#Please ignore the fact I forgot to draw the arms for Mr. Shine in the main drawing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

omnifalls-10 · 4 years

Text

Omni Falls Chapter 3: Headhunters

It’s been rather quiet at the Mystery Shack today. That doesn’t seem much of a problem for Dipper and Mabel, who were in the living room watching a show on television called Duck-tective. While watching the television program, Mabel knits a new sweater and Dipper eats popcorn from a bowl. She reaches for some popcorn, only for him to slap her hand away.

“I'm afraid your services won't be required here, sir.”, the constable taunts, with a condescending smile on his face. “My men have examined the evidence, and this is obviously an accident.”

“An accident, constable?”, Duck-tective quacks, his webbed feet paddling across the crime scene. “Or is it...Murder?”

“What?!”, the constable yells as the logo of the titular character comes on the screen as the commercials starts.

“That duck is a genius!”, Mabel gasps as she drops her sweater.

“Eh, it's easier to find clues when you're that close to the ground.”, Dipper shrugs.

Mabel puts her hand on her hip, skeptical. “Dipper, are you saying you could outwit Duck-tective?”

“Mabel, I have very keen powers of observation. ”, Dipper explains, sitting up. “For example, just by smelling your breath, I can tell that you have been eating….” He sniffs the air, looking confused. “..an entire tube of toothpaste?”

“It was so sparkly...”, Mabel pouts, her mouth covered in toothpaste.

Soos arrives, running end with a look of excitement. “Hey, dudes, you'll never guess what I found!”

“Buried treasure!”, the twins say simultaneously before looking at each other, laughing.

“C’mon, follow me.”, Soos tells them, leading them to a mysterious door that’s been cut off. “So, I was cleaning up, when I found this secret door, hidden behind the wallpaper. It's crazy bonkers creepy! ” He unlocks the door and shows them what’s inside. They look around and see a collection of wax figures. But not any wax; these wax statues are historical figures, from Robin Hood to Shakespeare to Coolio.

Dipper shines his flashlight on the statues. “ Whoa. It's a secret wax museum.”

“They're so life-like.”, Mabel notes as she pokes the wax sculpture of Sherlock Holmes.

“Except for that one.”, Dipper critiques with his flashlight shining on a wax figure of Stan. Except it moves.

“Hello!”, Stan greets, making the twins scream and Soos. “It's just me, your Grunkle Stan!” His response doesn’t make it better because they still run out of the storage room, screaming their heads off.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

After regathering the Twins and Soos back into the room, Stan introduces his prize collection of wax figures, “Behold the Gravity Falls Wax Museum! It was one of our most popular attractions... before I forgot all about it”, he admits before showing off the individual statues. “I got 'em all! Genghis Khan, Sherlock Holmes….”, he pauses to see a statue of Larry King. “some kind of, I don't know, goblin man?”

Dipper shudders. “Is anyone else getting the creeps here?”

“And now for my personal favorite: Wax Abraham Lincoln, right over--”, he stops his sentence to see said statue melted in the summer sunlight.“Oh! Oh no! Come on, who left the blinds open? Wax John Wilkes Booth, I'm looking in your direction!” He bends down and puts his finger in wax, huffing in annoyance. "How do you fix a wax figure?”

"Cheer up, Grunkle Stan.", Mabel livens up her grunkle. "Where's that smile?" Stan grunts.

"Beep, bop, boop!", she cheerfully pokes Stan in the face, only to poke him in the eye. "Ow."

"Don't worry, Grunkle Stan.", the young Pine smiles. "I'll make you a new wax figure from all this old wax!"

“You really think you can make one of these puppies?”, Stan rises up.

“Absolutely, Grunkle Stan! I'm an arts and crafts master. Why do you think I always have this glue gun stuck to my arm?”, she holds up her arm, which has a glue gun glued to it and tries to shake it off. “Eugh, eugh!”

“Huh, I like your gumption, kid!”, Stan acknowledges with a grin

“I don't know what that word means, but thank you!”, Mabel gives one of her own.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Dipper’s been deeply invested into his journal. He just found a page talking about Methanosians, plant-like species that are able to emit flames. It’s very interesting to think about: how are they able to achieve this? Are they able to move so fast that they ignite the air or is it chemically triggered? Perhaps the chemical is-

“Dipper!”, Mabel drops down in front of his startled brother, who almost drops his journal before putting back in his jacket.

“What do you think of my wax figure idea?”, she shows Dipper a drawing that she sketched in her sketch-book. “She's part fairy princess, and part horse fairy princess!”

“Maybe you should carve something from real life.”, Dipper suggests, feeling creeped out by her picture.

“How about a waffle with big arms?!”, Mabel turns another page, showing the aforementioned waffle.

“Okay... Or, you know, maybe, something else.”, Dipper clarifies, hoping to get his point across. “Like someone in your family.”

“Kids, have you seen my pants?”, Grunkle Stan asks as he poses on a briefcase, trying to find his piece of clothing. This makes Mabel gasps as a surge of inspiration courses into her mind. She turns around, her eyes becoming big as she looks upwards.

“Oh, muse. You work in mysterious ways.”, she beams with excitement.

“Why's your sister talking to the ceiling?”, Stan asks Dipper, clearly unaware of the young artist’s creative breakthrough. The next couple hours revolve around Mabel crafting the new wax figure. She works thoroughly on making the statue’s structure, working on the small details of her grunkle, and painting the right colors. It is rigorous and time consuming but she manages to get half way done. She moves back to admire her work with Dipper and Soos next to her. “I think... it needs more glitter.”, she muses.

“Agreed.”, Soos nods, handing the young Pine a bucket of glitter. She tosses the entire bucket onto the statue. “Perfect!”, Mabel exclaims in joy.

Stan walks in with his pants on but missing his shoes. “Ok, I found my pants but now I'm missing my--” He stops and notices Wax Stan. “Ahhh!” He falls over and crawls away in shock by witnessing the wax’s lifelike features.

“What do you think?”, she asks, anxiously.

“I think... the Wax Museum's back in business!”

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

A bustling crowd has gathered at the Mystery Shack, they arrive in droves to see the latest attraction. What the attraction was, they don’t know but it must be worth the price of admission they paid to be here.

“I can't believe this many people showed up.”, Dipper comments as he watches the crowds arriving at the event.

“Yeah, I bet your uncle bribed them”, Wendy replies with a sarcastic grin.

“He bribed me.”, he smiles, showing the 5 dollar bill that his Grunkle gave him in exchange for working in the ticket stand. She pulled out her own 5 dollar bill that conman bribed her with, making them both snicker. On stage, Stan walks on stage towards the podium. He taps on the microphone, ignoring the ear-piercing feedback it emits from the crowd.

“You all know me, folks!”, Stan smiles, attempting and failing to charm the crowd. “Town darling, ‘Mr. Mystery.’ Please, ladies, control yourselves!” This garners no response from the women in the crowd. “As you know, I always bring the people of this fair town novelties and befuddlements, the likes of which the world has never known. But enough about me.”, Stan continues, getting to the point of the congregation. “Behold….me!” He removes the tarp, revealing the wax duplicate to the whole crowd. This receives a lukewarm welcome with two people clapping and another coughing. “And now a word from our own Mabelangelo!”, the conman introduces Mabel who takes the microphone from him before walking in front of the crowd.

“Thank you for coming!”, she greets the crowd. “I made this sculpture with my own two hands!” She throws up her arms into the air for a brief moment. “It's covered in my blood, sweat, tears, and other fluids!” The implication makes the audience cringe in disgust.

“Yeah.”, she laughs it off. “I will now take questions! You there!” She points her hand to Old Man McGucket.

“Old Man McGucket, local kook.”, he introduces himself before asking. “Are the wax figures alive? And follow-up question, can I survive the wax-man uprising?”

“Um...Yes!”, she answers with a confused look on her face before pointing to a staunch man holding a turkey baster in his left hand instead of a microphone. “Next question!”

“Toby Determined, Gravity Falls Gossiper.”, he begins. “Do you really think this constitutes a wonder of the world?”

“Your microphone's a turkey baster, Toby.”, Stan shoots down his question.

“It certainly is…”, he retracts with a look of self-pity.

“Next question!”

“Shandra Jimenez, a real reporter.”, the female reporter says, holding a real microphone and a camera crew. “Your flyers promised free pizza with admission to this event. Is this true?” She holds up the said flyer in front him. This, in tow, makes the crowd erupt in indignation over the fact that there wasn’t any pizza around. Stan looks at the crowd with a nervous frown as they demand for pizza and glare at the conman.

“That was a typo.”, he gives a short answer, not really explaining anything. “Good night, everyone!” He drops a smoke bomb running off the stage before taking the admission cash box before anyone would notice. To say the crowd is upset would be an understatement, they are furious that they were swindled by the “Man of Mystery” as they all leave the Shack. No significant damage is caused save for the decorative pole that’s punched by Manly Dan.

Mabel leans on the admission table that Dipper and Wendy are sitting with a smile on her face. “I think that went well.”

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

“Hot pumpkin pie! Look at all this cash!” Stan smiles in pride as he counts the money in the evening. “And I owe it all to one person, this guy!” He points to his wax replica of himself to which Mabel punches her grunkle in the arm playfully.

“Yeah, you too, ya little gremlin.”, he laughs, giving her niece a noogie. “Now you kids wash up. We got another long day of racking cash tomorrow.” He starts pushing the twins out the living room. They head upstairs, smiling, as they run upstairs to brush their teeth and go to bed. Once they had gone upstairs, Stan decides to hang with his wax counterpart to watch Ducktective.

“Well, duck-tective, it seems you've really quacked the case.”, the constable jokes.

“Don't patronize me.”, Duck-tective quacks, clearly annoyed by the tasteless joke.

“Stupid duck!”, Stan can't help but laugh as the show goes to commercial. “Well, I'm gonna use the john. You need anything?” His wax counterpart’s grin doesn’t waver, but that doesn’t stop him from laughing. “I love this guy! Don't you go nowhere.”

He leaves to go to the bathroom for a few minutes. That’s all the time that’s needed for something sinister to occur. Like a thief in the night, the figure appears out of nowhere but their intention remains obvious and so, the terrible act is committed in such swift fashion that it’s almost like it never happened. The figure disappears as they hear the footsteps of Stan coming back into the den, leaving no trace.

When he comes back into the living room, Stan's face turns into horror as he screams as his eyes lay upon a devastating sight. “No!... No!... Noooooo!” His yells cause the twins to run downstairs to their grunkle on his knees with his hands holding his horrified face.

“Wax Stan! He's been...murdered!”, Stan points to the headless body of his wax counterpart on the floor. This shocking revelation makes Mabel faint with a gasp with Dipper catching her. While he isn't as emotionally torn about it like his sister and grunkle are about this, it’s still a scary sight to behold.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

An hour passed by, the cops arrived when Stan called. The living room is turned into a crime scene with Sheriff Blubs and Deputy Durland questioning Stan about what transpired. “So, I got up to use the john, right?”, he explains, even though he’s still shaken by seeing his wax counterpart beheaded. “And when I come back, blammo! He's headless!”

“My expert handcrafting... besmirched.”, Mabel cries dejectedly as she looks at her masterpiece beheaded.“Besmirched!” Dipper puts a comforting hand on his sister’s shoulder as he looks at the wax figure. The way the head is cleaved indicates that it wasn’t an accident. But one question remains in his mind. Who would do something like this?

“Look, we'd love to help you folks, but let's face the facts.”, Sheriff Blubs confesses after Durland finished taking notes on the murder. “This case is unsolvable.” Everyone, besides the cops, gasp incredulously. This makes Grunkle Stan very furious

“You take that back, Sheriff Blubs!”, Stan growls.

“You're kidding, right? There must be evidence, motives. Anything.”, Dipper insists, there must be something that the police officers are missing to figure out the murder.“You know, I could help if you want.”

“He's really good. He figured out who was eating our tin cans!”, Mabel vouches for her brother.

“All signs pointed to the goat.”, Dipper proudly declares.

“Yeah, yeah! Let the boy help.”, Stan adds on. “He's got a little brain up in his head.”

“Oooh! Would you look at what we got here!”, Sheriff Blubs taunts the young Pines, making him annoyed by the patronizing of the officers. “City boy thinks he's gonna solve a mystery with his fancy computer phone!”

“City boooy! City booooy!”, Durland eggs on with his partner. Blubbs just laughs on before smiling at the young Pine, condescendingly. “You are adorable.”

“Adorable?”, Dipper pouts, aggravated by the patronizing cops, who just keep on laughing at him.

“Look, P.J.'s.”, Blubs begins, grinning at the aggravated Pine. “How about you leave the investigation to the grown-ups, okay?” Just as he said that, his walkie-talkie sounding off. Attention, all units. Steve is about to fit an entire cantaloupe in his mouth. Repeat, an entire cantaloupe!

“It's a 23-16!”, Durland squeals in excitement.

“Let's move!” Blubs proclaims as both officers run off, laughing as they get to their car in quick fashion.

“That's it!”, Dipper declares, determined to prove those officers wrong. “Mabel, you and I are going to find the jerk who did this, and get back that head. Then we'll see who's adorable.”

“Aww, you sneeze like a kitten!”, Mabel gushes with a beaming grin, to which he glares at her for making him sound cute. It’s going to be a long process for him to get through in order for him to be taken seriously.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The morning arrives and the Pine Twins begin their investigation. Dipper suggests finding clues in the last spot where the crime occured, which is the living room, where the wax statue still lays on the floor since last night. Mabel wraps the police tape, which is basically toilet paper with “Do Not Pass” in marker, as Dipper shoots a picture at the “corpse”.

“Wax Stan has lost his head”, Dipper explains in a tone reminiscent of a detective. “And it's up to us to find it.” He looks at the bulletin board with pictures of suspects. “There were a lot of unhappy customers at the unveiling and the murderer could be anyone of them.”

“Yeah! Even us!”, Mabel adds on.

“In this town, anything is possible.”, Dipper continues as he looks at the journal for some clues. “Ghosts, zombies, it could be months before we find our first clue”.

“Hey, look! A clue.” Dipper stops what he’s doing and looks at where Mabel’s pointing at. He walks to where she is and finds the first clue: shoeprints in the shag carpet.

Mabel looks at the clue closely and notices something about them. “That's weird. They've got a hole in them.”

“And they're leading to…”, Dipper stars before he and Mabel follow the trail to see their second clue: an ax behind the reclining chair. The twins look shocked at what they find. “The murder weapon!” He picks up the heavy axe and examines it.

“Who would know about this?”, Dipper thinks aloud.

“Maybe...”, Mabel thinks for a moment before getting a lightbulb. “Maybe we should ask Soos about this.”

Dippers hums before nodding his head.

They head to the gift shop to see Soos doing his usual tasks around the shack. After a few minutes of greeting the handyman, the Pine Twins explain what they’ve been doing and give him the murder weapon to inspect it.

“So, what do you think?”, Dipper asks, hoping Soos can give some additional clues. He keeps staring at the ax with the same analytical expression he had beforehand.

“In my opinion, this is an ax.” Soos concludes, stating the obvious.

“And is there anything else?”, Dipper asks, hoping to get an answer from the handyman. “Something weird? Something that can help us?”

“Uh...”, Soos thinks for a moment. “It’s sharp?” Dipper only sighs in minor annoyance.

“Wait a minute.”, Mabel snaps her fingers. “The lumberjack!”

Dipper realizes for a second. “Yeah, that’s right. He was furious when he didn't get that free pizza.”

“Furious enough, for murder!”, Mabel adds on dramatically.

“Oh, you mean Manly Dan?”, Soos clarifies the lumberjack’s identity. “Yeah, he hangs out at this crazy intense biker joint downtown.”

“Then that's where we're going.”, Mabel declares with a fist pump.

“Dude, this is awesome.”, Soos chuckles, sharing some of Mabel’s excitement. “You two are like: The Mystery Twins!”

Dipper frowns at the name the handyman offered. “Don't call us that.”

After getting the information they needed, the Pine Twins walk outside about to the downtown area to where the biker joint. Before they reach it, Dipper and Mabel see their grunkle pulling a coffin out the trunk of his car. “Hey, give me a hand with this coffin, will ya?”, Stan asks. “I'm doin' a memorial service for wax Stan. Something small, but classy.”

“Sorry, Grunkle Stan.”, Dipper apologizes. “But we have got a big break in the case!”

“Break in the case!”, Mabel echoes.

“We're heading to the town right now to interrogate the murderer.”

“And we have an axe!”, Mabel shows off the axe, waving it a bit with a gaudy smile.

“Hm, seems like the kind of thing that responsible parents wouldn't want you to do…”, Stan thinks for a moment. “Good thing I'm an uncle. Avenge me kids! AVENGE ME!!”

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Skull Fracture is the only biker bar of Gravity Falls, fitting for the most masculine of individuals to hangout. The outer appearance is enough for the normal person to steer clear from, especially with the large bouncer at the front. It’s why Dipper and Mabel are peering around the corner of the tavern, measuring the difficulty of their current situation.

“This is the place.” Dipper examines, still feeling a bit nervous on getting caught. He turns his head to Mabel. “Got the fake IDs?” She gives him an ID card for him, but he’s not sure that this would work because the card looks hooky at best. It’s made by unlamented cardstock along with crayons and glitter.

“Is this the best you can make, Mabel?”, he asks, still looking at the ID with uncertainty.

“C’mon, Dipper.”, Mabel pouts. “It’s gonna work.”

“Here goes nothing.”, the young Pine sighs, bracing himself for the worst as they both head to the front of the tavern's entrance, where the bouncer is standing.

“We're here to interrogate Manly Dan, the lumber jack for the murder of wax Stan.”, Mabel speaks with a level of professionalism that it’s a bit jarring. “I believe our ID’s can provide proof for you, good sir.” They present their ID’s to the bouncer who stares at them, before shrugging.

“Works for me.”, he responds stoically as he opens the door, though Dipper is a little surprised that it worked. As they head inside, they understand why this tavern is called Skull Fracture. Men are either throwing fists at each other, arguing with each other, smoking, or sitting at the bar drinking some beer. Dipper and Mabel walk inside, looking around before motioning for his sister to follow him.

Mabel almost trips over an unconscious body and steps over it. She stops at a moment to stare at the body. “He's resting.”, she reassures to herself before catching up with her brother, who looks around and finds Manly Dan at the arm wrestling machine.

“Alright, let's just try to blend in, ok?”, Dipper asks as he heads towards the lumberjack. “I’m going to interrogate the suspect.”

Mabel gives him a thumbs-up before climbing onto a chair and talks to one of the patrons. “Hey there, fellow restaurant patron!”, she greets the gritty man with a cheery tone before patting him on the arm, ignoring his growl of aggravation. Dipper, meanwhile, passes through the patrons before reaching Manly Dan.

“Manly Dan, just the guy I wanted to see.”, Dipper speaks with nonchalance. “Where were you last night?”

“Punchin' the clock.”, Manly Dan grunts, holding on to the mechanical arm with veins popping.

“Oh, so you were at work?”

“No, I was punchin' that clock!”, Manly Dan growls as he points to a broken clock outside, which appears broken and at an odd angle.

“10 o'clock, the time of the murder.”, Dipper hums, looking at the time on the broken clock, which is at 10, in consternation.“So, I guess you've never seen this before?” He pulls out the axe from his bag and shows it to the lumberjack.

“Listen, little girl!” Manly Dan starts.

“Hey, actually I'm a--”

“I wouldn't pick my teeth with that ax. It's left handed! I only use my right hand, the MANLY HAND!!”, Manly Dan rips the machine's arm off and beats the machine with it.

Dipper looks at the axe. “Left handed.” He decides to go and catch his sister before they both head outside to assess what he learned.

“It's a left handed ax.” Dipper confirms as he shows Mabel a list of possible suspects from Stan’s unveiling. “These are all our suspects. Manly Dan is right handed, that means all we have to do is find our left handed suspect and we've got our killer.”

“Oh man, we are on fire today!” Mabel exclaims with a lot of zeal.

“That we are.”, he responds, feeling some of her excited energy. “Now let's find that murderer.” He shares Mabel’s look of confidence as they share a fist bump. They start out looking around town to find their ideal suspects: they first start at the junkyard, where they see Old Man McGucket wrestling with a baby alligator. Mabel waves and the old kook waves back with his right hand with the baby gator biting on it. Afterwards, Dipper, wearing a fake mustache, delivers a package to Pizza Guy's house. Pizza Man signs Dipper's form and gets excited, only for Dipper to take the package and leave. On the other side of the road, Mabel notices the angry lady and whistles to get her attention before throwing a baseball at her. She catches it with her right hand and crushes it. Later on, the twins find another suspect who was at the unveiling. They knock on his door, only for him to come out with both hands in casts. So far most the people on the list were all right-handed. It seems like they aren’t close at all.

Except for one suspect.

Dipper gasps as looks for the final suspect on the list. “Mabel, there's only one person left on this list.”

“Of course, it all adds up!”, Mabel realizes as well.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

It's nightfall as the cops and the Pine Twins head to the front door of Gravity Falls Gossiper. It took some convincing but Dipper were able to convince them that their number one suspect was responsible for the murder.

"You kids better be right about this or you'll never get the end of it.", Blubs warns them, hoping to be right so he could tease the city boy.

“The evidence is irrefutable, officers.”, Dipper responds.

“It's so irrefutable.” Mabel adds, waving her hand.

“I'm gonna get to use my match stick!”, Durland giggles in excitement as he waves his batton around.

“You ready? You ready little fella?”, Blubs askes, sharing his partner’s zealous energy as they hit each other playfully with batons, barely able to contain themselves.

“On 3!”, Dipper starts, before counting. “1, 2…”

Before he can finish, the officers break down the door, barging in with a unified shout with the Pine Twins behind them. “Nobody move!”, Blubs shouts with authority. “This is a raid!”

As his office gets invaded, Toby slips and falls down, yelling in surprise. “What is this? Some kind of raid?”, he asks needlessly.

“Toby Determined, you're under arrest for murder of the wax body of Grunkle Stan.”, Dipper declares confidently.

“You have the right to remain impressed with our awesome detective work.”, Mabel adds on, smugly grinning as she high fives Dipper.

“Gobbling goose feathers! I don't understand!”, Toby exclaims, flustered by what’s going on.

“Then allow me to explain.”, Dipper starts with a confident smile on his face as Mabel holds a newspaper with a picture of Wax Stan's head. “You were hoping that Grunkle Stan's new attraction would be the story that saved your failing newspaper. But when the show was a flop, you decided to go out and make your own headline. But you were sloppy, and all the clues pointed to a shabby shoed reporter who was caught left handed.”

“Toby Determined, you're yesterday's news.”, Mabel concludes as she crumples up the newspaper.

Toby Boy, your little knees must be sore…”, the journalist starts, frowning. “From jumping to conclusions.” He finishes his proud remark before doing a little dance at the kids detective work. “I had nothing to do with that murder.”

“HA! I knew it-wait, come again?”, Dipper exclaims before realizing what he just said. “Nothing? D-did you just say nothing?” He’s genuinely confused about what Toby just said. How could he not be the suspect when all of the evidence points to him?

“Huh? What? Could you repeat that?”, Mabel asks, sharing her brother’s confusion.

“Then where were you at the night of the break-in?”, Blubs asks, wanting to know the truth as well as Deputy Durland.

“Ehh…”, Toby tugs on his shirt collar nervously before inserting a tape into a TV. It opens with him looking around, hoping no would notice what he’s doing before taking a cardboard cutout of Shandra Jimenez out of his closet. “Finally, we can be alone, cardboard cutout of TV news reporter Shandra Jimenez!”, he swoons affectionately before he kisses it, making everyone cringe in disgust from what they’re witnessing.

“Welp, timestamp confirms it.”, Blubs concludes. “Toby, you're off the hook. You freak of nature.”

“Hooray!”, Toby cheers, even though the tape is still playing.

“But, but it has to be him!”, Dipper argues, hoping that his hard work doesn’t end in failure.“Check the ax for fingerprints!”

The cops do so, dusting the weapon for any fingerprints, except there isn’t any on it. “Sorry, kid”, Sheriff Blubs shook his head. “No prints at all.”

“No prints?”, Dipper is confused by what he’s heard. There’s no prints on the ax?

Durland “Hey I got a headline for you: city kids waste everyone's time.”, taunts making the adults laugh, making Dipper and Mabel feel more embarrassed than they already are. They put so much effort into finding the culprit and from what they gathered, it seemed like the evidence was pointing to Toby Determined. But, they were wrong. It feels like the case itself is unsolvable.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Later on today, Grunkle Stan arranges a funeral for his wax counterpart in the parlor. He is standing on a stage with a bunch of chairs set up with Dipper, Mabel, Soos, and the wax figures as the audience.

“Kids, Soos, lifeless wax figures, thank you all for coming.”, Stan thanks, solemnly before continuing. “Some people might say it's wrong for a man to love a wax replica of himself.”

“They're wrong!”, Soos exclaims as he stands up.

“Easy Soos.”, Stan responds, he understands the handyman’s sentiments. He looks at his headless wax replica, feeling a sob coming up as he continues. “Wax Stan, I hope you're picking pockets in wax heaven.” The conman sniffles, wiping his eye. “I'm sorry, I got glitter in my eye!” He runs out, not able to finish the eulogy without feeling grief.

“Ohhhhh duuuude…”, Soos cries out as he runs after his, trying to console him. There’s nothing but silence as it’s just the Pine Twins and the wax figures left in attendance. Dipper and Mabel look solemnly at the casket the headless Wax Stan is in, reminding them of their failure at finding the murderer. This realization makes Dipper slump into his seat, sighing.

“Those cops are right about me. About us.”, Dipper mutters in disappointment and defeat.

“But Dipper, we've come so far, we can't give up now.”, Mabel encourages as she gives her brother a smile.

“Mabel, we’ve considered everything: the weapon, the motive, the clues.”, he insists as he stands up and walks to the coffin. “We looked at every perspective and there was nothing but dead ends.” When the case first started, Dipper thought he and Mabel could solve this easily. They had the clues, the potential candidates for the murderer, and the solid idea for a motive of the murder. But now, he’s not so sure anymore and can’t reach any conclusion. There are too many loose ends to this mystery.

That is until he notices something, something he didn’t see during their investigation. “That’s weird”, Dipper notes, as he stares at the wax rendition’s shoes. “Wax Stan's shoe has a hole in it.”

“Well, yeah. All the wax guys have that.”, Mabel answers, following her brother to the casket with the ax in her hand. “It's where the pole thingy attaches to their stand dealy.”

“Wait a minute, what has a hole on its shoe and no fingerprints?”, Dipper mutters to himself. He slowly realizes something. Despite the fact that his previous suspect had a hole in his shoe along with being left handed. But there’s an additional piece of evidence that’s to be considered: There’s no fingerprints. And there's someone or, something, that has none.

“Uh...Dipper”, Mabel asks, confused by her brother’s silence.

“Mabel.”, Dipper starts as he looks at his sister. “The murderers are--”

“Standing right behind you?”

The Pine Twins gasp in surprise as they turn around and see something that defies logic: all the wax figures rise up, either scowling with hatred or smiling in malicious intent as they creeped closer towards the stunned children until they’re blocked off from any escape. The lineup of wax figures include Shakespeare, Edgar Allen Poe, Genghis Khan, Larry King, Coolio (?), and Sherlock Holmes, who is holding up the decapitated head of Wax Stan. A wax replica of Lizzie Borden takes the ax from a terrified mabel before Wax Sherlock begins.

“Congratulations, my two amuetur slueths”, he patronizes as he tosses Wax Stan’s head up and down like a ball. “You've discovered our little secret.” He turns towards his wax comrades, who sneer at the Pine Twins. “Applaud, everyone. Applaud sarcastically.”

The wax figures collectively do so, mocking the children with sneers etched onto their faces, but Sherlock admonishes him. “Uh, no, that sounds too sincere. Slow clap, please.” The figures slow down their clapping so it may appear prominently more sarcastic. “There we go. Nice and condescending.”

“H-how is this possible?”, Dipper asks, baffled by what’s going on. “You're made of wax.”

“Are you magic”, Mabel gasp, curiously.

“Are we magic?” Wax Sherlock laughs with a sneer. “She wants to know if we're magic!” He keeps chuckling before slamming his fist down on the casket, jolting Dipper and Mabel. “We're CURSED!”

“CURSED!”, the wax figures repeat.

“Cursed to come to life whenever the moon is waxing.”, Wax Sherlock explains, walking near the fireplace.“Your uncle bought us many years ago at a garage sale.”

“A haunted garage sale, son!”, Wax Coolio adds.

“Quite.”, Wax Sherlock agrees before continuing. “And so, the Mystery Shack Wax Collection was born. By day, we would be the playthings of man.”

“But when your uncle went to sleep, we would rule the night.”, Wax Coolio interjects again.

“It was a charmed life for us cursed beings…”, Wax Sherlock speaks, with a tone of reminiscent before turning cold. “That is, until your uncle closed up shop. We've been waiting ten years to get our revenge on Stan for locking us away. But we got the wrong guy.”

“So you were going to kill Grunkle Stan for real”, Dipper asks, completely shocked by what he’s heard.

“You were right, Dipper.”, Mabel says. “Wax figures are creepy.”

“Enough!”, Wax Sherlock silences them. “Now that you know our secret, you must die.” Wax Sherlock, along with the rest of the wax figures, rolls his eyes to the back of his head. The wax figures growl intimidatingly as they get closer to the Pine Twins.

Mabel looks at her brother, who activates the Omnitrix. Dipper tries to select the right alien as the wax figures get close while Mabel attempts to distract them by throwing items from the small refreshment table. It does little to no effect before she throws a pot of coffee at the face of Wax Genghis Khan, who screams in pain.

“That’s it. We can melt them with hot, melty things”, Mabel realizes.

“Hot, melty things”, Dipper repeats before an idea pops up into his head. “That’s it!” He turns the dial to get his designated alien. In a flash of emerald light, stunning Mabel and the wax statues, Dipper’s body begins to morph: He feels his body developing chlorophyll as his feet become roots, his oxygen molecules shift to methane, easy for ignition. His shoulders develop red flowers.

Dipper becomes a Methonisian: a humanoid, plant-like alien that has an overall green and black colored body, mostly with a red flame-patterned head and root-like feet, seemingly holding black rocks. His eyes are oval-shaped with points at each end with pupils copying the shape but are smaller. Also, his shoulders and head have red petals and his elbows and legs have green frills sticking out. This alien is taller than an average human and has a distinct rotten stench that worsens with heat.

“Swampfire!”, the altered Pine shouts. Mabel looks at her brother in awe, he finds a new transformation that looks very cool but she notices something when she smells him.

“Ugh. Dipper you stink.”, Mabel holds her nose in disgust.

“That’s because my body is emitting methane fumes.”, Swapfire answers.

“Just take a shower when this is over.”, she begs as she grabs two decorative candles.

“The stink would probably go away when I transform back but okay.”, he answers, igniting his fists which causes the wax figures to step back even further. “Any one of you moves and we'll melt you!”

“With some fire and decorative candles!”, Mabel declares.

“Do you really think you could beat us with candles and by becoming a giant flaming weed?”, Wax Sherlock asks, his tone incredulous at the idea of these kids defeating despite them having the advantage.

“I mean….I can make flames outta my hands and she's got candles. So...”, Swampfire shrugs.

“Yeah, it’s kind off a no-brainer.”, Mabel points out.

“So be it.”, Wax Sherlock answers before shouting. “ATTACK!” The wax figures and the Pine Twins charge, ready for battle.

Wax Lizzie Borden swings her ax at Mabel, but accidentally decapitates Wax Robin Hood. Mabel walks around her, but Wax Shakespeare sneaks up behind her. Mabel cuts off his hands with both candles, and he runs away in cowardice. Wax Shakespeare's hands, however, move and begin strangling Mabel. She grabs a door and repeatedly smashes it on its fingers.

A couple of wax figures tackle Swampfire to the ground before dogpiling him, but since he has the strength advantage, he’s able to get them off of him through powering out, making the wax figures fly across the room in different directions. After doing that, he avoids being grabbed from behind by Wax Larry King before delivering a fiery chop that decapitates his head. “Interview this, Larry King!”

“My neck! My beautiful neck!”, Wax Larry King cries out, running away.

Wax Groucho growls as he charges towards Swampfire, but the altered Pine is ready as he blasts the wax figure in his stomach with a massive fireball causing both halves to slowly slip off.

“Jokes on you, Groucho!”, Swampfire quips.

“I heard of an empty stomach but this is ridiculous.”, Wax twiddling his fingers a bit as the top half of his body slid off of the lower half. “Hey, why is there nothing in my hand?”

Swampfire turns around to see Wax Genghis Khan charging at him and simply sidesteps him, making the wax figure run into the fireplace.

“Ha, Genghis Khan! You fell harder than the... uh... ”, Swampfire declares before getting confused. “I don't know, uh, Jin Dynasty? Heh. Yeah. Alright. ”

Mabel swings around Wax Coolio's head while getting overwhelmed by wax figures.

“Dipper! Watch out!”, Mabel calls out to her transformed brother. He blasts Wax Richard Nixon out the room before turning around to Wax Sherlock Holmes behind him.

“Alright. Let’s get this taken care of.”, Wax Sherlock says, putting Wax Stan's head on the horn of a rhino on the wall, and grabs a sword hanging on it. He then swings the blade and it slices Swampfire’s off. The wax figure seems pleased before his eyes narrow in annoyance and confusion as the altered Pine grows another arm. Swampfire ignites his fists and starts swinging at Wax Sherlock, who in turn uses the sword defensively while delivering more hits to the alien. This continues until they reach the attic.

"Once your family is out of the way, we’ll rule the night once more!", Wax Sherlock declares, raising his sword planning to slice Swampfire’s head clean off.

I can't deliver a massive fire attack in this area, Swampfire thinks. The best course is….He quickly turns to see the window. There!

"Don’t count on it!", Swampfire retorts, kicking Wax Sherlock down the stairs before opening the window to get outside. He climbs up to the top sign of the Mystery Shack and waits near the edge to hear Wax Sherlock Holmes coming up to finish him off.

"You think you can outwit me, freak?!", Wax Sherlock asks in aggravation as the figure climbs up. "I’m Sherlock Bloody Holmes!" He looks ready to slice up the alien boy until he reaches the top sign. But he realizes his mistake as Swampfire holds both hands out to deliver an attack.

“Burn.”, Swampfire declares before blasting a stream of flames that seems to have melted the wax figure. He moves forward to the spot where Wax Sherlock was standing. He looks from his left and his right, hoping to find any evidence that he melted the wax figure. Honestly, where did he-

Out of nowhere, Wax Sherlock appears between the top and bottom sign to deliver a hard elbow strike to Swampfire’s face. This causes him to tumble on the other side of the roof, rolling on the surface and grabbing onto the edge of it to prevent himself from falling down. He looks down at the ground below before gulping, he knows that these aliens are tough but he still doesn't feel comfortable at the aspect of falling.

The sudden sound of scraping alerts the altered Pine to see Wax Sherlock Holmes, despite having one arm that’s mostly melted off, brandishing the sword with a hateful scowl on his face. He stops on top of the chimney and for additional cruelty, steps on Swampfire’s hands, eliciting a grunt of pain from him.

“Any last requests”, Wax Sherlock asks as he holds the sword, ready to finish the job of killing this freak.

Swampfire turns his head slightly to see the sky brightening up a bit, making him have a small grin of victory. “You got any sunscreen?”

“Sunscree-?”, Wax Sherlock looks confused before he realizes his hand is melting. “What?!” He gasps in horror at the sight of the warm, summer sun rising up.

“No.”, Wax Sherlock says placidly, despite his wax body melting in the heat.

“Yeah, it really wasn’t very sharp of you to let me lead you out here.”, Swampfire replies, confidently.

“Outsmarted by a child in short pants! No!”, Wax Sherlock exclaims in frustration and agony as the sun reaches even higher. “Fiddlesticks! Humbugs! Tiiter, total kerfuffle. Butter hallabaloo.” He continues cursing until he becomes a puddle with only his head holding some shape. Swampfire climbs up on the roof before sighing in relief. A certain ring from the Omnitrix emblem on his indicates that he’s going to turn back and in a flash of red light, Dipper becomes normal again.

“Case closed.”, Dipper declares in satisfaction, wiping the dust from his hands before he sneezes.

“You sneeze like a kitten!”, Wax Sherlock laughs, mockingly as his remains slip off the roof. “Those policemen were right, you're adorable! Adorable!” He declares his final word before falling down at the ground below in a splat.

“Ew.”, Dipper mutters in disgust.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Just as the battle on the roof is finished, so is Mabel’s in the parlor as she scoops all the remaining pieces of the wax figures with one more, Wax William Shakespeare’s living head.

“Though our group be left in twain, the men of wax shall rise again!”, Wax William declares though it reaches deaf ears as Mabel picks him up.

“Y’know any limericks?”, she asks curiously.

“Uh... there once was a dude from Kentucky…”, the wax figure attempts, weakly.

“Nope!”, Mabel concludes throwing his head into the fire before noticing her brother entering the parlor. “Dipper! You're okay! You solved the mystery after all.”

“I couldn't have done it without my sidekick.”, he says as he pulls up a chair and takes Wax Stan's head off the wall.

“No offense Dipper, but you're the sidekick.” Mabel informs him.

“What? Says who? Have people been saying that? Have you heard that?”, Dipper asks nervously before coming down.

“Eesh, which one of you broke wind-”, Stan comes into the parlor before screaming incredulously. “Hot Belgian Waffles!! What happened to my parlor?!” He sees the room cluttered with various wax parts on the floor.

“Your wax figures turned out to be evil, so we fought them to the death!”, Mabel answers, jovially.

“I decapitated Larry King.”, Dipper adds.

Stan stares at them for a minute before laughing at their ridiculous claim. “Ha ha! You kids and your imaginations!”

“On the bright side, though, look what we found.”, Dipper shows his grunkle’s wax replica’s head.

“My head! Ha ha! I missed this guy!”, Grunkle Stan beams happily. “You done good, kids! Alright, line up for some affectionate noogie-ing.” Dipper and Mabel try to protest but he just noogies them, all of them sharing a big laugh before a police car drives near the broken parlor window, Sheriff Blubs and Deputy Durland on the inside relaxing.

“Solved the case yet, boy?”, Sheriff Blubs asks, condescendingly. “ I'm so confident you're gonna say no, that I'm gonna take a long, slow sip from my cup of coffee.” He holds up his coffee and starts drinking really slowly to mock the Omnitrix-user.

“Actually, the answer is yes.”, Dipper answers, casually as he holds Wax Stan’s head. This causes Sheriff Blubs to choke on his coffee before spitting it in Durlands face, which leads to him screaming in pain and spitting the coffee back at Blubs’ face, making him scream in pain . This continues on until the drive away in pain from the scalding coffee before ending up crashing.

The Pines laugh at the spectacle, enjoying the catharsis of solving the case. “They got scalded.”, Stan quibs, chuckling.

“So, did you get rid of all the wax figures?” Dipper asks.

“I am ninety-nine percent sure that I did!”, Mabel answers with a confident grin.

“Good enough for me!”, Dipper concludes.

Little does she know, Mabel missed one. A headless Wax Larry King chuckles before chasing off after a rat that steals his ear.

#chapters #swampfire #dipper #mabel #stan #soos #omni falls #headhunters

4 notes · View notes

enchantedxrose · 5 years

Text

The Monster of West End: Chapter Two

A retelling of Beauty and the Beast, set in 1837 London.

The “Beauty” of this story is a young seamstress desperate for work to pay off her father’s debts. Her new employer, though Beastly in appearance, is coldly tolerated by society because he has money and status. She is quickly charmed by his warm heart and sense of humor, but his monstrous form isn’t the only obstacle to their budding relationship.

<<Click here to read Chapter One

She ought to have taken Mr. Carlyle’s offer the first time, Viola noted ruefully a few hours later. It would have been less damaging to her pride and her health.

The carriage wheels had become stuck in a snowbank when the cabbie took a turn too sharply. After some futile attempts to dig the cab back out of the snow, she was obliged to walk the rest of the way home. By that time, the church bells had long since tolled five, and the prison gates were locked. No one would be let in or out until morning.

Viola groaned in frustration, pushing at the doors in vain.

“I’m sorry, Miss Weston, but rules is rules,” the gatekeeper said with a regretful shrug. “If I make an exception for you, I’ll be needing to make an exception for everybody.”

“I know, I know,” she grumbled. “Will you at least send word to my father that I’ve gone back to my employer’s for the night? I don’t want him to be worried.”

“Will do, miss.”

The moment she turned back down Borough High Street, she realized she had no money left for another cab. Suppressing a groan, she wrapped her shawl tighter about her shoulders and trudged on.

No use dawdling or complaining: this side of London was dangerous after dark for a young woman. And the snow was swirling thicker and faster.

For the first twenty minutes of her walk, she was able to stave off the cold by walking briskly. But her boots were shabby and worn, and her toes quickly became numb as she sloshed through half-frozen mud puddles. Her stockings were absolutely soaked through. She cupped her hands around her mouth and nose to try and warm them with her breath.

Her walk took her north and west across the river. In her rush, she took a shortcut through a narrow alley that she would otherwise have skirted around. Her steps hastened as she passed a certain storefront wedged between a gin house and a druggist—the tarnished sign on the door read Mr. Janus L. Beecham, and in peeling paint underneath, Money Lent.

She tried to keep facing determinedly forward until she passed the shadowy doorstep, but despite herself, her eyes were drawn to the window. A familiar face stared back at her: middle-aged, sallow, thin lips drawing into a sneer of recognition.

Viola shuddered with a chill that had little to do with the wintry air, nearly breaking into a run to leave the lending-house behind. The door opened and a jovial voice called down the alley.

“Miss Weston, what a pleasant surprise. No time to spare for an old friend?” Viola refused to turn back and acknowledge him. The man’s agreeable tone became mocking.

“Ah I forgot, the high and mighty Miss Weston would never deign to visit my humble abode. Found yourself a rich husband yet, have you? An earl? A duke?”

Ignore him, ignore him, don’t provoke him, he could make Father’s life even more miserable if he wants…

“You have no place else to go, Viola. It’s a cold world out there for a debtor’s daughter. You cannot evade me forever.”

She turned the corner onto a wider street, breathing a sigh of relief in the glow of the streetlamp. That isn’t true, Mr. Beecham, she thought, smirking despite the wind in her face. Not anymore. I’m a working woman now; I’ll buy Father’s freedom myself. I needn’t throw myself to the mercy of a man like you.

What a sight she must have been, when she finally arrived an hour later at Mr. Carlyle’s doorstep: bonnet askew, skin raw and red, eyes streaming. For one agonizing minute, she waited for someone to answer her desperate knock.

“Miss Weston? What are you—?” Mrs. Hutchinson took one look at her disheveled state and put her questions on hold. “Well, come in out of the cold, then, don’t just stand there in the doorway.”

Mrs. Hutchinson ushered the shivering Viola into the foyer and hung up her snow-caked bonnet to dry.

“Good heavens, child, what a state you’re in,” the housekeeper muttered. “What are you doing back here at this hour? Were you not to return in the morning?”

Viola’s violently chattering teeth prevented her from giving a coherent explanation.

“Never mind that now, come in by the fire before you catch your death.” Instead of going up to the first floor as she had earlier, they went downstairs to the kitchen, where a fire still smoldered in the brick hearth.

Viola was directed to sit in a rocking chair beside it and hang up her wool stockings to dry. Mrs. Hutchinson clucked her tongue at the threadbare state of them, and then thrust a cup of beef tea into Viola’s frozen hands.

The kitchen was warm and cheerful, bright red bricks and woven straw mats. The copper pots and pans hanging above twinkled in the firelight. The storm outside the foggy window felt like a nightmare she was waking from, as her fingertips began to thaw. She burned her tongue on her tea.

“Better?” Mrs. Hutchinson asked, watching with raised eyebrows.

“Yes, ma’am.”

The housekeeper folded her arms over her chest. “Then perhaps you are ready to explain yourself, Miss Weston.”

Viola nodded, her stomach sinking with dread. “I do apologize for the inconvenience I’ve caused,” she began.

Before she could find the words to continue, there were footsteps on the stairs, and a familiar male voice.

“Mrs. Hutchinson? Is everything alright? I thought I heard someone at the—oh. Miss Weston, is that you?”

Mr. Carlyle froze in the doorway. He appeared to have already retired for the evening, for he wore a plum velvet smoking jacket. His gleaming amber eyes—pupils wide in this dim light—roamed over Viola’s sodden stockings and her shivering form.

All three of them winced as one of his gigantic antlers knocked against the brass pots and sent it clanging to the floor. His housekeeper must have been used to these kinds of disturbances, for she recovered her dignity first and continued as if nothing had happened.

“I wasn’t going to bother you over this, sir,” Mrs. Hutchinson said. “She appears to have gotten lost in the storm, and I didn’t think you would object to sheltering her.”

“Of course. Quite right, Mrs. Hutchinson.”

Viola decided to seize her chance before her resolve failed her. “Mr. Carlyle, might I have a quick word? Privately? I should like to explain myself.”

Mrs. Hutchinson’s brow pinched into a peeved expression; evidently she believed anything said to Mr. Carlyle could be said in her presence. But her employer was oblivious to her irritation.

“Don’t trouble yourself, Miss Weston,” he assured her. “All of that can wait until the morning.”

Viola gritted her teeth. If I don’t come clean now, I’ll be up all night anticipating this conversation.

“Please, sir,” she said aloud, “I should much prefer to get it over with.”

“Very well,” said Mr. Carlyle, blinking a few times. “Mrs. Hutchinson, would you kindly prepare a bed in the servants’ quarters in the meantime?”

Mrs. Hutchinson nodded once, lips pursed, before exiting the kitchen with a surly swish of her skirts.

Only when the sound of her footsteps faded from their hearing did Mr. Carlyle sink cautiously into the chair opposite Viola’s before the fire. He waited for her to speak first with no signs of impatience. She fidgeted.

They were sitting much closer to each other than they had in Mr. Carlyle’s study earlier that day, and she could not help noticing even more peculiarities about his appearance. He was such an illogical mishmash of predator and prey. His legs were shaped more like the hindquarters of a deer, with the knees facing backward. His long ears seemed to swivel in the direction of sounds—now they were pricked up in curiosity.

His long talons drummed on the arms of his chair, but when he caught her looking at them, he curled his hands into fists as if to hide the claws from her view.

He gently broke the silence.

“Miss Weston, I will not demand to know your secrets,” he said slowly, “especially not if it will cause you further distress.”

She shook her head, resigned. “Given that I’ve barged into your house at this late hour, I think you deserve an explanation.”

He remained silent as she gathered her courage. Wherever to begin? Where, in fact, did their miseries begin? It was difficult to trace the origins of their troubles. Her voice, when she found it, was low and hoarse.

“I told you that I needed to find work because of my father’s health,” she said at last. “That wasn’t a lie, but it was hardly the entire truth, either. Our situation is quite—bleak. He’s been imprisoned for debts. In the Marshalsea.”

“Oh. Oh, I see.”

Viola dared to glance up at him, her eyes shining but defiant, prepared for his contempt or his charity. His brow was furrowed, deeply thoughtful, but that was all. Best to lay the whole bare truth out now, she decided.

“We have lived there for six years, my father and I. My sister too, until she married last year.”

“Six years?” he repeated in a faintly horrified voice. “I didn’t realize such a thing was allowed in the civilized world.”

“I am allowed to come and go as I please, but the gates are locked to visitors after five. So you see, Mr. Carlyle, I had nowhere else to go tonight.”

He prompted quietly, “You were afraid to speak of this before?”

“It’s quite a miserable thing,” Viola said with a bitter smile, “to be ashamed of one’s home and one’s family.”

“You believed I would judge your family for being in a debtor’s prison?”

“You might think us pathetic.”

“I think you unfortunate,” he clarified. “But that is hardly an indication of a person’s character or fortitude—merely of their circumstances.”

He leaned forward in his seat and lowered his voice, as if to keep their conversation a secret. In these close quarters, Viola couldn’t help noticing the long lashes on his catlike amber eyes. It was strange how familiar his expressions were, worn on such an uncanny, inhuman face.

“I do understand, Miss Weston. You don’t want pity from others. I know that feeling all too well. People may mean well and only wish to help, but their pity is unbearable all the same.”

Viola looked down at the teacup in her lap, overwhelmed by the intense sincerity in his gaze. “I suppose you would understand that feeling better than most, sir,” she mumbled.

There was a long moment of silence between them—not an uncomfortable pause, but one of tacit understanding. Then Mr. Carlyle seemed to recollect himself, and resumed his usual brisk manner.

“Look at me, chattering away when you likely want to drink your tea in peace,” he said with a self-deprecating smile. “Though she’s too polite to say so, Mrs. Hutchinson does hate it when I intrude on her domain downstairs. Rest well tonight, Miss Weston. We won’t speak any more on this subject, if that is what you wish. You can rely on my discretion.”

Viola turned away to watch the glowing coals in the kitchen hearth. “Thank you, sir. I won’t forget the kindness you have showed me tonight.”

(to be continued...)

#my fiction #beauty and the beast #victorian era #not based specifically on the disney version just a retelling of the fairy tale #a Dickensian twist on the fairy tale

18 notes · View notes

calamity-chaos · 5 years

Text

Walking After You

Pairings: Gabriel x Reader

Tags/Warnings: Angst, fluff

Song: Walking After You by Foo Fighters

Word Count: 2082

You had first seen him at the edge of a street corner.

It was mid-July, on one of your earliest cases. The suit you were wearing was hot and uncomfortable, and it was exacerbating your already sour mood. What had seemed like a simple salt and burn at the surface, was growing far more complicated the more you dug. You were in a hurry to get to your motel room to get out of the heat and change into something more comfortable when you felt a prickle on the back of your neck. The feeling of being watched.

You paused mid-stride, instincts kicking in as you scanned your surroundings. There. He was leaning against a sweet shop shamelessly staring at you. When your eyes met, he gave a nod and the smallest of smiles.

For some reason, you shivered. You immediately looked away, ducking your head down and continuing to your motel room.

You weren’t scared per say. That wasn’t what made you turn your head. There was something off about the man, something in the tilt of his head, the curve of his smile, the way his eyes seemed to glow golden despite the bright July sunshine.

You had casually asked the locals about him, during your investigation but discovered very little. He had come into town two days before you had, which had taken him off the suspect list since the phenomena had been going on for at least two weeks. He had introduced himself as Locke, and that was all anyone knew about him.

You would see Him around now and again. Always at distance, and always just…watching. You had tried several times to talk to Him, but He always seemed to disappear before you got close enough.

Until that one night. Alone in a house that was invested with angry spirits, you were way out of your depth. You had come expecting two spirits worst case scenario. There turned out to be around nine of them total. You had barricaded yourself into a room and was desperately trying to finish a salt circle when one of them appeared right in front of you. You screamed, jumping back. You threw the last tiny bit of the salt at it and it hissed but did not vanish. It advanced on you, and you scrabbled around trying to find anything to ward it off.

And then in the midst of all that chaos, you heard a snap, and the spirit was gone. The cacophony from all the others had ceased and the only sound you were left was your own ragged breathing. And He was there, leaning on the wall opposite radiating smug satisfaction.

“You alright there, Cupcake?”

You gaped at him, still trying to catch your breath. “What-how-who are you?!” You picked up the empty salt container and held it out in a pitiful attempt to look threatening.

Locke rolled his eyes. “Relax sweetheart, if I had wanted to hurt you, I would’ve left you to Casper the unfriendly ghost.”

“You’re welcome, by the way” He added when you didn’t respond.

You stared at him, not letting your guard down for a minute. “Why?” you demanded.

Locke shrugged. “I was in the neighborhood” You gave him a flat stare. “I was bored,” He said, a hint of defensiveness in his tone.

“Who-what are you?”

He only grinned, waggled his eyebrows, and vanished.

The next time you saw him, was at a café in some small town in Nowhere USA. You had just finished a job and was avoiding the stares of the other patrons by reading.

“Good book?”

You jumped, spilling your drink. “Jesus Christ” you hissed earning a glare from the elderly lady at a nearby table

“Not quite,” Locke said dryly. You reached for a napkin to mop up the mess but found the table dry and your drink sitting upright.

“What are you doing here?” you whispered, glancing around at the other customers in the café, but none of them had seemed to notice Locke’s sudden appearance. “You can’t-go away”

Locke raised his hand to his chest in mock hurt “But I only just got here” You ignored him, opening your book, and hoped that the lack of attention would send him back to wherever he came from.

Half and hour and two cups of coffee later, it became abundantly clear that Locke was not going to leave. You put down your book with a sigh. “I didn’t catch your name,” You remarked, watching in horrified fascination as he downed his sixth cup of hot cocoa.

“Didn’t throw it, sugar?” He said casually.

You rolled your eyes. “Y/N,” you said “My name is Y/N L/N”

“Well,” He said with exaggerated grandness “It is a pleasure to meet you Y/N L/N” Locke smiled, his eyes twinkling as he took your hand and pressed his lips to your knuckles. You felt heat rising in your cheeks and prayed that it wasn’t visible.

“Oh please,” you said with a coy smile, matching his tone “The pleasure is all mine, Mr…?”

“Just Locke will do,” He said, his grin growing wider.

“Well then,” you said “Just Locke. Is there anything I can do for you? There is a significant lack of angry ghosts so I can’t imagine you’re here to save me again.”

Locke shrugged nonchalantly. “Just passing through?”

You raised a skeptical eyebrow at him “Really?” you said, drawing out the word. “So, you aren’t stalking me then?”

“I would never!”

“So, all those times I caught you watching me…that was just a coincidence?”

Locke winced “Had to make sure you weren’t hunting me. Just a safety precaution, nothing personal.”

“Should I be hunting you?” you said, leaning forward and resting your hand on the knife tucked into your jeans.

The question hung in the air, and the voices in the café seemed suddenly muted and distant. Locke leaned forward. “You’re welcome to try,” he said softly, his eyes burning into yours, and you were once again struck with the feeling of off-ness. This…being radiated power and otherworldliness, and you felt very, very small.

You leaned back slowly, bringing your hand off your knife, to rest on the table and Locke relaxed. The moment had passed, the noises of the café returning.

“What are you?” you asked quietly.

Locke smiled “Just passing through” was all he said, and then he was gone.

He would return at random intervals, sometimes giving you helpful tips, or pointing you in the right direction on a case, other times appearing simply to pester you into talking to him. At first, mouths could pass before you would see him again, but as time wore on his visits became more and more frequent. You never could figure out what he was, though you had several guesses. You attempted to spring the question on him, but he always had some witty line ready.

It was after a particularly nasty fight with a werewolf. You were leaning against a tree, trying to catch your breath and grinning at some stupid story Locke was telling when you winced in pain. Lifting your pant leg, you found three claw marks. You grimaced, certain that it was going to leave a scar when you felt a hand on your shoulder and the pain and marks vanished.

You looked up to see Locke standing beside you, frowning. Your eyes met, and he brushed his hand against your cheek, and this time you felt something ghost across your face, healing up little cuts and nicks you had accumulated over the years.

“What are you?” you whispered

Locke’s mouth curved up “A friend” he answered before vanishing into the night.

You stopped asking after that.

And then the Angels came.

And Locke was gone.

At first, you were worried, wondering if something had happened to him. You brushed that aside, Locke was too powerful, too clever. You decided painfully that he had finally grown bored and had simply moved on. You weren’t bitter of course. Not at all.

Things just won't do without you, matter of fact Oh oh ooh I'm on your back I'm on your back

And so, when he appeared months later, sitting across from you, leaning back casually as if nothing had happened, you weren’t the least bit angry.

“Been a long time?” You said after a while, keeping your eyes glued to the book you had been reading “Thought you forgot about me”

“Been busy” Locke said shortly. You snuck the briefest glance up at him and was startled to find his usual calm, nonchalance had been replaced by a distracted, almost nervous air. Locke was on edge, and that meant nothing good.

Still, that was none of your business.

“So have I,” You said, flicking your eyes back to your book. “Angels and demons and all sorts of biblical shit. Don’t know if you noticed.”

Locke ignored you, continuing to flick his eyes around the room as if watching for something. “I can’t stay here” He muttered, almost to himself

You swallowed down a wave of bitterness. “Well, don’t let me keep you.” You said with false cheer.

“Come with me”

Your head snapped up. “Uh..what?”

“Run away with me,” Locke said stronger this time, his eye meeting yours.

“Where?” You asked bemused

“Anywhere you like,” Locke said, spreading his arms in a grand gesture. “Anywhere in the universe.”

“I can’t just leave” you spluttered “Demons…the seals…Lucifer!”

“I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but it’s already too late,” Locke said.

“No-we can still stop it” you argued

“Trust me,” Locke said “You can’t” And for the first time, you noticed the pain in his eyes. You opened your mouth to speak, but he cut you off. “Please.” He said, his voice growing soft. “I missed you”

For one shining second, you considered saying yes. Leaving behind all the stress of the imminent apocalypse, hunting, everything.

“I can’t,” you said “I’m sorry”

Locke’s face tightened in frustration. “You’ll die.” He said, desperation coloring his voice. “If you stay you’ll die”

“Not neces-”

“You will” he interrupted “No listen, the apocalypse…Lucifer…you can’t win”

“We can try,” You said with growing irritation “My friends need me.”

“I need you”

The words hung in the air, and the both of you froze. You swallowed, heart-pounding “Locke-” But he was already gone.

I cannot be without you, matter of fact Oh oh ooh I'm on your back

Music played in the bar, and patrons chattered and laughed. A golden-haired man sat alone at a table, eyes staring into his untouched drink.

“You’re a hard man to find”

Locke jumped up, knocking his drink over. His eyes snapped up to meet yours and widened with recognition.

“Wait!” You pleaded before he could vanish once again “Please, I have to say something before you go, you owe me that much”

Locke stilled, his expression neutral. You walked over to him, throat dry. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Weeks of searching and planning exactly what to say and you couldn’t find the words.

You leaned your hand against his cheek and kissed him chastely. “Stay with me” You whispered as you pulled away.

Locke stared at you, his expression torn before he pulled you in closer and kissed you.

If you walk out on me I'm walking after you

The last time you saw him, was in an old library, mid case. Dusk was falling and you had been going on about the possibility of vampires when you trailed off realizing Locke had been usually silent. His face was lined with worry and he was looking distractedly out the window.

“Hey,” You said walking over to him “What it is, what’s wrong?”

He swallowed looking old and tired. “The Winchesters have managed to get themselves into even more trouble.”

“Yeah, they have a remarkable talent for that,” You said dryly “I suppose we’ve got to save them then”

Locke shook his head. “Not we”

“Nice try, but you’re not leaving me behind. Not again”

Locke shook his head “This isn’t your fight, sweetheart”

“It isn’t yours either” You argued. Locke looked away and didn’t respond. “Locke, what’s going on, what aren’t you telling me!?”

Silence

“What are you?!”

This time Locke looked up and smiled sadly. “I’m yours,” he said and kissed you before vanishing for the last time.

Another heart is cracked in two I'm on your back

Gabriel: @luciferseclipse @hankypranky

#Gabriel x reader #Gabriel

16 notes · View notes

fifiliphile · 7 years

Text

A Face In The Remains

The Beauty In Bones

[AO3 Version]

Relationships: Jack Hodgins/Angela Montenegro, Temperance Brennan & Angela Montenegro

Characters: Jack Hodgins, Angela Montenegro, Clark Edison

Summary: A passionate palaeontologist and a beautiful artist—at first, they don't seem to have much in common. However, a set of bones and a murder mystery draws them together in a rather unexpected fashion. It may be a begginning of a long lasting partnership, or maybe something way more exciting.

("The 200th in the 10th" 'verse; basically, it is a collection of Hodgela-centered ficlets, because that one cute scene from that episode just wasn't enough.)

I loved that episode, but as a huge Hodgela fan I was a tad bit dissapointed that they get only a one short scene, as cute as it was. And after some fruitless searching for a fic about them in that setting, I gave up and decided to write something myself.

And that is why I present you today, my dear readers, that humble collection of ficlets I hope you will enjoy.

Since it is my first work for Bones, I have to start with admitting that I fell in love with that show not so long time ago (well, in the autumn of last year), but it helped me so much both as a source of great entertainment and an escape in the worse moments.

When I was watching "The 200th in the 10th" for the first time, I kinda hoped that they would show the process of sketching (Hodgela, you know), but I guess the 45-minute time frame didn't let them.

So this is my take on what could've happened in that moment. I hope everyone is bearably in character (especially Angie, since I don't consider it my best take on her character; hopefully, I will be more content with her in the next ficlet). However, I must admit I'm quite glad with how Hodgins' portrayal turned out—I think that he resembles that hopeless and nerdy romantic we all know and love.

Let me know if you like it! The next chapter should be published next week (hopefully)—I have a few more ideas, but I'm more than open for prompts and suggestions :D

Professor Hodgins paced nervously from the supposed remains of Eva Braga, set neatly on a table, to his precious tyrannosaurus. Miss Brennan’s idea of sketching a dead woman’s face was brilliant, admittedly, however, even the awareness of that fact couldn’t ease his anxiety. After all, despite all the superlatives which Miss Brennan used to describe her artist friend, there could only be so many as talented and as brilliant women as her. In other words, the professor feared that even though that woman might possess necessary artistic skills, she would not be able to capture accurately a possible appearance of the murder victim.

Obviously, he was the one to read all the information they needed from the bones, but he found himself lacking an artist’s imagination. He was afraid that if that woman—Miss Montenegro, he reminded himself—was unable to see anything in the bones herself, their task would be much more strenuous that he had initially anticipated, and its outcome could be short of the required accuracy. In consequence, the sketch would be of a very little help to Miss Brennan.

“She still has a few minutes, professor,” Edison pointed out, his eyes fixed on a bone he was currently studying.

At first, Hodgins ignored that comment, but after one more round from one remains to the others he concluded that his walking around could not possibly change the course of the current situation, and therefore he stopped next to the woman’s bones.

“Have you discovered something new?,” professor asked his assistant with genuine interest, hoping that there might be a clue in the bones helpful in determining the woman’s identity. In that case, sketching would become completely unnecessary.

“No, nothing,” Edison admitted, a little disappointed. “But I’m trying to collect as much information about the influence of fire on human bones as I can. I believe it’s worth documenting, because it may be useful in the future,” he smiled proudly, clearly pleased with his own forward thinking.

“Yes, it is certainly worth doing…,” professor agreed, leaning over the bones. “Never have I thought I might be that invested in examining the bones that are not million years old and furthermore belong to Homo sapiens,” he muttered, looking closely at the charred surface of ribs and a sternum.

He became so immersed in his observation that he didn’t register someone walking into the room and calling his name. It was a slight poking on his arm that finally attracted his attention. He turned around abruptly, only to find himself facing a woman of an intricate beauty. The pair of dark eyes were cautiously studying his face, while corners of the intensively red lips slowly raised in a polite smile. Dark brown wavy hair, framing her symmetrical features, were shining slightly in the light of the lamps illuminating the study.

However, he was forced to stop his marvelling over the beauty, as her sweet voice brought him back to reality. “I’m sorry, are you professor Jack Hodgins?”

He parted his lips, ready to answer, but he wasn’t able to find his voice. He could almost feel Edison’s stare boring into his back and getting more and more intensive with every passing moment. Although his assistant was probably ready to respond on his behalf, Hodgins finally gathered his bearings. “Ye-yes…,” he confirmed, scolding himself in his mind for his wavering voice. “Yes, that is me,” he added, this time more firmly.

The beauty’s smile broadened, with a glint of pearly teeth visible between her lips. “Brennan sent me, I’m supposed to make a sketch of the victim,” she exclaimed, glancing at Edison. “I heard the news,” she continued excitedly. “That mystery is getting more interesting with every discovery.”

“Oh, yes. Yes, it is,” professor chimed in, doing his best not to be completely distracted by that gorgeous woman that had just stepped into his study.

“May I take a look?,” she asked, pointing at the skull.

“Of course.” Hodgins smiled a bit awkwardly, stepping away and allowing the beauty to have a closer look.

“It’s…,” she paused for a moment, taking in the picture of the bones laying before her. “I never made a sketch of a face based only on a skull,” she admitted a bit sheepishly.

Professor compressed his lips, his earlier anxiety creeping back into his mind. His worries turned out to be justifiable apparently, yet he couldn’t dwell on this for too long as Miss Montenegro’s shy smile captured his attention.

“I've never seen real human bones and it is… a bit disturbing, but I wasn’t expecting that so much of actual face features can be seen on the skull,” she marvelled, capturing it with her delicate fingers and raising it a bit, so she could better examine its structure. “I knew it would be… an interesting experience, but this is…,” she trailed off, tracing the skull’s edges with her index finger. “I doubt I could enjoy working with dead people, but to give one of them their face back… I think it’s worth it,” she smiled, gazing at the professor, who did his best to pretend that he hadn’t been staring at her for the last couple of minutes.

“It is certainly high-minded,” Hodgins agreed, proceeding to adjust his glasses, so he could avoid her look. “I am glad that you are so driven to perform your task, Miss…,” he wanted to continue, his memory being as good as it was, but the woman jumped in quicker than he could finish.

“Oh, I forgot about introducing myself!,” she interjected apologetically, carefully putting the skull back on the table. “I’m Angela Montenegro,” she declared, offering her hand to the professor.

He took it a bit hesitantly, taken aback by her gesture. Her skin was soft; he couldn’t help but feel as if it was a piece of precious silk caressing his palm. “I’ve known that already, Miss Brennan informed me about all the details,” he explained politely, releasing her hand and giving her a small smile.

For a moment seconds seemed to last much longer than they should, as he sunk in those chocolate eyes, so full of excitement and passion. He would have stayed like this for the next few hours had it not been for the amount of important work that was yet to be done. Hodgins cleared his throat, motioning at his assistant. “This is Clark Edison, he is helping me with my research,” he clarified.

Miss Montenegro nodded at the other man, to which he responded with a warm smile. “Nice to meet you, Mr Edison,” she affirmed.

“The pleasure’s all mine,” the man replied, making a small bow.

She chuckled lightly in response, which was one of the most beautiful sounds the professor had ever heard. He couldn’t believe how it could have happened, but he was completely mesmerised by the woman before him. From her graceful movements, to her quite exotic features, everything about her seemed perfect. Why such an angel appeared in his study, he wasn’t able to tell.

“I think I should get to work,” Miss Montenegro remarked, reaching to her bag to pull out a sketchpad and drawing tools. “Where may I…” She looked around, searching for a suitable place to sit dawn and start sketching.

The professor quickly understood what she meant and showed her a small desk nearby. “I’ll bring you the skull in a moment.”

She nodded and headed towards the desk, sitting down on a chair next to it soon after. She placed everything she needed on the desktop, and laced her fingers, glancing at the two men that were leaning over the bones.

Hodgins quickly caught her look and cautiously took the skull. Rushing towards her, he tried to focus on the tools that were spread on the desk, instead of her curious gaze. “Voila,” he stated, putting the skull on one of the books to the side, so it could be better visible.

“Thank you.” She smiled, reaching out for a pencil. “I think we should start. So, tell me, doc, what do you see?” She looked at him with curiosity, tilting slightly her head.

“Oh, one can read the whole life story from the bones,” he declared enthusiastically, leaning closer to the skull. Indeed, he could see a face before him, although only in his own mind. When it came to describing that picture in an imaginative enough way, he doubted his ability. “But I'm afraid I lack an artistic soul,” he admitted dejectedly after a moment.

She narrowed her eyes. “Let's see about that…,” she muttered, more to herself it seemed. “Shall we?” She offered him a warm smile, to which he responded with a smile of his own.

#bones #bonestv #bones fanfiction #jack hodgins #angela montenegro #clark edison #hodgela #fluff #1950s hollywood au #1950s setting #the beauty in bones series #my fanfiction

5 notes · View notes

ornament-of-rhyme · 7 years

Text

Anderperry fic - Sap But True

Summary: On nights like these, if only for that short time, his life was absolutely perfect.

Notes: Smut. Todd Anderson/Neil Perry. Post-Welton. I’m serious it’s sappy as hell.

A/N: Better late than never, right? Have a sinking feeling about the quality of it, to be honest. Something just doesn’t feel right...But hopefully someone gets some enjoyment out of it! I love this fandom. You guys are fantastic!

You can also read this on AO3!

The velvet red curtains fell together, and Neil let out a deep, fulfilling sigh. With a broad smile, he flitted around to congratulate his castmates, patting them on the back or passing out hugs.

“Wanna go get a drink with us?” Jessie asked over the chatter. Kay was at her side, stony as usual. Already, the latter had shrugged off her role's heavy coat and abandoned it somewhere.

“Thanks, but I've got a date.” When Jessie rolled her eyes, his pep remained obstinate. He returned the taunt with a wrinkle of his nose.

Glancing into the wing, Neil zeroed in on said date.

Todd was there, out of the way but noticeable. He had his jacket draped over his arm, and his hair was swept to the side like he had been running his fingers through it. It was a nervous tick he had. That, and the blinking. For the first time, Neil wondered if his stress over the show had been impacting Todd as well.

“I'd go wipe that makeup off your face before Danny mistakes you for a lady,” said Kay, straight-faced.

Neil grimaced. Danny was creepy to anyone of any gender, but his particular brand of sleaze was directed at all beings wearing makeup, it seemed. There was a rumor going around that he was the one who stole that mannequin head a few weeks back.

Strolling off stage, he called back, “Talk to you later.”

“Call me!” Jessie commanded at his back.

Todd's eyes were on him the whole time, and a fond little smirk quirked his mouth. Giddy with the heady success, the joy in the air, Neil loped over to the blonde.

“My dearest Toddrick,” he greeted. Gallantly, he took up Todd's hand, bowed, and stamped a kiss on the knuckle.

“You were fantastic,” Todd told him. “I told you you could pull it off. Everyone was raving when the curtains closed.”

“I'll have to thank them,” said Neil, releasing the hand in his.

Briefly, Todd's brow furrowed as he looked down at his knuckle. “You got lipstick on me.”

Neil grinned and shrugged. “Oops.” Then he made for the dressing room, but not before smacking a kiss onto Todd's cheek, leaving a puckered purple lipstick stain behind. “I'll go clean it off.”

He heard Todd's unimpressed snort behind him.

ϟ ϟ ϟ

Some time after the play was dedicated to wrapping up with the cast and crew, and then to visiting with others, but eventually Neil was back in his own clothes and out in the crisp night air. With Todd at his side, they set for home, which was only a few blocks away.

Slick with hour old rain, the road glittered under the street lamps. Petrichor was on the breeze, instilling a strange and familiar heartache, but it was beautiful in its way. After shows, he found the smallest things would trigger the feeling, leaving him in a kind of rapture. His life, if only for that short time, was absolutely perfect.

Now, he looked over at his partner with that thrill in his heart. Todd looked back curiously.

“I can see it,” the blonde said.

Neil grinned at him, then the deep sapphire sky. “If only you could feel it with me.”

Todd bumped elbows with him, drawing his eyes back down. Only half of his face could be seen from Neil's angle, but he seemed to mirror the look the actor felt on his own face. “It rubs off on me,” Todd said to the ground. “You shine so bright, it's impossible to avoid the radiation.”

There was the poet in him, Neil thought. Weaving words, even so few, into a charming sentiment. Each time it happened, Neil found himself falling just a little more in love with him. And each time, it surprised him; he didn't know there was any further to fall.

Soon they crossed the empty street, coming upon a fenced off field. Nearly home.

It was here that Neil caved to the pressure in his chest. He backed Todd against the chain link fence until their breath mingled. Todd went willingly, even grasping the open sides of Neil's coat. The dark shadow of a fence post fell across one half of his face.

Neil curled his fingers into the cold wire, effectively caging the other in. Stray raindrops slithered down his palm and under his sleeves, chilly but ignored. It took everything in him not to close the gap between them. Especially at the challenge Todd's eyes leveled at him, humor in their depths, as though expecting him to cave to the tension.

But they didn't do that. Not here. Not out in the open, exposed to the judgments of others. It was a near thing, though. Not just in this instant, but many before. Sometimes they were so wrapped up in each other, they forgot to mind themselves until the last minute. Neil wished he could forget--or better yet: that he didn't have to worry at all. Todd was such a temptation, besotted as Neil was with him. It amazed him that the other man didn't seem to know this, even after these last few years. It wasn't until Todd's eyes crinkled at the corners that he realized he had been staring into them. "You seem lost," Todd commented. Neil easily slipped back into the moment. "You do that to me.”

A light laugh. “Sorry.”

“No, it's great. I love it.” Neil pushed off of the fence, pulling back. “Shall we?”

Despite his pulling away, the tension in the air did not dissipate. In fact, it only seemed to strengthen, as they devolved into playful shoving and, eventually, a race. They dashed down the sidewalk, each trying to overtake the other before they reached their stoop. Neil could have crowed into the night, overjoyed as he was, but settled for echoing Todd's unbridled laughter.

This was what they lived for. The two of them grew into adulthood side by side, taking on the challenges of becoming men of their own, but each able to lean against the other. All the while, they learned how to keep themselves sane; keep them young at heart, unjaded by the world's oppressive demands. They often explored the boundless art of getting safely lost in the here and now together, as lovers and friends and brothers in mind.

Of course, their neighbors didn't understand that. They shushed each other as they passed Mr. Jay's door.

Trotting up the steps, Todd bit back his laughter as best he could, and Neil aimed for something similar, but somewhere, almost distantly in the rush of their race, he could still hear himself snickering.

Ultimately he forgot to pay attention to who won. Todd unlocked the door and they poured inside.

Before the door could latch again, Neil had the other man spun around and crowded against the wall beside it. He toed the door shut.

Todd laughed at his enthusiasm, but still beat him to the kiss. Neil's hand rose to cup Todd's cheek reverently. They stood there in a timeless embrace, lips meeting lazily, then fevered, and back again. It was quickly becoming apparent where they were headed as their hips rocked together.

It took more effort than he would have liked to drag his mouth away from Todd's. He settled for easing out of it by pecking on a few softer, more chaste kisses like appeasements or apologies for the parting.

It was almost worth it when he could focus on Todd's face. There was a flush high on his cheeks, a lustful haze to his eye, and his lips came away red from the activity.

“What?” Todd asked, the only sound but for their faint panting.

Neil couldn't look away, not even down to consider the sight of their hips hitched together, and the sudden tightness of their pants. But they were not to be ignored. He leaned back into Todd, dropping a kiss on the square of his bare jaw.

“I want inside you,” Neil breathed at last.

Just as usual, Todd seemed almost embarrassed by the insinuation, but said, “I—I want you inside of me.”

Neil rolled his hips against Todd's once more and stepped away to discard his coat and shoes. Todd did the same before disappearing into the bedroom. All too eager, Neil followed.

He couldn't keep his hands to himself as Todd began to undress, holding the blonde by the hips and pressing into his back. Todd chuckled and elbowed him a few times, because apparently Neil's body right up against his wasn't conducive to taking off his shirt and undershirt.

“You still have some makeup on, you know,” Todd said.

Lost in the act of nosing at the fine hairs on the back of Todd's neck, Neil didn't process the words right away. Once they got through to him, he dropped his forehead against the spot on which he'd been lavishing attention. Then he made for the bathroom down the hall.

“I’m on it. You get ready for me,” he said.

“Someone's impatient,” teased Todd without looking back.

“Oh ho ho, don't pretend like you don't feel the same.”

This made the man laugh outright, but he didn't disagree.

ϟ ϟ ϟ

“Neil!” Todd cried from the other room. Dropping the towel, Neil hurried across the hall, only to find Todd sprawled out on the bed, bare and writhing around the fingers he was using to prepare himself. Before he could ask what was the matter, Todd's head lolled his way and he panted, “Hurry.”

Darting back into the bathroom to ensure the effectiveness of his cleaning job, he turned off the sink and returned to the bedroom, tearing at and tossing off his clothes as swift as possible. Nude, he knelt onto the bed, crawling over Todd, who had since turned to lay on his chest.

Neil asked, “Did you grab a—“

“Don't worry about it. Just—please—“

“Someone's impatient,” he echoed Todd's earlier jest.

“S'your fault.”

“Hmm. Strangely, I don't regret it.” Then, cutting himself off, Neil curled closer to his partner, guiding his cock into Todd's familiar body to sink slowly inside. He held his breath and savored every second off it.

A shiver wracked Todd, straight into the noise that shook from him as Neil filled him. Once seated they lay together, soaking in one another's heat as their breathing reached an apparent synchrony. Falling together, but not, as they were taught in that life-changing year of school, to lose individuality so much as to treasure the bond between them.

One of Todd's hands slid across the quilt to tangle his smooth fingers with Neil's. He took this as his okay to keep going.

Neil lifted himself from limning Todd's back and pulled away from his root within Todd, an agonizingly slow process, until his cock was only just inside the tight ring of muscle and he could feel his hips straining with the effort to still.

Todd squeezed his hand; the real go-ahead. Neil pushed back in, starting just as slow for the first several thrusts until they were at a fluid pace. Neil's lips found Todd's shoulder blades, kissing and teasing at the warm peach-fuzz there.

Often, Todd locked much of his pleasured sounds behind his teeth, concerned for their reputation among the neighbors. It robbed both of them from the full, carefree experience they knew was just out of reach, but Neil tended not to press Todd to relax his fears on the matter anymore. By now he knew that he wouldn't be able to convince him to let it go.

That was why, when Todd let loose a low, open-mouthed groan, Neil felt a spike of affectionate thrill. He quickened his pace in response, longing to hear more.

Eyes fluttering closed—the beautiful kind of flutter that came when Neil touched him, rather than that which anxiety provoked—Todd pressed back, meeting his movements with shallow ones of his own.

That was when, in the yellow lamplight, Neil glimpsed the dark purple smudge across the other's cheekbone. For a stunning instant, he thought it was a bruise. But then his impish kiss backstage returned to mind.

Against the blonde's ear, Neil murmured, “There's some lipstick on your cheek.”

Todd scoffed and reached up to scrub at his cheek, but Neil beat him there to instead mouth at the smudge. He settled for blindly brushing his fingers over Neil's jaw. “I couldn't see if I got it all off.”

“Next time I have my own dressing room,” Neil said with a languid roll of his hips, “I'll have you against the vanity. Then you'll see everything.”

He got a moan in response. Quiet, but infused with equal satisfaction in the fantasy.

After that, Todd switched positions to lie on his back. He grasped at Neil by the waist and actually continued to voice the sounds of his ecstasy. Coveting the noises, Neil gave all he could. Anything to please his partner.

Finally, with a shutter, Todd cried out. Neil lovingly stroked the blonde's cock as he came, allowing the come to drip over his knuckles. In a few more thrusts, he was burying his face in Todd's neck as he hastily pulled out and followed over the edge.

When he could see through the blissful daze, he hurried to clean the mess, insisting the blonde stay put so he could hurry back and lie with him without the chore nettling. Todd held up the blankets for him when he arrived, making it a smoother transition for Neil to wrap around him as soon as he slipped under the blankets.

“The perfect night,” he sighed.

Todd nodded. “Yeah, you did fantastic in the play. Steven did make it, by the way,” he said. “As soon as it was over he had to leave for a meeting or something. But he said you were great!”

“You think if Meeks wrote a good review, it would convince father to come to one of my shows?”

“As long as Charlie doesn't write another one. I don't think anything could be worse than that.” Todd turned to face him, seeming thoughtful. “Someday we have to find out what was in that letter.”

“It's probably cinders by now.”

Todd hummed, frowning.

“But tonight isn't just perfect because the show went well,” Neil said, drawing the other out of his thoughts. “Getting to come home with you sure made it better. You know how many of my castmates and crew members complain about having empty relationships with their lovers, or no lovers at all? And here I am, blessed with Todd Anderson.”

Todd started laughing so hard he choked.

When the laughing-coughing fit petered out, Todd said to Neil's puckish grin, “You could be a tree, you're so sappy.”

“Then I am a foxglove tree in autumn, raining my heart leaves down upon thee.” Neil eagerly watched the bewildered expression fall over Todd's face.

“That was kind of repulsive.”

“I'll leave the poetry to you, then.” Neil noticed he was near enough to nuzzle at Todd's beautifully sculpted cheek.

“How about...” Todd stared though the ceiling as he puzzled. “God must be real, as only He could write a poem so divine as you.”

Blush came over Neil, filling him with such infatuation that he couldn't help pressing his face into the side of Todd's head and giggling like the ridiculous kid he was when they met.

“I love you, Todd Anderson,” he said.

“I'm all yours, Neil Perry.”

#dead poets society #anderperry #fanfiction #mine #my writing #neil perry #todd anderson #sappy #you can thank my mom for the title #this is your fault mother

27 notes · View notes