, carefully watching the vines surrounding them.

“Down is not where I want to be right now, dudes,” Soos said.

As soon as the words left his mouth, the earth began to rumble, nearly knocking Dipper off his feet.  An ominous growl rose on the air, seeming to emanate from Bill himself.  Behind the statue, a monstrous green bulb emerged, towering over Dipper, Mabel, and Wendy.  With a disgusting wet smack, the bulb split open, revealing a gaping maw full of toothy spines.  Though it didn’t have eyes, Dipper was sure that he was locked firmly in its sights.

“It’s a giant flytrap!” he said.  “It must be where all the vines are coming from.”

The flytrap’s head lurched forward, dripping a long stream of clear liquid onto the grass below.  “Uh, is it drooling?” Mabel asked.

“I think it’s just digestive enzymes,” Dipper said.  He frowned.  “So, yeah, I guess it basically is drooling.”

“That was definitely not here before,” Wendy said.  “Where did it come from?”

“Maybe Bill possessed it and turned it into some kind of demon plant,” Dipper said.  “If sock puppets can be possessed, then why not plants too?  Especially plants with mouths.”

“I’d rather possess a flower,” Soos called.  “Nobody suspects a flower.”

“None of that matters,” Wendy said.  “Right now we just need to take out that head.”

Dipper glanced around anxiously.  “There are two problems with that.  One, there are still angry vines completely surrounding us.  And two, that flytrap is probably going to take a bite out of anyone who gets close.”

“I’ve got the same answer to both problems,” Wendy said, raising her axe over her head.  “Cut them all down!”

She charged, with Mabel right on her tail, waving her weedwhacker manically.  Dozens of vines lunged toward them, whipping and weaving around to avoid the girls’ attacks.  Dipper searched the broken golf cart for anything he could use as a weapon, but found nothing suitable.  He had to help Mabel and Wendy, but how could he?

“Dipper!  Snap out of it!”

Mabel dashed in front of him, slashing through a vine directly in front of his face.  “Get it together, bro!  We need your help!”

“I want to help!” Dipper said, his voice cracking.  “But I can’t!  I can’t fight Bill!”

Mabel threw up her arms in exasperation.  “You don’t have a choice!  I know it’s scary, but –”

Her words trailed off into a high-pitched shriek as a vine hooked around her waist and hauled her off her feet.  Dipper gasped in horror.  “Mabel!”

“Dipper!  Help!”

A few seconds later, another scream rang out as Wendy was snatched up as well, her axe held uselessly against her side.  “Let me go, you dumb weed!  I’m not done with you yet!”

Something brushed against his chin, a slight touch, soft as a feather.  Dipper looked down, horrified at the sight of the vine coiling around his chest.  “No!” he yelled, digging his nails into the plant as it lifted him into the air to join the others.

“What do we do now?” Soos asked.  Wendy just looked at him sadly, having no comforting words left.  Mabel struggled to break loose even as tears brimmed at the corners of her eyes. 

The last shred of Dipper’s resolve stirred at the sight.  He tried to pry away the vine holding him, but it only spurred the plant to squeeze him harder.

Crack!

A second after Dipper heard the noise, the vine released him, allowing him to fall.  He landed on his back on the forest floor, grunting in pain as he hit.  The impact knocked the wind out of him, but he staggered to his feet.  Vines lingered around him, but none drew too close.

“Dipper!”  Mabel’s voice reached him from above.

“Are you okay?” Wendy called.

“Do something, dude!” Soos added.

Dipper’s breath came back, faster and faster, too fast to manage.  Black spots danced at the corners of his vision as he watched his sister and his friends dangle overhead, the vines moving them toward the wide-open mouth of the waiting flytrap.  “Mabel!” he cried.  “Hang on, I – I’ll figure this out!  I – I can – ”

“Get away from my family, you big green jerk!”

A metallic whir filled the air and Stanley Pines burst through the underbrush, chainsaw in hand.  With one quick move, he bisected the vine holding Mabel.  She slipped from its grasp, screaming as she fell, but Stan caught her with ease, holding her to his chest.  Dipper and Mabel gasped.

“Grunkle Stan!”

“Stand back, sweetie,” Stan said, carefully sitting Mabel next to Dipper.  “I’ve got this.”  He picked up his chainsaw and revved it loudly before severing the other vines.  Wendy dropped free, rolling gracefully as she landed and springing back up to standing position.

“Incoming!”

Dipper turned just as Ford stepped past him, gun aimed at the cocoon of plants holding Soos.  He fired one blast, cleanly shooting through the cluster of vines at their base.  The plants crumbled away and Soos dropped out, arms extended toward Stan.  “Look out, Mr. Pines!”

Stan dropped the chainsaw and looked up.  “Oh you’ve got to be kidding –” 

Soos slammed into him, sending both of them tumbling in the dirt.  “Thanks for the save, Mr. Pines!” Soos said, standing up and dusting himself off.

“Don’t mention it,” Stan said, coughing.  “I mean it, don’t ever mention this again.”

Dipper looked back and forth between his great uncles, his lips turning up in a genuine smile.  Mabel hopped in place, not even attempting to contain her excitement.  “Grunkle Stan, Grunkle Ford!  I can’t believe you’re here!”

“We can worry about greetings later,” Ford said, his expression grim.  “First we need to deal with the vines.  Tell me what’s going on.  I’ve seen some hostile greenery before, but never anything like this.”

“It’s Bill,” Dipper said quietly, gesturing toward the statue.  “I shook his hand and now this is happening.”

Ford frowned.  “That can’t be!  None of my tests gave any indication that Bill could still be alive.”

“Forget your tests!” Stan said.  “Let’s just focus on sluggin’ this freak back to the second dimension!”  He raised his chainsaw again, scowling at the plants that circled the group.  “Come at me, you lousy crabgrass!”  More vines launched toward him, but he blazed through them and continued his charge toward the statue.  Wendy followed behind him, cutting down anything that Stan missed.  Rake in hand, Soos hurried after, chopping up any still-wiggling vines.

“Look out, world!” Mabel exclaimed.  “The invincible Pines family is together again!”

Ford knelt down in front of the twins, holding out a hand to stop Mabel’s cheering.  “Kids, calm down for a moment.”  He looked to Dipper.  “Dipper, I saw that vine drop you before.  What did you do to it?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Dipper said.  “I just heard this noise and – wait.”  He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out his Hatchet Body Spray.  A long crack ran down the side of the bottle, through which a light stream of liquid was seeping out.  “Aw man, it broke my bottle of cologne.”

“Maybe the vines are just mad because of that gross smell,” Mabel said, pinching her nose.

“Let me see that.”  Ford took the bottle from Dipper and squinted at the label, nodding to himself as he read.  “I don’t believe it.  The combination of chemicals in this is exactly what we need.  Dipper, you’ve saved us!”

Dipper’s face flushed red.  “Seriously?”

Ford handed the cologne back to Dipper.  “This spray is made of the most toxic mixture of chemicals I’ve ever seen!  You’re lucky this stuff hasn’t given you second degree burns.”  He paused thoughtfully.  “If we can get this bottle into the flytrap’s mouth, then it will absorb the chemicals and die!  And if the vines are coming from it, then that will kill them too!”

“Whaddya know!” Mabel said.  “Guess it’s a good thing Dipper’s a stinky weirdo after all!”

“But how are we supposed to get the bottle to the flytrap?” Dipper asked.

Ford cocked his gun.  “Just stick with me.  We’ll run it straight to the mouth.”  He smiled.  “You with me?”

Dipper and Mabel nodded as one.  Ford led the way, blasting every vine that came near with expert marksmanship, while Mabel covered the rear with her weedwhacker and Dipper stayed in the middle, holding the bottle in both hands.  Ahead of them, Stan had cleared an area in front of the statue, with Wendy and Soos fighting off the plants on either side.  The flytrap’s head bellowed, spurring Stan to respond with a war cry of his own.  “I’m comin’ for you, Bill!” he said, dropping his chainsaw and making the last few strides toward the statue.  Before Dipper or Ford could say anything, Stan reared back, fist clenched, and punched Bill directly in the eye.

“Hot Belgian waffles!”  He instantly crumpled to his knees, clutching his hand in agony.  “Ow!  So much pain!  Why so much pain?”

“You just punched a rock, you knucklehead!” Ford said, equal parts angry and exasperated.  “Now get out of the way!”  He aimed his gun at the flytrap’s head.  “Get ready, Dipper!  I’ll draw its attention and then you throw the bottle in its mouth!”

Dipper nodded, unable to force out any words through his shuddering breaths.  The bottle in his hands was slick with both leaking body spray and his own sweat.

“Okay, nerds, get this done!” Stan said.  “I’m ready to give this thing a left hook right in the – whoa!”  One second later he was hanging upside down, a vine wrapped around his ankle.

“Stanley!”  Ford spun toward his brother, pointing his gun at the plant holding him.  In that moment, the flytrap attacked, lunging forward with its mouth agape.  The flash of movement caught Ford’s eye and he dove to the side, avoiding its jaws, only to be caught up in a tangle of waiting vines. 

“Oh no, Grunkle Ford!”  Dipper stared in horror at his uncles, strung up side-by-side, unable to break free no matter hard they fought their restraints.  At the sides of the clearing, Wendy and Soos were both pushed back by the overwhelming numbers of the encroaching vines.

Mabel gripped Dipper’s shoulder and gave him a quick shake.  “Dipper, do something!  We have to stop this now!”

“I can’t get the cologne into the mouth from here!” Dipper said.  “It has to come closer!”

“Well whatever your plan is, tell me fast!” Mabel said.  She screamed as a vine nipped at her, wrenching the weedwhacker from her hands and breaking it into pieces. 

Dipper glanced around him, panic setting in.  Stan and Ford were captured, Soos and Wendy were losing, Mabel was helpless, the whole town was under siege, and every single person was counting on him.  And in the center of the plants, Bill Cipher’s petrified body silently taunted him, assuring him of his inevitable failure.  “I don’t know how to save us, Mabel,” he said, the pounding of his heart deafening in his ears.  “I freeze up just looking at Bill!  I should be able to do this, but I can’t!”

“Don’t you think I’m scared of Bill too?” Mabel said.  “You’re not the only one who still has nightmares about Weirdmageddon.”

Dipper looked up to meet Mabel’s eyes and was surprised by the anguish he saw in her face.  “Really?  But you haven’t seemed afraid of him at all.”

“Because I don’t want that to hold me back!” Mabel said.  “Sure I worry about what would happen if things had gone differently, or if he ever came back.  But I’m not going to let him get in the way of the rest of my life.”  Her expression softened.  “So what if this is the scariest problem you’ve ever faced?  You have a new scariest problem every week!  You used to run from gnomes, now you fight giant robots and shapeshifters and alien drones!  Maybe you couldn’t beat Bill by yourself before, but that doesn’t make any difference.  You’re Dipper Pines, and you’ve never let down the people who need you.”

Dipper gulped, his pulse racing.  “Mabel, I – do you really think so?”  His gaze darted around the vines creeping toward him before settling on Mabel, her eyes wide and pleading.  He inhaled deeply, trying to slow his rapid breaths.  “Well, I guess we’ll die for sure if I don’t do anything.”

“Now we’re talking!” Mabel said.  “So do you have a plan?”

Dipper felt the cool glass of the bottle in his hands.  “Nope,” he said.  “But here goes nothing.”

He stepped forward, into the range of the flytrap.  Its head glared down at him, and if it had a tongue, Dipper was sure it would be licking its lips.  He closed his eyes, fighting to keep his nerves from failing him.

Mabel’s eyes widened.  “Dipper, what are you doing?”

Dipper looked back at her and flashed a weak smile.  “What I need to.”

Then the flytrap’s jaws clamped shut around him.

“Dipper!” Mabel screamed, running forward.  The flytrap raised its head out of her reach, keeping its mouth tightly closed.  Stan and Ford stared in shock at the spot where Dipper had been standing just a moment before.  The vines halted their assault, allowing Soos and Wendy to turn and watch.  Above them, the monster hummed rhythmically, a deep rumbling that shook the trees themselves.

Suddenly, the flytrap went rigid.  A strange gurgling sound rose from within it and its head snapped about wildly.  Around the clearing, the other vines writhed frantically, flailing as a raucous cough shook the flytrap.  It drew back its head and opened its jaws, giving a loud wet hack as it spat out a thoroughly-drenched Dipper.

Mabel blinked in astonishment and she hurried to her brother’s side, throwing her arms around him and practically crushing him in her embrace.  “What the heck did you do?” she asked, pulling back from the hug and helping him to his feet.

“I got plant spit in my ear,” Dipper said, shuddering.  He held up the now-empty cologne bottle.  “But I think the other guy had it worse.”

Spasms wracked the flytrap’s body as the chemicals took effect.  Throughout the clearing, the vines shriveled and cracked into pieces.  The freed captives plummeted to the forest floor, with Stan and Ford collapsing in a heap next to Dipper and Mabel.  Behind them, a rain of vine cocoons fell and burst open, releasing a small horde of squirrels, birds, deer, and gnomes.  One gray-bearded gnome bounced off Dipper’s head with a disgruntled yelp.  “Shmebulock,” the gnome said, scampering away into the bushes. 

With a last roar of outrage, the flytrap succumbed to the cologne.  Its stem buckled beneath it and its wilted head crashed to the ground, wriggling for a moment longer before going still.  Dipper finally exhaled, overcome with relief.

He was scooped up into a bear hug by Stan, Soos, and Wendy simultaneously.  “You did it, Dipper!” Soos said.

“That was a real crazy move, kid!” Stan said.  “Just don’t ever do that again.  I don’t think my old heart can take it.”  He furrowed his brow and sniffed the air.  “And maybe go hose off that plant vomit.”

“Trust me, dude,” Wendy said.  “It’s better than the cologne.”

Dipper stepped back and looked at everyone in turn, feeling a rush of warmth through him at the sight of all of their beaming faces.  “I’m just so glad you’re all okay.  I didn’t think I’d be able to save you.”

“I knew you could,” Mabel said.  “And you did!  Always listen to Mabel!”

Dipper grinned, but it faded as he saw Ford standing away from the group.  The old man kneeled in the grass before Bill, examining something at the statue’s base.  Dipper hurried to his side.  “Why did this happen, Grunkle Ford?  How did Bill do this?”

“I have a couple possible theories,” Ford said.  “Some remnant of Bill’s power could have entered the plants and driven them to attack.  Perhaps some of his will lived on in his physical body and took control of the vines once they grew around him.”  An irritated expression crossed his face and he held up the empty spritzer bottle that Soos had given Dipper earlier.  “Or maybe some chowderhead was out here spraying weeds with the most potent growth elixir on the planet.”

“Wait, what?” Dipper asked, blinking in surprise.

Ford pointed to the bottle.  “Soos, where did get this from?”

“I found it in the closet,” Soos said.  “I thought it was weed killer.”

Ford sighed.  “It’s a serum that I created during my research,” he said.  “Exactly the opposite of weed killer.”

“Why did you have that in the first place?” Dipper asked.

“For accelerating my experiments,” Ford said.  “I was growing a lot of weird plants back in the Seventies.”

“Hey, so was I,” Stan said.  Ford glared at him.

“So none of this was from Bill?” Dipper said.

“Nope,” Ford said.  “Soos just accidentally mutated a hostile system of supervines.”

Soos hung his head in shame.  “Sorry, dudes.”

“It’s not your fault, Soos,” Stan said.  He scowled at Ford.  “Blame the nerd who can’t even bother to put a label on his dangerous science junk.”

Ford rolled his eyes.  “Fine, I’m sorry I didn’t clean up every single piece of my old life that was left in my house.  It’s not like there were thirty years’ worth of your freakshow exhibits burying all of it anyway.”

Mabel grabbed both Grunkles by the cuffs of their sleeves and pulled them urgently.  “Guys, stop fighting!  We’re all back together again and we just saved the town from another crazy monster!  We should be happy!”

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” Stan said, crouching down and pulling Dipper and Mabel both into another hug.  “It’s good to see you little scamps again.  Even if you’re already gettin’ into trouble.”

“Just like you taught us,” Dipper said, grinning.

Stan straightened up and addressed the others.  “Soos, Wendy.  I assume you’ve been takin’ good care of the ole Shack?”

“Of course!” Soos said.  “She’s just the way you left her.”

“Maybe a little worse,” Wendy admitted.  “It did just get invaded by vines.”

Stan shrugged.  “Eh, it’s been through worse.”

“We’d better heard back to start repairs,” Ford said.  “And I’m sure the rest of the town will want a hand with that as well.”

He led the way to the path with the rest of the group right behind him.  Soos boosted Mabel onto his shoulders for a piggyback ride.  “Hey, Grunkles,” she said.  “Why were you so late getting here anyway?”

Ford grinned.  “Ah, good question, Mabel.  It is a pretty spectacular tale.”

“Hush up, Poindexter,” Stan said.  “Everyone knows I’m the best storyteller in this family.”  He cleared his throat.  “It was a sunny morning when the Stan O’ War II sailed into the canal.  Flowers were blooming, canaries were singing.  And that’s when the cannibals showed up.”

As the group left the clearing, enraptured by Stan’s electrifying account of his and Ford’s adventure, Dipper paused to take one last look at Bill.  The statue stood motionless amongst the piles of decaying vines, nothing more than a weathered stone left to solitude in the woods.  For the first time, the dread in Dipper’s stomach dissipated.  He nodded to himself and turned back to join the others.  His family, his friends, his favorite people in the world.

Now, he thought, it was truly summer.

*****

Mabel groaned as she flopped back onto her bed.  “Is it possible to sleep forever?”

“That’s called dying, Mabel,” Dipper said.

“I welcome it.”

The night had been long and exhausting.  After leaving the woods, the Pines family had embarked on a cleaning crusade across town, offering their assistance in fixing up the damage caused by the vines.  Soos and Wendy shared happy reunions with their families, relieved to find them all safe and sound.  By the time they returned to the Mystery Shack, the moon was already high in the sky, and Stan and Ford agreed that renovations on the Shack itself could wait for the next day.  After a quick dinner of leftover Sooscakes, there was nothing anyone wanted more than to rest.

A low snorting caught Dipper’s attention as Waddles entered into the room, hopping into Mabel’s bed and nuzzled up against her.  She giggled, pulling the pig closer to her and kissing his head.  “I’m so glad you’re okay, Waddles,” she said.  “I don’t know what I’d have done if those vines had gotten you.”

Dipper set his hat on the table and lay back in his bed, staring at the ceiling.  He sighed.  “Mabel, I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Mabel said, rolling over to face her brother.

“For everything,” Dipper said.  “I nearly got us all killed today because I panicked.  I’ve faced my fears so many times before, but this was different.  It was so much … more.”

“That’s because Bill is so much … more,” Mabel said.  “I still think about him too.”  She smiled.  “But he’s gone.  And even if he comes back, I know we can take him down.  And I know you can stand up to him.”

“Thanks,” Dipper said, grinning back at Mabel.  “But you’re right.  I doubt we’ll ever have to deal with him again.”

“Just promise me one thing,” Mabel said, her face growing serious.  “Don’t hide your fears anymore.  Whatever you feel, you can talk to me about it!  I’ll listen.”

Dipper nodded.  “Alright, and you do the same.  Tell me if you have nightmares.  The best thing we can do is be there for each other.”

“Of course,” Mabel said.  She stuck her clenched fist out toward Dipper.  “Mystery Twins?”

Dipper mirrored the gesture, even though they were too far apart to actually touch.  “Mystery Twins.”

“You kids are still awake?”

Stan stepped into the room, smirking at the twins.  “It’s been a rough day,” Dipper said.  “We had a lot to talk about.”

“Yeah, I hear ya,” Stan said.  “Everyone else is asleep, but my darn brain won’t shut up.”  He sighed.  “I was really worried about you today.”

“It’s okay, Grunkle Stan,” Mabel said.  “We can take care of ourselves!”

“And whenever we’re in real trouble, we know you’ll always show up to save us,” Dipper added.

Stan gave a tired smile.  “You gremlins have more faith in me than you oughta.   I don’t know how I got by this long without havin’ you around to keep me entertained.”

Mabel smiled.  “We love you too.”

“Aw geez, it’s too early in the summer to get this mushy,” Stan said, wiping his eyes.  “I need to get to sleep or I’m gonna turn into a bigger sap than the Jurassic Sap Hole.”  He moved back to the doorway and flipped off the light.  “Sleep well, kiddos.  Hope you’re ready for a good old-fashioned Pines Family Fun Day tomorrow!”

“Goodnight, Grunkle Stan!” Dipper and Mabel said together.  They nestled into their beds as Stan headed back downstairs. 

In the darkness of the attic, Dipper could already feel himself drifting off to dreamland.  “I really hope tomorrow is relaxing,” he said, yawning.

“In Gravity Falls?” Mabel said.  “What are the odds of that?”

*****

Just after midnight, the Speedy Beaver bus pulled up in front of the Twin Bed Motel.  Dale watched as his sole passenger stood up and walked to the door.  The old woman was an odd one.  Not many people rode into Gravity Falls in the middle of the night.  But he couldn’t complain.  At least she didn’t have a pig.

The old woman waved to Dale as the doors hissed closed and the bus pulled away.  She took a deep breath of the cool night air, delighting in the woodsy scent.  Already she felt a thrill of excitement at the idea of the new world she’d thrown herself into.  Tomorrow, her life would begin again.

Carla stared up at the starry heavens for a moment before heading inside.  “See you soon, Stanley.”

GR LW IRU WKH YLQH

[dynamax-corviknight]

i do not love men; i love what devours them

chapter one is here!! its also on ao3 here

Graves lives alone in a house that is way too large for him. He likes it that way. The strange loneliness of the house on the hill, overlooking the non-descript seaside town he calls his home, is perfect for him after the hustle and bustle of the city. This way, he can spread himself out, let himself go, and live his life unrestrained by the expectations that had been placed on him in New York. He had been a high-ranking police officer before he had taken early retirement, citing stress and (for once), old age. He had found that more often than not, instead of feeling invigorated after cracking a particularly complicated case, he just felt exhausted and particularly old. He couldn't keep up with the chatter in the break-room as easily, and a lot of the things the junior officers did confused him.

Seraphina, bless her soul, had allowed his retirement to go through without any bumps. She could see how the fast-paced lifestyle of New York had worn on her friend and was now beginning to upset him, even if he didn't notice himself until it was too late. He had fallen into a depressive slump, often not remembering or having the energy to shave or shower for days on end. Only when he had felt truly pathetic had he managed to drag himself away from his bed or work and attempt to fix himself up. Seraphina had noticed something was wrong almost instantly, and after observing him for a short while, she confronted him, and breached the idea of early retirement.

He had fought her on it for a long time, but even he could admit, life as an officer no longer held the lustre it did when he was young and fresh out of training. Every day he could feel his bones weighing heavy on him, and it felt a struggle to merely change out of his clothes to sleep. He had thought that, with how much he had filled his life to the brim with work that he would not take to retirement well at all and that he would be back in his office surrounded by paperwork at the end of the month.

Except… it had actually gone well. At first, he felt disturbed at how little he found himself doing at his apartment, and it was then that he realised that he had truly abandoned his hobbies in lieu of using his apartment as an extension for his office. He loosened the leash that he had wrapped tight around himself; he let his beard and hair grow out (his face was marvellously warm of a winter now), and he allowed himself to wear less formal clothing. He swapped his constant 3-piece suits and uniform for oversized sweaters, jeans, and sweatpants.

Still, he hadn’t found himself a fixed hobby. Sure, he had things he enjoyed in passing, like cooking for himself when he needed it, but nothing he truly looked forward to doing. That was until, he received news from the funeral directors that his grandfather (may he rot in hell) had passed away, and as he was the last Graves, had left his property in Bumfuck Nowhere to him. He had checked the portfolio; it was a large, colonial style wooden mansion situated by the cost with its own damn lighthouse.

It was perfect. He had told Seraphina as much and had upped sticks almost immediately.

The house was just so isolated enough that should he want to withdraw completely, he could do so with ease. And yet, it was within walking distance of the nearest town, if it could be called that. It was a complete contrast to New York. The place had approximately 2 shops, a small church and graveyard, a veterinary surgery, and a local market open on Saturdays.

The people had been wary of him to begin with, but they had warmed up quickly. At first, he had been an outlier; a rich man from the big city moving into the large Graves House on the hill which had lay in a state of disrepair for years.

That was something he hadn’t foreseen when he had carried out his move. The place was in shambles; infrastructure falling apart, damp eating away at the walls, and mysterious holes in the ceilings that he was sure he didn’t want to know about. He had ended up staying in the small bed and breakfast the other side of the village for nearly a year while restoration work took place the make the house habitable once more. In that time, he had become much more familiar to the people of the town, he had listened to their stories and had told ones of his own, yet one in particular had caught his attention.

According to Mrs. Goldstein, (the elder; her daughters, Porpentina and Queenie, worked in the markets in the main square), the town was haunted by a creature that lived in the woods towards the north. Apparently, it visited the town in the dead of night to raid the homes of those it thought unworthy of their circumstances in life. Of course, due to this, no one would admit whether their home had been visited, but many reported supposed sightings of the creature. It stood 7 feet tall, with a hunched back and elongated arms tipped with large claws. There were other vague details, but nothing that interested Percival. Except, that is, for one. Out of all of the sightings he had heard of, most of them occurred in the patch of forest nearest to the run-down church.

He had promised Seraphina that he would leave his work behind, but this was too interesting not to chase further. For all the locals knew, it could be some poor, starving animal searching for scraps around the church, with superstitious citizens extrapolating what they had seen into something supernatural. But either way, he wanted to see this through ‘til its end; he couldn’t leave a town of (mostly) innocent people terrified to leave their homes at night.

With that promise in mind, he had left the admittedly amazing care of Mrs. Goldstein for the old house, which was looking marginally better now that all the major damage had been taken care of. However, it still felt… impersonal. It felt as though there was a deep emptiness clinging to the old panelled walls and the moth-eaten curtains. The wind rattled the old window frames, the paint on the outside of the house was peeling with age, and every night the house would groan as the wood and pipes settled. It had taken some getting used to, and he promised himself that as soon as he awoke tomorrow, he would leave town to get some supplies to fix it up as much as he could.

The morning was a long time coming. Percival woke up to pitch darkness, the display of his phone reading out 3:13AM. At first, he wasn’t sure why he had woken up so early; he was a strict man and kept to such a schedule that his body clock woke him up at 5:30AM sharp, no earlier. Then he heard it. A twig snapped, followed by leaves crunching underfoot; something or someone was outside his window. Heavy breathing, laboured and wet. His heart clenched, surging up into his throat. Was he being robbed? He knew how to defend himself, yet the implications of not being safe here set his pulse racing. A shadow crossed his curtains, temporarily blocking the moon’s glow. Then a familiar sound soothed his fears, the tired grumbling of the caretaker he had hired when he arrived. Frank was all together a cantankerous old man, unpleasant to be around, but he got the job done. Nothing to be worried about.

Dread suffused his body, an invisible weight settled on his chest, and his breathing shallowed. No. He was seeing things, surely. There was nothing following Frank, and it certainly wasn’t an inhuman beast. It had a long snout and a lolling tongue, the sound of heavy pants filling the air. Please no. Its jaws snapped open, and a loud howl sounded in the night before a heart wrenching scream, followed by a sick gurgling sound, as if something was choking, and then a decisive crunch. He knew that sound, and he felt bile rising in his throat. He didn’t dare move, the sound of… of something walking over the dry earth outside had set his heart to a rabbit’s pace, his breathing coming fast and shallow. The bathroom was further down the hallway, and he did not want to alert whatever was out there to any activity.

Percival Graves was a rational man, he didn’t let his emotions rule his responses. And yet, in the face of this… thing outside his window, his instincts were shot. He knew Frank was dead, the man barely had time to yell before his life was stolen away from him. He could hear squelching now, the smacking of jaws as they shut around meaty sinew. He could just see it, blood squirting out of the jaws of the beast as Frank’s body was consumed piece by piece outside, sharp teeth tearing into soft fat and limp muscle, the tearing of flesh from bone and wet gurgles as blood vessels burst under the sickening assault, the sound of the beast eating its fill echoing in his ears. He leant over the bed and vomited, drool and bile dripping from his mouth, and the sounds stopped. He could faintly hear chuffing at the window, the beast likely picking up on the acrid scent of bile and his earlier dinner. He could hear it tapping against his window and he froze, his throat tightening around an imaginary lump. The shadow had returned, this time curious and inquisitive. Claws struck against the glass before scratching the surface, the beast tilting its head like a dog looking at its owner.

Ignoring the stench from the floor beside him, Percival kept his eyes wide open and his attention rapt, gaze turned towards whatever was currently eating his caretaker, ready to bolt at any given second, should the beast decide to be more than merely curious. The shadow dipped back out of sight and the squelching returned, and Percival grimaced, his stomach turning in protest. He desperately hoped, as bad as it sounded, that Frank had been enough to slake that thing’s hunger, he very much wished to survive this encounter.

Eventually, the sickening sound of the thing feasting outside fell silent, instead, he could hear scratching at the stone patio, before the beast padded away elusively. Opening eyes he didn’t know he had closed, Percival dared to let himself heave out a breath, and with no further sounds forthcoming, gingerly set his foot down on the old wooden floor. Emboldened by his apparent safety, Percival hesitantly left his bedroom to go to the kitchen to get some cleaning supplies. Still, he did not feel entirely secure, and kept his back to the walls out of sheer paranoia. What if it was still out there? What if it managed to somehow get into his house?

With those thoughts swirling through his head, he broke uncharacteristically into a run, pausing only to grab the supplies, and rushed back to his room, cleaning his earlier discharge before burrowing under the covers of his bed. Despite the horrific images that kept popping back up into the forefront of his mind, sheer exhaustion of being woken in the middle of the night and the crash from the adrenaline draining out of his body, his eyes slipped shut and he fell into an uneasy sleep.

As the sun shone through his curtains, Percival awoke, only for the tang of vomit and bleach to reach his nose and have the memories of earlier rush back to him. Flinging himself out of bed, he rushed down the hallway to the bathroom and promptly threw up into the toilet, the dregs of his previous meals rushing out. He groaned and lay his head on the rim of the toilet. What the ever-loving fuck happened earlier? He dreaded the thought of going outside only to see the mangled remains of Frank in his back garden, his guts strewn in the flowerbeds, bloody paw-prints trailing off into the woods.

No. He shook his head in attempt to clear away those thoughts, flushed the toilet, and stripped down to get into the shower. As he scrubbed his face and chest, he decided that going out to get the paint and other tools to fix up the house could wait for a while. Drying himself off, Percival dressed himself in a large hoodie and a pair of sweats, before shutting himself in the study across the hall to take his mind off the events that has transpired earlier.