#I miss drawing soo so much I feel like I had to abandon a part of myself the past 6 months | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

deluluass · 3 years

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misericordia

It's finally here T^T Here's to reaching 100+ followers! Thank you so much everyone!!

Content Warnings: rape/noncon; nsfw; somnophilia; description of dead bodies; includes some elements of cosmic horror; dystopian-ish au; biblical references/imagery; angel! Ushijima

To name is a barren tree: fruitless and, ultimately, the workings of this kind.

The earth will soon be without form, and void; and darkness shall remain the face of the deep.

The Spirit of God no longer moves in the face of the waters.

Names are for nothing.

But, for any cause done here, to name is essential. As it was in the beginning, when there was still a beginning (but it has not ended yet, so the beginning shall still stay), to name had been the first task.

So when asked for a name, the mouth was able to conjure:

“Ushijima Wakatoshi,” the body said.

And as it is the way of the Created, the body became he.

And as it is the way of the Created, proof was immediately demanded for the name.

And as it is the way of the Created, once found on the chest, Ushijima Wakatoshi was then welcomed.

You weren’t there when the world ended.

In fact, so, too, was your father's father. The sky had cracked open and the oceans had already split up the old lands for as long as anyone could remember.

Before the city became a city in truth, the people had just been strangers, seeking shelter after everything fell apart, only to be abandoned by those who’d promised protection.

That didn't mean, however, that things got better for your lot once someone swept in and established order and peace and stability and whatever it is those at the top had to say to justify them being there.

If your father were to be believed, you had been sleeping in your mother’s womb, still a tiny beating heart, when the longest winter happened ("winter"; they still called it that when there had been minute differences between hot and cold).

Supplies were short; food was scarce; so when you finally clawed your way into a world breathing its last, your mother couldn't help but bleed into the sheets until your cry outlived hers.

But your father barely recognized you during his final days. That’s why when your neighbors call you a liar for saying “I was born on a Spring,” you shrug it off and think you might as well have been born on a Spring.

There’s no way of knowing. The story had always changed every time you asked him.

Sometimes he blamed you, sometimes he told you it’s not your fault. Nothing you could do about it. Spring it is, then; you told yourself.

Spring always looked so... different, in the drawings Granny made, anyway.

No one here actually knows her age. Granny had always been Granny; as permanent to this place as the walls enclosing the city.

She rarely left her quarters, that crone, and could barely stand on her own without your help. Worse, she could no longer see. What use is a blind artist, the others would laugh.

It’s their loss, you’d retort, mocking her like that. Because then they’d miss the way her gnarled and knobby hands would glide with unwavering purpose if you asked her to, strokes bold and not a space wasted.

“You never learn,” she croaked once finished, jostling the wrinkled piece of paper to your lap. “Why throw away your rations for this piece of junk?”

Granny retched, “Incurable fool.”

At this point, she would grumble about suffering in the old pig’s (her words, not yours) kitchens for nothing, and always, without fail, you’d feel a smile break on your face. It hurt, honestly, but after an entire day of frowning over the dishes you had to wash and the floors that needed scrubbing and all the other orders yelled your way, it was worth it, anyway.

“I know you’re laughing. My ears still work, mind you.”

You felt your belly shake as you giggled, brushing the paper with worn fingers, staring open-mouthed at the piece before you.

“This is amazing, Granny,” you sighed.

“Idiot,” she repeated. “It’s the same thing as the one before. And the one before that.”

And for good measure, Granny added, “Idiot. Not like you hadn’t seen that one.”

When all you’d done was take her hand in yours and place a pack of food along with a thin roll of paper in her feeble grasp, Granny finally asked, “Why do you keep coming back here, girl? Asking for the same thing.”

There wasn’t any of that surly frown now.

And looking at her like that, without the crabbiness that sharpens her features, that oddly makes her look younger and in control of herself, you find that you don’t have an answer this time. Arrested by the realization that her shoulders slumped lower than you’d thought. And that she’s getting thinner.

“Why?” you whispered back, feeling traces of charcoal stick to your palm.

Maybe it’s because there’s no other way that she’d accept food, unless she does something in return. She kicked you out the first time you intended to give her the ration you’d earned.

(Or maybe it's because you know what they'd do, once they find out she's no longer making trades.)

Why, indeed.

Maybe it’s because you hadn’t really seen things grow before.

You might work at the Governor’s place, at the heart of the city and everything else that matters, but grunt workers like you are prohibited to get anywhere near the farm, let alone actually enter it. So, really, there's no other way of seeing what growth looks like.

Maybe it’s because you can only do that when you witness her in her craft. You really don’t have anything to compare it with, but you’re sure life from soil works the same way.

Everything must come from something. And that something must be quite the artist, if they're anything like Granny.

Birthing roots from the ground of what was once a blank piece of paper with a flick of the wrist; growing into large trunks, strong branches, then into an abundance of leaves and blossoms.

Trees drawn on both sides of the paper, always with a smattering of grass and flowers in the middle. She said they used to grow here, when she was just a girl. And if you begged hard enough, she’d add a stray butterfly fluttering around the corner.

You hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe I just love seeing you, Granny,” you grinned.

“Crock of shit.”

“Really!” You grabbed your knapsack as you stood from your seat, folding the paper with care. “Hey, Granny, guess what? Don’t give me that face— I’ve already saved just enough and you know what that means?”

She snorted.

“Listen,” you pouted. “I’ll finally be able to get those pigments! I heard they don't cost that much and if I trade next-”

“Don’t.”

She tilted her head and faced your way, misty eyes pinning you. "How much does paper cost you?"

You gulped.

Then, with a swiftness that surprised you, she grabbed you by your tattered sleeve and gritted, “I may be the blind one here, but I think I see a lot more clearly than you do. You can sweat and bleed for those pigments, but I will never paint.”

You felt a sting in your eyes as she continued, “I know what you’re doing. And I’d be the greater fool if I let you work yourself to the bone for some pipe dream."

"Content yourself with coal, girl. That’s all you’re gonna get from this place. Dirt and rust and smoke. Go sneak into that damned farm. Go steal some of those fuckers’ riches. In fact, while you’re at it,” she laughed dryly. “Steal them all and run away from here. If you really want to live.”

“Only,” she said, too soft that you had to sit back down to hear her, “Only, stop hoping, my child.”

Her chest wheezed as she breathed, like air passing through the holes of a rundown machine.

You kissed the back of her hand before you left.

The wind howled and threatened to topple you as you walked back to your building, hard rain slapping you across the face when you picked up into a run. They didn’t descend in small drops anymore. As you get older, thunderstorms are to be expected once evening falls, lingering for weeks only to suddenly bring about an irritatingly humid day.

But tonight, the large cavern above that parts the dark, heavy clouds into opposite streams seem to yawn wider, closing itself lower and lower into the earth that you swore someday it’ll devour the city whole.

Mud water in your boots, you grabbed onto your soaked coat and climbed the steps of the decaying piece of slab you call home, mindful that you won’t slip and break your skull against the thick beams, twisted metal jutting out of the corners.

A solitary lamp flickered through the window of the room next to yours. Little Soo-jin must be having nightmares again, you thought with a frown.

You were about to knock on their door when the sirens blared, echoing louder across the city than the boom of lightning, followed by a grating squeal that could only be an opening gate.

Your knuckle froze over the chipped wood.

The last time the alarm rang, the people were greeted by the body of a young council member, brought by a small and wounded troop who’d accompanied him outside the city.

Soo-jin’s mom peered through the murky window, meeting your eyes after both of you stared into the direction of the gate closest to your zone, as if seeking you for an explanation. You only gave her a shrug.

“Someone must have died,” you said.

“No, he’s not dead. That’s why you’re bringing food to his room, aren’t you?”

You stared at the girl stubbornly shaking her head.

“I- I know, but! Didn’t you hear? They said they found him full of bullet holes and I—”

“Even if you’re serving a rotting corpse, as long as Cook orders it, you follow.”

It was admirable that she’s refused for this long. If it were you, you’d have been sacked the moment you opened your mouth to say no. You wiped your hand with the towel next to the sink, having finished the work assigned to you, and watched the ongoing bout in the kitchen.

“Why can’t you just ask the others? Marga’s not doing anything!”

“Marga,” the older woman hissed, “is with the others. Almost everyone is in the meeting room. So if you don’t take your butt up there, I’m gonna have no other choice but to tell Cook.”

You winced. This can’t be good.

You cleared your throat. “I can do it,” you said.

The tray was shoved to you faster than you can drop your raised hand. You would have found it amusing, considering that you’re sure they couldn’t even recognize you, but the idea of being in the same room with a half-alive man does make you feel uneasy.

Not that it’s anything new for you; you nursed your father until the fever took him, after all. You just haven’t lived long enough to get used to it yet. But you steeled yourself and did your job, because it’s not as if you had any choice.

You prepared yourself for anything as you entered one of the many guest chambers. Bullet holes, rotting corpse, entrails held together by stitches.

And when you announced your presence and gripped the tray tighter so as to not spill the soup on the sprawling carpet, it’s not really surprise that caused you to stumble upon your words when you saw the man sitting on the bed.

It’s more of an embarrassment, of sorts.

You must’ve entered the wrong room, you thought. You immediately checked around to make sure no one saw you talk and almost grovel to an actual sculpture.

Because that’s what he was.

The Governor’s estate houses floors and floors of rooms that you hadn't explored yet. But there was one that, if no one would bother to keep track of the workers, you had the habit of sneaking into.

Thinking about what it took for this family to have all those sculptures there hurt your head, so you stopped a long time ago. You chose, instead, to just admire the marble wonders in all their beauty, always looking back down at you with majesty and pride.

Just as he's doing right now.

Chiseled torso wrapped in bandages; sharp jaw that could cut; eyes the color of olives, gazing deep.

"That is for me."

You snapped your head down.

"Huh- uh, yes? Yes!"

His deep voice still rumbled through you.

"Yes, I'm sorry," you muttered, heat rushing to your face as you placed the tray on the table next to him, inflaming when you realized he didn't mean it as a question.

That is for me.

Not a question. A question means you can answer. His words brooked no other response but obedience, reminding you of your place.

Much like those sculptures, every time you'd spent too much time inside the room and you'd get the feeling that you're not supposed to be there, too filthy to be anywhere near what you think is the closest thing to perfection.

And the truth would settle on you like a heavy weight: that no amount of beauty can ever breathe warmth if it cannot live and grow.

The same way that despite the sunshine filtering through the floor to ceiling windows, surrounding him in blinding light as he sat on the bed, you can't shake the impression that this is the coldest this room has ever been, with him here.

So you anticipated his orders; a single word or maybe a glance that would tell you he wants you gone. Just either one of those and you'd run out of this room in a heartbeat.

But neither came. The man (you still didn't know his name) remained silent, staring at the food like they've insulted him specifically, and now he's questioning the collective audacity of the soup, bread, and bowl of fruits laid before him.

Maybe they don't serve those where he came from. He's from the North, after all, made evident by the small eagle etched on his chest, just above a pectoral. The last visiting Northerner you served who also bore that mark threw a rag at you (she missed) for "mixing the bathing oils incorrectly."

You stayed in your position and asked, "Is the food not to your liking?"

He didn't say anything, but he did shift his attention to you.

And what a mistake that was. How does this man go about life with such a severe presence?

"Er..is something..wrong?" you sweated, suddenly fascinated by the vases behind him.

Glaring back at the food, he answered with a deep "no" and breathed out. His large arms rose and fell along with it, straining the bandages around the muscles.

Oh, right. Right.

You perked up. "Do you need help?"

Stepping closer to the table, you gave him a tightlipped smile and a sheepish "excuse me" before taking the spoon in your hand.

You scooped a thick serving of soup, your palm hanging under it, and waited.

And waited.

The man looked at you the same way he looked at the bowl of fruits earlier.

"What are you doing?" he said, gravel-voiced.

You're gonna lose this job.

Why did you think you could feed him like he's an ailing, decrepit old man? Or a literal child? He's built like he commands an army (and he probably does).

You are definitely gonna lose this job.

"I- I'm sorry!"

You jerked away, your hip hitting the table, the impact shaking it and causing the plates and silverware to clatter against each other.

"O-oh no, I'm-" The spoon in your hand fell as you attempted to set things properly, soup spilling to the carpet along with the utensils.

You're gonna lose this job and you're gonna starve to death.

"I'm sorry! I'm so so sorry!"

Dropping to your knee like your life depended on it, you picked up the myriad of similar looking spoons and forks and placed them back on the tray.

You kept your head downwards, bowing as you'd been repeatedly taught, and shut your eyes tightly.

"I thought that you hadn't healed yet and needed help and- and-" you huffed.

"And I thought that I should feed you but- no-no!" You looked at him and flailed your hands in front of you. "No! I didn't mean feed- I meant- I meant no disrespect please forgive me!"

Not a word was spoken in that second that spanned an entire year. But just as you'd accepted that the worst has come, he said:

"Then, feed me."

Wait.

Wait, what?

"I don't.. understand..?"

"Then, feed me," was what he told you. And so matter-of-factly, at that.

So you did, desperate to keep the only thing keeping you alive.

Though your hand trembled and you wished to be anywhere but here— even the wasteland waiting outside the gates, with all its unimaginable threats, seemed like paradise —you took a loaf of bread from the basket and brought it closer to his mouth.

Lines marred his forehead as he chewed. You were about to ask, self-destructive that you are, whether you should get the sweetened roll instead, thinking he found the one in your hand too bland. But you don't have the luxury to risk digging your grave any deeper.

You kept quiet and pointedly removed him from your line of sight, choosing to count the tassels hanging off the canopy instead.

Once he's eaten all that's left of the pastries, you dipped your hand into the bowl of fruits and took a grape in-between your fingers and, as much as you can, you steadied your hand to avoid touching his lips.

It didn't work.

You shuddered at the contact, curling your toes in your boots to avoid squirming.

This has got to be the weirdest day of your entire life.

Not a hint of unease was shown. He continued to close his plump lips around the tip of your fingers and crushed the fruits with pointed canines, making the hair on your body stand on end. What if he bites you? Would you bleed?

The man seemed to like them more than bread. A sense of urgency rose within you as he went through the berries and sliced mangoes like this is the first time he's had them.

Can't say you blame him. The last time you ate something that resembled a fruit, a real fruit, was when Granny persuaded (coerced) a young boy in her complex to steal one from his employer. That boy has a child of his own now.

You felt your mouth water, your stomach growl and command that you take the bowl from him and shovel its contents to your mouth, as you watched him devour the sweet and tangy meat, the smell of it sickening as it is strangely compelling.

He raised his head and met your eyes.

Shit.

The apples, you thought as you looked back down to the tray. They're the only ones left soaking in the bowl, those apples. After this you'd be out of this stuffy room and you'd laugh about this later with Soo-jin and her mom and Granny too if she's not cranky.

You could still feel him staring at you as you fed him a slice, the apple crisp when he took a bite.

Juice trickled down your hand, the sticky extract tickling your arm as it slid to the crook of your elbow, and you were about to wipe it with your other hand, when you felt a wet tongue probe the gap between your fingers.

You gasped. "Sir..!"

You stepped away. Tried to, anyway, but with a firm hand, a hand that's not injured, after all, he gripped your wrist and continued to suck a digit.

"This is- sir!" struggling out of his hold, you pleaded with him to let go, please sir let me go, even as he only looked at you, his eyes dimming when he grabbed your waist to bring you closer.

He licked your hand, lapping at the trail the juice left behind, and when you thought he would release you, he took your hand to pluck another slice from the bowl.

Your legs gave up beneath you, forcing you to sit on his stretched lap, his hard body scorching you through the sheets, as he ate the apple from your palm, slurping the leftovers dripping from it.

"Don't cry," Granny told you once.

"Especially when you feel like crying," she said. "Don't cry."

You'd never really been good at listening, but now, you decided to suck in your breath and keep those tears at bay. You can cry and laugh about all this later.

Because you might be jobless after this, but you will certainly have a damn good story to tell over the fire once you finished kneeing him in the nuts.

So: one.

Breathe.

His teeth scraped your soaked hand.

Two.

You rested your hand on his shoulder.

Three.

You braced your leg, moving it between his thick thighs, and then, as you clutched his bandages, you—

"Ushijima-sama."

The door swung open.

"Pardon the intrusion, but the Council members requested-”

It was Secretary Hara.

“Oh."

Secretary Hara: a lanky, dark haired man with glasses who's always at the Governor's beck and call. He was here, carrying a small stack of papers, and gaping at the scene before him.

You and the esteemed guest. Who's still suckling at your skin. On the bed.

He grinned, full of humor and disgusting. “Well,” he said.

At least you weren't crying.

A question, shared only by the Heavens, began when the Lord fashioned the flesh out of the dust of the ground and said,"You are made in My image and likeness."

It was not their way, before that: to question. (One of them did, once, but that is a different story).

They have no need for questions.

They hold the highest seat, below only to the Creator, unencumbered by the trappings of the earth.

They have no need for questions.

So it remained unasked, lingering in fragments in the House of the Lord.

The question comes to him now.

For the flesh is a cage. It is ephemeral and prone to decay.

It is fitting for this kind to have it, with all their qualities bound to the material world.

You are the very epitome of these.

Graceless. Stumbling like a newborn foal. Too many apologies. Too many questions.

God is not here, he thinks as you insist on asking what does not matter.

“Is the food not to your liking?” and “Is something wrong?” and “Do you need help?”

Indecisive, too. Reneging on your promises. You said you’d feed him and then you said you wouldn’t.

Ushijima Wakatoshi is a mere flesh, locking inside divinity your kind would never understand. Yet he felt its tedious demands gnaw at him when he saw you. Something so impermanent should have no right for constant sustenance.

But he knows, just for this time, that he needs it. That’s why he tells you to feed him, as you said you would. After all, it is your way to serve. And, for all your many inadequacies, God has granted you bread and water and fruit to sate your appetites.

Thus, for as long as he is flesh, he will do as it tells him to.

When it urged for the taste of fruit, for the cloying sweetness of its juice, it is only right that he heeded its call and had his fill.

How dare you object. His light is brighter than yours; God has granted it so (and yet you were given the will that they never had). And even in flesh you are beneath him. You are easily held and defeated.

The ache in his belly did not cease, each gulp he took heightening his senses, shouting for more, more, more as he took you with his tongue. And he realizes that this is what the first of your kind may have felt like when they disobeyed. The first act of betrayal.

(For what is the wrath of God to the cries of the flesh?)

And with that, Ushijima Wakatoshi finds, since donning this useless flesh, that it is not at all easy to gratify.

Not in the least.

There are so many rules in this mansion that even Cook’s effort to batter them on your head could sometimes be futile, given that their number is just as big as this place. But, there is one, among all the convoluted and at times nonsensical decrees, that you are not allowed to forget:

Unless you’re among the core staff, you can never enter the East Wing.

The East Wing is where all the important things happen, see. It goes without saying that someone as lowly as you cannot pollute that hallowed ground.

Today seems to be an exception.

When Cook barked that Secretary Hara wanted you in the East Wing first thing in the morning, you had a feeling that you just might not live to see the next day.

You didn't speak unless spoken to. You didn't look unless told to. The things you should've done much earlier.

"How are you liking the work here so far?"

Secretary Hara pushed the pen to the side and leaned back against the leather swivel chair.

"It's a job," you mumbled, to which he only replied with a breathless chuckle. You didn't see the point in bootlicking any further. Besides, Granny hated that the most; so you avoided doing it as much as you can.

There's only one conclusion for you here, anyway. No matter how severe the punishment. And it's back in your room, with a uniform that needs sewing for a job that you no longer have.

He tapped his fingers against the lacquered table. "You're right," he said. "Work is work. Despite your place in this society."

You wanted to roll your eyes. Secretary Hara has never been any of the workers' favorites (not that any of you had your "favorites," but if you could, you avoided this guy). He had this astonishing effect, too, in which he can actually bring people together. All because everyone hated him.

He's a slimeball, is what he is. If one needed lessons in kissing ass, he was your man.

"Do you know why you're here?"

You're getting fired. End of story. Now can I please just go? is what you want to say. But losing your job doesn't usually take this much time and attention. Normally, it was Cook who'd grunt "You're out" and that was it.

So you shake your head.

"I'm promoting you," he said. "Congratulations."

Somewhere, beneath that condescending smile of his, is a punchline that you're sure he's deliberately keeping from you. Just so he can be the only one who gets to laugh.

"I-" You balled your hand to a fist. "Why?"

He scoffed. "What are they teaching you in that rathole? Honestly."

They taught me not to be rude to people I don't know, you little bitch.

"Drop the coy act, it's okay," he sneered. "It's cheap and it won't work on me."

Oh, now you really want to get fired. If only to kick his teeth in. "That man," Secretary Hara continued. "Ushijima Wakatoshi. You were all over him and you seriously don't know who he is?"

You gritted. "Secretary Hara, what happened- it wasn't- I didn't want it."

But he only gave you that look. As if to say, "Sure. Let's go with that." When it'd pass and the need to pummel him became stronger, he stood up and stepped towards the tapestry draped against the wall.

It was a map, the city a pinprick on the corner. Secretary Hara faced it, dusting the spotless surface, his back to you.

"Ever wonder what keeps us here?" he started, hand still on the map. "This city of ours?"

"The," you licked your lips. Where was he going with this? "The river..?"

Secretary Hara clapped his hands, his voice lilting like he's talking to a toddler as he said, "That's right. That's good. Excellent."

"So you do know some things, after all." His fingers crawled towards the long line of blue stitched beside the city. "And do you wonder what would happen if, say, that river begins to dry?"

You felt your eyes widen. You covered your mouth with a palm.

You're not supposed to know this. Why is he telling you this?

He scratched the thick clump of blue thread and continued, "These great cities. They have their energy; their military."

Your eyes followed his hand, moving farther and farther away from the pallid brown surrounding your city, towards the bright yellow West, stopping at the bright green East. "Some of them are blessed enough to not be surrounded by a literal desert."

Then, with a careful hand, he moved to the very top and said, "And the North…the North has it all."

The North was a sprawling, intricate web of threads, eating away the entire tapestry.

"The Ushijima clan rules the North. Much longer than this city has existed. And they’re so engrossed in their wars that they’d never glance our way if we don't give them at least half of what we make,” he spat. “These great people haven’t had contact with us in years."

Secretary Hara finally turned around, grin still in place. "But now one of them owes his life to us." He walked back to his desk, sitting on its edge. "Perhaps the heavens sent him here."

When you remained silent and looked at him with eyes that you wished had the ability to kill, because you know now what they wanted from you, Secretary Hara only shrugged.

"He asked for your name, actually," he said, tilting his head. "Lucky you. He didn't bother to learn ours."

You stood your ground. "No, sir," you said. "I won't."

He pulled a thin piece of paper from a pile sitting next to him. "You're not gonna do much," he said as he began to read. "Just show him around the city. Be his friend."

Friend.

"But I- No. I can't." You stepped forward. "Please."

He looked away from the paper. "Zone 42. Room 0312."

"What.."

"Granny," he said. "That's what you call her, isn't it?"

No.

"They say that for a blind old lady she's still somehow miraculously trading to keep a roof over her head."

Phantom touches crept to your arm, slick and nauseating like cold sweat.

"You must take it from her. Though you're not related," he said. "Apparently, you're so hardworking, you even work the night shift. When you don't have to."

You released a shaky breath. "I'll..I'll start," you croaked. "I'll start right away, sir."

Secretary Hara folded his arms, victory plastered all over his gaunt face.

"Thank you," he chimed. "I'm glad you understand. It's for your own good too, y'know."

The uniform they gave you chafed against your skin. Tugging at the sleeves did not help, the pristine fabric too coarse and stiff to budge. Your only comfort was the folded paper hidden in your pocket, fading at the edges every time you touched it.

You have to admit, however, that you did look...well, you did look clean. Not as much as him, though. And not just in the sense that he's out of the bandages now. Last you checked, and that had been a few minutes ago, he was still sporting a couple of scars on his forehead.

Despite that, you don't have to look behind you to know what's captured the people's attention as you strolled the capital. Or, who, to be exact.

Some were outright ogling; some happened to glance once and then immediately looked away with a blush; some made the laudable effort to not look.

A mirror of what you're doing right now.

They gilded him with gold, which is a redundancy if you ever see one. He was wearing the most expensive pigment, something that only the Governor's family could own: a deep violet tunic emblazoned with golden vines, swirling from the middle to the collar; paired with dress pants that you could probably trade for a whole month's worth of food.

You kept your distance as you walked in front of him. "Just show him around the city," was what Secretary Hara told you. That didn't mean you had to talk.

And it's not as if he had any complaints, either. He followed you through the rows of glass houses that adorned Governor's lane, not a word spoken about the sights.

Even when you'd attempted to speed through the dizzying streets, he kept his pace, long legs allowing him to stride close to you. By time you'd reached the plaza, you were already out of breath and in need of rest.

But you didn’t.

You remained standing a few feet away from him, the paper in your hand opened to reveal those great trees and thriving field, as he sat under the gazebo overlooking the square; a place reserved only for council members.

The smell of the sweetmeats and oranges in front of him reached your nose (Secretary Hara has a cruel sense of humor, you belatedly realized, when you were handed a bag of food that had a note saying “treat him well”). You fought the itch to cast out what little you’ve had for breakfast.

Children were playing around the sandbox, the staff of whatever family they belonged to guarding them. In a way, their job wasn’t that different from what you have now.

Except, it’s not a child you were threatened to accompany. With the feeling of his gaze burning your nape, it seems like you’re not the one doing the guarding as well.

And you didn’t feel every bit like the adult you are when he called your name.

You felt frighteningly small, as you yielded with a pathetic, “Ushijima-sama.”

He only looked at you. Those green eyes telling you exactly what he wanted.

People are watching. You can’t mess this up.

“Sir,” you said, hand still in your pocket, that frayed paper your anchor. “It is improper.”

Irritation swept through him, his sharp features harsher when dissatisfied. But you can’t give up, even though it’s sending a chill down your spine and he seems like he’s about to throttle in broad daylight. (And he doesn’t have to do much, you know. He can crush you with one hand.)

“Why- why are you here?” you hissed. “R-really?”

You don’t shut your trap when you have to, girl. That’s your problem.

“Because- because I’m not gonna be your..thing.” The paper was dampening in your grip. “While you do whatever it is you do, Ushijima,” you huffed. “...sama”

Ushijima did not blink, his stare unwavering as he turned towards the small crowd strolling below. There’s a part of you that wishes to put yourself in his place, like a king on his throne. What does the view look like from up there? Are the people beneath just multicolored ants moving from afar?

“A few of my kind have suddenly sided with yours,” he said. Then, briefly returning his gaze to you, “I had to see what draws them here.”

He linked his fingers together. “Before I do what must be done.”

You stifled a chortle. “Do what must be done” your ass. Does that include harassing people, too? “God only knows,” you whispered.

“You believe in God.”

You were the subject of his relentless attention again. You groaned, averting your eyes to a small girl, probably around Soo-jin’s age, who plopped down to create a heap of sand, much to the consternation of her nanny.

“No,” you replied in a thin voice.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” Where is this question coming from? “Always seemed like a lot of work,” you said.

The little girl was making a castle. It’s apparent to you now that she has little pail by her side, shovel in her grubby hand. The frill of her dress caught most of the sand as she stacked them atop each other.

“And I’m pretty sure God has more fun things to do than worry about me,” you added, just because.

The castle reached her knees when the girl stood up.

"God has left," Ushijima said. "A long time ago."

And then she kicked it. The thing crumbled to a mound, the breeze scattering it back to the sand.

You did chuckle this time. The Northerners sure are strange. "Really? Where’d God go?" you hummed, looking up to the sky.

The sun was blanketed by waves of clouds, as usual. "Somewhere nicer, I hope," you sighed.

You closed your eyes and thought of that nicer place. It would have to be far, far away from here. Maybe it would even have those trees that Granny loved.

"Cherry trees."

You opened your eyes and gawked at him.

He was still gazing at you.

"You are attached to it," he told you, like it's nothing; like your heart's not wreaking havoc against your ribs with each word he utters. "On that paper."

Pulling it out of your pocket, you stumbled to him and unfolded it for him to see. "You- you know what this is? A 'cherry tree.' That’s what you call it?"

"Yes." Ushijima's eyes did not leave yours. "That is the name you people have bestowed upon them."

"Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure?"

You didn't let him answer that because, just like the fool that Granny accused you to be, you took his hand in your trembling one and laughed, somehow managing to drag him out of the gazebo.

It took a while before you finally let go.

Much has changed along the way, he felt this as the air grew hotter; the sound of bustling people louder and less constrained with inutile mortal etiquette. You seemed less wary of him here.

The hand that held his tightly was still brushing against him, as you talked incessantly about the pieces of paper plastered across the wall. They all looked the same, yellowed and infested with mold at the edges, but you insisted otherwise.

“See here?” You pointed to the one on the bottom. “Granny drew the leaves differently. They look like flowers don’t they? They are, aren’t they? I knew it! So they are flowers.”

There was a cot in the corner of the room. He sees you there in slumber, surrounded by rocks and scraps of metal and bits of gemstones held together by strings, each strand hanging on the crevices of the roof, gleaming every time they move.

You tapped his arm repeatedly. “Oh, oh. I put these two beside each other. Notice that the shades are different? This one is lighter while this one has more shadows to it.”

"Do you get it now?" you asked him, expectant.

Humans are baffling creatures, Wakatoshi thought. Because when he said nothing, you only laughed (you seem to like doing that) and told him to “follow me; hurry.” You didn’t hold his hand this time (you should’ve, he preferred it when you did).

“My bad. I hadn’t shown you yet,” you huffed as you grabbed a rag and set aside buckets of rainwater that obstructed his path.

Behind a curtain of sackcloth and ashes, draped at the furthest side of the wall, was a crack big enough to let a person through, corroding steel bars protruding along the broken concrete.

Wakatoshi ducked to enter the room next to yours. It was hollow, save for bits of gravel and a window obscured by dust. You paced to it then wiped the thick glass with the rag you brought with you.

“That hill is always there in Granny’s drawings,” you said, taking the paper in your pocket and setting it parallel to the scene revealed by the window.

Your smile was wide, as if you were admiring a land lush with vegetation, or wildflowers at least. When it was far from that. It was a vast desolation, beyond the gates and the brown earth fractured. But, just as you said, there is a solitary hill sitting along the horizon.

“Those trees- cherry trees,” you started, face radiating with mirth. “It’s the same but.. different each time.” Your breathless laugh makes him feel just as winded. “How is that even possible?”

“I know they can’t be just...green.” A finger traced the outline of the leaves. “Because these are real and they actually grow and- and they change.” And, as if it’s a secret, “Unlike the ones at the capital.”.

“If only Granny would paint them for me,” you whispered, the smile on those lips waning.

Wakatoshi couldn’t stand it. So, he grunted, “You are wrong. This one is green.”

He took the paper from your hand. “They only change colors once they bloom. White, first. Then, pink.”

This knowledge is trivial; if it can be considered knowledge at all. It is a speck in the infinite matters that simply exist— have existed, in this world. Yet such a thing has put that look in your eyes.

Perhaps it is not inconsequential at all.

“Pink?” you breathed, grinning incredulously at him.

You turned away and closed your eyes, your voice cracking as you murmured, “I see.”

There's a blood pumping organ within his chest. A vital piece that keeps you humans alive. It beats constantly, never ceasing. If it does then it means you are dead. He is flesh, for now; it follows that if it halts, then he is fodder for the earth.

How is it, then, that he is still here? He’s sure he felt it stop, the air knocked out of his lungs, as you looked back at him, eyes welling with tears when you said, “Thank you.”

Thank you, you told him, smiling.

Ah.

Wakatoshi gets it now.

This is what God must have seen, when your kind looked up and sang, “I love you, my God; I love you; I love you.” And when you knelt and dared to turn those eyes for others that are not God, he suddenly understands why they were ordered to rain fire and brimstone upon your great kingdoms.

Because he, too, would smite anything, burn it to the ground and salt what is left, if it would so much as receive a whit of your sweet, soft words.

“They used to grow here,” you sniveled. “Granny said so.”

“And I thought, maybe if Granny added a bit more color- maybe they'd feel more…I don't know..real..?” Laughter rings in his ears once again, pealing like bells. “Yeah..They'd feel more real...Though, she did get mad at me,” you winced.

“I just thought,” you sighed, your shoulders touching him. “Wouldn't it be nice if I can wake up one day and find them growing again? Right here.”

God created a garden for your kind once. It is gone now, but Wakatoshi wonders what you’d say, how you’d look at him, if he shows it to you. Your head against the grass, fingers laced with the lilies of the field, the taste of fruit on your lips, your thighs dripping with honey and dew—

Wakatoshi felt his loins stir, but he didn't say anything, except, “The soil here is poisoned.”

You snapped towards him, brows drawn together. “I know,” you said.

“A sapling cannot grow on this wasteland.”

“Yes, I’m not stupid.”

“That could have been any hill.”

“I know.”

His throat is parched; his hands a pair of useless things. He can hold galaxies in them, sink ships and level seas by the order of God had this body not trapped him. (He can free himself, but then you’d die). Now he doesn’t even know what to do with them as he rushes out a hoarse, “I have upset you.”

He refused to let you take the paper from him. You didn’t seem to mind.

“No,” you sighed. “No, of course not. Forgive me, Ushijima-sama.”

You bowed again. An act of servitude.

“Please, let me escort you back to the capital.”

He does not understand. He only told you the truth.

But you turned your back to him and the light in your eyes has gone and he wants to chase it back the same way he wanted to run after God when the parting happened, leaving the Heavens mourning until their wails split the firmament open.

Wakatoshi yearns to have you closer. He yearns for that smile and laughter back on your face.

Wakatoshi yearns.

But, that cannot be.

After all, that is just much too human, is it not?

The rain drenched Wakatoshi to the bone, droplets falling from his lashes to his cheeks, when he walked through the nighttime storm.

He didn't bother to dry himself.

After he'd reached your room and shoved the door open, the clap of thunder covering the noise, Wakatoshi decided to undress himself, shedding all articles of clothing until he was naked as the day God created your kind.

Wakatoshi felt the chill bite his skin. But that had nothing on the way you easily dismissed him earlier, by the time you'd reached the abode of this city's leader.

You left him and he could no longer see your face and yet that fierce longing in his chest stayed, creeping to every part of him, making a home in his belly.

Until he recognized the feeling for what it was.

Hunger.

Hunger, he could fathom. And when one feels it gnaw at one's flesh, what does one do, but eat?

You were sleeping on the cot, just as he'd imagined you to be. It's enough to keep him warm: the sight of you, at peace under the glimmer of the trinkets dancing above as a lamp burned lowly.

The mattress sank under his weight when he sat next to you. His much larger hand took yours, locking your fingers together to rest his cheek against it, bringing it beneath his nose, and feeling his heart race as he breathed in your scent.

He remembers the first time he did this so vividly. You tasted like apples and sin; and though there's none of that now, his mouth still waters as he savors your skin, his tongue traveling to your arm, just as he did then, leaving bites along the way.

You barely stirred when he lifted your shirt to reveal your tits, the sheen of sweat along the valley forcing a growl out of him.

Do you feel it, too? When you drag him further down to earth, debasing him and bringing him so low that now he is nothing but a hungry flesh and a mouth made of obscenities.

"Fuck," he grunts, as he took his cock, heavy and hard to touch, and rubbed the head with his fingers.

Perhaps he is lower than human now. Perhaps it does not matter. What is God to this hunger, anyway?

(This hunger is bigger than God.)

The cot was pitifully small as he straddled over your chest, breathing still shallow, and spat on his hand before wrapping it around the thick shaft. The tip of his cock touched your nipple as he fondled with the other one, thumb and forefinger pinching and pulling until you let out a tiny mewl.

Hearing it had him falling to his knees.

Wakatoshi moved off the cot to kneel on the floor, the better to suckle on your tits, to lick and nibble on the skin below it, on your stomach, until he's seeing red and ripping your loose pants down to your thighs.

He pumped his cock harder as he caressed the folds of your cunt. You groaned, arching your back and offering yourself to his mouth, when he started to lap on your clit, sticky liquid coating the swollen bud as he swirled his tongue to spread the juices dripping from your hole.

Your entire body was singing for him, even when all you'd managed were squirms and muted whimpers. He felt your skin twitch beneath his lips, as he cupped his balls and drove his hand faster around his throbbing cock, gripping his fist tighter.

Oh, he sees you on that garden, clinging onto him as he drives himself into you, pounding your cunt as you beg please, just as you did before, please, please, fuck me harder I am yours I am all yours.

But, for now, he settles himself with the violent shudders of your body, flooding his mouth with cream, as he releases his seed on his palm.

Wakatoshi rubbed it against your leaking cunt, quivering still in his hand.

There is something that must be finished, first, before he takes you, in truth. He cannot have you conscious (for now.)

He covered you back in your clothes, after. Then, Wakatoshi lingered on your face.

"Fearfully and wonderfully made," he whispered, a mere guttural sound amidst the rain pouring outside.

Here lies salvation, he thought, as his fingers brushed your closed eyes.

And here, Wakatoshi thought as he brought his lips down to kiss you, here lies damnation.

He wiped his blood on the doorposts and lintel before he left.

You woke up to silence.

Your nether regions ached and, really, the temptation to not go to work today was insanely strong. But the sun was already bleeding through the window and there's a heavy feeling on your chest.

And like wearing a shirt on backwards, you immediately knew that something was not right.

The sound of the door slamming open echoed through the building as you ran outside.

There was nothing.

Not the sound of people going about their day nor of children risking the wrath of their mothers with their games. The only thing you could hear was the buzzing noise of a fly circling around your ear.

You didn't bother knocking on your neighbor's room, rushing inside to shout for Soo-jin and her mom, stopping only when you found them sitting around a small table.

They didn't turn around to greet you.

"There you are," you panted, putting your hands on your knees. "I'm so sorry for barging in like this."

Even little Soo-jin, who never failed to jump into your arms given the opportunity, kept her back to you.

You stepped towards her. "Soo-jin," you whispered, placing a hand on her thin shoulder.

"Soo-jin, hey," you chuckled, your trembling fingers shaking her bit. "H-hey, what's wrong?"

Her head nodded down, like a doll grabbed all too suddenly, then it lolled to the side, rolling until she bared her neck, until you saw her face.

Her mouth hung open.

Inside the cavern were tiny black lumps that took you a second to realize were flies feasting on her molars. And when you lurched and sank to the floor, it was only then that you saw her staring back at you.

Bleached eyes, wide and whitened to the core and pupils like spoiled milk.

"N-no." Your vision was cloudy, freezing dread settling at the pit of your stomach when you saw that the same happened to her mother. "Who- who did this?"

Your voice strained out as you stood, mind moving faster than your legs.

Granny. Go to Granny.

Though you already know, don't you? You don't have to see her to know her fate. Because as you sprinted out of the room, leaping down across the steps, out of the building and into sand and concrete, the smell of sulfur followed you, choking you along with the sight of bodies sprawled on the ground.

Insects creeping out of nostrils and every other orifice, faces that you'll never have the chance of knowing and faces that you'd grown up with, hands reaching to the heaven as if at prayer.

You are alone. You are alone in a city filled with rotting corpses.

There was an uncontrolled animal inside your body, fighting out of its cage in a fit of rage as you craned to look up, further up.

The sky was on fire, the fissure in the middle gaping wider and wider and sucking in a mass of swirling clouds dipped with blood and orange.

And there. There, look. Standing atop the towering walls.

Beyond the heat wave was a figure, burning bright that you had to squint and you wanted to look away, you had to look away, but you can't go out like this, not without a scream and a curse at your lips.

What did you do, you were shouting, Who are you, you were screeching, feeling the veins in your neck stretch and pop as you walked closer and closer.

Wings as far as the eye could see stood atop the fallen city.

Spread out to span the horizon and folded at the middle to conceal whatever it is pointing a flaming sword towards the sun.

You tasted iron at the back of your mouth, but you did not stop. The earth beneath you swallowed your feet as it turned to mud with each step you took.

And with the flap of its wings, the sound of metal banging against each other reverberated louder.

There were children howling in pain, somewhere, behind you, in front of you, beside you. You staggered forward and for the life of you, you do not understand why you keep trying, because the ground below wasn't even soil anymore.

It took another step before you fell.

And it was like one of those dreams.

But this time you don't wake up.

You bawled out and thrashed your legs as water rose above you, slamming against your chest and filling up your mouth and burning your nose until it's all you could see, until you're floating in darkness and water is rushing to your lungs and you were flailing upwards, catching that spot of sunlight, but the more you kicked your feet and swung your arms, the more it tugged at your heavy legs and the less you could breathe and the further it got—

You were sinking, the clanging of a giant bell everywhere still, as the water pulled you down, and in the deep, below the nothingness, was a massive cleft illuminated by the barest of light, slowly opening to reveal an eye, and no sound came out though you know, though you felt your throat release a shriek, horrifyingly small, so, so small compared to that glass green pupil that illuminated the darkness, rapidly contracting and dilating and then blinking as salt and fire streamed deep in your skin, but they were looking at you from all sides, a thousand eyes flanking you and judging the weight of your soul with their unforgiving gaze as you tossed and turned in the waters.

I am going to die here, you thought. I will die here, you cried.

But something was pulling at your waist and despite clawing and jabbing at it, desperate to keep it away from you as you wailed get off me get off me, it gripped you tight, hauling you upwards until you were gulping and breathing in cold air.

Through tears and the piercing cry that ripped out your throat, you felt strong, warm arms cradle you close.

Along with a deep voice, familiar and conjuring a long lost memory.

It lulled you into hiccups and dry sobs, gentle as it whispered.

“Do not be afraid,” he said. “Do not be afraid. Do not be afraid.”

#tw noncon #tw non con haikyuu #yandere ushijima #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #ushijima x female reader #dark content haikyuu

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turnupswritessometimes · 3 years

Text

Changing the Question - AshEiji - Banana Fish

Title: Changing the Question

Chapter: Oneshot

Word Count: 4,559

Summary: Sometimes Ash hesitated before he kissed Eiji, even though he knew that it was wanted. That Eiji would kiss him back. Sometimes, there was a spark of panic after he said, 'I love you,' even though he knew Eiji would say 'I love you too.' Sometimes, he couldn't explain why he was - unresponsive - or struggling to breathe - or shaking - but knew that he didn't need to, because Eiji knew it all. Understood. So he was also sure what Eiji's response to his question would be. And yet his palms were damp and his heart stuttering as he slipped the square box into the pocket of his jacket. Eiji appeared a moment later, grabbing that awful pink jacket from the pride of place hook at the door and asking if he was ready. Ironic. "As I'll ever be." * Ash is planning to propose. Things don't quite go to plan.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27999972

Changing the Question

Sometimes Ash hesitated before he kissed Eiji, even though he knew that it was wanted. That Eiji would kiss him back. Sometimes, there was a spark of panic after he said, 'I love you,' even though he knew Eiji would say 'I love you too.' Sometimes, he couldn't explain why he was - unresponsive - or struggling to breathe - or shaking - but knew that he didn't need to, because Eiji knew it all. Understood.

So he was also sure what Eiji's response to his question would be.

And yet his palms were damp and his heart stuttering as he slipped the square box into the pocket of his jacket.

Eiji appeared a moment later, grabbing that awful pink jacket from the pride of place hook at the door and asking if he was ready. Ironic.

"As I'll ever be."

They took the light rail into the city. They had a small place, just renting. Had considered moving to Washington – California – back to Japan. Anywhere. It was more of a game. Something that Eiji played whilst he lay in Ash’s lap, toying with his hair like a cat and a ball of string. Talking about a dozen different domestic lives they could have.

Domestic. Ash Lynx was domesticated. And happy about that.

“I love this.” Eiji grinned as they stepped off the platform. Onto the busy streets that Ash could navigate blind. Just instinctively knew all of Manhattan. “The smoke from the underground and the yellow taxis.”

Ash raised an eyebrow. “Just like a movie.”

“Something like that.” Eiji nudged him. He had his camera round his neck, his hands on it, ready to take a shot. “Don’t you miss it?”

“Yeah.” Ash did. So much that when he lay in bed trying to sleep, his chest hurt. He missed his city. “I miss – gorging on junk food because its quick and warm and I don’t know when I’ll be eating next. I miss – nights in the bar. Drinking and playing pool. I miss sleeping whenever I want and everyone being too scared to wake me up.”

“So, everything before I came.”

“No.” Ash nudged him. “I liked you there. You’re not bad to wake up to.”

Eiji snorted, but smiled at him.

And he had to stop himself form delving into the speech, right there, on the street. No – he had to wait. Until they were somewhere that meant something.

"We could move back." Eiji was already there four or five times a week, working for Max. His camera was useful.

"No.” He put a hand on the small of Eiji’s back to guide him out of a tourist’s way. “We couldn’t.”

“Can’t afford it?” Eiji turned to smile at him. Caused people to tutt around him, as they made way, hurrying into the city.

They could. But it was with what was left of Golzine’s money. Eiji’s salary wouldn’t cover it. They’d have a few months before it all dried up.

“Something like that.” He smirked. The real reason was Max. Thought it was best that Ash stayed out of the city – stayed out of trouble – stayed as far away from the gang as possible. Like it was a smoking habit that he could kick.

Which he was also trying.

But Soo-Ling couldn’t let Eiji go. Kept asking when he was coming back into the city – when they could hang out again. So here they were. Every week or so. Because Alex – who ran the gang now – checked up on Ash. Still asked for advice. Still missed him.

You’re a brother to me, he had texted. I need you around.

Ash wanted to sob.

They met at Central Park. Because the trees gave some cover from the boiling hot New York sun. Summer. When they’d first met. It didn’t seem that long ago Eiji had asked to hold Ash’s gun, and he’d let him. Too early, most adults would say, to be considering the question Ash was. But it was different, with them. It had always been different. Impossible to explain to anyone else.

Eiji was immediately assaulted by Soo-Ling and Bones, hugging him and laughing as though they hadn’t seen each other in a year, when it had been two weeks. Soo-Ling talked excitedly to Eiji, a mile a minute, his cheeks flushed and his eyes shining.

Thankfully, Ash was not hugged. Instead, Kong gave him a friendly nod, and a smile. Alex grinned, and punched his shoulder lightly. So, he pretended to take a swipe at him.

They started through the park, Soo-Ling and Bones still talking rapidly, so that Eiji had to keep track of two conversations at once. The light shone through the leaves, dappling his skin in gold.

Alex noticed Ash looking. Raised his eyebrows. The smirk made Ash regret telling him what he’d planned. He scowled.

The park was busy. Full of tourists with tiny electric fans and maps, trying to spot the locations from movies. Arguing with each other because they had to get the whole of the city seen in one day. Workers on lunch breaks, balancing several coffee cups, and dogs scrounging for food.

“So, Ash, what's the plan?” Alex asked, next to him, his voice low. He was about to snap at him to shut up, because Eiji could definitely hear them, when Alex continued, “You can’t really retire this for good?”

He waved a hand in front of them, as though the whole gang was stood there. Guns, drugs and danger. But also late drinks at the bar, laughing until it hurt, and the distinct comradery that came from sharing everything. Those parts, he would miss. Would miss doing what he wanted when he wanted – sleeping in until the early afternoon without Eiji scolding him.

“Afraid so,” he said.

“Always thought Ash lynx would go out with a bang.”

Everyone had. People like Ash didn’t retire. They didn’t live long enough.

“You can say I died when I was stabbed.” Ash shrugged. “Or burnt in the fire. I'll change my name and hide in the desert.”

“Until a plucky youngster finds old Ben Lynx's computer?” Alex grinned. “And it has a message to save a princess on it?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Something like that.” Sighed. Because that was the trouble with not expecting to see his twentieth birthday. It left him with a life he didn’t know how to fill. “I don’t know. College, I guess.”

Kong nodded. “That's what young people do.”

It was partly encouraging, as though that made sense for Ash. But Kong also said it as though Ash was not young. He didn’t feel it.

“I was thinking law. Or - psychology.” He wasn’t. Max was. And when he suggested them, they sounded like good ideas. The opportunity to stop what had happened to Ash from happening to other people. To seek justice, without carrying a firearm.

“Can’t imagine that either.” Alex sniffed.

“Ash in a suit?” Bones had clearly heard them. “Every day?” He shook his head. “Cursed.”

And if Ash was truthful, he hated the idea too. He knew that both paths, in reality, would be dreadfully boring. Would become a nine to five job that he hated. Trapped, five days a week, at work. It was just the icing on the cake that suits made his skin crawl and his stomach heave.

He wished he was like Eiji, and was good at something creative. His past would lend itself to that nicely – like one of those dogs, or elephants who can draw – look – the gang leader and child prostitute can paint! What an inspiration!

Eiji – who was looking at him with just a little bit of worry on his face. Because he could read Ash so well, and knew that he hated this – hated thinking about the future. All apart from one aspect – the thing sat in his pocket.

“We’re looking around at colleges,” Eiji said, smoothly. “And keeping our options open.”

Our. Ash wanted to kiss him. He settled for taking Eiji’s hand, and squeezing it tightly. Eiji squeezed back, dark eyes full of stars as he looked at Ash.

“Are you going back to Japan?” Soo-Ling asked. Almost nervous.

They had considered it. Because out of the two of them, Eiji was the one with family. It was only fair he lived by them. But Ash – Ash, who knew French, passing amounts of Spanish and Italian, could stumble his way through a passage of Latin – struggled with Japanese. His mind simply wouldn’t remember it.

But it was also – “I don’t like being at home.”

Eiji had said it, nestled under Ash’s chin as they lay on the sofa, having abandoned work. Ash’s phone was on shuffle – New Kids on the Block played away to themselves.

“I feel like,” Eiji continued. “My mother and my sister remember me a certain way – expect me to still be like – that. And, when I’m not, they look at me like they don’t recognise me, or like they’re – disappointed. I don’t like that. I’ve changed too much to go home.”

Changed because of Ash. Because Ash had dragged him into everything, and given him a gun. Because Ash hadn’t made him go home when he should have. It was like Eiji knew exactly what he was thinking, because he sat up, so they were nose to nose.

“I’m sorry,” Ash managed to say, fingers tightening on the hem of Eiji’s shirt. The skin of his back was warm against his knuckles.

“I chose to stay. I wanted to stay.” He kissed Ash. “I love you, sweetie.”

Ash kissed him back. Raised his legs so that Eiji slipped to straddle him. He’d grinned, and peppered Ash’s jaw in kisses.

Now, Eiji glanced at Ash, and tucked a dark curl behind his ear. “Only on holiday.”

He squeezed Eiji’s hand again. He couldn’t say how much it all meant. So, he kept hold of it, hidden at their hips, as they continued along the path. To the boating lake – “from Stuart Little,” Bones cried – and of course the boys wanted a go.

They leant against the trees on the edge of the path. The box weighed heavy in Ash’s pocket. He could do it here, whilst no one else was paying attention. Under the trees, with Eiji’s hair shining, and his eyes full of stars. Could say that there were no words to describe how grateful he was that Eiji would give so much up for him, could sit through the trauma – Ash’s menagerie of problems. The very fact that he’d stayed was more than Ash ever thought.

The words were in his throat. All he had to do was curl his fingers around the box and pull it out. Eiji would know what was happening, and it would be easy then.

“You’ll be fine.”

Ash blinked.

Eiji smiled at him. Squeezed their hands. “You’ll figure out what to do Ash. And you’ll be brilliant.”

It knocked the words from him. Ash leant his head against Eiji’s shoulder.

“I love you,” was all he could whisper.

Which meant the speech would have to wait.

Eiji had all day, but he knew where he wanted to ask. Ash’s favourite spot in New York. He was sure of that. Was sure of Ash’s answer, but there was still a small voice in him that questioned it. Because Ash Lynx was not that kind of boy.

The box was heavy in his pocket. He knew Ash would never touch his China Town jacket – he’d never find it.

Sing asked for ice cream, as they came out of the park. They were just wandering, because Ash missed just being in the city. They’d all already seen the tourist places – several times. Eiji had dragged Ash to all of them that first Summer – before everything got so – got even more intense.

So he brought the ice cream on the edge of the park, and tried to subtly head towards the NYPL. Not that it was easy to be subtle, when Ash knew the whole of Manhattan like the back of his hand.

Alex, Eiji thought, had caught on. At least suspected something, with the way he kept raising his eyebrows.

Bones and Kong were eager to fill Ash in on the ins and outs of the gang, and Eiji didn’t miss the look in his eyes. They sparked with interest, however much he tried to hide it. Tried to hide that he put a hand to the waistband of his jeans, for his gun, several times a day, to come away empty handed. Tried to hide that he loved leading the gang. Loved hanging out in the bar until late, and sleeping most of the day off. Loved having a purpose, being on the streets and being alert every moment of the day.

But he was giving it up. Giving it all up. For Eiji. And he didn’t know how to say thank you for that, because – for Eiji? The photographer from Japan? Who could barely shoot a gun and hated staying up late? (He’d often just fall asleep after midnight at the bar, and have to be shaken awake by Ash.)

Only a street away from the library. Eiji took a breath. Made sure for the thousandth time that he had the box.

“You want pictures?” Alex was right at his side.

Eiji jumped. Glanced at Ash, but he was walking in front, with Bones and Kong, deep in conversation.

“What?” he whispered.

Alex glanced to Eiji’s jacket. Raised an eyebrow. “Its obvious, what you’re up to.”

His face was flamed with heat. “Don’t tell.”

“As if.” Alex grinned. “Do you want pictures? Since you’ll be…”

“No.” Eiji did, actually, but he didn’t think Ash would thank him for it. Still no photos. “Well – not the face.”

“Got it.”

They were on the corner. Eiji could see the lions. Took another breath, but it was an effort. This was it. The moment. His heart raced, painful.

Ash turned back, smirking, and Eiji smiled back. As though nothing was wrong. As though he wasn’t about to explode.

He counted the steps. Focused on those familiar stone lions. Lions, lynxes – big cats flocked to big cats. The group was nearly there when Alex pulled Bones and Kong to one side. Said, loudly, that it was “big boy gang business, and absolutely top secret.”

Of course, Soo-Ling heard. Of course, he wanted to be involved. And suddenly it was just Eiji and Ash, on the steps of the New York Public Library.

This was it.

Eiji had to do it. Had to say it. But now he realised that he’d not thought this far. He’d thought the words would just – appear – when the needed them.

Ash’s hand brushed his. His voice was soft, when he said, “Eiji.”

It seemed like an effort for him to look from the library to Eiji. The sun made his hair shine gold. But there was a light behind his eyes – a glow – the kind he had when they lay in bed together, and saying they loved each other.

“I asked you – once – not to stay with me forever, just for a while.”

Oh – Eiji realised it. What was happening.

“Ash.” He had to stop him.

“I –” Ash looked down, hair falling in front of his face. “I want to thank you for staying. Because you became my reason for – for staying. Here.”

He turned back to the library. Chest heaving, as though it was painful. That was when Eiji couldn’t stand it, and dropped to his knee, as Ash continued, “When things got hard, it was you that I thought of. Because I love you.”

“Ash –” He tried again. The box was in his hand. All Ash had to do was turn.

People were looking. He saw them, out of the corner of his eye, turning and watching. Heard the guys, either talking about them, or still about whatever nonsense Alex had made up.

“I love you – so much.” Ash wasn’t paying attention to any of it. “I never – thought that I could. And I could never say goodbye to you.” He swallowed. Eiji’s chest ached. “Never. So I have to change that question –”

“Ash Lynx.” Eiji raised his voice. Ash blinked, and turned, eyes shining. He seemed floored to see Eiji, kneeling, bemused and fatigued, but so relieved that Ash had the words he didn’t. “Marry me.”

Ash kept staring. As though he couldn’t register it. It didn’t even look like he was breathing. He took in the box. The glint of rose gold.

“But, I –” Ash fumbled in his jacket. And there was his own box in his hand, as he got down on one knee. Flicking it open – almost as naturally as pulling a trigger.

The band sparkled – like Ash’s eyes. Silver.

Eiji laughed. It was all he could do. To shake his head and say, “I couldn’t let you beat me.”

And that made Ash laugh too. A bright, bubbly sound. He pressed his forehead against Eiji’s, and the boxes bumped together. They kissed – shaking. Eiji, or Ash, or both of them – were shaking. Ash kissed Eiji again. Kept laughing.

He put his hands on Ash’s cheeks. To steady them. His skin was warm, under his palms, and it was hard to talk. “Is that a yes?”

Ash nodded. Kept nodding, looking unable to speak.

Another kiss. Eiji managed to take the ring out – managed to keep his hands steady as he took Ash’s hand and slipped it on. And he knew, when he brought it, that it would look right on Ash’s pale skin. But it felt right, too. Like a string, connecting the two of them.

Ash’s fingers shook, as he took Eiji’s hand. Pressed the ring on, gently. The silver bright against brown skin.

More kisses. And it felt like they couldn’t stop. Brief, chaste kisses that felt like a heartbeat – Eiji’s heartbeat. A butterfly against his ribs.

“Come on, you.” Eiji caught hold of Ash’s elbows, and helped him up. Kept hold of him. The ring seemed warm – as warm as the sun.

Ash cradled Eiji’s face. Still shaking. Buried his fingers in his hair, and kissed him. More deeply this time. Like Eiji was air – but that was fine, because he could barely breathe as it was.

He grinned. They were both grinning. Still laughing. Eiji buried his face in Ash’s shoulder, because there was applause all around them. Because there were wolf-whistles from Bones and Kong. Cheers and people happy for them –

Happy because they were engaged.

Ash’s face was buried in Eiji’s hair. He felt him take a long, shuddering breath as he held him.

They were engaged. It was such a strange, wonderful word. A word Eiji had never really thought about – not in relation to himself. But he thought he liked it.

Thought he liked the idea of marriage. If it was with Ash.

Ash – who whispered – “I’m going to be fucking married,” in Eiji’s ear.

And that made him have to kiss him. One more time. Because Ash Lynx had actually said yes – and to be married – and that

There were not a lot of people to tell. The gang knew instantly, thanks to Alex’s Instagram livestream. (Ash would find a way to delete that – he had to.) Not just them; Cain Blood had texted him, just an hour later, to say congratulations. So it was safe to assume that every gang member, or leader, in Manhattan had seen the video of Ash and Eiji kissing – and laughing – and kissing.

Eiji was on the phone for an hour when they got back home, cheeks still flushed pink and eyes shining. He spoke rapidly in Japanese. There was a lot of shouting from his sister. The good kind, Ash thought. They laughed a lot, and Eiji kept squeezing Ash’s hand. The ring dug into his skin. And he wanted it to press deeper, so that the mark stayed.

Then he spoke to his mother. And he shuffled on the sofa, tracing the lines of Ash’s palm, voice quiet. He hesitated more, before he replied, and bit his lip, until Ash teased it out with his thumb. Eiji forced a smile.

“It not go down well?” Ash asked, when Eiji hung up. The phone seemed to fall through his fingers, onto the sofa. He tucked himself against Ash, cheek on his shoulder.

“She’s just – worried,” Eiji said. Ash toyed with the dark hair curled at the nape of Eiji’s neck, because he could. “It’s not – recognised in Japan.”

Ash’s stomach lurched. “But, you can –”

“I can marry whoever I want abroad.” Eiji kissed his cheek, and smirked. “You can’t get rid of me that easily, Mr Lynx.”

A shiver ran down his spine. Would he even be Mr Lynx much longer? It wasn’t technically his name, and he didn’t need to be any longer.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He kissed Eiji’s forehead, and felt him fold even further into him.

“It’s just – for her –” Eiji’s finger traced the line of Ash’s collarbone. “This means that I’m not coming home. Not – permanently.” Just holidays. “And that’s hard for her.”

He caught Eiji’s hand. Kissed the ring, and it seemed like it hummed under him. “I’m sorry.” Sorry that Eiji was giving up so much for him. That he had put him through so much. Was sorry for everything. “But – your sister?”

Eiji squeezed Ash’s hand. And grinned. “Very happy that her good luck charm worked. Too well, she said.”

And no doubt conflicted as well, that her brother was staying in America.

He leant back against the sofa, arms around Eiji. They seemed to slot against each other perfectly.

“Oka-san will get used to it,” Eiji continued, softly. Untangled their hands to line them against each other, palm to palm, finger to finger. “She’ll have to.”

“Stubborn.”

A coy smile. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is,” Ash replied. “When you don’t do something I want to do.”

The sparkle returned to Eiji’s eye. It wouldn’t be the end of it – there would be more conversations, more of Eiji thinking everything through. But for now, he could put it aside.

“But you love me.” Eiji kissed him, and that was the only thing that mattered in the world for a moment.

“And you love me.” It made his lips tingle, to say it. Ash pressed their foreheads together. “I’m glad I don’t have family to break it to.”

As if it was bad news. When, in reality, he couldn’t even begin to describe what he felt when he saw Eiji on one knee and just knew what he was going to say. Awestruck, would be a start. Completely awestruck that he would – with Ash. He knew he would. But it was still – a shock.

“You do.”

“No.”

Eiji’s hand shoved his chest, lightly. “Max.”

“Not a chance.”

Yet, five minutes later, Ash had the phone in his hand, listening to it ring. Because Eiji had been insistent. Had promised that he’d fix shrimp and avocado salad for dinner, if he did. Because, if he was truthful, he did want to tell someone. Himself.

And Max – was not family – but he was somewhat close.

“Hey kid.” Max sounded distracted. Like he was doing something else.

“Max.” He tried to sound like he didn’t care. Like it wasn’t important. “Eiji said I should tell you.”

Eiji, who was sorting through photographs, on the other end of the coffee table, (so Ash couldn’t distract him with kisses), raised an eyebrow.

“You should!” He had Max’s attention now. He could imagine him straightening up, ears pricked like a golden retriever.

“That –” Ash took a breath. Because the word was not one he would ever think of for himself. “We proposed.”

“We?”

“Both of us.” He balanced the phone between his ear and his shoulder, to touch the ring one more time. “At the same time.”

“How cute.”

And he could just see the smile on Max’s face. A mix of patronising and completely caring that raised his hackles every time.

“This is why I didn’t want to tell you.”

“Let me guess –” Oh, he was definitely grinning now. “You said no.”

“I hate you.”

“But you love Eiji.” Max’s voice turned soft. Teasing. “You love Eiji so much, you want to marry him.”

“Ugh.” Ash shifted away from Eiji, just in case he could hear it. From the smile he was trying to hide, and his flushed cheeks, he already had. “How old are you?”

“So, you're engaged.” And that was serious Max.

Ash looked at the ring on his hand. Found himself smiling. “Yeah.”

“Happy?”

“No, I'm miserable.” He rolled his eyes, so Eiji would know he was joking. He received a grin as bright as their rings.

“You always try so hard to be.” Max’s tone was still light. But then there was a pause. For the first time in the conversation, Max was genuine. “I'm happy for you, Ash.”

His chest went strange at that. And he wondered, for a brief moment – if he – would be happy for him. Probably not. But then, Ash had never been able to come out to his father. Never known if he’d be bothered at the fact Ash loved boys as well as girls.

Maybe Griffin would have talked him around to it. Maybe he’d be happy for Ash.

“Yeah?” he asked the phone. His voice seemed quiet, and far away.

“Yeah. Real happy.” Max’s eyes were probably twinkling. “You - you deserve this.”

This? Ash – deserved – no. His mind couldn’t wrap around that. He couldn’t think in what people did or didn’t deserve.

He turned it into a joke, instead. “Deserve to be tied down to the Japanese klutz?”

Eiji stuck his tongue out at him. “Better than the fussy American.”

“Definitely,” Max said, as Ash covered his mouth was his hand, to smother his chuckle. “Now I'll need a wedding invite, because I'm already planning my speech.”

“Fuck.” It dropped the smirk off Ash’s face. “The planning.”

“Yep. Welcome to hell.”

Ash looked at Eiji. Who had the sun behind him, lighting the back of his dark hair like a halo. Who was smiling at him. Who had asked Ash to marry him. He wondered about saying that it felt more like heaven.

That was too sappy, even for them.

“Dragging you with me," he said, instead.

“See you there, kid.”

“Sure thing, old man.”

They both hung up. Ash sighed, throwing his head back, to look at Eiji. “Happy now?”

Eiji smiled. A soft, happy smile that made him glow. “Very.”

If he was honest, so was Ash. But then, he had felt this way since Banana Fish had ended. Since he and Eiji lived together. Since they were safe.

And, honestly, he had not thought much about the actual wedding. Had been so focused on the proposal, on the idea of being engaged, that the idea of organising anything – of standing up and changing vows – seemed like an unnecessary ordeal. Not counting clothes, cake, music – everything else. Wasn’t it enough they both said yes today?

None of it was going to be easy. Not the planning or the wedding, or Eiji leaving Japan for good.

But they’d come this far, he thought, taking Eiji’s hand. Receiving another sunshine-like smile.

They would manage.

#banana fish #turnupswrites #asheiji #this is so old lmao i forgot to post oneshots on tumblr #ash lynx #eiji okumura

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nataliedanovelist · 4 years

Text

GF - Beauty Within the Fallen ch.VI

Summary: Two misfit twins come across an enchanted castle, home of a mysterious beast, and slowly begin to form a strong bond that just might survive through anything. Even evil demons.

AU and artwork belong to the beautiful and very talented @artsycrapfromsai. Go give her some love, guys!!!

ch.V - ch.VII

~~~~~~~~~~

The next few days were wonderful. The journal, the beast, and the two children grew closer and closer, becoming good friends. While the children enjoyed including Ford in all things possible, reading and drawing with him, they had a special bond with Stan. So many times the journal watched as the beast played in the snow, making snow angels and snowmen with Dipper and Mabel, or witnessed them playing chess, or heard of their times together from Stan himself, and Ford was so very happy for Stan. Maybe after all these years, he will finally believe he wasn’t a monster.

Stan was always good with kids, but the twins were special. Mabel knitted him the promised red sweater within two days and even blessed it with a kiss, as was tradition. Stan bit his lip and put it on under his cloak and wore it proudly all day, only taking it off in fear of ripping it or ruining it. The evening of their first snowball fight, Stan joined the children at the table and was so hungry that he had forgotten his little secret and buried his face into his soup like an animal, leaving his silverware abandoned by his bowl and making a mess. He suddenly stopped, embarrassed, and grumpily wiped his dripping, furry chin with his knuckles. Dipper and Mabel, however, were not disturbed or digested, as he had predicted they would be. Dipper only smiled at him (he had assumed this was how a canine-like creature would eat) and Mabel grinned and picked up her bowl. “Yeah! Who needs spoons?!” And she drank her soup from the soul with a smile. Dipper did the same. Stan grinned, wiped himself clean, and picked up his bowl and lapped it. The spoons stood up, huffed and stuck their heads up high, and left the dining hall. The next day, in front of the fire as Dipper read a new book out-loud and Mabel worked on an orange sweater, it happened again. Stan made a hostile comment about his appearance. His tone was casual and even a little comedic, but his vocabulary was dark and unappreciated by the children. They exchanged looks before Mabel finally decided to say something. “Stan, I really don’t like that m-word.” “What? Might?” “No,” Mabel laid her knitting down on her lap and gave him a firm yet gentle look; it reminded Stan of his mother. “You’re not… It’s not… I… It’s not what’s on the outside that counts, it’s what’s on the inside!” Mabel finally settled on. “And you’re full of giant, sparkly, dusty, mushy piles of gold!” “Yeah man,” Dipper injected. “Aside from a few hiccups, you’ve been nothing but nice to us. Don’t put yourself down like that. You’re not a monster.” He added firmly. “Not to mention cute and fluffy! Mabel added, ruffling the gray fur on his arm. “For what it’s worth, we think you’re pretty awesome.” Stan was stunned. He swallowed a lump in his throat and turned his head away, trying to hide a sniff as he wiped at his eye. “Aw, Stan,” Mabel cooed. “Dude, are you crying?” Dipper asked with a smile and a raised eyebrow. “No, I’ve just got something in my eye, that’s all.” Stan grumbled. “Staff’s gotten lazy with the dusting. Wish they did as good a job as you kids with that ballroom.” Mabel and Dipper, who weren’t fooled, smiled with pride, having just finished the ballroom today, and they resumed their activities in peace. Later that evening, when Stan recalled the event as he prepared for bed, Ford laughed (or laughed as much as a journal can). I’ve been telling you the same thing for years. Stan can practically hear his brother’s know-it-all tone. “Yeah, well, it’s different when those two kids say it.” Stan snapped. “They’re not blood.” Uh-huh. “Shut up, Sixer.” ~~~~~~~~~~ Dipper tested the pulley system again while Mabel hitched Waddles up. There was a huge washing well in the castle, and though the servants would have been happy to do laundry, the twins wanted to test their invention in peace; they never did get to see if it was truly better than hand-washing. Mabel laid a trail of corn around the well and Waddles trotted along happily, then the kids sat with a book and waited. Rather than Dipper reading, he had Mabel read in order to practice, none of them having to hear someone coming along and stopping a girl from learning. The clothes inside the barrel were spinning and getting soapy. Dipper and Mabel smiled at that and resumed their reading. Their invention seemed to be working. A soft knock on the door interrupted them and Stan walked into the shack. “Hey kids, just wanted… Holy Moses! What is that?” The beast asked as he looked at the odd contraption. “It’s our washing machine!” Mabel cheered. “Dipper invented it…” “Don’t even try, Mabel.” Dipper teased and lightly shoved her by the shoulder. “It was your idea, I just helped you make it real.” “Wow.” Stan bent his knees and watched the clothes turn and clean themselves in the barrel as Waddles pulled it along the well. “That’s really impressive, kids. Really. Just… wow.” “So,” Dipper said hesitantly. “You don’t think it’s weird?” “Are you kidding? It’s super weird, but weird’s a good thing. I’ve never seen anything like it! It’s unique!” Stan ruffled their hair and smiled kindly down at them. “I’m proud of you little geniuses. You did good. You know what, we should make this a permanent thing, make all the laundry go by faster.” As Mabel smiled, her bottom lip trembled. Dipper looked away with a red face. Apart from Fiddleford, no one had ever praised one of he and Mabel’s inventions. For the first time in his life, Dipper didn’t feel a freak for being himself. ~~~~~~~~~~ Stan was admiring the ballroom again. Those kids did a good job with it. It sparkled and shined like a huge diamond. It looked more lively than it looked in thirty years. Everyone here felt more alive than they had felt in thirty years. Tapping noises could be heard as Soos hopped up to Stan. “Sup, boss?” “Just thinking.” “Ah.” Soos hopped up onto the piano and smiled at Melody, who smiled back, before drawing their attention back to the master of this castle. “Soos, Melody, I’m sorry.” “Oh,” Melody sighed. “It’s alright. It’ll all be over soon, you’ll see, sir. Once the kids’ guardian takes them home they’ll help you find a nice girl that will break the spell.” Stan snorted with a half-smile. “I don’t think that’s gonna work, but I guess you miss all the shots you don’t take.” His ear flickered. He lifted his head. “Hear that?” Soos and Melody listened, but heard nothing. Stan left the ballroom and listened. His advanced hearing picked up… groaning? Punching? Cautious, Stan followed the sound to the old chophouse in the garden. He opened it to find Dipper alone in there, but he was punching a makeshift dummy made out of wood. Stan watched as Dipper’s noodle arms launched little, uncoordinated fists at a t-shaped wooden figure. He smiled and shook his head before emerging from behind the door. “I thought you said you didn’t wanna fight.” Dipper jumped, short of breath, but when he saw Stan he relaxed and kicked the hay-covered floor. “That’s not what I said. I just don’t wanna join the army like all the other boys at school. I still wanna learn how to fight.” “Why?” “Cuz Mabel needs me to!” Dipper snapped. Stan gave him a funny look, a look he couldn’t quite pin as a warning or sympathetic, so Dipper sat against the wall of the shack and explained himself. “I can’t go off to war because Mabel needs me here. If I went away and never came back she would be heartbroken. She can’t lose anything else, she just can’t. She already lost Mom and Dad and Grandpa, if she lost me, her twin, she’d… she’d…” The twelve-year-old rested his forehead on his folded arms and tried to compose himself. “I can’t lose her either. That’s why I have to learn how to fight. We almost died, twice. She needs me to be able to look after her.” “Sounds to be it’s more like you need her. You need to make sure she’s okay.” Stan concluded. Dipper sighed. “Yeah.” Stan smiled and bent his knees to be closer to the boy. “Look, kid, trust me, I might not know much, but I do know a thing or two about twins. You two need each other equally, trust me. Don’t you dare think for a second that’s not true. Also, I think knowing where you’re needed most is a huge part of what being a man is, and right now you’re the best at it I know.” Dipper lifted his head and stared up at the beast, whose eyes sparkled warmly. He smiled and said, “Thanks, Stan.” “Anyways,” He stood up straight and motioned for Dipper to do the same. “Wood makes a crummy opponent. If you really wanna learn, I’ll teach you how to fight.” Dipper stood up and accepted the offer, and so Stan taught him how to give a good punch and dodge pretty well. ~~~~~~~~~~ Mabel was laughing over a story Ford had just written for her. They were having fun together, drawing pictures, playing games, and telling stories. A fun game to play was one they made up where Ford would have Mabel give him a collection of words and he would make up a story from such words. Since he found Dipper far more relatable, Ford was happy to bond with Mabel and get to know her better. She seemed lost in thought as she looked away, and Ford patiently waited for an explanation why. “Ford,” Mabel said quietly. “Fiddleford said books don’t lie; is that true?” Ford’s soul smiled warmly. This book certainly doesn’t lie. What is troubling you, my dear? “Can you see me?” Yes. “Am I ugly?” If Ford had a heart, it would have skipped a beat. Mabel mustered enough courage to look at him and was surprised to see the words not as elegantly printed like before. What makes you ask such a question? Mabel sighed and looked down at her hands in her lap. “Back in my village, there’s a lot of cute boys. Dipper calls me boy-crazy. I used to ask out a lot of guys, I mean, if you want something go and get it, but more and more just laughed at me. Called me a freak for liking to invent and read books. Said my cheeks were too fat and my teeth are too crooked and my hair is too greasy and…” Mabel’s voice cracked and failed her. Mabel, read what I have to say very carefully. Ford instructed. Mabel wiped her stinging eyes to see better. You are the most beautiful thing I have seen in thirty years. You are very beautiful, both inside and out. No one is as kind as you, nor as insightful and delightful to be around. You - and your brother, too, for that matter - have made me feel more alive that I have ever felt, even as a human. So don’t you dare think for one moment that you’re ugly or that something is wrong with you. Mabel’s bottom-lip trembled. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she mumbled, “C-C-Can I h-hug y-y-you?” She only asked because when she hugged the closed book, Ford would be unable to talk. Please do. Mabel carefully closed the journal and hugged him like a teddy bear. Mabel cried, spilling about everything. Not just about the insults, but over the loss of her parents, over Grandpa Shermie’s death, over being lost and scared and possibly never seeing Fiddleford again. Mabel tried not to cry on Ford’s pages, but she noticed a drop falling into the book when she began to pull away and she quickly flicked through the pages to try to find her mistake. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She cried. On a page, Ford quickly wrote, Don’t be sorry. Water does not damage me the way it does other books. I know you must be tired of reading this, but you just reminded me of Stanley. Mabel wiped her nose on her sleeve. “I did?” He used to cry on my open pages, ashamed and overcome with guilt. Still does sometimes. I do not mind; on the contrary, I am glad to be able to wipe your tears away. Mabel smiled, but still cried. She laid the journal open on the table and laid her little head on him, like he was a pillow, as she continued to cry. Out of the corner of her eye, the girl saw more comforting words on the pages. Don’t you worry, my dear. One day a boy will come along and have great interest in you and treat you right. “Th-There’s one boy,” Mabel whimpered, thinking of Gideon, “But he’s creepy. I told him I don’t like him and he won’t quit asking me out.” Shall I tell Stanley and send him in this boy’s direction? Mabel hiccuped a laugh. “N-No, that’s okay.” Regardless, one day your own prince will meet you and love you and love every part of you. Mabel cried a little harder, spilling more tears on the pages that were instantly soaked away. He and Stan were such amazing friends. She would do anything for them. “Don’t worry. I’ll help you and Stan break the curse.” She wept. “And when you’re human again, I give you lots of hugs and wipe away your tears.” Ford’s next words were very scraggly and a little hard to read. That would be lovely. ~~~~~~~~~~ The next day, Mabel was in the ballroom. She and Dipper were done cleaning, but she decided that she should sweep one more time, just in case. As she did, Melody played a soft tune while the girl sang a made-up song. “They'll be human again, oh yes human again, when a girl finally sets them all free. Cheeks a-blooming again, they're assuming again, they'll resume their long-lost joie de vivre. They'll be playing again, holidaying again, and we're praying it's ASAP. They’ll push and they’ll shove, they will all fall in love and finally be human again!” Mabel was soon dancing around with her broom, tapping her shoes and singing and having fun. Dipper and Stan, having just finished another fighting lesson, found her and were amused. Mabel ended with a dip of her broom and said, “Thanks.” “Don’t mention it.” The broom said and hopped away. “Nice to see this room being put to good use.” Stan quipped. “Hey!” Mabel said, getting an idea. “Why don't we use it?! We worked so hard to make it nice, what if we dressed up after dinner and had a dance party together! We can sing and dance together, it’ll be fun!” Stan chuckled and shook his head. “Sweetie, you do not want to hear this voice singing, trust me.” “Aw, c’mon,” Mabel begged. “How about it, Dip-Dip? Am I a genius or what?” “More like or what.” Dipper teased and then had to endure a punch on the shoulder. “But yeah, I think that sounds like fun.” “OH! We can even wear fancy clothes! We are in a castle! It’ll be so much fun! And I bet Ford would want to come!” “You’re crazy, kids,” Stan laughed, but smiled down at them with his hands on his hips. “But I like your gumption.” “I don’t know what that word means, but thank you.” “Alright, alright,” The beast smiled with twinkling eyes and asked, “You want a dance, you’ve got one! We could all use one. Tell Grenda to make you two clothes fit for a prince and princess, and after dinner we’ll all come back here for a dance.” The kids cheered and jumped around, high-fiving and running off to tell Grenda. Stan smiled proudly and left to get ready as well. Grenda wasn’t the only one busy that day. It seemed like all the servants were encouraged by the small makeshift party to make the castle look better. Soos and Wendy worked together to gather a team together to clean the whole castle from top to bottom. Candy had the kitchen fix a delicious meal and Grenda and her girls put forth their best effort for the new clothes. Even Pacifica the mirror found it in here to compliment the kids’ appearances. “Not bad, peasants. You clean up nice.” A dance. Ford wrote while Stan dried his fur, having just emerged from the tub. What a wonderful idea! You always were - dare I say it - a party animal. “Sweet Lord, Sixer,” Stan grumbled as he shook his long gray hair dry with a towel, his muscular chest exploded, free from his usual shirt. “It wasn’t even my idea, it was the kids’.” Stan about to disappear to get dressed, but he read his brother’s message first. Those children mean a lot to you, don’t they? Stan smiled softly and disappeared behind his cover for privacy. “Kinda a stupid question for a genius to ask, but yeah. Yeah, they’re good kids. It’ll… it’ll be hard to say goodbye.” Goodbye? What do you mean? When Stan peeked and saw those words, he sighed and said darkly, “Face it, Ford. Those kids won’t be around much longer. Soon enough that Fiddlenerd guy or whatever is gonna find them and take them home where they belong. They’ll finally be with their family again.” Ford’s pages were blank for awhile as Stan slowly got dressed. For being the “smart” twin, he had failed to think that far ahead. Stanley, they’ll come back. When Stan emerged, fully dressed in all but his top red coat, he shook his head at his brother’s words. “I doubt it. It’s dangerous in the woods. Once they leave they might never find this place again. I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but you should enjoy having them around while we’ve got a chance.” The sounds of Soos’ approach ended the conversation prematurely. “The little dudes are ready, dudes.” The hammer informed. “Thanks, Soos.” Stan said and picked up Ford and closed him. “Brave faces, Sixer.” Stan stood at the bottom of the stairs with Ford in his right arm and against his chest, his left tucked behind him. He was having a deja vu moment from standing to greet guests of the parties back in the day. Stan could hear giggling from the kids as they readied themselves, and soon walked down, the boy leading the girl. Stan’s jaw dropped, showing his sharp teeth. Dipper had left his hat behind, his hair just long enough to be tied back with a blue ribbon. He wore a strapping blue suit with gold trim, much like Stan’s suit (except his won was red), and he smiled proudly at his sister, at his right arm. Mabel grinned down at her friends, standing in a beautiful pink gown, definitely Grenda’s finest piece of work to date. She had short sleeves that fell off her shoulders and the dress ruffled pleasantly, just the right height. What’s more, her headband was gone and she wore a back-crown of pink flowers that matched her dress. Ford could feel Stan’s chest swelling with pride. Stan smiled as the kids walked down the stairs, and when they touched the floor, Stan bowed to them. Mabel and Dipper let go of each other and bowed low respectfully at their hosts. Then they all burst into giggles over the sophisticated nature and hurried to the ballroom. Not only Melody the piano, but every musical instrument in the castle was playing for the small party. Stan put Ford on a musician’s stand, open, so he could see and talk. Mabel took Dipper by both hands and they began to waltz together. Stan blinked in pleasant marvel that peasants could dance so well without any formal instruction. Holding hands rather than hips and arms, they laughed and spun. Mabel even lifted their held hands and spun Dipper. Stan laughed and Mabel skipped to him and grabbed his paws. “C’mon, don’t hug the wall!” She giggled and pulled him further onto the dancefloor. Stan waltzed with Mabel, Dipper smiling and watching. He was nervous at first, but the kids melted his worries away and Stan happily led Mabel in a dance. Soon she broke away and Dipper hopped in, both men unashamed to dance together. Then Mabel and Dipper danced. The trio were judging each other, taking turns, and then at the climax of the song they all held hands in a circle and spun and twirled until Stan hoisted them up and sat them on his shoulders. They laughed as the music stopped and they could see Ford writing. Bravo! Magnifique! Bravo, Dipper and Mabel! Well done, Stanley! “Another one!” Mabel cheered as the band of self-playing instruments began to play again. Stan put her and Dipper down and Mabel rushed to Ford, tenderly picking him up and closing him. “Here, you should have a turn, too.” Mabel bowed to the book and then hugged him close to her chest and did a simple two-step with him, not wanting to risk any pages flying out or dropping him. Stan smiled at the girl dancing with his brother and he called, “Looking great, pumpkin!” “Thanks!” Mabel replied. Stan took Dipper’s hands and they danced, this time more crazy and less traditional. Stan even showed the boy his favorite cocky-dance and Dipper laughed and did it, too. For another hour, the party went on. Ford was mostly placed on the music-stand, explaining he liked it best to watch, and soon Mabel’s feet ached and Dipper was short of breath. All of them hot and sweaty, they went out to the huge balcony with Ford to cool down. Stan sat Ford on the polished stone and Dipper and Mabel sat with them, smiling with red cheeks. “Having fun, knuckleheads?” Stan asked. “Yeah,” Mabel breathed with a smile. “Thank you so much! We always have so much fun with you.” Stan ignored the heat in his face by changing the subject. “Who taught you two how to dance, anyway?” “Fiddleford.” Mabel said. “I used to step on his toes a lot and Dip-Dip here had no rhythm.” And she gently elbowed him. Stan, on the other hand, noticed how withdrawn Dipper was and how he was looking out at the forest below them. “What’s the matter, kid?” He asked gently. Dipper didn’t want to ruin the fun, but something heavy was on his heart. He gave Stan a sorrowful look and said, “I miss him. I just wish… I wish we knew if he was okay.” Mabel sagged a little, like a flower with no water, and took his hand. Stan’s ears drooped and he looked away, thinking about the situation. Maybe he should try to find Fiddleford again… wait. “I think I know just the guy that can help.” And he smiled down at the journal. “Ford?” Dipper asked. “Can you tell us where Fiddleford is?” Stan opened the journal. No. The kids were crestfallen again. “Oh.” But I can show you. Ford wrote, searching. Look at my hand. Stan closed the journal and the golden six-fingered hand shined before showing a reflection of Fiddleford. The kids gasped in horror as he was huddled by an old tree, coughing hoarsely, pale and freezing in the snow with a broken arm. Mabel’s eyes instantly filled with tears. “Fiddleford! Oh no! He needs help!” “What do we do?!” Dipper asked. Stan had no idea what to do. He opened the journal for an answer and found a map being drawn on a page. On the opposite page, words formed. This will show you the way to your guardian. Take it. “We can’t rip…” But before Dipper could finish, the page fell out of the journal and onto the floor. Ford had intentionally drawn it on the page he could feel falling out. Go. Was the only word left, and it did not fade away. Dipper folded the map and pocketed it in his coat. Stan looked down at Ford, doing some quick thinking. Stan saw no possible way of breaking the curse. No one would ever love Stan. The kids were about to leave and they were never coming back. If he couldn’t break the curse, maybe he could set Ford free, even if it meant they would never see each other again. Stan closed the book and held him out to the children. “Here. Take Stanford with you.” The kids stared at the journal, the golden hand twinkling in the moonlight. “What?!” Mabel shook her head. “We can’t do that! You’re a family, and family sticks together!” “Take him,” Stan said firmly. “You three should have each other. You can always look back and remember me, if you want to.” “No!” Mabel shook her head. “We won’t have to, cuz we’ll see you again! Soon! Once Fiddleford is okay, we’ll come visit you!” “Yeah man,” Dipper jumped in. “What are you acting like it’s goodbye for? We’ll see each other again, don’t worry. Come on, sis, let’s save Fiddleford.” Mabel ran with Dipper away to go save their only family left. Stan watched them go, his brother in his hands. He wasn’t sure what to believe. ~~~~~~~~~~ Gideon pounded the bed with his little chubby fists before settling down. It wasn’t fair! Crazy Old Man McGucket nearly got everyone in town lost in the woods and was now missing, too, all for nothing! Mabel was out there, probably ran away, and Gideon had no way to get to her! The whole thing was stupid, stupid, stupid! The ten-year-old soon relaxed, exhausted from the work, and fell asleep. It was a starry night sky, nothing more, nothing less. Gideon looked around and froze when a collection of stars made a triangle constellation. The constellation shined bright and in a flash appeared a triangle with one eye, a top hat and a bowtie, twirling a cane. “Well, well, Short Stack,” It said to the boy. “Having a little lady trouble, huh?” At once, Gideon’s fears were gone when he thought this thing might actually listen to him. “Yes! Mabel loves me, but something’s always been in the way!” “Right you are, but don’t worry, kid.” The triangle said. “I know exactly where she is! Get this, she and her brother were kidnapped by a dangerous monster, a ferocious beast, in the woods. The castle’s haunted and nearly impossible to find, but you’re destined to take this ugly beast down and save your damsel in distress.” “I KNEW IT!” Gideon cheered and punched the air. “Where’s my marshmallow?!” “Hold it, let’s shake on it, first.” Bill said and held out a hand that was engulfed in blue flames. “If I help you, you gotta agree to help me later in return.” “Deal.” And Gideon shook his hand. When Gideon woke up, in the same hand he shook, was a map as clear as a bell on how to find the monster. He snorted a laugh and got up to gather an angry mob.

~~~~~~~~~~

Author’s Note: Aw, geez. Lots to say. First off, can you imagine how PISSED I was not only that the live-action movie didn’t have Human Again, but on Disney+ that scene is deleted too! I might be the only one, but I LOVE that whole cleaning musical number and seeing Belle help Beast re-learn how to read. (I decided not to do that since Stan’s been practicing reading for over thirty years.) So, yeah, I put the song in here and adjusted it a bit. And yes, the twins cleaning the ballroom was forever foreshadowing, not just the dancing scene, but what the kids were doing to their new friends.

I wanted to give both kids what we were deprived of in the canon GF show: Dipper and Stan bonding and Ford and Mabel bonding. Yes, we got Boyz Crazy and the Last Mabelcorn, but I’m greedy and say that’s not enough. Also, Mabel’s dress, according to @artsycrapfromsai, is supposed to be a fusion of her dress in the Northwest Manor and Belle’s dress, which I LOVE! (plz will someone draw it)

And now… yeah, I guess I can’t talk much about the cliffhanger without getting spoilery, huh? All I’ll stress is how many of the townsfolk were tired and cold and frustrated over the failed rescue mission when Gideon was throwing his little tantrum and that factor may play in later. Like why it takes so long to gather up a mob.

#GF #gravity falls #ford pines #stan pines #dipper pines #mabel pines #dance #beauty within the fallen #batb au #fanfiction #ballroom #waltz #oops i did it again #i played with your heart #got lost in this fanfic #im not that innocent #now who's ready to cry?!

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apathetic-revenant · 7 years

Text

now you see it all (part 1)

uhh...right.

I guess if fanfic is what it takes to hack depressive brain into writing, who am I to argue

anyway this went on a bit so I’m just going to throw the first part out there and...we’ll see how that goes. takes place in the immediate aftermath of Weirdmageddon, so, spoilers, obviously.

(title is from this R.E.M. song. cause I might as well do that, if I’m writing fanfic anyway.)

After everything she had been through over the past week, Wendy Corduroy wouldn't have thought anything could freak her out any more, much less something as innocent as an old house in the woods at twilight. But the way the fading light and the long shadows of the trees fell on the ruin of the Mystery Shack, the way the crumbled building looked as if it had sat abandoned in the forest for years, the eerie silence and stillness unbroken by any apparent signs of life-it all put a cold twinge in her stomach.

She didn't know what she was going to find here.

And God, the Shack was a wreck. Well, not real surprising, she told herself; they did turn it into a giant mecha and fight a-demon? Demigod? Really pissy walking trigonometry? Whatever. But everything else in town seemed to have...snapped back, like nothing had ever happened. They were all still battered and bruised, but the town didn't show a hint of having been turned into a demonic weirdscape and run roughshod over for the better part of a week. She guessed she'd been figuring-or maybe just hoping-that the Shack would be back to normal as well. It was in the right place, at least, and it was considerably more house-shaped than it had been the last time she saw it, but it looked like it'd been hit by a wrecking ball or three.

She honked the horn of the van a few times before hopping out, leaving the headlights on to stare sadly at the ruined porch. There were no lights on in the Shack, but then again, there probably weren't any lights in the Shack at this point, at least not ones that were connected to anything useful. Didn't mean anything. But it would have been very nice if there was some kind of sign that someone was there.

“Hello?” she called, trying to swallow down the cold feeling that was creeping up from her stomach into her throat. “Anyone home?”

For a moment there was no response, and she started to think that-but then a couple of small figures came to the door and her heart turned over. “Wendy?”

“Guys!”

Then she was running, and they were running, and they all met halfway in some kind of uncoordinated assault-embrace, everyone hugging each other in an arrangement that made up for in enthusiasm what it lacked in dignity. And no, she was not crying, she was just happy to have found them both alive, and Mabel's particularly intense hugging was making her eyes water a bit, dang that girl was strong.

Somewhere around then she noticed the awkward look on Dipper's face and hastily disentangled herself, realizing that this might be a bit of a difficult situation considering, well, things. Poor guy already nearly died of embarrassment about fifty times a week. But then he let out a quiet “owwww” and rubbed at his side, and she realized that for once his discomfort had an entirely different source.

“Oops,” she said, grinning rather sheepishly. “Bit sore, huh?”

“Bit,” he admitted. “I forgot about Bill dropping us on the floor...and, uh, well, there were a lot of things, really-”

“Whoa, hey. You guys are okay, right?” Priorities, Wendy. Scene isn't clear yet.“What did he do to you? Are you-”

“We're okay,” they both said, but there was something a little...flat about it. Which didn't sound right at all, coming from these two.

“Everyone's accounted for back in town,” she told them. “Everyone's-well, not uh, not okay, exactly, but there's no casualties. Somehow. But you guys just up and vanished, man! Soos ran off to find you but he didn't come back and we were all super concerned for you-I mean, we don't really know what happened, but we know you all had something to do with it. You're, like, heroes, man!”

She knew that much. She knew because she remembered-something. She had seen something, witnessed something, but trying to think about that meant she had to think about where, exactly, she was when it was happening, and-and she thought it would be best if she never thought about that again.

It didn't matter because she didn't have to think about that to know that the Pines family had saved the day. She knew that because she knew them.

The twins were looking at each other guiltily. “We've...been here,” Dipper said. “We didn't think about-”

“Hey, it's okay, dude! I'm just glad to know you're all okay. Uh. You...are all okay, right...?”

The way they hesitated made the cold feeling suddenly rise up all over again, like she'd just swallowed a stomach full of ice cubes.

“We're all going to be okay,” Mabel said, with a kind of desperate determined optimism that didn't sit well with Wendy, not compared to the girl's usual effortless, boundless cheer.

“Well,” she said slowly, trying to figure all this out, “that's...good-?”

“Kids?”

They all jumped, spooking like scared rabbits at the little noise. Boy, had it been a long week.

Someone else had come to the doorway of the Shack (that was all it was, she realized just now, a doorway, no door in sight) and for a moment when she looked up at him Wendy thought-but no, it wasn't Stan, of course not, the silhouette was all wrong. Stan was a big guy, big barrel chest, big paunch, big voice, big personality, at least when he thought people were looking. Stan took up space. Stan's brother-not like she knew him real well, or at all, really, but she figured he could take up space too. He was tall like Stan and you could kind of tell he had the same big block chest even if the rest of him was all lean and compact, and he could certainly draw attention like Stan, although his technique was less hey folks look at me I'm the most interesting thing in the room and more I could blow something up at any moment.

But the man leaning against the doorframe, squinting into the light from the car, seemed...small. All slumped and scrunched up, all folded in on himself, like he was trying to collapse himself out of existence. And maybe Wendy didn't know him real well but she knew that that couldn't bode well for anyone.

“Hey,” she said, waving like everything was normal and good and cool and the air wasn't full of horrible uncomfortable silence. “I just came by to check up on you guys-well, I came by to find you guys, actually. Everyone's kind of like, uh. Looking for you.” She felt a bit guilty saying that to his face because, truthfully, people were worried about the kids and about Stan but no one had said much of anything about Stan's brother. Except Old Man McGucket, but no one understood him anyway.

Still, even with that in mind she didn't expect him to stare back at her like she was speaking some language he didn't get and say, “...Why?”

This was not the expected reaction. She gaped back at him. “Uh, cause you're, like, the heroes of the hour, man? And we're all super worried about you cause we couldn't find you in town with everyone else? And-” She caught that last one just in time because nope, nope, nope, she was not going to say, not right here and right now, that she and a whole lot of other people who didn't want to say it out loud either had thought that maybe this whole victory had been, what was the word? Pyrrhic. That whatever had taken him out had taken them out too, that they had all gone down together like the monster and the wizard in that movie.

“Oh.” Something seemed to occur to him and he straightened a little bit, pulling himself up against the doorframe. “Everyone else? Is-is everyone-”

“Everyone's fi- everyone's alive, man. We all just sorta...poofed back into town like nothing happened. We did a headcount and everyone's there. Even that weird little gnome guy.”

Ford sagged back down in relief. “I didn't even think about...I should have. I should have-”

“Whoa, dude.” She wasn't sure if she liked Ford but she didn't like the way that tone of voice was headed. “It's okay. I'm just glad I found you. But, um.” She looked around at the three of them and she didn't want to say it but it had to get said eventually.

“Where's Stan?”

And there it was. The looks on their faces, the hesitation, the way they all traded glances like no one wanted to be the one to say it, whatever it was, and the ice cubes were back.

“He's fine,” Mabel said. “He's...he's going to be...”

“He's inside,” Ford said, very quietly. “Resting.”

He didn't say anything else, so she took a deep breath and started walking, because clearly whatever it was she was going to have to see for herself. Not dead. Alright. She could work with that. Whatever it was, she could work with it. After everything they'd gotten through, they could get through this. Surely.

She imagined all the worst things she could as she walked up onto the porch, trying to swallow them all down, trying to prepare herself: injury, disfigurement, blood, things missing, things twisted. Instead she saw Stan sitting comfortably in his old armchair, holding a book. Soos was sitting on the floor next to him, looking like he'd been crying, but aside from that about the most horrible unsettling thing she could see was that Stan's bowtie was undone.

So what the hell?

She let out her breath all at once. “Hey, Mr. Pines!”

He blinked and turned towards her, and-

Something was wrong, she knew, she felt it in the pit of her stomach, even before he smiled uncertainly and said, “Uh...hello. Do I know you?”

“That's...that's not very funny, Mr. Pines,” she said, trying to be angry, frustrated like you always had to be a little bit when you were dealing with Stan, but her voice cracked on the way out.

What was worse was the look on his face, which was not anything like Stan. Not angry, not grousing, not that little spark of mischief in the eye. He just looked like a little kid who'd been told off and didn't know why.

“I'm sorry,” he said.

She whipped her head around and stared at Ford, who was still in the doorway.

“He's lost his memory,” Ford said heavily. He didn't turn around. “He...it should be...he's remembering some things already. So I have hope...”

She kept staring at him. Behind her, she heard Soos saying, “That's Wendy, Mr. Pines. She works for you.”

“Oh, like you do?”

“Yeah! See, here she is in this picture...”

“How?” Wendy said. Probably she should be more tactful right now but screw it, she didn't have it in her, not now. “Did he hit his head, or...”

“No.” She could tell by the very definite way Ford said it that she'd hit on something there. Abruptly he turned his head and looked at her with an intensity so strong and sudden she almost took a step back. The glare of the headlights made all the lines of his face harsh and stark and he looked somewhat more like she thought he was supposed to, but also somehow not.

“Listen,” he said, like he was giving her the most important information in the world. “When you go back to town, tell them-tell everyone...it was Stan. He saved us. He's the hero. You have to tell them that.”

Wendy looked at him, propped up in the doorway and staring at her like all their lives depended on what he had just told her-looked at Stan in his chair, looking at the scrapbook like a kid, looking small, while beside him Soos sat on the floor with his eyes all rimmed red and exhaustion ground into his face-looked at the kids on the porch standing close to each other all bruised and beaten up and still putting monumental effort into being brave-looked at this whole family scattered around the ruins of their home, all desperate and determined and battered and tired and lost-and right then she made an executive decision.

“Tell them yourself,” she said. “I'm taking you guys back to town with me.”

Everyone looked at her. Ford frowned like he couldn't quite process the words. “Er...”

“Dude, you guys can't stay here!” The looks on all their faces made it clear they hadn't really considered this. Somehow. “This place is like, condemned. And you all look one hundred percent done for. I mean, do you have any food here? Running water? Lights?”

The kids and Soos- so, basically, the kids-all spoke up at once in protest. “We're not leaving the Shack!” “It's our home!” “We can't just give up on it now-”

“Whoa, whoa, time out.” She held her hands up and waited for them to stop. “Calm down, guys, I don't mean, like, forever. Just for tonight. Everyone here looks like they need a square meal and like, two days of sleep. So come back with me-I stole Thompson's van, so we should all fit-and we'll get you put up somewhere and then we can see about fixing up the shack when we're all in better shape, okay?”

There was a round of looks exchanged among the family. Finally Ford-who evidently was the current reigning Responsible Adult, if only by default-said, “That's...probably the best idea, under the circumstances.”

Wendy sighed in relief. “Okay. So-”

“Wait-I-have-to-get-some-stuff!” Mabel ran past, almost bowling Wendy over. Dipper followed her, a little less energetically; it looked like they were making for the attic, or whatever was left of it.

“Be careful up there!” Ford called after them. “This house is not very structurally stable at the moment!”

There was no response. Wendy rolled her eyes.

“Okay, Mr. Pines,” Soos said. His usual Soos-ness seemed a bit forced, but he was trying. “How about we get you into the van?”

“I'm an amnesiac, Soos, not an invalid,” Stan griped. “What, are you gonna get me a walker next?”

Wendy almost cried.

“What?” Stan demanded, glaring back at her. “What are you looking at?”

She had to swallow hard a few times before she was able to grin back at him like this was all normal, another day in the Shack trading barbs with her cranky crusty grouchy wonderful boss who maybe wasn't completely gone after all. “Maybe a walker would be a good idea,” she said, catching Soos's eye. “You are, like, a senior citizen, man.”

Stan narrowed his eyes at her. “How much do I pay you?” he said. “Because however much it is, it's too much.”

Wendy started laughing, and somehow she couldn't seem to stop, not the whole time Soos escorted Stan out to the van, Stan clutching the scrapbook like a life preserver and looking at her like she was crazy, which, she supposed, she was a bit right now. She followed them out on the porch and sat down on the edge, still giggling a little.

From the corner of her eye she saw Ford come away from where he had moved out of the doorway and slowly sit down on the opposite side of the steps. He moved-well, the phrase like an old man came to mind, but not much like this particular old man. One of the only times she'd seen Ford out and about in the Shack, he had come running into the gift shop chasing something or other that had gotten free, and by the time she had watched him chase it out into the yard and up a tree before punching it to the ground, jumping on it, and wrestling it into submission, she had enough evidence to conclude that however old the guy might have been, he was in better shape than some lumberjacks she knew.

Right now, though, he was clearly not doing so hot. It was hard to tell in the bad light, but he seemed drawn and pale, and one hand was clamped to his side. Well, he had spent a lot of time this past week as a gold statue. That probably couldn't be good for anyone's well-being.

She wasn't sure, really, what to think about him. She hadn't been, ever since he'd turned up. Not that she'd ever gotten the whole story about him, exactly, but she knew the gist of it; Soos had gone on about it for like two days, which was enough time for even Soos to make some kind of sense. She knew he was Stan's twin brother, who had gotten...lost, or something, because of some crazy experiment, and Stan had spent thirty years trying to replicate that to get him back. He'd even taken his brother's identity, which honestly didn't really faze her much because she'd pretty much always assumed that Stan was operating under at least one false identity, probably more like three or four.

She knew the two of them were estranged because anyone could see that. Not that she really got all the why behind that, but she knew Stan had been kicked out of his home when he was a kid over it. Soos had cried for about half an hour when he told her that part. She knew from Dipper's rather manic ramblings on the subject that the experiment was dangerous, and that made Ford angry, angry that Stan would risk that danger even to bring him back. And she knew that had to be a sore, sore point between them because it had, after all, very nearly doomed the entire world.

Her instinct was to not like Ford very much for that, mostly because she liked Stan. It was sort of hard to not like Stan in some way, once you actually got to know him and not just the bluster and gruffness and sleazy showmanship. He had given her a job, a place to be, at a time when she had very much needed to not be at home; and as much as he groused and threatened to fire her about five times a day and sometimes threw newspapers at her, he really wasn't that bad of a boss. Alright, and not just because of the amount of slacking off she could get past him.

Because...when she'd first started working at the Shack she'd been-well, not careful, exactly, but snide, keeping her retorts under her breath and her eyerolls behind his back, hiding it all away like she was supposed to, until one day when everything was especially bad he'd turned to her and said, “Look, kid, I don't care if you wanna be insolent. Just put some effort into it, fer cryin' out loud.”

She'd stared at him, hating him, hating herself, hating everything in the whole stupid mean pointless world, and right then she'd let fly with a tirade of the foulest, angriest, most insulting language she knew. It lasted five minutes and at the end of it Stan cackled and gave her a soda and some tips on how to really curse someone out.

He cared about people. She knew that much, for all that he tried to hide it. She knew he cared about her because of the way he had said, once, very quietly, almost shyly, “I know what it's like. To miss someone,” and then suddenly gave her a bone-crunching hug which he would forevermore deny had ever happened. She knew he cared about Soos because every time his birthday came around and he slunk into work all quiet and morose Stan would fire off a constant stream of the absolute worst jokes of all time until the handyman couldn't help but crack a smile. She knew he cared about the kids because-well, anyone could see that.

And she knew he had to care about his brother, to have spent so long working to bring him back. Thirty years-that was her whole life twice over. She could barely get her head around that. Alright, so maybe it was dangerous, but c'mon, this was Gravity Falls; if Stan wasn't threatening to destroy the universe, something else would pick up the slack by next week.

So she'd not been too sure about this brother, about the way he treated Stan, the way any mention of him seemed to make Stan clam up and hunch in on himself and look old and tired and sad. Not that she said anything about it-the kids loved their new grunkle, especially Dipper who was in total awe of the mysterious Author. It wasn't her place to ruin that, and it wasn't like anyone had asked her anyway.

But whatever she thought about him, right now the guy looked so utterly, thoroughly miserable that it was impossible not to feel bad for him.

“Hey,” she said, and then faltered, realizing that she wasn't really sure what to call him. She knew his name, of course-except even that was weird, because it was Stan's name, which was not in fact Stan's name after all-but just calling him Ford felt a little off, a name that wasn't really hers to use because that was the sort of name that always had “my brother” or “my uncle” lingering somewhere in front of it. And she wasn't about to call him Mr. Pines because Mr. Pines was in the van arguing with Soos and she wasn't going to give that name to anyone else.

Mr. Stan's Jerk Brother? Dr. Pines? That was what Soos called him and it was probably her best bet, although imitating Soos was always a risky endeavor. He didn't look like any kind of doctor but he was definitely a Smart Guy so he had probably picked up the right to use the title somewhere or other.

Okay. Dr. Pines.

And maybe, if she had not been exhausted and punchdrunk on stress and adrenaline and caught somewhere between giddy relief and devastation, she would have actually said that like a sensible person, instead of just up and saying, “Hey. Count Rugen.”

dammit dammit dammit NO that was NOT it that was NOT the right thing to say

She waited for him to be angry but he just stared at her in total, blank confusion. “I'm sorry?”

Wendy did some quick math in her head. “Right. I guess you missed that movie.”

Ford sighed and folded up a little bit more. “I missed a lot of things.”

Oh god, oh god, this was just getting worse and worse. “Forget I said that!” she blurted out, a little too loudly. Ford was looking more and more lost by the moment. “What I meant was...I mean...I was just...look, man, are you okay? Ugh, no, no, stupid question, no one's okay right now but...are you...you look like you're going to pass out on me or something, dude, and I don't know if I can handle that right now.”

Ford shifted a little. He still had that hand clamped to one side, like he was trying to hold something in place. “I'm fine.”

She stared at him for a moment. “Okay, so...you're a terrible liar. Got it.”

Ford opened his mouth and then closed it again, looking completely nonplussed. Wendy snorted. “Dude, I've had Stan for a boss for like, three years now. I've seen some good lying, and that? That was not it.”

He glared back at her for a moment like he was seriously going to try to keep up the pretense, but then he shrugged and most of the determination evaporated off his face. “It's...nothing that serious. I've had much worse.”

Oh, god. He was like her dad.

“And that's relevant how, exactly?” she snapped.

Ford was back to giving her the confused-owl look. She sighed. “Look, I don't know if you realize this, but like, if you get hurt once, that doesn't have to, like, set the bar for the entire rest of your life. You know, people can survive all kinds of crazy stuff and then die because they tripped and fell down the stairs or something.”

“Uh,” Ford said. “That...maybe be true, but...”

“So you're gonna see a doctor when we get to town, right,” she prompted.

Ford coughed awkwardly. The brief flash of pain this sent across his face didn't help his case any. “It's nothing anyone needs to worry about. I can take care of it.”

Then, quietly, like someone not really intended to actually say something out loud, he began to say, “I'm not the one-”

He stopped.

Wendy followed his gaze to the van.

She didn't know just what had happened, but she could guess, maybe, a little part of it.

Okay, well, fine. She could play dirty.

“Sure,” she said. “I mean, I'm sure the kids would be totally fine if their grunkle collapses in front of them or whatever. Wouldn't freak them out at all.”

Ford jerked his head around, the look on his face equal parts anger and horrified realization. She met his gaze without flinching. Cool as a bag of ice.

There were footsteps on the stairs behind them. Ford glanced back into the house and sighed. “Fine.”

Wendy grinned.

The kids came tumbling out of the doorway, each wearing an over-stuffed backpack. Dipper was carrying what looked like a camera case and some notebooks, while Mabel was struggling to contain a giant stuffed animal of indeterminate species, an extra sweater, and another scrapbook. Ford blinked at them. “Kids, is all that really necessary-”

“Uh-huh!” Mabel insisted. “Look, I brought my backup scrapbook, and Dipper's got his journals and the camera with all the videos we took! So we can keep showing Grunkle Stan stuff!”

“Oh.” Ford looked taken aback, but after a moment he offered up a wavering smile. “I...retract my statement, then. That...that was good thinking.”

“And Mr. Hufflepotamus is definitely necessary,” Mabel went on, trying to gesture with the stuffed animal and almost dropping it.

“Oh, absolutely,” Ford said, with utmost seriousness.

“And I brought you a replacement sweater.” The younger Pines juggled her burdens for a moment before managing to extricate the sweater and holding it out. “Since yours is all torn up and stuff. I was going to give it to you as a good-bye present, but I thought...” She stopped for a moment, some of the insistent cheer sliding off her face. “I thought...tonight was a good night for new sweaters.”

Ford took the sweater carefully, almost reverently. It was red, like his battered turtleneck, and there seemed to be a design picked out on the front, though Wendy couldn't make it out. “You...you made this for me?”

“Yep!” Mabel beamed at him. “I like making sweaters.”

Dipper groaned loudly. “That's an understatement.”

“I...thank you. It's wonderful.” Ford folded it neatly and held it against his chest. “I'll treasure it.”

Mabel squinted at him. “Aren't you going to put it on?”

Ford coughed again. “Erm-”

Mabel's face crumpled. Ford looked suitably horrified. “I-I mean, of course I'll put it on, just-just not right now this minute, okay? I...I'm all dirty and sweaty right now, and I wouldn't want to mess up my new gift.”

Mabel didn't look like she was entirely convinced-probably, Wendy thought, because she also had spent enough time with Stan to know a terrible lie when she heard it-but she just shrugged and said, “Okay.”

“Can we go already?” Dipper broke in. “My arms are getting super tired.”

“Right. Yes. Of course.” Ford levered himself up slowly, stiffly. He glanced at Wendy a little suspiciously as they all made for the van. “Do you...actually have a driver's license?”

“Nope. But I out-drove a bunch of escaped convicts through a maze of weirdness bubbles, so I figure I can make it back into town.”

“...Maybe I should drive,” Ford said.

Wendy cocked an eyebrow at him. “Oh yeah? Do you have a driver's license?”

“Um...well...technically...”

There was some stifled giggling from behind them, but when Ford and Wendy turned around the twins were looking completely serious. The giggling started up again as soon as they looked away.

“Look, that's not the point,” Ford said. “The point is...”

“The point is you're not driving anywhere,” Wendy said, throwing a significant look at the hand Ford still had around his side. “So-” “Guys,” Dipper said, still sounding as though he were barely holding back laughter. “How about Soos drives?”

On cue, Soos poked his head out of the driver's side window. “Way ahead of you, dawg.”

The twins scrambled into the very back of the dingy old van, while Wendy and Ford took the middle seat. Stan had already been installed in the front. “You guys took long enough,” he grumbled.

“Yeah, yeah,” Wendy said, trying not to grin too hard at Stan sounding like his old self.

#gravity falls #now you see it all #gravity falls fanfic #fanfic #scribulations #excessive ellipses #gravity falls spoilers #????

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