#or when i thought about it for more than five seconds and realized ford probably has brain damage from the memory gun

[thereareeyesinsidethetrees]

looking through gravity falls snippets and screenshots and noticing things i never noticed before

like how some of the eyebats ford catches, but not any other eyebats found anywhere else, have eyelids

or how the eyes in the jar stan has arent the same as the eyebats that ford caught

or how its implied in the intro that stan apparently goes with the niblings to look at weird stuff sometimes? if thats canon you could probably make a killer fic from that

[ckret2]

Why do you ship billford? i want to hear all ur handcanons and reasons hehehe

ALL of them? My friend I do not think you comprehend the magnitude of the task you have requested. I can tell you some of them.

Here's a post I already wrote listing why I like them, and here's a post about what Ford thinks about Bill, and I just made a post about what Bill thinks about Ford because I've had it typed up on discord for ages and decided it needs its own post.

So, some headcanons:

⭐️ While most people who ship it headcanon that they had a romantic relationship of some kind pre-betrayal, my default headcanon is that they DIDN'T have a relationship—mainly because I enjoy making Bill, specifically, miserable, and I like headcanoning that Ford violently lost interest in Bill at the EXACT moment Bill developed a sincere interest in Ford.

Meaning that Bill "LOOKS LIKE MR. BRAINIAC FINALLY GOT SMART" Cipher destroyed his own chances five seconds before going "no no wait I actually want to keep this one," and that's SO funny. I made a graph!

⭐️ From Lost Legends we know that Ford used to date a siren. In the original Greek mythology, sirens didn't woo sailors by singing prettily; sirens offered knowledge about distant and future events. Sailors wrecked their ship upon the sirens' shores and starved to death at their feet just to listen to them sing about the secrets of the universe.

What I'm saying is: Ford has a type.

⭐️ This is a mutual monsterfucker 4 monsterfucker relationship. They look at each other and go "wow you're such a weird-looking alien" and they're attracted to each other BECAUSE of that, not in spite of that. I don't want any of this "oh how could I be drawn to something so strange..." shame out of Ford, as far as I'm concerned his first crush was Mothra, a floating triangle is nothing.

⭐️ Consequently, this means that if you take an AU where Bill gets stuffed in a human body, rather than making things easier, it ironically means that any PHYSICAL attraction Ford had for Bill instantly evaporates. A humanized Bill could be the sexiest damn thing in the room and everyone else in the vicinity is going 🥵💦 but Ford's going 😐. If they hook up with Bill in a human body it's in spite of Bill's current appearance and it's because Ford knows that, underneath the body, Bill's still Bill. You could hand Ford a perfect Tumblr Sexyman supermodel and he'll be fantasizing about a three-tiered pyramid with more teeth than a shark.

⭐️ Bill WILL play Dungeons Dungeons & More Dungeons with Ford, voluntarily, for fun. However he always wants to DM and he's brutal.

⭐️ I think that the majority of the Henchmaniacs used to be like Ford: young, naive, USEFUL aliens that Bill was trying to manipulate into getting access to their universes, probably by trying to get THEM to build portals. None succeeded, but they got far enough along that either they chose to join Bill, they were forced to flee their dimension and join Bill—or, due to Bill, their home no longer existed, so they might as well join him. I think that every one of them was once his ✨favorite✨ person. I think he sealed the deal in winning their friendship & loyalty with a calculated, scripted display of vulnerability—the exact same one he tried to use on Ford: I liberated my constricting, flat world; I want to liberate yours...

He may have dated some of them, too, especially right after they joined. Because he wouldn't have recruited them unless he thought they were JUST ♥ LIKE ♥ HIM. They're special, they're important...

... and after a few years, Bill realizes they're not that much like him after all and loses interest, and they sink down into the rank-and-file with the rest of the Henchmaniacs. The Henchmaniacs are FULL of people who were once Bill's Favorite—his best friends, his confidants, his lovers—and most of them are desperate to catch his eye and be that important to him again. They gave everything they had to Bill only for Bill to get bored.

So when he shows off the human who enabled Weirdmageddon and invites him to join the gang, they know EXACTLY what they're looking at: Bill's newest favorite. They know how this goes, he'll be gaga over this earthling for the next 5 to 500 years and then Ford will be just another regular Henchmaniac. The fact that Ford doesn't seem eager to join is no problem. Ford isn't the only soon-to-be Henchmaniac whose world Bill ended; some of them had to be talked around into joining, too.

⭐️ I think that, if you took Bill with his canon personality, didn't give him any character development, and then made him GENUINELY fall in love with Ford, and had him SINCERELY try his hardest to be a good, loving, healthy partner... he would still be toxic as hell for Ford.

Part of what draws Bill to Ford is that he sees SO much of himself in Ford—some accurate, some just projection. (You who crave power and fame and fortune like I do; you who also hunger to be all-knowing; you who would also sacrifice your world and your family and everyone you know and love to get what you want; you with an ego the size of the moon, oh, you deserve an ego the size of a star.) And so he assumes that what Ford really wants is what BILL would want in Ford's shoes.

And if Bill was Ford, what he'd want is to REALLY be the man who changed the world. Bill thinks he's fulfilling all Ford's wildest dreams if he gives that to him. Naming Ford the orchestrator of Weirdmageddon is the most generous gift Bill could ever offer.

Even if Bill is Really Really Trying and accepts that okay Ford doesn't want his world invaded: his idea of showing Ford love will be pulling the strings to get Ford fame & fortune. Teach him secrets of the universe that he can publish in a dozen groundbreaking scientific papers, arrange meetings with politicians and celebrities, get him a Nobel, get him an Oscar-winning bio pic, get him a billion dollars, get him EVERYTHING Ford's ever imagined as a marker of success and then double it.

When Bill's manipulating Ford, he offers praise and approval in little drops periodically leaking from the faucet, to keep Ford thirsty for more. When Bill's LOVING Ford, he just breaks the fire hydrant and lets it flood the street.

But the thing is, that's not good for Ford. That'll never make him truly happy. Ford's only ever learned how to measure his success by external markers, but the more external markers he collects the more he'll feel like he hasn't Made It yet. It's even possible that knowing Bill's helped him get this far will make him feel like he hasn't really EARNED it. He could have the whole world handed to him and he'll feel just as dissatisfied as he was on the day he first summoned Bill.

And Bill, even if he's trying his HARDEST to do this right, wouldn't be able to understand why this isn't working. A trillion years old and the only way he knows how to show love (or to receive love) is by showering someone in praise and gifts and favors. If that doesn't work, he doesn't know what's left.

[callipraxia]

The closest I've ever come to just throwing something out there without editing it is probably with "The Great Cosmic Cartoon Chess Game," which I think was my first Gravity Falls essay and which I wrote in one or two sittings and then posted at like one in the morning one night...pretty sure it's the second-most engaged with post I've ever written, unless it actually surpassed both the Ford Essay and the first Hirsch interview analysis essay I wrote a couple of months ago - it would take a lot of tedious clicking to figure out exactly which one is the One Essay To Rule Them All and I only have four minutes left on my work break, so I probably will determine that for sure later, but it did very, very well and I was very, very surprised. However, even as someone who is normally kind of nitpicky about anything that's posted and isn't a personal complaint, I can attest that you really do have no idea how the audience is gonna take things. Exhibit A: those two times I wrote about Bill Cipher torturing someone.

I spent weeks working on the chapter of Interproximal Gradations where that happened, but it wasn't because I thought it was too far out of pocket in terms of what was portrayed. It was just because I was trying some structural stuff with the chapter overall that I had never tried before and I wanted/needed the writing to be extra-good to support it. As far as Bill being a nightmare went, I thought I was pretty well within the lines canon had established for the portrayal of such things, and indeed that I was a bit more restrained than canon. The audience...was of a different opinion. Apparently, it's the most horrifying thing I ever wrote, despite my multiple attempts to write about physics coming unraveled and a character literally melting and...wow, I write a lot of messed-up stuff, don't I? I now kinda want to protest that I'm not one of "those" writers, but I'm not entirely sure what writers I mean by that, so let's move on to the other time I wrote something on that general theme.

The other time took place in "The Player of Games," and it is the one and only time that I have ever made myself deeply, deeply uncomfortable with something I've written. Like...this one scene is no small part of the reason why I assumed at one point that I would never finish "Player" and why I hesitated to post it even once I realized that I was, for whatever reason, going to finish the thing. That scene was...bad. I put a trigger warning on it, despite being Old and therefore often not doing that as much as I probably should (for the longest time I just forgot, having been writing with and for the same five people and nobody else for twenty years at that point and it having not been as much of a thing when I was younger, but even now, I often wrestle with myself over whether what I wrote is really upsetting enough to spoil the contents of the chapter over, especially when the upsetting material is or is a direct result of a plot twist). And I meant for the scene to be horrifying, so horrified reactions were expected, but y'all know the Internet - I was afraid it would instead be interpreted as me being into something I actually find deeply disturbing, since I couldn't exactly underline "and that was bad and sick and wrong" explicitly in the text without lowering the overall quality of the text (like I said, I'm one of those pretentious people who takes my fanfics semi-seriously and tries to produce the best writing I can, within some vague semblance of reason). And then...pretty sure that only one person ever commented on the scene I'd been so squicked out by writing, and that person seemed to understand perfectly what I'd meant by it, so good thing I didn't abandon the project over it, I guess?

TL;DR, audiences are indeed often at least a little bit unpredictable no matter what approach you take, basically.

If posting fic online has taught me anything, it’s that I have no idea how the reader will react to anything. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Not the faintest clue.

Fics that I think I scribbled off just to get them out there get the kindest, most rapturous feedback. Fics I slaved over, agonized over, bled my soul into get a couple tepid replies. Fics I thought were me revealing the darkness and weird kink that lives in my brain, scared to even post it for fear of judgement, get, “Aaaw that’s so sweet!” replies. Baffling.

My conclusion? You just never know. You really just can’t know. When I did a workshop with 20 other writers I would try to guess what their critique of my story would be and I was right maybe 1 in 20 times. Only one other writer would have the same critique for my story that I had. And it wasn’t even always the same person.

The encouraging part about this is, if self recrimination, the fear that you know what people won’t like about your story, is holding you back, just say fuck it! You’re almost certainly wrong! All you can do is make it the best story you can for the energy you have. And yeah, sometimes that means scribbling it out in an evening and kicking it out to the void of the internet before you can change your mind or worry about editing it more than once because then you’ll never post it.

It’s all chaos, man. You don’t get to decide what the audience thinks. All you can do is create it and put it out there for them to decide.

[feferipeixes]

Still Alive

After Dipper learns that this whole "being a demon" thing means he's going to live forever, he and Mabel talk about the future, and what he's going to do when everyone he knows dies. It's not until much later that he starts to realize that they'll never truly die -- just like he'll never truly get sick of ice cream.

Thanks to @toothpastecanyon for beta reading!

(See the most updated version on AO3!)

===

“If you could choose one project to do and be guaranteed that you’d finish it eventually, no matter how long it took, what would you do?”

“Hmm....” Mabel replied, itching her scalp with a plastic hand clapping toy. “Oh! I’d get my hands on the Ultimate Magical Shimmering Rainbow-splosion Fluffykins doll! There’s only five hundred in existence -- they’re super duper rare!”

“No no no,” Dipper countered. “That’s too easy, and too short. All you’d need to do is set up some eBay alerts, bribe a few people, maybe sneak into the FluffCorp factory building. Not even -- you could just snap your fingers -” (he snapped his fingers for effect, causing a puff of blue flame to momentarily appear) “and conjure it.”

“I can’t -” Mabel started, but Dipper kept talking over her.

“I’m talking about something really unprecedented. Something that would take a long time, something you wouldn’t ordinarily be able to do. Something that would change the world.”

“Oh, I get it now!” Mabel tossed the toy aside and flipped over, letting her head dangle off the end of her bed. “I’d call you a dork a million times.”

Her brother scowled at her and jumped out of his chair and into the air. “Hey!” he yelped over Mabel’s laughter. “I'̼͚̻͓͎̲m̡̖̰̘̣͎ ̖͇̕n̛̻ơ̰t̷̟͇̱ ̝̺̻a̳̦ ̪̟̮͖ḑor̞͓̭k̟̤̖!̛͍ And even if I was, that wouldn’t take you very long! At, uh, a rate of, let’s see, you could probably say ‘you’re a dork’ at least 30 times per minute, and if you didn’t ever sleep…”

Mabel watched the red tinge fade away from his features as he paced around in mid air, doing math in his head. “Yeah. You’re totally not a dork, Sir Maths-a-lot. You sure showed me.”

“- It wouldn’t even take you a month,” Dipper finished. “Besides, how would that change the world?”

“Hmm, well if I call you a dork enough times,” Mabel answered, “maybe my big scary demon brother would decide he doesn’t want to be a dork and instead he’d do something with his cool magic powers that ends up making the world a better place!”

“Mabel?”

“Yeah bro-bro?”

Dipper frowned at her. “Your face is turning purple.”

“Touche,” she replied, rubbing her chin very seriously. She slid the rest of the way off the bed and clutched her throbbing head. “Owww…”

“That's what you get for giving me dumb answers,” Dipper quipped, arms crossed.

“You mean for giving you fun answers,” Mabel corrected, and then winced at another sting of pain. “Why are you asking me these weird questions anyway?”

A panicked look flickered across Dipper's face, and his feet touched the ground. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

Mabel, still massaging her temples, pushed herself semi-upright to give her brother a look. “Come on. ‘What would you do if you had all the time in the world?’ ’What movie could you watch a million times and never get sick of it?’ ’Do you think Stancakes have a shelf life longer than 100 years?’ Something is clearly up.”

Dipper giggled awkwardly (was there any other way he could giggle?) and stared at the ceiling. “Nothing. It's nothing!”

“What, are you really not gonna tell me?” Mabel pushed. ”What if I tickle you?”

Her brother recoiled in horror. “You wouldn't.”

There was a tense silence as the two twins considered whose was the stronger will: the expert fighter with a plethora of torture tactics at hand, or the demon. Mabel narrowed her eyes. Dipper sharpened his claws. No words were exchanged. The room was perfectly still.

Mabel jolted forward half a foot and Dipper shrieked.

“Okay, you win, just don't tickle me!” he begged, throwing his hands up. “I'll tell you!”

“Good,” Mabel replied. “Things were about to get ugly. Spill it, bro-bro.”

Dipper sighed. He dusted himself off -- a habit he'd gotten into lately even though he was pretty sure nothing he could do would make his orange shirt and vest look any less weird with his new body.

“Remember… Remember the thing I told you the other day, when I had that infodump and learned more about my powers?”

“Oh yeah,” she said. “You found out that your omniscience tells you whenever anyone farts.”

“No!” he squeaked. “Although, you are right, it does do that and it's annoying, especially because now I can smell it from like a mile away.”

He wrinkled his nose, staring off into space for a minute before shaking his head. “But that's not what I mean. I'm talking about… how I'm never going to die.”

It had been about a week since Mabel had walked into the living room to find Dipper writhing and sobbing on the floor. She remembered the way he’d looked right through her, how he hadn’t seemed to even notice her presence when she sat him upright, how he kept muttering “still alive, still alive” over and over again, and it hadn’t made any sense to her then, but when he finally snapped out of it and was able to vocalize what he’d seen…

She shuddered at the memory of it.

“Since then,” Dipper continued, “I’ve been thinking about how I’m going to deal with it. And I had this idea that I could come up with things to do to fill the time.”

“What, so you’re going to plan out your whole life?” Mabel asked, incredulous. “Let me guess -- you’re making a checklist? Hah! Can you imagine?”

She giggled, and then he reached into his vest and pulled out oh sweet Moses.

“I’ve already got some good stuff on here,” Dipper said, ignoring or not noticing his sister’s flabbergasted expression. “I’m gonna learn how to make a sword by hand. I’m gonna watch all of Tiger Fist backwards to see if there are any hidden messages. And there’s this spa getaway weekend that the Multibear invited me on -- shoot, wait, he’s gonna be dead by then, umm…”

Mabel raised an eyebrow as her brother started scribbling on the checklist. “Dipper. This is obsessive even for you.”

“What would you know?” he shot back. “You’re not the one who’s immortal.”

“I know how to have this thing called ‘fun’,” she replied. “Maybe you’ve heard of it?”

He grumbled at her, eyes locked on his checklist. He couldn’t believe he forgot that the Multibear spa trip thing was a limited time offer. That kind of stuff was slipping his mind more and more these days, like the time Mabel asked him to play cards with her and he was so busy alphabetizing his Sibling Brothers books that he neglected to respond to her for three days.

Although, now that he thought about it, that might’ve been before he became a demon.

Something damp and cold hit Dipper in the face, and he spluttered in surprise. “What was that?” he shouted. One of his flailing hands happened to close on the object as it fell, and he held it up to the light.

“It’s a popsicle, doofus!” Mabel said. She’d fetched two from the minifridge in their room while he was distracted, and was busy licking away at her own, which was chocolate. “Remember those?”

He wrinkled his nose. “I don’t have ti-”

“I’ll throw another one at you,” Mabel interrupted.

“- I guess I could have some ice cream,” Dipper finished.

He floated over and sat on the floor next to his sister. He removed the paper from the popsicle and gave the object a sniff. The aroma of orange and vanilla caressed his sensitive nose, and he realized how long it’d been since he had any sugar. Without a second moment’s thought, he threw his head back, stretching both his neck and jaw further than they were supposed to go, and placed the entire popsicle -- stick and all -- into his gaping maw.

“See, what’d I tell you?” Mabel said, smirking at the satisfaction on her brother’s face. She reached up with her popsicle to scratch an itch on her nose, and then went right back to eating it. “I always know what to do with my time. I wonder what it’d be like if I lived forever…”

Dipper eyed the glob of chocolate ice cream on the bridge of her nose. “The world would probably be a much more chaotic place.”

“You mean a much BETTER place!” she declared. “Everyone would have fun and ice cream all the time!”

He grinned. “You’re right. It would be a much better place. Because my best friend would be there.” Mabel looked at him, a twinkle in her eye and ice cream all over her face, and his grin fell away. “I guess this is what you felt like when I said I was going to be Grunkle Ford’s apprentice, huh. I’m such a shitty bro-”

Mabel at once had her hands on his face, squishing his cheeks together so he’d stop talking. “Nuh-uh. Bro-bro you’re gonna stop hating on yourself Right. Now.” She was still smiling, but her tone had twisted into something harsh. “Okay, sure, I’m gonna die someday and then you’re gonna have to figure out what to do on your own. But I’m not ready to think about that and neither are you! We’re hecking 13 years old! We should act like it, while we’ve still got the chance. Please don’t make me think about dying yet.”

Dipper winced, and she let go of him. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“S’okay.” She patted him on the back, harder than he’d been expecting, and he was so surprised that he coughed up the popsicle stick he’d eaten earlier.

For a minute, neither of them said a word. Dipper lifted a hand to his face, where he felt something sticky.

“You got chocolate on my face.”

“Yeah. On your vest, too.” She stuck her tongue out at him. “What are you going to do about it?”

He looked at his hands, still small and smooth like a child. With a thought, he bathed both hands in a blue flame, searing away the chocolate and leaving them clean, just the way he liked them. Then he cleared his throat.

“I’m gonna chase you around the house,” he stated matter-of-factly.

Smiling ear-to-ear, Mabel jumped up and ran to the wall. “You’re nuts if you think you can catch me, even with demon powers!” Cackling, she threw the door open, which bathed her in a blinding white light.

Dipper thought about his infodump from the other day, thought about the part he hadn’t told Mabel, the tiny glimpse he’d gotten of his sister when she’d been old, pale, and still -- too horribly, horribly still. It was just a glimpse, but it haunted him -- the thought that one day there wouldn’t be a single trace left of Mabel Pines anywhere in the world. She was right -- as always -- that he was obsessing, that he was letting a thought hurt him when it didn’t have to.

He wasn’t ready to think about growing up yet, either. No matter how strong the pull to obsess was, he had to find a way to fight it.

“You can’t get away from me!” Dipper roared, and flew after his sister into the future.

---

"Wahoo! That was a great idea -- getting ice cream -- Dipper! I feel so much better! You always know how to cheer me up."

Dipper, clad in his usual human disguise, collapsed onto the bench with a grunt. "I dunno, this stuff tastes off. You’d think with all the technological advancements since the Transcendence that they’d have found a way to perfect ice cream."

His friend Arin, who was somehow managing to carry five popsicles in two hands, nodded with a serious look on her face. "Yeah. Oh sure a lot of old timey diseases were eradicated and we've got flying cars and stuff. But not one of these ice pops actually tastes like orange!"

She stared at him for a beat longer, then finally broke into snickers. One of the popsicles fell out of her hand, and a stubby arm immediately shot out from under the bench to catch it.

His face twisting in confusion, Dipper bent over to look under the bench. There were two gnomes right beneath him -- one of them hissed when they saw him, making him jump and making Arin laugh even harder.

"Ha-ha, okay," Dipper said, hand on his chest like his heart was racing. Despite this, he couldn't keep a small smile from creeping onto his face.

So much had changed in the last five hundred years, and yet so much else had stayed the same. Wars were fought, societies had formed and collapsed, but people were still people, and Dipper was still Dipper. Even though he’d had more than a few incidents where his demonic nature overcame his humanity, he always seemed to land back on his feet again eventually. Sometimes all it took was a friend.

Right now, his friend was a girl named Arin who he’d saved when someone else had tried to sacrifice her to him. He remembered how grateful she’d been, how she gave him a hug despite him being a void black monster splattered with blood, and how she then spent 20 minutes chatting with him about dragons even though she’d just had a very traumatic experience. She seemed, in other words, cool. So he later presented himself to her as fellow undergraduate student Dipper, without revealing that it was him who’d saved her that night, and they’d been good friends ever since.

Arin sat next to him and started taking bites out of her ice pops. "Yknow, the Transcendence-era wasn't that great," she said, although with her mouth busy it sounded like she was drowning.

Dipper's brow creased. "What do you mean?"

She gulped down the hunk of ice in her mouth. "No offense -- I know you're totally obsessed with Transcendence history stuff -- but that was soooo long ago. There's no one left who was alive back then, except like vampires I guess. But vampires don't eat ice cream so it doesn't matter."

Dipper bit back the urge to say "I know a vampire who loves ice cream as long as there's blood in it". What came out instead was "So?"

"So!" Arin shoved an entire popsicle into her mouth, and then had to take a minute to cough up the stick. "S-so," she continued amid gasps, "no one knows for sure what ice cream tasted like in the year 2012. And that includes you, Mr. Argues-With-The-Teacher! For all we know, old timey ice cream tasted like sawdust!"

Dipper considered his chocolate popsicle, which he's barely looked at since the first taste. "I guess you're right." He gave it another wary lick.

It didn't taste like chocolate the way he remembered it, but it was close enough.

"Do you ever think," he asked, unable to meet his friend's eyes, "about all the stuff that used to exist but doesn't anymore? All the ideas and food and... people?"

Arin groaned. "Is that what this is about? My best friend of the past 2 years -- secretly one of those 'I was born in the wrong century' people?"

"No!" he shot back, before taking another lick of the popsicle. "I just think it's sad that stuff goes away and no one's there to remember it."

"Well, maybe no one remembers that stuff, but that doesn't mean it's forgotten."

Dipper looked up. "Huh?"

Arin scarfed down her remaining two popsicles, which had begun melting onto her hand. "People die and ideas change and the world moves on. It happens constantly! But those people influenced their friends and their family and their coworkers. Who in turn influenced other people. Those people might be dead, but they live forever in the words and actions of everyone who came after."

Dipper just stared at her, jaw dropped. "Where did that come from?" he managed to get out. "Five seconds ago you were gagging on frozen sugar! You're not allowed to be this insightful!"

"Sugar rushes always make me super thoughtful," Arin said, patting him on the back. "It's 'cause I'm a genius. I'm probably gonna crash hard later though. Also by the way your ice cream is totally melting."

"Ah, shoot." Dipper hurriedly tried to catch the melting ice cream with his tongue, and Arin giggled again.

"The point is," she said, "if you've always got your head stuck in a history textbook, you're gonna miss out on the present. If you're always thinking about the dead guy who invented ice cream, you won't be around to eat any with me."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," he said. He felt an itch on his nose, so he wiggled it. "Thanks, Arin. I feel better- why are you looking at me like that?"

Arin was indeed staring at him with a perplexed look on her face as if she was not the one who'd just swallowed a metric ton of ice cream. "Why do you do that?"

Dipper frowned. "Do what? AGH-"

He yelped as Arin whipped out her phone and snapped a photo of him, blinding him with the flash even though it was a bright, sunny day out. "What was that for?"

She didn't say anything, simply handed him her phone. It certainly was not the best photo ever taken of him. It was blurry, his hair was a mess, and his mouth was contorted in shock.

On the bridge of his nose was a dollop of chocolate ice cream.

"You do it every time we get ice cream," Arin said, taking her phone back. "I mean, you call me weird, but I'm not the one always itching my nose with an ice pop."

"Oh," Dipper said. He paused and looked at his fingers, which were all chocolate-y too now. "I didn't even notice I was doing it."

"Suuure, weirdo," Arin chuckled. She stood up, wobbling a bit as she did so, and steadied herself on the back of the bench. "Listen dude, this was fun but I think the sugar's starting to hit me. I'm gonna head back to the dorm before I collapse. Wanna hang out later?"

"Definitely!" Dipper replied. "You should get some rest! Try not to give psychological counseling to anyone on the way -- you're gonna burn out your brain!"

He waved at his friend as she staggered away, and watched her until she turned a corner around a building. Then he sighed, and wiped his nose with his finger.

"Hey Mabel," he whispered, looking at the chocolate he'd collected. "It’s me, Dipper.”

A passing jogger sent a pointed look at the young man who was talking to his finger, but Dipper ignored them.

“I seem to remember you saying something to me about living forever. You said that one day you’d be gone, and I’d have to find a way to carry on alone.” He thought about Arin’s words, and felt something swell in his chest. “But I guess you’re still alive after all.”

He sniffed, and looked up at the sun as it started to bathe the sky in the pinks and purples of evening. He saw people in flying cars, people rushing through pneumatic tubes, people high fiving on jetpack because it was a wonderful day to be out. And he thought about what Arin said; thought about all of the sicknesses he'd seen friends and family afflicted by that no one ever had to suffer from again. He thought about all the preters he saw walking freely and happily on the campus, without worrying that they'd be attacked.

"And you were right," he said. "The world is a better place."

Dipper licked the remaining chocolate off his fingers, and got up. As he headed back toward his dorm room, he wondered what other legacies his loved ones had left in him.

(AO3 link)

[iam93percentstardust]

AU-gust Day 31: College/Fashion Designer

Requested by @livingtheobsessedlife for a Stevetony AU! Would you like at that? We’re done! And on time too!

Also on ao3 here

~

“Okay but Steve, I really just need you to try this shirt on, it’ll take two seconds, I swear—”

“Last time you said that, it took half an hour,” Steve points out but he still takes the shirt that Tony is holding out to him. It’s something soft, a little slippery, but he likes the blue color and he knows it’ll look great on Tony’s Instagram, probably bring in even more business so that they can miss more dates and—

He sighs as he slips the shirt on over his head.

“Hey, none of that,” Tony says, coming over. He smooths the shirt down over Steve’s chest and Steve has to suppress a shiver. “What’s that sigh for? Why are you sad? Who do I have to kill?”

“No one, Tony. It’s not something you can fix,” he says, smiling fondly at him.

The problem is this isn’t the first date they’ve had to cancel for Tony’s business. It isn’t even one of the first five. They’ve been dating for only a month and Tony has had to cancel or postpone six out of their eight dates. Don’t get him wrong! He’s so proud of Tony for starting up his own line of clothes while he’s still in college and even prouder that he’s designing the clothes himself. When Tom Ford had come to him asking that he design a line, Tony had insisted on doing it himself and then told Steve privately later that a lot of celebrities with their own lines didn’t do the designing, they just took the credit. So the fact that on top of his engineering design, Tony is working on this has Steve just so proud of him.

He just wishes that their relationship wasn’t the thing that Tony had to sacrifice.

“Steve, seriously, what’s going on?” Tony asks and now he looks worried.

“Really, Tony, it’s nothing,” he tries to say but Tony has that stubborn set to his jaw now, the one that means he’s not going to let this go and since Tony Stark is probably the only person on the planet who could out-stubborn him, it looks like this is going to be a thing.

“Fine,” he says. “Tony, we have reservations in twenty minutes and we’re not going to make them. Again. I’m starting to wonder if you even care.”

Tony blinks at him. Once, twice, then, “Take the shirt off.”

“What?”

“Take it off!” Tony demands.

“Seriously, you’re being huffy about this?”

“If you want to make the reservations, then you need to get the shirt off. Come on, chop chop, time’s a-wasting!”

There’s something jerky about the way Tony is moving and Steve freezes, looking at him. “I don’t—” he starts to say and then tries again. “Tony, it’s not just tonight. It’s all the other times too. This keeps happening over and over again and it makes me think that—”

He stops before he can finish the sentence because Tony—Tony is crying. That’s what he’s trying hide as he moves around the room, grabbing up a watch, slipping his feet into his shoes.

“Tony, honey—”

“Can we just go?” Tony asks desperately. “We can go to your dinner and you can break up with me there—”

“Whoa!” Steve exclaims, holding up his hands. “Who said anything about breaking up?”

“You did! Don’t even lie!”

“I didn’t—”

“You said you were wondering if I care, don’t act like that’s anything other than a prelude to breaking up. Come on, Steve, don’t you think I’ve been broken up with enough times to know that?”

And all of a sudden, Steve thinks about Pepper, lovely, wonderful Pepper who hadn’t been able to handle Tony working all the time. “Oh,” he says softly, starting to get it.

“Tony,” he murmurs, moving forward. He grabs Tony’s shoulders. “Tony, stop!”

Tony goes as still as he can, which isn’t very. Steve can feel him practically vibrating with the need to keep moving like he thinks if he stops, he’ll drown. He runs his hands soothingly down Tony’s arms, down to his hands, which he grips loosely in his own. Tony closes his eyes, a distressed furrow between his brows that Steve wants to kiss away so he does. His boyfriend inhales shakily but relaxes a little further under his lips.

“I’m not breaking up with you,” he says quietly. “We’ve only been going out a couple weeks; of course there are some kinks to work out.”

Tony snorts and he smiles.

“Yeah, I know, I said kinks.” His smile fades and he leans forward, tipping his forehead against Tony’s. “I was just frustrated that it feels like your clothing is more important than me.”

“You never tell me no,” Tony replies. “So I think it’s okay when you think it’s not and when we miss our reservation, we just end up getting pizza and watching a movie so I thought that was just what we did. I didn’t think we were cancelling our dates, just amending them a little.”

Oh. “Oh,” he says aloud. “Tony, I’m sorry. I got so caught up in taking you out to nice places that I didn’t realize you might think something different.”

“I don’t need nice places.”

“No but you deserve them.”

Tony’s mouth twitches reluctantly. “I’m sorry too. I should’ve known you wouldn’t tell me no about the clothes.”

“They are nice,” Steve agrees.

“I’m just designing what I want you to wear.”

“I’d wear anything you put me in.”

“Even a paper sack.”

“…Maybe not a paper sack.”

Tony laughs; Steve thinks maybe they’re going to be okay. They can work through this, be better, do better. But for now, they have a reservation to ignore—though he knows Tony will make it up to him by taking him out later this week—and pizza to order. He nudges Tony’s nose with his and softly kisses him.

“Do you want pepperoni this week or veggie?”

Tony wrinkles his nose and they both say together, “Pepperoni, Steve, do you even know me?”

Tony beams up at him, smile as bright as the sun. “But we can get half-veggie for you,” he suggests.

Steve kisses him again.

[pascal-istheway]

Deep Water - Chapter 1

Read it here on ao3!

Fandom: Triple Frontier

Warnings: Some Violence - Implied Non-Con

Relationships: Francisco "Catfish" Morales/Reader, Santiago "Pope" Garcia/Reader

Characters: Francisco “Catfish” Morales, Santiago “Pope” Garcia, Triple Frontier Ensemble

Tags: Slow Burn, Smut, Fluff, Angst, We are basically torturing Frankie for this, I’m apologizing in advance

Word Count: 3130

MASTERLIST

Two Years Ago - Columbia

The last call anyone had heard from you was four days ago. You’d been in Columbia on a humanitarian mission with a local group, something about teaching today’s youth or whatever, Santiago hadn’t really listened to much if he’d been really honest. He just wanted to make sure his baby sister was safe and with people that could look out for her.

You had assured him on the call that you were fine, you’d brought the knife you were allowed to carry with you, but had to leave the gun he insisted he buy for you back in the states to which he explained how that defeated the purpose of owning the gun. You just rolled your eyes at him, knowing how overprotective your brother was. Santi was always on you for being safe, regardless if it was in Columbia or back home in your apartment in a somewhat sketchy neighborhood.

But as you bounced in the back of a windowless van, hands bound and eyes covered, no clue where you or your crew were being taken, you suddenly wished very much that you’d had that gun.

Five years ago - You

“Load up! Let’s go!” Santi smacked the side of the truck as he yelled out to the apartment for you, boards and cooler loaded up. “Come on! We’re wasting daylight here and the guys are already out there!” he waited a few more seconds before hollering your name again.

“I’m coming! Jesus, hold your fuckin horses, I was trying to find my hat…” you ran out to the truck, opening the old creaky door to his rusted ford and sliding in next to your brother on the bench seat. You casually toss your hat in the back seat before buckling your seatbelt. The beauty of living in California was all the access the best surfing the states had to offer. Your brother and his best friends from his unit were all meeting up for an early morning at the local spot and you decided to tag along, hoping to see the boys again.

You’d known some of these guys your whole life, thankful that they all got to serve together. Santiago would’ve been ok on his own, but he and Frankie had been close since they were kids. Knowing that they were out there in the shit together gave you the comfort that they were having their backs covered.

Santiago drives into the public parking lot, all of the guys already there except for one, Tom, who you had yet to meet. You hop out, saying your good mornings to most of them while keeping your eyes out for Frankie. You knew he wouldn’t miss an opportunity to be here but yet, you didn’t see him amongst the guys.

Not wanting to seem desperate, you just helped unload, carrying things to the spot on the beach for the guys to start getting their gear on and ready. The sun had barely started to come up, making the sky a brilliant color of orange and pink. The most beautiful view in California.

“Oh shit! I forgot my hat in the truck! I’ll be right back,” you run back to the truck, feet struggling in the sand.

When you reach the truck, you fling the door open and bend over, searching for your hat that’s fallen on the floor in the back seat.

“Careful, you don’t want to get stuck like that…” you hear him behind you, teasing you as you snatch your hat and spring back up.

“Frankie! You made it!” you squeal, throwing your arms around him. He pulls you in, arms snaking around your back as he tucks his nose into your hair.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” he says softly into your ear before pulling away, “last real surf of the year” he smiles, the corners of his smile not quite reaching his eyes.

There’s a sadness in his voice, one anyone else would miss if they didn’t know him. But you do know Frankie. You know him better than almost anyone. You know what his voice sounds like during all the highs and lows, what it sounds like when he cried after his mom died, what it sounds like when he told you he got accepted into pilots training, and what it sounded like when he was drunk and whispered he loved you at 3 am.

“What’s wrong?” you pull back, holding yourself at arm’s length from him.

His mouth opens, the words right at the edge of his lips, but then they close again before he shakes his head, “nothing… let’s just enjoy this. Ok?”

So you do… you surf and swim and enjoy the morning with the guys. The warmth of the sun caresses your skin, soaking into your bones to warm you from the ocean. There’s a moment when you’re out on the water, the waves reflecting like glass and you let yourself enjoy the way it casts its light off Frankie’s long hair, bringing out the specks of gold and grey in his messy sea-soaked hair.

You love this - being out here with all of them. Your brother is the only real family either of you have. Your parents died when you were younger and when you were old enough to take care of yourself, Santiago enlisted and gained a new family. Brothers in arms.

You try not to think about the worry in his voice from that morning, doubt creeping in as the day went on. This was a rare occasion that all the guys could get together like this and usually when they did, it was before a big mission out of the country. Your heart sinks, realizing what this could possibly mean. Santi wouldn’t have told you, knowing that he wouldn’t have wanted to ruin the day. But Frankie? He told you everything. What held him back from telling you something as important as this?

“Here, you look like you could use this,” Frankie dumps himself down beside you in the sand, handing you a cold beer. You glance up at him, grateful for the drink, and bring the cold bottle to your lips, taking a long pull before swallowing.

“Thanks, it’s perfect,” you smile, leaning back on one hand and bracing the bottle on your thigh.

“Did you have fun today?” Frankie asked, taking a drink from his own bottle.

“Yeah, it really was the perfect day. Perfect weather too. Got some great waves out there,” you looked out to the water crashing up on the shore and watched as the sun splattered a watercolor of incredible colors throughout the sky.

“I think Santi is setting up the bonfire if you’re planning on stickin’ around,” he nudged your shoulder with his own.

“Yeah of course… he was my ride anyways,” you take another sip, enjoying the familiar feeling the hops gave you on an empty stomach. Knowing where that leads though, you look at Frankie and tell him “we should probably get some food in us soon.”

“I had a feeling you’d be hungry,” he reached behind him into a small cooler and pulled out two sandwiches. Chicken for himself and peanut butter and jelly with a side of Doritos, just like you liked. “Made ‘em special, just for us,” he joked.

A smile crept over your lips as you grabbed the sandwich baggie, pushing your beer in the sand as you ripped the bags open. He watched in disgust as you opened your sandwich and plop the Doritos on the PB&J, closing it and taking a massive bite.

“Dmon’t knmock mit ummil yoo twy it” you say around your food, knowing damn well he didn’t understand a single thing you said.

“Sure thing sweetheart,” he nodded, brows furrowed with amusement as he took his own bite.

You guys laugh and talk around your food and drinks, the effects of everything making you warm and at peace. Frankie is one of those people that you feel so at home with, not that your brother isn’t one of those, but Santi isn’t someone that you’d call at 2 am to come and get you when you’ve had too much to drink. He would just scold you the whole way home while Frankie - well Frankie would let you rest your head in his lap and would rub your head the entire way home, soft fingers tucking your hair behind your ear as you drift off to sleep from the lull of the engine.

And the only reason you know this is because he’s done it on several occasions for you. In college, shit even in high school. He protected you from Santiago when he found out you had your first boyfriend, although he did give you an interrogation of his own privately afterward. He was there for you through your first heartbreak. He taught you how to shoot your first gun… and your second.

When he turned to you, the haze of the drunkenness between the two of you, and blurted out that they were leaving again, despite being under the impression that they wouldn’t ever have to go again being so close to the end of their contracts, you were of course heartbroken. This was someone that was so much more to you than your brother’s best friend. He had become such a pertinent part of your life. You hadn’t mentally prepared yourself for that news.

You looked back over your shoulder at Santiago, Will, Ben, and Tom, laughing and talking around the fire while you and Frankie sat off to the side. The casualness between them all as they joked between each other, not fearing one last deployment. Your heart squeezed for them. They had each other, bound together by something so strong, something you’d never fully understand.

“Take a walk with me?” his voice pulled you from your thoughts and you see Frankie next to you, hand stretched down to help you up.

“Sure,” you take it, dusting the sand off yourself and grabbing another beer for the walk.

You walk until you can barely see the fire in the distance, the night becoming so dark all you can see is each other at your sides under the blanket of stars.

He whispers your name, taking your hand and pulling you to a stop, “I can’t leave this time without saying anything… I have to…” his words get caught in his throat.

You know what he wants to say, the words he needs to say because you’ve been feeling them for as long as you can remember, “Frankie…” his name comes out as a whisper.

You’re inches from each other, breath mingling together between you as he leans in, his eyes searching for the permission that he didn’t need to ask for. He already owned you, heart and soul, he just didn’t know it yet. This man would always own you, no matter what he did, no matter where he went.

You close the space, your lips gently brushing against his. Softly at first, but as his hands come up to frame your face, the passion that ignites behind him explodes. His mouth parts, yours following his lead as you allow him to explore your mouth. God this man knows how to kiss. It’s incredible, unlike anything you could’ve ever dreamt. Your hands move to his neck, pulling him in closer as his tangle in your hair.

“God, you’re so perfect…” he whispers against your lips. His mouth moves down your jaw, kissing and nipping its way down your throat. Your fingers find their way in his hair, playing with the soft curls at the base of his neck. A moan escapes your lips as his teeth graze your skin softly.

“Wait,” he pulls back, attempting to catch his breath, “I want to do this right. Not on the beach like some cheap date,” he half laughs, looking down at his tented pants and groaning, clearly regretting stopping.

“We don’t have to stop…” you suggest.

“No, I don’t want it to be like this for our first…” he pauses, “I want it to be,” his cheeks almost, blush? “I want it to be right… to be perfect.”

The sincerity in his voice carries to his eyes and you can tell he means it. He wants to love you right, the way you deserve. Not in the dirt or in the sand, but in a soft bed with fresh sheets and plush pillows. He wants to be able to wrap you in blankets after and hold you until the morning sun comes through the curtains and shines down on your freshly fucked skin. He wants to wake up next to you and see your hair splayed against his pillows.

The thought makes you smile, and you nod, knowing this is the start of something absolutely incredible. Something you never thought possible…

Columbia - Frankie

“God I fucking hate the goddamn jungle,” Benny slapped a mosquito on his neck, wiping away the blood on his hand on his shirt, “Fuckin’ gross.”

“Would you shut the fuck up Benny and keep your eye on your spot?” Ironhead said over his com, “this is supposed to be recon, not a fuckin’ vacation.”

Pope rolled his eyes at them, anxious to get eyes on Lorea, but more importantly, anxious to get eyes on you. He had told the guys exactly what they needed them to know, which was almost nothing about why they were actually in Colombia. Specifically leaving out the very important detail that you were the reason why he had gathered up the troops, paid them each $17,000 out of his own personal checking account, and practically begged them to come down under false pretenses of the Agency needing them for a recce mission on Lorea.

He didn’t even need to beg them, they all had packed their bags willingly and flown over the border into Columbia to gather intel on Lorea. Pope had shown them around the area and talked up a big game about how the narcos were causing all these problems and Lorea needed to be dealt with.

Technically, the recon wasn’t a complete lie. He had been down here for over three years, running himself in circles around the cops and narcos on Lorea’s payroll trying to find a bullshit way to get to him. He’d tried everything and at the end of the day, everything isn’t enough when it comes to this guy. He had his hand in every single nook of this god-forsaken country.

He had a girl on the inside, someone who ran money for Lorea and had offered to give up the location in exchange for her brother’s safe return from jail. Admittedly, she may not have given him this information if he had not been sleeping with Pope, but no one could blame her. He’d had it with this fucking country and at this point, there were no more rules to break. Sleeping with an informant was the least of his worries, especially now that he knew that you were somewhere in the house he was staking out.

Tom turned to Pope, “so you sleeping with her?” He took a piece of gum and shoved it in his mouth, offering one to Pope.

Santiago turned to him and scoffed, “what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he grabbed the gum and unwrapped it, shoving it in his mouth, “ew man, what the fuck is this shit?”

Tom laughed, “Cola flavored.”

“You owe me a piece of Hubba Bubba dude,” he said, spitting the gum out along with a huge wad of spit. He took his canteen and swished his mouth out as Tom laughed at him.

Back in the day on missions, they had this unspoken rule, someone always has to bring gum. It was like a good luck charm. And Tom, being the leader, always brought the flavor he wanted, never the one that everyone else liked. Fucking asshole. You don’t fuck with tradition…

“I’m at the gate,” Benny’s voice cuts through their ears.

“How’s it looking over there,” Pope responds, holding his binoculars up to take a look from his vantage point.

“Well, looks like things were done about 82% right… They got all the toys out here but these cameras aren’t even aimed at the weakest breach point…” Benny reports.

“Your girlfriend making her normal money drop?” Tom asks

Santiago glares at him, “she ain’t my girlfriend.”

“Informant, whatever…”

“Yeah, she said she’s prepared to record the inside of the house. We need proof of Lorea and the money,” Pope sighs.

Frankie’s voice cuts in, “Hey, uh Pope, I got kids over here. Does he have kids living in here with him? Because that is not what I signed up for.”

“The family is not the problem fish, they are the answer,” Pope says. “Lorea’s very devout… sends his entire crew with his family every Sunday morning. Leaves him, and three guards home alone… every. Sunday.”

Miller pipes up, “why would he do that?”

“Well, he’s worried about someone taking his kids. That and he never leaves his money. Also I don’t think he believes anyone actually has the balls to come out here in the middle of the fuckin’ jungle and rob him,” to this, everyone laughs.

“Look alive guys, we got incoming,” Miller said over the comlink as a van approached.

“Shit Pope, you didn’t tell me your girlfriend was beautiful,” Benny says over the com.

“I fuckin’ knew it,” Tom turns to Pope and shakes his head.

“Fuck off.”

They watch her pull through the front gate, van bouncing through the mud and muck. Gunshots echo out in the distance and Ironhead comes over the com, “I got an execution going down over here guys.”

“Courtyard?” Pope asked.

“Yep… looks like mostly men and two women judging on the builds, can’t see any faces though,” Ironhead responds.

“Fuck…” Pope whispers, “uh, yeah that’s his spot,” his voice tightened.

Screams echoed throughout the coms from Ironhead’s mic, “shit guys, he’s taking some girl into the house… I -” his voice cuts out, clearly unable to watch anymore.

The screams could be heard even without the coms, Pope knowing exactly who it belonged to. He’d heard every sound you could make, screams, crying, laughter. He was your brother and helped raise you, he may have needed confirmation you were in there but in his gut, he already knew.

No one else would be able to see the way his heart rate had quickened, hoping that you weren’t in that group of people, now lying dead on the court. As the last gunshots echoed out throughout the jungle, and your screaming stopped, Pope did something he hadn’t done in a very long time… he prayed.

[fallen-gravity]

Fightin’ Back Chapter 6

Chapter Summary:  Seeing Stan's memory erased is the only time any of us have ever seen Ford cry.

Chapter Notes: and this chapter makes six! I would like to give a personal thank you to every one of my readers who has stuck with me through this story from the very chapter, and all of my friends on discord for encouraging me to keep writing in times where I thought I was going to give up. 

This story marks the first multi-chapter fic I've already sought through to the very end, and it makes me so, so happy that all of you are here to experience it with me. Thank you once again for taking this journey to me, and we're wrapping up this arc with Weirdmageddon 3.

The soft, desperate sound of choked sobs is unmistakable as it slices through the quiet night air like a knife. Dipper’s eyes pop open at the sound, and he sits up in his sleeping bag in the living room. He hadn’t been crying in his sleep, had he? He brings a tentative hand to pat as his cheeks, but no, they’re perfectly dry.

But…if that hadn’t been him, then…

He turns his glance towards Mabel’s sleeping bag beside his. She sure looks like she’s asleep, but she’s got her back turned towards him, and he knows for a fact that’s usually a sign that she’s hiding something.

“Mabel?” he whispers loudly. “Are you okay?”

She jumps, but when she shifts to face him she doesn’t look like she’d been crying either. “That’s not you?” She squints towards him as she sits up. “I’ve been sitting here for like, five minutes trying to figure out how to wake you up without scaring you”

“But…” Dipper shakes his head. “What else could it be?”

Mabel scratches at her head. “Maybe the unicorn barrier broke and the shack itself is crying?”

Dipper shakes his head. “Couldn’t be. Grunkle Ford said that if everything reset after Weirdmageddon then the unicorn barrier should’ve come back too”

“Not everything” she murmurs into her sleeping bag, and Dipper sighs as he turns his glance towards Stan’s recliner.

Which is…empty.

When it hadn’t been when they fell asleep.

Dipper’s up to his feet before he knows it, and between one blink and the next Mabel is on her feet too. “Where do you think he could’ve gone? Do you know how dangerous it is for Stan to be wandering around town like this? At this time of night?”

He doesn’t realize he’s pacing back and forth until he feels Mabel’s hand gently gripping at his shoulder. “Woah, take it easy there, bro-bro. I’m sure we’re just overthinking things. I mean, he couldn’t have gone that far in two hours, right?”

“Mabel! You’re not helping!” he starts pacing back and forth again. “He could be anywhere! He could walk right into the lake and drown, or into the manotaur cave, or-”

“In the kitchen?”

“What?”

Mabel points towards the kitchen lights that’ve been flicked on. Dipper takes her hand in his own and runs towards the kitchen before she has time to protest. Stan’s nowhere in sight, but Ford is sitting at the table with his head buried in his arms. At first glance, Dipper would think he must’ve fallen asleep writing additions in his journal again, but at a second, closer look, he can see that his shoulders are trembling. If he really listens, he can hear the hitched breaths barely escaping him.

Dipper takes a cautious step towards him. “Grunkle Ford?”

Ford bolts upright, messily scrubbing at his eyes. “Dipper?”

“And Mabel” Mabel waves hello, and takes a seat at the table beside Ford. “Is everything okay, Grunkle Ford?”  She places a gentle hand on his arm, and a broken sigh escapes him as he reaches a hand to hers and squeezes it gently. He squeezes his eyes shut, like he’s milliseconds away from breaking down again.

“I’ve tried everything,” he swallows. “I’ve tried reverse engineering the memory gun, I’ve tried showing him pages from our old high school yearbook, I’ve even tried…” he exhales sharply. “I’ve even tried bringing him downstairs to see if…coming into contact with any of the portal remains would be enough to trigger a tactile memory, but nothing’s working.” He buries his face back into his arms, muttering an indecipherable self-deprecating comment into the sleeve of his sweater.

Dipper takes a seat on the other side of Ford, and shares a melancholy glance with Mabel. She nods, and he places a gentle hand on Ford’s shoulder.  He doesn’t flinch, but he doesn’t reciprocate the gesture either. “Hey, Grunkle Ford? What if Mabel and I took over for a little bit?”

“We ate a ton of Grunkle Stan’s apocalypse meat before we came to rescue you from the Fearamid, and we’ve been asleep for the past two hours. Now, I may not have been turned into a gold statue myself, but it didn’t look to me like you were getting any sleep when you were petrified in place for like, three days”

A soft chuckle escapes Ford as he sits up and wipes at his eyes with his wrist. “Thank you, but…” he shakes his head. “It wouldn’t be fair of me to ask for your help” He twines his hands together. “You’ve already been through enough as it is because of me”

“Nonsense,” Mabel insists, standing to tug Ford to his feet. He complies, and she begins dragging him towards Stan’s bedroom. A quick glance over her shoulder at Dipper, and he’s standing to his feet to take Ford’s unoccupied hand in his own. “You take the night off. Dipper and I can take over and sleep in shifts until you’re rested enough to take over for us”

“Are you sure?” Ford frowns as he steps through the doorway of Stan’s bedroom. “I’d hate to burden you with such an emotionally tolling responsibility”

Mabel pulls her hand away from Ford’s to pull back the blankets on the bed and pats at the pillow. Ford’s lips twitch downward like he doesn’t think it’s a good idea, but his exhausted body moves on autopilot and makes that decision for him. He practically flops over on the bed, and Mabel smiles as she covers him back up with the blanket.

“You can never be a burden to us, Grunkle Ford” Mabel whispers, and leans to plant a soft kiss on his forehead. “Besides! Dipper and I are used to this. We’ve been taking care of Grunkle Stan and keeping him out of danger practically all summer.” She delicately reaches to remove his glasses for him, and places them on Stan’s nightstand. She places a gentle hand on Ford’s shoulder, and turns towards Dipper.

“You think you can take the first shift with Stan? Something tells me he won’t fall asleep unless someone stays in here with him.”

Dipper’s glance turns to Ford. His eyes are still red and puffy from crying, and there’s a miserable expression plastered to his face. His chest is rising and falling in a scattered pattern, like one poorly-phrased sentence is all it’ll take to push him over the edge again.

“Sure,” Dipper replies, placing a gentle hand beside Mabel’s on Ford’s shoulder. “I’ll yell if anything goes wrong, okay? Where is he?”

“In my study room” Ford’s reply is muffled by his pillow. “I was going to bring him in here, but...” he squishes his face even further into the pillow. “I just didn’t have the heart to step foot in here alone”

Oh.

Dipper sighs. “I get it. I don’t think I would’ve had the heart to bring him in here either,” he takes a knee so he can make better eye contact with Ford. “But honestly, from me and Mabel both, thank you so much for what you’ve already done for him. I think he appreciates it a lot”

The laugh that escapes Ford’s lips is cold and bitter. “Thank you,” he echoes. “And here I thought those words couldn’t possibly hurt me any more than they already have”

Dipper’s sure Ford probably hadn’t meant to say that loud enough for him to hear, so instead of responding Dipper leans forward and throws his arms around Ford in a hug. Ford doesn’t reciprocate, but he doesn’t quite pull away from the gesture either. “I’ll come back to see how you’re doing in a few hours if you’re still awake, okay?” he whispers as he gives Ford an affectionate squeeze before he stands to his feet. Without waiting for a response he knows isn’t coming, Dipper turns heel and walks out the door.

Stan’s sitting up straight with his hands folded neatly together when Dipper steps into the room. “Hey!” he flashes a grin, but it quickly falls when he struggles to come up with a name. “…Where’d the tall guy go? Y’know, the guy who looks like he hasn’t slept in years?”

Dipper can’t help the laugh that escapes him. It’s reassuring that his sense of humor is just as harsh as it’s always been, that’s for sure. “Just fell asleep, if you’re willing to believe” he steps forward and takes a seat beside Stan on the couch. “He thought it’d be a good idea if someone came in and checked in on you, though”

“Oh.” Stan’s lip is a tight line, like he knows Dipper isn’t telling him the complete truth. “I dunno. Think I’m starting to get a headache from all these questions. Was gettin’ close to playing along and pretending I knew what he was talking about before he suddenly stood up and walked out of the room without a word about where he was going”

“I see…” Dipper’s voice trails off awkwardly, and he shakes his head. “Okay, but what about…physically? Is there anything I can help you with in that department?”

“Oof,” Stan practically collapses back against the couch, like just asking was enough to make every muscle in his body ache at once. “Was starting to wonder when someone would ask. S’kinda awkward to ask for a cup of water when you’re surrounded by people who start sobbing every time you make eye contact with them, am I right?” He gently nudges Dipper with his elbow, but his expression falls when Dipper does not start laughing with him.

“Right, I can imagine,” Dipper flashes him a fake smile to spare Stan’s feelings, and stands to his feet. “Anything else, while I’m already out of the room?”

“Medicine, if you’ve got any” Stan groans. “I’ve had a killer headache for the past hour. Feels like I’ve been shot to the head” he dramatically brings his wrist to his forehead, and Dipper tries his hardest to choke down the sob that builds in his throat at his choice of phrasing. Turns out it didn’t matter either way, because when he notices the horrible burn marks all over his wrist and hand the sound escapes him anyway.

“Oh my gosh, Stan, your wrist!” Dipper cries, collapsing to his knees at the sight. He reaches for Stan’s wrist, pauses for a moment, but decides it’d probably be better to leave them alone. “No wonder you have a headache! Anyone else would’ve passed out from that kind of burn ten minutes ago!”

“My wrist?” Stan stares at him blankly for a moment, before pulling his wrist from his forehead to look at it. “Huh,” he says nonchalantly. “Guess I was too busy being interrogated by the guy in the red turtleneck to notice”

Dipper stands to leave, and pauses in the doorway. “I’ll be right back, okay? Don’t move”

Stan huffs. “I don’t have that many options as far as places to go, kid”

“Right, right…” Dipper murmurs, and pats the doorframe as he rounds the corner. As he walks towards the kitchen, he nearly collides with Mabel slinking her way out of Stan’s bedroom.

“How is he?” she asks, folding her hands together.

Dipper scrubs a hand down his face. “Just as bad as Grunkle Ford said. How’s Grunkle Ford doing? I thought he didn’t want to be alone”

“Oh, he doesn’t! I just wanted to get him an extra blanket and Waddles to keep him extra company”

Dipper smirks. “I don’t know how comfortable he’d be with a pig crawling into bed with him”

Mabel gasps. “Waddles is a gentleman! Don’t knock cuddling him to sleep ‘til you try it. Besides, if Waddles already loves Stan, I’m sure it’s only inevitable that he’ll love Ford, too!”

“Yeah, well good luck convincing Ford of that”

“Will do!” she grins, and bounces off in the opposite direction.

Dipper rolls his eyes affectionately, and makes his way towards the bathroom to grab the burn cream and ace bandages. Dipper knew that Bill’s hand always became engulfed with blue flames each time he shook hands with somebody to make a deal, but he never knew those flames could ever cause any real harm to those who shook his hand. Even when he shook Bill’s hand the morning of Mabel’s puppet show, the flames to him felt ice cold, as if he were coming into contact with a ghost.

Though, Dipper recalls with a shudder, that very well could’ve just as easily been the feeling of his own soul being ripped from his body.

He shakes that thought off by slamming the medicine cupboard shut. No, that’s not important right now. He’s got plenty of time to have an existential crisis about that later. He pockets the medicine and bandages and slams the bathroom door shut on his way out for extra measures.

“Took you long enough,” Stan smirks when he comes back into the room. “Was starting to think that you fell asleep on me too”

Dipper hums in acknowledgement, and takes a knee again. He pops open the cover of the burn cream, and wordlessly offers out his hand to Stan. Stan frowns, but complies and places his hand on top of Dipper’s. For a few moments the two of them sit in silence as Dipper covers the worst of Stan’s burn in cream, until Stan suddenly clears his throat.

“Hey…” he pauses for a brief moment. “…Dipper, thanks for uh, helping me out. Don’t mean to come across as aggressive. I make jokes when I’m uncomfortable.”

Dipper’s about to brush the comment off with a quick “It’s fine, I get it,”, but his heart nearly stops in his chest when he fully processes what Stan just said.

“What did you just call me?” he asks, and can’t seem to keep the shake out of his voice.

“Dipper?” Stan shrugs, and taps at his own forehead. “Y’got a mark on your forehead that looks like the big dipper, I figured that’s an easier nickname to remember then just calling you kid”

“…Oh” Dipper’s half-smile slips off his face, and Stan’s expression falls as well.

“What, do kids at school bully you with that nickname? There something else you want me to call you instead?”

“No!” Dipper nearly shouts, and his cheeks tint pink as he clears his throat to correct himself. “I mean no, Dipper’s fine”.  He clicks the container of the burn cream shut, and places it down on the ground beside him as he begins wrapping Stan’s wrist with the bandage. “Kids at school tend to call me everything but Dipper. I’m just lucky my sister is less afraid of getting detention for punching a kid in the face then I am”

“Hah!” Stan barks, slapping the armrest of the couch with his uninjured hand. “That reminds me of a story from when I was a kid. Y’see-” he starts, but as soon as he shifts his position to get more comfortable he’s overcome with a sudden violent coughing fit. He curls in on himself, and Dipper doesn’t miss the way he’s tightly gripping at his chest.

…What was that advice Stan had given him about rib injuries earlier this summer? Dipper scratches at his head, looking around the room for some sort of reminder, and his eyes fall on a couch cushion that’s been kicked to the ground.

That’s right.

“Here,” Dipper hands him the cushion. “Someone told me that holding these to your chest while you cough will make it hurt less,” he says, and gestures with a thumb towards the kitchen. “I’ll go see if the fridge is still working so I can bring you an ice pack”

Stan raises an eyebrow, but takes the cushion from Dipper and places it against his chest. “What, you some kind of doctor in training or somethin’?”

“No,” Dipper shrugs as he backs out of the door. “Just learned from a pretty great caretaker, is all”

As Dipper rounds the corner towards the kitchen, he notices the door to Stan’s bedroom is cracked open. He peeks his head inside, and sure enough, Waddles is curled up on the bed, fast asleep underneath Ford’s arm. Mabel is sitting in a chair that she pulled up beside them, her eyes interchangeably fluttering open and closed.

He knocks lightly on the doorframe so as not to wake Ford. “Pssst, Mabel!”

She jumps, rubbing at her eyes. “Dipper? Is it time to swap shifts already?”

“Not yet,” he shakes his head. “But I need to talk to you.”

“Oh,” she hops off of her chair, and closes the door gently behind her as she follows Dipper into the hallway. “Okay, but make it quick before Waddles senses I’m missing and wakes Grunkle Ford”  

“That’s just the thing,” Dipper whispers. “It’s about Grunkle Stan”

“What?” she whisper-shouts. “What happened to him? Is he okay?”

Dipper raises his hands in the air defensively. “Nothing! Nothing happened to him, he’s fine” he rubs at the back of his neck. “Better then fine, actually.  I don’t want to jump to any conclusions, but I think he’s starting to get his memory back”

Mabel’s eyes go huge. “Really?” she nearly shouts, before slamming her hand over her mouth. She grabs Dipper’s hand and drags him into the kitchen. “Really?” she asks again, quieter this time. “That’s great! What makes you say that?”

“Well I can’t say for sure,” Dipper opens the freezer door and feels around for a bag of frozen peas. “But…he just called me Dipper” he tosses a half-empty bag back and forth in his hands to judge its temperature. “And I think he was going to tell me a story about Grunkle Ford just before I left the room”

“That’s great!” Mabel grins. “How’d you get it out of him? I thought Grunkle Ford said he’d tried everything!”

“He did,” Dipper takes a seat at the table. “That’s why I don’t want to get my hopes up. All I did was just…let him talk” he sighs. “I want to be just as excited about this as you, but…I don’t want it to turn out to just be one big coincidence”

Mabel takes a seat at the table beside him. “There must be something we’re missing. What did Grunkle Ford say he already tried?”

“He showed him every page of their high school yearbook, Mabel, I’m not sure we can get any more direct then that”

“Hmmm…” Mabel taps at her chin, taking a glance around the room as if the answer’s going to be right in the room with them. A minute passes before she stops, and turns to Dipper in the arm. “That’s it! Dipper, I’ve figured it out!”

“You have?”

“Yeah!” She beams. “Dipper, don’t you see? The reason nothing worked with Grunkle Ford is because it was too much! Reading him an entire yearbook? Bringing him downstairs to the lab and rambling on about an interdimensional portal? It’s no wonder Stan hasn’t been able to pay attention! He needs to figure these things out one at a time, not all at once!”

Dipper gasps. “That’s why he kept complaining about having a headache! He was processing too much information in one go! Mabel, you’re a genius!”

“Pssh,” Mabel waves a hand in the air. “I know”

Dipper hops down from the chair and walks to open the pantry door. He pushes aside what’s left of the canned meat and the boxes of pasta, and grins when he finds what he’s looking for. “Aha!” he beams, pulling an unopened bag of toffee peanuts and a can of Pitt Cola out of the pantry. “Thanks Mabel!” he shouts, and grabs the bag of frozen peas off of the table as he sprints back to Ford’s study room.

~~

“Hey,” Dipper says as he pushes his way back into Ford’s study room. “Sorry that took so long, I was trying to multitask and get you some food, but this is all we could find”. Dipper drops the bag of peas onto the couch carelessly, and offers the bag of toffee peanuts and the can of soda directly to Stan.

Stan’s eyes go wide at the sight, and he snatches the bag out of Dipper’s hand, ravenously tearing it open. “You kiddin’?” he shovels a handful of toffee peanuts into his mouth. “I’d kill for these things. Haven’t had ‘em since…” he pauses, the bag dropping carelessly to his lap. He scratches at his head, his face scrunching up in a blend of concentration and confusion, before he sits back against the backrest of the couch. “…Since I was a kid, at least”

“Yeah?” Dipper sits on the couch beside Stan, handing him his makeshift ice pack. “What was that like?”

Stan snorts. “What, the last time I had toffee peanuts? Surprised I remember them at all, since Pa always said no when I asked for ‘em. How am I supposed to remember how I felt when I always had to sneak my allowance out of the house to buy ‘em at all?”

It’s working.

Dipper laughs, shaking his head. “I meant your childhood, but if you want to go into the minute details, then be my guest” He shifts in his seat to turn towards Stan. “What about the story you were about to tell me before I left the room?”

Stan grins, and he shifts in his chair too, careful to keep his ice pack in its place. “Well, I took a lotta boxing classes as a kid, y’see? Pa thought it would be good if I learned to defend myself, ‘cause he was sick of seein’ me come home with black eye after black eye. But what Pa doesn’t know is that the reason I was comin’ home with them at all is because I was already defending myself plenty.” He puffs out his chest as best he can. “All those classes were doing was teaching me how to throw even harder punches at those bullies. But wouldn’t ya know it? I didn’t tell a soul at school I was takin’ those classes at all. So one day when I was about eleven years old, Crampelter and his gang were harassing my brother, so I-”

The cocky grin on Stan’s face falls off of his face and shatters to the ground in thousands of broken pieces. His face goes through about a dozen different expressions in a number of seconds, and his eyes are darting around the room like he’s looking desperately for something that isn’t there.

“My-my brother, he-” Stan stutters, tightly gripping at the cushions of the couch. “Years later, he sent me this…this postcard, and I-” he holds his hands out in front of him like he’s holding the ghost of it in his hands, and violently shakes his head. He turns his gaze towards Dipper again, and his chest is rising and falling rapidly like he’s in the midst of a panic attack. He holds out his hands, and they’re trembling.  “Wh-what’s happening to me?”

“Woah, woah, Stan, you’re okay! Everything’s okay” Dipper grips his shaking hands. “Just…keep going. Keep telling me about your brother”

Stan sighs. “He’s more than just my brother, kid. He’s my twin brother. He sent me this postcard telling me to get to his place as urgently as possible, but then there was this big fight, and…” his voice drifts off. “It’s all my fault,” he whispers urgently, dropping his head in his hands.

Dipper frowns, unsure what to do. He knows he can’t just wake up Ford and bring him in the room, because that’s just going to cause Stan to panic even more. He’ll think he’s dreaming, or that Ford is some kind of guilt-induced hallucination.  The most he can do is get Stan to keep talking, because if he keeps talking and keeps remembering it’s only inevitable that he’ll remember Ford is okay too.

Dipper scooches closer to Stan on the couch, and gently places a hand on Stan’s leg, wordlessly encouraging him to continue. Stan flinches at the gentle gesture, but messily scrubs at his face with his wrist as he clears his throat. “He got sucked into this…portal…thingy. I tried for hours to turn it back on, but nothing budged.” He shakes his head. “So I had to resort to the only option I had left. He’s a scientist, y’see? And he kept all his research in a series of journals. I figured he had to have the blue prints for the portal somewhere in those things.  So I searched, and I searched, and I put the thing back together with what I had, but…” he trails off. “I haven’t seen him since”

“Well…” Dipper starts, trying to encourage him to keep remembering. “What’ve you been doing since? You can’t just be spending every day trying to get it to work, right?”

Stan raises an eyebrow. “Whaddya take me for, some kind of hermit? I still gotta earn money to feed myself somehow, and if my time living in…” he pauses. “Uh, acting…college. Yeah. If I’ve learned anything from acting school, it’s how to con suckers out of their money. So I turned my brother’s house into a tourist trap to scam the suckers who live here into paying my bills for me.”

He shakes his head, and a warm smile overtakes his face. “It was gettin’ real monotonous, lemme tell ‘ya. Then wouldn’t you know it? Just as I was starting to give up hope, I get a phone call from a hospital in California telling me to get down there as soon as I could. Figured I had nothing left to lose, so I closed down shop for a few days and made the eight hour drive to California myself.”

Stan’s tearing up again. “And wouldn’t you know it? My niece-in law had twins. A boy and a girl” he nudges Dipper. “If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say they’re about your age, kid. Wonder if you’d get along with them. Now, they named the boy Mason, but they didn’t call him that when they were talking to family. They wanted to distinguish him from his sister, y’see, and he had a real funny looking birthmark on his forehead, so they called him-”

And all at once, he’s going through the same motions he had when he’d first mentioned Ford’s name. His expression is changing, and twisting, and his eyes are darting around the room until they land on Dipper. He opens his mouth to say something, closes it, and opens it again. He sits there for what feels like minutes, looking like a fish out water.

But then the fog clears from Stan’s eyes, and Dipper is suddenly crushed in such a tight hug that he can’t breathe.

“Dipper!” Stan shouts. “You crazy, stubborn maniac, you’re okay!” He barks loudly in laughter, and squeezes Dipper even tighter. “I can’t believe it! I’d thought I lost you for good! There was blue fire everywhere, and then a flash of bright white, and-”

He jumps to his feet, knocking the toffee peanuts and the ice pack for his chest to the floor. “Mabel!!  Mabel was there, in-in this forest clearing, asking if I was okay, and-” he freezes. He turns back towards Dipper, and takes a knee. “and Ford! Where’s Ford?”

Dipper laughs. “Fast asleep, if you’re willing to believe,” he says, and before Stan can stand to his feet or do anything else spontaneous, he throws his arms around Stan’s neck, clinging to him tightly.

“Heh,” Stan laughs, and brings his arms around Dipper to return the hug. “I missed you too, kiddo,” he whispers, and pulls away to ruffle up Dipper’s hair. “Feels good to know you’ve been taking care while I was gone”

Dipper doesn’t respond to that, just chuckles wetly before throwing his arms around Stan once more.

[kafka-ish]

stanley’s sister has got it going on | r.t.

richie’s got a crush and he’s got it bad. the only thing that’s keeping him from the girl he’s been chasing is his best friend—her brother.

word count: 4,665

warnings/included: nsfw (not explicit), fluff, swearing, fem!reader

a/n: as i was rereading this i realized that this is the dirtiest thing i’ve ever written??? (so far). in comparison to other works it’s probably vv vanilla so pls bear with me

-

In the defense of Richie Tozier, it wasn’t his fault he ended up catching feelings for Stanley Uris’s little sister. There were a lot of things he couldn’t control. Like when his mouth opened and out came a poorly done impression of his chemistry teacher. (Which just so happened to have been done as Mr. Ford was standing behind the boy). 

Richie may as well just start a list of things he can’t help, marking y/n Uris down as number thirty-three. 

“Hey, Richie!” Well, well, well, if it wasn’t the person Richie had been most desperately trying to avoid. “Are you going to Stan’s tonight?” y/n asked. She was standing outside of his car door while he was in the driver’s seat, flicking through the radio stations, trying to find a good song for the ride home. 

Upon hearing the voice, Richie stopped fidgeting with the knob. It was honestly hopeless trying to find a good song at this point. None of the good stuff comes on until later. He turned his head to meet eyes with the accompanying voice from outside his car.

Bad idea. 

Of course, y/n chose to wear a tank top and the shortest skirt possible that day. Hell, any day he’d find his thoughts lost in her. Whether she was wearing a bikini at the quarry or in an oversized t-shirt and checkered pajama pants. 

“Earth to Richie?” y/n laughed. She waved her hand in front of his face, trying to capture his attention. Little did she know, that wasn’t necessary. 

“Actually, I was thinking about being a no-show today. I’ve been neglecting my training.” 

“Oh! You train? Which gym?” She was grinning wide and her gaze burned a hole through his heart. 

“The arcade. I gotta keep my skills fresh if I ever wanna keep that high score.” y/n rolled her eyes, but his comment still made her laugh. 

“Well, can you take me home? Once you drop me off I promise you can have all the time in the world to work on your skills.” Emphasis on ‘skills’. 

“Promise, eh?” Richie repeated, giving the girl a hard time. “Did Stan forget how to drive?” 

“No…” The ‘o’ part was drawn out. “He has his bird watching club today and I don’t feel like sitting in the sun for an hour while I wait for him.” 

Richie smiled to himself, thinking for a moment. On one hand, he shouldn’t be alone with the sister of one of his best friends’, as he had different intentions. On the other hand, he couldn’t just leave his best friend’s sister hanging like that. In hindsight, he had come to the conclusion that there was a possibility of Stan getting mad at him either way. 

Taking Stan’s sister home it was. 

“What are you waiting for, y/n/n, get in.” Richie finally made his decision. 

y/n cheered happily, thanking him, as she rounded his car and opened the door to the passenger’s seat. 

“You have no idea how happy this makes me!” y/n smiled, her expression reaching ear to ear. 

“Oh yeah. I bet you’re over the moon about getting a ride from your brother’s best friend in some beat up chevy.” Richie tried his best to distance himself. He really did. But he couldn’t help but notice y/n’s figure in the tight-fitting clothes, especially when she sat in such a close proximity to him. 

“I don’t think you get it, Tozier.” y/n hummed as she started turning the knob on the dash, finally settling on some rock station. She lowered the volume so they could still talk without yelling over the atmosphere. “We never hang out.” 

“We’re hangin’ out right now,” Richie argued, daring to look away from the road for one millisecond just so he could steal a glance at her. 

“Yeah, but… You hang out with Bill, Eddie, and Stan, and stuff.” She sounded disappointed. 

“I guess it’s different with them.” Richie shrugged. It was different with them. Bill, Eddie, Stan, Ben, and Beverly even, had their group together. They had the same classes together. They faced off a killer clown together. 

“I get that you guys have your own friend group and stuff.” y/n said quickly, not wanting to sound lonely or weird from her previous statement. “But we’re friends. Aren’t we?” She said this with an unsureness in her voice that Richie didn’t know how to reply to. 

I should’ve just left her at school. What’s so bad about waiting in the sun while Stan’s off watching some stupid birds? I guess it is kind of hot out. But a little heat won’t hurt anyone, right? Besides, she’s wearing a tank top. 

Richie peered over at y/n who was looking out the window as her head leaned against it. 

A white, lacy tank top that makes her skin look even more—

“Richie?” Concern washed over the girl’s eyes. Her attention turned to him instead of the scenery that passed by them. 

Richie whipped his head away from her body and stared blankly at the road. It was almost as if he were a ghost. Except he actually had color in his face. 

“What is it, y/n/n?” Richie’s eyes were still on the road. 

“I asked if we were friends.” The girl giggled, not being able to take anything seriously for longer than five minutes. “But that’s a stupid question.” She looked down and began to pick at her nails. 

“Of course we’re friends.” Richie insisted. The only problem is that I want more and your brother would kill me. 

Something inside of y/n calmed at the affirmation. “So we should hang out.”

“Already told ya, y/n/n. I got a date with destiny today.” 

“I don’t mind being the third wheel.” 

To be frank, that was the last thing Richie needed. It was bad enough that middle schoolers would wait lined up behind him, watching as he lost at some silly arcade game that he still had a passion for. He didn’t need some hot girl hanging over his shoulder while he did so, too. But Richie’s mouth had betrayed his thoughts. 

“Only if you want to, y/n/n.” He had avoided trying to call y/n anything other than her name or her nickname. He wouldn’t allow himself to call her any of the cutesy trademark pet names he’d call other girls that he would shamelessly flirt with for fun. He started implementing this tactic in sophomore year once he really started to notice her. 

At first, it was the way she greeted him every time the losers met up at Stan’s house. Maybe he was crazy, but he swore she gave him special attention: always running up towards him when she saw him, her lingering by his side before Stan yelled at her, asking if she had anything better to do. Her smile was seemingly wider and her eyes brighter whenever she held conversations with him compared to the other losers—or maybe that was just Richie looking into things too much. 

Due to drama and false rumors, y/n had started hanging out with the losers more this year. It was an attempt for her to take her mind off of the absence of friends on her part. None of the losers seemed to mind, even Stan. Thus, she became a regular when the group went on swimming trips to the quarry or slept over at each other’s houses. This didn’t really help Richie’s case. Now, he was basically forced to see her figure in a swimsuit and in every other setting imaginable. Not to mention, he couldn’t do anything about it either. 

The two had finally arrived at the arcade. Richie had managed to snag the closest parking spot to the entryway and y/n relentlessly made fun of how he never parked straight until they got in the door.

“Okay, kid. Once you get your license, you can criticize my ‘bad’ parking. But for now, since you’re hitching rides for free, I say you better just keep quiet for now.” 

“But you’re so over the lines! I can’t imagine your coloring if that’s how you park.” 

“I’ll have you know, y/n, I don’t color. For one, that shit’s for babies. And I am way past that preschool shit. And second of all, coloring’s way lame.” Richie had made his way over to the Street Fighter machine and inserted a quarter in the slot. 

y/n watched him thoughtfully for awhile as he fidgeted with the joystick and jammed the buttons. 

“Do you want anything to drink?” she asked, growing bored of watching the same repetitive visuals from over his shoulder. But she didn’t think she could ever grow tired of watching him. 

“Hold on.” His hand smashed against the buttons in rapid fire movements while he simultaneously maneuvered the joystick. A few seconds after, the game played a pitiful noise and the boy let out a groan. Richie had lost. 

“That’s a weird way of saying coke.” y/n hummed before skipping off to the lounge area. 

On her way back, she saw Richie’s face contort in frustration. Once again, he had lost to the game. 

“Cheer up, buttercup!” y/n passed handed him the glass bottle and Richie had finally stepped away from the Street Fighter machine. 

“Easy for you to say. You don’t got an inanimate object beating ya four to one.” Richie pretended to wipe the nonexistent sweat off his brow and looked down to y/n, offering her a smug look. 

“Would a kiss make you feel better?” The girl leaned closer to him and got up on her tippy toes, preparing to peck him on his cheek. 

This was the first of y/n showing any sign of real interest. And while Richie wanted to bask in the glory of his long time crush finally coming around, his thoughts also drew to Stan. What kind of friend would he be if he made a move on his friend’s little sister? Technically she’s the one making the moves- 

Cut it out, Rich!

His internal monologue argued for a while before he realized y/n’s lips were attached to his face. 

“W-what are you doing?” Richie belatedly snapped out of his thoughts and came to his senses. 

y/n pulled away. Her arms crossed tightly around her chest and her posture was now slightly hunched over. Oh. 

“I thought I could make you feel better.” She mumbled. When she eventually spoke, she let out a breath she wasn’t aware she was holding in. “Can you take me home?” She asked, though it was more of a statement than a question. 

“Of course.” The two started heading for the door and Richie tried to slow his pace so that his long legs would be in sync with hers. “To be honest, y/n/n, I was kinda getting tired of this ol’ dump anyways.” 

A small smile graced y/n’s lips as he talked. Even if she was still embarrassed from the previous events. 

“You’re not gonna be a professional video game player?” 

“Oh no. That dream’s been abandoned for a long time now.” Richie quipped back. He was turning the keys into the ignition and began to drive off. 

The car ride to Stan’s place was silent. Either because of the turn that had taken place earlier at the arcade, or because Richie didn’t wanna open his big mouth and accidentally slip up; ruining his relationship with both Stan the Man and Stan the Man’s hot sister. 

Richie’s old chevy slowly came to a stop at the front of Stan’s house. The sky was cloudless and an unnerving shade of blue today, highlighting how perfectly trim and green Uris’s lawn was. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” y/n finally spoke up. Her voice foreign to Richie’s ears after the fifteen minutes of dead air from the two of them. But it wasn’t that foreign. Her voice echoed through his brain practically everyday. Whenever classes got boring or nights seemed endless, Richie found himself either replaying past conversations between them. Or other scenarios… She was an unhealthy addiction he couldn’t quit. Like smoking, only hotter and way more deadly. 

“What’s there to talk about?” Richie faced y/n, putting on his best ‘I’m-not-interested-in-you’ face, when he really felt quite the opposite.

“Richie, I feel like you don’t like me.” Her accusation was dead wrong, but there was hurt in her eyes. Somehow, Richie had managed to convince the girl of his dreams he hates her when that couldn’t be less true. 

“I don’t.” He forced a chuckle to ease the tension but y/n wasn’t having it. 

“Can I tell you something?” y/n asked. Richie nodded, a quizzical look on his face. Before continuing, y/n swallowed. She didn’t usually get nervous, but Richie was someone to get nervous over. “I like you.” 

Her words felt like something out of a dream Richie once had before. 

“What can I say, kid. It’s impossible not to.” Of course, y/n didn’t really like him. At least, not like that. She was probably just saying this for shits and giggles. Pulling his leg. A classic Richie stunt. 

“I mean, I like you like how Ben likes Beverly.” 

Richie’s eyes then widened at the declaration and his body stiffened. 

“It’s okay if you don’t like me back,” she said with such ease that Richie admired. She shrugged and the thin strap of her tank top fell down her shoulder. Richie couldn’t help but notice, his eyes wandering where they shouldn’t. 

“Listen—” He gulped. His eyes kept trailing down no matter how hard he tried not to. “Listen,” he repeated, now meeting her big eyes, “I don’t not like you, y/n/n. In fact the funny thing is… is—” his words got caught in his throat. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her. Not with Stan’s breathing always down his back (whether Stan was actually there or not).  

“What’s so funny, Rich?” Her soft, sweet voice filled his ears once again. It was like a spell, because suddenly (and conveniently), the thought of Stan was no longer in the back of Richie’s mind. 

“I like you too, kid.” His voice was low, but y/n still heard him.

“So what’s stopping this?” A sly smirk formed on y/n’s face. She climbed over the control panel and her already short skirt rode up to be even higher. 

y/n sat herself on Richie’s lap. The boy had to keep from pinching himself. What was happening was straight out of a wet dream of his he’d probably had last night. 

The girl on his lap was toying with a strand of his hair while looking into his eyes. Her shoulder was still bare from the strap that fell off it.

“I’m so glad you feel the same way.” Richie didn’t think he could help himself any longer with the sultry way she was speaking and the fact that she was on his lap. “Now I can do this.” 

y/n placed a tender kiss to the awestruck boy’s lips. It was slow and steady. She didn’t want to mess things up since they had just admitted their feelings to one another. 

But Richie was impatient. 

As soon as she pulled away, he connected his lips to hers again. He was sloppy and fast paced with his movements, yet still full of passion. 

y/n giggled into his mouth which caused Richie’s heart to skip a beat. She’d been waiting for this moment since she first laid eyes on him. 

The first time Richie stepped foot into the Uris household, y/n had greeted him excitedly. 

“y/n could you get that!” Stan shouted to her from their den. He was busy setting up board games, making sure every last piece was in its designated place. 

“Why do I have to?” y/n grumbled, still walking out of her room so she could get to the door anyway. “You were closer.” 

“I’m preparing for game night. This is the first time my friends are coming over and I want everything to be suitable.” Stan was polishing the game pieces now. 

“I don’t think your friends will mind if one of your little thing-a-ma-bobs is out of place.” y/n jokingly tipped over one of the players to Stanley’s game that he had already put into place but she quickly put it back upon noticing the discontent that marked his face as she did so. 

“I’ll mind.” Her brother replied calmly. 

Another knock at the door. 

“Can you please get that?” 

y/n got up and walked over to the door. She was first met with a lanky boy whose legs were too long for his torso and eyes were too big for his face. 

She didn’t expect Stan’s friends to be hot. 

“Hi!” y/n exclaimed, hoping to give off a good impression on the group.

“I didn’t know Stan had an underaged maid. I guess the Uris’ will do anything for labor work.” No one laughed at Richies joke. 

“That’s Stan’s sister, dipwad,” Eddie said, disgusted at his friend. 

Richie made an ‘o’ shape with his mouth and the group shuffled in, meeting Stan in the den. 

“Stan you never told me you had a hottie for a sister.” y/n could hear Richie’s voice from across the hall. Her intestines turned into butterflies and she could pass for a canary with how red her face had gotten. 

But despite having the hugest crush on Richie, y/n never shared any classes with the boy. She was a year younger than Stan, but in the same grade as him because of the accelerated classes she took. So y/n had to admire from afar. 

Well, not anymore. 

Her lips were now attached to his neck, eliciting a moan from him. She smirked at that and started to roll her hips against his. Her name fell from his lips over and over and over again which evoked her to keep going. 

“Richie!?” An angered voice called from the outside of his car. 

It was the one and only. Stanley Uris. 

It was too late to act fast. Richie pulled y/n off him and looked guiltily out the window to see the face that matched the voice. 

But Richie already knew who it was. 

“Who me? I dink you ghat de wrahng goey.” Richie did his best Irish man accent but it was no use. 

“Okay, Richie, cut the crap.” Stan’s face was twisted up in an expression that almost scared Richie. His hands were folded against his chest and he was waiting for an answer. 

Richie simply couldn’t bring himself to answer the boy. He sat in shame with y/n next to him staring at her brother. Richie may as well have had ‘I’M SORRY’ written on his forehead with the way he was gaping at Stan.  

“y/n get out of the car.” Stan said, breaking eye contact with his friend. 

The girl complied, whispering about how sorry she was to the boy who drove her home before getting out. After that, she didn’t dare glance back at him in his car and Richie didn’t have the energy to even look anywhere besides the steering wheel. 

That was last week. Since then, Stan and Richie hadn’t said a word to each other. Richie hadn’t spoken to y/n since then either. The tension was too thick between Stan and Richie and Richie didn’t want to mess things up more than he already did. 

“I c-cuh-can’t believe yo-you liked y/n.” Bill chuckled. 

It was after school and the two were in the library. The details of what happened that day eventually got out. Both Stan and Richie had told their sides of the story and the losers were respectful enough to not take sides. They just hung out with Richie when Stan wasn’t around and hung out with Stan when Richie wasn’t there. 

“What’s so bad about that?” Richie looked skeptically at his friend, trying his best to defend himself. 

“I mean, yea-yeah sh-sh-she’s cute—”

“She’s beautiful.” Richie cut off but Bill rolled his eyes. 

“What-h-ever. I-it’s just funny tha-hat you wuh-would go after her.” 

“I already told you she kissed me first.” Richie proclaimed, a little too proudly. 

“Sh-he’s Stan’s sister!” That was true. 

“And a good kisser.” That was also true. 

“Gross, Richie.” Bill returned to the book in front of him, but Richie kept egging on the conversation. 

“I don’t see why someone has to be off limits just because they’re related to a friend.” His annoyed tone was evident and Bill gave him a sympathetic look. 

“It-t’s b-ba-basically written in th-the br-r-ro code.” Bill paused for a moment and Richie didn’t know if it was because he was embarrassed of his stuttering or if he was gathering his thoughts. “But i-i-if you li-li-like her… wh-who am I to s-suh-say any-th-thing.” 

If Bill was insinuating what Richie thought he was, then that made him cooler than he already was. 

And that’s how Richie found himself in y/n’s room Friday night. The losers were meeting up at the Aladdin to see the new Jim Carrey movie and somehow Richie had been able to get himself out of it, claiming he was overdue on chores and couldn’t make it. 

“Th-that’s t-too bad, R-Rich.” Bill said over the phone (but he knew better) while the other losers pressed their ear up against it, listening in. “The c-co-omedy should be ri-right up your alley.” 

“Dumb and underdeveloped?” Eddie asked Bill. “I don’t wanna see a movie just to hate it,” he complained. 

“Yowza, Eds. And I thought you appreciated my jokes.” Richie feigned hurt over the speaker. “Anywho, I gotta make like a tree and hang up. The ‘rents are asking for me.” They weren’t. 

“O-okay. Maybe nuh-nuh-next wee—” Beep. 

Richie had already hung up. 

y/n grabbed his hand, which was clamped over her mouth and took it off. She was bursting to the seams with laughter. 

“I can’t believe you’re a liar now,” she tsked, trying to fake an ‘I’m-not-mad-at-you-just-disappointed’ look that her English teacher had given her once. 

“Only under these circumstances.” He was fast to attach his lips to hers. They didn’t have much time and he wanted to make the most of what they had now. 

Richie was on top of her now, his lips still on hers. He kissed her everywhere from the crown of her head to the crook of her neck. If his kisses left a print, her skin would be buried under them. 

“Rich…” She sighed contentedly, eyes fluttering from the pleasure he inflicted on her when he had found a sweet spot behind her ear. y/n kissed him back hard with force and a sort of dominance Richie didn’t know she had in her. 

She flipped them, so that she was on top now. y/n took this liberty of having full control to take off her shirt and Richie’s as well. 

Richie smirked and began to kiss lower. His pace was slower than he originally started. Painstakingly slow. y/n wined at how delicate his lips felt tracing her skin but she needed more. 

“Touch me,” she urged. Richie obeyed, his hands were now on her chest, massaging and caressing her delicate skin. 

There weren’t enough words to describe the thrill and satisfaction Richie gave her. y/n could relish in this boy’s embrace forever with how good he made her feel. She began grinding against his jeans, just like the day they were caught by Stanley, so she could ease the ache for him between his legs. 

Richie chuckled, feeling her press against him. He knew precisely what she wanted but to give or not to give in was the question. 

“y/n/n, we don’t have that long,” He warned. 

“I don’t care.” She started peppering his face in kisses the same way he had done to her. At the same time, she began to unbutton his jeans. Who would Richie be to turn down sex anyway? 

She was fast at getting him inside her. Definitely not inexperienced. But Richie didn’t want fast. Not with y/n, at least. He wanted their first together to be slow, sensual, special—

“You’re amazing,” he grunted and she blushed in response. 

Her pace quickened at his praise. Their movements together felt electric and y/n herself was so hypnotic, Richie felt he could get lost in the thought—or the feeling —of her forever. 

A feeling that was indescribable washed over Richie once the two of them were finished. He had stayed inside of her, and y/n was now laying on his chest, listening to his heartbeat and tracing circles on his skin with her thumb. Their chests rose and fell together at the same time, a small action that Richie melted at the sight of. 

“For the record, I didn’t want it to happen like this,” Richie said. There was a sort of fear palpable in his tone. 

“For the record, you kissed me first.” y/n eyed him suspiciously before giving him a peck on the cheek. “And what does that mean? Did you…” She shyly decided on her words for a moment. “Did you not want to..?” 

“No, no, no, no.” Richie immediately counteracted the girl’s suggestion. “I so wanted to do this. I’ve dreamed about doing this—” Richie stopped himself before his talking could make things worse, but y/n found his rambling amusing. 

“So, what did you mean?” y/n tried again. She reached out to hold his hand, intertwining her fingers with his. 

“I mean.” He let out a sigh before continuing. “I wanted us to be, like, an official couple and shit before we do this shit.” He motioned between them and to where they were still joined. 

y/n flushed at the sight and covered her face. 

“Hey.” Richie was soft. Softer than y/n had ever seen him be. He took her wrists in his hands, uncovering her face so he could admire her. 

She was stunning even after sex. 

“I don’t want this to be a one time thing.” He was almost embarrassed to admit it, but with y/n he didn’t feel the need to be afraid. “I want us to go on dates and hold hands and tell each other about our day.” He was looking at the ceiling, daydreaming at the thought.

y/n’s eyes searched his face thoughtfully. “Of course, Rich. I want that, too!” She kissed his lips once more, elated at the boy in front of her. Her face fell shortly after she had a sudden understanding. “What’re you gonna do about Stan?” 

“Who’s Stan?” But Richie’s fake grin wasn’t fooling anyone. “Uh, well, we could tell him…” But when Richie saw a certain uneasiness consume y/n’s face, he ruled that option out. “How do you feel about dating in secret?” He offered. The situation wasn’t ideal, but at the time it seemed to be the lesser of the two evils at hand. 

“Okay,” y/n whispered. “So you should leave.” 

“Woah, babe, I just got here.” Richie sat up, looking for his shirt. 

“Yeah, but the movie should’ve ended by now.” y/n gestured towards the alarm clock on her nightstand causing Richie’s jaw to drop. 

He was heading towards the window now, knowing he had enough time to get out, but he wanted to be careful. 

“See you tomorrow then?” y/n giggled at how clingy he could be. 

“I’ll call you.” And Richie just couldn’t get enough of the smile she was wearing. 

“Sounds like a date!” He yelled from outside her house. 

During the drive home, Richie’s thoughts became lost in y/n once again. This was just the beginning.

[lils-writes-stuff]

The Company

spencer reid x reader

Best years part nine | part eight | part seven | part six | part five | part four | part three |part two |part one

Summary: When Derek’s presumed dead cousin turns up again the reader can’t help but feel guilty .

warnings: normal criminal minds things,

A/N: based on season 7 episode 20; this one was hard to write ngl

 The warm shower water flowed through Y/N hair as she lazily ran her hands over it to rinse out the conditioner. The feeling of relief as she stood underneath the water made her sigh happily. When she stepped out, she wrapped a purple towel around her body and blow-dried her hair. 

 Stepping out of the bathroom, she grabbed her outfit that laid on her bed, a white tank paired with a taupe colored cardigan and some black pants. She did her makeup as normal and headed to the BAU office. 

 When she walked in, the atmosphere’s normal busy self greeted her. She smiled, for no particular reason, just a smile that made her feel good. Today was a good day, no clouds, just a bright sun that made her feel good.  

 “You seem perky, did something good happen?” Penelope’s sudden question as she approached beside Y/N made her jump. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” the woman apologized. 

 “No, it’s okay, I seem perky just because I have a smile?” She laughed as she spoke. 

 “Smiles in here are rare as you know, so I can only assume that something grand has happened to you,” she explained. “Which is a contradiction to Derek.” 

 “What happened with Derek?” Y/N asked. Whatever smile she had was gone as she felt concerned for her friend. 

 “This is the part I tell you that you have a case, and are to head to the jet right now,” Penelope said, a sheepish smile on her face. 

 Y/N’s head fell back, truly she was hoping today she got to catch up on some paperwork. But she felt guilty for her selfishness as she walked towards the elevator ready to help Derek with whatever he needed. 

 When she got in the elevator she pulled out her phone and called Spencer.

 “Hi,” Spencer said, answering the phone. 

 “Hey, are you at the jet?” 

 “Yeah, I just got here, I was about to call you to ask where you were,” he said, confessing his actions that she had beaten him too. 

 “I’m on my way there now.” 

------------ 

 “So your cousin fled Chicago eight years ago because a co-worker was stalking her?” Emily asked Derek on the phone. 

 The team, minus Derek, sat on the jet as they went over what little they had on the case of Derek’s missing Cousin. Who had been presumed dead for the last year. 

 “Yeah, a guy named John Hitchens,” Derek answered. “Cindi and Yvonne came to me and asked me if they should be worried, her emails and phone logs showed classic stalker behavior.”

 “Multiple messages every hour, gifts he sent which she later returned, that would enrage a stalker,” Spencer said as he looked over the file.

 “But until they become violent, they are smart enough to skirt the law,” Y/N said, reading over the file in hand. Her mind traveled back to when she could feel Caroline’s eyes on her. While she sat in a lecture, or at a coffee shop, she could feel her eyes bore into her skull. She began to feel sympathetic for Cindi as she related to her. 

 “Human resources at the investment bank wouldn’t do anything and Chicago P.D. couldn’t. So Yvonne and I convinced Cindi to move. She contacted us from Charleston on her way to Savannah and then she was gone,” Derek explained. 

 “And Hitchens blew his brain out two weeks later in Chicago,” Emily added from what she read in the file. 

 “And that was enough for local P.D. to conclude that he killed her?” Y/N’s voice spoke with question. 

 “Except for one major detail, we never found the body. If his endgame was suicide, he wasn’t organized enough to dispose of the body that permanently,” Derek continued. “That’s why I never stopped looking, I just never thought she’d surface right back here in Chicago.” 

 “We need to reopen both cases. Both Hitchen’s suicide and Cindi’s disappearance, the discrepancies in each will explain her current behavior,” Hotch said. “Morgan, I need to talk to you when we land.”

 “Can’t wait.” Derek hung up the phone and the team looked over the files. 

 When the team landed they drove to the police station immediately to begin their work. Officers pulled old boxes from the case and Y/N and Spencer began to put the pictures up on the board. 

 “Detective Palmer, what do you have?” Rossi asked as the detective walked up to them. 

 “I wish we had more to give you,” Palmer spoke as he watched the two put what little evidence they had on the boards. “You know how missing person cases are.”

 “Actually, there’s a lot more here then you would think,” Y/n said after placing a photo of Cindi on the board. 

 “These-” Spencer held up a picture as he placed it on the board- “were found in Hitchens apartment after the suicide. Some were blown up from the original film stock,” he explained as he taped another photo to the board. 

 “So if Hitchens took them, he didn’t zoom in. He's an old school shutterbug,” Emily said looking at Spencer. 

 “Reid and Y/N, look into Hitchens photographic background, even eight years ago most people had gone digital,” Hotch said, prompting the two to give thumbs-ups as a response.

 “The gun Hitchens used to kill himself was traced to this dealer.” Rossi pointed to the picture of the man on the board. 

 “A local guy, completely by the book, no record,” Palmer said to him. 

 “The 44 was the only gun in Hitchens’ possession, that’s a big gun to kill yourself with,” JJ said, her face contorting with the end of her statement. 

 “We should talk to the dealer, figure out what his mindset was when he bought it,” Hotch said. 

 Rossi nodded his head and then to JJ telling her to come with him as they left the station. 

----------

 Derek stared at the boards with the pictures on them intently. Listening to the words of those around him as they said what was found on Cindi.

 Y/N couldn’t help but feel guilty, knowing what this was like for her friends when Caroline was tormenting and hiding her away. She couldn’t think about herself right now though, she had to focus. Derek needed the team, his family needed them, and she wasn’t going to let these little bottled up feelings obstruct that. 

 “So Cindi had two stalkers,” Derek said as he turned to those behind him. 

 “No, only one,” Y/N corrected. 

 “Ford fits the profile better than Hitchens,” Rossi explained. 

 “Ford had multiple assault and harassment charges, all filed by ex-girlfriends and random women he met,” JJ embellished on what Rossi said. 

 “And Garcia found credit card purchases for black and white photographic equipment for Ford,” Spencer added, relaying the information he and Y/N found. 

 “So this guy killed Hitchens and then set him up.” Derek’s voice was stern and certain as he came to the realization. 

 “Behaviorally, it would make sense,” Emily replied. 

 “If Ford was stalking you cousin, he would have seen Hitchens as competition probably,” Y/N continued the thought. 

 “So he kills him and he puts the photos to throw off your investigation,” Emily concluded.

 “Hotch, I want to bring this guy in and question him personally,” Derek said, turning to Hotch.

 “Garcia just sent us the address,” Hotch replied.

 Y/N waited from a distance as Hotch spoke to Derek. When Hotch had finished she walked up to Derek. 

 “Hey, Morgan, listen I just want you to know I’m here for you, you know if you need to talk?” She looked at him with promising eyes, her hands wringing together from an old habit. 

 He smiled at her with his charming smile. “Thanks, wonder woman, let’s go.” 

 The team walked away from the boards and got ready to go confront Malcolm Ford.

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

 “FBI!” Derek’s voice bombed through the house as they entered it.

 Y/N followed behind Spencer as they walked up the stairs of the house to make sure the second floor was clear. Spencer walked into what looked to be the master and Y/N into the guest room. The room looked like it had never been touched, dust covering almost every item making her want to sneeze. 

 “It’s clear here!” Derek’s voice was slightly muffled from him being downstairs. 

 “Clear.” JJ’s voice was heard next. 

 “Clear,” Spencer’s voice said from the room next to Y/N. 

 “Clear,” Y/N said, holstering her gun and walking out of the room to follow Spencer downstairs.

 “House is empty, but there’s evidence of a woman living here,” Spencer said as he and Y/N entered the living room. 

 Derek crouched in front of the fireplace, taking out a pair of gloves and reaching for the little remains of paper in the fireplace.

 “Looks like they both packed up in a hurry,” JJ said. 

 “They were trying to cover their tracks,” Y/N said as she looked at the half-burnt paper Derek was holding up.

 “What the hell is she doing with this guy?” Derek said inspecting the paper in his hand. His eyes were sad, as he felt guilt and sorrow for his cousin. 

 “I’ll call everyone else,” JJ said walking out of the room and pulling out her phone. 

 When everyone else arrived, Y/N sat next to Spencer in front of the fireplace, pulling out the bits and pieces of the paper that was left out. 

 “I wouldn’t do that,” Spencer said to detective Palmer as he picked up a headbox they had found and examined it. 

 Y/N turned her head to watch as Derek approached the man. 

 “What is it?” Palmer asked. 

 “It’s a- um, it’s a headbox,” Y/N answered. Her voice tone was uncomfortable as she knew what they were used for. 

 “He would take my cousin’s head-” Derek picked up the box and opened it- “and put it through the hole, and then he’d…” he pushed the box to close, showing how the latches would be retracted on themselves.

 Y/N shook her head at the thought of someone being put through that. She looked over to Spencer to get her mind off it and watched as he stood up, intently reading a piece of burnt paper. 

 “Morgan, we need to deliver a profile,” Spencer said as he continued to read the burnt paper. 

 “Why, Reid?” Derek asked sternly.

 Y/N then walked closer to Spencer to look at the paper. Her gloved covered hands reaching for it hesitantly before Spencer handed it to her and pointed to the part he had been inspecting. 

 “We know who the unsub is,” Derek continued. 

 “No, he’s right,” Y/N said agreeing with Spencer as she handed the paper back to Spencer for him to show Derek. 

 “We need to deliver the profile.” He showed the paper to Derek. 

 Derek grabbed the paper from Spencer’s hand, reading what the two had already done. The words yelling at him on the paper, telling of the acts his cousin was forced to be a part of and something else called the company. 

 “Let’s head back to the station,” Y/N said, prompting the two men to follow her out and to the cars. 

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

 “After eight years in captivity at the hands of Malcolm Ford, we believe Cindi Burns’ ego has been shattered,” Y/N said as she began the profile. 

 “As a result, he could afford to give her some degree of freedom and trust that she would stay with him,” Emily continued. 

 “Which is why it’s going to be very difficult to get Cindi away from her captor,” Hotch explained. “We believe she’s suffering an extreme form of Stockholm syndrome.”  

 The officers in the room took notes diligently while they listened.

 “Like Patty Hearst in the seventies, where she ended up robbing banks with her captor because of her Stockholm syndrome,” Y/N continued, giving an example that would hopefully be sufficient. 

 “Only this is worse, Ford has gotten Cindi to believe in something called the company,” Rossi said. 

 “What’s the company?” One of the officers asked, raising their hand politely.

 “It’s a sadomasochistic role-play scenario, a game, essentially, in which a cabal of men tells their submissives they can trade their slaves at their whim. If you displease your master or try to escape, the company will find you, kill you, and kill your family, ” Spencer answered. 

 “The voluntary submissives understand that it’s just a fantasy, but Malcolm Ford has gotten Cindi to believe it’s real.” Hotch’s eyes scanned over the crowd as he spoke. Faces contorted in disgust and concern from the words of the profile. 

 “How?” Palmer asked. 

 “By making her sign a slave contract.” Y/N shuddered at her own words. The feeling of sorrow rising in her again for Cindi. 

 “The documentation we’ve found on the company informs our profile and will inform your manhunt,” Spencer began. “Because it might point you to where Malcolm Ford is now.” 

 “The language on their contract speaks of an underground network, which tells us that he has a few men he trusts,” JJ continued. 

 “Which means that what started as an S&M game could now be a ring,” Rossi said.

 “Thank you.” The officers and others walked away to get back to their work. Y/N turned to Spencer, her lips pursed as she looked at him with the expression he knew all too well by now. 

 “Don’t feel guilty,” he told her. His voice wasn’t stern, but it was strong in a comforting way. 

 “I don’t think it’s guilt, I feel for her, I mean-” she looked around to see if anyone was in ears reach of her and Spencer- “I was basically held captive by a stalker, I hid away from everyone for years, I just, I want to help her.” Her sentence finished with a huff, finally feeling like she could breathe.

 “I know, it’s what makes you a great person, always wanting to help others.” His smile reassured her. 

 She placed her hands on her face, rubbing her cheeks to snap out of her funk and get back on the case.“Thanks, I needed that, let’s catch this son of a bitch.” He nodded in response as the two began to look over the documents again and find out all they could. 

---------------  

 “Is he in there?” Y/N asked as she walked up next to JJ. They stood outside of the bullpen of the interrogation room, both waiting for Hotch who had texted them to meet him there. 

 “Yeah, I think he wants us to start the interrogation, throw him off his game,” JJ said, looking over to Y/N. 

 Y/N nodded, saying that she understood. 

 Hotch then walked out to them, his face as serious as normal. “I need you two to throw him off, he’s expecting Derek but we don’t want to give him what he wants or expects. Just make it seem casual okay?” 

 The two nodded and walked to the bullpen. Y/N grabbed the Minella folder from Rossi, silently thanking him with a nod.  

 “Just start talking, like how we do in the mornings.” JJ nodded as she waited for Y/N to nod for her to start as the officer opened the door. 

 “So when I get home and, of course, he’s still up past his bedtime,” JJ said, her hands going up as the two walked to the seats. 

 “Uh, reminds me of why I’m not married yet,” Y/N said, laughing as she took a seat next to JJ. 

 “Oh, well, neither am I, technically,” JJ said, correcting Y/N. 

 “Oh yeah,” she laughed. “You’re right.” 

 Y/N placed her elbow on the table, turning her head away from Malcolm in the seat as she looked at JJ. 

 “Do you guys ever--” 

 “Oh, no, I really don’t need a man to tell me what to do,” JJ said, cutting Y/N off. 

 “Yeah, well that’s why things between me and Spence work great.” The two laughed as they just chatted, ignoring the man on the opposite side of the table. “I mean he does his thing, I do mine, we don’t have any problems re--” 

 “Excuse me?” Malcolm said, cutting Y/N off.

 “Shh,” Y/N said, holding her finger to her lips. “Uh, the adults are talking.” Y/N pointed between her and Y/N. 

 “When it’s your turn to speak, I’ll give you permission.” JJ used the words that he would as a tactic to throw him off.  “Okay, so anyway…” JJ trailed off as the two began to talk again. 

 “Oh, yeah, any sleep?” 

 “Uh, no, of course not.” JJ laughed at her words while Y/N turned to the file letting out a noise of annoyance at the thought. 

 “What are we doing here anyway?” Y/N asked, opening the file on the table. 

 “Oh, yeah,” JJ said, turning completely forward to face Malcolm. 

 “Oh okay so, Mal, can I call you that, cause I’m going too, you want to confess now or just go straight to prison your choice really.” Y/N folded her hands together as she faced the man across the table. 

 “Look, my wife and I had a disagreement in that store-” Malcolm began but he was cut off by JJ. 

 “Whoa- wife?” JJ asked, her words fake to throw him off. 

 “You’re married?” Y/N’s lip turned up at the thought. “No, no, this is about John Hitchens, it looks like his suicide is more of a murder and the gun, it traces back to you.” She pointed to the man with her pen that she held. 

 Malcolm’s once cocky demeanor was now broken slightly, realizing what he thought he was here for.

 The two waited for a response, seeing as he was silent, they made their next move. 

 “Okay, uh, let’s go talk to this wife,” JJ said, standing up from the table, Y/N following suit. 

 “I don’t know who this Hitchens person is, but if you had anything you’d charge me already,” Malcolm said. Y/N and JJ turned back to look at him as he spoke. “You’re here because of Cindi.” 

 “Caught us,” Y/N said shrugging her shoulders with a laugh. 

 “You know what?” JJ said pointing to Malcolm as she sat down again. “This is my favorite part. This is where you hang yourself with your own tongue. So, please keep talking.” 

    The two women sat poised in their seats as they looked at the man. Gentle smiles on their faces they had before gone as they now had serious ones. 

 “What are you doing here?” Malcolm asked JJ.  “With a baby at home being raised by a man you’re not married to, what are you doing here.” His words were judgmental, but JJ kept a calm face. 

 “Well, its work. But we make it work,” JJ answered the man, her voice calm. 

 “Where’s Cindi?” Y/N asked. 

 “Huh, work, I know all about work,” Malcolm scuffed, ignoring the question. “Negotiating who does the dishes, fighting over who folds the laundry. Except for Cindi and I never fight, she knows her role.”

 Y/N laughed lightly. “After you beat her into signing a contract,” her words were calm and collected, not wanting to show Malcolm he was truly enraging her. 

 “What we have is a bond you know nothing about,” he said, eyes looking directly at Y/N. “But I’ll tell you about it-” his head then turned to look at JJ- “if you ask permission.” 

 JJ let out a laugh through her nose, never breaking eye contact with Malcolm. 

 Y/N chuckled, grabbing the file on the table. “Come on,” she said, standing up from the table walking to the door. 

 She watched as JJ played her next move, staying seated at the table. 

 “You’re curious, aren’t you?” Malcolm asked her. “You want to know our secret.” His head nodded as he rocked in his chair. 

 JJ just sat there, not moving for a second, until she tapped her hand on the table and stood up and walked to the door. Y/N opened it and led the two of them out of the room. 

 “I wanted to rip his face off,” Y/N stated once the door was closed.

 “Please, let me go back in there,” JJ asked Hotch as they walked to him by the mirror. 

 “No.” Hotch’s voice was stern with his answer. 

 “His guard is down, he thinks he can manipulate me,” JJ said, pointing to herself. 

 “We can’t give him what he wants,” Hotch reminded her. “We need to keep him off balance.”

 “Then let me go in,” Derek said entering the room. 

 Y/N’s face softened as she saw Derek enter. He looked distraught that he didn’t find his cousin, but also determined as he pushed forward in doing so. 

 “I can get in his head.” 

 “The way he got into yours?” Rossi asked referring back to when they found Malcolm. 

 “Look, I know I have no right to ask this, but please just trust me. I can break him.” Derek’s words were mostly to Hotch as he looked at him. 

 Hotch nodded, allowing Derek to then walk into the room and begin his interrogation. 

-----------

 Y/N stood behind Emily and Spencer who sat across from Malcolm’s lawyer and Cindi, who was very much alive and serious. She watched her demeanor, trying to spot any changes in emotions or stance as they sat in the room.

 “We’ve been clear that we would like all charges dropped,” the lawyer said. His nasally voice made Y/N want to punch him. One because he was defending the egotistical prick in the other room, and two, because his face annoyed her, and she couldn’t deal with his voice. 

 “We still have some questions about John Hitchens,” Y/N stated, placing her hands onto the back of Spencer's chair to lean on it. 

 “And Mr. Ford has explained that the gun that Hitchens used to shoot himself was stolen, he even filed a police report,” the lawyer retorted, making Y/N internally roll her eyes. 

 Her eyes went back to Cindi, who was just staring blankly at the ground. 

 “So, what else do you need to know?”

 Cindi then made eye contact with Emily, but when Emily turned her head in question, Cindi’s eyes averted. 

 “That’ll be all,” Spencer said standing up. The lawyer and Cindi did so also and exited the room. 

 “Did you see that?” Y/N said to Emily in a whisper as they began to walk out of the room. 

 “Yeah, I did.” The three walked out of the room, looking over to Hotch who raised a brow. Emily shook her head in response to the question, telling him that something was up. 

 Y/N, Spencer, and Emily walked over to a desk where JJ sat and began to talk. 

 “Was there anything?” JJ asked, hoping it was something that they could use to keep him here. 

 “No, but something was off with Cindi,” Spencer said, sitting on the desk in front of him. 

 Y/N stood next to JJ as the four began to discuss something, but her attention was soon brought away as Malcolm was brought out of the holding room. 

 “Guys,” she whispered, getting their attention to Cindi as she walked up and kissed Malcolm. Their faces sat in shocked expressions at what just happened. 

 Their eyes followed as they grabbed each other's hands and walked towards the door. 

 “There’s gotta be something that’s keeping her with him,” Emily said as she turned to the others. 

 “Yeah, but what?” Spencer asked, shoving his hands in his pockets.

 “Wait!” Yvonne said as she saw the two. 

 “I can’t talk to you,” Cindi said, her eyes turning to Malcolm’s feet. 

 Malcolm then whispered something to Cindi along the lines of trusting her.

 “Let me just-- let me just look at you,” Yvonne said, timidly approaching Cindi.  When she approached, she had a smile of relief on her face, finally able to see her daughter after so long. Her hand reached up, and pulled down Cindi’s turtle neck, seeing all the different bruises all over. 

 “Oh,” Yvonne whimpered. “What has he done to you?” 

 “He loves me,” Cindi responded, pulling her collar back up onto her neck.

 “You call that love?” Yvonne asked aggressively. 

 “I have to go,” Cindi turned, tears in her eyes clearly evident but she wouldn’t let them spill. “I have to make him dinner.”

 “Make him dinner? Would that be the first thing you would say?” Y/N asked her colleagues. 

 They all shook their heads, knowing something was definitely up. 

------------   

 “We need to rethink the profile, this ain’t Stockholm,” Rossi said as they sat around the conference table. 

 “It could be battered wife syndrome,” Emily posed. 

 “No, it’s not,” Derek said. 

 “Morgan, the way that they hugged each other, I-I think she genuinely loves him,” JJ concluded from her observations, that fact.  

      “I’m telling you not the woman I know, she wouldn’t do that,” Derek defended his reasoning. 

 “Then what is it, Derek? Why would she behave that way?” Rossi asked him. 

 “She said she needed to cook dinner for him. Is that what you cook for your husband?” Derek held up the small can of spaghettios. He then showed it to JJ. “Would you make that for Will?” 

 “No, I might for Henry, though,” JJ answered. 

 “Exactly, when I was growing up, this is what Cindi and I ate, this exact brand,” Derek said, his voice strong as he came out with his thoughts. “Hotch, what did your mom make you for breakfast?” 

 “Oatmeal and orange juice,” Hotch answered. 

 “What do you make for Jack?” 

 “Oatmeal and orange juice.” 

 “Same brand?” 

 “Mm-hmm, yeah,” Hotch said, realizing what the conclusion Derek was coming through. 

 “So, she could have been cooking dinner, but not for Malcolm Ford,” Y/N said, her mind thinking the same thing. 

 “So are we saying we think they have children?” Emily asked. 

 “Yes, I do,” Derek answered. Y/N nodded in agreement as she thought the same thing. 

 “We didn’t profile that, there’s no evidence of one in the home or their lives,” Spencer said. 

 “Unless, Malcolm keeps the child hidden from Cindi to keep her in line,” Y/N contoured as she gave it more thought. 

 “That fits the profile,” JJ embellished. 

 “It’s a stretch,” Rossi stated, unsure of what they were claiming. 

 “It’s the only theory that would explain her behavior,” Derek said looking at Rossi. 

 “All right, Morgan,” Hotch said, bringing everyone’s attention to him. “Prove it.”

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

 The sirens were loud as the team and S.W.A.T. pulled up to the cabin where Derek found they kids were being held from the lawyer. When they hopped out of the cars, Derek went around front to go look for Cindi and the kids. 

 JJ and Y/N went around back to go see if anyone was back there. 

 “You get anything JJ,” Y/N whispered to her as they stood in the woods behind the house. 

 She shook her head, but then her eyes went wide as she heard movement and Derek yelling Cindi’s name. 

 “Come on, baby, talk to me, Cindi, it’s Derek,” Derek’s voice said. JJ and Y/N stayed back hidden behind a tree, not wanting to be seen by Malcolm. 

 They heard the struggles of Derek as he was grabbed by Malcolm, his gun flying across the forest floor. Y/N flinched to go help, but JJ stopped her and told her Derek had it. He did, but then Cindi’s voice was heard along with the unlocking of the safety on a gun. 

 “Stop!” Cindi commanded Derek who was throwing blows at Malcolm. 

 “Cindi, wait,” Derek said calmly, holding his hand up to her. “He’s gotten you to believe in a lie, the company is not real.” His voice was pleading to her as he tried to make her believe him.  

  “I know, Derek, step aside,” Cindi said, moving the gun with the light on it to the side. 

 Dere stood up from over Malcolm’s unconscious body, grabbing the gun in Cindi’s hand. He pulled the gun away from her, sad eyes now rejoiceful as he saw his cousin how he knew her.

 “Let’s go home.” Derek’s voice was soft, but still strong.

 Malcolm then quickly stood up, but JJ and Y/N were quick to step in front of him. Guns aimed and ready to shoot if necessary.  

 “Hi,” JJ said with a smirk. 

 “Malcolm Ford,” Y/N said, holstering her gun then grabbing out her handcuffs. “You’re under arrest for kidnapping, child endangerment, and the murder of John Hitchens.” The whole time Y/N was arresting Malcolm, his eyes never left JJ.

 The two women grabbed each one of his arms and began guiding him to the car to take him back to the station. 

 “So, um…” JJ began. “Can you tell me that secret now?” 

 When they got back to the station, Y/N walked in happily and went to talk to Spencer.      

 “This is what makes it all better in the end,” Y/N said, watching a Cindi and her mom reunited. She laid the side of her head on Spencer’s arm who leaned on the desk next to her. Smile on her face as she got to watch the happy moment.

 “It is,” Spencer agreed. His eyes panned down to her on his arm, being able to relax knowing she felt better now and didn’t feel guilt. “You know you can’t feel guilty in every stalker case, you couldn’t help what happened with you.” 

 Y/N sighed, knowing he was right and that she shouldn't but sometimes she couldn’t help it. “I know, but there’s always gonna be a piece of a case I relate too, some more than others.”

 Spencer leaned down and kissed the top of her head. A silent reassurance that he understood what she was saying and he accepted it. 

 Y/N smiled at the feeling of his warmth. She felt content at that moment, like nothing could break it. And nothing would, but as things work out, good moments can only last so long.

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[katehuntington]

Title: Black Dog - part five Word count: 5600± words Episode summary: When  Sam gets an anonymous phone call with information about his father, Dean receives a text message with coordinates to different location. The brothers clash and split up, one following orders, the other trusting his instincts. Meanwhile, in the wilderness of Cascade Range, Washington State, Zoë loses grip on a personal case and is forced to confront her demons. Without back up, this might very well turn out to be her final hunt. Part five summary: Dean and David hike up White Horse Mountain, and the hunter stumbles on something he never expected to find. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only!  Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Swearing, smoking, weaponry. Descriptions of  torture and murder. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Descriptions of suicidal thoughts and tendencies, depression, panic attacks, hallucinations. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09​​​​​ & @deanwanddamons​​​​​​. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E03 “Black Dog” Masterlist

     “There. That’s our car.”

     David points at the Ford Escape ahead, which is parked alongside the road next to a stream. Dean peers through the windshield and nods, satisfied. He didn’t actually think it was possible, but David is as good at chart reading as Sam is. The nineteen-year-old remembers these backroads well. 

     Even though the timing isn’t perfect, now that the end of the day is approaching fast, the kid with the heart of a lion is determined to find his family and bring them home. If this creature turns out to be a wendigo, a hunt at night adds a bigger risk, but according to David, the weather is going to take a turn within the coming days, leaving not much time to lose. Then there’s the factor of those three missing hunters. The old wise man down in the village presumed them to be dead already, but a presumption isn’t definite. Dean will not write them off without finding either solid proof or dead bodies, and every minute passing slims the chances of their survival.

     As the hunter pulls over, he observes his surroundings. A fallen tree blocks the road ahead. It has been there for a while by the looks of it, because besides the SUV of David’s father, two other cars also await their owners to come back. One is a 4x4 Jeep with huge antlers attached to the grill, the other is a two-seat Land Rover with way too many bumper stickers on the rear end.      “I’m guessing those are the hunters’ cars,” Dean presumes.

     He turns off the ignition, the guitars and drums of Led Zeppelin’s Black Dog cut short, then he gets out of the Impala. The frozen ground crunches under his boots, the breath he blows out forming a small cloud as soon as it collides with the cold air. David takes his example and exits the car as well, moving towards the Ford.

     “There’s equipment inside that we’re going to need,” he says, while trying to have a look through the window.      Dean walks around his Chevrolet and slides the keys into the lock of the trunk. “Like what?”      “You know, the ten essentials. Ice axes, crampons, snowshoes, all that,” David sums up.      “Apparently I don’t,” Dean mutters, realizing it’s a good thing David decided to come along for the ride. His father had taken him and his brother on survival training plenty of times, but never in these snowy conditions on treacherous mountain tops.

     David curses, as he tries to open one of the doors. “Damn it, Dad locked it.”      “That’s where my equipment comes in handy.”      David turns around to see what Dean is talking about. He has opened the trunk of the Chevrolet and takes out a steel lath which is slightly bent at the end. David has seen it before in movies; it’s used for carjacking. For a second he glares at Dean. Why would he carry something like that with him? Skillfully, Dean slips the lath between the glass and the rubber frame, and with a quick motion, he unlocks it, without leaving a scratch.      He steps back and gestures to the car door. “Knock yourself out.” 

     Stunned, David glances from the SUV to Dean as he starts to wonder what this guy does for a living. Before he can ask, the stranger fires a question at him, though.      “How long did it take you to get over that ridge?” Dean wonders.      “About three hours. It’s getting dark already, so it might take a little longer than that,” David admits, watching Dean head back towards the slick, black car. “Where are you going?”      “I need to make a call before we go on this little adventure,” he notifies before he lowers himself into the driver’s seat.

     He closes the door and sighs, then takes out his phone. For a few seconds, he stares down at the little device in his hand, unsure if he should go through with what he’s about to do. Sam chose to walk away from him when he offered him a choice, Dean should not be the one crawling back to him. Or should he? Does he need to be the bigger man here? The first one to restore contact? If he does, he needs to do it now. The signal is bad down in the valley, not to mention up there between the clouds. 

     Pressing the speed dial before he can decide otherwise, Dean presses the dial button, but is eventually put through to voicemail. He can’t help but wonder if Sam just denied his call or that he’s unable to come to the phone. While the standard message plays, he starts to get worried. His little brother better not be in some kind of trouble. Then the final beep sounds in his ear and he leaves a message.

     “Hey, Sammy... It’s - it’s me. I just wanted to let you know that, uh... I’m in Darrington, Washington State. Dad was right, there is a case here. I’m not sure what it is yet, but I’ll figure it out. Anyway, I’m going into the woods and won’t be able to contact you any time soon, so…” He pauses and takes a breath. “I hope you’re doing okay, Sam. Leave me a message when you get this.”

     After those words, he hangs up and stares at his phone. Why couldn’t he say it? Why couldn’t he pronounce that simple word? Is it that hard to tell his brother that he is sorry about that fight? Apparently it is. With a deep sigh, he gets out of his car and notices David is already waiting. He has two backpacks ready and is carrying all sorts of tools on him.      “You’ll need this,” he offers, handing Dean a backpack.      Dean takes it and hooks his arm through one of the loops, then he turns to the trunk of his Chevrolet.      “Good, now let’s bring on the good shit.”

     With those words, he opens the lid and lifts up the double bottom, revealing his weapon collection. David’s eyes widen and stare down the trunk. Pistols, shotguns, knives, grenades, a sniper rifle, axes, crossbows. And is that…? Is that a grenade launcher? Every single weapon you could possibly think of is stored in that car. 

     Frightened, he looks over at Dean. “Are you going to kill me?”      Dean looks aside, puzzled. “What? No, of course not.”      He takes his gun from his waistband, unloads it, and replaces the bullets with silver ones. Curious yet scared, David monitors his actions.

     “Do you know how to handle a rifle, David?” Dean asks while he packs a set of flare guns and extra cartridges. It still bugs him that he’s not sure what he’s dealing with yet, which is usually step one when it comes to hunting. He doesn’t want to waste more time, though, with so many lives lost already, so he’s gearing up for every creature still on the list.      “Yeah, Dad took me deer hunting a few times,” the young guy replies, still doubtful.      “I’ll tell you one thing, it ain’t deer we’re gonna hunt,” Dean comments.

     He hands the young guy a loaded pistol, which David puts away behind his belt. Dean loads a shotgun with rock salt, in case he finds a spirit in these woods. When he’s done, he gives it to David as well as a flare gun.      “Shoot first, ask questions later,” he orders.

     “What are we hunting exactly?” David likes to know, slightly freaked out.      “Probably a skinwalker, which is a creature that is able to change into any animal it wants, and if we’re really lucky, it’s a wendigo, which is an incredibly fast and close-to-perfect hunter. But it could also be a daeva, ” Dean rambles, as if he’s reading from a boring history book while preparing his own shotgun.

     David's jaw drops. What did he just say? Is this guy for real? Or is he about to hike up a mountain with someone who should be admitted either to a mental institution or locked up in jail? That would be the obvious explanation, but after what he experienced, he knows it’s not the only scenario. This stranger, who he had never seen before in his life, is the only one who believes his story and has taken him seriously. He wonders, though. What’s the scarier thought? Going into the woods with a possible mad man, or to seek out something evil, something supernatural, in the wilderness? 

     Dean notices his guide’s reaction as he slams the lid of his car and locks it up. He figured the kid needed some time to comprehend, but they need to get going. The hunter turns to David again, skillfully loading his rifle single-handedly.      “Welcome to my world.” 

     Leaving the teenager in complete shock, he walks past him and expects him to follow, which he eventually does, once he snaps out of it.      “So… we just kill the monster?” he asks as he catches up with Dean, looking aside.      “Not ‘just’. These creatures are damn fast, so it’s gonna be a hell of a task.” Dean gives the directions clearly, knowing they will need some time to sink in. “If you see any kind of animal, you shoot it with that gun I just gave you. If you see something that looks slightly human, torch the fucker.”      “What if it’s something else?” the only remaining Cleveland questions.      “Then you run like hell and let me take care of it,” Dean orders.      David nods, trying to process the information. “And the shotguns?”      “Oh, I took those just in case we run into an evil spirit,” Dean adds nonchalantly.

     The young guy, who is exposed to way more new information than he can digest, stops dead in his tracks, leaving Dean in the lead. Completely staggered, he stares at him, bug-eyed. Did he just say ‘evil spirit’? As in a ghost?

     “You’re insane!” he concludes.      “If you have a better explanation for all this, please share,” Dean returns, growing impatient.      David catches up with him again, observing him while they march up the trail.      “You do this for a living? You actually hunt these things down?” he asks, both stunned and curious.      “It doesn’t pay well if that’s what you mean, but yeah. Someone has to do the job,” the hunter admits.      “And I thought I had it bad in college,” the teenager scoffs under his breath.

     Silence follows as the company of two starts their journey up the steep hills at the foundation of Whitehorse Mountain. It’s a good thing Dean has endurance, because it’s a tough trail they’re following. They parked the car at 750 feet, far below the Lone Tree Pass, and crossing these terrains isn’t exactly a walk in the park. Downed evergreens make it difficult to move fast, almost as if the woods are trying to slow them down, knowing what’s up there.

     They are about two hours on their way when they hit snow. The thin layer of white allows the two young men to make good time, and it doesn’t take them long to reach an open area. Ice crystals reflect the mystical moon rays, the only source of natural light they have. Dean might be wearing several layers of clothing, but he can’t shut out the freezing temperatures completely. His hands tingle and his nose and ears feel cold, the brisk night air uncomfortable against his skin. The hunter turns up the collar of his jacket to protect his neck from the elements, but silently wishes he had brought a scarf at least. 

     The snow that fell yesterday reached lower altitudes than it did last week, announcing winter. David’s flashlight shimmers on the silver surface as they cross the open space. Cautious, Dean scans the area holding his torch up, shining it in the direction where he’s looking. David, on the other hand, checks his altimeter.      “We’re at 2400 feet,” he notifies.      Dean checks his watch, it’s almost ten-thirty. “We’re not gonna reach the Lone Pass Tree before midnight, are we?”      “I’m afraid not. Want to set up camp?” David proposes.      “No, we’re not gonna close our eyes in these woods. Something’s off,” Dean replies, alert.

     The skilled hunter can’t put his finger on it, but the hair in the back of his neck is straight up. He looks around, his focus flicking over his surroundings. He lets the light glide along the edge of the forest, when he sees a hint of a shadow. It moves so fast he barely captures it, yet he immediately draws his shotgun, which alerts David.      “What?”      “Shh…”  Dean hushes him and gestures to follow him. “Stay close. Keep your eyes open.”

     Scared yet brave, David takes out his gun and does as told. The only thing they hear are the noises coming from the woods and the snow rustling under their shoes. Dean wants to get out of this clearing as fast as possible; they are sitting ducks out here in the open. 

     With his hunter instincts on high alert, Dean crosses the field, the stock of the shotgun against his cheek and the back end firmly against his shoulder pocket as he peers past the barrel. His father, having served in Vietnam, taught his sons everything he knows about 360 degrees combat. The military training has proven his worth  throughout his career in hunting evil, and today is no exception.

     The two make it to the treeline, finding shelter in the shadows of the forest. After a few hundred yards, Dean stops dead in his tracks, spotting something that doesn’t fit the picture. What appears to be the remnants of a campsite comes into view, and he lowers his weapon. He realizes it’s probably the three missing hunters, but as they approach, it becomes clear that the creature he’s tracking has beaten him to it.

     The place is completely trashed. A fire has died out, fresh snow covering the blackened logs. The tents, which were set up in a triangle around the only heat source, are shredded to pieces. Strips of canvas sadly hang from the tentpoles, the soft breeze moving them back and forth. Blood that leaked from the groundsheet and tainted the ice should have been a warning, but the young Cleveland pulls back the cover anyway, regretting it the second he beholds what’s inside. He stumbles away, instantly throwing up and dumping his half-digested meal into the snow. 

     Dean watches the young guy for a second, who wipes his mouth and stares back at him, pale as a ghost. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be the first dead body the hunter has come across, yet he still pushes away the torn canvas with caution. He can understand David’s response, because it’s anything but a pretty sight. Inside lies what remains of one of the men. His torso has been ripped open and bodily fluids have splattered everywhere. Bite marks and scratches have torn his clothes, revealing the disemboweled body. His face has been eaten away, his remaining limbs already turning black. Scavengers have been snacking on his flesh, yet the frost that covers him has taken away the worst of the smell.

     With a sigh, the hunter steps back and investigates the other tents, finding the same dramatic portrayal behind every curtain. He spots the rifles by their sides; they got ambushed. The fact that all three of them are still in a sleeping position indicates that the attacks happened at once. It’s not just one predator who has made this area their hunting grounds. There are at least three of those creatures out there, which makes them outnumbered.

     His flashlight catches the torn-up canvas. The fabric is cut up by razor-sharp claws by the looks of it, four digits instead of five.      “I can tell you one thing, it ain’t no wendigo,” he concludes, ruling out the lonesome monster.

     But if it isn’t a wendigo, then what? Dean glances up at the sky through the branches. The moon was full a few days ago, yet now it’s partly shadowed; it can’t be a werewolf either. When he redirects his gaze back to the ground, he spots an imprint of a paw, stained with crimson. It looks like one of a wolf or some other canine. The experienced hunter is putting his money on the monsters being skinwalkers, until he looks back into one of the tents. The guy’s chest is ripped to shreds, but his heart is still there. So what the hell could this be then?

     Pondering, he steps back, making eye contact with the teenager. David is trembling slightly, and Dean would do anything to break the picture that will be forever framed in his mind. The kid is scared for life.      “You good?” he asks sympathetically, holding his gaze.      His question is answered with a nod of the head. David swallows with difficulty, but then he exhales, collecting himself.      “Let’s keep moving, there’s nothing we can do for them,” Dean says. “Turn off your flashlight, it will only make us easy targets. Those things could be anywhere, so stay close, alright?”

     David nods silently once more, doing exactly as Dean tells him. They move away from the site where the horrific event took place and traverse left, further into the forest to a wide-open strip, leading to the slopes of the Lone Pass Trees. The tall evergreens seem to try and cut out every bit of light, isolating them from the rest of the world. Darkness overshadows the boy and the hunter, who have both drawn their weapons. 

     For a moment, Dean closes his eyes and listens, trying to identify the many sounds of the night. Then he opens them, giving his pupils time to adjust. They are being watched, the hunter can feel it in his bones. He taps David on the shoulder to tell him to stop. Alerted and highly aware of what’s going on around him, Dean holds his shotgun up. If it’s a forest spirit, the rocksalt is going to hurt, but if this thing turns out to be a daeva, it’s only going to buy them a few extra seconds. 

     Then he notices it, something sneaking at ten o’clock. A branch twitches softly, but it’s enough for Dean to aim the barrel in the direction where it came from, trusting his trained ear. In a reflex, he steps in front of David and pulls the trigger, shooting a slug from the barrel, immediately taking cover behind a tree and pulling his guide with him. It’s a good thing he does, because whatever it is, it shoots back. He hears the rock salt hit the target right before the slug from the other weapon splinters the bark right next to his head. As he turns his face and shuts his eyes, protecting them from the wooden fragments, he hears the creature scream out. 

     “AAH! God damn it!!”

     Dean’s eyes widen as he feels the tree trunk against his back. No fucking way. Impossible. Yet, he knows that voice, he knows it way too well. The hunter carefully peeks from behind his cover. “Uh-oh.”      “What?” David whispers, scared. “What is it?”      “This is far worse than a wendigo or a skinwalker,” Dean comments under his breath, after which he puts on a louder voice. “Zoë?”      A short silence follows as it seems to sink on their opponent who she just had a face-off with. When the realization hits, hell breaks loose.      “Dean Winchester, you fucking ASSHOLE!!” Zoë curses.

     She has her arm clamped over the area where Dean just unleashed the insides of his shotgun. The agonizing injury has her coughing, the wind knocked from her lungs just moments earlier. Zoë has never been shot with rock salt before and although she knows it won’t kill her, it’s certainly not a pleasant experience. 

     “You two know each other?” David assumes, surprised by this unexpected development.      ���Unfortunately, we do,” Dean comments.      “You fucking SHOT me!!” she cries out, infuriated.

     Dean grimaces, cowering at her harsh tone; he’s dead meat. He just fired a gun at Zoë Sullivan and actually managed to hit her. He’s not sure if he will live to tell the tale. Then he remembers the little prank she pulled on him in Paragould. As his facial expression changes, he glares around the tree.

     “Well, you deserved it!” he shouts back, a part of him regretting his words the moment he pronounces them.      “WHAT did you just say to me?!” Zoë returns, in disbelief.      “You wrecked Baby!” Dean argues.      “Baby? What are you… Oh, you have got to be shitting me!” she snaps, frustrated. “You shot me over a fucking car?!”      Immediately, Dean’s eyes widen and he scoffs, insulted. “It’s a--”      “- ‘67 Chevrolet Impala,” the huntress interrupts. “Big fucking deal!”      “You know what’s a big deal? You shot me too, back in Rochester. With a real bullet!” Dean counters.

     Another pause follows, the quiet moment allowing her ragged breaths to be audible. Dean can hear her cough and groan. Shit, she’s in a lot of pain.  

     “Zo?”      “Yeah?” she moans.      “Sorry.”      The huntress huffs. “You will be when I’m done with you.”      “You’re not gonna shoot me, are ya?” Dean questions, before he dares to come out of hiding.      “No, I guess we’re square,” she sighs.

     Dean appears from the shadows while Zoë tries to crawl up, her forearm still tightly pressed against her chest. Seeing her on the ground has the older Winchester sibling fasten his steps towards her. He offers his hand, and when she glares at him she notices the concern in his eyes, despite the dim light. Reluctant, she places her palm in his and allows him to pull her in an upright position, after which the hunter crouches down next to her.

     “You alright?” he checks, peeling her warm coat away.      “Had worse,” Zoë croaks, clearing her throat with difficulty.      The winter coat she’s wearing has cushioned the rocksalt somewhat, but bruising is already evident, blood surfacing through her skin.      “Shit,” he cusses, his voice laced with guilt. “David, give me some light, will ya?”

     Perplexed, the huntress looks past Dean at the young guy who pulls a torch from his backpack. She assumed the tall figure behind the hunter was Sam, since the two siblings are so unhealthily co-dependent on each other.      Zoë snaps her head back to face the older Winchester brother, then hints at David. “You brought him here?”

     Before the hunter can answer her, the flashlight flips on, its rays exposing the state the woman before him is in, silencing him instantly. A blood splatter has painted her neck and chin with red, her brow and temple badly bruised. Crimson has dripped down from her forehead and dried into her pores, a cut on her cheekbone is still bleeding. No way in hell that a bit of rock salt caused that.

     Dean gapes at her. “Jesus, Zo. What the fuck happened?”      “I got into a little fight,” she admits carelessly.      Not satisfied with that answer, he sternly stares into her eyes. “With what?”      “Doesn’t matter,” she mutters, pushing herself off the ground, half accepting Dean’s support when he helps her. “I still can’t believe you dragged the kid with you.”      “He needed a guide,” David answers before Dean does. “I thought you were with Wildlife Services?”      Confused, Dean shifts his attention from Zoë to David and back. “You talked to him?”      “Of course I did. You think I would work a case without a background check?” she snaps, pulling herself loose from the hunter’s grip once she’s on her feet.      “Why didn’t you tell me?” Dean now asks David.      “I didn’t think it was relevant. I had my statement taken by several people. How was I supposed to know that she’s a hunter too?” the young guy excuses.      Now it’s Zoë’s turn to Dean in shock. “You told him?!” she cries out.      “He deserved to know, Zoë,” Dean defends.      “He deserves to live and so do you,” she returns firmly. “The both of you need to get off this mountain. Now.”      “No, not without my family,” the brave teenager states, determined.      “You’re no good to them dead, David. Believe me, you will end up the same way as your father and sister if you don’t go back,” she lectures.

     Confused, Dean watches the exchange, unsure what Zoë’s words could mean. “For fuck's sake, Zo. What are you hunting?”      “It’s taken care of, but you two need to leave. Now!” she replies firmly. “You can come back for your family’s remains, I promise you that. But not tonight, unless you want to suffer the same fate.”

     Her brown eyes bore deep into David’s. Her promise is sincere, but so is the warning. A pressing expression strengthens her words, convincing him to listen. There is something about her that forces David to understand he must do what she tells him to. He looks from one hunter to the other, then he nods as he swallows apprehensively.      “Okay,” he agrees.      “Here, take this with you,” she hands him an amulet.      Dean recognizes it as the demon protection necklace Zoë stole from his trunk back in Rochester. When he took the pendant back, he was sure he had left it in the trunk of the Impala, but she must have snatched it again when he wasn’t looking. Why would she need the enchanted jewelry? What is hiding in these woods that the amulet would work on? Demons? But that doesn’t fit the leads at all.      Wanting to get a grip on the situation, the hunter tries to read her, but Zoë gives him nothing.

     “Run and don’t look back”, she tells David.      “And the gun?” David gives the man who accompanied him on this quest a wondering look, the 9mm Glock burning behind his waistband.      “Keep it. Might come in handy,” Dean insists, also handing him a card from his pocket. “This is my brother’s number. When you get back to the village, give him a call and he will help you.”      “You’re going with him,” Zoë decides strictly.      The older Winchester sibling glances from David to the injured woman. Her breathing is still elevated, but her gaze is as penetrating as ever.      Dean doesn’t back down, though, his green eyes are as piercing as she has ever witnessed them. “No, I’m not.”      The huntress rolls her eyes skyward, trying to tie down the anger that is building in her stomach. Now is not the time for the hunter to fight her, yet she has to convince him fast before they run out of time. “Dean, listen to me--”      “I’m not gonna bail,” he makes clear, his father’s orders in the back of his mind.      “You are not part of this case,” Zoë hisses, suppressing her rage.      But Dean doesn’t falter. “I am now.”

     The smart woman who has made quick-thinking her middle name, turns away from him, her hands moving to her head, fingers raking into her brown locks. When she swings back around to face him, he sees a desperation in her stance he has never witnessed before.      “For fuck’s sake, Dean! Listen to me for once! If you stay, you will DIE!!” she cries out, retreating her hands from her hair and gesturing wildly.

     The complete change of demeanor stuns Dean. Trying to unravel her odd behavior, he watches her, noticing the shimmer in her eyes when the moonlight catches them. It starts to dawn on him that she’s not sending him away because she doesn’t want his help. There is so much more at stake than just pride.

     “I don’t want your blood on my hands, Dean,” Zoë continues, her voice much softer now. “Please, just… Please go.”

     Compared to her harsh words a moment ago, these come out as a pleading whisper. He could have sworn he heard a tremble, her words laid thick with fear and sadness. Nothing about this picture seems right. Could it be that the mighty huntress is actually scared? 

     It only fuels Dean’s determination to remain by her side even more. His green eyes turn softer, a mix of comfort and compassion filling them. “I’m not leaving you alone on this one, Zo.” 

     She breathes out a shuddering sigh, admitting the loss. It’s not often that it happens, but Zoë doesn’t argue further. The commitment in his tone, the way he’s looking at her right now, she knows that a nation’s army couldn't change his mind.      David seems to realize it too, because he steps back and intends to leave. “Good luck,” he wishes them.

     Both Dean and Zoë give him a nod, after which he disappears into the darkness of the forest. When he’s out of sight, the remaining hunter turns back to Zoë. She can’t look at him, aware that she has already lost the battle and that Dean has sealed his fate. She and the older Winchester brother might not get along, but this is not what she wishes for him. Now that he chose to stay, he chooses to die. Not okay with this in the slightest, she shakes her head and looks down at the icy soil at her feet.

     “You shouldn’t have followed me, Dean,” she sighs, trying to keep the tears at bay.      “I didn’t,” he returns, truthful.      “Oh, come on,” she scoffs. “How else would you explain that you end up here on the--”      “Dad sent me.”

     Stunned, she looks up, his words a complete shock to her. Several questions start to swirl inside in her mind. John? John sent him here? How did he even know she would be on this mountain? On this exact spot? And why would he send his son on a suicide mission? 

     “Why in hell would he jeopardize your life?” she counters, frustration and fury thick in her tone.      “Maybe because he thinks yours can be saved,” Dean brings to mind.      Zoë chuckles and turns away from the Winchester son who bears such a resemblance to his father, taking a couple of steps away from him while she tries to wrap her head around the situation.

     “Is that funny to you?” he questions, hostile, her cynical laugh rubbing him the wrong way.      “It is, because last time I checked, saving my ass is about the last thing your old man wants to do,” she returns, venom in her voice.

     Her acquisition puts John’s son off once again. He has noticed her disrespecting and aggressive attitude towards his father several times before and he can’t resist continuing on that matter this time.      “What the fuck is your problem with my father?” he asks defensively.      “Can we please not do this? Not now,” she intervenes, seemingly tired, after which her gaze wanders. “You shouldn’t have come.”

     Dean observes her intently, unable to comprehend what is happening. Zoë Sullivan who doesn’t want to pick a fight? That’s a new one. Her choice of actions alerts Dean, even frightens him a little. However, nothing will ever make him reconsider the decision to stick around. Dad gave him a job to do and finding the huntress here, clearly in deep shit, can’t be a coincidence. He approaches Zoë, forces her to look him in the eye by gently gripping her shoulders and turning her to face him.

     “Zo, what are you hunting?” he asks, emerald greens staring at her.      “I’m not hunting, Dean,” she answers, her voice only having a fraction of its usual strength. “I’m ending this.”

     In the far distance, a church bell rings. Startled, Zoë snaps her head to the side, staring into the direction of the valley as the single carillon chimes. Midnight is here. 

     Three… four… five… 

     Time becomes valuable when it runs out. This is it. This is the moment she has feared for exactly one year now. This is the moment that she has to pay her dues. 

     Seven… eight… nine…

     “Zo?”      Dean tries to call her back, hoping to get her attention, but she has shut herself out. The woman before him is identical to the girl he met four years ago, when she was possessed and the carpet got pulled from under her. Panic and fear swim in her eyes and tears begin to pool just above her bottom eyelashes. Unable to respond, she listens to the sounding of the bells, pulling in irregular breaths. She’s on the verge of breaking down.

     He isn’t sure how to handle her, the huntress who has seen so much evil and has endured so much pain. She never gives in to fear, never wavers, never gives up, until now. And still, Dean doesn’t have a clue what is going on, but he is starting to fear the worst himself. 

     Gently, he slides his hands down her arms until he’s holding her by the wrists, tightening his grip to get her to look at him. Finally, Zoë turns her head and stares back, teardrops coming down her bruised and bloody face. Despite the lack of light, he can see them glisten with sorrow. 

     Ten… eleven… 

     Then the last call of the church bell echoes through the valley. It feels like the drums stop right then and there and the floor is about to disappear from under her, which will force the seemingly unbeatable huntress to fight the noose. Her entire form trembles under Dean’s touch. She can barely say a word, because she knows they will be one of her last. And so she whispers the most fragile, truthful, and frightening message that has ever left her lips, only for him to be heard.

     “I’m so sorry.” 

Dun-dun-dun! Hope you enjoyed the cliffhanger. Feel free to rant about after the read. Thank you so much for reading. I appreciate  every single one of you, but if you  do want to give me some extra love,  you are free to reblog my work or  buy me coffee (Link in bio at the  top of the page)

Read part six here

[imnotoverlyobsessive]

Here’s the next chapter! Hope you enjoy. Also a big thank you to @edward-or-ford, as always, for his invaluable feedback!

Chapter Five: Into the Night

It’s three AM, I’m outside your window. Jump the fence; dad will never know. And then you took control of the radio, turned up all the songs I know. I’m risking everything, and that’s alright with me. - The Summer Set, Passenger Seat

Mabel Caroline Pines, age seventeen, five foot three (and a Virgo, for interested parties) was positively average. As in, she was perfectly fine. Reasonably acceptable. Nothing to gawk at, sure, but certainly not a goblin or in any way repulsive.

Her face was average, her boobs were average, her hair was average, her butt was average. Even her feet were average-sized. There was nothing inherently wrong with Mabel’s appearance. Sure, she’d change the odd thing here and there if given the chance to do so (the length of her eyelashes, for example, or the natural shape of her eyebrows).

Of course, Mabel would never admit such things out loud. How could she? It would ruin the confidence she pretended to have, and that simply wouldn’t do.

To be fair to herself, which she always tried to be, Mabel was quite skilled at creativity-driven tasks. However, no amount of creative proficiency could have prevented the required sleuthing, as well as pre-sleuth planning and timing, that one particular evening required in order to be pulled off.

Mabel didn’t deign to share with Candy and Grenda exactly whom she was meeting (“I’m sneaking out to meet my brother in the dead of night” hardly warrants a forty-five minute shower where she spent the majority of the time shaving parts of her body that didn’t strictly need shaving as they wouldn’t be seen, thirty minutes of blow drying and styling one’s hair, thirty more minutes of makeup application, the nervousness, not to mention the outfit-picking-out process), but she did say she was meeting a boy she might’ve sorta kinda had a teensy bit of a thing for. Her friends knew her well enough to know she was understating her feelings a great deal, of course, but they didn’t pry. Okay, they did, but they didn’t pry too much.

In any case, Mabel was quite pleased with the results of her hour in the bathroom mirror. She’d drenched the ever-loving crap out of her hair in glitter spray as she brushed it, and the hot air of the hair dryer made the spray set in so it didn’t get on Candy’s fingers while she began a partial French braid at the crown of Mabel’s head.

Y’know, the sort of hairstyle that, to the untrained eye, didn’t look like it took a whole lot of time and effort, when in reality, it 100% did.

“Why can’t we use bright red lipstick again, or wing your eyeliner?” Grenda complained.

“Because,” Mabel said emphatically. “If Di-“ Cutting herself off and pressing her lips together tightly, collecting her thoughts. Candy raised a slender eyebrow before Mabel continued. “If he sees winged eyeliner and bright red lipstick, he’ll think something’s up! I don’t want him to know I’m interested!”

“But you want him to look deep into your eyes, and the eyeliner will draw attention to them,” reminded Grenda.

“Yeah, and bright red lipstick will draw attention to your lips, which means he’s more likely to think about kissing you,” agreed Candy.

Mabel sighed and held up a tube of lipstick that was just a few shades darker than her natural lip color.

“The pink will do that same thing without being too obvious about it. If he’s interested, he’ll notice my lips and my boobs, and if he’s not, then, well… then he’s not, I guess.”

“Fair enough, I suppose,” Grenda conceded.

Candy was silent for a moment, staring searchingly at Mabel’s face. “Who did you say you were meeting again?”

“I- I didn’t,” Mabel stuttered briefly, covering her discomfort by turning her attention to applying the lipstick. This was just as well, as if she had seen Candy’s highly suspicious expression, she would’ve been even more nervous than she already was, and it should be noted that that was no small amount by any measure.

Perfect. Just the right amount of “LOOK AT ME” vibes from her lips.

Grabbing a bottle of perfume, she sprayed a bit on her wrist, rubbing it against her other one, and then on her neck and under her ears.

“You guys sure this outfit isn’t too much? I don’t want him to think I’m trying to impress him, and the heels, I dunno...”

Both girls shook their heads furiously. “No, it’s perfect! And we already coordinated your makeup and jewelry so no way are we changing it up now!” Grenda exclaimed.

“Mhm,” Candy agreed. “And the heels are perfect! They make your hips sway extra when you walk and they make your butt stuck out a little bit! They’re not even that high, he probably won’t even notice you’re wearing them.”

Right. Nobody wore jeans when they were trying to impress somebody. Well, not when they were being obvious about it, anyway. And Mabel was certainly trying her hardest not to be obvious.

And she was 100% trying to impress Dipper. She wanted Dipper to see her and wish she wasn’t his sister, wish they shared a soulmark. She wanted him to ache so badly for her that it felt like his bones were trying to escape his skin.

She ached for him that way, after all. It was only fair she made him ache for her in return. Even if it was only once, only for a split second.

When Mabel’s phone chimed to signal she’d gotten a text, she snatched it up before either of her friends could sneak a peek at the screen.

I’m outside read Dipper’s text. Then a second one came in with a whoosh from her phone’s speaker. Lights are off so nobody can see my car but I’m here.

Mabel wasn’t sure where her heart was. It might’ve been in her stomach, or perhaps her throat, or maybe even Candy’s basement, but it most definitely was not in her chest.

“He’s here,” Mabel said quietly, standing on shaky legs. God, why had she worn heels? What had she been thinking?

“Are you ready?!” Grenda demanded excitedly.

“Nope,” Mabel squeaked out.

“Yes you are!” Candy said firmly. “You are absolutely ready! You look hot, girl, you’re gonna make him jizz his pants just from looking at you!”

Mabel seriously doubted that, and she would most definitely laugh if it happened. But yeah, it wasn’t gonna happen. Because no matter how much time Mabel spent on making herself look her prettiest, Dipper would only ever see her as his sister.

Still, though. A girl could dream, right?

Mabel has never really considered Candy’s first floor bedroom being an asset before, but it most certainly had become one. Climbing out a window was far easier if that window was on the ground floor.

Still, staring out into the blackness of the cold Oregon night as Candy popped out her window screen and set it to the side, Mabel wondered how she had gotten there. Thirteen minutes before midnight, done up like she was going on a date, about to climb out her friend’s bedroom window and tiptoe through the front yard to secretly meet her twin brother whom she just so happened to be in love with, praying to every deity she’d ever heard of that he hadn’t found his soulmate.

Not yet, she pleaded silently, staring at the outline of his car, just a shade darker than the trees and the night sky, barely visible at all. Let me have him to myself just a little longer.

She wasn’t ready to share him with another girl. She never really would be, but in time, she’d come to accept it. She had to, right? There was no other option. She wanted him to be happy. Even if it wasn’t with her, even if it made her feel like her body was consuming itself from the inside out, she wanted him to be happy.

“Mabel?” Grenda asked cautiously.

“I’m fine,” she assured her friend. She couldn’t mess up her makeup by crying.

Mascara and eyeliner were a bitch to fix.

Bracing herself on the windowsill, she put one jean-clad leg over and out the window, then the other.

Looking back at her friends in the light of Candy’s bedroom one last time, second guessing herself for half a second (she’d never snuck out before, after all), Mabel smiled shakily. Both her friends beamed back at her. Candy leaned down the couple of inches required to be at Mabel’s eye level.

“Knock ‘em dead.”

Grenda nodded enthusiastically. “And tell us everything when you get back!”

Grinning, Mabel hopped out of the window only to immediately realize that heels and frosty grass were not a great mix, and thus struggled to maintain her balance.

“Wait!” Grenda whisper-yelled.

Whipping her head around to look at her friends staring out at her through the window, Mabel smiled as Candy hastily squashed the essentials (phone, lipstick, tampons, breath mints, makeup remover wipes, and a compact mirror) into a purse before shoving it into the hand Grenda had stretched out behind her and was flailing about wildly, signalling to hurry the fuck up, Candy, time is of the essence here before finally tossing it at Mabel, who caught it with minimal fumbling and put it over her shoulder.

“We’ll leave the window unlocked. Let us know if you aren’t gonna come home tonight!” Grenda informed Mabel with an exaggerated wink and closed the window.

Mabel rolled her eyes affectionately and did her very best to hobble over to Dipper’s car with as much dignity as she could muster.

Heels and grass did not mix, and they extra-dextra didn’t mix when the grass was wet and very, very cold.

Reaching the curb, she perched her feet on it, and reached slowly, ever so slowly, towards the handle, and heard the click of the lock being undone from the inside. She couldn’t see in the windows; it was too dark.

The chill of the winter night bit into her fingers as they brushed the silver door handle, and she exhaled as she grasped it, her breath visible in the cold air.

Grasping the handle, Mabel opened the door slowly, and the overhead light in the car switched on automatically.

“Hurry!” Dipper whispered urgently. “Don’t want anyone to see the light.”

Mabel moved to sit in the passenger seat of his car as quickly as she could with the amount of shaking her limbs were doing, and settled in, closing the door behind her.

“Where are we going?” She asked, too afraid to look at him in the dim light of the streetlamp. She’d have to strain her eyes a great deal to see him, anyway.

“The woods. Not far from here. Just… somewhere nobody will see my car and recognize it.”

“Awfully recognizable, are ya now?” She tried to joke, but it came out stilted and awkward. Could he tell how nervous, no, how terrified, she was?

She could almost hear the shrug in his voice as he started the car, not turning the headlights on until they turned a corner.

“I mean… it’s a really small town. I don’t think there’s anybody here whose name I don’t know. So yeah, they all know what my car looks like,” he said it quietly, and it occurred to Mabel just then that he hadn’t turned on any music. The silence was suffocating.

Not knowing what to say, Mabel remained silent for a bazillion years, watching the trees pass them by. It was nothing like California, where the activity never stopped, just changed. It was quiet. Peaceful. Suffocating.

Okay, so it wasn’t actually a bazillion years. More like ten minutes. But hell if it didn’t feel like a bazillion years.

Dipper pulled into a clearing and put the car in park. It wasn’t a road, but it had clearly been driven over many a time.

The light came on again as he switched gears, and he turned the headlights back off. Turning to look at each other, really look at each other, for the first time since that afternoon, they found themselves speechless.

Dipper was, in a word, breathtaking. The soft glow of the overhead light lit the shadows on his face in such a way that his eyes almost seemed to glow, and his hair fell over his forehead in the most adorable way, and his lips were slightly parted and his cheeks were flushed from the cold.

It was warm in the car, but what else could his cheeks be flushed from?

“You look…” he coughed, looking at his lap briefly. “Nice,” he finished weakly.

“Thanks,” she managed to force out. Even a syllable was a struggle. God, how had she never been alone with him before? Why was the atmosphere so incredibly different? She didn’t even feel like herself!

“So… here’s the thing, Mabel…” he trailed off.

“The thing?”

“Yeah, the thing I wanted to talk to you about. Y’know. The thing,” he held his hands out and accentuated the last word with a movement.

“Errr… sorry, no. I don’t know what you’re talking about, bro-bro,” she shook her head. “You literally just left me a ultra-mega cryptic note saying you had to tell me something and that’s it.”

He nodded, ran a hand through his hair, and when he turned his head just so his jawline came into the light and- good god why? Why must the gods torture Mabel thus?

“Right. I guess…” he blinked rapidly, staring determinedly off in the direction of absolutely nothing. “I guess you wouldn’t, huh?”

“Is… is everything okay?” She asked him softly. “It’s gotta be pretty important for you to want a one-on-one meeting like this, so…”

“Yeah, I mean, no… I mean. Ugh. I dunno.” He ran a hand over his face, clearly agonizing over something.

What in the actual ever-loving fuck was going on?

“Dip,” she said, forcing a sternness she definitely didn’t feel into her voice. “What’s going on?”

“Right,” he said with a nod that appeared to be more to himself than to her, and then looked at her. There was something in his eyes. Mabel didn’t know what it was, but whatever was in his gaze, she knew in her very soul that it was the exact opposite of the frost on the grass outside the car.

Not that that made any sense, of course, but that was the only conclusion she could come to without at least forty-five minutes of analysis.

“Right,” he said again. “I guess… I guess it would probably be easier to just… show you, maybe…”

“Uh. Okay?” Mabel blinked. Show her what now?

Dipper held out his arm, palm up, except his fist was clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. His eyes were shut, too, and in much the same way, and then…

And then he took a deep breath, held it, and yanked his sleeve up.

Mabel’s eyes were fixed on the inside of his wrist. Dipper’s soulmark was a shooting star with the outline of a tree in the center.

Exactly like hers.

[mo12mo29]

Queen of Dreams  Chapter 3: First Words

Carla is babysitting Emma while the boys are out doing their own thing.

Notes: I honestly am a little salty with Carla after that one specific episode (not gonna say which one) so I am gonna do a little bashing on her. I'm also gonna add in a bit of Emma's point of view since she is a little older to the point where she can decipher whether she likes someone or not.

A year has gone by and Emma was already getting so big. She was only one and she already knew how to walk, thanks to Stanford teaching her. Stanley never thought he's see the day when his own twin squealing like a girl and jumping up and down in excitement when Emma first started taking her first steps. Stanley was excited too, but not as excited as Stanford was. He guessed that being accomplished in teaching a one year old how to walk brings out that kind of reaction. Today, Caryn and Filbrick were out of town, leaving Stanford and Stanley to take care of Emma. The boys still needed some help since their parents were gonna be gone for two weeks so they called their older brother Shermie, who came into town a month ago, and he said that he would come over to help out. He still had a few hour drive and the boys had to leave for their after school activities. Stanley had to go to boxing practice and Stanford had to go to his science club. Luckily, Stan's girlfriend, Carla said that she would babysit Emma for a while.

Which brings them to the present. Emma was playing on the floor with her toys while Carla was on the phone with one of her friends. If Emma was being honest with herself, she didn't really like Carla at all. Whenever she was around, she would take all of Stanley's attention, give her disgusted looks when she looks at Emma's hair, and say nasty things about her under her breath when no one is listening. Plus, Carla was no fun! She wouldn't even play with Emma whenever she came over! She would just brush her off and either flirt with Stan, or be on the phone all day. Tonight was gonna be even worse, while Emma was playing with a block, she heard Carla talking on the phone with someone, but the sound of the voice didn't sound feminine at all, it sounded like a male's voice.

"Yeah...Yeah, he's gone and they won't be back in an hour. Don't worry about the baby, she's only one, she's a dumb baby." 'Dumb baby'!?  Emma wanted to bite Carla's fingers off. She knew enough words to know that those words were insulted. Just because she was a baby it does not mean she was dumb.

"Be here in ten minutes, don't forget to bring the cigarettes okay? Love you." Woah, wait! A stranger is coming over!? Carla just invited a complete stranger over! Emma did not like the sound of a stranger coming in the house.

Ten minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Carla picked Emma up from the floor, ignore Emma's struggle to get out of her hold, and went to open the door. There was a man with blond hair and looked close to Carla's age

"Tim, you're here!" Carla reached up and kissed him on the lips. Emma was confused. Why was Carla kissing another guy? Didn't she love Stan? When they parted, Tim looked at Emma and said,

"Carla, I don't feel comfortable smoking in front of a baby. Can't you put her in a crib in another room or something?"

"Oh, don't worry, it's about time for her to go to bed anyway." Carla said as she went upstairs, but it was difficult with Emma squirming and whining in her arms. Finally having enough, Carla just went into the room beside her and opened a closest door.

"Now listen here you little brat." She snarled as she placed Emma down into the closet, "You are gonna sit right here like a good little girl and stay quiet." After that, Carla slammed the closet door on Emma, leaving her in a tight dark space. Emma couldn't see a thing and it was frightening being in a dark place all alone. She stood up the best she could and placed her little hands on the door and started banging her hands on them as she cried out. But it did not seem like anyone was gonna hear her so the only thing she could do was sit and wait. She sat back down and sobbed quietly.

"I want my big brothers." She thought to herself.

After waiting in the dark for almost an hour, Emma was about to doze off when she suddenly heard a voice.

"Where's my sister!?" The voice sounded angry, angry and....familiar, wait...wasn't that?

"Stanny!"  Emma stood up and started banging on the closet door again. She stopped after her hands got sore. After a few minutes of silence she heard footsteps coming towards the closet. The door opened and once Emma adjusted to the light, she saw a face, a face she thought she would never see again.

"Emma! Are you okay!?" Stanley asked as he picked her up from the closet. Emma just clung to Stanley as she cried. Stanley started to inspect her for injuries, and saw that she has minor bruises on her tiny body that were possibly from all the objects pushing against her body. He also saw that her hands were a little red from banging on the door so much. Stan wanted to be pissed, but right now he had a sister to comfort. No doubt that being in the dark for so long in a tight space was not comforting to a one year old. With that, Stanley hugged her tightly and patter her back.

"I know, I know. What did she do to you? It will never happen again." Emma believed every word. She knew that she was safe

As it turns out, Stanley, Stanford, and Shermie all came home earlier and when Stanley saw Carla in the hands of another man, he was pissed at first, but then he realized that someone was missing. After he realizing that Emma was not present, everything about Carla was thrown out the window. He became angry for another reason Which lead them to the present, the guy that Carla was with left the house, which leaves Carla, Stanley, Stanford, and Shermie. Emma was in Stanley's arms, Shermie was lecturing Carla, and Stanford was off to the side, glaring at Carla.

"Carla, we are gonna call your parents and have them know what happened and we will be pressing charges." Carla looked at Shermie in disbelief.

"You can't do that! They'll never let me leave the house again, they might even force me to spend the night in jail!"

"Should have thought about that before shutting our sister in a closet for hours." Carla stared at Shermie for a second before turning to Stanley.

"Stan! You're just gonna let him do that to me!? Look, if this is about that guy, he's nothing." Stanley just gave Carla a cold look, then he scoffed.

"Carla, I am not your dad. I can't tell you who you can and can't be with and honestly, I don't care. What you did was crossing the line. As soon as you're gone, you better stay gone. I don't know what gave you the idea of stuffing a one year old in a closet. Emma's just a baby."

"So you're gonna just choose your sister over me?!" Carla shouted.

"Choose? Carla, I never had to choose because my sister was always gonna be important to me, she is always gonna be my number one gal because unlike you, she's loyal! Another thing, who smokes around a baby!? You could have gotten Emma sick! I want you out of our house, and out of my life because she-" Stanley pointed to Emma, who was hiding her face in his neck, "Is the only girl I need in my life." Tears were streaming down Carla's face as her eyes were wide with shock, then she turned and walked towards the door. When she opened it, she slightly turned.

"You're gonna end up a lonely man if you keep choosing your sister over everything." Stanley's scowl only deepened as he answered.

"Then I rather be a lonely man than be with someone who hurts my family." Seeing that he was done talking, Carla went out the door, her sniffling getting louder as she disappeared from view. It was silent in the house for a few minutes until Emma started crying again. Stanley patter her back as he tried to console her.

"Its okay Emma, big brother Stanny is here now." Suddenly, Stanley heard a small voice near his ear.

" 'tanny." Stanley's eyes went wide as he looked at Emma. He then looked at his brothers who both had the same look of shock on their faces. He looked back at Emma was was looking back at him.

"Emma, say that again." Emma tilted her head to the side in confusion for a second, "Come on Emma." Stanley then had a thought

"Wait, that's right, she'll probably want me to be specific."

"Emma, who am I?" Emma eyes brightened at Stanley's question and smiled.

" 'tanny." It almost sounded like Stanley's nickname, but without the 'S'.

"Stan, I think she's trying to say your name!" Stanford exclaimed. Stanley was silent, slightly shaking as tears of joy started to run down his face. He felt as if Emma was the only thing that mattered. As if she was the reason why his life is suddenly perfect. He was suddenly taken out of his thoughts when he saw that Shermie and Stanford were staring at him. He quickly wiped his eyes with his free arm and cleared his throat.

"Don't look at me like that! I wasn't crying, I just had dust in my eyes!" Shermie just smiled at him with a smug expression.

"Stan, Ford told me that you cried when you first saw her." Stanford only shrugged.

"I had to tell him, it was the first time you ever cried about something so small."

"Shut up!" Stanley exclaimed. Emma only giggled at the interaction, Stanley turned to face her.

"That didn't give you permission to laugh little missy." But that only made Emma giggle some more.

"Alright boys, that's enough. It's late, it's been a long day, and a certain little sister needs to get some sleep." Shermie said. But when he tried to reach out to take Emma out of Stanley's arms, she whimpered and clung tighter to Stan. It seemed like she didn't want to let her Stanny go.

"It's alright Shermie, I'll take her." Shermie nodded as Stanley took Emma upstairs to bed.

It took a while for Emma to stay in her crib, she kept fussing every time Stanley tried to put her down, but as soon as she fell asleep, Stan went into his shared room where he saw his twin take a five dollar bill out of his pocket. He then turned to Stan and gave it to him.

"A deal's a deal. You win." Stanley looked at the five dollar bill for a second, then he gave it back to Stanford.

"Keep it, I don't want it anymore." Stanford looked at his brother, confused.

"But Stan, the deal was-"

"The deal, doesn't matter anymore. I'm just glad our sister is safe.'"

"Even if it means losing your girlfriend?" Stanley scoffed.

"Oh please, after what she did. I don't even consider her my friend anymore. Honestly, my sister only showed Carla's true colors. No one hurts my sister and get's away with it. Karma will kick her in the butt later, and I will be laughing when that happens." Stanford looked at his twin in surprise. This was the first time he had heard Stanley say something so...mature. Having Emma around really changed him. She made him more compassionate on the outside then he was on the inside. Stanford smiled as he climbed up to his bed.

"Whatever you say, 'Stanny'." Stanley groaned as he sat on his bed.

"You are never gonna let me live that down are you?" Stanford only laughed

"When you get such a cute nickname from a cute baby, how can I?"

"Well knock it off, only Emma can call me that." And he meant it too.

[ryttu3k]

Night Road quote text dump, because I've been deluging a friend with quotes and want a place to keep them all.

We're a bit like that, yeah:

They direct you to a hulking Malkavian named Severian, and the sullen giant directs you in turn to Gibberish Mike.

Fortunately, it turns out that "Gibberish" Mike is just Australian.

Practical concerns:

"That's it!" Elena says, leaning over your shoulder. "That's his yacht. Oh, and this is all about him. Very useful." She snaps a picture of the email with her phone, then the two of you get out of there before the technician returns. You head down the elevator and then back to Elena's Datsun.

You're so pleased by how well that went that that it takes you a few minutes to remember you're in Arizona.

"His yacht?" you finally ask.

Fun with bungalow ownership:

After a day of fitful dreams, you throw on your leather jacket and engineer boots and get ready for another night. You step outside to check your Integra. A neighbor parks next door in her Ford Super Duty and gives you a friendly little wave. You've been practicing this. You're ready.

"Howdy, neighbor."

"Howdy!" she responds before heading inside.

Fucking nailed it. You're one of them.

This is legitimately how I got the Messy Critical achievement:

You grab a hoe.

You rip through the underbrush with savage efficiency, staying a few steps ahead of the pushcart as Julian scans. You work in a trance, chopping and hammering. Only when you hear Julian shouting do you realize that you're holding a busted length of wood.

The head of your hoe is buried in the beautiful round black door of Prince Lettow's Rolls-Royce.

Raúlblocked:

You head to Raúl's place, but he's not there. You find a note hidden above the door that reads, "Problems in Phoenix. (Jesus Christ has returned? Stole a car?) Contact me right away for major jobs and I'll come back. Already missing you." And there's a ProtonMail address with some of the security contact codes you agreed upon earlier.

But it looks like Raúl will be occupied dealing with the Lord and His automotive crimes, and he won't be able to wander around Tucson with you.

Pattermuster doesn't get paid enough:

"Hello? What? Well, the blood can't be 'everywhere.' Surely that's an exagger—okay—okay, fine. Okay. Okay, I'll get—okay. Five minutes. What? No, Sissy Spacek. No, Sissy—you're thinking of Rosemary's Baby. No, Carrie had the prom scene. With all the pig's—yes, it was Sissy Spacek, I'm sure. That much blood? Jesus. Okay, hold—five—okay, five minutes."

Valid question:

Do they teach ax fighting at Quantico?

Julian Meyer:

"Man, it's been a while," Julian says, leaning against your door frame. "I remember the nights we spent keeping that elder asleep with offerings of blood, the days curled up together in the desert. Wasn't it romantic?"

"That never happened, Julian. You made up our relationship and tried to sell it as a novel until the old Prince of Tucson threatened to execute you." '

"Vampire romance was big at the time," Julian says with a shrug. "And I changed our names. I still don't know why no one wanted to buy it."

Dammit I thought I was done with uni:

"Awful," Dr. Caul says with a little shudder. "But now your real studies can begin."

Your real studies consist of a syllabus (thirty pages) and a trunk full of books (35,000 pages).

"Are you disappointed, Rook?" she says with a little laugh. "Were you expecting something more mystical? A bolt of cosmic enlightenment? A conversation with your Holy Guardian Angel, who would reveal the answers you seek?" She bangs the trunk as technicians get ready to load it into your car. "Get reading."

An enthusiastic boss:

You reunite with Pattermuster down in the morgue, where he's pumping his fists as a thin-blood on a gaming laptop watches with a worried expression because she can't tell if he's incredibly happy or insanely mad.

"Rook!" Pattermuster shouts, his eyes full of Blood, "you did it! You brilliant child, you did it! We're safe. Oh, thank God, we're safe." He pulls you into an embrace, then punches a brick wall because he's so happy, showering all three of you in dust.

I thought that was Finland?:

You catch all sorts of whispered gossip as you cross the rooftop garden.

"Camp Scheffler?"

"Gone. That Outlander courier had something to do with it."

"I heard the Russians helped the SI burn it down."

"That's ridiculous. There's no such thing as Russians."

Pot, kettle:

"Julian," the Eagle Prince says, "you will locate Reremouse with the equipment Vane brought. Once we find him, we will strike shortly before dawn. I have prepared a stake sufficient to pierce even his old hide."

"That easy, huh?" Julian says.

"No, but—"

"Your plan is ridiculous, convoluted, and dangerous," Julian says.

"And you have a better one?"

"Absolutely," Julian says. "We use Stonehenge to teleport him to Mesopotamia."

The must-have appliance:

He's a black outline in the glow of a single yellow bulb... and then the bats descend.

And then the bats get torn to pieces, because Pattermuster pulls his two katanas out of nothing and turns into an undead Cuisinart for a few seconds.

But aesthetic:

Leave it to a vampire to bring a sword to a gunfight.

It is pretty cool though:

"Oh my God," Julian says. "You're going to use the car engine to fling Prometheus into Reremouse's heart."

"Dammit, Julian, I am not doing this because it's fun. I am scrambling for every advantage I can because we only have one chance to stop Reremouse, and if we fail, the Second Inquisition will descend on us like wolves on a wounded deer."

"It's still cool," Julian mutters.

A e s t h e t i c:

The Camarilla looks unkindly on vampires who dress like Elvira, Mistress of the Dark, but what's the point of being dead if you can't look the part?

#JustToreadorThings:

You sleep badly and awaken to an aching and acute Hunger that crowds out other thoughts. But when you approach the Rolls-Royce, you find Lettow and Julian seated on a blanket, evidently in fine spirits. They're holding stainless steel mugs as they watch the last purple streaks fade from the western sky. There's something perfect about the composition before you: the two Kindred in their working clothes with their backs to you, the blue-black clouds, the faraway mesas framing the scene.

"I fear we've lost the Aesthete," Lettow muses. "Luka? Luka!"

It's just good sense:

A lot of keypads use 0911 as an emergency override for police and fire. That doesn't work, but a common default password causes the elevator doors to slide right open.

Change your defaults, people.

They draw the line at 31%:

Not all problems can be solved by putting a brick through a window, but at least 30 percent can.

Descriptive:

That's when your Nissan makes a sound like a bunch of typewriter keys dropped in a blender, and the whole truck lurches to a halt.

Munch munch:

"There are tags attached to all the payroll numbers," you say. "FNMA. PFC. What are they?"

"FNMA?" Antonio says. "That's Fannie Mae. The loan commission. Privatized in 1968. PFC…"

"Pavlodar Fried Chicken," Janet says. "Damn Commies."

Courier what did you do:

When you try to start your Mercedes, it vomits black smoke. That's not good. You kill the engine.

"Pop the hood," Julian says. "I'll get it up and running."

He checks the motor. There's a long pause.

"Did you melt a bunch of cheese in here or something, Vane?"

“I remember crawling out of a Nieuport 20 outside Gibraltar," Prince Lettow says. "The engine looked like that. Of course, ours had been on fire."

"Engine looks like Vane fed a bunch of sardine cans into a paper shredder," Julian says.

Almost!:

So Lettow is cute. I'm going to talk to him and see if he might be interested in a handsome young courier who almost has his own car.

Scientist life:

A beaker of cold coffee on her desk has a pencil in it; she flicks the pencil away and drains the entire beaker, then looks you in the eyes.

Domesticity:

"Wow, Vane," the Banu Haqim says, "did you finally settle down. Where's the wife and kids? Why don't you get me a beer, and we can talk about football and quote some Bible verses at each other?"

I really want to know where the fake werewolf came in:

"...so the whole fucking Cadillac is on fire, and I'm kicking and kicking, trying to get the window to break!" Dove says.

"Right, right, because —" You're trying to follow this story, and it isn't easy.

"Because I'm still handcuffed to the guy who was pretending to be a werewolf, right. And I finally kick through the window, rip half the dead fake werewolf's arm off to get free — I'm out of my fucking mind now, with all the fire — and I finally crawl out of the car."

"And get clear before it — do they blow up?"

"Escalades? I dunno, probably not," Dove says. "But anyway, I'm finally clear, so I run across the parking lot, laughing because I'm just thrilled not to have met final death chained up to that guy. And I barely have time to look up before Lettow comes screaming around the corner in a Ford Bronco with the lights off and runs me over. I was in the wrong Cadillac the whole time."

"No!"

"Two black Cadillac Escalades in the parking lot of the Marriott," Dove says. "How was I supposed to know which one — anyway, that's why I don't get to drive anymore. That's why Lettow wants assholes like you driving."

"Driving what?" you ask. "Because I need a car."

Dove shakes her ugly head. "I'll get you something. Give me a few hours to work on it, and I'll send someone to find you."

Cars are everything:

You still don't know how Julian plans to go from "divert a few funds and data streams from the Camarilla" to "transform the global information panopticon in a way that ends the Masquerade but keeps vampires safe," but he has a nicer car than last time, so he must be doing something right.

Guys please be nice to Raul:

"There appears to be a vampire hunter outside," he says, "investigating your electric vehicle."

"Send your bird to peck his eyes out," Julian says. "I'm not going outside until I find my sneakers."

Cheese?:

Over the next few minutes, you cough up a glorious wad of bullshit involving MKUltra, the Philadelphia Experiment, Star Wars (the movie), Star Wars (the Reagan-era government program), Jackson Pollack's CIA connections, the history of federal cheese, and the secret mastermind behind the seventies gas crunch.

In fairness it's a pretty rare sound:

You're way up in Limberlost, near the mall and the Walmart, when Riga settles on the roof of a Safeway. You reverse into the parking lot in case you need to get out fast and scan the cars at the pumps. It looks quiet. Then you hear a faint ringing.

The sound is musical, hypnotic. It reminds you of your childhood, and for a long time you just sit there in the driver's seat, remembering what it was like to be alive. But what is that sound? What memory from…?

Oh, right.

The pay phone next to the ice merchandiser is ringing.

It's a skill!:

Not every member of Clan Toreador joins their august ranks because of their great beauty or artistic genius. Some people end up vampires because of their extensive knowledge of Adobe After Effects.

Big Pirates of the Caribbean energy:

"I'd kind of like to give Lettow here a horse and a sword and let him tear through an entire police barracks," Julian says. "Tell me that wouldn't be fun."

"One thing I learned from Napoleon," Lettow says, "is that the most powerful cannon is useless if you cannot see your target. We know the location of one small encampment. That isn't enough to start shooting."

"You knew Napoleon?" Julian asks.

"Napoleon was my horse," Lettow says.

[eternalstann]

Out Of The Rain

You give Peter a ride home...kind of?

Pairing: Peter Parker X Reader

Warnings: Smut, Swearing, Angst

___________

School lunches fucking sucked. Right now you really regret not waking up early enough to pack one at home. You stared down at the unappealing plate, before tentatively lifting a piece of limp broccoli to your mouth.

“Y/N? Y/N?!” The sound of your best friend Lexi’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. “Hmm?” You grumble, mouth now full with the gross green vegetables. “Ms. Jones said we’re having a surprise practice today” she informs you and you groan. “Damnit! I didn’t wear sneakers” You exclaim looking down at the moccasins on your feet. “My uniform is in my locker, maybe I left a pair in there” you hope out loud. “Girl I hope you did, that would be shitty if you had to run all the way home to get some” You nod in agreement before getting up and jogging to your locker.

You sigh upon opening it, you find your uniform....but no sneakers. You yank out the skirt and cropped shirt before slamming the small metal shut. You change into the clothes before making your way back to the cafeteria. You loved cheerleading but Ms. Jones was getting annoying with these unannounced practices. You stand in front of your table of friends - “do ANY of you have an extra pair of sneakers?” You ask, face dropping as you watch all the girls shake their heads no. “Damn Y/N, you’re already hot but In that uniform you’re smoking!” Brad smirks and you roll your eyes. “Thanks anyways girls” you speak to your friends, ignoring Brad and the laughs from the guys sitting with him.

You were about to sit down when you remember you and MJ always wore about the same shoe size. The two of you used to be inseparable- but you just grew apart. You attempted to still spend time with her, but most of the time she turned you down. And then both you were incredibly busy - her with the academic decathlon & science club - and you with cheer & multi-cultural club. You walk over to her table, occupied by only three people. Her, Ned Leeds and Peter Parker. You never understood why they sat with just the three of them. Ned was hilarious, he sometimes controlled the score board at basketball games and his comments always had you cracking up from the sidelines. MJ was drop dead gorgeous, though you wished she’d let her hair down more often. And Peter- well you could go on and on about the brown haired boy.

“Michelle!” You called out before plopping down across from her. “Hey Y/N” she gives you a half smile, looking surprised that you were talking to her. “You wouldn’t happen to have an extra pair of sneakers would you?” You ask as sweetly as you could. “Um...no? Just the ones I have on” she answers and that’s all you needed - “Please trade shoes with me!” You plead. “I just need them for cheer practice I’ll bring them back tomorrow I promise” MJ looks confused but complies and you let out a breath of relief, “thank you so much!” You thank her, a grin breaking out across your face.

“Oh my god I’m so fucking rude; hey Peter- hey Ned” you finally greet the two boys. Ned gives you a cheerful hello, but Peter is frozen. He’d been in a trance since he saw you walking towards them. You were a vision of beauty. He was sure he’d never seen a girl as pretty as you. And you were smart. He was always impressed with how well you did in all classes. He’d often help Mr. Harrington grade papers and you never got below a 90. Peter thought you were perfect.

He hadn’t even realized he’d been staring at you until MJ punched his arm. “Stop being creepy” she whispers under her breath and he feels a blush rise to his cheeks. He tried to pull his eyes away but it was a done deal when you bent forward, giving him a perfect view of your breasts. Peter felt his breathing pick up - fuck - the tops of them jiggled as you wiggled your foot around to get the sneaker on and he had never been more grateful for V-neck shirts.

“Thanks again Michelle. Oh by the way; I was wondering if you wanted to go to the movies on Saturday, my treat?” You offer and before she can respond Peter speaks up for her. “She’ll be there!” You smile and nod. “Okay, see you then. Bye guys!” You wave just as the bell rings.

Ned turns to MJ as soon as you’re gone, the three of them standing to make their way to next period. “Why didn’t you tell us you were friends with Y/N?!” He whisper yells, and Peter is curious too. “I don’t know, you never asked” she shrugged. “She’s literally gorgeous” Ned continues and MJ shakes her head.

“Maybe that’s why I didn’t tell you dorks”

—

It was last period, you were doodling in your journal when you heard the loud crack of thunder shake the room. You jump before looking outside just as it started to pour. You loved the rain, it made you wanna go home and curl up in your bed. A couple of minutes go bye before you hear your principals voice. “Attention students, due to the thunderstorms ALL after school activities will be canceled this evening. Please, be safe on your way home. That is all” the voice cut out and you were kind of glad practice was canceled.

All you could think about was leaving the last twenty minutes of class and you were the first one up when the bell rang. After going to your locker, you make your way outside and dash to your car. You shiver when you get inside, immediately reaching to turn up the heat. You start the engine to your 2007 Ford Explorer, and you’re about to pull off when you spot Peter Parker running through the parking lot with nothing but his book bag over his head like a makeshift umbrella. You blow your horn at him, and wave for him to come over. He pauses and squints his eyes at you before making way over.

He stands outside your car, looking at you through the window and you give him a funny look. “Get in Parker!” You instruct after he’s been standing for at least 30 seconds in the rain. He gets in the passenger seat, completely soaked. “You wanna ride home?” You ask him, and he sputters. “I- uh, I don’t want to be a bother. It’s fine I can walk..” he replies and you groan. “Well too bad, I wasn’t asking” you chide before pulling off with a giggle. “Thanks Y/N” he smiles and you glance at him. You wish you could’ve looked longer but driving in the rain was hard enough.

“I should be thanking you!” You counter, “thanks for getting MJ to hang with me....I really miss her” your voice breaks off into a whisper. Peter stares at you, he can tell you really mean it. “You’re welcome, I know how she can be sometimes. But today; I could tell she misses you too” he spoke placing a hand on your thigh. He’d meant it to be comforting but after he’d done it he realized how fucking creepy it must’ve been and pulled his hand away. His eyes traveled to the soft skin where his hand had been. You thighs were full & toned - probably from years of cheerleading. They were covered in droplets of water, and god, he never knew thighs could be so attractive. He let his eyes move upwards over your exposed midriff, even your belly button was cute. Peter really wished he’d stopped there, but he didn’t. His gazed continued, eyes taking in your dripping hair, water sliding down your neck and down the valley of your breast. You cheer top, was soaked making it cling even tighter to your skin than usual. But your face- for him that was the most stunning thing about you. Warm eyes, that made him melt every time you looked at him... and those lips. He wondered what they tasted like.

“Hey, do you have to go straight home?” You question before you can overthink it and Peter shakes his head. “No, why?”; you take a deep breathe. “Do you wanna come over?” You bite your lip and wait for him to answer. “Yeah, I’d love too! I mean; yeah that’s cool” he coughed. “Okay, I think my big sister Mya is home but don’t worry she’s like waist deep in her textbooks 24/7. She’s studying for her bar exam” You tell him.

You both talk more about your families, how it’s just him and his aunt. How your parents are always away. And even though it was almost a twenty-five minute drive to your house, the time you spent in your talking in your car with the rain falling all around you still didn’t seem long enough.

You pull into your driveway, smiling when you see your sisters car. Looking back to make sure Peter was still behind you, you reach to unlock the door. When your hand touches the handle you jump back when it swings open - “Damnit Mya, You scared the shit out of me!” You yell and she bursts out laughing. “Oh my god, I’m sorry” she apologizes, smirking at you still. “Anyways, who’s this cutie?” She asks gesturing to Peter. “This is Peter, we go to school together” you say as nonchalantly as you possibly can, but you know Mya sees through your calm demeanor. “Nice to meet you Peter, I’m going out for a little while so you two have fun. But not too much fun” she winks and you groan in embarrassment. “We can go to my room” You mutter, still frustrated at your sisters remark.

Peter can feel himself start to sweat the moment he walks through your bedroom door. The baby blue walls, covered in pictures of your friends and family served as a reminder to how popular you were and he knew you were beyond out of his league. What was he thinking coming here? “Sit down!” You call out to him, patting the spot on your bed before turning on your tv. You flick through channels before decided on Jumanji.

“Peter, can I ask you something?” You whisper, almost nervous to ask. “Anything” he smiles back and you sigh - “What do you think of me? Like we’re cool, but you don’t know me very well, what do you get from just my basic outlook” you inquire thoughtfully. “Wow- um, I don’t know where to start. I see a girl that’s kind, and talented. Dedicated, hardworking, smart, and super beautiful.” He blushes and you can’t believe all the things he just said. “Really?” You ask wondering how he’d gathered all that from the few times you’d spoken.

“Yeah. Kind; You gave me a ride so I didn’t have to walk in the rain. Talented & dedicated, all the time and effort you put into cheer. You always look the best on the field by the way- I don’t know how you learn all those routines. Smart; you don’t miss anything. You’re so quick and you do amazingly in school. And anyone who doesn’t see you’re beautiful is either blind or stupid-“ you cut off his compliments and lean in to kiss him. Peter freezes in shock and you pull back. “I’m sorry- I should’ve asked you first it’s just you’re probably the sweetest, cutest most intelligent person I’ve ever met and..” now it’s his turn to cut off your rambling.

He kissed you and you can’t help but to smile against his lips. “You smell good” You murmur and Peters staring at you with a grin like you’ve never seen. “So do you” his voice is almost as soft as his lips. All he did was look at you and you felt that familiar tug low in your stomach.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours” you smirk before pulling your shirt over your head and Peter followed suit. “Woah” you’re shocked by his strong build, letting your finger run down the length of his abdomen. Peter shuttered as he watched your manicured nail trace his chest. You reached the hem of his jeans, looking up at him expectantly. He gulped before reaching to tug the denim off his legs. The tight briefs he wore left little to the imagination and you couldn’t wait to get him in your mouth.

You rub him through the thin cloth and he’s already twitching. “Can I take these off?” You ask, staring up at him. He wanted to tell you that you could do anything you wanted to him; but instead opted for a quick nod. You were about to slide the briefs off when a ringing came from the pants on the floor next to the two of you. “

“It’s yours” you tell him reaching down and grabbing the phone. “Mr. Stark?” you Squint at the face on his phone screen - “Holy shit; is Tony Stark calling you?!”

—————————————

omg hi you guys sorry I’ve been mia I’ve just had so much going on I don’t even know where to begin! But I have so much stuff written up for you guys and I’m excited for you to read it. I love and miss you all so talk to me! ❤️❤️❤️

ps part 2 will be up Tuesday night

[orangeoctopi7]

Walking Like a One-Man Army

I guess this chapter is kinda for @soosly ? It does prominently feature Soos being a BA.

: Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3 :

The three of them piled into Soos’s truck. Ford elected to slide into the back of the cab with Mabel rather than sit shotgun. He needed to tell his niece what Debbs had decided.

“Mabel, I, uh…” He said slowly, “I spoke with your mother earlier this morning…”

The colorful girl tensed and pulled the collar of her sweater up a bit. Had all their ill-fated conversations over the last couple of days left her apprehensive to even speak with him?

“...I told her I wanted to keep Dipper on as my apprentice, and that you were welcome to stay here as well. Unfortunately, she, uh, declined to grant her permission.” 

“Oh!” Mabel smiled with relief, letting her collar drop. “That’s ok! Me and Dipper already talked about it and decided not to stay here anyway, so everything works out!”

Ford’s heart sank. So Stan was wrong. The children had indeed come to realize the old researcher was a toxic influence in their lives. He tried to tell himself it was for the best, to focus on his intellect and control his emotions, but controlling anguish was a lot harder than controlling fear. He at least was able to keep his expression neutral as he found something else to distract him: nitpicking grammar.

“Dipper and I.” He corrected her mechanically. “In any case, we need to come up with a plan to confront Bill and find Fiddleford.”

“He’s got this little shelter next to one of the telephone poles.” Soos commented from the driver’s seat. “It’s actually surprisingly nice for something in the middle of the dump made completely out of scrap material.”

“If Bill’s expecting us, that’s probably where he’ll be.” Ford said gravely. “I imagine he’ll keep Fiddleford close-by, to keep a close eye on his bargaining chip. We’ll need a distraction. Bill may be an all-seeing eye, but even he has trouble splitting his attention.” 

“Oooh, I’m super amazing at being a distraction!” Mabel piped up.

“I don’t doubt that.” Ford nodded, fondness somehow managing to slip past all the other emotions he was repressing. “But I promised your brother and Stan that I’d keep you safe, so I need you to stay close to me. Soos, do you think you could be a good distraction?”

“Oh yeah, totally.” Soos said nonchalantly. “Mr. Pines asks me to be the distraction all the time! When the taxman comes, or the safety inspector, or the police….”

“Of course he does.” Ford muttered. “What I need you to do is keep Bill’s attention while Mabel and I look for Fiddleford and get him to safety. Bill should still be possessing that time travel agent, so while he won’t be able to access any of the reality-warping powers he wields in the mindscape, he will have access to any weapon from Gravity Falls’ history or future. You’ll need to be ready for anything.”

“Well, they did teach me how to disarm an opponent with a gun or knife in my karate class, so I’ll probably be ok.”

* * *

It was quieter that Mabel was used to when they reached the dump. Normally, you could hear the sound of power tools and banjo strings even from the dump’s entrance, but not today. Today was deceptively peaceful.

The peace was broken by an eerie, high-pitched laugh. It was coming from the center of the dump, but as they looked around frantically, they couldn’t see their enemy anywhere. Ford fired his blaster, obliterating a board in the fence with a one-eyed triangle carved into it. 

“Well, he knows we’re here.” He said gravely. 

“What should we do?” Mabel asked.

“Proceed with the plan. Soos, you head straight for the center of the dump, we’ll go around the long way. Mabel, do you think you’ll be able to lead me to Fiddleford’s shelter if we don’t take a direct route?”

Mabel nodded with determination, even though she was only about 50% sure she’d be able to find the place, considering she’d only been there once. 

They split up, Mabel leading Ford towards the east wall of the dump. She was pretty sure if she climbed up the pile of wrecked cars there, she’d be able to look out over the dump and figure out a way to get to McGucket’s shelter, and maybe even see where Bill was at.

While running through the dump, they heard the occasional scurry of a racoon or possum through the trash. It was clear that Ford’s already twitchy nerves were on high alert, and he leveled his blaster at every single one. Luckily, he hadn’t been startled enough to fire it yet, which was good because they were trying to sneak around while Soos was distracting Bill.

The stack of cars was within sight when they noticed more scurrying around the corner. Only unlike all the other scurries they’d heard, it seemed to be running towards them instead of away from them. Ford pointed his blaster yet again, and pulled Mabel behind him.

“PEEKABOO!” Blendin’s face wearing a contorted grin popped out from around the corner. “WOW, SIXER, YOU REALLY EXPECTED ME TO TAKE THE BAIT AND GO AFTER QUESTION MARK? PPPPFT, PLEASE! HE’S NOWHERE NEAR AS FUN TO MESS WITH AS YOU! OR SHOOTING STAR, FOR THAT MATTER.” 

Bill took a few menacing steps towards them and leaned down so he was closer to Mabel’s eye-level. “WHADDAYA SAY KID? HOW WOULD YOU LIKE A NEVER-ENDING PARTY FOR YOUR BIRTHDAY? I’LL MAKE SURE ALL YOUR LITTLE FRIENDS ARE THERE, AND YOU’LL NEVER HAVE TO GO TO HIGHSCHOOL! IN FACT, YOU’LL BE ABLE TO DO WHATEVER YOU WANT! ALL YOU GOTTA DO IS GIVE ME THAT RIFT!”

“Don’t you dare speak to her.” Ford growled. 

“You’re a butt-brain!” Mabel shouted, flinging out the worst insult she could think of.

Bill shrugged Blendin’s shoulders smugly. “OH WELL. I WAS GONNA LET YOU HAVE YOUR OWN PERSONAL PARADISE BUBBLE FOR YOU AND YOUR FRIENDS, BUT IF YOU’RE NOT GONNA COOPERATE WITH ME, I GUESS YOU’LL JUST HAVE TO SUFFER UNIMAGINABLE PAIN AND DESTRUCTION LIKE THE REST OF YOUR MISERABLE DIMENSION.” He pulled out a large rusty pipe and hefted it threateningly in his hands. “SO, WHERE’S THAT RIFT, IQ?”

“You really think I was stupid enough to bring it here with me?” Ford scoffed.

“WELL, I MEAN, YOU WERE STUPID ENOUGH TO TRUST ME.” Bill counted on his fingers. “AND TO THINK YOUR BROTHER WOULD ACTUALLY LISTEN TO YOU WHEN YOU CALLED FOR HELP. AND TO USE TOO MUCH GLUE WHEN YOU TRIED TO SEAL THE RIFT. SO YEAH. I DO THINK YOU’RE THAT STUPID.”

“Well I’m not.”

“OH, LEMME GUESS. YOU LEFT IT WITH PINETREE?”

“And with Grukle Stan!” Mabel added defiantly.

Bill snorted. “YEAH, ‘CUZ I’M REAL SCARED OF HIM!”

The possessed time traveler didn’t even get a derisive chuckle out before Soos barreled into him with a flying kick.

“Hey dude, I need you to pay attention to me for the next, I dunno, five to ten minutes?” He looked over at Ford. “D’you think that’s enough time?”

Ford just nodded mutely, unsure of how else to react to the handyman’s sudden entrance.

Bill picked his possessed body up off the ground. “YOU WANT ME TO PAY ATTENTION TO YOU, QUESTION MARK? HOW DO YOU LIKE THIS ATTENTION?” He pulled out a time tape and disappeared in a flash, only to reappear a second later with a large carpenter’s hammer in his hand. He threw it at Soos, who dodged it with skills honed from ten years of karate sparring.

As Bill continued to pursue Soos, pulling out weapons from random time periods as he went, Ford pulled Mabel away, back towards the center of the dump. This was just the distraction they needed, it just happened in a different order than they’d been expecting. 

So, her original plan to look for McGucket’s shelter from the top of a trash mountain wasn’t going to work now, but she could still find it, right? She remembered that a telephone pole had been one of the main support beams in the little hut, so she just needed to follow the telephone lines! Spotting one above, she rushed ahead, now pulling Ford instead of the other way around.

Sure enough, they came upon McGucket’s hovel nearby. Too nearby. They could still hear Soos doing his best to lead Bill on a wild goose-chase on the opposite side of a pile of discarded furniture and tires. But they could also hear a low, animal-like moan from inside the shelter. The two of them rushed across the clearing, hoping to reach the fox skin that acted as a door before Bill rounded the trash pile.

Before they could reach it, two things happened.

First of all, a loud, up-beat pop song started blaring out of Mabel’s pocket. 

“Girl, oh girl, you got it all, you know.”

“But girl, oh girl, you don’t got me, no!”

Mabel slapped her forehead and pulled out her phone, trying to silence it. “Ugh, Pacifica! Bad timing!”

Second, Bill blew away the trash pile with a shot from a cannon, sending chunks of broken wood and plastic everywhere and clearing a path between him and the shelter.

“THERE YOU ARE!”

Mabel just barely managed to hold onto her phone as Ford grabbed her by the arm and practically threw her into the door. He hurtled in after her, but no second shot came. Instead, they heard a loud, frustrated groan.

“UUUGH, WHY DO YOU HUMANS MAKE WEAPONS THAT ARE SUCH A WASTE OF TIME? WHO THOUGHT IT WAS A GOOD IDEA TO HAVE TO REPACK THE GUNPOWDER AND ROLL IN ANOTHER BALL EVERY TIME YOU WANT TO SHOOT SOMETHING?”

“Well, it’s not that they thought it was a good idea, it’s just that they hadn’t developed the technology--” Ford started to explain when Mabel reached up and covered his mouth. He really couldn’t help himself sometimes, could he?

That same moan they’d heard before came again, louder, from under a pile of newspapers. Many of them had frantic calculations scribbled all over them. Ford reached down and brushed them aside, revealing a shivering, hyperventilating McGucket.

Mabel had seen McGucket be pretty crazy this summer. He’d jigged on an unplugged videogame for a week, ate his way out of a dinosaur, and claimed he preferred to walk backwards when she gave him a makeover. But she’d never seen him look so terrified and broken. His eyes were wide and unfocused, like he didn’t even notice they were there, and his breaths were coming in short, sharp whines. It was especially sad compared to the last time she’d seen him, when his mind really seemed like it was beginning to clear.

Ford looked down on his friend, absolutely devastated. If McGucket was looking bad compared to the last time Mabel had seen him, she could only imagine how he looked compared to the last time Ford saw him. 

“Y’KNOW WHAT, I’M JUST GONNA GO BACK AND GET ANOTHER ONE THAT’S ALREADY LOADED.” They heard Bill whine, followed by the zap of the time tape being used.

McGucket moaned again at the sound of Bill’s voice, shutting his eyes tightly and clutching his head. That seemed to snap Ford out of his shock, and he reached down and scooped the old inventor into his arms.

“Let’s get out of here.” He told Mabel.

Just as they ran out the door, Bill reappeared in front of them with another cannon.

“UH-UH-UH! FOUR-EYES ISN’T GOING ANYWHERE UNTIL I GET WHAT I WANT, SIXER!”

“Just keep running!” Ford shouted to Mabel. They picked up the pace and just barely got out of the way in time to avoid the cannonball that ripped through McGucket’s shelter.

“Dudes, over here!” Soos called to them, where he was trying to finish reloading the other cannon Bill had abandoned after less than a minute of trying. “We can fight cannon with cannon!”

“There’s no time!” Ford barked. “We need to either get out of here or find cover!”

“Cover, huh?” Soos said thoughtfully, scratching his chin, until an idea popped into his head. “Oh! You’ve seen that old timey video of the dude who takes a cannonball to the stomach and it just bounces off of him? I’ve always wanted to try that!”

Ford and Mabel stared at him for a beat, dumbstruck.

“I say follow your dreams, Soos!” Mabel encouraged him.

“Yes, if you believe you’re capable, I see no reason not to give it a shot.” Ford agreed.

When Bill reappeared with another cannon, Soos stood squarely in front of it while Ford and Mabel made a run for the truck.

“OH, THIS OUGHTA BE GOOD!” Bill smirked as he fired.

Soos braced himself just as the cannonball collided with his stomach. While the iron ball did bounce off his gut and drop to the ground, Soos was also thrown back almost three feet. He landed on his back but the wind was already knocked out of him. As soon as he could move again, he rolled over and threw up.

“Ohhoho… dude…” the handyman muttered. “I knew that was probably gonna hurt, but it still hurt way worse than I was expecting. Ugh, I think I might’ve cracked a rib.”

No answer. Not even a mocking remark from Bill.

“Dudes?” He slowly got up to his feet and looked around. Ford and Mabel had run away, and Bill had chased after them. Oh well, at least Soos had bought them some time. He reached into his pocket to call his abuelita for a ride home, but alongside his phone, he felt another object. His truck keys. “Uh-oh.”

* * *

Despite Soos’s best efforts, Bill was still hot on their tail. Fiddleford squirmed weakly in Ford’s arms as they passed another mountain of garbage. His eyes seemed to briefly focus on Ford, but they looked far, far away.

“I’m jus’ barely gettin’ my mind back now, I don’t wanna lose it again...” The old inventor murmured feebly before resuming his catatonic state. It felt like someone had just stabbed Ford in the heart with an icy dagger, and he picked up the pace.

The sign above the dump’s exit soon came into view, but there were still several more piles of junk between here and there. As they fled, Mabel turned and fired her grappling hook at an old kitchen sink sticking half-way out the bottom of one of the larger junk piles behind them. The hook caught on the faucet and Mabel yanked back on the line hard, dislodging the kitchen sink and collapsing the garbage mountain in a landslide. 

“Let’s see Bill blast his way through that!” She cheered.

Ford knew it was too soon to relax. As long as Bill was possessing this time travel agent, he had access to any weapon in human history, or humankind’s future, for that matter. Although, come to think of it, why hadn’t Bill used a weapon from the future on them yet? Perhaps that would draw the attention of the Time Paradox Avoidment Enforcement Squadron?

“There’s the truck!” Mabel exclaimed, bringing Ford out of his speculations. They skidded to a stop as they finally reached the vehicle and Ford tried to open the door.

It was locked.

Soos still had the keys.

Ford swore under his breath as he searched for something to pry the door open with. Yes, he could break into the truck, and yes, he could hotwire it, but that all took time! Time they didn’t have!

He was expecting Bill to step out of the dump any second now, but he didn’t appear. Instead, what at first glance appeared to be a flock of ravens rose out of the nearby woods. At the same time, Fiddleford thrashed in his arms and began to yell incoherently. Stanford tried to lay him in the back of the truck gently, so he wouldn’t drop him. The old researcher’s blood ran cold. It sounded almost identical to the gibberish his friend had spouted immediately after the failed first portal test. 

As the mysterious flock drew near, Ford began searching for a rock, a golf club, anything he could use to break open the truck’s windows and get inside, all while keeping a close eye on the approaching swarm. As they came closer, he could see they weren’t birds, they were bats! But why would a swarm of bats take flight in the middle of the day? They were close enough to start blocking out the sun when Ford realized they weren’t bats. They were Eye-bats!

He pulled out his blaster and started firing into the swarm. “Mabel, find something to break into the truck with!”

She nodded and took a step back towards the dump, when Bill finally made his leisurely way to the exit. Ford couldn’t help but notice that Fiddleford’s cries stopped almost as soon as the possessed time traveler appeared.

“YOU FLESH-SACKS AREN’T GOING ANYWHERE!” Bill crowed. “NOT UNTIL I GET THAT RIFT! AFTER THAT, I HONESTLY COULDN’T CARE LESS.”

Just as Bill took another menacing step towards Mabel, Soos appeared, sledding down a trash mountain on a car door. He crashed into Bill and kept going until colliding into the side of his truck.

“Uh… I got the keys.” The handyman said in a daze, holding them up triumphantly.

Ford grabbed the keys and helped him up and into the shotgun seat. “I think I’d better drive.”

“Thanks dude, I appreciate it.” Soos said with a chuckle, then clutched his stomach. “Ooof, ugh, that’s… that’s definitely bruised.”

The truck zoomed away just as Bill rushed for the truck bed where Fiddleford was still laying. The swarm of Eye-bats descended on them, and Ford rolled down his window, steering with one hand and firing his blaster into the flock with the other. He knew it wasn’t exactly the safest position for his friend to be in, nearly unconscious in the bed of a speeding, reckless pickup truck, but he couldn’t exactly pull over and buckle him in next to Mabel. Not if they didn’t want to be overtaken by Eye-bats. The old researcher just had to hope that his old friend would be able to hold out until they reached the shield spell.

* * *

Stan was just sitting and watching tv like this was a perfectly normal day. Dipper wondered how he could possibly do it, just push all the danger and worry aside and vegg out like that. Sure, Stan wasn’t really invested in McGucket’s safety, but he had to care what might happen to Mabel, Ford, and Soos, right? 

Of course, Dipper had known Stan long enough that he knew the old conman tended to express his emotions in a weird way. He teased and noogied to show affection, loaded on chores instead of compliments, and lied to the people he loved to try and keep them safe. Not to mention he’d spent the last thirty years trying to bring his lost brother home with an incredibly dangerous machine, while also pretending everything was normal. Maybe Stan was just really good at ignoring danger and worry by this point. And wow, that was a depressing thought. 

Dipper kept vigilant watch out the front window, searching for any suspicious activity while also waiting anxiously for the return of Soos’s truck. He’d been sitting there for maybe fifteen minutes when the phone rang. It rang two more times, and Stan made no move to answer it. Dipper was unwilling to leave his post himself, but Stan was just watching old reruns of Baby Fights!

“Uh, Grunkle Stan?” Dipper called out after the fourth ring. Maybe he’d turned down his hearing aide?

“I hear it kid.” Stan grunted.

“Well, aren’t you going to get it!?”

“It’s probably just that triangular jerk, tryin’ to distract us. And if not, whoever it is can just leave a message.”

“But what if it’s Mabel or Soos?”

Dipper was distracted from his complaining when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. A car was coming down the dirt road towards the Mystery Shack. The boy seriously doubted the rescue mission would be back already.

Stan got up with a grunt from his chair to see what had caught Dipper’s attention. “There, see? What’d I tell ya? Wouldn’t’ve noticed whoever this yahoo is if you’d been trying to listen in on me while I was on the phone. When you know somebody’s after ya, you gotta keep distractions to a minimum.”

“You were just watching TV!” the boy gestured back to the flickering CRT.

“Eh, it’s a rerun, I’m not really payin’ attention to it, just need something to calm my nerves.”

The mystery car drove out of the trees. It wasn’t a car at all, it was a limo. One Dipper recognized from the Northwest’s fleet.

“Well, this ain’t gonna be good.” Stan grimace.

“M-maybe it’s just Pacifica coming to ask for help again?” The boy said hopefully, although his heart wasn’t really in it.

Sure enough, the Northwest stepping out of the limo was Preston. He looked around like everything about the Shack was a personal insult to him before stepping up to the door and knocking with a gloved hand.

Stan grabbed the taxidermied fake dodo sitting on a small table in the corner and reached under its wing, pulling out a small handgun, which he held behind his back as he opened the door. Dipper wasn’t quite sure how to feel about the fact that his uncle was answering the door with a loaded gun in his hand. Sure, they were all in danger from Bill at the moment, but he really didn’t want Stan to go to jail for shooting one of the most important people in Gravity Falls, even if Preston probably deserved it.

“Whaddya want?” Stan asked gruffly.

Preston’s small, forced smile seemed painful. “Aheh, yes, well, I suppose I’ll get right to the point then. I’m here to purchase your… I suppose this qualifies as a business on some level? My opening offer is two million dollars for the building and the land it occupies.”

“Hah! Yeah, right!” Stan barked. “I wouldn’t sell this place to a scumbag like you for twenty million!”

“Well, how about fifty million?” Preston asked coolly.

Stan froze, his eyes wide. He stared the billionaire down, trying to decide if he was bluffing. It sure didn’t seem like a bluff to Dipper. The boy knew the Northwests threw that kind of money around like it was nothing, because to them, it was.

“Not for a hundred million.” Stan said, although it was less of a defiant denial and more of a fishing offer, trying to gauge how high Preston was willing to go.

“How about a hundred and fifty million?” Preston offered.

“Higher.” Stan shook his head.

“Grunkle Stan!?” Dipper cried indignantly.

“Ah-ah!” Stan pushed him back without even turning to look. “Not now kid, the grownups are talking.”

“Two hundred million?” Preston asked, his cool smile starting to slip.

Stan shook his head. “Uh-uh. Higher.”

“Three hundred million?” Mr. Northwest ventured again through clenched teeth.

“Higher!”

“F-five hundred million?” 

“I’m thinking twice that much.”

“Seriously!?” Preston finally exploded. “You want a billion dollars for this--this hovel!?”

“Y’know what, you’re right.” Stan shook his head. “I’m not askin’ enough. Two billion!”

The Northwest patriarch looked like he very much wanted to strangle Stan.

“C’mon Northwest, I know you’re good for it!” Stan smirked.

“Absolutely not! Seven hundred and fifty million, and that’s my final offer!”

“Welp, my final offer’s still two billion, so you can either pony up or get off my porch.”

“....Fine.” Preston hissed, the veins in his forehead popping.

Stan stuck out his hand for Preston to shake, but as soon as the billionaire reached for it, the conman yanked it away.

“Psych!” Stan chortled. “Hah! I just wanted to see how far I could go before you chickened out! You couldn’t give me your whole dirty fortune for this place!”

It took Preston a moment to regain his composure. “I beg you to reconsider, Mr. Pines.” He said with a dangerous edge to his voice. “Take it from someone in the real estate business, property can lose value so quickly.”

“Yeah, the answer’s still no.” Stan said flatly. “Now get outta here. Don’t think I won’t call the cops!”

“I’m afraid you’ll find they’re busy at the moment. I just made a rather large donation so they’re holding a banquet. Even if you could pry them away from it, I doubt they’d be willing to arrest the man that just doubled their salary.”

“Oh, well, if you’re so sure the cops won’t be coming.” Stan pulled the gun out from behind his back.

Mr. Northwest finally backed off, although he shared a long glare with Stan before getting back into his limo. “This isn’t over, Pines!”

“Tell it to someone who cares!” Stan shouted after him.

Dipper looked up at his uncle with awe as he shut the door. “Grunkle Stan, that was awesome!”

Stan rolled his eyes. “Yeah yeah, don’t think I didn’t notice you actually thought I was gonna take his offer.”

Dipper blushed and laughed sheepishly.

The old conman sighed as he sat back down in his recliner. “Eh, guess I can’t blame you. I was actually tempted for half a second. Then I remembered that guy’s a lying cheating crook, and he wasn’t gonna actually pay anything for this place. Still, two billion dollars, wouldn’t that be somethin’!”

“Grunkle Stan, no amount of money is worth the end of the world as we know it.” Dipper reminded him sharply.

“I know that!” Stan retorted, insulted. “I’m just sayin’, if I’d been able to trick him outta that much, heh, that would’ve been the con of a lifetime.”

“I-I’m sorry,” Dipper stammered, taking up his watch at the window again. “I shouldn’t doubt you. I’m just… I’m just really worried, y’know. Bill’s using more and more people to try and get at the rift. The Northwests are the most powerful people in town. You got him to leave for now, but he’s probably gonna hire thugs or something.”

“I know you’re worried, kid.” Stan said sadly. “I wish you didn’t have to worry about all this junk, but at the very least, you don’t gotta worry about this. I’ve had to hole up against hired thugs in this Shack before. ‘Course, this time I’m not gonna be able to fake my death to get ‘em to give up and go home.”

Dipper grimaced. This conversation wasn’t really reassuring him. 

Stan sighed again. “Look, bud, I know Bill’s got a lot of people in his pocket, but time’s on our side, right? Eventually, that glue you found is gonna set, and then what’s he gonna do? Besides, you and your sister are going home next weekend anyway, and then you won’t have to worry about a thing.”

Dipper turned to look back at his uncle. “I’ll still worry about you. And Ford. And everyone else left here in Gravity Falls.”

Stan felt his heart swell when he realized how much the boy cared about him. It didn’t matter if he was safe, if his family was still in danger. Stan was all too familiar with that feeling, and he didn’t like the thought of this twelve-year-old kid being burdened with it.

“Well then, we’re just gonna have to figure something out then, aren’t we?”

[lemonlushff-iy]

Read parts 1-3 here

One Last Ride - Part Four

Kagome picked up another smooth, small, flat rock and tossed it, skipping it down the creek behind the Takahashi's house. It only made two jumps this time. She hadn't realized she was as rusty as she clearly was.

Dinner had been a...strained affair. Inuyasha's father, Touga, had been a bit more receptive to her presence. Probably since both he and his eldest son, Sesshomaru, had known that she was around. Seeing her mash a bowl of potatoes in their kitchen probably didn't give them as big a shock as his mother seeing her hold two glasses of water.

Frankly, Sesshomaru had been practically giddy when they came in. Probably because he was excited to see how her presence would torment his brother.

The mashing was actually a perfect activity for her. It gave her a chance to take out some of her aggression about fucking Kikyo. And everything else. But especially Kikyo.

She was a good woman, huh?

Bull. Fucking. Shit.

What the hell made her a good woman? One good enough for Inuyasha? Was it because she was the history teacher at the highschool? Was it because she went to church every Sunday and led the children's service? Was it because she had been trying to suck his dick since they hit puberty?

She smashed the masher down so hard that she almost broke the glass bowl at the thought, causing everyone to shoot her an odd look. She smiled weakly and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, apologizing as they made jokes about she-hulk.

Her mind wouldn't shut up though..and Kagome quickly found herself thinking about Kikyo again. She was finally getting her chance, huh? Kikyo was finally getting her grubby little paws all over her Inuyasha.

Only...he wasn't hers...and she hadn't had a claim over him in years.

She had needed a moment to compose herself after that, and excused herself to use the bathroom. She stood over the sink, her arms braced on either side of the white porcelain as she just...opened her heart.

He had every right to move on.

He had every right to find happiness with someone else.

She just didn't think that it would hurt this much...but...he had been a huge part of her life for ten years. Since they were kids. She had been so stupid to think it wouldn't be this bad.

She felt tears gathering at her lashes, spilling over and down her cheeks as she heard his father tell Inuyasha to let her be. Great. Let's add that to the mix. They knew she was crying. Stupid dog demons and their sense of smell. She couldn't have one moment to gather herself together in privacy?

She quickly splashed some water onto her face and cheeks, trying to get rid of the most recent thing to completely humiliate her. She opened the door and ran smack into Inuyasha's chest, not expecting to see him there at all.

"Inuyasha?" she questioned, unable to look him in the eye, and she gasped when she felt his hand on her cheek. His thumb gently glided over her, feeling the cool residue of the water against her skin. The heat from his hand was soothing...and soul crushing all at the same time.

"You've been crying," he whispered, not bothering to beat around the bush.

"I'm fine," she dismissed, forcing herself to not turn her head into his palm and nuzzle his hand. His skin was so calloused now...but it felt so good. A working man's hands. Nothin like her ex "pet cat" Zach's hands.

"Hm…" he replied, searching her face before coming to a decision. "Kagome...Pops and Sessh are back. I can easily take you to your mom's and come by later with the car. If this is…" he sighed, lowering his hand from her cheek and running it through the fringe of his bangs. "If bein' here is too much or too hard, you don't hafta. It's pretty clear you've been avoiding...this the last seven years. You don't hafta stop now just 'cause fate made your car break down in front of our land."

"I think Ford made my car break down, not fate," she shrugged, and a smile tugged at his lips.

"You slandering a good American made car, Higurashi?"

"Or an anti-semite. Take your pick."

"You and your causes," he tsked. "They still make the best damn truck I've ever been in. Doesn't mean I gotta like the man."

"As I recall you don't like a lot of people."

His eyes filled with sorrow and he stuck his hands into his pockets, shrugging.

"Probably 'cause a lotta people don't like me."

"I did," she whispered softly, and he looked away from her.

"You always were the exception to the rule, Kagome. All of 'em."

"Inuyasha—"

"—Well? What do ya wanna do? Dinner or home, Kagome. No one is gonna twist your arm either way."

"I...I'll stay. I want to stay. If you're ok with it."

"'Course I am."

Now, she was skipping rocks in the stream waiting for Inuyasha to get a gallon of water together so they could go and check on the rental.

"Beena while since anyone skipped rocks out here," Inuyasha called, coming to stand beside her, jug of water in hand.

"No? You don't do this anymore?"

"Not since...not since you left," he replied hesitantly, dropping the water by their feet and picking up a rock, absently palming it as he looked out over the water. "I wonder if I even can still," he mused before wiping his arm back and flicking the rock forward. It bounced once before it sank and he let out a disappointed sound. "Guess not."

"Might have been a bad stone too, you know," she shrugged. "Why don't you try again?"

He gave her a wry smile but picked up another one, repeating the same movements as before and the rock sank.

"Ooff...Takahashi...how was that even worse than before?"

"Another bad fucking rock," he chuckled, but leaned down and grabbed a small handful, giving her one. "You think you can do better?"

"I know I can," she smirked, flicking her rock and getting two bounces out of it. She turned to face him, throwing her arms up into the air and doing a little victory dance.

"Oh yeah? That's how you wanna play this?"

"You better believe it," she crowed, and she watched as he wound his arm back like a pitcher before letting it loose. It bounced three times before sinking, and he shot her a smirk.

"Guess I'm just rusty," he shrugged, and she rolled her eyes.

"Don't get too cocky - you only did that the one time so far."

"Yeah? I bet I can do it again."

"Oh you do, do you?"

"Sure do," he smirked, tossing another rock, and it bounced three times again. "Man...this takes ya back, don't it?" he grinned. "Remember how we used to do this as kids?"

"We have a lot of good memories at this crick. Like the time you thought you could run away from home by walking through this thing to my house? All ten damn miles? Your dad tracked you down...what...twenty minutes after you showed up soaking wet?"

"I didn't want to do my chores," he shrugged.

"As good a reason as any," she conceded and he laughed, watching as she tossed another stone up the creek.

"What about the summer we were obsessed with pirates? And the one we learned about the gold rush?"

"Oh god, we were soaked all summer! Your mom was good humored about it all at least. Didn't mind us borrowing all of her pots and pans to go panning for gold."

"Is that what you remember?" he snorted. "'Cause I remember having my butt whooped and being made to wash alla them."

"No! She did?" she laughed. "Well...I guess I can't blame her. They would have been filthy."

"Filthy would be putting it lightly," he chuckled, tossing another rock. It bounced four times this time, and she applauded him.

"Alright Takahashi. Not bad."

"You bet your ass! That was pretty damn good! There's no way you can beat that."

"You think so?" she smiled, grabbing a few more and tossing one. Two bounces.

"See?"

"Yeah...well...that's because we're not betting on anything right now."

"So it takes a bag for warheads to make you really competitive?" he asked, raising a brow.

"Oh my...Yes! I forgot that's what we used to use! That's what those little sour candies were called! And then we'd separate them into colors, and the winner got first pick...which really meant all of the black ones?"

"You do remember!" he grinned, tossing a rock into the air once before swinging his arm and bouncing it three times.

"Of course I remember. God...what were the rules? Who ever got the most bounces out of twenty was the winner?"

"Sounds right," he nodded as she tossed one in. "Then we stopped playing for candy," he continued solemnly. "We started playing for kisses instead. Then we just...stopped playing."

"Inuyasha—"

"—Hey. Crazy thought. Let's play one more time. Best outta three. Winner...winner gets to ask a question and the loser has to answer it honestly."

"Sounds dangerous…"

"Less dangerous than when we used to play for kisses?"

"Depends on your definition of dangerous," she replied casually, palming the rock as she mulled his proposition over. She was nervous about what he might ask her. There was a cornucopia of sticky, awkward questions he could choose from...but she really wanted a few answers herself. "Fine," she finally decided. "You've got yourself a deal. But...No saving your question. You have to ask it now, deal?"

"Fair enough," he grinned, tossing the first rock, and she cringed when it bounced five times.

"I thought you were rusty?"

"Guess it's like riding a bike," he smirked. "Go on. It's your turn now, Kagome," he prodded and she silently swore.

Two bounces, and two more throws later, and she was the clear loser. She watched him do a small little victory lap around her, jumping up and down before coming to stand back by the gallon of water that sat forgotten by their feet.

"Alright, alright…" she chuckled. "Stop gloating and ask me your question," she prodded, crossing her arms over her chest.

She almost regretted saying it. All of the light drained from his eyes as soon as he was reminded of the question in his mind. He opened his mouth to ask, then snapped it shut, almost as if second guessing himself.

"What's your favorite color?" he finally asked, and she gaped at him, shocked.

"I...you know what my favorite color is, Inuyasha," she replied, her head tilting slightly to the side as her brows knit together.

"It's beena while. It coulda changed."

"It hasn't…It's still green..."

"Well then. Guess I know now. We should get over to that rental," he prodded, bending down to pick up the jug of water and lead her towards the truck in silence.

They both knew that wasn't what he had really wanted to ask...she just...she just wasn't sure if she wanted to pry. She closed the door as he started the ignition and buckled in, the jug of water in the flat bed behind them. Some new country song she couldn't identify immediately started blaring on the radio, and he stuck his arm out the window, tapping the side of the truck to the beat of the music.

Clearly, it wasn't new to him.

"Do you still like country?" she heard him ask after a minute. "Didn't even think to ask if this was fine. I know it's not as popular out in California."

"Would you stop saying California like that?"

"Like what? That's how I say California."

"No it's not," she insisted, shaking her head. "That's how you talk if you're about to vomit from bad cheese."

"Guess the real question should be why I ate bad cheese...and why you know what that sounds like. You eating bad cheese out in California?" he asked, over emphasising his disdain of the state as he spat the word out.

"No...I'm not eating bad cheese in California. It's just a state, same as anywhere else."

He slammed his foot on the break, making them shoot forward from inertia and she heard the jug of water smack into the side of the truck bed.

"California is not the same as anywhere else. Don't you dare say that, Higurashi. How can you say that, with all them city folk buying up our land to pretend they can be a rancher for the summer? They like the fantasy of who we are. Not the reality."

"But they're hiring peop—"

"—Do not try to defend them. You hear me? Don't you dare start with me, Higurashi."

"Ok," she whispered. It wasn't worth arguing over. She forgot how small minded he could be sometimes. How he could be so...wrapped up in this life that he didn't see the more global picture.

"Glad we're clear," he nodded, removing his foot from the break and back to the gas so the truck could slowly start accelerating again.

"So…" she began awkwardly after a moment. "You and Kikyo, huh?"

"Whatta 'bout it?"

"Nothing. Just... didn't seem that into her when we were younger."

"Didn't really see her back then."

"And you do now? When did that happen?"

He let out a deep sigh as her rental came into view, the setting sun washing over the silver and making it glow. Inuyasha put the car into park, turning off the engine and drummed his fingers against the wheel in thought.

"You really wanna have this conversation Kagome?" he finally asked, turning to shoot her an uncertain look.

"I'm curious," she shrugged weakly, failing at looking nonchalant. "Besides. You know all about Zach."

"So the pet cat has a name," he whistled. "Bet he's a pretty boy too. Those cat demons normally are. Lemme guess - green eyes? Blond hair? Perfectly quaffed wavy locks?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but yes. And we aren't together anymore anyways - we broke up a few weeks ago."

He blinked hard at her words as they seemed to roll around in his head.

"Now what did he do ta make ya end it with him?"

"Who says I ended it?" she snapped.

"Nothing. Just a gut feeling."

"Well I didn't so...so there!"

His face softened and he actually looked empathetic instead of like he was going to rip her throat out.

"Kagome...I'm sorry…"

"Don't be. I'm fine with it. We weren't meant to be, and it wasn't a good relationship. I mean, it was...but...it wasn't, you know?"

He nodded his head, silently gripping and relaxing his fingers around the wheel as he exhaled loudly.

"Still. I know how hard that is."

"Because of us?"

"You aren't the only woman I've ever dated, Kagome," he smiled wryly.

Why did that surprise her? It shouldn't.

"I know. You're with Kikyo now."

"I dated others before her too...and I think 'with' is a bit of a strong word."

"Then how would you describe it?"

"I'd describe it as none of your business."

She sighed and unbuckled her seatbelt, shaking her head as she moved to open the door. It was open only a crack before he reached over her and closed the door again. He cupped her cheek and turned her face to look at him, his face soft.

"Listen," he began with a long exhale, lowering his hand, "Kikyo 'n I are just talking. We've never even kissed. Hell, we've been on maybe two dates, depending on how ya look at it. And as for when I started to see her…" he paused and she watched him bite the inside of his lip before confessing. "Kagome, I never saw anyone other than you since the day you kissed me after I broke my arm. I was like a horse with blinders on. And then when you left...they stayed on for a real long time, until I just...woke up one day and they were finally off.

But, you don't...you don't get to be upset that there's a woman out there who likes me, got it? I offered you everything...and everything wasn't good enough for ya. It's good enough for someone else though, and you don't get to be upset over that, ok?"

She wanted to tell him it had been...She wanted to tell him that everything he had offered her was enough. She just hadn't been ready.

"And you don't get to be upset over who I date either," she replied instead, not wanting to pour salt on the still open wound.

He pursed his lips together and nodded his head in agreement.

"I don't. What's in the past should stay there...and we should both just...move on."

"Glad we agree," she replied tightly, reopening the door and he followed suit, walking around to the bed of the truck and pulling out the water jug. He made quick work of tending to her rental, pouring the water in and she pulled out the keys, hopping in and waiting for his signal to start it up.

"Why dontcha give it a go?" he prompted, and the engine rumbled to life again. He quickly closed the hood, backing away from the front and walking over to the side. "Sounds like ya should be fine. You got real lucky this time. Don't you start doubting Fords," he smiled weakly, and she returned it.

"I won't."

"Listen," he breathed slowly, nervously. "I...I just want you to take care of yourself. Ok?"

"This sounds a lot like goodbye again, Inuyasha," she mused, and he lowered his gaze.

"Aint it?"

Was it? Did she want it to be?

"I guess it is…" she whispered, glancing away from him. "Goodbye, Inuyasha. You take care of yourself too. I hope you're happy. Truely. With Kikyo or any of the others. You deserve to be."

She turned her head away from him and pulled her car out of park, shifting the gear into drive. She was about to step on the gas when she felt two clawed hands gently grab her face, pulling it out of the window.

She gasped and her eyes widened in surprise before closing when she felt his lips tenderly press against hers in a soft, lingering kiss before he pulled away. The feel of his lips against hers...it was just as she remembered it. Only she didn't remember this painful aching in her chest when they had kissed in the past...Or this horrible need to grab ahold of his neck to bury her face into his chest and just cry.

"Just wanted to do that one last time," he whispered just loud enough for her to hear, almost as if he were ashamed of himself. Of still wanting her. Of wanting what they once had. What they could have been.

It felt so final. Like they were finally closing the book, sealing it shut with glue, and tossing it into a fire so it could never be looked at again, let alone read.

She could only nod and whisper goodbye again before pulling away as twilight began to settle around them, heading down the road to her mother's...the feel of his lips on hers haunting her the whole way.

____________________

I’ve given up. This is me waving the white flag. But I don’t think I can keep doing daily posts...And I do want to have SOME stuff to post on White Day! And I hope you heathens are happy! I’ve been told this one didn’t hurt as much as the last....3 😬

Special thanks to @superpixie42 for helping me make sure Inuyasha’s dialect isn’t becoming too southern/Texan!

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