#gosh sometimes the terror makes me think deep thoughts
Note
is faith dealing w being away from fausty? I miss them so :(,, I hope you’re well love xoxo
Warning: 18+ Mentions of sex/phone sex, mentions of alcohol and drug use, violent threats, non-consensual touching, brief mentions of rape.
Note: I missed writing Faust stuff so much over the holidays. He’s definitely one of my favourite secretly soft boys. I can’t wait to get back into the swing of writing. Thank you to the lovely anons who haven’t given up on this pairing yet! I will try not to go 2 months between posts for these guys.
Summary: Faith starts to miss Faust so much while he’s away on tour that she goes to his apartment to spend the night in his bedroom. However, her plans are interrupted by the people Faust warned her not to hang around.
Faust x Faith Masterpost [x]
Faith awoke in a sweat, chest pumping hot torrents of blood to her head as the ceiling came into view, the walls containing her after a flight through a nightmare faded into obscurity. She rolled onto her back, her flimsy cotton nightgown sticking to her dewy skin, and tossed the comforter from her top half. Streetlamps and passing cars cast geometric blocks of light on the ceiling, illuminating the dust motes floating by her face. Faith breathed in and out, shaking her head free from the gripping terror of unconsciousness.
She had dreamed of receiving a phone call from Faust in the middle of the night, and when she answered, he explained to her in a laconic, matter-of-fact voice why they shouldn't continue seeing each other. He was too busy to maintain a relationship with a girl who's path would never intersect with his goals. She was too young, too naive, too proper. Too this and too that and in no way matched him. The terrible sinking in her chest returned as it had in the dream, but she dismissed the sensation. It was all a silly dream, a manifestation of her worst fear. Faust loved her and would never break up with her—least of all over a phone call.
The cellphone next to her pillow came to life, vibrating a couple of times before she found it and squinted at the bright screen. Faust. She sat up, and her lungs froze, the cavernous hole opening up under her skin. When she answered, voices and loud music came through like warring radio waves.
"Hello?" She whispered, not wanting to wake her dorm mate.
"Faith? You there?"
"Yes," her voice crawled from her throat, no louder than a rasp. She cleared her airway and said again, "Yes."
"Aw, are you sleeping, babe?"
"No," she whispered.
"Hm? I can't hear you. Hang on, let me find a quieter place."
Faith swung out of bed and left the dorm to go to the shared washrooms where she could speak. She entered a stall, put down the toilet seat and sat atop the cold plastic, waiting for Faust's deep voice to tickle her ear again.
"You there?" He asked.
"Yeah, I'm here."
"That's better, yeah. I can hear you now."
Faith squeezed her knees together, his voice like warm liquid flowing into her stomach. She sighed, relieved.
"Sorry, I know it's late for you. We had a really late soundcheck, then I was in the green room until we went on. I didn't forget to call."
Faith nodded, smiling, though Faust couldn't see the respite his words gave her after the unpleasant dream that had jarred her awake.
"It's okay. Where are you again?"
"Utah, probably a couple hours behind you. We're out of the venue now."
"How was the show?" Faith asked.
"It was good—big stage. Couple hundred people, but maybe a quarter of them were there for us. We sold a lot of merch, though."
"That's great, babe. I'm glad you're having fun."
"Yeah," Faust sighed. "I miss you, though. Can't believe there's still another three weeks of this."
Faith leaned her head against the stall's metal barrier, reading the scandalous notes engraved in the chipped paint. "I know. Seems like forever."
"You're still good to come to our last show?"
"Yes. I told my parents I'm going to a friend's cottage for the weekend."
"But really, you're getting on a Greyhound and coming to see me."
She closed her eyes and giggled. "That's right."
Faith wondered if she should tell Faust about her bad dream. She knew what he'd say to her: it was just a dumb dream, and he would never break up with her, so she shouldn't let it bother her so much. She accepted this assurance without bringing it up.
"I'm in my bunk now," Faust told her.
"I'm in the bathroom," said Faith.
"Wish you were here, though. It gets so boring sometimes, driving from place to place, listening to these dumbasses argue over the shower."
"It's the same here. I've started taking showers at midnight just to avoid the headache and bargaining. These girls all have the same night routine. There's always a line-up to use the shower."
"Mm," Faust grunted. "Yeah. Stupid."
A moment of silence passed between them. Faith savoured his soft breaths coming over the line, wishing she could feel the warmth behind them. She craved his scent, the smell of his shampoo, the distinct mentholated freshness of his deodorant. She wanted to stroke his face, and touch his biceps, inspect the hair underneath his arms until he told her she was weird for finding such things fascinating. She wanted to feel the twin ruts coming to a peak below his navel, leading down to his groin where he'd snatch her hand and berate her, ultimately relenting and letting her stroke the soft skin underneath the band of his plaid boxers.
"I wanna touch you," she whispered.
"Fuck," he drawled. "Me too, babe."
"I had a bad dream you called me in the middle of the night to break up with me... then you actually called. Do you think that's weird?"
Faust scoffed in that indignant way he always did. She pictured the corner of his mouth snagging, his brows descending at such a silly thing.
"That's kind of weird."
"I hate not being able to sleep next to you."
"Don't worry, babe. I'll be home soon. You can get through the next few weeks."
"Yeah, but... Do you miss sleeping next to me?"
"Oh, definitely. I really miss you hogging the blankets, pushing me to the edge of the bed, punching me in your sleep."
"I don't do that!"
Faust snickered. "Yeah, you do. But it's okay. I'm like way stronger than you. I can move you like nothing."
"Don't remind me," Faith groaned.
"Don't remind you of what? How strong I am?"
Faith made her voice small. "Yes. I can't think of that kind of stuff right now."
"You can't think about me overpowering you?"
"Sh. Quiet."
"What? Don't want to think about me pinning your arms above your head with one hand while I finger you? S'that what you don't want to think about?"
"I hate you," she said.
"Hate it when I pick you up and fuck you against the wall?"
"Yes."
"So...You're definitely not thinking about my cock, then? You haven't been playing with my pussy while I've been away? Pretending your fingers are mine? Or using that toy you bought to fuck yourself in your dorm when your roommate isn't there?"
"Oh my gosh, Faust. Please."
"You don't make yourself cum to the thought of me eating out that pussy? You don't miss my fat cock stretching out that poor little slit? Making you bounce on it? Sucking it until I cum buckets down your throat?"
"Faust," she whispered. "You're bad."
"Answer me. Do you think about riding my cock every night before bed? Rub yourself against a pillow between your legs?"
"Yes, I think about it all the time."
"Can you do me a favour?" Faust asked. Faith agreed before hearing the terms of said agreement. "Tomorrow, I want you to go to all your classes without wearing any panties under your skirt."
Faith's cheeks burned from his request. "What if it's windy and it blows up my skirt?"
"I don't really care," he said. "Know what? Never mind. Scratch that. This isn't a request; it's a command. I want you to take pictures while you're in class to prove you listened."
"I can't! Someone will see."
"Think I give a fuck? Sit in the back if you have to."
"I'll try," said Faith, toying with the sleeves of her nightgown.
"That's my girl."
They spoke for a few more minutes until Faust's bandmates flooded onto the bus, yelling and searching for the drummer who'd stowed away in the bunks. Faust said his goodbyes, made sure Faith understood her instructions for tomorrow, then said goodnight. She heard his friends mocking him in the backroom, calling him pussy-whipped, listened to him threaten their lives and giggled.
"I love you," Faust said, loud enough that anyone around him might hear. His unabashed affection filled her to the brim with warm fuzz.
"I love you, too," Faith replied, then looked at the phone screen until he hung up.
Later in the week, Faith started having trouble sleeping. Even if she filled her days with activities, studied into the night, ate properly and read before bed, her mind swam with anxiety. She told Faust about it, but he had no solution other than to stop by his place to grab one of his hoodies to sleep in, maybe one of his blankets if she missed him so much. Delighted, Faith accepted the suggestion, and Faust texted his roommate to leave the apartment door unlocked for her. She made her way over after dinner one night and walked in on Faust's roommate hosting a party.
The apartment was in disarray—worse than she'd ever seen. Beer bottles and cigarettes overflowing the ashtray was commonplace, but now there were grease-stained pizza boxes open on the floor, salt stains on the rug from people coming in and out from the balcony. The sofa pocked with several more burn marks, the dishes hadn't been washed since Faust left, and the entire living room reeked of stale food and smoke. Not only that, but she'd come in at the precise moment the music transitioned, and every eye in the place went to her.
She recognized half the people in Faust's apartment from other parties—Anika, the most familiar face that turned in her direction. The tall, blond girl smiled and pushed a guy's hand off her shoulder before approaching her. The metal music picked up, drowned out the silence, and Faith relaxed when Anika hugged her.
"Hey! I didn't know you were coming!" Anika exclaimed.
"I wasn't... Well, I didn't know anyone was here. I just came to get some stuff from Faust's room."
"Oh, cool. How is Frosty? I haven't seen you guys since Halloween!"
"He's good," Faith said, voice tapering off when she saw a pair of malicious eyes grilling her from across the room. "You know... Just touring."
"Yeah, I heard. That's awesome. Hey, you want anything to drink? We have beer in the fridge," Anika said.
Faith felt awkward standing in the middle of the front hall, while groups of people occupied her boyfriend's apartment. She realized she had very little dominion and shrank into herself until Anika pulled her into the kitchen. The blond pulled out two cans of domestic beer and handed her one, noticing Faith's unease.
"What's the matter?" Asked Anika.
Faith wondered if Faust knew about all the people in his apartment, if his roommate had asked him if he could have a party and invite all the people Faust talked shit about—the people he warned her not to hang out with.
"Uh, nothing. Just feels weird being here without Faust," said Faith.
"Aw, it's okay, girl. We party here all the time."
Faith questioned the verity of Anika's claim. She couldn't recall them having any big parties there since she started dating Faust eight months ago. Faust didn't like too many people in his space. Whenever they partied, it was always at someone else's house or out in the bush around a fire.
The same pair of blue eyes had Faith in a stranglehold. She cocked her head, and Anika noticed her attention locked on a man with fine blond hair touching his collarbone.
"Is that—?"
"Sven? Yeah. You probably remember him from that time we went camping."
Faith wished to turn in on herself, abandon the can of beer Anika had given her, grab what she needed from Faust's room, and leave. Anika sensed her discomfort and placed her thin hand on Faith's shoulder.
"Don't worry, he won't bother you. He has a girlfriend now."
"He's a creep," Faith muttered.
Anika shot Sven a look over her shoulder, and he turned away, pulling on a beer and wiping his mouth. Faith remembered the stench of his burnt hair in the fire, how Faust had punched him and dragged him through the dirt toward the pit where he held his face in the flames. Sven complained about the scratches and scrapes on his arms and legs from Faust dragging him the entire way home after they cut the trip short. The same tension that pierced the atmosphere in the van while Sven took the front seat and Faust held her hand in the back seat was the same strain she felt now as he stole glances at her. His wispy mustache had grown back along with his eyebrows and pale lashes.
Faith felt a pang of guilt in her stomach but dismissed the feeling with a swig of beer and Anika's encouragement. Faust would get angry with her if he knew she felt even an inch of remorse over what happened. Sven deserved what he got, and that's what she kept telling herself throughout the night as she drank a couple more beers with Anika and took a hit off a joint someone offered her out on the balcony.
A few of Faust's friends asked her about him, and it filled her with pride knowing everyone there knew who she was, who Faust was. She told them where the band was that night, where they were slated to go next, that they had sold out of merchandise and had to place an emergency order and have it shipped to the next venue. After a few hours, Faith felt the tug of exhaustion creeping over her shoulders and told Anika she had to head out, though she'd already missed the last bus and had little money in her bank account for a cab. Faith considered asking someone for a ride back to campus, but nobody seemed sober enough to trust behind the wheel.
Instead, she went to Faust's bedroom and shut the door and all the noises behind her. In his room, she took in a deep breath, and then another, filling her senses with the comforting scent of pine, stale air and the boyish aroma Faust carried with him. She went to his closet and brushed a hand over the black t-shirts and one of his leather coats. Next, Faith opened the third drawer in the lowboy and pulled out a hoodie that had shrunk in the wash and didn't fit Faust anymore. She often wore it when she came over, but he refused to let her take it home until now. She slipped it on over her blouse, smoothed it over her skirt and wrapped her arms around her ribs. The hood still smelled of Faust's hair.
Without thinking much, she arranged the objects on his dresser into an organized system rather than a mess of pens, splintered drumsticks, guitar picks and snack wrappers. She shovelled the waste into the garbage can under his desk, made his bed, fluffed the pillows, cleared the dirty clothes off the floor and kicked it all into the closet. If there wasn't a party going on right outside the door, she'd have done his laundry and took the dirty plates and forks to the kitchen sink. She did what she could without having to set foot outside the bedroom, and by the time she finished folding the clothes in his dresser into neat stacks, it was far too late for her to go anywhere.
Faith took off her panties and skirt, changed into a pair of his pyjama pants and sat on his bed with her hands folded, wondering if Faust would care if she spent the night in his bed. The fluffy pillows called out for her head. His comforter promised visions of them together again. She considered texting him to say she was staying over, but there was a knock on the door as she went for her phone.
She lifted her feet off the carpet and tucked them under her thighs, balled herself as small as she could until whoever knocked got the hint and walked away. The knock came again, and Faith's throat tightened.
"Yes?" She called.
The door opened, and she expected to see Anika's blond head poking in, but it wasn't her. The person was blond, but the face was not smeared with white foundation, nor were the blue eyes overlined with charcoal black. Sven stepped into the room and shut the door behind him.
"What are you doing in here?" He asked.
"What are you doing in here? This is my boyfriend's room. Why wouldn't I be here?"
"Sorry," said Sven, opening his palms to show he meant no harm. "I wanted to talk to you for a second. Is that okay?"
"I don't see why that's necessary."
"Mmkay, well, you don't have to be a bitch about it. Your boyfriend is the one who almost burnt my face off."
"Well, you were being weird. You're being weird now by coming in here. You should probably go."
"Sucks when he's not around to intimidate everyone that ever wants to start a conversation with you, huh?"
Faith pressed her lips together. Was he threatening her? She wasn't sure. He kept his distance, though his eyes ricocheted off the valuable objects in the room. The Gibson guitar hanging on the wall, the vintage RD bass in its stand just below, the electric drumset next to the desk, Faust's five-thousand-dollar computer, and finally, her. Faust's prized possessions all in one room.
"What do you want to talk about?" Faith broke the silence, sweating.
"I wanted to apologize for acting like an idiot back in the Summer. I was really drunk. I shouldn't have said that shit."
"Okay, well, thanks for the apology."
Sven gestured at her, pale eyebrows high on his freckled forehead. "And?"
"And what?" Faith asked.
"Aren't you going to apologize to me?"
"I have nothing to apologize for."
"You can apologize on behalf of your psycho boyfriend. That’d be a start."
Faith scoffed, heated by the insult. When it came to Faust, she never wanted to hear the negatives. It reminded her of her father's disapproval, filled her with useful venom. "Sorry, if you want an apology from Faust, he’d have to give it to you, and I don’t think that’s happening any time soon."
"Wow," Sven said with a click of his tongue. "And I thought you were a nice girl."
"I am nice, but right now, you're in my personal space, and it's making me uncomfortable."
As she spoke, she noticed Sven's knees wobbling. He was drunk. His beer breath filled the room. Faith shifted closer to the wall, clutching her crossed legs, silently begging for him to leave. He took a step closer, and she gasped.
"Relax, I'm not gonna do anything. Jesus, you chicks watch too much TV, thinkin' every dude is a rapist or something."
"Whatever you say, man. Look, if you're done, I think it's time you leave."
"Why? You going to sleep?"
"You just shouldn't be in here. If Faust were home, you wouldn't set foot in this room or even think about talking to me."
Sven threw his head back and laughed. "Just because he caught me off guard once doesn't mean I'm afraid of him. He can suck my dick, and so can you."
"Get out," Faith said.
"Hey now, hey... It's all good. Christ, I'm just trying to mend bridges, but you're being a total bitch when I'm here apologizing."
"You just told me I could suck your dick. You're literally insulting me to my face. I've asked you to leave, and you're not!"
Sven pushed air through his teeth, teetered closer to her and sat down on the foot of the bed. Faith's body froze, her limbs stiff as boards as the man laid on his back. His face was a foot from her.
"If it weren't for your boyfriend, I'd be on tour right now. I'd be the one selling out venues and merch, signing shit and having people ask me to take pictures."
"It was your fault."
When the words floated from Faith's mouth, his forehead crinkled, and he shot up. She gasped, scrambling against the wall like a cornered rodent.
"Fuck you! Stupid fucking slut! Faust is a way bigger piece of shit than I am. Ask anybody! Everyone knows how much of an asshole he is. Nobody actually likes him. They're just afraid of him because he threatens to kill anyone whoever disagrees with what he says."
The venom roiled in Faith's stomach, blistering up her neck and filling her mind with violent static. Her hands shook as adrenaline pumped into her veins. One more minute alone with Sven and she thought she might lose control of herself.
Sven got off the bed and went for the bass. Faith hissed at him not to touch it, so he leaned over and spat on the finish.
"Get out!" Faith cried. "Get the fuck out right now!"
The music outside the door must have drowned out her yells, for nobody came looking for her. She stood up on the bed, back pressed against a poster. Sven grabbed at her ankle, but she kicked and slapped the top of her foot against his forearm. He laughed and swiped again as she danced away.
"LEAVE!"
"Make me!"
"I'll fucking call the cops on you!"
"Do it, bitch. I'll knock you out and do what I want before anyone even realizes I'm in here."
"Help!" Faith hollered. "Rape! Rape! He's trying to rape me!"
"Woah, woah, calm down. I didn't say that—"
The venom boiled over, shot up through her esophagus and escaped her mouth in panicked screams. Stunned by the banshee shrieks ripping through the air, Sven backed toward the door, feeling around for the doorknob while Faith screamed her face red, blood vessels popping in her eyes, throwing explosions of stars across her vision until he left the room and she dropped onto the bed, crying. Faith felt around the bed for her phone and called Faust.
He answered on the first ring.
"Faust," she blubbered.
"Don't worry, baby. I'm coming home right now."
"W-what?"
"Look over at the computer."
Faith wiped the snot from her nose onto the hoodie's sleeve and glanced at the desk where the computer monitor stood. "Huh? I don't understand."
"See that light right beside the monitor? Wave at it."
Faith lifted her hand. She squinted at the blue dot belonging to a small camera set up between a speaker and the monitor.
"I installed a Bluetooth camera before leaving for tour. Don't trust people to not go into my room and touch my stuff."
"You mean—?"
"I saw everything. Heard everything, too. It's motion-activated."
Faith paled at the thought of Faust watching her cleaning his room, the way she'd caressed his clothes on her face and huffed his scent before Sven came in.
"What should I do, Faust? He's still out there."
"Don't worry. I'll take care of it."
"Should I call the cops?"
"No, don't call anyone. Don't say anything. I said I'll take care of it."
"Okay," she whispered.
"Faith, I'm serious. Let me handle this," his voice was stern.
"What're you gonna do?"
Faust went quiet for a moment until she motioned at the camera. He sighed. "I can't tell you right now."
The adrenaline depleted, and Faith let out a sob. "I need you, Faust. I'm scared."
"Don't be scared, babe. I got you. I'll be home as soon as I can, but I need you to be strong. Don't talk to anyone about what happened until I get there, understand? Nobody. Not your friends, not your parents, don't write it in your journal or breath a word. I promise I'll make it better."
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The Number Six and Other Curses
A Gravity Falls fan fic (a reincarnation AU)
Summary: Though no one knew it, Dipper Pines was born at the exact moment Ford Pines died somewhere in the multi-verse. Twelve years later, Dipper and Mabel’s summer trip to Gravity Falls sparks a flurry of intense nightmares and memories Dipper could not possibly have. Surely, it’s all a coincidence.
________________________________________________________________
Chapter One: Dreams and Premonitions
Stanley Pines put little stock in religion or fate or all that jazz. He knew a few too many con artists and watched the wheels of injustice and felt lonely maybe a few too many times to believe in God, but he, with the sort of sad wistfulness that colored much of Stanley, sometimes he wished he did. August 31st, 1999, was one of those nights when he was weak.
He pounded up crumbling, damp dirt, a horrid terror gripping his chest like a tentacled beast. He slipped and clawed toward a gleaming red light. A book poked at his ribs and he considered opening it one last time if only to feel okay for a second longer, but the dirt poured thicker, faster, and he couldn’t risk stopping. Heart pounding, he struggled ever upward toward the gleaming red light veiled in mist, but it was too much and he was too tired and they were going to catch up to him! To think, after all this time, this got him. The dirt stuck to his thighs, up to his chest. He clawed upward, desperate to touch the red light, and the dirt clogged his throat, his nostrils, his lungs, with the wretched stench of wet earth. He screamed as it forced him to shut his eyes. It wasn’t fair! He wasn’t done! The weight of it all squeezed him, an ungodly weight, the pain beyond imagination.
Then Stanley was looking down at himself. No, not himself. He flew into the sky, away from wet, grey dirt in all directions, and into the red light, brighter and brighter. The dirt settled, leaving no sign of disturbance. That wasn't quite true. A six-fingered hand reached up out of the earth like a stripped sapling.
No. Nononono! A high-pitched ring rushed through Stanley.
At exactly six AM, Stanley Pines leaped up from the threadbare armchair in his cabin in the woods, scrambling, coughing, choking for breath, and if he was crying, he didn’t notice. “It’s a nightmare,” he heaved. “Jus’ a messed up dream.” He’d had many nightmares like it before. Well, never as vivid or as doomed as that one, but… it happened, sure. Dear lord, he could still feel the weight of that awful dirt on his chest. He could taste it. And then, because he couldn’t stop himself and he was alone, Stan slid to the mat covering the wooden floors and stayed there, eyes blank. The TV blared a M*A*S*H* rerun. It cast green and brown light over the furniture, a wall-mounted rabbit/skunk he glued himself, and Stan’s tightly clenched fists. He breathed in and scrubbed his eyes with the bases of his palms. “Good grief,” he muttered.
It was then that he registered the ringing phone in the kitchen. He considered letting it go. It was six AM, after all. Who the heck was calling him in the night (morning?) anyway? Why did Stan even have a phone? Who had the number? Why six am? Why did this have to happen? What was he forgetting? If he answered the phone and someone told him they had a very special deal for him, he was going to tear the dang thing out of the wall.
Stan struggled to his feet, cracked his back, shuttered, and shuffled in his slippers to the kitchen.
“Stan Pines here, whaddaya want?”
“Uncle Stan! It- it’s happened! Oh my goodness, I can’t even think!”
Stan pulled the phone from his ear. “David? Is that you?” It all came rushing back. Oh! Right! That’s why Stan fell asleep down here in the first place! David’s girlfriend was in labor! “Ey! Congratulations, kid! What’re you gonna name it?”
“Them, rather!” David sounded a little shell-shocked. Giddy, but definitely glazed.
“‘M sorry?”
“Twins, Stan. A girl and a boy!”
Stan blinked. A rather horrible feeling washed over him, a horrible, unfair, selfish feeling. “T-twins? You weren’t expecting twins!”
“No, the doctors are baffled! I’m just- I mean, I’m completely overwhelmed, don’t get me wrong, we did not prepare for two babies! We only have stuff for our little Mabel and now there’s a boy too! But it’s like, the more the merrier, right? “ He laughed, breathless, “Two kids, Stan! Oh my gosh, how on earth am I supposed to take care of… you know what, I’ll think about that later.”
Stan cleared his throat. “That’s fantastic, Dave!” and he was earnest, really. He couldn’t be happier for his nephew. Even if he and his girlfriend were… quite young. She was older, he believed. Nineteen, maybe?
“Guess twins must run in the family, huh?”
“Guess so.”
“Say, I just got off the phone with Dad. He’s comin’ in with Carrie tomorrow. I know you said you were busy with the Mystery Shack and all…”
The request went unsaid, but Stan knew what David wanted to say. He rubbed the back of his neck. He avoided his family. It was bad enough taking Stanford’s name. He’d rather impersonate him as little as he had too. Luckily for his nephew, David had never known the original Stanford, so it was easier to just be himself around him. He’d planned on sitting this out. He didn’t even know David’s girlfriend- couldn’t for the life of him remember her name. But… the idea of staying in this cabin alone for a minute longer made his head spin. The dream was like a vulture circling around him, and Stan knew, deep in his gut, something he never allowed himself to truly consider. If he ever got that damn portal to work, he would rescue something to lie to rest. His thumb shook on his lip as he pushed the feeling down.
“... I can spare a few days.”
“I don’t want to pressure you-”
“You ain’t pressuring me! I’m coming and you can’t stop me! Twins! Ha! I’ll be there tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? ! Don’t do anything rash, Stan! You don’t have to-”
Stan cackled. “See ya, kid! Rest while you can!”
“... Alright, Uncle Stan. ”
Stan slammed the phone onto the receiver and swallowed. He caught his fussy reflection in the dark kitchen window. He forced a grin, more of a grimace, and patted his disheveled hair. He refused to- No, He didn’t know for certain. “Twins, Ford,” he whispered. “Can you believe it?” His reflection’s eyes grew misty.
Yeah. It was time to get out of this cabin.
________________________________________________________________
David hated working late, but it happened more and more often. Joe needed help, and he was the only mechanic who was actually half good at his job (if he said so himself) and David needed the money. He’d been right to go to trade school as soon as he found out his girlfriend was pregnant. He was sixteen and a half and that was… well, it sucked, but it was sort of ‘par with the course for the Pine’s family.’ That’s what his dad’s wife said, anyway. He learned later his dad didn’t talk to her for three days after that comment. He did not blame him in the slightest. He didn’t hate Carrie or anything, she just wasn’t his mom and, as such, would... never measure up. She was also an incredible pain in the neck, but that's beside the point. It was a running joke that his dad had snagged a cougar for her money, which had been hilarious until Carrie shrugged airily at the suggestion and his dad turned beet red at the kitchen table, and David suddenly had the thought that oh gosh maybe the joke was- nope. Not going there. He had other things to focus on.
Like his kids and his hot wife and their tiny apartment that she’d turned into something homey and good. It smelled like tacos today. His keys rattled as he set them on the counter and hung up his jacket.
“DADDY!!” came a shrill shriek from the other room, followed by a pitter-patter of feet. A ball of pink giggled madly. He threw her in the air. “Wook, Dad!” She held up a paper… reindeer? Was that what it was supposed to be? “It’s for the chee!”
“For the tree?”
“Yes!! Cissmas chee!”
“You make that in school? I… like all the eyeballs, baby. That’s a lot of eyeballs.”
The kitchen was smoking, and he could hear Anna banging pans. “Mason, four forks! We’re setting the table, remember? Buddy, you can’t carry the- oh dear.”
Mabel balancing on his feet, David walked through the little living room and into an even smaller kitchen. We’re going to need a bigger house, eventually.
“Hey, honey.”
Anna turned around, Mason halfway picked up, a bundle of cups and forks somehow grasped in the other hand. She pushed a strand of loose brown hair behind her ear with the back of her hand. She was in her scrubs. “You’re home! Dave, it’s almost seven thirty!” Mason squirmed out of her hands and quietly took the cups and forks. He struggled for a moment before sticking the forks into the cups, and then, problem solved, lit up and set the cups and forks on the table. As usual, David was… not getting even a hello from his son.
“Joe had me stay late.”
Anna scoffed, throwing taco meat onto plates and stuffing a taco into her mouth. “e’ can kiss my ah’” She swallowed. “Mabel, we’re going to sit down. It’s tacos!”
“Tacos!” Mabel squealed. “I LOVE tacos!”
“I know, baby. Come on, come on.” She ushered her to the table where Mason was already sitting on his booster seat, attempting to pour himself a cup of grape juice. David joined them, swinging Mabel up into her seat.
“Hey!” Anna yelped, grabbing the bottle of grape juice as it wavered above Mason’s cup. “I said you have to ask!”
“I can pour it myself, Mom!”
“You really can’t, bud,” David volunteered. He got himself a taco and took a bite while scooping meat into Mabel’s tortilla. “‘member what happened in the car seat?”
Mason scowled. But he took the poured cup of juice and accepted the kiss on his forehead by his mother. Mabel hugged her mom around the neck, gushing a very enthused, “Good job for at school, mommy.”
“Thank you, baby.” Anna finally caught David’s eye. Her shoulders relaxed, just slightly, and she gave him a quick peck on the lips. “Love you, babe.” And then into his ear. “Wait up for me.” She squeezed his arm.
Oh, David would.
“And... I’m-” She glimpsed the kitchen clock. Her eyes went wide. “I’m late! I’m late!” She scrambled away. “I love you all! David, don’t forget to load and start the dishwasher! Mason can help!”
“Got it!”
The door opened.
“And their homework! They have… why do they give preschoolers homework- They have homework! Mabel still has to finish-”
“I’ve got it!” David called after her. He leaned forward in the chair to see her through the kitchen. “We’re good! Go!”
She smiled, hastily. And… just like that, she left.
For all of three seconds, the house was silent.
Mabel made a popping noise with her spoon and Mason blinked at her before picking up his own spoon and considering it.
“Okay, okay, let’s not- let’s use the silverware for food, guys.”
Mabel set down the spoon and stabbed the taco. “I’m using my fork for my food!” Mabel said with a grin that revealed the gap in her two front teeth.
“Thank you, I see that.”
“I always use my fork,” came Mason’s inevitable, irritable reply. This was rather typical. He’d probably need to have another talk with him soon. Sometimes they took it for granted that Mason was more… competent than his sister. Not unusually so. He was still a four-year-old. But he could read and he spoke clearer, and he just picked up on more than Mabel did. Maybe it was because he was quiet. He was definitely the microphone to Mabel’s loudspeaker. The two of them were fascinating to watch, if David was honest. It blew his mind sometimes. They were growing into their own little people with their own personalities and quirks. Wild.
Dinner went like it usually did, with Mabel finishing everything and Mason picking through his taco like he was checking it for poison. They cleaned up, and Mason showed David very seriously how his mom liked the dishes in the dishwasher. “No, Dad. You gotta line up the bowls. Like this , see?” David humored him because it made the kid happy.
After dinner, they decided that coloring was a good idea. Mabel needed to finish her homework, and it got finished eventually, though it was a little sparkly.
Mason determinedly drew in the ‘blank coloring book’ (as Mabel said) that he liked. He was an anxious kid, and they’d discovered early on it was easier for him to draw pictures than say out loud what was bothering him. David didn’t have any reason to think they upset Mason, but he had a blue crayon in his fist and his tongue out the edge of his mouth, and he was going at it. Maybe he’d just draw something nice for once.
David almost didn’t want to ask. He doodled a puppy for Mabel, who gasped out loud and took the crayon from him to add “Lots an’ lots of puppies fends.”
Clearing his throat, David dove in. “Whatcha drawing there, bud?”
Mason looked up. His eyes were bright. He shuffled the book around and David’s heart sank a little. It’s okay. He’s got an active imagination.
“This is ‘achnimorph. Like a people spider.”
That was… indeed, what the drawing looked like. Mason was probably going to be rather talented at art when he was older. His dexterity wasn’t great now, of course, but it was clear what he’d drawn. A many-eyed person with eight legs and a massive spider lower half- all drawn in blue crayon.
“Where d'you see that, Massey?”
“I just thought it.”
“You just thought it?”
Mason nodded, unperturbed. He flipped a page. He was leaning halfway across the table in his eagerness to show him. “This is a fairy. They’re mean. This is a cowl.”
“A… cowl?”
“A cow and an owl,” he said, like this was obvious. “They lay eggs with milk in them.”
“Oh.” David didn’t dislike Mason’s… inventions. They were just strange and neither Anna nor David could figure out where on earth he was getting the ideas? Both of the kids got nightmares easily, especially Mason, so they watched little tv, and their teachers assured them they provided nothing that would inspire these sorts of drawings. At least today wasn’t so bad. Anna had called him in a panic when Mason drew a ‘skin couch’ one afternoon, complete with bloody stitching in red marker.
“... it makes the cosmic sand go all,” Mason threw his hands in the air. “And this is my other daddy, and this-”
David straightened. Did he hear him right? He flipped back the page. “What do you mean?”
On the other side of the table, Mabel sighed dramatically and melted down in the chair. She would have to wait.
“Mason?”
Something shifted in Mason’s face. There was a timidity there. He was nervous. “You won’t like it, daddy.”
“I’m not going to be mad. I’m just confused.”
Mason considered this and then pointed at two stick figures. One a broad-shouldered man with a terrifying scowl and square eyes, and the other a stick thin woman. “This is my other mom and dad.”
“Your… other- Mason, you don’t have another mom and dad. You just have me and momma.”
Mason shook his head, “No, before I lived here. In the upstairs house.”
David was… at a loss. They hadn’t moved since Mason and Mabel were born. They’d lived nowhere but here. He must be confused. Was he thinking of somewhere they visited? David took another look at the stick figures, tapping a finger on the table. Suddenly it clicked, and David chuckled. “Mason, that wasn’t your other mom and dad. That’s grandma Caryn and Filbrick. We visited them last summer for Filbrick’s funeral. Caryn’s your great-grandma, not your momma, silly.” Mason didn’t look convinced. In fact, he looked like, if David pressed it, he might burst into tears. David pushed bangs out of Mason’s eyes, running a thumb over the six-star constellation on his forehead with a light hand. It was a good thing that Mabel chose that moment to knock a bottle of glitter to the floor.
David pushed the instance into the back of his mind, and he didn’t even think to mention it when Anna finally got home to a (moderately) clean house. Mason filled up the little journal, and it ended up at the bottom of his toy chest, and then in a box at the top of the closet. As time went on, Mason stopped with the drawings, mostly anyway. David would find them, sometimes, in the margins of his books, little, idle doodles; eyes with bat wings, faces with too many teeth, that illuminati triangle, bearded ghosts. None of that was worth worrying about. As long as they weren’t bloody- his mother made that rule- Mason could draw what he liked. But even those doodles faded. School was more time-consuming. They moved into a new house (a house they owned!) and if some of Mason’s many journals got mixed up and lost, no one knew about it. If Mason started turning to Mabel instead of his parents after one of his near-weekly nightmares, well, that was just part of growing up, wasn’t it? He was nearly thirteen, after all.
“What was it this time?” Mabel slurred. She was still mostly asleep, her hair spread across her pillow and a wrinkled mark on her cheek. Her plump grey cat was flexing his claws into the blanket beside her head.
Dipper closed the door, shutting off the gold stripe on the carpet. He sat back down on his bed across the room and sipped a glass of milk. It was his go-to for nightmares. His skin was sticky and cold with sweat. He swiped his eyes and gulped down the rest of the glass. “Just the getting-crushed one again. I think. It’s hard to remember.”
Mabel groaned. “You always say that… need some variety.”
“Tell me about it.” Dipper sat in silence, the glass warming in his hand. He wasn’t sure he was ready to lie down again. He didn’t want to blink too slow, in case he saw it , whatever it had been, that scared him so badly. The least his mind could do was let him know what he was so scared of, but apparently that was too much to ask for.
Dipper looked down at the sound of shuffling sheets. Mabel turned to face him. She rubbed an eye with her fist and yawned. “I was dreaming ‘bout summer. We went to Grandpa Shermie’s again, and he gave me caramel but it got stuck in my braces and I couldn’t talk and I wanted to ride the motorcycle with him, but I couldn’t say anything cause… cause a’ the carmel...” Her eyes drooped.
Dipper smiled. He shifted down on his bed, eyes on Mabel, and tucked his blanket up to his cheek. Time ticked past, and before he knew it, the sun was rising. It was the first day of summer vacation.
To be continued...
#gravity falls#fan fiction#reincarnation#au#dipper pines#ford pines#character death#sort of?#in which i talk too much#i got excited about a new thing okay#and i know we're all sad i made ford dead#but its gonna be good and were still gonna see him#pinky swears#gf fanfiction#figured i post this here bc why not#ill probably include a link to the ao3 in the notes
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Four.
I am out of touch, like so out of touch. I promised the girls I would take them school in the morning, I don’t drive so this is such a mess that I had to get my driver to come. Chris has gone to New York, he just left three days ago and we spent the weekend together, just me and the girls before school and I’ve been so nervous about this because I am out of touch with it all, being away from it and just not being the main person to take them to school has really got me out of touch with it all but I promised I would take them to school, and they were so excited last night when I said yes I would so I will be taking them school. Going to the gym and then coming home to do some work. I think that will be my routine for the week, just some me time too but last night was a terror because Imani is so used to sleeping in the bed with me, but it’s a no. I made her sleep in her own bedroom and read her to sleep but she kept trying it and this is Chris’ fault because he shouldn’t allow her to rule him, he shouldn’t let her say she wants to sleep in our bed, it’s no good because she is used to it like now, but I won at the end. She fell asleep, the girls did too and with Tianna having her own bedroom she is more than happy to do just that but because it’s the first day back after the holiday I thought I would make them breakfast, which Tianna and Rylee both woke up but my pumpkin refuses to wake up, she is tired and I am not surprised after last night and that performance of getting out of bed constantly “mom, Imani is downstairs” I refuse to give her airtime when she is being that way so she finally came “mommy” drying off my hands “it’s too early for the drama Imani, like really early. I woke up early to make all these nice foods” picking her up “you’re getting too big for this” she wrapped her arms around my neck “I am super proud of you Imani, no pull up in bed” Touching her butt “no pee pee in bed too” I’m proud of her, I didn’t mind Chris not wanting to actively keep an eye on the whole going to the toilet situation so pull ups it was for him, but I am trying to get her out of it “you want some food” I know this girl isn’t falling back to sleep on me.
Tianna and Rylee don’t like to be called twins but yet here they are wanting the same hairstyles, makes me laugh but I will keep that to myself “mom, how long?” Rylee asked coming back into the bedroom with her backpack on, she is ready to go just Imani needing to be dressed but she is doing the most “girls, do me a favour. Get my phone, one of you and try and take a nice picture of you both and send it to your dad. He wanted a nice picture of you both and I promised I would, thank you” they both ran off “Imani, come here now. No more changing shoes!” I spat, she ran back over with the new sneakers she wants on “the light mom, the light up” I don’t even care right now, I just want to fucking get her ready so we can go “yeah yeah, soon you will need to wear uniform just like your sisters” Imani sat down on the floor, she had a tantrum because she wanted cereal, I made the effort and made those pancakes for her to turn around and say I want cereal, this girl “wiggling your toes now, your sisters aren’t happy. You are making them late, and please do not ruin your clothes. I know you like to not care about your stuff, but I do” doing up her sneakers “I playing mom” she calls it playing but she is just making a mess of herself.
It’s so convenient, just having all three of my girls in the same private school. I can just drop them off to their class, Rich opened the door for us “are you walking us to our class mom?” Tianna asked, unbuckling Tianna out of the car seat “of course I am baby” it’s expensive having the kids at this private school, it’s filled with celebrity kids “hey, don’t forgot your bag” I said to Rylee as she got out “oh yeah” helping Imani out the seat “come on you” Imani made her way to Rich, he picked her out of the car “you are my fave” shuffling out of the SUV, I am just dressed down in my gym clothes right now, I really just can’t be bothered “you can stay here, I will be back” I said to Rich, my daughters are so beautiful, all three of them. I am so blessed, god has blessed me with the best girls “hold my hand” I said to Imani “awww my girls, I feel emotional dropping you all off actually” I feel all choked up “mom” Rylee moved away, shying away from just being all emotional “stop it now, I want kisses from you all. Come on now” making our way to the school “we are closer to dropping Imani off so we will go here first” I feel so empowered with my girls “hi Rylee” this boy came up to my daughter “go away” Tianna started laughing “wow your mom is super amazing, wow” Rylee doesn’t like it, she doesn’t like this boy all here with us “go away Cairo!” She spat “I came to say hi, it would be nice if you say it back” I sniggered “come girls” seeing the lady outside Imani’ class “baby school!” Tianna spat, crouching down to Imani “mommy will see you after” Imani pulled a face “you come back” pressing a kiss to her cheek “I will be back baby, I will be here don’t worry ok?” Imani rested against me, she doesn’t want to go inside now “I stay” she mumbled “mommy is boring, trust me. You go inside now, be a good girl” she sighed out, I swear my heart right now. This is literally letting Chris go, it’s crazy how much she is just like him “you are your father, love you so so much” wrapping my arms around her, makes me emotional.
Rylee opted to walk Tianna in first, Chris always drops her off first which Tianna agreed on so that is what we are doing “mom, this is where I sit. Come” Tianna gripped my hand and dragged me along “this is my mom” Tianna said so proudly, I smiled at the kids in the room “Tianna, good morning. It’s lovely to see you smiling. How has your holidays been, hi I am Mrs San. Tianna’ teacher” shaking her hand “this is the first time you have come to the class, actually Tianna do you want to show your mom your painting. You want to go and get it, take your backpack off go on” stepping back and crossing my arms across my chest “I want to see this now, go on baby” Tianna placed her backpack on the floor and ran off “I am going to be late mom, how long. These are little” side eyeing Rylee “there is a year difference, stop being a madam. It’s nice meeting you, how is Tianna? Is she quiet in class, does she seem sad?” I asked “oh Tianna is such an angel; she is very giving. She is so bright, well behaved. It’s just so nice to meet you not in the creepy way but I am always used to seeing dad here and asking Tianna she always says, mom is busy. And that makes her sad but oh my gosh, come on show mommy your painting and the reason why now” turning to Tianna, she got a little shy with me “it was hero day, and I did this” she turned it to me “oh my god” my face softened “I am your hero?” I said, I am shook “Tianna said my mom tries to love everyone, sometimes a little too much” she is going to get me crying now “stop it, oh my god” hugging Tianna “and I did dad one, but he has it at home” kissing her cheek “can I take this home?” I asked “yes” she is the sweetest little thing, my baby.
One more child to go, holding Rylee’ hand “one more to go” I said sighing out, Rylee grinned at me “you and your missing teeth” Rylee and I laughed out “stop it mom, they are taking forever to come back” I sighed out again “what’s wrong?” she is asking me that “erm, who is Cairo? You got something to tell me miss?” Rylee rolled her eyes “he said he always wanted to marry Rihanna and he said I look like you so he wants to marry me” I laughed “oh gosh, he is silly” she pulled a face “annoying, but dad said I should stay away from boys. What do you think?” Chris would say that “boys are silly Rylee, take it easy. You are so blessed Rylee; you have such a good start in life, and I want you to enjoy it. I don’t want you to ever have to worry, but have fun and dad cares a lot. What would you like to do after school? What do you usually do with dad?” I asked, “he takes us home and then it’s homework but he usually telling Imani off most of the time but we can go out to eat!?” she beamed “we could, I will think about it. See you after school baby” wrapping my arms around Rylee “thanks mom, I love you” what did I do to deserve such good kids, knowing I have been not the best mother to them, I could be better for them “I love you too” pressing kisses to her face “mom!” Rylee laughed trying to move from me, my pretty baby.
I got lazy; I can’t be bothered to be doing gym. Even if I get in the mood I will just use the gym at home, I just thought I would go to the gym because there is more equipment but it’s whatever, I am now sat down and watching ninety day fiancé so it’s too late, I am too deep into this. I did say I would clean the kid’s bedroom but here I am watching this. Things have gotten better, since splitting Rylee and Tianna up she doesn’t feel like she is under Rylee like that anymore even though she is always in her room, I swear I just don’t get it. Lifting my phone up to see the caller ID and it’s Chris, I am not surprised he has called me late, he has been busy. I say that but I’s bullshit, answering the call “why do my girls look so grown, damn” is the first thing he said, “they are growing up too quick on us Chris” he sniggered “I am talking about your boobs” rolling my eyes laughing “why do you have to be so annoying, did you not get the picture of the girls?” I am sure I told them to send him some picture “no, oh wait I did. Yeah ignore me I did, how was the school run then, enjoy it? Imani played nice” he knows Imani “she played hell; she has been since you gone. Because her father has been letting her sleep in the bed with us, I don’t allow that Chris. No, so we just kept going back and forth then she fell asleep, and then it was time to wake up, but I got there in the end. They are at school” I am so proud of that “you seem so proud��� see even Chris has noticed “on a real, it’s just so nice to spend time with my daughters. I feel like they have things they wanted to say and ask me, I feel awful about things and how I haven’t been home but like I know you said get a nanny but then we would both be gone and what difference would that make, I am happy to be home with them. I am so blessed to have them” Chris cooed out “I am glad, they missed you like crazy. You started on Savage yet?” Chris has to remind me “I am getting a little lazy, I will start tomorrow” we both laughed down the phone, I am comfy now.
Chris stifled out a yawn “long night?” I said with the biggest smirk on my face “I am at the office actually; I have a suit on. I don’t know what you are saying or thinking what I am doing” he is a liar “you have been out since being in New York and then acting like you’re working” he gasped “Jah told me, he said he came to the office yesterday and you wasn’t there and then I found out Rorrey has arrived, I am like god help us” Chris is laughing but he better do work “you are assuming I am doing no work but before Jen left we went through something, I came up with an idea. Like I know it’s a headache for you because it’s introducing a new stream of things but also it’s a good thing, I want to introduce Fenty Kidz, so like things that include for example clothing, makeup for the kids like lipgloss because I know my girls like the sticky things and we can boys side too because we can get Camron on it, so I threw it out there, Jen agreed and I think we should do it” Chris seems very excited about this “then this is on you Chris, go for it. When it comes to the girls I will help, start it off. You don’t need my permission now” he can do as he pleases “I want our daughters to be the face of it, also Camron too. I have an idea” he has ideas now; he isn’t going to stop “FENTY Kidz right? But I want it to hit home, like I want the commercial to be you when you was a kid always playing with makeup, there is photos of you doing that but then you’re older and it’s like history repeating because your daughters are doing the same, like something along those lines and with Camron because we are trying to aim for the male audience now more then recently, like honestly men in general, I mean even me I would like to have matching outfits with my son, I feel like men do that. I see TJ doing it with Camron all the time so I want to aim for that, likewise with the girl range but I see wives, baby mothers buying these outfits for their partner and child so they can match, it’s just cute” Chris and his cute clinginess to Camron “that is fine, I have no issues” I mumbled, he is excited about this.
“You have gone quiet though?” shaking my head “just thinking, I was so sure that Imani was a boy. It just makes me laugh, I know the midwife was just laughing at me, I was like a boy. It’s done, we complete now and like she said don’t predict it to be that sex, just be happy but you know” I dragged out “I feel like you deserve that boy, I feel you are so overwhelmed with girls and when Camron comes over you can be you. I feel a little bad that I haven’t, well we haven’t had that boy. Imani is very boisterous, little chunky self and I feel when I watch you, and how you dress her in these boyish clothing and then I am like no, change it. I just feel it’s unfair to you, so much it is. A house full of women that have a lot of personalities, I am not saying you can’t do these things with them but it’s just not the same” I am speaking too much “I feel with Imani she likes kicking a ball, Rylee and Tianna rather go upstairs and practice a catwalk, like what? They are preparing for their ballet class or whatever, I said it to Rylee I goes what about sport? Oh no, she wants to be you. Likewise with Tianna, and I feel like they are growing too quick because of it, my mistake I think, social media wasn’t good for them. Even with trying to block content they still have YouTube and with YouTube you can still see things but with the older two, they are very much oh my god what is mom doing, I ain’t even like them watching the lingerie show with you and that is being real Robyn but how can I stop them, I don’t want them like wanting to be that, but it’s there. It’s in their face, I don’t even like them seeing you in a tong but it’s like I am stuck, my daughters are just growing fast, and I hate it, Imani is just all mine and you right. I thought the same but it’s what is blessed, we don’t need to worry on it, it’s cool. We blessed, we are happy, and we keep it to that” Chris is right, I just wish he got that boy though.
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would you be up for writing Poe Dameron based off of the song Girls by The 1975? like an age gap (nothing gross, just maybe a 19 or 20 year old reader) and Poe trying to navigate dating someone significantly younger (i imagine he’s somewhere close to Oscar Isaac’s real age, probably in his 30s?)
i think i might do another part to this, with them properly dating. this is just them getting together, i guess?
Request: Poe Dameron based off of the song Girls by The 1975? like an age gap and Poe trying to navigate dating someone significantly younger
Pairing: Poe Dameron x reader
Warnings: Swearing, age gap (19/35)
*
“They’re just girls, Finn.”
“They’re, what, 19? They’re adults, Poe.” Finn’s voice is condescending as he speaks to his friend, Poe scowling at him in response.
“I’m worried about Rey finding out, you know what she’s like…” He says, voice worried as he bites his lip.
“Poe, Poe, Poe. Where’s the fun in doing what you’re told?” Finn smacks his friend's shoulder lightly, beckoning over to the two girls, “Besides, everyone knows Y/N is head over heels for you. Go for it, man. You deserve to let off some steam.”
Poe bites his lip as he contemplates.
Sure, he’s not that old. 35 isn’t that old, right? Poe had never had trouble with his confidence, he was gorgeous and he knew it. He could get anyone he wanted, with a mere smile. Then there’s you. He noticed the looks you gave him, the way you would stop talking and flush whenever he walked into the same room as you. He noticed the way you bit your lip every time he wore his orange jumpsuit. But you were so young.
He hadn’t been too bothered about it, not until Rey voiced her opinion. One night when the three friends were playing cards in Poe’s room, the topic turned to you - since you and your friend Dyla had only recently joined the resistance. Of course he mentioned how pretty you were, everyone knew it. Finn hummed in agreement but Rey’s face dropped into a frown.
“Really?” Her tone was incredulous, as if the man had just told her to fuck off or something.
“Uh… what?” Poe looks to Finn, who is equally as confused as himself.
“You’re old enough to be her dad, that’s so pervy.”
“She’s, like, twenty.” Poe counters, his face heating at the accusation of being ‘pervy’.
“Nineteen, actually.”
“Whatever, Rey. I wouldn’t actually sleep with her.”
“Good. You better hadn’t.”
So, he didn’t. No matter how much he wanted to stride across the Cantina and fling you against the wall everytime you so much as glanced over to him. No matter how many times he had to excuse himself to the bathroom after seeing you bite your lip.
Until tonight.
*
You’d put in more effort than usual tonight. It was the first night off for everyone in a long time, so spirits were high and drinks were flowing. Dyla had snuck a bottle of some sort of spirit into your room, and the two of you took shot after shot whilst getting ready. You take one final shot, reveling in the way your head spins slightly, and look yourself up and down in the mirror.
Tonight would be different. Ever since you joined the resistance, the only man on your mind was Poe Dameron. The first moment you saw him was indescribable. You had been introducing yourself to General Organa when he entered the room, barking orders to some scrawny men in front of computers. You had lost your train of thought as your eyes followed him around the room, shivering slightly at the authority his presence commanded. General Organa was amused, very used to the effect Poe had on women.
You’re not a very confident person. Actually, your shyness is crippling. So the only way you knew how to flirt with Poe was with long, lingering glances and slight lip bites when you thought he wasn’t looking. You have kept up this delusion for a while, the delusion that Poe might one day look at you and decide to sweep you off your feet. But you knew better now.
You’d received a slap in the face from reality when you snuck into the cantina late last night, since you’d forgotten to eat dinner. There, at the far end of the room, was Poe. He had one of the other pilots, Grilda, you think her name is, pushed up against the wall. Their lips were clashing in a fervour and your legs felt wobbly as you watched the scene. It was then you realised you were wasting your time pining over a man who would never give you the time of day.
So here you stand, your favourite red dress on, ready to go and flirt with someone who is not Poe Dameron. You stand beside Dyla as she fixes you both a drink, scanning the room slightly to see who had joined the celebration. You force your eyes to pass quickly over Poe, who is standing across the room from you with Finn. Though, you could’ve sworn he was looking at you….
3 drinks later, you finally excuse yourself to the toilet, leaving Dyla with a few other friends to keep her company. You groan in delight as you pee, it always feels so much better when you’re drunk. Before you leave you quickly ruffle your curled hair in the mirror and reapply your red lipstick. You smile at yourself, trying to give an internal pep talk.
You can do this. Go outside. Take a shot. Find a random pilot. Kiss the hell out of him.
You exit the bathroom with a deep breath, stopping suddenly in your tracks when you find Poe leaning against the wall opposite the bathroom. Surely this is a coincidence, right? He can’t actually be waiting for you. He looks up when you open the door and his eyes widen slightly, pushing himself off the wall towards you.
“Y/N, hey.” His voice is as confident as ever and it takes all of your willpower to not start kissing him right there.
“Poe… um, hi.” Your voice is soft, almost shaking as you bite your lip with nerves. Poe groans slightly and your eyes widen as he takes a step towards you, his tall frame towering over you.
“Listen, I’ve seen the looks you give me.” He gets straight to the point, walking you backwards slightly so you’re now leant against the wall, with him trapping you against him.
“Oh, Gosh.” Your brow furrows, he’s here to tell you to stop being a desperate loser, right?
“The way you bite your lip when you think I’m not looking.” He continues, bringing a large hand to cup your face. His thumb brushes your lower lip slightly and you release it from it’s hold, breath quickening.
“I-I’m sorry.” It becomes clear quickly that Poe isn’t listening to you as he leans in closer, confidence growing as he pushes his thumb into your mouth. You squeak slightly, not sure where this is coming from all of a sudden. You’re certainly not complaining, though. You react quickly, not wanting to waste the moment as you suck his thumb lightly, reveling in the way he groans.
“I’m 35.” He speaks suddenly, pulling back and cupping your face with both of his hands, forcing you to meet his eyes.
“Um, okay?” You reply, confusion clouding your features. What does that have to do with what is going on right now?
“I mean, uh,” He takes a step back, seeming timid all of a sudden as he scratches the back of his neck, “I just want you to know. In case I’m, y’know, too old for you.” He avoids your eyes this time and you can’t help the laugh that escapes you. He frowns at your response and you quickly backtrack.
“You? Old? Tell me another joke.” You grab his face this time, your movements encouraged by the alcohol in your system. “I know how old you are, does it really look like I care about that?”
“Guess not.” Confident Poe is back now, a smirk gracing his features as he steps forward once more. You barely have any time to react before his lips are on yours, hot and wet.
He winds his hand into your hair tightly and tugs, causing you to gasp lightly. He takes this opportunity to push his tongue past your lips, exploring your mouth as you reciprocate desperately. You’re panting by the time he pulls away, giggling at the red lipstick that stains his mouth.
“Let's do this again sometime.” He grins, kissing you once more before wiping the lipstick off his mouth with the back of his hand. He walks off, a spring in his step as he returns to Finn who grins at him knowingly, Dyla sitting on his lap.
You take a moment to catch your breath and let your brain catch up with your body. Did that really just happen or are you dreaming?
*
If you thought that was a dream, the next month had been an out of body experience. As you lie in your bed next to Poe, watching him snore with his head resting on your bare chest, you think back to the previous month when you had barely spoken to him.
After your encounter, he could barely keep his hands off you. You would get pulled into dark hallways and empty utility rooms, Poe would have you muffling a scream behind your hand in mere minutes.
That’s how it always was though, in secret.
“I can’t be what you need, you’re just a girl, this is just physical.” He told you time and time again.
But time and time again, he would show up at your door when he couldn’t sleep. You hadn’t realised he was plagued by night terrors until he woke you up with one, screaming in terror with his eyes screwed shut. That was when he told you that he could only sleep soundly with you. Unbeknownst to him, you waited for him to fall asleep every night before he did, wanting to make sure he was in a peaceful slumber before you succumbed to unconsciousness. You always woke up wrapped in his arms, so he must wake up at least once during the night.
“Mmmh.” Poe hums sleepily as he blinks his eyes open slowly, looking up at you from where he lies. He gives you a dopey smile, still delirious from sleep. You return it, carding your fingers through his hair as his eyes start to droop again, “Don’t wanna get up. Wanna stay here forever.” You squeal as he buries his head in the crook of your neck, biting you playfully.
“C’mon, mister. You’ve got a meeting with General Organa at 6.” You try to remind him, but he simply ignores you, choosing instead to disappear under the covers with a wicked grin, “Poe? What are yo- Oh!” Your train of thought stops as you feel his mouth on your heat, waking you up completely as he holds down your shaking legs.
“She can wait.” He grumbles.
*
“I told you she’d be mad, Poe.” You give him a pointed look as he collapses into your bed after returning from his meeting with the general.
“Shut up.” He glares at you from your bed as you fix your hair in the small mirror, “I don’t know where she gets off calling me immature. Me? Immature? Please.” He crosses his arms and pouts.
“You’re pouting like a little baby, Poe.”
“You’re supposed to tell me that I’m the most mature person you’ve ever met and that Leia should never speak to me like that.”
You repeat his words back to him in a monotonous voice, grinning as his glare darkens and he falls back onto the bed.
“C’mere.” He looks back up at you and beckons you over. You comply with a wry smile and giggle as he pulls you down with him, twisting around so he’s on top of you. He kisses you deeply, biting your bottom lip hard as you try to tell him to need to leave soon, “No.” He mumbles, pushing his tongue into his mouth. Well, 10 minutes late won’t hurt, right?
You shriek in surprise as the door to your room slams open suddenly, the two of you looking over with wide eyes. It seems as though Poe’s little droid, BB8, opened the door for Rey and Finn who stand behind it. Finn seems to be holding in laughter whilst Rey sports a thunderous expression at the sight of us. Oh dear, she’s not his girlfriend, right?
I sit up quickly, pushing Poe off me and fixing my hair. Poe mutters angrily to himself as Rey invites herself into my room, stomping over to us.
“You perv!” She points at Poe, and my eyes widen as I look between the two.
“Wh… what?” You stumble over your words as you try to figure out what is going on.
“Nothing, baby, Rey was just leaving.”
“Y/N.” Rey ignores Poe completely, turning to face you, “He’s old enough to be your dad! What are you doing?”
“Rey.” Poe is shouting now, his loud voice piercing through the tense atmosphere of the room. “You made me second guess approaching Y/N for months. You know what? It was never about my age. I’m only 35 for kriff’s sake, you act like I’m fucking Palpatine. What is this really about? And you’d better tell me the truth because I’m this close to losing my shit.”
You vaguely register Finn’s ‘Oh snap’ as you gaze wide eyed at the angry man in front of you. His jaw clenches and his fists are balled up, muscles bulging in anger. Oh dear, you don’t think you’ve ever been so turned on before.
No one expects what happens next. Rey bursts into tears.
“It’s not fair.” She wails, “I liked you first.” My eyes widen as she turns to me. I thought she was speaking to Poe, “I could tell you liked Poe instead. I wanted to keep him away from you.”
The room falls silent after Rey’s confession, no one knowing what to say. A wave of guilt comes crashing into you, but it’s hardly your fault. You speak to Rey occasionally when you see her around base, but you never had any indication that she was interested in you.
“Fucking hell.” Poe wipes a hand down his face in exasperation. “What did I say, Finn? Fucking girls, man.”
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HS^2 bloggin’ mainline 2020-08-23
More homestuuuuuck
I’m a little tired today so I don’t expect much intelligent analysis out of myself, but if anything classpecty happens I doubt I’ll be able to help myself regardless.
oh, always
(EDITS: added note on horn colors, link to ask on potential Blood powers reference)
> CHAPTER 12. Really Convoluted Metaphorical Horseshit
cuuute
In the bowels of a different ship, at a moment in time that is not pinpointable in either direction from the previous interaction, another Dave raps quietly to himself.
another dave raps quietly to himself. i am glad that phrase exists it brings me joy
(LATER EDIT: A friend on Discord pointed out that throughout this entire update, Karkat's horns are #FF0000 red. They were normal candy-corn colors in previous glimpses at the ship crew, though they used a dark single-color shortcut typical of old Homestuck at one point... but THIS time it stays STARK red even when we zoom in close later. Is this just artistic liberty? Did Karkat color his horns for fashion? Does this happen to red-bloods like the Sufferer after a certain age? Just how much time has actually passed, here? We might have to wait for the commentary for this one.)
KARKAT: I WAS SAYING I THOUGHT WE MIGHT GO, I DUNNO, ANYWHERE ELSE ON THE ENTIRE SHIP WHILE THE CLOTHES WERE WASHING.
KARKAT: SEEING AS THIS DECREPIT MACHINE WE WERE SO BLESSEDLY PROVIDED WITH MAKES A WHIRRING SOUND SO PANCHAFINGLY ARHYTHMIC THAT IT THREATENS TO ERADICATE THE ENTIRE CONCEPT OF TEMPO FROM THE UNIVERSE.
Karkat really has chilled out hasnt he? like this is surprisingly level for him, and that fact is hilarious.
KARKAT: AND YET SOMEHOW BASICALLY ALL THAT HAS HAPPENED SINCE WE STARTED THE LOAD IS THAT YOU’VE BEEN USING IT AS A FUCKED UP BEAT TO WHISPER TO YOURSELF ABOUT FLOWERS TO.
oh gosh that’s why he’s rapping
> ==>
DAVE: kanaya was telling me this kids story the other day about this dude who didnt cherish a flower enough until it peaced out to do flower stuff idk its not pertinent to the story
DAVE: except the flower was a person
DAVE: because it was a metaphor
Oh right, coming back to the Little Prince stuff I was too lazy to metaphor-deep-dive into, and literally asking the same questions we were asking about who the Little Prince’s story applies to mapped here if anyone at all, like Dirk and such, or what biases were in the retelling of it and the way Kanaya phrased it. So now we’re practically mocking it by deep diving it here, hence the last page’s “DAVE: i was just thinking through some really convoluted metaphorical horseshit”, which means we’re both about to further explore AND shit all over the existence of this story metaphor until it doesn’t mean anything and most of the meaning we drew from it earlier is made a joke~
well, not “we”, cause I was too lazy, so... y’all
DAVE: anyway what goes down in the story is that once the flower lady is out of the picture
DAVE: the main character goes around making all these connections between her and everything else in the universe until every damn thing feels like a symbol for how much he fucked up and how much he will never see her again
KARKAT: THIS SEEMS PRETTY FUCKING INTENSE FOR A KID'S STORY
DAVE: yea thats pretty much what i said
Oh holy shit. That’s yet another way to put it. Are we doing a whole moral takedown of the Light aspect today? cause it sounds like we’re taking a dump on the Light aspect and RoboRose getting too obsessed and immersed in it, which would be excellent
DAVE: but i guess its not so much what the story was technically textually about but more like the version of it kanaya internalized and then told me when we were talkin about how she misses rose
exactly
DAVE: so like now im taking the story she told me she was projecting her feelings onto and projecting my feelings on top of that
yes absolutely, you just rephrased it a different way with that exact same bias
DAVE: this is just one big game of emotional projection telephone so feel free to go paraphrase it to roxy later and make it about whatever fuckin thing youre currently missing
perfect. i need an emoji for that Italian thing for when you pinch your thumb and forefinger together and kiss it
ah this’ll do:
its like the expression “choice” but in nonverbal form
[...] whatever fuckin thing youre currently missing
KARKAT: YOUR ABILITY TO GET TO THE POINT
DAVE: gotem
DAVE: anyway you’re not gonna have to miss that skill of mine for long
DAVE: get ready for this shit because i am about to slap you with the point so hard youll fall ass first into the washer
DAVE: just scrambling around in there getting all sudsy
DAVE: but your brain is gonna be so blasted from the mindfreak of a point im about to make that there wont be anything left to clean
Anytime dave is told to get to the point he is contractually obligated to spend at least 20 seconds talking about how he’ll get to the point in a way that is not getting to the point
DAVE: so its genuinely cool that kanaya can go around creating meaning that may or may not be actually present in every little thing
DAVE: connecting every feeling she has to the idea of her wife existing out there
DAVE: so i told her she should keep that shit up
DAVE: but im having the opposite issue where im struggling to find anything to be that kind of tether because every single thing i could possibly consider about what it is were doing just reminds me of yet another thing to be afraid about
Great examples of Light being good and bad! Attaching strands of connective meaning to everything. --though, in Dave’s case AND Kanaya’s case you could argue it’s both bad in terms of effects. That it’s great for Kanaya to care, but that she should be able to divest herself and live on her own terms without idealizing Rose literally everywhere she looks, personal growth which would be useful in helping bring Rose back to her in the first place. The struggle they’re looking forward to is largely philosophical, not just physical, and until Rosebot acknowledges that she was wrong it’s not over.
DAVE: everything fuckin sucks huge cosmic donkey sack and im terrified
KARKAT: OK, SO I FEEL LIKE YOU SKIPPED A COUPLE NECESSARY STEPS IN YOUR POINT CLARIFICATION PROCESS.
Pretty sure Dave was on the same page as most Epilogue and start-of-HS2 readers. This situation is pretty bleak to dump our heroes into, no matter how much we believe will be resolved in the long run.
DAVE: ok but were you going with sweet or savory please give me that much at least
KARKAT: YEAH IT WAS GOING TO BE SUNDAE-BASED.
DAVE: nice
KARKAT: YEAH.
KARKAT: DO YOU WANNA WATCH MORE GBBO AFTER THIS?
DAVE: absolutely
--ah, Great British Bake-Off, can’t say I’ve indulged
do they still have that?? did they save it from old Earth? or did they go where unflooded Britain used to be and say hey, new show reboot
KARKAT: GREAT. ANYWAY, LIKE I WAS SAYING, FOR THE LOVE OF SWEET HUMAN CHRIST, PLEASE BACK UP TO WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU’RE ACTUALLY SCARED OF.
KARKAT: ALSO COME HERE, IDIOT.
That last line is like, exactly as fucking sweet and awesome as we imagined their relationship to be. :)
> ==>
OH MY GOD THAT’S ADORABLE
DAVE: ok yeah this is a better position to unleash all my inner fears n anxieties from
indisputably.
DAVE: those times its like my mouth was saying words about the situation wherein our friends are AWOL and maybe dead but my brain wasnt fully letting me experience the emotion that goes along with them
DAVE: man its like i cant even start genuinely thinking about how afraid i actually am for rose and john without my brain flippin its wad and whiting out
DAVE: like haha fuck i hope theyre ok
DAVE: now i better make a fuckin joke before i succumb to the gaping mouth of despair waiting for me to fall in it as soon as i look down and acknowledge that its there ogling how juicy my ass looks as it trembles with terror
I really hope that the writers of HS2 know full well that this feeling? the one Dave is describing here? is what many of us who got way overinvested in the well-being of Homestuck’s surviving characters felt reading the Epilogues and Homestuck^2. So I really hope they’re working through it in a way that will result in a preponderance of GOOD THINGS happening and hope-filled situations. Cause that “can’t even think about X” feeling is too familiar, and if they understand it as well as it LOOKS like they’re getting to, I’d really like them to give us a helping hand healing.
I think that’s what they’re going for? Seems hopeful for me to think so, but they HAVE been doing better as HS2 has been going forward, from an emotional standpoint anyway; definitely better than the Epilogues. And I’ve worked through some of that stuff with the help of that, because it’s MUCH easier nowadays to think about Homestuck without my gut clenching.
DAVE: i guess im just fucked up about how to worry about dirk and be angry at him at the same time
DAVE: because if i get as unholy pissed at him as i sometimes wanna be i also gotta admit to myself that maybe i coulda done something different there
Mhmm, Karkat’s potentially a pretty good person to speak with here since he’s done so much work trying not to feel responsible for everything that’s ever gone wrong.
DAVE: also like
DAVE: and this by the way adds a whole other layer of guilt on there that i dont really know how to fuckin reckon with but
DAVE: even with all the shit hes pulled and the fact that we are more or less heading toward having to take him down
DAVE: whatever that is gonna mean and whether or not he planned it like that
DAVE: i just
DAVE: me and him had come so far with each other and it was really cool for a while to have him and i
DAVE: ugh
DAVE: i dont WANT to hate him
Yeah, Dirk and Jane’s heel-turns were really shitty for anyone who was a fan of them in the fanbase, as well.
KARKAT: WELL THEN QUIT FUCKING PICKING AT THE SEAM ON MY SHORTS AND SPIT IT OUT. THEY'RE BARELY HANGING ON TO THE DEFINITION OF "SHORTS" AS IT IS.
That is an adorably real boyfriend-laying-in-boyfriend’s-lap thing to do
DAVE: the part i mentioned before about how we really have no goddamn clue how long this trip is even gonna take
DAVE: i cant help but feel like its barely getting revved up
DAVE: and for me and roxy and jade and callie and kan thats normal shit at best and boring at worst but we all have our immortality to thank for that
DAVE: we can just dick around in space for near-eternity waiting to catch up to our friends who may or may not be our enemies now and itll be fine
DAVE: i mean no itll be categorically miserable
DAVE: but well survive it
KARKAT: HOLD THE FUCK ON.
DAVE: but you
KARKAT: DAVE.
DAVE: no lemme say this
Oh god damnit. Karkat’s limited lifespan. As if we hadn’t ALREADY covered a nauseatingly extensive gamut of disheartening topics of conversation. We really have to confront every shred of misery in their past, present and future one after the other after the other in the Epilogues and HS2, don’t we? >:(
I guess it had to be discussed, though.
DAVE: we dont talk about it much and i got shit to say about it
DAVE: its not like i never thought about how youre mortal before but i just thought wed be able to figure it out before it mattered
DAVE: come up with some kind of plan
DAVE: i was just distracted being happy with you i fucking guess and so i didnt think up a way to fix it
DAVE: and now thanks to dirk we have to work it out right the fuck now
DAVE: because i cant spend this trip just sitting around watching you get old and die
Jesus. I mean, WE know(?) that it’s not gonna be THAT many years, but THEY don’t know that.
Unless it really IS going to be that many years and HS2 is going to shamelessly take a fucking sledgehammer to our feelings for no goddamn good reason. Which it won’t! Right??? >:T
> ==>
Dishwasher ding
> Dave: Grapple with the clean, soggy consequences of the passage of time.
Hey, don’t make it a metaphor here. --though, fuck. I suppose we are dealing with everyones dirty laundry. God damnit. SURE, deal with it all story but then GET IT OUT OF THE WAY AND PUT SOME SERIOUS FUN AND LAUGHS IN HERE so we don’t feel like we’re wading through an entire garbage dump!!! *click*
Karkat’s eyebrows-only mouthless frown is really cute.
> ==>
okay Karkat explain the nope you’re lodging
> ==>
*put*
> ==>
*foot*
> ==>
DAVE: ok go on
I mean I at least appreciate the time investment in adorable boyfriends. That’s definitely something of SOME good value they’re giving us in exchange for this misery
> ==>
That Karkat image makes me wanna do that red-shaky-gif-thing with it
KARKAT: IT'S NOT LIKE I'M NEW TO THE PARTICULAR MOOBEAST WRANGLING EVENT OF SOMEONE I PREVIOUSLY LOVED BRUTALLY TURNING ON ME AND LEAVING ME TO TRY AND CRAM MY FEELINGS ABOUT THE SITUATION BACK TOGETHER ALL ON MY OWN.
True
KARKAT: HE DID THAT ON HIS OWN. AND WE MADE THE CHOICE TO GO AFTER HIM ON OUR OWN.
Yes, and you’ll possibly convince him more of that over time, though not in this short conversation
KARKAT: I WAS FOLLOWING YOUR LITTLE TRAIL OF COOKIE CRUMB FEARS UNTIL IT LEAD TO THE BIG SNACK FINALE OF WORRY ABOUT MY FRAGILE MORTAL MEATSACK.
KARKAT: IF I HAVE SOMEHOW NOT BEEN CLEAR ABOUT THIS WITH YOU YET, LET ME GO AHEAD AND RECTIFY THE SITUATION RIGHT THE FUCK NOW.
KARKAT: HANGING OUT WITH YOU ON THIS LONG TRIP TO WHO THE SHITTING FUCK KNOWS WHERE IS QUITE LITERALLY THE HAPPIEST I HAVE EVER BEEN IN MY ENTIRE MEAGER EXISTENCE.
KARKAT: I'M SO ABSOLUTELY BLISSED THE FUCK OUT OF MY MIND TO BE ABLE TO LOOK AT YOUR STUPID IMMORTALLY SMOOTH HUMAN FACE SKIN EVERY DAY AND NOT HAVE A COMPLEX ABOUT IT.
D’AWWW
And with that darkly angry expression too, that’s PERFECT
I mean it’s true. What exactly would they be doing DIFFERENTLY on Earth C other than enjoying each other like this? It’s pretty fucking great.
...hm. Isn’t this journey-not-the-destination stuff pretty Breathy? Karkat’s proving more balanced by the moment.
KARKAT: AND I'LL BE STRAIGHT WITH YOU. IT'S NOT LIKE I HAVEN'T BEEN EXPERIENCING SOME COMPLICATED GUILT, MYSELF.
KARKAT: THE FACT THAT I'M HAVING THE TIME OF MY LIFE JUST FUCKING CHILLAXING AND BEING IN LOVE IN SPACE IS A CLEARLY INCONGRUOUS WITH THE REASON I'M ACTUALLY HERE CHILLAXING TO BEGIN WITH, AND I'M NOT LETTING MYSELF FORGET THAT, EITHER.
Pff. He feels guilty for ENJOYING IT so much. <3
KARKAT: BUT I RESENT THE IMPLICATION THAT MY HAPPINESS IS REGISTERING FOR YOU AS YOU HAVING TO JUST "SIT AROUND AND WATCH ME GET OLD," BECAUSE I KNOW YOU KNOW IT'S MORE THAN THAT.
I’m glad Karkat knows that DAVE knows somewhere in him that it’s more than that, because yeah, if Karkat thought he DIDN’T know that at some level that’d be a reason to take MUCH MORE SERIOUS offense.
KARKAT: LIKE, JESUS, DAVE. YOU KNOW I'M AFRAID FOR YOU, TOO, RIGHT?
KARKAT: OR DID YOU FORGET THE WHOLE HEROIC DEATH THING?
KARKAT: I WORRY ABOUT LOSING YOU FAIRLY FUCKING REGULARLY.
Hah!!! Point taken. Karkat must view Dave as practically more fragile than HIM.
KARKAT: ONE: WE'VE BEEN THROUGH SO MUCH HELLACIOUS PANWARPING TRAUMA THAT I REFUSE TO NOT ENJOY THIS SHIT WHEN I FINALLY FUCKING GET IT, NO MATTER HOW LONG IT MAY OR MAY NOT LAST.
KARKAT: TWO: IT'S NOT LIKE WE'RE DOING NOTHING. WE’RE MOVING. WE’RE WORKING. WE’RE HEADED SPECIFICALLY TO A PLACE WHERE WE WILL UNDOUBTLEDLY ENDURE YET MORE FUCKING HELLACIOUS PANWARPING TRAUMA.
KARKAT: AND THREE: WE'RE DOING THAT BECAUSE WE HAVE FRIENDS WHO WE CARE ABOUT THAT NEED US. THAT IS OUR FOCUS, HERE. NOT OUR FEAR. IT'S ABOUT THE PEOPLE WE HAVE TO SAVE.
KARKAT: SO DON'T FUCKING WORRY ABOUT ME, DAVE. I'M FINE.
Okay, this is great and wholesome. I am now retroactively GLAD that this topic got brought up. :)
> ==>
Dave is still afraid. There is a part of him that will always be, he thinks. He has accepted this about himself. There is another feeling coursing through him too, though. It’s something he's felt before, though never quite so intensely. He looks up at Karkat and understands, viscerally, the simple power his words have. They pump through Dave’s own body, alive and warm and true.
He wonders if Karkat realizes it, or if he’s just, as always, saying what he feels as he feels it. Dave doesn’t attempt to dissect it further. There will be time for that later.
Every really loving moment like this is sort of undercut by the fact that it’s also, in some senses, part of alt!Calliope’s narration and, by extension, her fanfiction.
EDIT 2: There's also either a hint to potential Blood powers or even an explicit Blood power use here that I didn't recognize. I'm leaning towards it's-laying-the-groundwork-for-future-use-of-Blood-powers-but-isnt-magical-in-this-case.
> ==>
Smooooch!
That was nice. Still gonna wait on doing any commentary til next time or a Bonus update or two, cause I’m beat. See y’all next time!
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True Self [Genos x OC]
Ch. 2 | ~To Avail~ (pt. 2)
She was stunned and looked at Genos with a “what the hell just happened” kind of look. “So.. How old are you then?” Miyu asked him with a weirded out expression.
He rested his elbow onto the table as he pointed his finger up and said, “Oh, I’m 25. I started my own training routine 3 years ago back when I was 22 and didn’t stop it despite the difficulties--.” he realized he had begun monologuing. Saitama’s eyes and eyebrows slightly twitched as he was disgusted by his realization. “And you?”
Miyu giggled then took a deep breath and spoke calmly. “I’m Miyu, 18 years old, and I ran away from home because I wanted to avoid an arranged marriage.” She noticed the boys looked unimpressed or couldn’t care less. It internally annoyed her since she felt like she was getting judged, but she couldn’t quite tell.
“That’s lame.” Saitama commented bluntly.
“What is?” she asked as she lowered a brow.
“Just say no.”
Miyu stuttered in disbelief. “I-If it was that easy then I wouldn’t have been here!” she sputtered.
He shooed her away and pointed at the closest door near the entrance. “You should go wash up right now.”
She looked at the direction he was pointing at and nodded. As she walked up to her luggage, she rummaged through it to find her towel. A sense of relief filled her since she was finally able to take a proper shower after so long. She was able to adjust the water’s temperature and use proper shampoo and conditioner to clean her hair. The forest’s scent was no longer on her.
On the outside, Miyu seemed to be taking a long time from the boys’ perspective. Saitama complained since he wanted to use the bathroom already. Genos would occasionally look at the door and think that she would come out, only to just see the door remain closed. The two of them waited with their varied levels of patience.
When Miyu finally came out, Saitama hurriedly rushed into the bathroom. She placed her hand on her cheek and looked at the ground, realizing that she had been in there longer than she had thought. She rubbed her hair a bit more with her towel then placed it over her shoulders as her hair air-dried. Miyu walked back to the door to apologize, “Sorry!”
“You should!” Saitama said through the door.
Genos walked up to the door and asked, “Should we discuss rent?”
Her eyes widened as she started to lightly pull down on her cheeks. “Oh my gosh, I just realized I spent the night here..” she shrieked. “I’m only off for a week. I get back to work straight away after that. I can pay you guys better then.!”
“Actually.” a flush from the bathroom was heard, along with the sink water. Saitama then opened the door and walked past the cyborg and girl to get back to his living room. “You have good coupons. Usually, Genos does all the household work. Maybe that kind of stuff could be your job.”
Miyu clasped her hands together. “Really? Surely there’s more.?” she asked.
“I mean-” he turned on the tv and began to watch. “The groceries sure are something too.”
“I won’t disappoint then.” she affirmed. Miyu began to slowly unpack, but it didn’t take long since she didn’t have much. She had a few clothes, a pair of red glasses, comb, hairbrush, hair ties, toothbrush, toothpaste, pens and pencils, and many journals.
“Why do you have more journals than clothes?” Genos asked curiously.
She organized her stuff a bit to fit neatly in the apartment. “Well, I write in my free time.”
“We should head out and go get your own f-” Genos stopped mid-sentence as he sensed another figure coming their way. “Get back!” he told Miyu since he knew she couldn’t defend herself. “Object coming near slowly.” he had his hand out, ready to blast.
Miyu looked at him, thinking he was dramatic. From behind, she heard Saitama walk towards them. The two made eye contact and she gave him an expression and mouthed, “What’s happening?” to which he waved off.
Saitama patted Genos from behind, indirectly telling him that it was okay. The blonde cyborg lowered his hand down and refrained from further alertness as he sensed the figure get closer. Saitama then opened the door to see King with his console in his hands.
King looked down at Saitama and greeted both him and Genos. He noticed Miyu behind them. He waved at her, to which she reciprocated. “Saitama, I brought the gaming console you wanted to borrow since you said--”
Saitama quickly cut him off. “Ah! King! Yes! One of your unexpected visits, as usual.” he fanned out his hand and welcomed him into the living room. The man never told Genos that he had been going off to play games during his free time and had instead been telling the cyborg that he had been doing important things.
Genos looked at his master and pointed at the door with his thumb. “We’re heading off.” he told him as he walked out the door.
“Bye!” Miyu bowed and waved at the two before closing the door and following Genos.
Both King and Saitama waved and began setting up the game console. They looked at each other for a bit as they didn’t know what to talk about first; the game, that Genos doesn’t know about Saitama slacking off, or the elephant in the room. Their game was soon booted up and the two began mashing buttons to fight.
“So, who is she?” King started off with.
Saitama focused on the game as King beat his character up with multiple combos. “She’s this udon worker that Genos knows.” His thumbs were rapidly shifting as he desperately maneuvered around King’s character to avoid any further hits. “Gah!” he exclaimed out of slight frustration.
“What business does she have here?” he asked.
“Doesn’t have a place to go to.” Saitama’s game character died in the first round and he slammed the controller to the ground but not hard enough to break the floor. “Urgh!” He then tried composing himself. “She’s also Genos’ other teacher, in a way.” he added.
“Teacher?” he casually asked as he pressed buttons with ease. “What does she teach him then?”
“For the past weeks, Genos has been seeing her for manga lessons.”
“Manga lessons?” King chuckled. “That doesn’t sound like him.”
“Genos assumed I gained strength from my mangas.” Saitama said with an annoyed tone.
King nodded since that explanation made more sense. “Now that adds up.” In the game, he was cornered with a sliver of health left. He kept blocking as he was attacked with multiple spam attacks. “He doesn’t seem like he’d just read manga on his own. But why is he learning from that girl and not you?” When he found an opening to attack, he pushed Saitama’s character and struck.
“You-!” Saitama continued to mash his buttons furiously. “Because he read all of my shounen ones and started reading some of my shoujos. After that, I basically told him he needed to learn how to live like his age. It became this task for him to somehow become stronger.”
“Do you think it’s possible for him to get stronger?”
Saitama died in the game, once again, but he didn’t fuss about it that time as King’s question had caught him off guard. “He lacks power. All his strength depends on his mechanics. No matter how much training I make him do, it won’t make him physically stronger.”
As Genos and Miyu were walking, they’d occasionally run into more mutant bugs. The association soon gave Genos a call to inform him that all of them were to be considered as monsters. He understood and incinerated any that he sensed or came near.
Miyu looked at him from time to time as she thought about his mechanics. He functioned differently since he was a cyborg, so it amused her. “Hey.. what parts of you are human?” she asked him.
He looked at her and said, “It’s just my brain. Doctor Kuseno made me this way to appear more human. The skin you see on my face is just artificial skin.”
“I really need to thank you for taking me in, so thank you.” she said gratefully with a smile. “You’ve done a lot for me, and I’m not sure how I’m supposed to repay you.”
“I’m learning from you, and it’s been a difficult process. You have my utmost respect.”
“Even so,” her eyes softened. “It is a bit much.”
He shrugged and crossed his arms. “Things don’t always go as planned, like your job. I didn’t see any reason as to why it was such a bad thing that I brought you to Master Saitama’s place although I can see why to an extent after what you taught me. It can be a big misunderstanding.”
She nodded. “Yes, it really can be. “
It didn’t take too long for them to get out of the ghost town and get back to where most people roamed around. There were no more ruins of buildings and nothing but the clean city, for the most part. They walked through the markets to find suitable futons that would fit in the apartment and came to Miyu’s liking.
Around them were others that sometimes stared or whispered among themselves. Miyu took notice of the people around them and felt self-conscious, asking Genos if they could leave the area as soon as possible. He assured her that there were no threats around them, but that wasn’t her concern. After they made their purchase, the two headed home until Miyu got side-tracked.
“Genos! Could we try that?” she asked excitedly as she pointed at an ice cream parlor.
He turned his head to look. “Right now? But we have to take this back.” he referred to the futon that he was carrying.
“But there’s nothing wrong with getting side-tracked.” Miyu pouted with disappointment.
Genos stopped walking as he sensed something scurrying around. “Don’t move.” he told her, which she listened to.
“Help! HELP!” voices cried out from behind them.
The two of them looked behind them to see people screaming and running in terror. The buildings around slowly formed cracks. Luckily, the buildings didn’t collapse yet, but they looked severely damaged. Genos quickly told Miyu to run to a safe direction with the futon and that he’d find her later. She nodded and ran off.
The cyborg ran into the direction of the chaos. He used his sensors to track down his enemy and found a giant cockroach. He attempted to incinerate it, but it didn’t seem to work. “You’re a menace to most here!” he shouted at it.
It scurried around and spread fumes, making others around sick. The monster lunged at Genos with its legs and tried scratching him with them but failed. Frantically moving around, it flipped over to try to crush Genos, only to break the asphalt.
Genos pushed it down further by hitting it hard with his elbow. He jumped up and spinned with speed thanks to the boosters at his shoulder blades. It allowed him to attack the monster with more force. He noticed that his opponent had kept running through the shadows to avoid the light. He then yelled, “Lightning eye!” and his yellow irises began to glow brighter and brighter until it flashed a bright light at the cockroach.
It didn’t anticipate his move and saw the light head on. It became blinded from his eyes and struggled to maneuver around.
“Dual Blade Rush!” he shouted as blades came out of his arms. Genos slashed its head off, but the body still moved. “Machine gun blow!” he continued to fight and delivered a barrage of punches at a blinding speed until it didn’t move. From where its head was cut, he began to incinerate it from the inside then out.
From a distance, Miyu saw the whole thing and was proud but concerned. If Genos had to deal with such things all the time, then it’s no wonder why he was like that. As his mentor with manga and such, she felt like she had to take her part more seriously and be more responsible about it. Looking up, she saw Genos running to her after most thanked him for his help.
“Are you alright?” he asked as he took the futon from her hands.
She sighed and shook her head. “This isn’t normal..”
“Hm?”
Miyu grabbed him by the wrist and tried dragging him, which didn’t work since he weighed a ton. She persisted to keep walking despite her efforts not working. “You need to have fun!”
He began walking to help her out to save her the trouble. Genos looked at her hand on his wrist and asked, “What do you mean?”
“Gotta act our age, right?” she said with confidence as she looked back at him. “Don’t think too much about the futon. Let’s go around like yesterday but actually do something rather than a tour!”
“So how are we going to have fun?” he asked.
Miyu contemplated for a bit on how she was gonna word things. “Fun isn’t just something that you do that’s described. Something fun can bring you this feeling of enjoyment, excitement, you might say. Whatever’s done may not be considered fun based on preferences, and you can’t just always determine it based on how you see it. You should try it at least.”
Genos took a mental note on every word Miyu said. “Won’t this delay my goal?” he questioned.
“About the cyborg that destroyed your hometown?” she shook her head. “Not at all. There’s sure to be days where you don’t fight, right? Those days off of yours could be put into training, but you do that all the time! Even when you’re with me for our manga sessions, you’re mainly there for learning. You should at least enjoy what you’re reading too. The plot! It’s fun to get into stories.” she pointed out.
“Go on?”
“There won’t always be some sort of goal. Last night, you said you can count me as a reliable friend? Well.. I-I..” she sputtered. “I will be that! You can always look to both Saitama and I for guidance as advisers, but I will always promise to be your friend first.!”
Genos nodded firmly as he was determined to understand every concept she was teaching him. They soon stopped as they came to a stop at an arcade. He watched her grip slowly come off of him as she gestured to him to enter. He looked inside as the building was a bit dark. All the games mainly lit up the place whether it was an arcade game or a claw machine.
Miyu went up to the front counter and paid for two gaming cards. She gave the other to Genos and they walked around. There were many people inside with different age groups. It didn’t matter how old you were since everyone was able to find something that they were bound to enjoy. After walking around for a bit, she found one of those games that tested your strength and suggested Genos to give it a try.
Genos insisted it wasn’t a good idea since he’d probably break the machine, but she insisted to try either way and swiped his card. He gave it a swift jab without using his full force and punched the small bag. It immediately went up along with the numbers on the screen. He watched the screen stop at the number 999 and turned to Miyu. “And this determines my strength?” he asked.
She made a face and did a so-so motion with her hand. “Eh, kinda? Not really? I mean-..” she awkwardly laughed. “Normally, yes, but you’re a special case. Since you’re stronger than most people, I bet it would’ve excelled those numbers by a lot!” she assured him.
“That’s an obvious statement, but how will it tell me what I’m lacking?” he wondered.
“Genos,” she presented the game with her hand. “These games don’t really give you information like that. They just calculate your strength and its programmed capacity is 999. Who knows, technology is always advancing. Maybe some invention will one day give you an analysis for that kind of thing.” she told him on a positive note as she gestured to him to follow her around more. “You could try other games with that card. How about a fighting game?” she asked.
“I need to fight someone in here?” he questioned in shock. “That would not be a fair fight.”
She squinted her eyes at him and made a face. “What? No-” Miyu laughed for a second. “Haha, I need to teach you a lot. This is all still a lesson, but don’t fully think that way.” she told him. “Anyways, they’ll either involve joysticks, controllers, or guns.” she explained.
“Guns?”
“They’re just the controllers, don’t worry. They’re not real.” she assured him. “I can even play with you one some too!”
His tone changed a bit and sounded more interested. “Can you now?”
Miyu nodded and pointed at a game from across the room. “Let’s try that one over there!” she suggested as she jogged up to it happily.
He followed and looked at the machine. Genos noticed there were two sets of joysticks and buttons. “I assume you’ll use the other pair?” he asked her as he swiped his card.
She swiped her card and explained the controls on how to move his character. She taught him that the joystick was for movement and buttons were the attack moves and blocks. “Each character has their own attack style and strength level. Also, blocks will always work in this game as long as you’re facing the right direction. It doesn’t matter how strong your character is.”
“So these are what Master Saitama cannot beat King on.” Genos commented randomly.
“The guy that was over earlier?” she asked as the game started.
“Yes, he is ranked 7 within the S-Class heroes and is known as the strongest man on earth to many that follow the Hero Association. However, as much as I do respect his strength, I know that title doesn’t belong to him.” he explained.
“Because of your master, Saitama, huh?” she checked.
“Yes, you are correct.” he confirmed.
The two focused on their game as they continued talking. Genos’ character died in the 1st round as he was still getting used to the controls. Miyu gave him a tip on not to spam attacks unless he had a thought out attack combo at a good time. He listened and beat her on their 2nd round. When it came to the last round of their game, their conversation became more choppy since they were focused on beating each other. It didn’t take too long for the game to end as it ended in a draw due to them doing their special attacks at the same time.
Miyu then suggested they try shooting and racing games. Genos agreed and followed her around as she chose the games. When they came across the racing game, Genos would exclaim about how objects being thrown shouldn’t be involved since racing is about speed. He went on about how purposely bumping into each other’s carts and using items wasn’t a true race, which made Miyu laugh because it was just a game, and he was taking it too literally.
After trying racing games, Miyu made Genos try a shooting game next. They picked up the gun controllers and started shooting at zombies. She often reminded him that he couldn’t depend on his sensors to find out where they were going to come from and that he just had to pay attention. He listened and began moving his gun to face multiple directions to not miss a single shot. A few had caught him off guard since there’d be some that would pop out of the side of the screen out of nowhere randomly.
“Do you want to try a claw machine game?” she asked him then warned, “They’re kinda rigged though.”
“If it’s rigged, then why would people waste their time on it.?”
Miyu shrugged and answered, “Though it’s rigged, it’s kinda a chance thing.”
Genos declined the offer and asked if she wanted to continue. He was surprised to hear that she wanted him to choose, and he didn’t know how to react or respond. He peered from one of the corners of the wall to take a look outside and saw that it was still bright. “Do people usually stay in here all day?” hr questioned curiously.
She shook her head. “No, unless you’re a no life here, then yeah.”
“No life?”
Miyu assured him he wasn’t a no life and that he had better things to do than spend his days at arcades for many hours. “Do you want to use your points from games to get something in exchange?” she suggested.
Genos lifted his card up and looked at it for a bit. “I don’t see why I would want anything.”
She sighed. “Well, there’s bound to be something that you might really want one day.”
“One day.” he nodded. “I’ll tell you if so.”
“That’s great.” she smiled happily. Miyu felt like she was making some progress with him finding things to enjoy. “We can head back to the apartment for your manga session if there’s nothing else that’s coming to your mind.”
“That sounds ideal.”
As the two of them walked back, they continued to talk about other things whether it were about the Hero Association, Saitama, the arcade, or manga. Miyu slowly started to open up more as they talked. She went on about how she gets lost in the mangas that she reads and has a habit of re reading some because she liked them so much. Genos couldn’t relate, but he did his best to understand her point of view.
“Master Saitama seems to be really interested in the Sakura Hime series.” Genos commented as they crossed through into the ghost town of City Z. “The fighting styles are very unique. I haven’t encountered anyone like them, but I’m confident in taking them on in a fight if that were to happen. The only person I can think of that is similar, but not really, would be Sonic.”
Miyu held in her laughter and snickered, “Pfft.. Sonic.? Is he fast?” she asked him sarcastically.
“He’s very fast.” Genos informed her with caution. “When I first met him, it was difficult for my sensors to track his movements. He’s dangerous,” he turned his head to see her covering her mouth and quietly laughing. “Why’re you laughing?”
“Nothing, nothing.!” she giggled. “Did he wear blue?” she went on and burst into laughter.
He thought for a moment and said, “I believe he just had blue eyes. He was a ninja.”
With one slow nod, she listened. “How long ago did you fight him?”
“It’s been quite a long while.. I’m not sure when the next time we’ll see him again. He has something against Master Saitama. “
They soon arrived at the apartment. Genos informed Miyu that King still appeared to be there since he sensed two figures inside. From the outside, they can hear Saitama’s frustration over losing and King slightly mocking him. They awkwardly entered and minded their own business.
As Genos entered the living room while Miyu prepared dinner, he placed her futon at the side where theirs were stacked and began reading patiently. King leaned back and asked Genos about how his studies and training were going. He told him that they were going fine thanks to some help.As they had their small talk, Saitama trained in the game, hoping to improve himself and one day finally beat King in a match.
“I hear Saitama has told you to read manga.” King brought up as he sat at the table.
Genos carefully placed the manga down to give him his proper attention. “Yes, it’s been going well thanks to some help.” he referred to both his master and new friend.
“I see you have brought a new futon. You two took a while to get one.” he pointed out. “Did you guys run into some trouble?”
The blonde cyborg recalled the events regarding the cockroach that was in the city not too long ago. He expressed some concern over the cities as the rise of these monsters kept coming. “I’m speculating there’s some ties with the once House of Evolution from before, but Master Saitama and I had already gone before. He defeated its strongest hybrid, but the similarities are uncanny.”
“I’m heading to the Hero Association--” King was then interrupted by Saitama’s eagerness.
“I believe I can defeat you know!” Saitama exclaimed confidently as he gritted his teeth from stress.
“Maybe next time, Saitama. You can borrow the console. I’ll be taking my leave to avoid overdoing my stay.” he insisted.
“Wait!” Miyu called out to him in the kitchen. She peered from the kitchen’s door to look at the three. “You should stay for dinner.” she insisted. “We have more than enough food for 3.” her voice slowly faded as she felt like she was crossing some line, but she wanted to make the effort to get to know those around her new roommates.
Saitama agreed with her as he passed the controller to King. “Yeah! Do that!”
King rolled his eyes at Saitama’s antics and took the controller from his hands to quickly beat him in a match. “I’ll stay then.” he told them with gratitude. He then turned to Saitama with a plain expression. “You need more practice.” he teased.
Soon after, Miyu walked back and forth from the kitchen to the living room nervously. She didn’t want to spill the food she made, so she held one bowl at a time. Placing each bowl down carefully, her fingers trembled as the heat from them was somewhat getting to her. Back at the kitchen, she would quickly flail her hand for some wind to cool it off. As she brought the last bowl, they all thanked her for the food and began eating.
“This tastes good, Miyu.” Saitama complimented her. “I never had hitsumabushi like this before.”
She thanked him for his compliment and explained, “I thought it would be nice to eat it to avoid summer heat weariness.”
Saitama looked up at the ceiling with a blank expression on his face and replied, “Oh, that doesn’t really affect me.”
“Oh..” she laughed awkwardly. “Haha.. I see..”
“I can see why they hired you at that udon shop.” he added on.
Her eyes widened in surprise from King’s comment. She quickly swallowed the food in her mouth to avoid talking with her mouth full and asked, “You know I work there?”
He nodded in response. “Yes, Saitama was talking about it a while ago.” King turned to Genos and asked, “Do you think the food is good, Genos?”
“Doctor Kuseno gave me the functions of being able to eat, but I am unable to taste anything.” he explained.
Miyu gave him a soft smile but was internally a bit disappointed that her cyborg friend couldn’t taste the flavors. “That’s okay.” she assured him. “At least it helps with biofuel.”
“It always does, thank you.” Genos told her.
When they were done, King escorted himself out and thanked them all for having him over. They all said their goodbyes for the night and got ready to go to bed. Miyu insisted on using the bathroom last to avoid any further waiting for Saitama. As Saitama was in the bathroom, Genos arranged the futons around the table while Miyu cleaned the dishes.
Saitama slept by the patio door, as usual. Genos moved his futon closer to his as he placed Miyu’s futon where his used to be. After a while, the three soon went to bed, accepting their new routine. They all weren’t sure how things were gonna go, but there was a sense of comfort. It didn’t take too long for them to go to sleep, and Miyu’s week of break soon went by quickly.
#genos x oc#genos x reader#genos x oc fluff#genos x oc imagine#genos x oc oneshot#genos x you#genos x y/n#genos x reader fluff#genos x reader imagine#genos x reader oneshot#one punch man x oc#one punch man genos#one punch man#opm x oc#opm x reader#one punch man oneshot#one punch man oneshots#one punch man scenario#opm oneshots#opm scenario#spoiler#fanfic#genos#opm genos#saitama#one punch#one punch 2019#one punch hero#one punch season 2#spoilers
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Mini Fanfic #496: About Last Night (Ace Attorney)
2:29 a.m. at the Streets
Ema: (Sighs While Walking) This night could've been a lot better......(Turns to Klavier) Yo, Fop! You still got Justice behind your back?
Klavier: (Carrying an Already Asleep Apollo from Behind his Back) Yep.
Apollo: 'Zzzzzzzzzzz'
Klavier: (Chuckles Lightly) Honestly, I still couldn't believe our Herr Forehead here was such a lightweight drinker.
Ema: (Rolls her Eyes) I believe it. Knew we shouldn't let the dork join us on club night......Or even go to one at all tonight....
Klavier: Oh come now, Ema. There's no need to be upset here. Let alone towards Herr Forehead. He just wanted to spend time with us for the night is all. And at the very least, the night didn't get a lot worse than we thought it would.
Ema: True....... Plus, at least we know now not to never bring him to a bar again. Or anywhere near the drinks and bars.....(Pulls out her Phone to Make a Call)
Klavier: Making a call there, my dear?
Ema: Yep. I wanted to let the fireball know that her man is safe and sound.
Klavier: (Chuckles Lightly) I'm assuming you're talking about Fraulein Cykes, yes?
Ema: You assumed correct, Fop. (Already On the Phone, Waiting on a Call)
???: ('Yawns') Hello?.....
Ema: (Eyes Widened in Terror Once She Realize Who She's Really Calling) Shit!.....
Klavier: What? What is it?
Ema: (Turns to Klavier While Whispering to Him) I called Trucy by mistake!
Klavier: (Eyes Widened in Surprised) Oh.......
Trucy: Ema? Is that really you?
Ema: (Turns Back Around and Answers the Call) Oh! Uhhh.... H-Hey there, kiddo! How's the night treat ya?
Trucy: Okay. I guess...Is everything okay?
Ema: Y-Yeah! Of course! Sorry about that. I've must've called you by mistake.
Klavier: (Whisper into Ema's Ear) Ema, are you sure wise to not tell her about Here Forehead current state?
Ema: (Glares at Klavier While Whispering Back to Him) Whaddya talking about, Fop?! If course, we can't tell about what happened to Justice here late night!
Trucy: Wait. (Immediately Starts Getting Worried on the Other Line) W-What about Polly?! Is he okay?! H-He isn't hurt, is he?!!
Ema: (Damnit! She heard us!!) (Immediately Starts to Lie) P-Polly? What about him,m (Chuckles Awkwardly) Honestly. I have no idea what's you're talking about here, Truce. Really.
'Silence'
Ema: Trucy?
Klavier: (Whispers into Ema's Ear Lot more Silently) You.....think she would believe that or......
Trucy: Ema.......
Ema: Y-Yeah? W-What wrong?
Trucy: Are you lying to me right now?
Ema: Whaaaat? (Chuckles Awkwardly) N-No way! That's crazy!....Why would you think that?
Trucy: Cause you're showing a lot more emotions than you should right now.
Ema: (Already Starting to Sweat Bullets) T-That because I'm genuinely happy! I-I mean... What's wrong with having emotions here, huh?
Trucy: Nothing. There's nothing with having at all.
Ema: See? Isn't that-
Trucy: In fact, if you ask me, I'm showing a lot of emotions in this phone call right now....
Ema: O-Oh! I-Is that so?
Trucy: That's right. I'm tired, confused, worried, and about to go apeshit if you don't tell me what's going on with Polly in couple of seconds!
Ema: (Gasps While Being Very Surprised by Trucy's Sudden Profanity) Trucy!
Trucy: Don't you "Trucy" me, Ema Skye!! Don't think I didn't notice you whispering to Mr. Gavin on the other line a second ago! Speaking of which, Hello, Mr. Gavin!!
Klavier: (Taken Back a bit by Trucy Calling his Name) Oh! I umm....('Clears Throat') G-Good evening, Fraulein-
Trucy: NO TIME FOR FORMAL GREETINGS!!!
Klavier: O-Okay. W-Whatever you say.....(Chuckles Awkwardly till he Went Silent in a bit of Fear)
Trucy: ('Sighs Heavily') Could you guys please tell me what going on with Polly already?! Or do you want me to go out and find out myself?!
Ema: Okay! Okay! We confess! ('Sighs in Defeat') We took Apollo to a night club earlier tonight and....well....he may or may not gotten himself drunk right about now....You know...since he was a lightweight and everything.....
'Dead Silence'
Ema: Trucy? A-Are you still there? H-Hello?
Klavier: (Whispers to Ema's Ear Yet Again) You think she didn't take the news too well?
Ema: Probably not, Fop.....
Trucy: (Took a Deep Breath on the Other Line)
Ema: Trucy?
Trucy: Okay.....Let me get this straight.....And please.....do try to correct me when I'm wrong.
Ema: Y-Yeah. Okay, sure.
Trucy: Now, you mean to tell me that you two invited Polly into a Night Club......AND LET HIM GET DRUNK?!!
Ema: ...................When you put it like that, it almost sounds like it's a bad-
Trucy: IT IS A BAD THING!!! WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU TWO THINKING?!!!
Ema: Trucy, I know you have every right to be mad at us, but could you please try to calm down a little?
Trucy: ('Sighs Heavily') Fine....Sorry for yelling.....You could just please tell me where Polly is right now?
Ema: It's fine, kiddo. We totally get where you're coming from in all of this. Really.
Klavier: (Smiles a Little) And don't you worry about Herr Forehead. He already tired himself out to sleep on my back.
Trucy: ('Sighs in Relief') Oh thank goodness......
Ema: Hey, Trucy?
Trucy: Yeah?
Ema: Listen, I completely get it if you're still upset with us and everything, but...Please don't take it out on Justice. He just wanted to spend time us....Sure that in it of itself got him drunk to sleep, but... It's the truth.
Trucy: (Facepalms While Sighing on the Other Line) Oh my gosh...... Pollllly.....Why are you trying so hard to impress people?!
Ema: That's what I wanna know.....
Klavier: Ema.
Ema: What? It's the truth.
Trucy: Okay. Where are guys at right now?
Ema: Already out in the streets. We're taking Apollo back to his apartment right about-
Trucy: Wait!
Ema: Hm?
Trucy: I want you guys to take him back to agency.
Ema: You.....Sure you want us to do that?
Trucy: Yeah. Daddy had already left for the weekend to do an important case and I wanna make sure Polly's gonna be okay for myself.
Ema: Well, Alright then. Guess we're heading our way to the agency right now.
Trucy: Good. I'll let you guys in once you get here. I'll even let Athena know about everything that happened in the morning.
Ema: Sounds like a plan.
Trucy: Oh and Ema?
Ema: Yeah?
Trucy: ......Thank you and Mr. Gavin so much for taking care of my Polly tonight.
Ema: (Chuckles Lightly) No problem, Truce. Justice may be an idiot sometimes, but.... (Looks Back and Smiles a Little Towards a Sleeping Apollo) He's our idiot. We always got his back.
Next Morning at the Everything Wright Apartment
Apollo: (Groans While Slowly but Surely Trying to Wake Up) (God I hate migraines....Just what the hell happened last night?) (Finally Starts to Open his Eyes.....only to see....)
Trucy: Polly!
Apollo: (Yelps While Getting Himself Fallen off from the Sofa by Mistake) What the....(Look up and See Some Very Familiar Faces Staring Down on Him) Trucy?.... Guys?
Trucy: (Pouts Towards Apollo While Having her Hands on her Hips) You have a lot of explaining to do, mister!
Apollo: (Look Around the Room in Confusion) Wait. How did I get here?
Ema: Yeah....Fop and I was supposed to bring you back to your apartment last night, but your little sister here ask us to bring you here instead.
Apollo: Last night- (Eyes Widened Once he Immediately Realized what Ema was Talking About) Oh dear God....I was drunk that night, wasn't I?
Klavier: (Chuckles Lightly) You're starting to catch on quickly Herr Forehead. We're so proud.
Apollo: Shut up.....
Trucy: Alright. Enough fooling around. All I wanna know is why my Big Brother Polly got himself drunk at a club last night!
Apollo: You guys told her?!
Ema: Hey. In our defense, I did call her phone by mistake.
Klavier: (Shrugged) It's true.
Apollo: ('Sigh') Okay. Be honest with me here. How drunk was I that night?
Ema: (Smirk a Little) Drunk enough to fall yourself to sleep.
Klavier: I had to carry you on my back and everything.
Apollo: (Facepalms) Ah geez...
Trucy: Apollo!
Apollo: (Looks Back up to Trucy While being Startled) Y-Yeah, sis?
Trucy: If you know for a fact that you're a lightweight drinker, then why on Earth did you let yourself get drunk last night? Explain yourself, young man!
Apollo: ('Sigh') Look, I just wanted to able to spend time Ema and Klavier that night.....(Blushes a Little in Embarrassment) Even if it means getting myself intoxicated afterwards.....
Ema: Knew it.
Klavier: (Smiles Softly) If you really wanted to spend time with us, we wouldn't mind doing anything else, my friend.
Ema: Yeah. We could've just called up Wocky and play some Mario Party at your place.
Apollo: True.... But I thought that maybe if I'd go to the club with you guys, it would be another thing we could do other than just having lunch together and playing games. Sorry if I'd cause you two trouble......
Ema: Eh don't worry about it. As long as you're fine, it's already good for me.
Klavier: We had great time with you last night, Herr Forehead. Despite everything that happened afterwards.
Apollo: (Smiles a Little) Yeah......I had fun with you guys too.
Trucy: Well, I'm glad things are settledwith you three....Cause starting today, I hereby grounding you three weeks top, Apollo Justice!!
Apollo: (Eyes Widened in Disbelief) WHAT?! T-Trucy, you can't do that! I'm older than you!
Trucy: That maybe the case, but I'm daddy's little princess! And as such, my orders are sometimes absolute!
Apollo: (Facepalms) You can't be serious.....
Trucy: (Crosses her Arms) As serious as I can be. Plus, I already told daddy about what happened a few minutes ago and he agreed that you should be punished. So there you go.
Ema: (Gives Apollo a Teasing Smirk) Wow, Justice. Getting grounded by your own boss and sister? Really isn't your day now, is it?
Apollo: ('Sighs in Defeat') Whatever. I'll accept the punishment....I'm sorry for worrying you, Truce. Again.
Trucy: (Gives Apollo a Loving Hug) Polly, you know the only reason I'm being hard on you right now is because you mean the world to me. I love you.
Apollo: (Ruffles the top Trucy's Hair) I know you do, kiddo. I love you too-
'SMASH'
Once the sound of a kicked door starts coming into multiple eardrums, everyone in the living room turns to the door and see that it was none other than a furious Athena Cykes.
Athena: Apollo.......
Klavier: (Chuckles Awkwardly) Oh wow. Would you look at the time? W-We wish we could stay and chat, but I just remembered that we had quite a schedule today. If you excuse us....(Quick Makes his Way to the Door with Ema Follow Pursuit) We will see you later, Herr Forehead!
Ema: (Look Back at Apollo) We'll text you later.....If you could survive that is. (Left out the Door)
Athena: (Immediately Closes the Door Behind her Before Glaring Down at her Boyfriend) So.....What is this I hear about you getting yourself drunk last night?
Apollo: (Already Terrified) Tiger......I can explain.
Athena: You better!
And with that, Apollo gets scolded by his fireball of a girlfriend for the rest of the morning. Followed by receiving a nice, relaxing cuddle session afterwards with her and Trucy together.
@apollo-justice-for-all
@cyber-wildcat
@keyenuta
@26shann
@chompycroc
@ma-lemons
#ace attorney#ema skye#klavier gavin#trucy wright#apollo justice#athena cykes#phoenix wright (mentioned)#humor#friendship#fluff at the end#trucy is the best little sister to polly#slight justicykes#cuddling & snuggling#have to edited it again to make it perfect. sorry about that
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Absence of Good - 5
Chapter 5:Head Above Water
Hey everybody guess who’s back from hiatus! Okay, so this is a bit of a long one, which I’m actually rather pleased about. I took a break to let my creative muse simmer, and I think it turned out pretty good! Hotch kind of gets more of a spotlight in this chapter, which is important to me because I want to emphasize reader’s connection with the other characters and not just Spencer. What can I say? I’m a sucker for slowburn. Anyway, hope it was worth the wait! (This hasn’t been proofread so it might not be.)
Taglist: @dreamwritesimagines @rhabakoli
AoG Taglist: @pancakefancake @prettyboyspenerrr
Wordcount: 3844
Warnings: Generally disturbing themes. Mentions of death, sexual assault, drowning and other dark themes.
“War is what happens when language fails.”
-Margaret Atwood
You had never been more terrified of an assignment than this one. And that was saying something.
Through everything that had happened to you in your line of work, there had always been an element of a safety net. Despite all the danger, despite the horrors you saw every day, there was some comfort in the knowledge of two things. The first was that you would get to go home at the end of the day to your loving bed. The second was that you were not the target. You were not the target.
“Are you sure about this?” You asked Hotch, trying to hide the slight wavering in your voice.
“You’ve seen the pictures, Agent Y/L/N. I don’t think I need to tell you how sure of this I am.”
You swallowed thickly, holding the glossy images between your fingers. You hated the texture of them between your hands, had never liked the sticky grip of a fresh printed photograph stealing your fingerprints, so easy to mark up. It stressed you out. These photos did a little more than stress you out though.
“How…this is…”
“Uncanny,” Hotch finished for you.
You two were alone in his office, which should have meant bad news to you on any day, but you had hoped for the best. You had thought maybe he was going to tell you off for helping Reid prank Morgan. Perhaps he had actually called you in to tell you some good news. That had been too happy to hope for though.
“Yes. Uncanny,” you echoed.
“The message seems clear enough though.”
“Say it,” you whispered.
Hotch looked reluctant, like the words would sound almost as bad coming from his as they would from you.
“This unsub is obsessed with you.”
Every girl looked exactly like you. Some of the more recent kills had even been made to look more like you. Hair dyed, styled. One with colored contacts to turn her eyes your same vivid hue. No one could blame you for the single tear that slipped down your face and landed on the dark, lemon scented wood of Hotch’s desk. No one could blame you for your complete inability to look away from all of your dopplegangers.
No…not dopplegangers. Replicas. Created to be perfect mirror images of you.
You felt like you were going to throw up.
“Who-“ You cut yourself off.
“We don’t know.” You had never heard Hotch speak so softly, his voice a gentle murmur. “Agent Rossi and myself are the only two who know about this right now. We thought we should tell you before the rest of the team. We’ve been looking through old cases trying to find someone who escaped but we haven’t met with any luck. Which leads us to believe…”
“That it’s someone I know in my personal life.”
“Most likely.” Hotch’s face was grim, his mouth a thin line.
It aged him, you realized. Every time one of the members of his team was in mortal danger, the years seemed to pile on, making him seem 10, 20, 30 years older than he was. It was jolting to realize that Hotch was not all that old, not in the grand scheme of things. That to Rossi, he was young, comparatively. For a moment you felt you were closer in maturity to Jack, his son, than you were to SSA Aaron Hotchner.
“I’ll go tell the rest of the team,” you whispered.
You tried to move, but you couldn’t seem to do it. For a moment you simply did not have the willpower to rise up out of that chair, an island keeping you afloat just off the continental shelf of the ocean that was Hotch’s desk, a buffer between you two. The terror held you in place, eyes still glued to those pictures, to the broken bodies in them.
“You don’t have to,” Hotch offered, throwing you a lifeline. “Agent Rossi and I can handle it.”
You should have taken it. Should have fallen to your knees and blubbered out your gratefulness. That’s what any sensible person would do. Anyone who had not read too many fantasy stories of heroines who put on a brave face and too many textbooks about how the shock could make you numb to things. If there was anyone willing to play their own brain it was you, and right now you were ready to play it like a fiddle that would be too shocked to process your own grief and terror.
“No. I can do it.”
You wiped your face clean, unashamedly whipping out a compact mirror to make sure you still looked presentable. You didn’t have to bother hiding anything from Hotch. He could care less how much or how little you cared about your appearance, as long as you remained professional. You had always liked that about him. How comfortable he was to be around when it came down to it. How trustworthy.
You didn’t look like you had been crying. That was good. You would lose the respect of 75% of the office if you did, and that was a convenient thing to have sometimes.
“Let’s go,” you said, finally finding the willpower to stand.
You didn’t look at the photos. You couldn’t. Not if you wanted to hold on to the shellshock, the numbness that would buoy you through this briefing.
The bullpen wasn’t ready for your announcement. You could see them all gathered around Spence’s desk, speculating. You knew what they were doing because you had done the same thing on a few occasions. They were trying to figure out why Hotch had called you in, laughing to themselves, smiling. You almost couldn’t bear to tell them, to wipe the smiles off their faces.
You took a deep breath, squaring your shoulders.
Spencer was the first to notice. To see the stone look carved into marble features and to freeze, his amber eyes going dark. It didn’t take the others long to notice, to put together your clenched jaw and Spencer’s tense posture. If there was one thing they knew better than serial killers, it was the face of a bearer of bad news.
“What happened?” JJ asked.
“We have a case. Briefing room, now.” You got there before Hotch could.
There was no hesitation, only an icy edge to the air as you all headed to the briefing room, closing the door behind you. You let Hotch do the setup, the man knowing you well enough to know that you wanted those pictures behind you. You couldn’t look at them while you told the team. It was bad enough seeing Garcia’s gasp as she pieced it together, and Spencer…You could barely look at Spencer, first to pick up the pieces, first to figure things out, first to have a thousand emotions flicker across his face. He was angry, he was sad, he was sick, he was terrified.
You tried to start, but the words stuck in your throat, so Hotch gave you a push.
“We’ve all dealt with unsubs of a more personal nature in the past. As you can all see, this is, unfortunately, one of those times.”
“This unsub has a connection to me. Obviously.” You tried to keep the words from shaking, gripping the edge of the table to hide the tremors running through you while coaching yourself to get a grip. “At first, he chose victims who look like me. He’s become more manic though, with less time between kills. It’s no longer enough to wait for girls who look like me. He’s desperate enough that he doesn’t care what they look like, but meticulous enough to model them after me. Additionally, he is still careful enough to pick girls with similar lifestyles. Low-risk victims with strong educational backgrounds, all the same age as me.”
The words were starting to run dry as it felt like the world might slip out from under your feet. You were sure your legs were going numb, sure that someone was freezing all the blood inside your body in some kind of twisted science experiment. You knew he had frozen the bodies, kept them for a while to do things you didn’t want to think about right now. Oh gosh, oh gosh, oh gosh, you had to make it through this briefing, had to make the words keep coming, but how.
“We believe this unsub is obsessed with Agent Y/L/N, and knowing this we can only assume that as his cooling off period decreases the danger to Y/N increases. There is some good news though. The unsub seems to be deteriorating, which could lead him to make a mistake.” Hotch took over.
“How did so many of these bodies turn up without us noticing?” JJ asked, horror in her eyes.
“The unsub crossed state lines. He’s clever, very much so. Medical reports indicate that he keeps the bodies frozen for a period of time before dumping them, and there are signs of sexual assault, though it appears to have been done with a blunt object. Some of the bodies he brought across state lines, which only further complicates things.”
“But we’re going to catch this psycho, right Hotch?”
Morgan’s righteous anger was normally calming, but now not even he could reach through your panic.
“We’re doing everything in our power to track down this unsub now that it has been brought to our attention. I fought for them to let our team have this case, so I expect you all to be at the top of your game. Agent Y/L/N, for obvious reasons, will not be apart of the investigation, but rather will be in protective custody.”
You swiveled, your legs nearly giving out beneath you but not quite.
“No she will not be,” you protested.
“This unsub is targeting you directly. The safest place for you to be is-“
“Surrounded by my team. At best, cooped up here. But I refuse to be sidelined and tucked away in some safehouse Hotch. You said I probably know this guy. So who better to help track him down than me?” You appealed to Hotch’s sense of reason, that sense that always won out with him. “You need me for this Hotch. You can’t find this guy without me.”
Just when you thought Hotch would agree, Spencer stood from the table, slamming a hand down with more aggression than you thought him capable of.
“Absolutely not!”
You felt the blood rush back to your extremities as it rose to color your face, Spencer’s protest bringing you back to yourself. You clenched your fists, turning the full might of your own fury on him even as he stared at you with eyes that seemed to blaze with fire.
“Reid, she has a point. She’s the only one who knows the unsub-“
“So we’re just going to use her as bait?” You had never seen Spence so livid, his eyes tearing up with the emotion. “I won’t let you put her in danger like that, Hotch. She shouldn’t be anywhere near this case.”
“I’ll be wherever I need to be, and right now that’s here, Spencer.”
There were few people who could match Dr. Spencer Reid. His mother was one of them, an unstoppable force. The eccentric, immutable Gideon, you had heard, was another. You were the third, fire rising to meet fire, washing out any trace of ice, any danger of drowning that might have existed before this moment, this challenge. There were a lot of people Spencer Reid was good and entitled to boss around, but you were most certainly not one of them.
“It’s too dangerous, I won’t let you-“
“Won’t let me? Well I’ve got news for you Spencer, you’re not my boss. You have no claim over me, no say in what I do or don’t do. I’m helping with this case because if you ever want to find this guy, you need me.”
Spencer looked like he was going to say more, but Rossi interrupted him. A dangerous thing to do for anyone other than Rossi.
“She’s right, kid. I hate to say it almost as much as you do, but she’s right. A case like this, could be anyone. You know that. You also know it’s entirely possible that she’s the only person in the entire world who can connect the dots. We’re not just throwing her to the wolves though. We’ll keep her safe.”
You had never seen Spencer looked so betrayed as he had now, looking first to Rossi, then turning to the rest of the table in a silent plea for support. He found none. Reluctant as the team was, you had made your point.
Turning on his heel, Spencer stormed out of the room. You had half a mind to follow him, but it was Rossi who held you back.
“Let him go. He’ll come back soon. He won’t be able to leave you alone at a time like this.”
You didn’t know where Rossi’s certainty had come from, but you could hear it in his voice, and you decided to trust him on this. After all, you would have to trust your team on a lot until this guy was safely behind bars.
The next few days were taxing, to say the least. You had gone through just about every person you had ever met trying to figure out who the unsub was. People you were close to, people you had barely known, and everything in-between. You were about ready to give up, nearly asleep with your head on Garcia’s desk as she cast her sympathetic gaze your way.
“Honestly, it really could be anybody. Sometimes these guys just see you smile at them once in the street and they’re insane for you. They’re wacky.”
“You can say that again.” You sighed.
You were in an extra bad mood tonight. You and Spencer hadn’t been talking lately, not since your fight over whether you should be involved in this. Despite the fact that you were confined to Garcia’s office and that Hotch wouldn’t so much as let you go home, Spencer’s vow of silence did not lift. It seemed as though he was refusing to condone your involvement in this with words.
Which was just as well, you didn’t need him. That was what you were telling yourself. You were just cranky and on edge because of everything else going on in your life. Heaven only knew you had a right to be.
“Boy genius still not on speaking terms with you?”
To add to your stressors, Garcia had been getting unnervingly good at guessing your thoughts.
“I don’t want to talk about him right now. Any activity from the unsub?” You quickly changed subjects.
“Well I haven’t heard from them in a while, but let me ask my brown sugar.”
Deftly pressing buttons, Garcia dialed Morgan, putting him on speaker so you could hear too.
“Hey baby girl.”
“Hello my gorgeous chocolate thunder. I was wondering, could you perhaps update me on the situation?”
“For you? Anything. We just got done talking to the M.E. about the newest body. Apparently he’s now taken to dressing them up as cheerleaders, presumably in reference to Y/N’s high school cheerleading career. Anyway, not much else has changed about his M.O., nothing we’ve noticed yet anyway-“
“Wait…Morgan…did you just say he’s dressing them up in cheer uniforms?” You asked.
“I sure did. Why? Does that mean something to you?”
“Morgan…I was never a cheerleader.” You felt like all the air had been swept out of your lungs. “I don’t think this is about me.”
The team had all headed back to Quantico at record speeds, made faster by the fact that the unsub had been getting closer and closer to Virginia in his killing sprees. They were now assembled in front of you in the briefing room, but this time you hoped to shed more light on the situation.
“When I was 16, I fell in with a bad crowd. Well, not a bad crowd, but you know. Not my kind of people. I was a quiet book nerd and they were party people. Anyway, I was going through some things and I wanted to be cool, so I let them convince me to go to this party. Long story short, it wasn’t fun. The highlight of the night though, I remember, was this girl. Amber Melfort. She and her boyfriend got into this big fight, and it was obvious he was drunk. He hit her, hit her pretty hard, and she fell. Fell into the pool, and didn’t get back out.
Her boyfriend, as you may have figured out, was not a class act. I think he thought that if she really was dead then if he left her there nobody would know it was him. I don’t really know what he thought, to be honest. Don’t really want to know. Anyway you slice it, that didn’t sit right with me. He walked away, but I dived into the pool, fully clothed, and managed to drag Amber out. Did CPR, got somebody half-sober to call 911. At the end of it all, Amber pulled through and her boyfriend, Matt, got kicked off the football team.”
“No offense, but I’m not sure I see how this is related to the case.” Emily’s eyebrows furrowed.
“Amber was a cheerleader,” I said. “Whatever this is about, it isn’t just about me. It’s also about Amber.”
Emily’s eyes widened in understanding, as did everyone else’s at the table.
“It’s certainly worth looking into. Reid, you and Dave go interview Amber Melfort, find out whatever you can. Morgan, Prentiss, I want you to find the boyfriend and make a house call.”
You all collectively scattered, and you and Garcia went back to researching whatever else you could.
“Alright, looks like Amber lives alone not far from here. Apparently she’s been dating a life guard, irony of all ironies, and according to her social media…Oh, major bummer. Turns out up until a couple months ago they were engaged until she broke it off because he was cheating on her.”
“Poor Amber,” you said.
The girl deserved a break.
“Yeah. Okay, so anyway, she hasn’t had any contact with the boyfriend, Matt, in years. He doesn’t live too near here either, which might be why the killings started further out but seem to be circling in.”
“Any stressors in Matt’s life?”
“Oh beautiful baby doll you know that I already looked and weirdly, I have not come up with much. It would seem that, to all appearances, Matt is living the perfect life. In fact, he even just got married. And other than their status as Facebook friends, he and Amber no longer have any kind of connection. He hasn’t even liked any of her posts in over a year.”
You felt the wind get knocked out of you. “I guess my theory was wrong then.”
“Seems like that might be the case. I’m sorry angel cakes.”
You were more than ready to give up. You had been ready to give up for weeks, but now? Now you were convinced you were going to be drowned and buried in a cheerleading uniform.
It didn’t make sense. All of the signs had pointed to a connection to Amber, right down to the drownings which you hadn’t been able to connect before the cheerleading outfit. You were at your wit’s end when your cellphone began ringing.
You did a double take when you saw the number. Spence rarely called, but right now he was angry with you. It didn’t make any sense for him to call. Unless…maybe he had found something. Heard from Amber that there was someone else who was a potential danger.
You picked up the phone, hoping against all hope, only to be filled with cold fear.
“Y/N, it’s Dave. My phone is dead, but we’re on the way to the hospital. Spencer’s been hurt.”
“I’m on my way.” Screw the unsub, you were not leaving Spencer alone in some stupid hospital.
“Okay. Let me know when you get here.”
When you arrived at the hospital, you found Dave quickly and he explained everything that had happened to you. Amber had been the unsub all along, dealing with her trauma the only way she knew how.
Her fiancé cheating on her had been the stressor. Apparently Matt had been cheating on her way back when and that was what they had been arguing about at the party just before he struck her, nearly dooming her to a watery grave. In a twisted reenactment, she had been playing out her memories by killing not herself, but the girl who had come to save her, all in the hopes of gaining your attention. She had become obsessed with you and with your work, and ultimately it led to her revealing herself and having a shoot-out with Spence.
“Is he okay?”
“The doctors think he’s going to be fine. She only grazed his arm,” Rossi reassured.
You breathed a sigh of relief. “Can I go see him?”
“Yes, I think they’re allowing visitors now.”
You didn’t stay behind to listen to Garcia’s speeches about charts before charging ahead.
“Spence.” You breathed a sigh of relief seeing him awake.
He looked towards you and for the first time in days, a hint of a smile pulled at his mouth.
“Hey,” he said. “Did you bring me Jell-O?”
“No. But I can,” you said, turning to go get some.
“No! I mean, that’s okay. Don’t leave yet.”
He looked so pale under the harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital. A white bandage wrapped around his arm and nearly matched his skin as well as the sheets. The dark marks under his eyes stuck out even harsher for it.
You drifted over to his bedside, taking a hesitant seat in the hard, alcohol scented chair next to his bed.
“Listen…Spence…I’m sorry,” you confessed. “I’ve been stupid. When I heard you were hurt, all I could think about was how if you died I wouldn’t have gotten to tell you…Well, I wouldn’t have been able to tell you that I’m an idiot. You were only trying to protect me, and I’m sorry for not seeing that and respecting it.”
“No, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have gotten so angry at you, shouldn’t have wasted all that time being mad at you for being right. In the end, you were the one who solved the case and the one who saved the day. Even when you aren’t in the field you’re a brilliant agent, and I…I was just worried. I thought maybe I could lose you, and if I did…I don’t want to think about what would happen. So please forgive me for being so selfish and stubborn.”
You smiled softly at him, taking his hand and giving it a squeeze.
“Forgiven.”
He smiled widely at you, a smile you hadn’t seen since before the threat to your life. “I’ll take that Jell-O now.”
“Coming right up.”
“The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him.”
-G.K. Chesterton
#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fic#spencer reid oneshot#spencer reid imagine#dr. spencer reid#criminal minds#matthew gray gubler#matthew gray gubler x reader#tw:sexual assault#tw:death#tw:body horror#tw:selfharm#???#tw:panic attack#tw:drowning
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The Prime Suspect
Detective C.C. Tinsley is stuck. The investigation into the local serial killer is going nowhere, and more often then not he finds himself drinking to avoid the stinging pain of failure. Ryan is doing his best to help, but the discussions they have usually consist of Tinsley humoring him, while relaxing for the slightest bit in front of the only person who doesn't blame him.
It's almost been a year since the first murder, and sometimes, Shane just wishes he was never transferred here. Sometimes, he wishes he was never here at all.
.
.
.
Nine.
The body count.
The number that had taken to haunting his mind as it steadily rose while the months passed by.
Detective C.C. Tinsley sighed, dropping his head in his hands after going over his clues. For the… millionth time. It was expected really, considering that almost a year had passed with absolutely no suspects. The town had lost faith in his ability long ago, after the two- and three-year-old's died.
They were the first of many. Too many. Such young souls, not even given the chance to truly live before their threads had been cut.
It was already November. Close to his only friend’s birthday, now that he thought about it. Ryan had seemed more skittish than usual; he’d have to check up on him soon. Tinsley wished he could solve the cases before the birthday arrived, if only so he could actually celebrate with nothing weighing him down.
He sighed again, this time rolling his long-since empty glass around his hand at the reminder of what he was supposed to have figured out almost eleven months ago. It was jarring, going from the quiet routine of a small place, to the terror of knowing a murderer is on the loose. The calm before the storm, he mused.
Standing up, he began pacing, his unfortunate downstairs neighbors far too used to it by now. What could he do? Was he just too incompetent at his job? Would he even be able to prevent another death?
He paused, startled only by the realization that he had to meet up with someone soon today to discuss potential suspects, not that it ever made a difference. They had never had any leads, and it always ended in empty promises of figuring out the killer before the next gathering. Glancing down at his clothes, he thought it might be good to freshen up beforehand.
It really wasn't a bad idea, he decided, finally looking in the mirror. Hair matted, prominent and permanent eyebags, and a hunched, hurting back from poring over his notes everyday.
After washing up and grabbing his coat off the rack, he headed out.
Ryan didn't live too far away; a pleasant walk one might say, plus Tinsley was far past the point of caring if he got murdered on his stroll there.
He wasn’t, and managed to make it there unscathed.
Ryan answered the door, oddly nervous. Well, more so than he had been in the past.
“Tinsley? There’s, there’s something I really have to tell you.” His voice grew more panicked with every word, his hands shaking while he closed the door behind the detective. “So I’ve been doing some, some research on numbers and, and I think I figured it out. The pattern.”
Ryan pulled his friend towards the back of his apartment, grip tight and knuckles white, showing him the stereotypical wall of the ages, pictures, and drawings, all tied together with red strings. There were books piled up all around, a computer with far too many tabs open, and notes pinned to every surface.
Tinsley was first concerned for his friend’s mental wellbeing, it’s barely been a week since I’ve seen him last and he already seems to have lost his mind , then began inspecting all what he had collected.
“Nine murders, with seemingly no connection. I looked them up in order on a whim and they’re all, they’re all prime numbers. Two, three, five, seven, eleven, thirteen, seventeen, nineteen, twenty-three....” He drew in a sharp breath, before turning to the detective with a fearful look in his eyes. “The next number is… twenty-nine.”
“...How old are you, Ryan?”
“I’m, I’m about to be twenty-nine.”
“Shit!” The detective cursed under his breath, ignoring the tell-tale burning sensation of tears prickling at his eyes.
“I’m going to die, aren’t I.”
“No you’re not! Not if I can help it!” Tinsley burst out, grasping Ryan’s shoulders as he looked into the other’s eyes. The two stood there a moment, the wannabe detective having lost his fear for a sense of emptiness while the true one tried to calm down.
“When’d you figured this out? The potential pattern.” He hissed internally at the pessimistic voice in his head saying it wasn’t just a possibility.
“Not too, not too long ago. The start of this week.”
“And you didn’t tell me immediately? Ryan, buddy, your life is on the line, you can’t afford to withhold this type of stuff!”
“I was in shock. Still in shock.” He corrected, hands trembling as he tried to sit and sit still, fidgeting under the piercingly worried stare.
Tinsley took a deep breath, then cleared his throat before speaking. “It’s… I can’t say that it’ll be okay, but… I will do my best to protect you, even if I have to die for you. I’ve already disappointed the town, but I never want to do the same to you.”
Ryan immediately backpedaled, though the strange hint of a smile was lost on the detective. “No! You’re the only person in this place that even has a chance of solving these murders, please don’t waste your life on me!” He paused, shifting his tone.
“You’re more important than you’ll ever know, never forget that.”
***
It was today. The day his only friend in this stupid place turned the age that seemed to be next in terms of the recent serial killer’s modus operandi.
C.C. Tinsley was stressed. More than stressed. Panicking? That was a better word for it.
He couldn’t afford to fail, not again. Not with so much at stake. He’d insisted on standing guard outside Ryan’s apartment, occasionally checking in but mostly staying out. It wasn’t until he heard the door open, unaware of the board smacking him upside the head, that effectively knocked him out.
The next thing he knew was the pain of duct tape, a splinter from the chair he was stuck to, and the crazed grin of someone far gone, for far too long.
“Did you really think I was going to die? Poor little ‘Ryan Bergara,’ the guy afraid of his own shadow? The guy that consequently doesn’t exist?” He crouched, smiling sweetly at the man he’d been stringing along like a puppet since the beginning.
“You know, there was a reason I told you the pattern. Wanna guess?” Tinsley glared, but said nothing. Not like he could anyway, due to the duct tape over his mouth. ‘Ryan’ pouted, but continued anyway.
“Mere. Curiosity. That’s it! I always thought, I know so much about crimes and how to get away with them, why not take a crack at it for myself? I figured my best introduction to the world would be seemingly random but violent deaths, ranging from as young as two to a young adult of twenty-three!” He took a bow, pretending as if there was an audience applauding him and his ‘accomplishments.’
“And you wanna know the best part? I succeeded!”
Detective Tinsley scowled, struggling in his bonds, attempting to kick his captor but only managing to knock over the chair he was taped to.
Ryan glanced boredly at the display of the man he defeated, the one currently writhing on the stone cold floor. “If you still think you’ll escape, you’re very naive, Mr. Tinsley.”
The killer suddenly lit up like a Christmas tree, and pulled out his phone. Beginning to cackle, he looked like a madman ready to lose it at any second. Calming down, he shifted personas into the one Tinsley knew best, the one that was apparently just a ruse. He ran around the room then quickly dialed a short number, breathing heavily from the exercise. “He-Hello? Police? I’d, I’d like to report an attempted murder… I barely got away, but we all know the killer well. It’s… It’s our very own town detective, Mr. Tinsley.” He smirked, watching the pieces of his game fall into place while Tinsley’s face fell, then his eyes were practically screaming his anger. “I, I don’t know where I am, no… Can’t you try to find him before getting me? I’d feel safer if he was caught and behind bars… Okay, th-thank you.” The call disconnected, and unimaginable fury rolled off the newly-pronounced scapegoat in waves. Ryan merely beamed, succeeding in only angering his victim further.
They sat in silence for a while, if you ignored the grunts of rage and various shuffling coming from the detective, still on the floor. Eventually, Ryan decided to take the duct tape off, if only to hear someone else talk than the voices in his head.
Immediately biting his hand, Tinsley tore through the skin in an attempt to escape. All that did however, was annoy the person who could easily kill him. He sighed, tugging on his hand before giving up. “Is this really all you can do? Come on, I could have sworn I told you that I have congenital insensitivity to pain. It’s the reason for all my fevers.” Ryan pointed to the now bleeding hand. “I can’t feel this, sorry to burst your bubble dear.”
Tinsley spat out the hand, glaring at its owner. “You’re insane, and I will stop you.”
“That’s rich, coming from the man stuck to a chair. And are you sure I’m the insane one? You’re the one stuck in your mind.” He burst out laughing, wheezing a bit before talking again. “I’m just kidding, I bet you wish this was only a dream!”
Waltzing around the fallen chair, Ryan petulantly sulked over the stubbornly quiet investigator. “You know, the point of taking off the tape was to hear you groan about my win and your loss, yadda yadda ya. And that’s not happening, so it wasn’t even worth it! Gosh, all that effort wasted…” He pulled out the roll of duct tape, tore off a piece, then went over to put it on his ‘friend.’
Tinsley flew into action, pulling out his wrists that had sweat so much the duct tape didn’t even stick anymore, and punched the other man straight into the nose, breaking it instantly. Ryan got up easily, bleeding profusely but undeterred from stopping now.
Unfortunately that one punch was all he could do, as his legs were still attached to the chair. Even with his arms free, he still had fallen over in his original plan of escape, limiting him severely.
The sound of sirens startled the both of them.
Ryan glanced over to the window, surprised at his rather awful complexion, and the police cars pulled up outside the building. Then he sighed. “I really thought we’d have more time to play together. Alas, my destiny awaits!” Walking towards the entrance, he winked at the detective. “I had so much fun! Can’t wait for next time, my dear Mr. Tinsley!”
Throwing open the door dramatically, he wore a face not unlike that of a cheshire cat. “I’ll surrender now.” He said simply, looking over his shoulder to get one last glimpse of his confused captive. The small group of officers first headed past him, but all he did was say a few words before their weapons were pointed on him.
“You have the right to remain silent-”
“Anything I say can and will be used against me in the court of law, I know, I know. Just get it over with.” He held his hands out together, wrist side up, while the police kept reading out the Miranda Rights and cuffed him.
One of the members on the force went inside cautiously, and took in the sight of the downed detective, before taking out his knife and began freeing him from the tape.
“It, it wasn’t me,” He gasped, nodding towards the true culprit.
“We know.” Said the officer grimly, watching the proceedings of the arrest.
“I’m sorry, I was caught in his trap from the beginning, but he’s the one responsible. For the murders. I was just too blind to see it behind the facade he carefully crafted. Dammit, I gave him the information we had all this time because he was like a kid wanting to be a police officer when he grew up, and helping me out with so much research.” Tinsley dropped his head in his hands.
“I never thought he would be capable of something as sickening as being a serial killer.”
***
The next morning, Shane Madej, codename ‘C.C. Tinsley,’ turned in his badge. “Not fit for the job,” he said. “I don’t deserve it when I barely scraped through those cases.”
Ryan Bergara was put on trial, and his punishment was the death penalty. They say he was smiling all the way up until he met his end.
So, what’s next?
This small town suffered a total of 10 losses, if you count Mr. Bergara’s contribution. None do.
Mr. Tinsley moved to a place he was used to, a place where he fulfilled his need to have the hustle and bustle of a large city always able to be heard, lest the maniacal laughter and sharp pain of betrayal dig deep into his heart and ring throughout his head, teasing him in the voice of the person long since dead.
The nightmares still haunt him when he sleeps.
He wastes his life away, staying awake for as long as he possibly can to avoid them.
(It never works.)
One day, he simply…
Drops.
Dead to the world, dead to the dead.
It’s quite a shame, considering he’d been dead for far longer than that.
#shane madej#ryan bergara#buzzfeed unsolved#oneshot#murder mystery#angst#bittersweet#serial killer#shaniac#boogara#detective cc tinsley#not a happy ending
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You prided yourself on your ability to find the isolated kid and treat them better than anyone else would. It was your life motto. Granted, you were only a meager five years old, but hey, five-year olds can have life mottos too. The playground was a thriving mob, the squeaking of metal chains on the swings accompanying the laughter of children at play. The bright summer day brought hot slides and hornets, but the risks were worth it.
“Hey monkey brains!”
It seems the old-time bully was back. Even at seven years old, Bret Sorden was the biggest jerk on the playground, and he entertained himself by making kids bawl. This time, he and his friends had shown up on their mountain bikes, slingshots in hand, ready to terrorize whoever he reached first. You paid him no attention. That was all he wanted, so why give it to him.
“Hey you listen when I’m talking to you!”
You quietly closed your book and walked off, knowing full well he was too lazy to follow. After shouting some less-than-holy profanities your way, the boys rode off, hunting their next victim. Deciding it was time to stretch your legs, you took to walking along the cement borders encasing the playground in all its woodchipped glory. It helped you clear your mind and focus on your surroundings. As you neared a corner, you noticed a boy around your age weeping, his big alligator tears only accenting his deep brown eyes. In his arms he held a limp bird, its wing visibly broken.
“What happened?” His head snapped up, the mop of fluffy black hair resisting the movement and dropping onto his cheeks. Though his eyes were red and puffy, he was still quite handsome, and he seemed to have a gentle, princely air about him. You’d seen him a few times before, but he didn’t seem to have any friends, generally keeping to himself.
“Those mean boys shot *hiccup* shot rocks at her and hurt her *hiccup* wing. I don’t want her to die!” He buried his head in his lap, sobbing harder as his whole body shook.
“My mom has fixed broken wings before; we can take it to her?”
“Really!?!?!?” The tears on his cheeks were quickly wiped away, excitement practically dripping from him.
Seven Years Later
“Why are they even friends? She doesn’t deserve him.”
“He’s too cute to hang out with an ugly face like y/n.”
“Hyunjin would be better off without her.”
Their voices rang out of the small bathroom as you passed by. Shocked, you were rooted to your spot, unable to process the cruel remarks of you classmates.
“Oh look, there’s little miss zits right there. Stop being so selfish you little witch. Drop him, he’ll never love you. He’s mine.”
Your feet felt like lead as you stumbled backwards, slowly turning away and running.
“Go cry little baby. You’ll never live up to him.”
Best friend! Hyunjin stood stunned across the hall. How dare they hurt his Princess! “You’re wrong. I’m y/n’s. I love her. You are the one who will never live up to her.” Sprinting after you, he could see the sobs already wracking your body.
“Don’t listen to them. Don’t EVER listen to them. You are my world. You always will be. I love you.” He wrapped his arms around your shaking frame, calming you almost instantly. “Best friends forever. That’s a promise.”
Five Years Later
“PRINCESS!!!!!!!!!!” Two arms threw themselves on you from behind, pulling you against a rather large and comfy chest. “Hmmmm, did you get new perfume? You smell really good.”
“Pfft, you know I don’t wear perfume.”
“I know. I think it’s from your cute personality. It makes you smell like vanilla spice and cinnamon. It makes my heart flutter!”
You rolled your eyes and continued your stroll down the sidewalk. Best friend!Hyunjin was a soft little koala bear, but he was also the biggest flirt. You’d seen him grow from that sweet boy on the playground into a handsome young man. At first, he was shy and reserved, but you were his weakness, helping him blossom and grow. Part of his charm was his bubbly personality and his natural instinct to flirt, but sometimes you felt just a bit jealous at how easily it came to him to communicate with other humans.
“You better be careful, Hyunnie, or all that heart fluttering could give you a heart attack.”
At this he fell to the ground in fake panic.
“Oh no, call the hospital, I think I’ve gone into cardiac arrest. Y/n called me hun!”
You smiled through the pain of walking right into that one and began your path down the sidewalk again.
“Hey, Princess, where are you going?”
“Away from your dramatic flair, Jinnie.”
“You love my dramatic flair and we both know it.”
You giggled. “Are you so sure?”
He jumped up, running until he was right in front of you, stopping you in your tracks. “Y/n, are you trying to flirt with me? Because I’ll take you on a date anytime, you know that right.”
You just grinned, side-stepped him, and kept walking.
“Y/n!!! You didn’t answer me! And what was that cute little smirk for?” His bottom lip bulged outward as he pouted.
“You ready to study?” You redirected the conversation, hoping he’d drop the smooth talk.
“Ewww. I’d rather take a nap.”
“Well when you fail the exams, I won’t comfort you then.”
He sulked the whole way to your house, ignoring any attempt you made at conversation. You didn’t mind, comfortable silence permeating between you two. The moment you opened the front door, Hyunjin was gone, already roaming the contents of your pantry.
“Gosh, who buys all this junk food?”
You pulled him out from the shelf he was crawling on, shutting the door behind you. In his hands he held a pack of Oreos, and there was Cheeto dust gripping tightly to his fingers, the bag in a death hug.
“Hmmm, I don’t know, maybe you do so you have snacks when you come over.”
He grinned sheepishly and ran off, Pixie Sticks flying out of his pockets. You followed him to your bedroom, ignoring his sprawled form on your bed, pigging out on whatever else he had hidden in those pockets of his. In front of you sat a large list of subjects you needed to study and homework you needed to complete. Opening your math book, you started reviewing derivatives and working on your Calculus assignment.
“You’re so boring. We should go do something. I’m sure your parents wouldn’t care if we decided to go on a nice little date. In fact, I bet they’d be happy their daughter was dating, let alone dating a hottie like me. And they already know I’m a nice hottie, so they wouldn’t have to worry. Earth to y/n? Earth to y/n? Ugh.” You could hear him slide off the bed. Turning around you saw his legs still hanging onto the side, his torso scrunched on the floor, more Cheetos in hand. You ignored him and turned back to your work.
“Why won’t you pay attention to me? I wanna flirt with you more. It’s fun. You’re the most interesting person I know. Ooooo, are those pink stripes on your socks? I thought you hated pink. Maybe you don’t anymore. I might have to buy you a big fluffy pink teddy bear to keep you company when I’m not here.”
“Hyunjin. NO. I. STILL. HATE. PINK. And if you buy me a big pink carnivore not only will you be dead meat, I’ll force you to wear flip flop crocs with socks to school.”
“Ahhhh not the sock croc flop!” His piercing scream rang in your ears as he attempted to crawl under your bed, ultimately hitting his head on the metal frame. “Ouch!”
You could see the tears threatening to fall from his doe eyes, his hands cradling his head.
“Oh, poor baby.” You flopped on the floor, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders and pulling him in.
“HEHEHE I GOT YOU TO PAY ATTENTION TO ME!” His hands were at your side in an instant, tickling you.
“Hyunnie, stop! Ahahahaha stop, you turd hahahaha!” You attempted to pull away, racing towards your desk drawers, but that only trapped you in. You turned around, knowing Hyunjin was right on your tail. You didn’t realize how close he was though, his face mere inches from yours. A small giggle escaped his mouth before his expression dropped, noticing the close proximity a bit late.
His eyes held the universe, sparkling and full of promise. You could see in their corners the adoration for you, an infinite field of love. You’d never looked at his face this close. His emotions were raw and expressive, his face taking on a deeper form. You glanced at his lips, knowing full well what a mistake that was. Plump and full, they curved into a lovesick smirk. Looking back into his eyes, you held his gaze for what seemed like an eternity. What was he doing? What were YOU doing? Oh no, you’d been looking at him for way too long. You panicked.
“I…I uh….” You brought your lips to his cheek, giving him a small peck before running off to start dinner.
Best friend! Hyunjin sat in a stupor on your bedroom floor. Had you just…kissed him? It was only on the cheek, but still. His crush had kissed him! This was progress. Maybe one day soon you’d be ready for a confession. Oh, the possibilities!
Note: There is also a head cannon version here.
#stray kids#stray kids imagines#stray kids fluff#stray kids hyunjin#hyunjin#skz#skz fluff#skz imagines#skz hyunjin#hyunjin fluff
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What if one of the boys got amnesia? -Bird anon
oh my gosh i’ve actually thought about amnesiac Marvin a lot lol i think i started a fic once about Jameson like getting into his dreams and trying to make him remember. but yes that’s a really interesting idea!! like imagine Jackie slams his head one night while he’s out on patrol and when he wakes up he’s just - no memory. nothing. doesn’t know his own name. and he’s standing in this abandoned warehouse wondering what the hell is going on, so concussed he can barely stand up straight, desperately trying to remember anything.
he’d probably get his phone out and call whoever he texted last, someone call JJ. they pick up but there’s nothing but silence on the other end and he just starts crying so hard JJ knows something is wrong and hurries off to find him and help. it would throw their family into complete disarray - Jackie is the leader, and in some ways the strongest of all of them, and now he just doesn’t remember?? any of them?? anything?? doesn’t even know who Anti is???? it’s stressful to Jackie. he knows they expect something from him, but doesn’t even remember the person they want him to be.
Marvin would be dangerous without his memory, freaked the hell out and seeing enemies on every side. someone must have done this to him, right? his emotions run wild and he’s forgotten how to control his magic - he’s screaming and casting without meaning to, and then a stranger in a red hood is grabbing him to pin him down, and a doctor in a mask shoves a needle into his neck, and then he’s drifting. it would take him days to come to trust them again and everyone, Marv included, would be distraught. he’s quite proud and he’d be so humiliated by having lost everything he used to know and having to rely on everyone around him to tell him everything. but he grows very fond of Chase and JJ very quickly, which helps.
Henrik I can imagine losing his memory to protect himself from trauma, and it just leaves him so fucking numb. maybe he’s even dissociated enough to lose track of what’s going on for a while before, but then one night he’s just out with Chase or something and gets triggered and his exhausted brain just goes “nope” and blocks everything out. Chase looks over and suddenly Henrik doesn’t know him anymore - he’s just sitting there staring at him, his face white, terrified but unable to even respond properly. Chase drags him home, trying to be very very gentle with him, reassuring him his memories will come back soon - they have to, don’t they? everything Henrik knows and loves can’t just be wiped away, right? - but they just... don’t. he doesn’t know him.
Meanwhile Chase I think we just go missing for a few days and the others would be losing it with worry. did Anti kidnap him? or someone else, thinking he was Jack? or maybe he just couldn’t keep going anymore and he’s already gone? and then THANK GOD after days of patrolling for him Jackie finds him just wandering the streets, phone and wallet missing, beat to shit and exhausted and too terrified to go to the hospital. he bursts into tears as soon as he sees Jackie because he thinks he’s his twin and he lets him bring him home and wrap him up in a blanket and take care of him for a while. but Chase is just in hysterics and so low on dopamine he’s sleeping like fifteen hours a day. but Marvin’s got a good idea!! you know what’s most likely to make him remember in all the world? they call Stacy up and fifteen minutes later Chase is staring at these two little kids he doesn’t even recognize. And Izzy crawls up on his chest - he’s too exhausted to even sit up, but he reaches out to hold her steady - and she lies down to snuggle with him and whispers “I missed you, Daddy,” but he doesn’t even know who she is and he feels so much guilt he can’t even look at them and he locks himself in the bathroom for the rest of the day, throwing up and trying to find medicine to take too much of. he would not handle it well, but his brothers would all spoil him rotten, for what it’s worth.
Jamie, meanwhile, Jamie would switch between being absolutely ferocious and completely “please fucking protect me” terrified. he has spent his whole life being manipulated and he kind of wants to bite anyone who tries to touch him, but he can TELL that something is missing, that he should remember somebody, that there was somebody friendly and warm nearby and he wants them back but there is also someone dangerous and he knows it. so one day he threatens to melon-scoop Chase’s eyes off and goes sprinting off to hide with Marvin, but then the next day he’s sure Marvin’s going to kill him and he won’t let go of Jackie’s hand. I think he would respond really well to Jack himself - Jameson really likes his energy cause Jack isn’t as freaked out by this as the others (he’s walked all of them through waking up with no memory, he can do this too and he’s very calm even when Jameson’s angry) so maybe he goes to live with Jack for a while and the space really helps him. eventually Jackie starts taking him out to get in fights and it helps Jameson’s brain assign good guys and bad guys more easily, so he gets the chance to trust the others again.
Here, I found a snippet from that old wip about amnesiac Marvin! never going to finish it so you can check it out if you want
Blue dreams in halves and segments and slivers, looking at the sun through his fingers, scared to get burned.
He is magic more than mortal and he remembers it in his sleep, when joy surrounds him as an aurora the earth, and he sees the others before him, haloed in gold. He doesn't remember their names anymore, but still he knows them, knows their eyes, knows the joy in their faces. The word “family” is imprinted deep, deep on his heart, though it has been deeply scared over.
His master saw to that.
Still, in dreams in halves and segments and slivers, slivers, slivers of the man he used to be, he sees them.
There are four of them who are both familiar and unfamiliar, but only the three of them sit around him. Sometimes he cannot make out their faces, but there are flashes – the scarred smile of the head of the table, a hood drawn over his shadowed eyes, the worn, steady fingers of a man with icy blue eyes but warmth in the curve of his mouth, the dappling of freckles across the face and shoulders of the younger one, perhaps older than Silver, but not by much. He is the one who speaks, rapid and loud, a smile on his mouth most days, though sometimes the exhaustion that sits on his body is so heavy he seems to be an old man.
“One year older,” he says tonight. “Blow out the candles, dude!”
Blue blinks and adjusts in his seat, looking down to find a cake set in front of him, decorated with a single candle, flickering like a wave on its tiny wick.
He blows out the candles.
“What did you wish for?” asks the younger man.
“Oh,” says Blue. “I forgot to wish.”
Across from him, the other head of the table has slumped over onto the table. Tears run down onto the wood.
“I can't find him!” he cries. “I can't find him! Where has my brother gone?”
“Well, that was stupid,” laughs the younger man, still looking at Blue. He doesn't notice the weeping at his side. “Come on, you got to have some wish. It's your birthday – ”
He tries to say a name, but the word comes out distorted, as though it were spoken underwater, and Blue can't make it out.
Doctor blinks his cold blue eyes, adjusting his glasses and staring too intensely at Blue, who squirms under his gaze. He knows, somehow, that he's a healer, but there is very little else he remembers about him. Sometimes he catches a whiff of coffee off his clothes or looks over to see terror in his face or, at the sight of him, feels his chest flood with affection, but he does not know his name or what he means.
He just misses him.
You are not allowed to miss them, you are not allowed to think of them, look me in the eyes and listen, no one is looking for either of you!
“I hate these dreams,” he says, as the loud one continues to speak and the hooded one continues to cry and the doctor continues to look at him. “I always forget everything as soon as I wake up anyway.”
He gets to his feet and his vision flickers, revealing halves and segments and slivers: the flowers outside the house that he somehow knows are forget-me-nots, the bed upstairs that he somehow knows has constellation-patterned covers and sheets, a bracelet on the wrist of the boy in the hood that he somehow knows he gave him –
He isn't allowed to think about this. He isn't allowed to remember, no matter how much he wants to. He has to wake up. Steeling himself, he recognizes that the dream is a dream and he tries to wake himself up, distancing himself from the figures at the table around him as he always does, drifting back towards the darkness –
Silver grabs his shoulders. Blue screams.
Silver is the apparition that appears only at the very edges of awakeness, where the monster does not wander. Silver is always black and white, always clutching a clock in his hand, but the only thing Blue can ever see of his face are those two grey eyes, glowing with power, alive with determination.
Releasing his shoulders, Silver strikes three fingers against the palm of his other hand and touches his thumb and –
And Blue wakes up.
Panting.
Clutching at his heart with one hand.
At his hair, chopped short, with the other.
“Oh,” he whispers to himself, trying not to cry.
Banish the memories. Forget them. Stop trying to remember. There's no one looking for you anyway.
“Anti!” he calls, dragging himself to his feet. “I had another dream!”
His brother's voice drifts from the other room. “Of the strangers holding you captive?”
“Yes, please make it go away!”
The monster appears before him, mostly human today, though not quite. Its hands are wrong and it is losing a great deal of blood, enough that a mortal thing would be dead, or at least bothered.
“Don't worry,” says Anti, falling to its knees – knees, are those knees? Why are there so many joints? – beside him. “I'll make it all go away. Of course I will. I'll make sure the bad men never find you, little one.”
He kisses Blue gently on the mouth and drags him back under his spell, resisting the urge to murder the little nuisance before he gets out of hand.
No, he needs Marvin for a minute longer. Just a little while longer. Just a little while longer.
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Made of Love, Chapter 27
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Table of Contents
Ship(s): Logicality, (platonic) Prinxiety
All Characters: Thomas, Virgil, Roman, Logan, Patton, Dr. Picani, Joan, Talyn, and Deceit
Synopsis: Humans Roman and Virgil get wrapped up in some serious magic business without meaning to. Their other companions aren’t exactly as they seem, either. Together they all must defeat a great threat for the safety of humanity.
Chapter Desc.: Sometimes the spider gets an easy meal. (And, no, Virgil won't save it this time.)
TW: Cursing, violence, unsympathetic Patton, blood mention, injury description, body horror
Prefer to read it on Ao3? Click here!
“Virgil,” Patton started in an overly calm voice.
Roman grabbed Virgil’s hand. He wasn’t quite sure why he did it. Something urged him to. A need he didn’t quite understand, yet complied with anyway. Virgil didn’t pull away so it must have been fine.
"I know we don't have any reason to trust Dolos, but I want to ask you one thing," he turned so he could look at Virgil, "is he telling the truth?"
"I…" He squeezed Roman's hand. "I don't know."
Wrong answer.
Patton frowned. "How do you not know?"
"I-I don't know. I don't remember —"
He stepped forward. "Did you tell anyone or not?"
"No. I never said anything. I swear." He kept a tight grip on Roman's hand.
"Then why don't you know?"
Virgil spared a glance over to Thomas and Logan. They watched the scene in wary skepticism. "Because I… I think I did do it." He quickly added, "but not on purpose."
That still didn't quell Patton's rising suspicion. "What are you talking about?"
Virgil looked at Roman this time. And Roman wanted to take away that fear and doubt he saw. "When I left the house on my own — when I was attacked by that Figment — I think it saw where I came from."
"Oh, man," Thomas whispered.
Logan remained silent and Roman didn't know what to say, either.
But Patton. Oh, gosh, there was a hidden fury there Roman recognized right away. "So we've been found because you didn't listen to us? When we told you never to leave the house alone, did you think that was a suggestion? There was a reason we said that and it was to make sure no Figments snuck up on anyone."
"I think he gets it," Roman stepped in. It was just… crummy. An accident. A wrong place and a wrong time kind of a deal. There was no way Virgil would have known. "It happened. There's nothing we can do about it now."
"You think I can just let it go? We've been living here for nearly twenty years in secret. Nothing has ever happened to get Altair even close to knowing where we are until you two showed up."
Roman took personal offense to that.
"And now he can walk in at any moment because Virgil decided to take a nightly stroll with zero regards for his surroundings."
Everyone fell silent. Roman was partially fuming from the implication that this was all their fault. They didn't ask to be thrown into this wild story. Patton was the one that decided not to write them out in the first place. He was the one to agree with Thomas about telling them magic things. If he didn't want any nasty troublemaking little humans around, he should have said so before this whole thing even started.
"Logan, fuse with me."
Logan looked up in alarm. "W-what?"
"Fuse with me." He marched over to Logan and Thomas. "We need to make sure nothing gets in this house that we don't approve of and Picani is the only one that can do it." He held out his hand.
“I, I don’t —”
“Logan.”
Logan shut his mouth tight. His fingernails dug into his arm. "What if it doesn't work?"
"It's going to."
He shared an anxious glance with Thomas before staring at Patton’s hand in uncertainty. He made a reach for it but Thomas gently grabbed his wrist.
“Patton,” Thomas started. “You can’t just force him to do it.”
“I’m not. I…” He looked at Logan, seeing rare vulnerability over his face. He probably felt it — the nervousness, the terror. “I…” He sighed and dropped his hand. “I’m sorry. I’ll — I’ll find a way to do it myself.”
“Patton —” Logan tried to stop him from leaving, but Roman put a hand on his shoulder.
Once he was in the house, Virgil groaned and drew his hand away from Roman. “I’m so sorry, guys. I didn’t mean to screw this up so bad. It was an accident.”
“We know that,” Roman reassured. “Right?”
A loud silence followed. Thick and palpable, leaving a dry, bitter taste behind. Roman felt his confidence wavering.
After what must have been an eternity, Thomas responded with a quiet, “Right.” Logan remained silent.
Virgil frowned at the ground.
Okay, that sucked. Roman refused to let that be the end of it, though. “We should get inside before Thomas freezes to death.”
“Yes please.”
Inside, there was proof that something went on. It was a huge mess that spread between the living room and the kitchen. Glasses and mugs were broken, the coffee table was destroyed, and almost all the furniture was somewhere it shouldn’t be. In the moment it didn’t seem that drastic, but looking at it now was a different story. A tornado would have left a cleaner mess.
Thomas gasped and rushed over to a picture frame on the floor. It must have fallen off the wall. “Oh no.” He picked it up and glass pieces fell from it. The frame itself was unsalvageable, and the picture proved to be undetermined.
“Be careful,” Logan warned softly.
Thomas slipped the picture out of the broken half of the frame. At least most of it was okay.
“Maybe we should clean all of this up,” Roman mumbled as he looked around. The once neat rooms were a complete disaster. He didn’t think he’d ever see it like this. The house had always been spotless even on the worst days. "After we take care of ourselves first."
They also happened to be a mess. Thomas was soaking wet with a bleeding cut along his cheek. Logan's arm was caked in blood. Virgil had a gash above his eyebrow and Roman was sure he didn't get away unscathed either.
"I think we need to give Patton some space," Logan mumbled.
Roman frowned a bit, sensing tension he was all too familiar with. "Then we'll just have to do it the old fashioned way."
"We don't have a first aid kit or anything." Thomas set the picture and frame down on the breakfast bar. The trash can had been tipped over. "I think I have a box of band-aids in my room." He paused. "I think this proves we should get a first aid kit for the house in case of emergencies."
"I have one in my car. Logan can come with me to get it." He motioned with his head for Logan to follow him.
"You have a first aid kit in your car?" Thomas gazed at him in confusion.
"Virgil's not the only paranoid one." They walked around the fallen front door.
"Never thought I'd hear that," Virgil commented under his breath.
Roman led the way down the stairs to his car. He popped the trunk to get the first aid kit in the back, but before grabbing it, he turned to Logan. “Are you okay?”
“What?” Logan looked taken aback for a moment. “I’m fine.”
“Yeah, I’m fine too, so that’s why I’m asking.” He sat on the bumper of his car. “From one ‘fine’ person to another.” He attempted a smile but it fell flat. “Honestly, Logan, are you really okay? I don’t want to speak for you, but with what just happened with Patton right now…" God, why was this so difficult? "I’m just trying to say, that from someone who has also gone through some traumatic experiences, you don’t have to pretend in front of me.”
Logan hesitated. He schooled his expression, but there was a break enough to show he was afraid. “I would prefer,” his words came out choppy. Like he was choosing what to say as it came out of his mouth, “to put this whole incident behind us.”
Hm. “Alright, I get that. Just know that if you ever need to stop pretending, you can come to me.”
“I… appreciate that.” He shivered and seemed momentarily confused by it.
“Yeah, that’s what cold feels like.” Roman reached into the trunk and pulled out the first aid kit. “Let’s get back inside.”
They entered the house without a word. Virgil was the only one they saw. He picked up the tipped over stools at the breakfast bar.
"Where's Thomas?" Logan asked.
"In the shower." He picked up the trash can.
"Virgil, stop trying to clean up and sit down." Roman placed the first aid kit on the bar counter. "Logan, you sit down, too. We don't want either of you getting your blood all over the place."
Virgil complied with a bit of a curious look. "Who put you in charge?"
He popped open the kit. "No one. I'm just assuming I'm the only one that knows how to use any of the stuff in here." He grabbed a washcloth from the hall closet and ran it under the sink. Almost all of Logan's arm was coated in blood (it appeared to stop actively bleeding, at least), and there was no way all of that would come off with a tiny alcohol wipe. "Okay, Logan, either you take the shirt off or I'm ruining the rest of that sleeve."
"The shirt stays on."
"Works for me." He cut the rest of the sleeve to have better access to the gashes. They looked nasty. Long lines traveling down his whole bicep to the joint of his elbow. The center of it was the deepest part. Almost deep enough to see the tissue layers. An injury like this should be treated with something a bit better than a first aid kit, but that wasn't an option. He tried to be as gentle as he could cleaning the blood. The whole cloth was stained red by the end of it. "This next part is going to sting a bit." He ripped open a packet of antiseptic.
"Ooh, look at you, Mr. Boy Scout." Virgil smirked. It didn't make his eyes twinkle with mischievousness like it always did.
"Please. I could never stand boys my age when I was younger." He began applying the bandages. "One of my brothers is an Eagle Scout, actually. I went on almost every single camping trip with him and was there for nearly every merit badge. Kinda hated it, but I got some useful information out of it." He finished. It wasn't pretty, but it would hold. He was sure Patton would heal it after he cooled off. Well, he hoped. "You should be good for now."
He did the same with Virgil and then Thomas when he got out of the shower. He almost closed up the kit and set it to the side, but Virgil stopped him and reminded him he still had to do himself.
"Or I could do it. I-I mean I could try. You can tell me what to do."
"Just clean the cut and bandage it, you dork." He slid over the kit. "It's not rocket science."
Thomas and Logan sat together in the living room after fixing it up a bit. None of the sofas were in the right spots, but that was a problem for another day. Thomas created a little hovel of blankets that he hid under for warmth. Logan had one over his shoulders that he wrapped further around himself when a cold breeze pushed its way through the gaping doorway. It was clear that the concept of feeling cold was foreign to him. It's like he didn't know what to do about it.
"We have got to fix that." Roman frowned at the doorway.
Virgil snapped the kit closed. "The hinges are busted. What are we gonna do about it?"
"We can't just leave it wide open like that."
"We're not handymen, Roman. I agree with you, but how can we fix it right now?"
"It would probably help if one of us stopped brooding and used some magic." Roman couldn't help the slight contempt that leaked into his voice.
Virgil frowned. "He has every right to be mad. I just don't understand why none of you are on his level."
Roman matched his frown. "Because we’re being reasonable. You wanted to be alone. You weren't trying to hurt anyone. He's acting like you went to Altair himself and told him our address."
“It feels like it, doesn’t it?”
Fuck that. “Virgil, listen to me. It wasn't your fault. Patton's overreacting. How could you have known that there would be a Figment there at that time? How could you have known any of this would happen? It's unfair to put blame on you when you had no idea what it would come to."
Virgil fidgeted in his seat. Roman could tell he wasn't content with that, but he didn't say anything. Neither of them spoke about it further.
Roman stayed up late that night. Well, later than usual. He didn't want to admit that sleeping with Virgil was starting to help him sleep better, but it was true. For most nights, at least. This appeared to be one of the nights it didn't work. Whether it was being upset with Patton, or the stress of doomsday, or the continuing presence of his traumatizing childhood was up for debate.
But it was probably being upset with Patton. No other reason.
How could anyone blame him? Patton threw things way out of proportion. Yeah, it's upsetting, but it isn't Virgil's fault. It wasn't as if he chose this specific outcome to happen. Ugh, if he had to keep repeating that he was going to lose his mind. It felt like he had to defend Virgil from everyone — if he didn't then who would? Not Virgil, that's for sure. He was content with getting blamed even though no one had a right to blame him in such a way.
Roman sighed and covered his face with his hands. He had no idea why he was being so defensive. It was like something else took over him the second Patton pressured Virgil. He didn't know what it was and he kind of hoped it would go away. A very small yet persistent “I told you so” buzzed in the back of his brain, but he didn’t know what it meant. Who told him so? Told him what? How was he meant to learn something from it if he didn’t even know what it was referencing?
Goddammit.
He wasn’t going to sleep tonight.
~~~
For the first time in — well — forever, Virgil woke up before Roman. But, surprisingly, he wasn’t the first one up. The cocoon of blankets that used to house Thomas was moved over to Logan. Virgil untangled himself from Roman and stood up to look for the kid. Except he didn’t have to go very far.
Thomas sat at the breakfast bar, holding the photo from last night.
“Hey, kid,” Virgil whispered as he took a seat beside him. “Mind if I sit here?”
“Go ahead.”
Virgil tried not to be curious, but he couldn't help to let his eyes wander over to the photo. It depicted Picani in a floppy hat and bright yellow sundress with a large sunny smile. He was bent slightly to be closer to Thomas's height. If his hand was anything to go by, he was the reason Thomas's hat was backward. As for the rest of Thomas, one of his cheeks was smeared with purple paint, but his clothes had various other colors scattered about. He didn't seem to mind, as he smiled just as brightly as Picani.
"Are you doing okay?" Virgil turned his eyes to Thomas. He looked tired. Like some battle-weary soldier who wanted to go home.
"I miss him." He placed the photo on the counter but didn't look away. "I love Patton and Logan a lot, but…" He sighed, almost inaudible. "I just miss Picani. The longest I ever went without him was a few days, but now I haven't seen him in weeks. It's…" He trailed off once more and it didn't seem he knew how to pick it back up.
And Virgil didn't know how to do it, either. "We'll see him again."
"I hope so." He spared an anxious glance back at the pile of blankets that concealed Logan.
Virgil frowned, guilt sitting in his chest like a rock. He knew trying to help Logan got a lot harder. “I’m sorry.”
“What?”
“I kind of get the feeling I ruined everything. I let Altair know where we are and he sent Dolos after us. And look at this place,” he spun on his stool to motion to the disorder. The sofas were still messed up. There was a crack in the wall where the picture frame used to be. A broken coffee table, and a door being held in place by a kitchen chair, “if Altair decided to show up himself it’d be a lot worse.”
“I know.”
“And you’re just fine with it?" He spun back around to show his disbelief. "He could come here anytime and wreck this place again — and us — and it would all be my fault. Shouldn't you pissed about that?”
“I can’t be.”
"Why not?"
"That would be hypocritical." Thomas looked him dead in the eye.
He had a cold feeling in his stomach. "What are you talking about?"
A small, sad smile made its way on his face. "I might be the only person in the world who knows exactly how you feel.” Seeming to take Virgil’s silence as a response, he continued. “I was the reason Altair found my family. The reason Picani and I had to run away.”
Virgil paused to figure out how to word that he wanted more information without being tactless, but settled on, “How?”
“An accident, really. Just a couple of kids saying magic is real.” His eyes flicked over the picture for a moment, frowning. "I'm… a little upset, but there's no way I can be mad at you. Because I did the same thing." He took the photo in his hands. "Picani understood what I did was a mistake and I didn't mean for anything to happen. I bet he'd think the same for you."
"No offense, but I hope you understand why I don’t believe that."
Thomas frowned a bit further. Before he could say anything else, Patton walked into the kitchen. He looked… well, there was no accurate way to describe him other than awful. His glasses were missing, allowing a strong contrast between his bright eyes and the dark bags beneath them. A deep scowl remained on his face as he went about his morning routine.
“Morning, Patton,” Thomas greeted softly.
Patton mumbled back a reply.
“Did you sleep at all last night?”
“Not one bit.” His eyes were on the kettle, but it didn’t seem as if he was seeing it. “I spent hours trying to find something that I could be able to do, but I just — I just don’t have that kind of power.” He leaned against the counter. “Picani is naturally good at protection magic. Unless we have him, there’s no way this house is safe.”
Thomas brought up a fake smile. "Well, we just have to be extra vigilant, then."
Patton hummed in a way that managed to sound resigned yet disapproving. "Where's Logan?"
"Over there." He tilted his head toward the sofa.
"Is he okay?"
"I, I think so." He exchanged an uncertain glance with Virgil. "He didn't seem not okay. I mean, he has those bad cuts on his arm and they kinda look like they hurt, but he didn't say anything about them."
Patton stared into the living room blankly. "I'll heal it when he wakes up."
Thomas and Virgil exchanged another glance. "Patton, maybe you should — I don't know — rest?" Thomas looked at him warily. "Is it really such a good idea to stay up this long?"
"I'm fine."
Virgil frowned. "I don't think —"
Patton glared at him.
Thomas cringed and shrunk in on himself.
Virgil had half a mind to do the same, but the most he did was avoid Patton's gaze and keep his mouth shut.
"Let me know when Logan gets up." He left the kitchen.
There were a few beats of silence before Thomas whispered, "That could have gone better."
Virgil was inclined to agree.
~~~
Roman ran his sword through the dummy's chest and dragged it up, slicing through the wood. "He's being an ass." The dummy fell to pieces. "He can't just keep ignoring you like that."
"Evidently he can." Virgil watched the dummy spring to life. "Why are you so mad about this?"
"Because I am!" He sliced it in half and turned to face Virgil. "He doesn't have any right to be acting the way he is. He's making Thomas upset, and Logan uncomfortable. And me — pissed off." He turned back to the dummy once it built itself again. "I hate being pissed off."
Virgil didn't know what to say to that.
"If he got off his high horse for a second he'd realize what a jerk he's being." Roman readied for a proper round this time. "Maybe he'd stop seeing us as an enemy that he needs to get rid of."
An enemy.
The Machai elves are warriors, Virgil's mind provided him, feared creatures that don't back down from a fight. Is that what this was, then? A fight? Was Patton going back to his roots as a feared warrior to ensure his family's safety? Were he and Roman no longer considered apart of it? Or maybe just Virgil. After all, Virgil was the one to show Altair where they were hiding.
Roman, in a move Virgil was sure wasn't taught to him, evaded the dummy's pursuits to end up at its back. He flipped the sword in his hand with expert ease so it ran along his arm, and jabbed it behind him. The blade pierced through its stomach. "I told you we couldn't trust a Machai elf."
"I know," Virgil responded before his brain could catch up. Once he realized what the fuck just happened, he uttered a stupified and genuine, "wait, what?"
"What?" Roman looked at Virgil in confusion until he, too, was hit by realization. But it fell back to confusion. "Why did I do that?"
Virgil stared in shock before regaining his composure. "Objective complete." The dummies crumpled.
"I don't know why I said that." Roman seemed more confused by the second. "I, I've never thought — I don't know — why did that happen?"
Virgil stood up and walked toward him. "Tell me what you're feeling."
"I-I mean I'm confused —"
"No." Virgil grabbed Roman's free hand. "What are you feeling?"
"I…"
This wasn't the first time the two had a conversation like this, and it didn't seem it would ever be the last. "You know what I mean."
Roman hesitated, keeping his eyes trained on their hands. "I'm… I'm mad at myself. For letting this happen." He adjusted his hand to hold Virgil's a slightly different way. It was familiar. Like a distant memory. A dream. "I-it just, it feels like I should know better, or that I was waiting the whole time for something like this to happen. I don't… I don't get it."
Virgil didn’t quite get it, either. This was still a new and unpredictable thing for them. “Is there anything else?”
“Uh…" The tips of his ears burned a bright pink. "No.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“Oh, like you’re any better.” Roman tried to pry his hand away, but Virgil held it tight.
“You don’t have to tell me. I know I don’t experience all of this, this —” what was there to even call it? What was it? — “memory stuff the same way you do, but we’re in this together.” He put his other hand around Roman’s fist. “Whatever happened back then isn't going to happen now. We're going to be okay."
Roman looked up at him, meeting his eyes at last. And Virgil received another jolt of familiarity. Like something he hadn't seen in many years was finally being returned to him. It caused him to lose his breath. He had seen Roman's eyes before, several times, but in this instance — in this context — it was different. It meant so much more to something deep inside him. And then he realized he was staring at Roman like a wide-eyed idiot. But before he could find his voice, someone cleared their throat.
Logan stood there with a raised brow and a faint smile. He wore one of Picani’s pullover hoodies, which was a first, but it was much chillier today than yesterday. And since he was able to feel temperatures now, he needed something to keep him warm. Even if it was an oversized, pink hoodie. “Am I interrupting something?”
Roman and Virgil jumped away from each other, Virgil ripping his hands back the same way a child would drop evidence of being in the cookie jar. They rushed out a frantic and unbelievable, “No.”
It didn’t seem Logan cared all that much, however. “Be that as it may, it is rather convenient to find both of you here. I have something important to discuss.”
Important? That didn’t sound good.
“What’s up?” Roman pushed his bracelet back to his wrist, his sword vanishing from his hand.
And then Logan hesitated, which made Virgil’s stomach do a flip. However, it was more a hesitation for thought than reluctance. “Thomas needs to learn how to properly defend himself. If this trend of growing danger continues, he needs to be able to handle it on his own if it ever comes to that.” He adjusted his glasses. A rather telling nervous habit. “Considering Patton’s, uh, current reluctance, I feel you two are the obvious next choice.”
“Obvious?” Virgil couldn’t help the twinge of skepticism in his voice.
“Yeah, for once I think I agree with Virgil’s cynicism.” Roman put a hand on his hip. His tone was jovial and a bit sarcastic when he said, “I didn’t think you’d let us teach Thomas anything unless you thought you were dying.”
Logan didn’t react. Didn’t smile, didn’t frown, and didn’t deny it.
All joking manners seeped out of Roman. He stared wide-eyed at the tiny mage before him, who somehow seemed even smaller with the shadow of death looming over him. “Oh my God, you think you’re dying.”
“It is necessary that he receives training as soon as possible,” Logan continued, blatantly ignoring Roman. “It would be easiest if you were the ones to do it.”
“You mean it would be easier on him when you’re gone.” Virgil didn’t mean for it to come out so bitter, but he couldn’t believe it. Logan was accepting his fate as if it were a hundred percent possibility. And while yes, Virgil couldn’t deny that Logan surviving was a tiny sliver of hope to hold onto, it was still there.
Logan made a face Virgil couldn’t decipher. “Even if I wanted, I am unable to.” He briefly placed his hand over the injury on his arm. Roman replaced the bandages this morning. “I can’t move much.”
Virgil narrowed his eyes at the place the gashes would be under the hoodie. Since the dream and the incident with Brigida, seeing Logan bloodied was… not a favorite pastime of Virgil. To say the least.
“Weren’t you supposed to see Patton about that?” Roman asked.
“Yes.” He hesitated again, but this time out of nervousness. “But I could sense his anger before I even entered the room and decided it would be best to leave it be for the time being.”
Roman scowled. "I'm going down there."
Virgil caught his arm. "Cool it." He didn't want them at each other's throats. "Getting back on track here — Logan, you can't admit defeat already. There's still time."
Logan stared at him. Eyes are the windows to the soul as they say, and Logan was never an exception. They always showed what was going on on the inside. Right now, clear as day, Virgil could see just… solemn acceptance. Logan didn't expect to live for much longer. He took it as fact. There was no amount of convincing that would get him to see otherwise.
"It would mean everything to me," his words crawled out slow and tired, "if you two decided to do this. We can't always be there to protect him and I-I just… I just want him to have a chance."
Virgil felt Roman squeeze his hand. Virgil squeezed back. "We'll do our best."
Logan nodded, clenching his mouth shut tight.
They pretended they didn't see the sheen of tears in his eyes as he left.
~~~
Two days.
It had been two days since Patton blew up at Virgil, and it didn't seem to be getting any better. For Virgil, at least. Patton toned down his bitterness for Thomas, Logan, and even Roman. But Virgil still had to deal with the anger and silent treatment. It was kind of making him lose his mind.
He didn't know what he was meant to do. No amount of logical perspective from Logan or gentle reasoning from Thomas would make Patton cut it out. It wasn't fair. He wouldn't give Virgil a chance. That's all Virgil wanted. A chance. How was he meant to apologize if Patton wouldn't give him the time of day?
Fortunately for him, a blessing revealed itself in the form of the Theorist.
The one and only time Virgil was glad to see the damn bastard.
"Someone gave me a tip," he explained as he took a seat beside Roman. "Anonymously, of course. Not how I prefer it, but information is information.”
“Anything useful?” Roman asked as Virgil fulfilled a request of a bar patron.
Ever since that night seeing Patton's future, the Theorist would stop by more often. They’d exchange news, if any, and then he’d leave. Off to do whatever the hell he does. He was stupidly mysterious — far too dramatic for his own good — but it made Virgil wonder what a black market Seer does on his off-time. Or his on-time. How exactly does he operate?
“Depends on your definition of useful.” The Theorist frowned a bit. “It feels more like a rumor than anything else.”
“Rumors can hold a bit of truth sometimes,” Virgil grumbled. “Out with it.”
He earned an exasperated sigh for that, but also the point. “They say Altair’s camping out nearby. Probably wants to be close after that little break-in incident of yours.” He shrugged. “But who knows the real reason, if any. If you can’t understand someone’s motives, there’s no point driving yourself mad over it.”
Virgil paused, mulling over the guilt and the silent treatment and the ticking time bomb that was Logan. “Do you know where?”
Both the Theorist and Roman gawked at him. “You’re not actually going to look, are you?” The Theorist hissed in an incredulous tone. “There are no facts — no evidence. This could very well be a trap. Altair’s getting impatient and he’s done waiting around for Logan to just die. He could be trying to lure all of you out.”
“Then I’ll be the only one to go.”
Roman made a soft, startled choking sound. “Fuck that. You’re not going anywhere.”
Virgil sighed. “Roman.”
“No, Virgil. We don’t know anything about the person who dropped the tip or even if it’s true. Did you forget that the last time we followed an anonymous tip we almost died?”
“Well, what if this one is true?” Virgil tried to keep his voice down. No one else needed to know of their escapades. “We’re just going to wait for Altair to do something when we have a chance to stop him?”
“I’d listen to him, Virgil,” the Theorist shifted in his seat, “we don’t know anything about this, and if it’s a trap, it would be dangerous to go on your own.”
“We won’t know what it is unless someone investigates.”
“Then we’ll figure something out,” Roman pleaded.
“I have to be the one to do this.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m the one that messed up. I’m the one that put all of us in danger. I’m the one Patton is pissed at, and I need to make it up somehow!” The last sentence came out louder than he intended. Several people turned their heads to look at him. He stared, frozen, before ducking his head to avoid their gazes. “If you don’t give me what you know,” he said in a low, serious voice. “I’ll find it out myself.”
The Theorist scowled, not happy with this ultimatum, but he also wasn’t an idiot. “That little shop a few buildings down. It’s closed for renovations. Supposedly.”
“Wha — you —” Roman was stuck between betrayal and disbelief — “am I the only one still against this?”
“Roman, it’s gonna happen whether you like it or not.”
Roman stopped, an unreadable expression blooming on his face until it dissolved to a hard frown. “Then I’m going with you.”
Virgil blinked, mind slow to process what transpired seconds ago. “You… why?”
“I told you already. You’re my best friend. No matter what, I’m going to stick with you.”
And if Virgil felt something flutter in his chest at that, he ignored it.
“That’s almost sweet enough to make me sick," the Theorist commented with a coy smile. "Now, if you're done with your suicide pact, I'm gonna head out." He slid a paper across the counter to Virgil. "Do me a favor and text me after you get done so I know whether or not I should stop by next time." He slid off the stool and called back before leaving, "I don't do phone calls."
Neither did Virgil. He picked up the paper with a raised brow. When did he have time to write this? Whatever. Virgil shoved it in his pocket all the same.
"He has a weird way of hitting on you."
"If you say something like that again I'm gonna punch you in the throat."
The following afternoon, Virgil and Roman set out on their task. Virgil insisted that they not tell anybody. If the others knew then they'd try to tag along and Virgil couldn't have that. He was doing this to help them.
On the outside, the little store didn't appear out of the ordinary. It was a store closed for renovation. Nothing more or less about it. Supposedly. On the inside, it could be a very different story. But they had to get in to find out.
"How —?" Virgil was cut off by Roman covering his mouth.
"Don't say anything," he whispered. "The less you say the better. And try to look like you know what you're doing. No one questions confidence." He dropped his hand.
Virgil kept his mouth shut, but tried to convey his best, "what the fuck are you going on about?" look.
Roman simply smirked. "Come on." He strolled down the alley as if he had no better place to be. Virgil had no choice but to follow him.
They stumbled upon a little window near the back. It would be big enough for them to squeeze through, but not by much. Roman did a quick survey of the rest of the place, just to see, and confirmed this was their only way in. He also noted that there was a surprising lack of people for a place that was meant to be under renovations.
Virgil watched with mild fascination as Roman took control of the situation. He studied the window on his tip-toes before seeming to decide what to do with it. And the fascination grew as, with practiced ease, Roman went about forcing it open with an abandoned piece of scrap metal. Virgil had half a mind to warn him about tetanus before the window was opened, silencing any remark he was going to make.
Well. The sarcastic ones, at least.
“How the hell do you know how to do that?”
Roman gave him another smirk. The damn cheeky bastard. “If you’re locked out of the house a lot, you figure out ways to get back in.” He stepped back and motioned to the window with an almost regal half bow. “After you.”
Virgil rolled his eyes but heaved himself through the window anyway. Roman was a step behind.
They were in what must have been a washroom of sorts. Or maybe a laundry room. There was piping sticking out with hard floors and tiled walls. But no people. Staying quiet, they crept out of the room and down the hall. It wasn’t until the main room that they spotted anyone. A man, or rather, a Figment who took the appearance of a man. He wore an outfit from the 20s. The only reason Virgil could tell for sure was due to the resemblance of the outfits Logan and Patton first wore. But other than him, there was no one else.
Roman and Virgil shared a glance that seemed to convey the same, “well, at least we checked it out” mentality. The Figment was the only thing in the room worth of importance, as well. Nothing else stood out. Nothing else screamed evil or magic or both. It was a normal room with a bored-looking Figment messing with scraps left behind from an actual renovation. Altair, or any evidence of him, wasn't to be found.
“It’s rude to sneak around, boys,” a voice hissed behind them with a touch of amusement.
They both froze. It took them longer than they’d care to admit to get over the horrified shock and turn around. Before them stood a woman, a bit taller than average, with a wide smirk that showed off some sharp canines. If she came out of an 80s fashion magazine, Virgil would have believed it. And that was a bad sign.
“Oh,” she cooed as if addressing a stray animal. “You’re the humans. Gosh, look at how cute and fragile you are.” She walked forward, pushing them back and into the main room.
This was an even worse sign.
She acted… normal. Like a real person. Like Arlene and Brigida and Dolos. Created to always be slightly wrong, but more accurate than the first Figments they ever saw. And while that was very shitty, there still came the even shittier question… how the hell were there two of them?
The other one in question was right behind them now.
“I would love nothin’ more than to just squeeze you until you pop.” She clenched her hands into fists and scrunched her nose. "But I can't do that quite yet." Her eyes shifted up to the taller Figment. "Grab them."
That was enough to set things into motion. It all happened too fast for Virgil to keep up with. One second he was by Roman's side, the next they were separated with weapons drawn. The man followed after Roman while the woman stuck with Virgil.
She was different. So very different than any Magus Virgil had met so far. There was an air to her that told Virgil's most primal instincts to run away. Not in the same way a normal Figment caused. No, a normal Figment caused unabashed dread and fear like a coiled spring. What she caused was an instant fight or flight reflex. And the way she moved. It was… animalistic. Like Virgil was the prey and she the predator.
Hell, maybe she was.
In a quick flash, something shot out from her hand and towards Virgil's foot. He almost fell over when it hit. Not because it pushed him, but because it stopped his momentum. What the fuck. He paused to stare at it, confused when it looked like —
"Spider web?" He turned his eyes up to his pursuer, who stopped to smile at him. All teeth.
She closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, six more joined the movement. Positioned on each side of her face in rows. "You don't happen to be afraid of spiders, do you?"
"I prefer when they're nice." Virgil cut his foot free and took off.
She made a noise between a hiss and a growl before following him. She blinked, and her extra eyes vanished as if they were never there in the first place.
He almost staggered to a stop when he saw Roman get his sword yanked from his hand and tossed to the side. He didn't though. "Roman, are you okay?"
Roman remained on the ground. "It's like trying to fight Ty Lee," he groaned.
Great. Virgil didn't get a chance to help him. Another web caught his foot. This time he crashed to the floor. He cursed under his breath. For one, both of his daggers slid across the floor which left him simultaneously defenseless and deaf (the sudden, jarring sound of hearing things clearly was never pleasant). For another thing, his body fell forward while his foot stayed in place. Talk about a major owie.
"Virgil!" Roman moved out of the way of his own sword. His movements were stiff and sluggish, but not sluggish enough to be held down. He ran over to Virgil to help him up. "How the —?"
"My daggers." Virgil pointed uselessly at the floor. He almost fell over again without Roman to support him. Roman pressed one into his hand but kept the other. That might have been for the best.
"Aw, you guys are cuter than I thought," the Figment purred. Once Roman heard her, he was at Virgil's back to defend him. "Even when faced with defeat, you still put up a fight."
"No one's defeated yet," Roman countered.
He just had to open his stupid mouth.
Virgil felt webbing wrap around his torso, securing him to Roman with both their arms pinned to their sides.
"Fuck," Roman cursed softly like a bitter regret.
Indeed.
She approached them and snatched the daggers out of their hands as if neither of them had a death grip on it. To pour salt into the wound, she dropped them both at her feet. Within eyesight, but out of reach. "It would be so easy to squeeze you both right now." She walked around them, keeping her hands on her expanding web. "I'd give anything for it."
The other Figment simply stood by like a guarding statue.
"I don't think I remember this Spider-Man origin story," Roman quipped.
A short laugh left her grinning lips. "Inspiration had to come from somewhere, sugar." She stepped back, satisfied with the cocoon she trapped them in.
"What's stopping you from killing us?" Virgil asked. He hated everything about this situation.
"Self-restraint, really. But most of all, it ain't wise to kill bait." She shot a thick rope of webbing to the bottom of the cocoon.
"Bait?"
"Of course." She sent him a smile. "We need three others." The other rope of web went straight to the ceiling. She bent down to remove the webbing keeping them stuck to the ground, and then there they were. Hanging from a ceiling.
Ignoring the head rush and vertigo, Virgil retained his annoyed cadence. "You're going to wait forever, then. They don't even know we're here." He felt Roman stiffen against his back. Oh no. "Right, Roman?"
It took a second for him to respond. That second of silence was all Virgil needed to know. "I may have, uh, mentioned it to Thomas."
Goddammit.
"Look, I don't even have to see you to know that you're doing the 'Roman-how-could-you' face, but someone needed to know what happened to us if anything went south. You can't just charge headfirst into battle without backup."
Virgil grit his teeth. That was a solid point, but he was too upset to care.
"Lovely. It's only a matter of time, then."
Roman took a breath that signified a long-winded rant, and Virgil tuned him out on an automatic impulse. Roman's rants always consisted of exaggerated scenarios and how someone was wrong in many, interesting ways. This particular rant had a lot more curse words strewn about, some creative, and far more personal attacks on their captors. Virgil didn't think they cared about that.
The Figment pointed a finger gun at Roman, closed one eye as if taking aim, then a soft, "Pew," left her mouth as her hand mimicked the action. A gob of webs hit him right in the mouth.
Roman paused if only to process the turn of events then continued on his rant, muffled this time.
A quiet sigh escaped Virgil. This was all his fault. He should have listened to the Theorist. He should have listened to Roman. Now they were stuck here with an 80s, off-brand Spider-Gwen, and her stony-faced companion.
Not that he had time to stew in his self-pity for long.
The front doors burst open. Logan and Patton rushed in but didn't get very far passed the doorway. The webs on the floor tightened around their ankles like a Looney Tunes trap, binding them together. And much like a Looney Tunes trap, it sent them sailing in a direction they didn't want to be. Which in this case was hanging from the ceiling. Logan's pommel had fallen from his hand from the movement, and almost as soon as they were fixed in that position, the webs started crawling and wrapping their way up.
"Great," Patton huffed, crossing his arms. He grumbled something under his breath about hating spiders.
Despite the circumstances, Logan only seemed annoyed and inconvenienced by his predicament.
"Ooh, look what we have here," Gwen approached the other two with a large fanged grin. "Wait until the boss gets a load of this." She turned that grin to her compatriot, placing her hands on her hips. "Four outta five ain't bad."
Patton growled. "Over my dead body."
"You're getting ahead of us, elf." She spat out the word like it was venom on her tongue. "The boss wants to take care of y'all personally." Her eyes flicked over to Logan, narrowing in suspicion. "Is this the one all the fuss was about? You don't look like much."
"The spider said to the frog," Logan said in the most verbal form of an eye roll that Virgil has ever heard.
Gwen scoffed. She walked away from them and toward her partner. "C'mon, we need to tell the boss." She led the way to the back of the room.
Patton growled again, more annoyed this time. “Virgil.”
Oh, boy, here we go again. “So you’re talking to me now?” He regretted it as soon as it left his mouth.
Patton gave him a look that told him to shut up without any words necessary. “Don't start with that. You and Roman decided to go off on your own without telling anyone. Do you understand how dangerous that is? You both could have been killed.”
Roman made angry muffled noises.
Virgil agreed. “We were only coming to check it out. We heard that Altair might be here, and rather than dragging you all to a false alarm, I decided to see for myself and Roman stuck with me. I was doing it to help.”
Logan opened his mouth as if to step in, but closed it without uttering a sound.
“I think you’ve done enough helping already,” Patton bit back.
Virgil wasn’t sure if it was the blood pooling to the top of his skull or the rising anger, but his cheeks were on fire. “It wasn’t supposed to turn out this way. I didn’t intend for a Figment to follow me and give away our location, and I didn’t intend to be trapped in a spider web like a damn fly. None of it was on purpose. I didn’t want any of it to happen.”
“Then you should have stayed put!”
Okay. Okay. That was enough. “What do I have to do for you?!” He ignored the questioning and alarmed hum Roman gave him. “I’ve apologized — I’ve done nothing but say sorry to you — but that’s still not enough! What will get you to trust me again? What do I have to do to get you to understand? I did this so you would forgive me because I’m fucking sorry, alright?” Tears pricked at the back of his eyes, so he closed them, taking in a soft breath as well. “I’m so sorry.”
He continued to take purposeful breaths as to not burst into tears. God, he was pathetic when he was angry. “I just want… I need to make it up to you. Somehow. I would never do any of this on purpose. I have to do something to make you understand that.” He kept his eyes screwed shut. He couldn’t look at anyone. He didn’t want to. If he did, it would no doubt make the waterworks flow.
But a bright light in front of his eyelids made him snap them open.
The light slipped out of the webbing where Patton and Logan were and dropped to the floor. As it stood up, it morphed into Picani. Well, almost. He seemed more off than last time. Still with those mismatched eyes and mashed up clothes, but distinctly more… Patton. Something emphasized a bit more due to the menacing scowl on his face.
The Figments soon noticed the entrance of a new contender. Gwen turned with a sneer. “Abomination.”
Picani didn’t even flinch. “Normally I'd disagree.” He tossed up the pommel and snatched it out of the air when it turned to that familiar sword. "But this time I think you might be right." The action was so very Logan, but more articulated. Like this body wasn’t used to the movement and therefore couldn’t do it as smooth or as elegant as Logan did.
In the back of Virgil’s mind, he registered Roman wriggling around, but he didn’t put much thought into it. He kept his focus on Picani. The way he fought was like two people working together rather than one, with distinct styles of Logan and Patton popping up. This isn’t how it looked back with Brigida. There wasn’t any distinction when he fought with Brigida. He moved like one person. As if he had always been one person. Something changed.
Right as the stoic one moved to use Roman’s sword, it vanished from his hands. Virgil had a fraction of a second to think, "bracelet!" before the blade of a sword shot out of the web cocoon. Oh, Roman, you beautiful bastard.
“Roman, you’re a fucking genius,” Virgil cried out as Roman got to work on sawing away at the webs. It no doubt was a strenuous task what with the limited movement and weird angle and all.
Roman gave him a happy, proud hum.
After many minutes cutting away (and Virgil trying his best to help by pulling at the webbing), they broke free. They fell to the floor rather ungracefully, and with strings of web still sticking to them, but at least they weren’t trapped. Roman pushed his bracelet to his wrist and the sword vanished. He worked on prying the webbing off his face. Virgil scooped up his daggers, ready to help Picani if need be. Except he didn’t have to.
Weeds were wrapped around the Figments, coiling and squeezing tighter and tighter like a hungry snake until — well — until there were no more Figments. They popped into familiar plumes of smoke and Picani fell to his knees with the weeds following after. He heaved and gasped for air. And Virgil was on his feet in an instant despite the faint throbbing in his ankle.
“Picani.” His hands hovered near him, unsure and nervous. He didn’t know what would help or even if he should help at all.
“We don’t need —” Picani cut himself off. His conjoined voices were leaning towards the Patton side. He sounded angry. After a shuddering breath, he tried again, more gentle, “I-I’m sorry.” He curled his hands into fists. “I-I’m not e-exactly myself right n-now.” A puff of laughter. Broken. Fragile.
“Are you okay?” He took notice of Roman stepping next to him.
“N-not in the s-slightest.” He sat back on his legs, breath still shuddering. “We c-can’t hold it. W-we’re splitting apart — I-I can feel it. It hurts.” He wrapped his arms around himself as if that would keep him together.
Virgil swallowed the lump in his throat. He didn’t want to imagine how that felt — feeling yourself pull apart. “Then unfuse.”
“Not yet.” He looked up at Virgil. His eyes, despite being a clear distinction of two people’s, both displayed a genuine need for understanding. “Virgil, we…” He shook his head. “I. I-I am so very s-sorry. I’m trying… From, from whatever p-part of me in here that’s still Picani, I-I want you to know that I-I’m not mad. I understand it w-was a mistake. Patton is —” He gasped, arms tightening around himself — “h-he’s just afraid. We’re b-both terrified. Everything feels l-like it’s falling apart around us a-and…” A steady sigh left his lips. “Th-that isn’t the point. The point is, I-I don’t bl-blame you. You sh-shouldn’t have to apologize for something that wasn’t your f-fault.”
The only thought passing through Virgil’s head was Thomas was right. Of course he was. Thomas knew Picani better than anybody. It was dumb to ever doubt that. “Try telling that to Patton.”
A soft laugh leaked out of him. “I th-think he’ll be swayed.” As the words left his mouth, a drop of ink rolled out from his left eye. His faint amusement fell off his face, and he brought a hand to his cheek. More drops began to roll out like stained tears. He stared at his hand with wide, horrified eyes. The ink stayed smeared on his cheek where he had touched it.
Fuck.
Virgil tried not to throw up from the sheer anxiety he felt. His dream. Logan had black ink spilling from his eyes. He also said some rather gut-wrenching words, but that wasn’t applicable at this moment.
No one had the time to get over their horror, however. Picani clutched at his chest. His strangled scream was cut off with a quick flash of light and something that sounded eerily like the crack of electricity. Patton and Logan collapsed to the ground, unconscious.
An alarmed, “Shit,” left Virgil’s mouth at the same time Roman cried, “Guys!"
They ran over to the pair. They appeared to be breathing, at least.
"Well, what the fuck do we do now?" Roman turned to Virgil. "Are they okay?"
"I don't know!" He didn't mean to shout, but all his nerves were on high alert. “I have the same damn information that you do.”
“There’s no need to be so crude about it.”
“Roman —!”
A soft groan pulled them out of their panic. Patton's eyes fluttered open, but they were unfocused as they stared at the ceiling. He muttered, somewhat winded, "What just happened?"
"We were kind of hoping that at least you would know," Roman answered.
Patton sighed and rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses. "It feels like I exploded." He drew his hands back to look at them. Clean. As he slowly sat up, he already seemed back to his normal self. No evidence that anything happened to him a mere seconds prior. “Logan.” He hurried over to him.
“Is he okay?”
Patton placed a hand on his chest, mouth twitching in a frown. “If by ‘okay’, you mean alive, then yes.” He moved his hand to his cheek. “Logan — hey. You gotta wake up.” Nothing. “Logan, louljet, come on. We have to move.” When he didn’t even stir, Patton let out a near-silent, “please.”
“I don’t think he’s getting up,” Virgil said softly.
“Gemati.” Patton sighed in defeat. He pushed Logan’s bangs out of his face. “You’re right. We have to get out of here before anyone else comes.” He scooped Logan into his arms and lifted him as if he weighed nothing.
When they got back to the house, Logan continued to remain unconscious. That was a problem. Virgil knew very little about health, but he knew enough to know that remaining unconscious for this long didn’t bode well. Patton laid him on the sofa and sat beside him. Roman sat close by to talk to Patton in a hushed, concerned voice.
Virgil ignored them. He turned away, focusing his attention on anything that wasn’t Logan. He couldn't do this. Logan, laying there, looking closer to death than he ever had before… Virgil couldn't take it. He had seen this too many times. There were too many scenarios in which something similar to this occurred, and all Virgil could do was pray that this was one of the good ones. He didn't know what he'd do if… if…
God, Anxiety had a point, didn't he?
No matter what Virgil did, it didn't seem to take Logan any farther away from his deathbed. If this incident proved anything, all he did was bring him closer to it. And that — that hurt. He didn't want to be the cause of Logan's death. He didn't want that horrible dream to come true. He wanted to make things better. He needed to make things better. There was no way in hell Virgil would let Logan die because of him. No. There was no way in hell Virgil would let Logan die — period. If he had to sell his soul to fucking Satan himself he would do it.
He was going to save this goddamn family even if it killed him.
Speaking of…
"Where's Thomas?" Virgil allowed himself to look back. Logan still hadn't woken up, and it didn't seem to be getting any better.
"With Joan and Talyn." Patton pulled his hands away from Logan's chest, the blue glow fading from his palms. He sighed. "Nothing's working."
“Maybe we just have to wait and see,” Roman said rather solemnly.
Patton didn’t like that but relented regardless. If he couldn’t do anything as the one person in this house with magic, then there was nothing to be done. He gathered Logan’s hands in his own and squeezed them. He whispered something in his native language, almost like a prayer, then bent down to kiss Logan’s forehead. “I need a drink,” he sighed.
Roman followed him into the kitchen wordlessly.
Virgil stayed where he was. Waiting wasn’t easy no matter what you were waiting for. It was worse if you didn’t know when the waiting would stop. But the beauty of waiting is that it always stopped. In one way or another, at least. Sometimes it stopped in a way you didn’t want it to. Sometimes what you wait for isn’t what you’re expecting. Or, worse yet, it comes out slightly wrong. Twisted. It’s what you asked for, but not in the way it was meant to be. Like fate was playing some cruel joke on you because you waited — obedient, patient — for a reward you thought yourself entitled to.
Or perhaps you just had shit luck.
Logan cried out in pain. A sharp, desperate sound that made Virgil’s blood run cold. If it could have gone any colder it would have. Since the next thing that happened didn’t seem entirely possible. Logan — his body — vanished into thin air. For a second. He reappeared with a pained groan. And then it happened again. And again. And again. It came in quick random successions. His body just… flickered. It flickered in and out of existence like a flame in the wind. At the same time, black ink began to creep up his neck. Similar to other times it bubbled and swirled along his skin — except this time it wasn't isolated on his wrist.
Virgil faintly registered Patton shouting. Maybe Roman, too? He couldn't tell. Everything went quiet except his ragged breathing — the blood rushing in his ears. He couldn't look away no matter how much he wanted to. And he wanted to so bad. He didn't know what was happening. No one did. They all hovered around Logan, lost and afraid and — fuck — what was happening?
Then it stopped.
As quick and as random as it happened, it stopped. Logan shot up, gasping as if woken up from a horrid dream. All the black ink under his skin seeped back beneath his sleeve. "I-I'm okay," he rasped, not at all sounding okay. "I'm okay."
Patton had his jaw clenched tight. Once he was able to process, he let out a heartfelt and gutted, "Fuck." He hugged Logan. He cradled the back of his head and held him like it would be the last time he ever did so. "God, I —" He choked on a sob and buried his face in Logan's shoulder.
Virgil grabbed Roman's hand.
(Next)
#i hope you all appreciate#the 20 minutes i took#to italicize everything that needed it#because tumblr sucks#sanders sides#patton sanders#virgil sanders#roman sanders#logan sanders#thomas sanders#logicality#platonic prinxiety#unsympathetic patton#violence tw#blood mention#injury description#body horror tw#made of love
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Baby Fever
So here’s another fic. I don’t really know where I was going with this. Any feedback is always welcome and my ask box is open.
For some problems, Dipper could usually trace them back to a single event and find out what caused them. It may not be so direct all the time, rather more of a small snowball rolling down a hill, collecting more snow as it goes along until it forms a massive snowball.
This time, however, Dipper remembers exactly what caused the problem.
They were fourteen. Mabel was out with their mother getting a checkup while Dipper stayed at home reading a book on the couch. The door burst open and Mabel came running in the house and bolted upstairs with tears in her eyes, avoiding looking at Dipper. He put down his book and got up to follow. Something was wrong. As he approached the bottom of the staircase, his mother walked in and motioned for him to stop. He could tell by the look on her face that she was stressed.
“Hold on there, Dipper.” She said. “I think it’s best we let Mabel have some time to herself for now.”
“Why? What happened?” Dipper asked concerned. Ms. Pines didn’t answer right away. Instead, she sat down on the couch and patted the spot next to her. Dipper sat down and she reached out and took his hands. She wasn’t making eye contact, and the longer she didn’t speak made Dipper’s worry grow more and more.
“During the checkup this morning,” She said with a voice so small and that tugged on Dipper’s heart. “The doctor found out that Mabel can’t have babies. She’s devastated and I think it’s best we give her some time alone.” Dipper couldn’t believe what she was saying. Mabel loved babies. If anyone deserves a baby it should be her.
He waited on the stairs for about forty-five minutes, give or take a few. His mind was everywhere at once. This was such a surreal situation. He had no idea what to say, he just knew he had to be with her right now. Be by her side. He could hear her crying from her room, and every instinct in his mind told him to go to her, but he forced himself to wait.
When he no longer heard her crying, he quietly walked up the stairs and stood at her door. He took a breath before gently rapping on her door and announcing himself. “Hey Mabel. It’s me. I’m coming in, alright?”
He slowly opened the door and saw Mabel on her bed wrapped in her sweater. He quietly tiptoed across her room and sat on the edge of her bed. He looked down at Mabel silently sobbing in her sweater. He gently laid his hand on her arm. She shifted slightly and her hand popped out of the hem of her sweater in search of his. He held it tight as she took a deep, shuddering breath.
She peaked out from the neck of her sweater and Dipper’s heart nearly snapped in two. She had a look of sadness like none other he had ever seen in her. Her eyes were filled with tears. He knew immediately that her despair was immeasurable. She was heartbroken.
He wanted nothing more than to fix this. He would do anything. But even though he didn’t want to accept it, he knew this couldn’t be fixed.
===
===
As time went on, Mabel began to recover, but he knew she would never be able to fully move on from it. She was different. Ever so slightly. Most people wouldn’t even notice, but Dipper did.
There were a few times when he noticed her behaving differently. Sometimes when they walk through a park or down the sidewalk, he caught her staring at a mother and her child with a look that can only be described as envy and longing. He thought that someday she may be able to overcome it and fill the void, he hoped so.
Years passed, and one day in the middle of their junior year of high school their parents sat them down to talk. They sat across from each other at the dinner table, with the twins on one side and them on the other. The twins could tell it was something serious by the way their parents were acting. They didn’t usually have ‘family meetings’ unless it was something important.
“Kids,” Their mother said with a voice of excitement. She looked at her husband with a look of anticipation that he returned as they squeezed their hands tighter together. “Your father and I are excited to say that soon you two are gonna be older siblings!” She said excitedly.
“What do you mean?” Dipper asked cautiously. She wasn’t saying what he thought she was, was she? Ms. Pines gave another excited breath.
“We’re having another baby!” She announced merrily.
Dipper’s eyes shot open, he gasped and started coughing uncontrollably as he choked on his own spit. He was excited about the news, as he rightfully should be. But he couldn’t shake the worry of what this might mean for Mabel. His parents could see the look of anxiety on his face.
“Easy there, Dip.” Said Mr. Pines. “There’s no need to freak out over this. We’ve raised both of you, so one more baby won’t be too different. Just think about it; soon you two are gonna be older siblings! How cool is that?” Mabel was bouncing up and down in her seat in excitement, shaking Dipper by the arm.
“Oh my gosh, Dip! I’m gonna be a big sis!” She squealed.
“Alright, settle down now.” Their mother said with a grin. “We expect you guys to help out with things. Having you two was a lot of work, and this baby is gonna require a lot of care, so we need you two to pitch in.”
”Oh my gawd! I gotta tell Wendy and Grenda and Candy and ahhh I can't believe it!” Mabel squealed excitedly before running off, screaming in delight. Once she had disappeared up the stairs, Dipper turned back to his parents. The news was delightful, but he couldn’t help his worrying for Mabel’s sake.
“You guys don’t think this might be unhealthy for Mabel?” He asked. “I mean you’ve seen how she acts around babies. You really think she can handle this?”
“Dipper, didn’t you see how excited she was? Everything is gonna be fine.” Mr. Pines assured. Dipper still didn’t feel convinced.
His parents must have been able to tell, because his mother added, “Look Dipper,” Her voice was gentle and caring. “I know you’re looking out for your sister, and that’s really sweet, but we didn’t plan this. It’s not usual for adults our age to have another baby, but I can promise you this will be heavily rewarding, just like you two were.” He took a deep breath and looked her in the eyes. Immediately he knew she felt the same way; she was worried. The scars were still fresh, and what happened to Mabel had hurt them all.
“Okay mom, I trust you.”
===
===
The months went by with them performing their extra duties. They all had to pitch in to be sure their mother and the baby were healthy. Dipper had never seen Mabel so excited. She would always spend time with their mother if she could, holding her belly and pressing her ear against the ever growing bump. Like a child waiting to open their christmas gift. His worry began to melt away gradually as he saw how happy she was. She never seemed to be upset by any of it.
Soon their mother gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. Little Gabriel. He was so small. No bigger than a loaf of bread. He was so warm in Dipper’s arms as he slept peacefully.
Mabel was always excited to interact with him. Whether it be feeding, changing, or playing. Dipper also enjoyed it, and had eased back on his worrying about Mabel. He loved seeing her smile so much.
It might have been a side effect, but Mabel also seemed to be more touchy-feely and affectionate with Dipper. More sleepovers in the same bed, more cuddling time on the couch, and a daily kiss on the cheek. He didn’t think much of it— Mabel had always been affectionate, and judging by how joyful she was it seemed fitting. It seemed like she may finally be making serious progress, and Dipper couldn’t be happier for her.
As spring break was nearing, their parents had gone out for their first date night since Gabriel was born and had left the twins in charge to take care of Gabriel for a night.
Dipper had gone to the store to pick up groceries for dinner, and Mabel stayed home to watch after Gabriel. When he came back, he entered quietly since Gabriel was sleeping when he left.
He began preparing dinner, expecting Mabel to come downstairs and give him one of her usual hugs and a kiss on the cheek, but there was nothing. Not a sound.
Once he finished preparing dinner he went upstairs to find Mabel, but she was not in her room, so he assumed she was attending to Gabriel.
The door was slightly ajar, so he silently opened the door and stepped in. Across the room he saw Mabel in a chair next to the cradle as she held Gabriel in her arms. She hadn’t noticed Dipper yet as he looked at her. She had a deep look of love and affection that made him feel warm. He looked down at Gabriel and noticed part of Mabel’s shirt was pulled up and Gabriel was sucking on her breast.
Dipper froze. He wasn’t quite sure what he was seeing. In that moment Mabel looked up and made eye contact with him. She froze as well, and the loving look she had before was now replaced with fear. After a few seconds of their awkward staring contest she quickly pulled down her shirt and stood up. She took a step away from Dipper and pulled Gabriel closer.
“Mabel… what was that?” Dipper asked with trepidation. “What were you doing?” He spoke calmly, but serious. He forced down the anxious voice in the back of his mind to keep himself from panicking. He didn’t want it to be true, but knew the answer was obvious. “Mabel, were you… were you breastfeeding Gabriel?” She looked down at Gabriel, face suddenly flushed. Dipper was no expert in biology, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t how breastfeeding worked. “Mabel, hand me Gabriel.” He said, reaching out to her. She shied away and held Gabriel closer.
“No no no no.” She spoke quickly in panic as she shook her head. “Dip please you can’t take my baby.” He stopped dead in his tracks. His jaw dropped and the back of his neck turned cold. She looked him in the eyes with sheer terror. More pieces started to fall into place.
“Oh no.” He said quietly. “Oh no, Mabel.” He thought from her excitement for Gabriel that she had somehow been at peace with it, but clearly it hadn’t seemed to change much, if at all. “Mabel, I’m so sorry for what happened but Gabriel isn’t your baby.” Mabel began to cry. Her sobs were painful, and Dipper felt horrible.
Dipper extended his arms and she reluctantly but carefully handed him Gabriel. He put Gabriel back into the cradle before turning back to Mabel. She was curled up in a ball with her knees drawn to her chest. She was sobbing into her arms as they wrapped around her knees and shoulders. He knelt down next to her and wrapped his arms around her in a protective hug. She lifted her head up and their eyes met. He knew just from her eyes how much this tore at her, how long she had held this in. He wanted nothing more than to help her, to fix the problem, but he knew he couldn't.
Before he realized it, she was pressing her lips to his. Dipper completely froze, and his eyes were wide with shock. They both stayed there for a moment before she pulled away. She looked him in the eyes again, she was so scared. She became flustered, and was shaking as she quickly stood up. She started backing away towards the door, rubbing her trembling hands together nervously. Dipper had never seen her like this.
“Oh my god.” She said. “Oh my god, Dipper I’m so sorry.” She began sobbing into her hands as she quickly walked out the door and down the hall. Dipper heard her door slam shut a few seconds later.
Dipper couldn’t move. He was confused, shocked, but concerned. He didn’t know how to respond to this. It took him a while to really wrap his head around what is really going on. He didn’t want to even think it, but it seems like Mabel must have developed some sort of mother complex over Gabriel. Oh boy.
The more he thought about it, the more pieces began to fall into place; her behavior around Gabriel definitely seemed like that of a mother, she spent pretty much any time she could with him, and now the breastfeeding. Dipper knew this wasn’t healthy for her. Then there was that other thing. The kiss. Yeah, that thing.
What was that for? He didn’t want to think it, but he knew it was likely true; she was putting him in some sort of father position over Gabriel. They would have some nights where they would watch over Gabriel together. Mabel would usually lean into Dipper and rest her head in the crook of his neck as they looked down at the small baby sleeping gently. Thinking back, it seemed so obvious. Thinking about it made Dipper’s stomach tighten.
Mabel’s outburst must have startled Gabriel, because his cries suddenly filled the room. Dipper sat in the chair next to his cradle and gently rocked it side to side, Suddenly feeling so alone and so underprepared for this, so lost. Alone with his thoughts, and crying baby Gabriel.
You and me both. He thought.
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So this has taken a lot of thinking and I finally want to share my novel with the world of Tumblr!
Thanks to @rockmarina I grew some balls to do this. I’m about 7 chapters in right now, but with everything that’s been going on in my life, I lost all writing motivation so I’m hoping to share my work and getting constructive feedback from people I’ll actually get back into it?
Well, Let’s see how it goes.
Here’s the prologue and Chapter One, If people like it I’ll share more I guess?
(I made the cover myself too!)
Prologue:
London, 1887.
The last of the carriages lined the dark, stoned streets. Small flickering candles shone through the narrow windows of terraced houses. The light patter of rain hitting the ground could be heard, and the taste of thunder lingered in the air. The lampposts were slowly being lit, emanating a low, dim light to the streets below allowing Shadows to creep from the cold, dark alleys concealing the secrets and terrors lurking within them.
Men, women and children returning from their poorly paid jobs and arriving home to almost no food. A young beggar girl was sitting alone on the street, her pale face caved in, her body thin with the hungry passing of days. Women were forced to sell their bodies just to get their next meal, never knowing the dangers they were in. Everyday, working class people suffered as the high class lived in luxury. Their tables filled with uneaten and wasted food, their wardrobes brimming with garments of the finest quality and their homes warm and comfortable. These dreadful people only cared for themselves, oblivious to the fight some people must endure daily…
Wiley Walker and Celia Roberts have never been like the rest of their kind. They would always spare a shilling or two, sometimes some bread and water, to the young beggar girl. The two were kind and had both aspired to make a difference in the world in their own ways. Celia was a strong woman with straight brown hair, soft eyes to match and piercing rose red lips, She believed that women were not objects or prizes to be claimed by man, that all women had a voice and needed to be heard. She wished deeply to become a respected businessman like her father, knowing that would take a lot of work, yet she was ready for it. Firstly, she wishes to start small and state her right to not marry, not wanting her life defined by any man, even if she could decide his identity.
Wiley was the opposite of Celia. He was a quiet and reserved boy with lengthy ginger hair tied back from his pale, freckled face. His emerald green eyes contrasted his image. They shone with confidence and even power when his demeanor suggested otherwise. He was quite reserved in the presence of his family, giving into every one of their demands to keep the peace and to divert all of their attention away from him.
Wiley and Celia, although polar opposites, were best friends and had been from the age of 4. They confided in eachother about all aspects of their life, even if doing so was dangerous… Wiley had a secret, a rather large secret that he could never tell his family or anybody close. Celia was aware of this, of his forbidden homosexuality. No longer punishable by death, Celia had thought much less of this than Wiley himself. He detested this part of himself, as many others would if they discovered it. He had managed to keep it concealed for years yet, the truth would soon come out as he is soon to be married…
Chapter One:
The Roberts’ manor was an old and run-down place. Vines and ivy covered the chipped grey bricks that were barely holding together. The dark winter sky gave the house an ominous look. The leafless trees seemed to curl around the building as if to scare off any passers-by. The dark bayed windows glowed with soft candlelight as dinner was being served inside. The interior of the home was much more cozy and comfortable than the exterior. The dining table was being filled with food as maids plumped the velvet seat cushions and the butler set down the silver.
Around the back of the house was a rather large garden, the brightly coloured flowers looked out of place against the deep green grass and cracked stone paving. Under a canopy, to escape the lightly falling rain, sat Celia and Wiley.
Celia’s soft brown hair blew in the wind as she tucked a stray piece behind her ear.
“Stop worrying,” Wiley said with a small smile. His fingers found a small silver ring on his thumb and began turning it, “you will be fine.”
Celia didn’t reply. She continued to look out into the garden, her hazel eyes in a vacant stare. They both stayed silent, listening to the wind through the trees, wishing that they could stay like this forever.
“You know what’s going to happen,” Celia breathed, as if she didn’t want to admit it to herself, even though she knew it was inevitable.
“Celia-” Before he could continue, Celia threw her head back and pulled out the loose bun at the top of her head, catching him off guard. She discarded the long red ribbon to the floor and ran her long fingers through her hair with a sigh.
“Please, don’t say anything.” She sat forward, pushing her hair from her face. “I just want five moments peace before the chaos.”
Wiley bent down, plucking the ribbon from the floor and running it through his boney fingers. “Here, let me fix your hair.” he held out the ribbon in his hand and Celia smiled in response.
“Fine,” she said before wiley had began to make his way over to her. “You always have been good at these things.”
“Doing your hair?”
“Making me feel better,” Celia muttered, earning a toothy grin from Wiley.
“It will all be okay, you do know that, right?”
“Wiles… They’re going to marry me off to some egotistical bigot with a big, fancy job. He’s going to expect me to have his children, I don’t want anybody’s children.” Celia’s face flushed with rage as she massaged her temples. Wiley brushed his fingers through Celia’s hair, tying it into a neat bun using her ribbon. A few stray strands poked out around her head that Wiley had tried to tuck in.
“There.” He took a seat, crossing his legs and twirling his ring once again. “Do you remember Nicholas?”
Celia’s lip twitched before breaking into a large smile. “Gosh, that seems like so long ago,” she laughed. “We were both crazy about him, well, you were. I just wanted a friend.”
“It was at least 5 years ago now. He went off to marry, didn’t he?” Celia leant back over again, turning a loose hair strand between her fingers, her previous smile fading.
“That’s where everybody goes, Wiles. It’s where I’m going and it’s where you’ll be going when your family finds you a suitable woman.”
“I reluctantly await the day a woman wants to marry me.” He fiddled with his fingers on his lap. “How about Douglas, remember him?” Wiley asked,Celia didn’t reply. She leant back in her chair, closing her eyes in thought. She knew it was a touchy topic for Wiley and didn’t want to encourage him to talk about it when she knew he didn’t want to. “Where did he go? After your father chased him out, I mean?”
“I don’t know, that was the last I ever saw of him.” She replied quickly to move the topic on, sitting forward again and pinching the bridge of her nose. “I don’t want to get married, Wiles. I know that’s what’s going to happen today. They’ve been acting strange for weeks, I know they’ve found somebody for me.” A tear escaped her eye and Wiley quickly wiped it away with a handkerchief.
“You don’t know that for sure. I hate seeing you like this, Ci-Ci.”
“I’m going to miss this. Just us.”
“You don’t have to miss it, you know you’ll see me again. Whatever happens at this dinner.” Wiley stood, taking the smaller trembling girl in his arms with a deep breath. Wiley caught sight of a small, middle-aged woman waiting in the doorway. She had large bags beneath her eyes and her hair was a curled mess around her head. Her uniform was crumpled and covered in stained patches. She didn’t speak until Wiley looked at her with a raised eyebrow.
“Mr Wiley, Miss Celia. I apologize, I don’t mean to interrupt. Your parents require your presence in the dining room, your dinner is served.”
“Very well. Thank you, Sylvia,” Celia muttered. “Well, let’s go.”
They hastily entered the dining room and wordlessly took their seats at the polished table as the footmen served drinks. Both had tried to move unnoticed as their parents sat at the end of the table, yet they knew the silence wouldn’t last long.
“What have you two been doing all day?” Ralph Walker, Wiley’s father, was the first to acknowledge them. He looked much older than he was, with deep sunken eyes and prominent cheekbones. He was a very pointed man with a small but rough beard on his pale chin. “We haven’t seen you both since we arrived.”
“Apologies, Father, we were in the gardens.” Wiley flushed slightly and started fiddling with the ring once again.
“I don’t know what you expected, Ralph. Those two have never been apart.” Oscar Roberts, Celia’s father, was a very short and plump man with a round face and a balding head. He had very nervous-looking, brown eyes and didn’t like to speak up in conversations. Ralph and Oscar had known eachother since they were children and, like Wiley and Celia, they were inseparable. They had even started a business, Roberts & Walker, sticking together even after marriage. Wiley silently wished for a bond with Celia as strong as their fathers’, yet he knew that couldn’t happen.
Just as the footmen came out of the kitchens once again with their food, Celia’s elder brother walked into the room with a girl on his arm.
“Ahh, here he is!” A large grin spread across Oscar’s face as Celia’s eyes narrowed and her lips pressed into a thin line. Wiley noticed the look on her face and gave a small smile of reassurance. The two new arrivals took their seats at the long table, opposite from Wiley and Celia. Celia’s brother, Benjamin, was a very tall man for his age. His neatly kept brown hair was pulled out of his eyes smoothly and his face was clean-shaven. His wife, Eliza, was a petite woman with lots of tight blonde curls neatly sitting atop her head, tied together with a long pink ribbon. Celia had instantly disliked her from their first meeting. Her dresses were much too frilly and she wore too much makeup.
“Some whiskey, Benjamin?”
“Of course, Father.” Benjamin gave a smile and a footman appeared to fill his glass quickly. Celia looked down into her drink, twirling it around the glass.
“And wine for the lady?” the footman asked.
“I’m afraid I must decline,” Eliza answered quietly with a large smile on her red lips, “just water, please.” Oscar looked knowingly over to his son and Ralph smiled towards the couple.
“I’m assuming you have some news for us, dear?” Mrs Roberts asked cheerfully.
“Ahh, yes.” Benjamin stood, catching the attention of Wiley and Celia. “I am very pleased to announce that we are expecting a baby.”
The table uproared with cheers and congratulations from both families. Celia had taken no happiness in the news, she sat quietly, twirling a strand of hair between her fingers.
“So, what are you hoping for?” Mrs. Walker asked happily.
“A boy, of course!” Benjamin bawled and Eliza rolled her eyes.
“I want a girl.” She smiled, taking a sip of her drink.
“Well, any names?” Mrs Roberts asked with a smile, “What will I be calling my future grandchild?”
“Well Mother, we were thinking Oscar for a boy,” Benjamin glanced over at his father who grinned, his large cheeks slightly flushed. “And maybe Alexandra for a girl.”
“Oh, beautiful!” Mrs Walker chucked. Mrs Roberts laughed along with her happily.
“Let us raise a toast.” Ralph stood, tapping his class with a spoon. “To the happy couple!”
“To the happy couple!” They all cheered in unison - Wiley and Celia much less enthusiastic as everybody else.
After everybody had calmed down, the conversation turned to Celia.
“You’ve been quiet all evening.” Oscar eyed her harshly. “Any words of congratulations for your brother?”
Celia muttered a hum of reply before turning her attention to her food. She had completely removed herself from the conversation and soon it turned to the topic of marriage. She only began to tune in when Wiley was brought into it.
“Any ladies in your sights, Wiley?” Benjamin asked with a grin. Wiley’s face paled and his hands dropped to his lap.
“Uh, a few, I suppose,” he responded carefully, trying to hide the obvious shake in his voice.
“Too many to choose from?” Ralph joined the conversation with stern eyes before they almost instantly filled with amusement. “That’s my boy!”
“Well choose soon Wiley, dear. We expect many grandchildren,” his mother said sweetly. Wiley only smiled in reply, the kind of smile that only Celia could see straight through. He moved his hands from his lap and hesitantly picked up his cutlery, yet only managing to push a small pile of vegetables on his plate. Celia repeated Wiley’s actions yet as she ate, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the dinner was going unnaturally well.
The conversation had fallen quite silent before Ralph broke it with a clink of a glass. He stood tall, pointing his chin in the air with his chest puffed out. “Now that we are all comfortable and have eaten, I, we,” He gestured to Oscar, “would like to reveal the real reason we held this dinner.” His eyes seemed to omit light as he spoke. “Our families have been joined since we were young. We have a bond much stronger than many, and so do our children.” Wiley gave a small smile to his father and Celia filled with dread. “We know you both are coming of age and that you have your own ideas of who to marry, but Oscar and I both agree that our families deserve a stronger bond. Our company would stay within the confines of us; and what better way to do this than to join our families through marriage?” Wiley and Celia’s faces drained.
“Father—”
“Celia,” Oscar cut her off with a grin, “Wiley is the man you shall marry.”
Without another word, Celia rushed out of the room, tears filling her eyes. Wiley wished he could follow her…
“What do you say, Wiley?” Ralph asked, his eyes lit as if staring directly into Wiley’s soul. He knew he couldn’t refuse, but he didn’t want to agree, so he just nodded, keeping his eyes locked on the floor.
“May I—, can I—” He took a deep breath and stood from the table. “Allow me to talk to her,” he said, his voice shaking.
“Sit, Wiley,” Ralph ordered. harshly Wiley instantly sat back down. “You can’t seriously be against this.”
Thump.
“You two make such a delightful couple.”
Thump.
“I was convinced you would like this idea.”
Thump.
“She likes you, I’m sure of it.”
Wiley’s heart was pounding in his chest and he felt like the walls were closing in. His mouth went dry and it suddenly felt difficult to breathe. His legs had lost all feeling, as though he was turning to mush. He wanted to run, to escape this situation, but he knew he couldn’t. He couldn’t disappoint his father. But he also knew that he couldn’t marry Celia. He couldn’t be the one to ruin her life.
————————————————————————————————
So that’s it!
I’d like to thanks @piertotumlocomotherfucker for Alphaing a lot of this stuff for me even though we haven’t spoken a lot recently and I’ve been too much of a mess to write…
Gonna tag to signal boost too!
@justawynaut @secretlycrazyhummingbird @bellerixe @mushyperalta @do-your-thingg @gamerfreddie Ahh I don’t talk to anyone else so signal boost if you can guys, If not just ignore me.
Please let me know if you like it, I’d love to post the rest of what I have if you do! Likes and reblogs greatly appreciated!!
#Original Fiction#LGBT fiction#Fantasy fiction#Novel#Original Novel#Elliott writes and wants to cry#Miasma#Victorian Literature#It gets gayer I promise
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Seared with Scars - Chapter 6 (Mystery Nerds AU)
Hey, kids. Did ya miss me?
Trigger warnings for this chapter include: Smoking, PTSD, descriptions of graphic injuries, descriptions of miscarriage, and panic attacks.
I am so sorry this took so long to get out. That’s all on me. I hope the wait was worth it, and that you guys actually still care enough about to read.
Previous chapter
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“I survived, but it’s not a happy ending.”
- Tim O’Brien, “The Things They Carried”
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The guts of the gun sparked again, and a low rumbling of thunder shuddered in the night. Fiddleford wanted to blame it for his shaking hands, but he had always been a terrible liar, even to himself.
He set down his screwdriver with a quiet sigh, and chanced a glance up at the clock. 1:37 am. He had no idea why he didn’t feel more tired. Helen had long since downed the rest of her beer and gone back into the living room, swaying slightly. He heard the couch squeak loudly as she plopped down on it. Soon, Fiddleford heard her snoring softly.
She had not spoken a word to him in the time it took her to leave the room and fall asleep. Hadn’t even looked him in the eye.
After the sort of day she’d had, he understood. Pity played in his chest. She was a decent women. She didn’t deserve to be dragged into the waking nightmare that was Stanford Pines’ so-called research. It was clearly taking its toll on her now. He wished that he could comfort her, in spite of her current feelings towards him.
He’d been wracking his mind the entire time he worked, trying to find something, anything stashed away in there that would assuage her fears about Dr. Matthews. To ease her mind that her friend and colleague wasn’t the one who’d broken into her home and terrorized her. That he wasn’t mixed up in anything unsavory.
And sure, he knew that, even if Dr. Matthews was part of his flock, there was nothing to fear, but Helen didn’t. If he was being perfectly honest, he could see how the whole thing seemed rather off-putting. All the secrecy and hush-hush stuff might seem practically cultish to an outside observer, but now that Fiddleford had found out about the defect in the gun, it was easy to understand why he’d decided that the Society needed to work in secret. Memories that the gun tried to suppress could be called forth with any sort of trigger - a smell, a sound, even an errant thought about some seemingly innocent thing could force the unwanted memories to come rushing back.
And that was the last thing Fiddleford wanted. If he wanted to carry on his work, he needed to fix that when this was all said and done. It was all too important not to.
The front door opened, and he heard the merry jingling of dog tags as Ripley trotted in, right past the kitchen archway, and into the living room. Another jangling of the tags and a satisfied huff led him to believe Ripley had jumped on the couch to join Helen. The thought made Fiddleford smile. At least Helen could get some comfort from someone.
He was pulled out of himself when he heard the front door shut. Stan was still outside, had been since their argument. That had been over an hour ago.
Fiddleford sighed again, trying not to let that awful faded scar he’d seen dance too vividly across his mind. He reminded himself that, although the other man’s hardships were indeed tragic, that didn’t change the fact Stan was a brute - swearing at him and threatening him and tossing him about like an old ragdoll. Fiddleford’s shoulder ached a bit from the way Stan had wrenched it, dragging him downstairs, throwing him at the foot of that...that...monstrosity in the basement.
Stan Pines didn’t deserve Fiddleford’s sympathy, and he was not going to get it.
Fiddleford shivered again as the draft from the previously open door finally hit him. It had already been so cold out, and the storm wasn’t making things any better. It was probably freezing now.
If Stan had been on his own for ten years, he was certainly used to cold nights, possibly even colder than this. But just because you were used to something didn’t make it pleasant to endure.
His wrist throbbed again. No. Stan was choosing to stay outside, like a huffy child. He could freeze for all Fiddleford cared.
He lifted his screwdriver, intent on losing himself in his work once more. Stan Pines was not going to distract him anymore.
A gust of wind rattled the windows.
Gosh darnit.
Fiddleford set the screwdriver aside and got up from the table, trying his hardest not to scrape the chair against the wood floor too loudly and wake Helen. He even tiptoed past the opening into the main room, just to be safe. Aside from Ripley waking up momentarily to offer him a bleary glance, he managed to make it to the front door without any problems.
A frigid blast of icy air bombarded him as soon as he opened the door a crack. He thought about turning tail and running back in, but something stopped him. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to get anything done until he made some kind of amends with Stan. Apologize for his insensitivity, for all that Stan had been through, whatever. Just so long as Stan knew that Fiddleford wanted to make things right.
Bracing himself, he rounded the door, and was immediately greeted by the stink of cigarette smoke...
“I can’t sleep,” the man said, his cigarette burning down between his fingers. He barely seemed to notice as it was reduced to ashes. “It’s all I see anymore. You have to help me.”
Fiddleford shook his head. As welcome as memories sometimes were, now was not the time for them. He had to focus on what he came out here to do.
Leaning against the wall, partially illuminated by the weak porch light, was Stan. A cigarette was between his fingers, a trail of smoke drifting lazily from the tip. Stan himself was sopping wet, his red jacket plastered to his skin. His brown hair hung limply around his face. Stan barely seemed phased though. Instead, his surprisingly intense gaze was focused solely on Fiddleford.
Fiddleford tried his best not to shrink away. He’d come out here with a purpose, and he reminded himself that, no matter how intimidating this man was, he was still just a man, and one who’d been through quite a lot. The least Fiddleford could do was give him the dignity of not acting afraid of him.
After a moment or two of realizing Fiddleford was not going anywhere, Stan slowly blinked, then turned his gaze back out to the black forest just beyond the house. Fiddleford couldn’t imagine what was out there that he’d want to see, but if Stan was anything like his brother, he was sure that there was something, some mystery he wanted to solve or creature he wanted to study.
Fiddleford gulped silently, and took a step closer to Stan. After another moment of stamping down his anxiety, he said, “Hi there.”
Stan didn’t reply.
“I bet it’s cold in that wet jacket,” Fiddleford said softly, grateful that the rain had let up enough so his words weren’t swallowed up entirely.
Not that it mattered, since Stan didn’t reply. He merely brought the cigarette to his lips and took a deep drag.
Fiddleford pressed onward. “I was thinking about making a cup of tea,” he said. “Did you maybe want to come in and have some? It’d warm you up.”
The cigarette was brought away, and Stan held in the smoke.
“Maybe you and I could talk. Because I really think we need to.”
Stan tapped the ash at the end of the cigarette, and it floated down to the porch like gray flakes of snow.
“I…” Fiddelford faltered for a moment. Why wouldn’t Stan say something? Anything? How angry could he possibly be? “I just wanted to say I’m sorry about what I said. It wasn’t my intention to upset you. You were right - I didn’t know you existed until now. But if I did...if I’d known the sorts of awful things you’ve had to endure, I never would have said what I did.”
Stan released the smoke through his nose as he flicked his steely gaze back at Fiddleford, making him look positively dragon-like. It was almost fearsome enough for Fiddleford to forget his soft nature and go back in the house to hide. Almost. But then he caught a glimpse of Stan’s eyes in the pale yellow porch light.
There was no anger left in them. No malice. Not even any frustration. Stan simply looked tired.
Fiddleford felt as if he’d swallowed a rock. Taking another step forward, he hesitantly reached out his hand, and placed it on the cold, wet fleece of Stan’s jacket, and said, “I think you might benefit from having someone to talk to. You’ve obviously been holding a lot in.”
Although it might sound boastful, Fiddleford was very good at getting people to open up to him. He’d always been small and non-threatening, patient and understanding; the kind of person that made people feel comfortable about dropping their defenses. It’s why the Society had been so successful. He didn’t need to seek out new members; they came to him, desperate for his support and kindness to soothe their frenzied minds.
He offered Stan his sincerest smile as he waited for him to reply.
After a beat of silence, Stan sighed and shook his head “You ain’t interested in helping me,” he said, tone flat. “You just don’t wanna feel guilty.”
Fiddleford yanked his hand away from Stan’s jacket as if it were an open flame. “I...I beg your pardon?” he said. It was all he could think to say.
“I think you heard me pretty clearly,” Stan replied, bringing the cigarette back to his lips.
Fiddleford felt heat bubble up behind his cheeks, his mind groping for some kind of response. He found nothing. Finally, a little more sharply than he intended, he blurted out, “And I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. This mess we’re all in is hardly my fault. It wasn’t my idea to poke around with the dangerous things in this town. I didn’t want to come back to this house and relive this nightmare. And I certainly didn’t decide to build that thing down in the basement!”
“But you did help.”
Fiddleford closed his mouth so quickly his teeth audibly clacked together. As he turned away from Stan’s gaze, his mind belched forth an image, an image of Stanford excitedly explaining his plans for the portal to him. A warmth, a feeling of giddy anticipation, blossomed in Fiddleford’s chest, spreading out and into his fingers and toes. He’d shared his former partner’s enthusiasm. They’d been ecstatic to start such a monumental feat together, to reach new heights of achievement and understanding. He’d wanted to make the portal as much as Stanford had.
But that was before the incident. Before whatever happened that drove Fiddleford away. The memory was still hidden away, beneath layers of fog and protection, and he knew it was better off that way. He gave his head a shake and said firmly, “I didn’t know what we were doing. I didn’t know where that awful gateway would lead. And once I did, that was it. I walked out and didn’t look back.”
“But you stayed in Gravity Falls.”
Fiddleford whipped his head around to face Stan again. The other man looked completely unfazed, like he’d made a casual remark about the rotten weather.
Stan continued, “You had a wife and kid waiting for you back in California. A pet project that Ford said you were pretty interested in. Hell, the reason he never tried to help you till now is because that’s what he assumed you did.” Stan flicked the stub of his cigarette away. Fiddleford heard it hiss softly as it landed in the wet darkness beyond the porch. And then that intense gaze was on him again as Stan asked, “You had a life ready to be lived. So why did you stay here?”
Fiddleford quickly stammered out, “Well...I...because I wanted to help people. Help them deal with the supernatural things…”
“This town is almost 150 years old, Fidds,” Stan said. “And the weird stuff has been here since before the town was even an idea. There wouldn’t be a Gravity Falls if the folks here couldn’t deal with all the weird shit in those woods. You’re gonna have to come up with a better excuse than that.”
“It’s not an excuse!” Fiddleford spat back. The ferocity in his words shocked him, and he took a moment to close his eyes and inhale deeply, trying to calm himself down. When he felt the flush of his cheeks subside a bit, he added, fighting to keep his tone even, “The people in this town rely on me.”
“Yeah, but why?” Stan asked. “You didn’t owe these people anything. I know for a fact that none of them ever had the guts to come out here. You guys weren’t exactly town celebrities. You could have gone home, lived your life, and left my brother to whatever was waiting for him beyond that portal. But you’re still here. So, I’m gonna ask you again: with a family waiting for you, and a town that didn’t need you to martyr yourself for them, why the hell did you stay?”
Fiddleford wanted to respond. He wanted to brush Stan off, tell him he was crazy, that he didn’t know what he was talking about. He wanted to find some clever thing to say to finally get this man - this violent brute who’d slung him around like a ragdoll and called him names - to stop asking him these questions.
Because he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to find an answer for them that didn’t prove Stan right.
So he stayed silent.
Stan watched him for another moment, before he turned his gaze back out to the inky black forest, and said, “The portal may have been Ford’s idea, but you had a hand in it. And deep down, you know he’d never have been able to build it without you. That’s why you stayed, even after it scared you so bad you left. That’s why you started this whole Blind Eye thing. Because you felt like you had to make up for it. You screwed up, and you didn’t want to live with that. So you tried to fix it.”
“And what makes you so sure about that,” Fiddleford asked wearily. He found he no longer had it in him to argue.
“Because I’ve been watching Ford do the same thing since we found you,” Stan replied.
Fiddelford thought of Stanford, eyes brimming with tears a few hours ago. He sighed softly.
“It sucks doing something out of guilt,” Stan said. He sounded less like he was talking to Fiddleford now, and more like he was just thinking out loud. “No matter how much you do, no matter what ends up happening, you never feel like you’ve done enough. You just keep beating yourself up and beating yourself up until one day, it just kind of dawns on you that you haven’t really fixed anything. Nothing’s better, nothing’s changed. You just feel that much shittier about yourself.”
Off in the distance, in the dark, an owl hooted. It was such a lonely sound.
“Look,” Stan continued, “in a way, I do get where you’re coming from. There are days when I’d give anything to never remember some of the things I’ve been through. You weren’t wrong when you said there are some things that no one should ever have to endure.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Fiddleford watched Stan reach up and gently run his fingers down the length of his arm. Now, more than ever, he regretted his words about “everyday” trauma. There was nothing commonplace about the pale scar under that sodden fabric. And the fact that he’d tried to turn something like this into something inspirational? It turned his stomach more than the thought of the scar ever could.
Stan spoke up again, jarring Fiddleford from his thoughts. “But as much as the memory hurts, it’s still there. It’s as much a part of me as the scars it left behind. All I can do now is make my choices with what I know. And I chose to try and keep living.”
He turned back to Fiddleford, gaze beseeching. “You’ve got a choice now too. You can keep hiding, keep forgetting, and one day, maybe, it’ll all finally be gone. But I can’t guarantee that you’ll be the same man as when you started.”
The owl in the forest called out again.
“Or,” Stan added, “you can face those scars, and finally start doing some real good.”
Fiddleford maintained his gaze at the other man, this man who’d proven he was more than just brute strength and cheap insults. This man, who, for all his bluster, was surprisingly wise, even though it hurt Fiddleford deeply to think about all that happened to him to obviously make him that way.
Maybe Stan was right.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of dirt crunching under tires. He lifted his head and saw a pair of headlines slicing through the pitch blackness. In the distance, the owl hooted indignantly and fluttered away, a speck against the night sky. As the car came closer to the house, Fiddleford realized that it was a blue Buick. Helen’s blue Buick. The one Stanford had taken off in.
Beside him, Stan muttered, “Oh my god,” and before Fiddleford could even offer a reply, the other man was across the porch and down the stairs, loping like an excited dog to meet the car. He even raised up his arms and started waving the vehicle down, a relieved smile splitting his face. It was actually rather sweet.
The car stopped a few hundred feet from the house, and the driver killed the engine. The headlights went out, and Fiddleford could finally see the silhouette of someone behind the steering wheel.
But as he looked, he realized something wasn’t right.
The figure didn’t look like Stanford at all. It was much shorter, even sitting down. The driver’s face had a bushy mustache. Fiddleford couldn’t make out the mop of messy brown hair, but there was the outline of a slight belly.
Whoever was driving was not Stanford Pines.
Stan hadn’t seemed to notice yet, and ran up to the passenger side door. “Get out of that damn car, Sixer,” he cried, clearly with laughter in his voice. “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, you stupid nerd.” He rounded the car as the driver’s side opened, but stopped short when he saw a five-fingered hand reach up and grasp the window, in order to pull the driver the rest of the way out.
His face fell completely when Dr. Ed Matthews emerged from the car, wearing a bright red, hooded robe. His face was grave.
Stan quickly backed away as if he were facing a loaded gun, but Dr. Matthews didn’t seem to notice. His iron gaze settled on Fiddleford. “I thought I might find you here,” he said.
Dr. Matthews finally seemed to realize that his cigarette was going to waste. He tossed it on the floor and crushed it under his foot. “Please,” he said again, sounding ready to break, “please, Mr. McGucket, you have to help me. I can’t take it anymore.”
“You are in the Society,” Fiddleford said as the memory faded. “Stan was right.”
“And if I’m right, that means you sold us out,” Stan said, the bubbling anger apparent in his voice. He took a threatening step towards Matthews, looking ready to throttle him. “You were the one who broke into Helen’s house. You were the one who attacked us.”
Matthews didn’t even look in Stan’s direction, but a flash of irritation flashed across his face, like the other man was an annoying fly buzzing in his ear. “No,” he replied plainly. “I wasn’t the one who broke into Helen’s house.” He turned his attention back to Fiddleford. “I promise I’ll explain everything, but you have to come back to the sanctum.”
“He’s not going anywhere with you,” Stan growled. His fists were balled up by his sides, ready to fly.
Matthews ignored him and continued to plead with Fiddleford. “Please, sir. Ivan is out of control. You have no idea the kinds of things he’s been doing in your absence. You’re the only one who can talk some sense into him.”
Fiddleford arched an eyebrow. Ivan? Out of control? It seemed impossible. If there was one person that Fiddleford trusted to keep the Society alive while he was gone, it was Ivan. He may have been young, but he was mature, intelligent, and could read people like they were open books. He was dedicated, perhaps a little too overbearing in regards to Fiddleford’s health, but he meant well.
Stealing another glance at Stan, seeing the murder in his eyes, knowing it came from a place of righteous fury at being assaulted and manhandled and victimized by the group the old man before them belonged to, Fiddleford realized that tonight had proven to be a night dedicated to showing him he didn’t know anyone as well as he thought he did.
“Look, Doc,” Stan barked. “Whoever this Ivan character is, he can figure out his own shit. Fidds isn’t going back to Jonestown with you. And if you don’t start running as fast as you can back the way you came, you won’t be making it back either. So get the hell out of here.”
Matthews finally turned his gaze on Stan, and said, “Do you really want me to leave, Stanley? Even if I’m the only person who can help you rescue your brother.”
Stan’s face fell in shock, like he’d been struck by lightning.
“He’s in poor shape,” Matthews added. “Ivan has not been kind to the man he believes responsible for our group’s troubles. Your brother doesn’t have much time left, and we have no time to argue about it.”
Before Stan could even open his mouth to speak, Fiddleford heard the front door slam open, and Helen’s voice call out, “Ford?”
Matthews’s eyes went as round as dinner plates, and slowly moved towards the sound of the voice. Fiddleford looked over his shoulder and saw Helen standing there, framed in the weak porch light, wearing a wrinkled white t-shirt, her hair hanging wildly around her face. Her glasses were slightly crooked on her face, her dark green eyes wide behind them. She looked like a madwoman who’d just stumbled her way down from the attic. Her gaze jumped between each man on the lawn in front of her, all standing stock still, watching her watching them. It was like a macabre stage production.
Finally, in a low voice, Helen said, “Ed...what the fuck is going on?”
Fiddleford couldn’t exactly explain why, but when he saw a glimpse of Stan and Dr. Matthews’s faces, he knew that facing Helen and trying to explain all this to her was going to be more painful that anything he’d ever done.
------
Glass Shard Beach had never been so cold. It leached through his clothes, his skin, and settled into his bones, making him shiver and quake like a newborn deer. He tried to wrap his arms around himself, to stave off the chill as best he could, but his limbs felt rubbery, and wouldn’t obey his commands. All he could do was lie prone on the sand, as hard and frigid on his back as a slab of marble, and stare up at the steely gray sky. A harsh wind blew across his face, sharp enough to cut. It was going to storm.
A pale yellow light entered Ford’s vision, and suddenly, a slit pupil was staring back at him. Fear pulsed through him as Bill materialized completely before him, his unwavering gaze boring into him like a drill to the forehead. He wanted to run, but whatever was keeping his arms plastered to the sand was doing the same to his legs. He could only lie there, limp and useless.
“Geez, Sixer,” Bill finally said, his body flickering in time with his nasally voice. “I’ve seen you look pretty bad before - and I mean, like, really, really bad. But this? This is almost depressing.”
One of Bill’s black stick arms came to the spot his chin would be if he had one, his single eye furrowing in thought.
After a moment, his face brightened and he snapped his fingers. “Oh, wait!” he said. “Did I say ‘depressing’? I meant ‘absolutely hilarious’!” Bill let loose a peal of mocking laughter, his floating body turning lazily in the chilly breeze of the beach. “I gotta hand it to you, Sixer, you fail abysmally at a lot of stuff, but making me laugh at your ineptitude sure ain’t one of ‘em!”
Bill righted himself, and leaned down so he was right in Ford’s face. “I mean, look at you,” he said. “You tried to make up with that dumb hayseed after he saw me in an indecent moment - super rude, might I point out, guy needs a talking-to about knocking first - and look where that got you! All alone, on some bald weirdo’s basement floor, selling out your friends and brother as soon as things get a little too hard for you. This is almost funnier than you thinking dismantling that portal is gonna stop me! Which, let’s be real here, was already pretty darn funny.”
Shame boiled behind Ford’s cheeks. “I-I will stop you…” he ground out.
“Hey, it talks,” Bill said. “And is completely delusional, apparently.” He chuckled again. “Look, Fordsey, I’ve got a life outside of you. And one bad break-up isn’t gonna stop what I’ve got in store for your world. You don’t make plans as big as mine without having a few safety nets. Now, to me, you’re nothing more than a dancing monkey, here to amuse me when I take a break for some time punch.”
Suddenly, Bill shot out a hand and grab Ford’s index finger, yanking it back violently. Ford let out a strangled cry of pain.
“And speaking of amusement,” Bill said, voice suddenly low and dangerous. “I think that Ivan guy had the right idea. Breaking fingers sounds like a riot. Maybe I’ll give it a whirl. It’ll almost be as fun as that time I flung you down the stairs!”
Ford felt like weeping.
“Now, let’s see, where to start. Hmm...eeny...meany...miney...yooooou…”
Someone was shaking him, and Ford opened his eyes with a shout. He inhaled heavily, gathering up as much air as he could in his burning lungs. He felt as if he’d been holding his breath for years. His hands shook under the ropes binding him to the chair.
As Ford’s vision cleared, it dawned on him that he was still in the dark room in the inner sanctum of the Society of the Blind Eye. He was slightly unsettled that the sight filled him with a strange sort of relief.
“Are you alright?” a voice said. Ford looked up, and realized that a robed figure was watching him from the shadows. In their hands, they held a tin bowl full of water. When the figure realized Ford was looking intently at the bowl, they said, “I thought you might need some water. I came in and you were talking in your sleep. So I woke you up.”
Ford recognized the gentle voice of the follower from before. The one who’d so gently inspected his injuries and tried to comfort him. The one who’d convinced him to give in to Ivan’s demands to save himself. Ford’s fists balled, his hands still shaking, but now in anger instead of fear.
The figure took a step towards him, and Ford snapped, “Don’t come anywhere near me.” As if suddenly glued to the spot, the figure stopped moving. Ford could feel them watching him from under their hood. “You’re crazy if you think I’ll take anything you give me,” he continued. He was acutely aware of how his voice cracked ever so slightly, indicative of the strain his mind was under, but he didn’t care. “You probably planned that little stunt earlier from the beginning. Bait me with some kindness so I’d roll over and do whatever you wanted. I’m on to your game, so you can just get the hell away from me.” His voice broke miserably, and he screwed his eyes shut against the shame that shot through him, his breath coming out in ragged heaves.
He heard footsteps approaching him and was suddenly aware of a human presence very close to him. He opened his eyes again. The figure set the bowl gently on the ground, and let out a quiet sigh. “What happened with Ivan was never my intention,” they said. “I truly did want to help you. I don’t like seeing people in pain. It’s just my nature.”
“You’re a liar,” Ford spat back, but he felt his anger petering out quickly. He was just so tired. The chill that he thought was just a product of his dreams suddenly squeezed him like an icy fist, sending a powerful shiver down his spine.
The figure sighed again, then reached up and grasped their hood. Before Ford could ask what they were doing, the hood was tossed back, and a young black man, roughly his own age, was staring back at him. His features were careworn, and he looked about as tired as Ford felt. “My name is Darryl,” he said. “I’m a paramedic.”
Ford gaped for a moment before he breathed, “Wh-why would you...”
“I thought actually seeing a person under here - a real, living person - would maybe make you feel a little safer. I know you’ve got no reason to trust me, but I swear, I wasn’t playing earlier. It’s literally my job to fix up injuries like that one.” He gestured broadly to Ford’s head. The wound near the base of his neck took that moment to throb dully.
“I really did want to help,” Darryl added. He reached into his sleeve and pulled out a dented tin cup. “And now, I’m trying to again.” He dipped the cup in the bowl at his feet, filling it with water, and held it out to Ford. “Do you want a drink or not? It’s whatever you want to do.”
Ford looked at the cup, then back up at Darryl, trying to read his face, see anything that might indicate subterfuge. But he saw nothing. The bright brown eyes looking back at him, holding his gaze with a strange, soft command, reminded him of Stan. Limply, he nodded. A brief flicker of relief crossed Darryl’s face as he moved closer and put the cup to Ford’s lips.
Ford hadn’t realized how thirsty he was until the water was snaking its way down his throat. It was lukewarm and had a bit of a metal tang to it, probably from the town’s old pipes, but it tasted amazing to him. Darryl took it away far too soon.
“Sorry,” the other man said, setting the cup aside again, “but I don’t want you to get sick. I’ll give you some more in a minute.” He reached down to his belt, and pulled loose a threadbare blanket. “I know it’s not much, but I figure anything is better than nothing in this damp little space.”
He laid the blanket out across Ford’s chest, tucking it in a bit at the arms. Despite how worn it looked, the blanket did help, and the aching chill that had settled in Ford’s body began to lessen.
“Now, let’s try to get that horror show on the back of your head fixed up,” Darryl muttered, more to himself than to Ford. Reaching into the pocket of his robe, he pulled out a handkerchief. As he stooped down to pick up the bowl, Ford saw a glint of gold on his left hand in the dim light. Looking harder, he realized it was a simple golden wedding band. It made sense, honestly. Darryl wasn’t much older than him, and Ford was an outlier when it came to relationships. Of course most men his age were settling down, marrying and having children. But it raised a question in Ford’s mind, one he couldn’t help but vocalize.
“Why is a young married paramedic in a memory-wiping cult?”
Darryl froze. A flash of panic flickered across his face, as he muttered, “I wanted to forget. Same as everyone else.”
“But I want to know what,” Ford asked. “I know this entire group thinks I’m some kind of dangerous madman, but I’m not. I tried to tell Ivan before, I go looking for the unexplained so I can explain it. You can protect yourself if you know what you’re up against. And if you told me what made you...join, maybe I can help you understand it.”
Finally, Darryl turned to face him. Ford had expected him to be angry, or at least defensive, but instead, his face was drawn and sad. The bright brown eyes now looked a thousand miles away. In a quiet voice, Darryl said, “Only demons I’m running from are my own, Dr. Pines.”
Despite himself, Ford quirked an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“The Society only has a few rules. The people who want their memories erased have to be willing. We don’t tell anyone who isn’t a member about it. And, most importantly, the only memories we erase are paranormal ones. That was something McGucket was always very firm about.”
“But Ivan told me that the memory gun can get rid of anything.”
“It can, but McGucket never wanted to use it for what he called the “everyday” stuff. He always said those are the sorts of things humans were meant to handle. It was the most important rule. But Ivan hasn’t been following the rules for a good, long while now.”
“He’s been erasing other memories now?”
“Exactly.”
“Why didn’t Fiddleford do anything about it?”
“He didn’t know. Ivan realized that the more McGucket used the gun on himself, the more it rattled his brain. There’d be days when McGucket would wander around, looking like he didn’t know where he was. We’ve found him outside more than once, curled up next to the garbage cans because he was trying to figure out how to get home from here.”
Ford thought of Fiddleford in that alleyway, looking so thin and haggard and, most of all, lost.
“Ivan’s been taking full advantage of it,” Darryl continued. “McGucket can’t argue about ethics when he doesn’t even realize that Ivan is working against him, so Ivan has been offering to erase any bad memories, in exchange for loyalty.”
“But why? What does he gain from it?”
“I don’t know, entirely. Maybe it’s a power thing. Maybe he just liked to be in control of people It sounds crazy, but from the looks of things, I think he’s amassing an army.”
“For what?”
“Like I said, I don’t know entirely. But whatever it is, he’s obviously not gonna let a little thing like humanity get in his way.”
Darryl dunked the handkerchief in the bowl of water, scrunching it up in his fist to squeeze out the excess water. As he began moving behind the chair, Ford said, “You didn’t answer my question. How’d you get mixed up in all this?”
Darryl hesitated a moment, then walked briefly back into Ford’s line of vision, reaching a hand down into his robes. Ford heard a clinking of metal as the other man pulled forth a simple metal chain from around his neck. Attached to the end were two dented dog tags. “Private Little, of the 113th Infantry Brigade,” Darryl said simply. “One tour in South Vietnam, 1969 to 1970.”
Sympathy settled in Ford’s stomach like a heavy stone. “Oh…” he mumbled.
“Not to offend or anything, but I’m guessing you didn’t serve.” Darryl gave him a wry look as he ducked back out of sight, behind Ford.
Ford felt the soft, cool handkerchief being gently pressed into his neck. He tensed only for a moment, expecting pain, and was amazed when none came. He felt himself relax. “No,” he replied. “My dad did, but that’s about as close as my brothers and I got. College kept me out of the draft. My older brother had asthma, so he was exempt. And I’m not sure how Stanley managed to avoid it, but I’m sure it had something to do with fleeing to another country.”
Darryl chuckled a bit at that, and said, “Wish I’d had the brains to do that. Would have saved me a whole mess of trouble.”
“What happened?”
The handkerchief stilled for just a moment. Finally, Darryl said, “We got ambushed. It happened so fast that sometimes I have a hard time believing it happened at all. But my dreams always remind me. They just mowed us down. Ten seconds, tops, and it was over. I took a bullet right to the knee cap. Dropped where I stood. My buddy, Hank...he took one to the gut. He must have hung on for half an hour…”
Darryl trailed off, and Ford didn’t urge him to continue. Oddly enough, he thought of his father. He knew Dad had served, but beyond the basic facts, he never told Ford or his brothers about his tour of duty. It wasn’t until Ford was at least eleven that he accidentally stumbled across the Purple Heart his father had been awarded, stuffed away in a box in the hall closet.
He thought of when Shermie came back from the recruiting office, and how Dad’s shoulders seemed to slump when his older brother informed everyone that he was medically unfit for military service. It was the first time Ford ever remembered his father being excited about something.
He wondered what memories his father would want pulled from his head, if he was given the choice.
“And that’s why you came to Ivan,” he said softly.
“Yeah,” Darryl responded quietly. “For a while, I managed to live with the memories. Believe it or not, the job helps. I see a lot of blood and death, but at least now I can do something about it, ya know? It’s not like with Hank. It...it kinda helps me cope. Does that make sense?”
Ford thought of the portal back home, how he sequestered himself for hours with it, this living testament to his failure, how accomplished he felt when he managed to make any kind of headway with it. He nodded and said, “It makes perfect sense to me.”
“Loud noises are the things that tend to upset me now,” Darryl continued. “Cars backfiring, slamming doors, that kind of thing. Had to stop going out on the Fourth of July. But those are things you can live with. After my daughter was born…that’s when the dreams started. Vivid shit, almost perfect recreations of that day in the jungle.”
Darryl squeezed more water from the handkerchief, and added, “By the time Ivan found me, I was desperate. I felt like I had no other choice. I couldn’t sleep. It was affecting my job, which used to be one of the only things that kept me grounded. And at home...I knew seeing me this way was hard for my family. Even if I hadn’t done it for myself, I would have done it for them in a heartbeat.”
For a moment, silence stretched between them. Darryl dabbed tenderly at the base of Ford’s neck, then gave a small grunt of satisfaction before he ducked back into Ford’s field of vision. His face was unreadable.
“I’m sorry, Darryl,” Ford said. “I’m sorry you ever had to feel like this cult was your only option.”
Darryl gave him a sad smile, and said, “Thanks, man.”
Another question suddenly dawned on Ford. “Wait,” he said. “If the reason you joined the Society was to erase those memories, then how do you still remember them enough to tell me?”
“Because there’s something wrong with the memory gun,” Darryl said gravely. “McGucket thought it would be a permanent process, but other members have started remembering whatever it was they erased. And that scares them more than you ever could.”
“That’s why Ivan wants Fiddleford back so badly.”
“Exactly. He’s getting desperate. The only thing he’s got to ensure people’s loyalty is that memory gun, and if it doesn’t work, then the others have no reason to stick with him. To fix it, he needs McGucket.”
This was so much worse than Ford ever thought. His original idea was that Ivan wanted Fiddleford back simply because he was their leader. But all Ivan was interested in was Fiddleford’s engineering skills. Fiddeford wouldn’t just be worse off if he was dragged back to this hellhole. His very life could be in danger, once Ivan had gotten what he needed from him.
“We have to stop him,” Ford said firmly.
“I know,” Darryl said. “If he’d go after two people who mean absolutely nothing to him, think of what he’d do to McGucket.”
Ford’s stomach dropped to his shoes. “What are you talking about?”
“I wasn’t being arbitrary when I said that Ivan would go after Helen and your brother. I know he will because he already has. When Helen and Stan went back to her house, someone was waiting for them. A Society member, trying to find Fidds.”
“What?! Who?”
“I don’t know. They managed to fight whoever it was off. As if anyone needed another reason to be afraid of Helen Bergstrum when she’s mad, now she’s slashing faces with car keys.” Darryl shook his head a bit. “But Stan got a pretty nasty blow to the head. They called me in to patch him up. That’s when I realized what Ivan had done.”
“Was he alright?”
“Yeah, I stitched him up. He was a little dizzy, but no worse for wear. But it made me realize that Ivan has gone too far.” He cast his gaze back up at Ford, the brightness in his eyes verging on fiery passion. “I don’t really understand why you do what you do, Dr. Pines. It even kinda scares me a little. But you never intentionally hurt innocent people. Dr. Bergstrum is a good person, and she doesn’t deserve to be terrorized in her own home. And your brother? Anyone who’s willing to throw down just to protect his friend is cool in my book.”
Darryl looked down into the bowl of water he still held in his hand. Ford wondered what he saw staring back at him.
“So,” Ford said, “what are you proposing?”
Darryl looked up, directly into Ford’s eyes. “I’m gonna finish patching you up, Dr. Pines, and then I’m getting you out of here.”
-----
Helen drummed her fingers against the sticky kitchen table. Across from her, doing everything he could to avoid looking her directly in the eye, was Ed Matthews. Her friend, her colleague. A man she’d worked with for almost seven years, who gently teased her about her interest in the paranormal. Who’d been there when life was almost too much for her.
The man who helped a memory-wiping cult break into her home and violently attack her.
Stan and Fiddleford sat in chairs between them, on the side of the table. Their eyes bounced between Helen and Ed, as if they were watching a pair of bombs, primed and ready to explode.
Helen didn’t blame them. That wasn’t very far off from how she felt.
“Helen, I know you’re angry, and I don’t blame you. You have every right to be.” Ed’s eyes were tired as he lifted them up gingerly to meet Helen’s glare. “But I promise you, I’m done lying. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
Helen narrowed her eyes, fighting hard to keep her voice level and her fists from swinging in rage. “I’m counting on it, Ed,” she muttered. “I figure any explanation you give me has gotta be a pip.”
Ed ducked his head, away from her withering stare, ashamed. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could get out even a syllable, Helen cut him off and said, “You lied to me.” She was ashamed how her voice wavered ever so slightly. “You lied about Fiddleford, about that girl, about the old man...how? How could you do this?”
“I didn’t want to,” Ed said miserably, putting his head in his hands. “But you have no idea the kind of power the Society has. The kind of power Ivan has. And what could have happened to me if I didn’t play his game.”
Helen stole a glance at Fiddleford, whose brow was furrowed heavily, lost in thought. He was obviously trying hard to remember anything to do with this Ivan character, to see if there was any validity to Ed’s claims.
Until then, there was no way they could trust Ed.
“Helen, you of all people understand who absolutely insane this town is,” Ed said emphatically. “I know going to the Society was wrong, but it wasn’t until I actually saw for myself what drives people to it that I finally understood.”
“What exactly did you see?” Stan asked carefully.
Ed sighed, and replied, “My house isn’t that far beyond the lake. My wife loved the sounds of it at night.” He paused for a moment, his eyes suddenly very, very far away, but he quickly shook his head and continued on, “But then she started saying she...heard things out there. Low, rumbling noises. Almost like growls. I dismissed it as a dream, but she insisted there was something out there until the day she died. One night, not too long after her funeral, I couldn’t sleep, so I went down to the dock. That’s when I finally figured out what she was talking about.”
Helen, Stan, and Fiddleford all leaned in, like scouts hearing a spooky campfire story.
“Poking above the water, staring right at me, was a pair of glowing yellow eyes.”
“So there really was something out in the lake,” Helen breathed. ��That girl really did see something.”
“Yes,” Ed said sadly. “As soon as I heard her talking about seeing something in the lake, I knew exactly what she was talking about. So Ivan went looking for them.”
Fiddleford’s eyes went wide with horror. “You wiped their memories without their consent?!”
Ed flinched, like a chastened child. “I didn’t,” he said. “Ivan did.”
“And you just let your band of hooded freaks target a scared teenage girl?” Stan said, the contempt in his voice barely masked.
“You make it sound like I personally put the gun to her forehead,” Ed retorted. “I would never have told Ivan about her, about any of my patients, but I didn’t have to. Gossip travels fast in this town, and it wasn’t long before Ivan found out and went after the girl and her friends. I knew it wasn’t right, but it’s like I said, I was too much of a coward to admit that what Ivan was doing was wrong. He has the entire Society convinced that the townsfolk are better off living in ignorance, even if we have to show them that by force.”
“How could he do this?” Fiddleford suddenly cried out. Helen, Stan, and Ed all whipped their heads around to look at him. He was angrier than Helen had ever seen him, and didn’t seem to notice at all that everyone’s attention was no on him. He raked a hand through his hair, grabbing up a clump of it halfway through and squeezing, as he continued to babble. “I thought Ivan understood why I was doing this more than anyone. I...he...he upheld the Society’s rules more than anyone. I just...I don’t understand where this all came from. It doesn’t seem like him at all.”
After a moment, Ed said, “Tell me something, sir. Do you remember the last conversation you had with Ivan before all this insanity began?”
Fiddleford gave him a confused look, and said, “Of course I do! I...we...oh, my god…”
Slowly, realization dawned on Fiddleford’s face.
“You don’t, do you?” Ed asked.
Fiddleford squeeze his hair tighter in his hand. “I...all I really remember is that Ivan was upset. He was yelling about something. But after that…” Fiddleford’s hand fell from his hair. He looked so very small as he muttered, “After that it’s all a blank.”
Suddenly, something clicked in Helen’s mind. “You must have caught him wiping the memories of that old man!”
Stan hummed thoughtfully, then said, “It adds up. It explains why you were in such piss-poor shape when Ford and I found you. It couldn’t have been more than a few hours since Ivan shot you. And you’ve been surrounded by reminders of your past all day, so you’ve been recovering faster.”
“But...why?” Fiddleford asked helplessly. “Why would Ivan want to go behind my back?”
“For the obvious reason,” Helen said. “Because he’s doing something he didn’t want you to know about. He knew you’d never approve of whatever it is he’s doing, and he was right. So he wiped your memories.”
“And that’s how the Pines brothers found you,” Ed added. “You must have wandered out of the sanctum again.”
Helen quirked up her eyebrow, confused. Sanctums? If this cult of Fiddleford’s wasn’t actually pretty frightening, she’d laugh at how pretentious they were.
Her confusion must have been pretty clear, because Fiddleford said, “Sometimes, after using the gun, I’d be a bit, well, mixed up. I’d wander outside and sit in the alley, though not always intentionally. It helped me think, get my thoughts in order. And that’s where I must have gone after Ivan wiped my mind.”
Fiddleford plopped heavily into his seat, obviously overwhelmed by all that he’d just discovered. Helen didn’t blame him. She felt a bit like doing that herself. But she needed more answers. Turning back to Ed, she said, “But how did they get into my house? You were the only person who saw us today, who knew we were with Fiddleford. And I got some pretty good cuts in on whoever it was. Since you don’t have any cuts on your face, it couldn’t have been you.”
Ed sighed again, and reached into his robe sleeve. Helen, Stan, and Fiddleford all tensed immediately, ready to jump at whatever Ed had hidden inside.
But all he pulled out was a shiny, silver house key. An exact copy of the one Helen had used to unlock her front door, and then slash at an intruder less than ten minutes later.
Helen felt like she was going to be sick. She cast her glance back up at Ed, searching for answers. He wouldn’t meet her gaze. Yes, she was definitely going to be sick.
“You…” was all she managed to mumble before she had to stop. If she kept talking, she wouldn’t be able to hold down whatever was threatening to come up.
“I don’t know who attacked you, Helen, but this is how they got in,” Ed said. “I made a copy back around Christmas, when you and the kids went to Salem to visit your parents. You asked me to house sit for you.”
The world tilted around her. She shakily stood from her chair, her legs wobbling dangerously. Stan and Fiddleford both looked ready to jump from their chairs at the next move she made.
She was going to be sick or she was going to faint. She couldn’t tell which anymore.
Ed was still talking. “I had been meaning to make one for a while before then. Ever since what happened with the baby-”
Something snapped inside her.
She couldn’t hear Ed anymore. Her heart had launched itself directly into her ears, and all she could hear was it hammering away, feeling like it was ready to burst. Somewhere far away, a tinny noise that she vaguely registered as Stan’s voice asked, “What baby?”
That was it.
Lurching like she was possessed, Helen flung herself at the sink, and with a painful spasm, vomited. There wasn’t much to bring up. The only thing she’d had in her stomach for the last few hours was a can of beer. Stomach acid followed shortly after, leaving a burning trail up her esophagus.
She felt a touch ghost across her back, and heard the distant voices of Stan and Fiddleford, talking to her, trying to get her to say something, anything, to indicate what was wrong. She couldn’t answer them. She had no air to answer them with. Their voices became even more muffled as she concentrated on her heavy breathing.
She tried to force down the pain that blossoms in his abdomen and lower back. She knew there was nothing there that could be causing it. She knew that the warm sensation of blood trickling down her leg wasn’t really there. And she knew Daisy’s panicked voice, stammering into the phone that her mother needed help, was just a phantom in her mind, played on a loop by her sadistic, traitorous brain.
She knew all this, and it didn’t help a damn bit.
Suddenly, she felt two calloused hand prying her grip from the sink, and gently guiding her away. They didn’t let go until she was sitting again, probably back at the kitchen table, and even then, the presence behind her didn’t fade. It stayed at her back like a supportive column. Another set of hands, these softer, gentler, grabbed up hers and held them. She heard a kind voice, with a soft hint of an accent speaking to her, piercing through the memories and the droning. It took her a moment to realize it was Fiddleford, and that the sturdy presence behind her was Stan.
Fiddleford was saying something, and slowly, the cacophony in her brain faded, abd she could make out words. “...just gonna slow your breathing down a bit, that’s right. In and out. In and out. Come on, Helen, you can do it. In...”
Slowly, laboriously, she followed his instruction. She took a shaky breath in.
“And out.”
She obeyed.
“Atta girl,” he said encouragingly, giving her hands a tight squeeze.
Helen’s cheeks burned with shame. Daisy had been right. She was a mess.
She cast a sidelong glance over at Ed, who looked positively mortified, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open, looking like he desperately wanted to say something. Helen wished he wouldn’t. He’d already said quite enough.
But he finally spoke anyway. “Helen, I’m so sorry,” he said. “I...I didn’t mean to, it just slipped out. I had no idea...I didn’t know that this was still so…”
“Doc, cool it for a minute,” Stan said sternly. “Let her breathe.”
“How’re you feeling?” Fiddleford asked her, his grip still tight and reassuring.
Like shit. Like I want to crawl into a hole and never come out. Like a hysterical, useless load. Like you guys are never going to look at me the same way ever again, her thoughts screamed.
“I’m fine,” she said instead, disgusted by how small her voice was. “I...I guess I’m not as okay with this as I thought.”
“Do you need anything?” Fiddleford asked. “Some water?”
“No, really, I’m okay,” she said. To prove it, she pulled her hands free of Fiddleford’s, even though the loss of the comforting warmth made her ache inside. She ignored it.
“Do you maybe wanna...I dunno, talk?” she heard Stan ask from behind her. She could almost picture his face, drawn tight with worry and care. He’d been shooting Ford that look all day, just waiting for the minute when his brother fell apart. And the fact that he might be looking at her that way made her almost feel sick enough to vomit again.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” she said sharply. “It was just a miscarriage. They happen to millions of women every single day.”
“Oh, Helen…” FIddleford put a hand to his heart, looking ready to cry. The shame that had pooled in her cheeks spread, prickling along her skin like poisoned barbs. She ducked her head down, hiding her face behind a curtain of hair.
“It was two years ago, Fiddleford,” she muttered. “Don’t go all weepy on me. I’ve had time to come to grips with it. Obviously not as good a grip as I thought, but it hasn’t bothered me for a long time.”
“But what about…” Fiddleford began.
She cut him off, standing so abruptly that her chair nearly slammed right into Stan’s gut. “That was just a freak thing. I’m stressed and I’m tired and all I want to do is go bash this Ivan bastard’s face in and get Ford home.” She pushed past Fiddleford, still looking dewy-eyed, and headed out of the kitchen, calling over her shoulder, “I also need some air. Come get me when you guys have a plan put together.”
She could feel their eyes on her back, even as she left their line of sight and headed towards the front door. She had to get out, and practically sprinted to close the distance between herself and the door. She flung it open and, as soon as she was out in the cold, wet night, she inhaled as deeply as she could, then shut the door behind her.
She stood there for a few minutes, just inhaling and exhaling, trying to force her mind to calm. It wasn’t working. She needed something to take the edge off.
Her gaze drifted, and in the dim porch light, she saw a pack of cigarettes and a lighter on the railing.
They were probably Stan’s. She’d thought the smell of smoke on his jacket was stronger than usual.
Helen hadn’t smoked in almost twenty years, not since before she’d gotten married, and with all the new literature constantly coming out about the hazards of cigarettes, she’d felt it hypocritical to ever start up again. But now, she didn’t care. She needed one like she needed oxygen.
She snatched up the pack and pulled one out. The lighter was flimsy and cheap, and took a few clicked to finally hold a flame, but eventually she got it. As she took a few puffs, she heard the door open behind her. She hadn’t smoked enough of the cigarette to turn around and face whoever it was.
“I told you I don’t wanna talk about it,” she said. She didn’t care which one of them it was, or what they had to say. She was not going to just sit there and listen to them talk about how sorry they were and ask why she’d never told them and all that other shit she’d been hearing from anyone who ever found out.
All except Richard. After he found out and dealt with it for a few months, all he said was goodbye.
“I didn’t say anything,” Stan said behind her. “I mostly came out here to try and save my cigarettes. I already smoked a couple after my little spat with McGucket, and I figured if you found them, that’d be the end of them.”
Helen didn’t reply. She just exhaled and let her muscles relax.
They stood for a moment in silence. Stan didn’t make a move toward her or speak. Helen barely even heard him breathe. Then finally, he said, “I wish you could have told me when you were ready.”
That was one she’d never heard before. She glanced at him over her shoulder. He was looking out into the woods, his face somber.
“Even if you’d never told me,” Stan continued, “at least then it would have been on your terms. It might have been an accident, but Doc Matthews had no right to bring it up like that. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
Helen turned around the rest of the way to face him. “If I had my way, no one would ever know,” she said. “It’s not exactly something I like to advertise.”
“That’s understandable,” Stan said. “It obviously still really bothers you.”
“There’s more to it than that,” Helen said, leaning back against the wall, tapping the ash from the tip of the cigarette. “People look at me differently when they know. Suddenly, I’m not a doctor or a woman who’s raising three kids by herself because her husband is a jack-off. I’m the woman who had a miscarriage, and I’m someone to be pitied. And being pitied is a fucking nightmare.”
“I get that,” Stan said. “But I’m not gonna stand here and pretend like what just happened didn’t scare the shit out of me. It’s not that I think you’re someone to be pitied. It’s that I’m worried about you, and wish you trusted me to support you in this. People like me and Fidds and Ford? We get what it’s like to live through something no one else can understand.”
Helen sighed, and said, “Stan, there are thousands of people who understand what I went through. Last time I checked the statistics, 10-20% of all pregnancies end in miscarriage. What happened to me was practically commonplace. It’s nothing compared to what you and your brother and Fiddleford have been through.” She felt a lump rising in her throat. “So...why does it still bother me?”
She saw Stan inch closer to her. Her voice was getting tighter, tears burning at the back of her throat. She didn’t want to cry. She was too exhausted to cry. She was too exhausted not to cry. “I’ve gone to the support groups,” she muttered thickly. “I’ve read the books. I’ve even done a little of the therapy. But every morning I wake up and it’s still there. It’s not always like this, but it’s there. And if I can let something like this rattle me so much, for so long? Then when good am I to you? What good am I to anyone?”
Stan was flush against her side right now. Without even thinking about it, she let her head fall, until it landed on his broad shoulder. His jacket was damp and soaked her hair a bit. She didn’t care. The tears that trailed down her nose were going to make it even wetter anyway.
“Helen,” Stan said softly, “it doesn’t matter what happened to make you feel like this. It might not be a homelessness or cults or weird demons, but that doesn’t matter. What does matter is that it was horrible, and it happened to you. That’s all the reason you need to still be affected by it. There aren’t any rules that tell you when you’re supposed to be okay with something.”
She didn’t answer him, she just took another drag of the cigarette, her hand trembling as she brought it to her lips.
After another beat of silence, Stan said, “That bastard walked out right after it happened, huh?”
She nodded as blew out the smoke. “A couple of months, give or take. He said he couldn’t deal with it. Couldn’t deal with me. Later, I realized he’d probably been looking for an out, and the baby was his excuse.”
“Piece of shit,” Stan muttered.
“I was gonna have a girl,” she muttered. “I wanted to name her Christina.”
She felt Stan move his arm down, and cup her hand in his. It was warm. She tossed the half-finished cigarette over the railing and into the bushes.
“You could have at least had the decency to finish it,” Stan grumbled, but she could hear the smile in his voice.
“Don’t you know those things give you cancer?” she replied. “You should be thanking me.”
“You wanna head back in, maybe lay down?” Stan offered. “We’re trying to put together a bit of strategy. Ed’s offering to take us to bust out Ford, and we need to hurry.” She heard the worry creeping into his voice, despite his efforts to keep things casually for her sake. “Apparently, he’s not in great shape.”
“I’m coming with you,” Helen said firmly. There was no two ways about it.
“You sure?” Stan asked. She could see the doubt in his eyes, and she wanted to smack it out of him.
“Never been more sure,” she replied. “I feel like a pretty good catharsis for me right now would be to beat in the face of the fuckwad who caused me all this misery. And since Richard moved to California, that only leaves this Ivan bastard.”
Stan smirked a little, and said, “Alright then. I’m not gonna stop you. You can even take my bat. It’ll give me an excuse to brush off my knuckle dusters. And give your house keys a rest.” He punctuated that last comment with a playful check of her shoulder. She couldn’t suppress the smile.
She couldn’t help it. She leaned over and planted a kiss on his cheek. “You’re a good person, Stanley Pines.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” he said. He began leading her back into the house. He didn’t let go of her hand. “Now let’s go knock around some cultists.”
Helen pushed down the gnawing in the pit of her stomach, nodded, and followed him in.
-----
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Ufcpe msp jcpmcq ugjj kyic rfcgp dglyj qrykb
Zsr umkcmlc ‘q rpsqr fyq zccl kgqjygb
Ugjj rfcw dglb msr gl rgkc ufm fyq zccl njywcb?
#gravity falls#fanfic#mystery nerds au#seared with scars#ford pines#stan pines#fiddleford mcgucket#helen bergstrum#blind ivan#society of the blind eye#tw panic attack#tw miscarriage#tw ptsd#tw discussions of war#tw graphic injuries
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Blue Eyes| Daniel x Reader Chapter 12- What Am I
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A/N: I'm going to make a pretty hugetine skip to make sure that this is up to date. Woah this is 2000+ words long. Jeepers.
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Daniel POV
I sat on the couch, leaning agains the arm rest. I had my guitar on my lap trying to come up with a song for this month. But the only thing I could think about was Y/n.
My mind spaced out as I imagined holding Y/n in my arms. Giving her kisses and whispering sweet nothings into her hear throughout the night.
My mind had already drifted deep into imagination before I realized that I had been subconsciously playing the guitar.
"That sounds good," says Corbyn, snapping me out of my thoughts. I looked back down at my guitar after nodding at Corbyn.
"Oh, uh thanks," I tried to figure out what I had just played on the instrument. After a while of playing the same five notes I gave up and tossed it onto the couch. I rubbed my face with my hands a lolled my head back. "Ugh!"
"You got a little somthing troubling you Daniel?" says Corbyn. I looked at him with a glare that screamed that I was tired of life.
"My brain is blank and I have zero ideas," I groaned into my hands. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, it was 3 a.m.
"Write about whatever's on your mind," says Corbyn. He was holding a mug of milk and was wearing a blue fuzzy coat.
"There's only one thing on my mind right now Corbyn," I said. "I think you know what it is."
"Then use her as inspiration." Instead of answering him, I just stared at my guitar. Eventually, Corbyn went back to sleep while I stayed on the sofa.
[Time skip brought to you by Lavender]
I woke up to the sun shining in my eyes. I saw a bunch of papers surrounding me. I racked my memory for an answer to what had happened yesterday. That's when I remembered that I had stayed up all night writing the new song.
I rubbed my eyes and sat up. I cleaned up the papers and stacked them neatly on the coffee table before walking into the kitchen.
"Dude," calls Zach from the table as he eats scrambled eggs. "Did you stay up all night writing that song?"
I ran my hand over my face and prepared myself a bowl of cereal. I nodded and sat at the table. Facing Zach. "Can I see what you wrote?" I nodded once more and he went to grab the papers on the coffee table.
When he came back into the kitchen this is the first thing he told me, "Wow, your writing is terrible when you're sleepy."
"Shut up and read," I told him. At some point while I was grumplily eating my cereal, Corbyn had walked in. "Hi Corbyn."
"This is the song you get when you think about Y/n?" he sid with eyebrows raised. Zach snapped his head to look at me.
"You were thinking about Y/n when you wrote this?" he said with a small smile on his lips.
"Just read," I say and glare at both of them. When they finished reading, they placed the papers on the table. "So..."
"I like it," they say simultaneously.
"I mean," says Corbyn. "We'll make a few changes. But I like the basic idea of it." I nodded and finished my cereal.
"Then I guess we're going to the studio today," I tell them and go to my room to change into some clothes. After everyone was ready to go, we went to work on the song.
We had all made a few changes to it to make it better. After that, we got to work on the music. We had been there for a little under an hour before we took a water break.
I opened up my chat with Y/n and began texting.
D: Hi
We're working a new song right now.
Y: Babe
I'm in the middle of class
D: Tell them you have to go to the bathroom
Y: You are reckless. You know that right?
D: So are you in the bathroom?
Y: Sure, why?
D: I just wanted to talk to you.
Y: I'm going to get suspended
Anyway, you were saying?
D: We're working on a new song
Y: Can I see?
D: Nope. It's a surprise.
Y: Well bye
Y/n left the chat.
D: Y/n?
Y/n are you there?
Aww come on.
Don't just leave me.
Y/NNNNNNNNN!!!
I looked down at my phone sadly. Staring at Y/n's last text. I turned the my phone off and slouched in my chair. I could hear Corbyn snickering behind me. "This is not funny," say without turning back to face him.
"Y/n's not answering and she's ignoring me. I can't live without her talking to me!"
"Bro, we're live," says Jack. As he laughs from the other side of the table. My eyes widened and turned back to see that Corbyn was indeed filming everything. I groaned and sunk lower in the chair.
"Why is it always me."
Corbyn POV
I scanned the comments until suddenly a familiar username came up on the screen. My mouth shaped into the form of an 'o'.
"Oh gosh," I say trying not to laugh. "Y/n's watching the live." The look of terror on Daniels face was priceless. As he hid in his jacket. His blonde hair sticking up. Y/n commented something. "Y/n says; 'aww he's adorable 😘😛'."
I heard Daniels muffled voice saying, "Why do you do this to me Y/n?"
[Timeskip brought to you by my spotify playlist; MunchyN]
After the live we started working on the parts we were going to sing. The end result of the song was good. Obvously we were all going to reveal that Daniel was thinking of Y/n while writing it.
Y/n POV
I was sitting on my bed. My homework done and my laptop sitting in front of me. I was waiting for the premiere of What Am I. There were just five minutes left and then I felt my phone vibrate next to me. I begrudgingly picked up to answer them before the premiere.
I saw Daniel's name on the screen. He wanted to face time with me. I rolled my eyes at the sweet Giraffe and accepted his call.
"Hi Daniel," I say. Looking at his face through my phone.
"Are you watching the premiere?" he asks in a rushed voice. His question shocked me and my mind went blank for a second.
"Um yes," I say. Confusion evident in my voice.
"Okay, good," he says and takes a deep breath. "Keep watching." I furrowed my brows but stared intently at my laptop screen. The one minute countdown started and both Daniel and I stayed silent. The screen suddenly went black and two simple words appeared on the screen.
For Y/n
I couldn't help the small gasp that escaped my lips when I read those words. I gave a quick glance at my phone to see Daniel biting his lip nervously.
I met her on a Monday evening
She was standing outside of the park and ride
And I said, "Hey Ma where you been?"
"Been looking for a woman like you for all my life"
I smiled sweetly at the words. Laughing softly because that was totally not how we met. It still made me feel all bubbly inside despite that.
And she said, "Hola, talk to me, before I have to leave"
And one day we could be
Maybe more than two lost souls just passing by
My smile widened when I heard the Spanish. A language I had always wanted to learn. (Unless you already know Spanish. Then you get the drill.)
Knew I was falling when I looked inside your eyes
She said, "I know you are, but what am I?"
'I thought it was just me.'
Tell me, have you seen a sunset
Turn into a sunrise?
Kiss right through the night?
'Cause we should try that sometime
Hold you 'til the mornin'
And if I said I'm fallin', would you just reply
"I know you are, but what am I?"
I closed my eyes as I listened to Daniels voice I started humming along to the song. Forgetting Daniel was watching me. I was also unaware as I started to softly sing along.
(Ah-ooh, Ah-ooh)
What am I?
(Ah-ooh)
What am I?
(Ah-ooh)
Open the door to my apartment, when we get in
Kissin' on my neck and throw my jacket to the side
And I know your heart is beating quick
And if you put your head on my chest, hear the same in mine, yeah
And we'll be making love
Until the sun comes up
But one day maybe I
I could put a ring on your finger before you change you mind, yeah
I blushed profusely as I sang along to Zachs part. I bit my lip and I looked at my phone to see Daniel was also blushing. He tried to explain but was a stuttering mess. I just shushed him and continued watching the premiere.
Knew I was falling when I looked inside your eyes
She said, "I know you are, but what am I?"
Tell me, have you seen a sunset
Turn into a sunrise?
Kiss right through the night?
'Cause we should try that sometime
Hold you 'til the mornin'
And if I said I'm fallin', would you just reply
"I know you are, but what am I?
(Ah-ooh, ah-ooh)
What am I?
(Ah-ooh)
What am I?
(Ah-ooh)
What am I?
(Ah-ooh)
I felt tears pool around my eyes as I listened to the lyrics. This was the sweetest thing that had happened in a while during my life. The sound of the boys' voices was relaxing and soothing.
Tell me, have you seen a sunset
Turn into a sunrise?
Kiss right through the night?
'Cause we should try that some time
Hold you 'til the mornin'
And if I said I'm fallin', would you just reply
"I know you are, but what am I?"
Tears ran down my cheeks and I brushed them away with my hand.
Tell me, have you seen a sunset (Yeah)
Turn into a sunrise?
Kiss right through the night? (Through the night)
'Cause we should try that sometime
Hold you 'til the mornin' (Hold you 'til the morning)
And if I said I'm fallin' , would you just reply
"I know you are, but what am I?"
By now, tears were rolling down my cheeks like waterfalls. I didn't even bother hiding them. The screen went black on my laptop once again and these words appeared;
Will you be my girlfriend?
-Daniel
My hands flew to my mouth as I gasped. The video ended and I closed my laptop. I threw myself back onto the pillows I laughed nervously beforr sitting back up. I wiped the the tears off my face as I looked at Daniel through face time.
"Oh my god," I gasped. "I don't know what to say." My lungs felt like they were being constricted. "I need more time to think about it." My heart shattered when I saw the frown on his face. I felt like I had just kicked a puppy.
"I'm sorry," I say and hang up. I buried my head under a pillow and let out a sob. "I'm not ready for this," I said to no one ib particular. "I'm not ready."
Daniel POV
I stared blankly at my screen. 'She hung up on me.' I tried to tell myself that she just needed more time. It's what she said. More time.
I turned off my phone and stared at my food blankly. I was having dinner with all the guys. They were all excited to see what she would say.
"Hey Daniel," says Corbyn, with a hopeful look on his face. I looked at him with tears threatening to spill. "What did she say?"
"She needs more time," I choked down a sob as I said it. I stood up and walked up to my bedroom. I needed to be left alone right now.
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A/N: While writing this I found out they had written this song a year ago. But we can all just ignore that for the sake of my fanfic right? Thank you for reading my story and I would truly appreciate it if you voted and commented. I'd love to hear your thoughts.
#daniel x reader#daniel seavey#blue eyes daniel x reader#Blue Eyes| What Am I#why dont we fanfic#why dont we#what am i
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