For a moment, all Magnus could do was stare at him, stunned into speechlessness by the core of romanticism that Alec laid bare before him with all his customary lack of guile. A blunt-spoken warrior prince with the secret heart of a poet, that was Alexander Lightwood.
In the wake of Dot’s death, Max’s murder, and Robert’s betrayal, Alec and Magnus and the Lightwood family try to find a new normal. But the wish Izzy made to Raziel on the shores of Lake Lyn is a dangerous secret that too many people know, and Alec isn’t certain he came back to life the same as he’d been before.
Meanwhile, as Alec awaits the fallout from his ultimatum to the Clave, Magnus and the other leaders of the Downworld factions try to work around the terms of the Seelie Queen’s deal with the warlocks and werewolves to build a lasting peace between the Downworld and the New York Institute.
**For the time being, this fic will be updated once a week, on Monday.
I’ll be tracking the tag #TDTfic on Twitter if you want to tweet about it. Or you can @ me. @MalecCrazedAthr
I apologize for the delay between chapters. Posting every other week has been a compromise, because between the #SaveShadowhunters campaign, health issues, and family and financial crises, I’ve been having a really hard time getting back into writing this story. Unless something changes soon, the next chapter I post will be the final one in my buffer. I will continue to try my best. In the meantime, if you want to know some of what is going on with me personally that is causing the delay, check out my tumblr.
My strong, beautiful girl.
Alec could remember the words clearly, even in his dreams.
My son has wanted a sister so desperately. He’ll be so happy with her.
It was one of his first memories, playing in the hallway outside his parents’ bedroom. He couldn’t remember the other sounds from that day. Surely there must have been a great deal of activity and bustle, cries of effort from Mother and encouragement from the medic who was there to assist if any trouble arose and to keep Mother’s iratze rune activated to relieve the pain.
He’d been too young to really register all that, though. He remembered the medic’s arrival, and then an eternity of entertaining himself in a household too busy to pay him any mind.
Hearing the first squall of his baby sister? That he remembered.
My precious daughter. Mother’s gentle croon was strange, unfamiliar, but thick with emotion, low and loving.
With a yell like an Iron Sister’s battle cry, the amused medic was supposed to reply. Alec looked up from his toys, frowning when she didn’t follow the familiar script.
It’s time for the ceremony, Mother said instead, and dread and alarm filled Alec’s chest.
No. No, this was all wrong. Baby Izzy was too young for her rune ceremony. Even Alec wouldn’t get his first rune for another six or seven years.
He flung his toys aside and began pounding on the door of the bedchamber.
Stop! Stop! He tried to scream, but his voice came out as a breathless squawk. She’s too little! You’ll hurt her!
The cries of the baby in the next room went silent, and never resumed. Soon, it was Mother’s sobs he heard instead.
“Izzy!” Alec jerked and nearly fell off the leather sofa. It took a moment to re-orient himself and remember where he was.
The living room of the loft. It didn’t appear to be much past dawn; the light creeping through the balcony doors was gray and the sky outside leaden, promising rain.
“Alexander?” Magnus’s groggy voice drifted from the bedroom. Alec ran a hand through his hair, feeling it standing up at crazy angles, and rose from the sofa to pad barefoot across floor.
“Yeah, I’m here,” he replied from the doorway. Mouse was on the bed beside Magnus, watching warily from Alec’s own spot. When Alec drew closer, she arched ran away.
At least she hadn’t hissed at him this time.
“You’re up early,” Magnus observed, scratching his ribs and yawning. “Restless night?”
“Sort of.” He sank down onto the edge of the bed next to Magnus’s hip. “I didn’t want to disturb you so I went out to the living room and I guess I fell asleep again.”
“I must have been tired to not notice you leaving the bed,” Magnus murmured, slipping his fingers through Alec’s.
“Sorry I wasn’t here to do this.” He leaned over to brush his lips across Magnus’s, and quickly found himself drawn down atop Magnus, struggling to get the covers out from between their bodies without letting go of each other. Alec groaned when Magnus’s hands delved under the hem of his t-shirt to grasp the bare skin of his back, blunt fingernails scoring lightly.
Until just a few weeks ago, until Magnus, the concept of ‘skin hunger’ wasn’t something that had ever had any particular meaning for Alec. He hadn’t known it was possible to miss something so completely he wasn’t even aware of missing it. But Magnus’s touch had quickly become something more than just a pleasure.
It was utterly and wholly necessary. As essential as oxygen or food or sleep. How he’d survived so many years without it, Alec couldn’t fathom.
Touching Magnus like this, the feeling of disconnection, the sense of being out of step with the world around him, faded for a while. The rasp of Magnus’s goatee against his jaw, the whisper of his clothing as Magnus tugged it from his body, the scents of sandalwood shampoo and night sweat and morning breath and musky arousal, all grounded Alec in some inexplicable way, made him feel real.
Especially once they were skin-to-skin.
Later, as he lay between Magnus’s thighs with a heavy breath warming his scalp and Magnus’s rapid heartbeat thudding under the sweat-slicked skin beneath his cheek, Alec wished desperately they’d had the other week they’d intended for their honeymoon, if only to make it possible for this sense of rightness to linger.
“What time did you get up?” Magnus murmured, voice resonating weirdly under Alec’s ear.
Alec frowned. “I don’t actually remember. We’ll just go with your ‘witching hour’ theory.”
“Not sure it’s a theory, really. Just an observation.” Magnus’s fingers danced lightly up and down the damp skin of Alec’s shoulders. He took a deep breath and Alec could feel him hesitating before speaking again. “It was around 3 a.m. when you found Max, wasn’t it?”
“I guess.” Alec rolled away, the bottom falling out of his gut because he’d forgotten Max for a short while. He pulled the covers over him, needing what dubious armor they could offer. “How long does it take?” he asked after a moment of chewing on the words.
“For what?” Magnus turned onto his side to face Alec, tucking his hand under the pillow beneath his head.
“Until it stops ripping a hole in you every time you think of someone you’ve lost.” Alec clenched his fists around the sheet pulled up almost to his chin. “I mean…you’ve had experience with that. I’ve been lucky, I guess, especially for a Shadowhunter. I haven’t really had anyone close die yet, except for my grandparents and I hardly remember them.”
Magnus’s throat clicked as he swallowed hard. “Oh, yes, I’ve definitely had that experience. Many, many times.” A thread of bitterness embroidered his tone and he fell silent for a long moment, breathing steadily in and out, each breath a little slower than the last. “Well, I suppose it varies. On a multitude of factors, particularly the strengths of your support system. How stable you are at the time of the loss.”
“Well, I’m good with the first. The second one, though…” Alec sighed and let his head roll to the side until he looked at Magnus instead of the season.
“We’ll get through it, Alexander.” Magnus reached over, his hand sliding into Alec’s, lacing their fingers so that they were palm to palm. His voice grew shaky. “My advice to you is not to try to rush it. Let it happen. Sometimes what follows is even more devastating.”
“What do you mean?”
“When I saw you lying there that night, what I felt… I wasn’t sure I’d survive it or if I wanted to. I wasn’t sure I could go through it again. And it’s not the first time I’ve felt that way. There have been other losses where I thought, this is it, this is the one that will finish me. Then it’s not, and in some ways, that’s worse. The day you wake up and you realize that yes, you will survive it…it’s awful. It makes you feel disloyal, makes you question everything you ever felt. You wonder, can you truly have loved that person as much as you thought you did, if you can just move on? That’s the worst part of the process, that day when you know you can let go, even when you swore you never would.”
He was my baby brother, he wanted to say. He was a Shadowhunter in my Institute. I was supposed to protect him.
But Magnus knew all that, of course.
“Is that how it is with losing Dot?” Alec asked instead.
Magnus shook his head, sighing. “No. I had months to mourn her before she was ever gone. Her actual death simply felt like the conclusion of the process, and the fact that it was her choice made it easier to accept. Ragnor…some days I still struggle with that one. Thinking someone will be around forever and then they’re not…”
He pressed his hand over the faint scar on Alec’s chest left by Valentine’s crossbow bolt. “Neither of us have been left unscarred by all this, have we?”
“No,” Alec whispered, and drew Magnus’s hand up to his face, pressing a kiss to the back of it.
After they’d showered, Magnus tended to some pressing correspondence from various clients that had arrived while he and Alec were on holiday, drawn out of his study only by the smell of breakfast cooking.
He found Alec setting the table, with Mouse perched on the arm of the sofa, watching him warily. When Alec glanced in her direction, she darted away.
Magnus sighed wistfully, remembering how gentle and sweet Alec had been the night brought the cat home to Magnus the night before their wedding, and how Mouse had readily adopted him as herhuman.
“Is that French toast I smell?” he asked brightly, forcing a little more bounce into his step on his way to his chair.
Alec managed a wan smile as he took his seat. “It’s one of the few things I can make, but Madzie liked it.”
“Young children are notoriously tough food critics, but usually anything that can be drenched in syrup is a big hit.” Mouse ventured closer again, drawn by the scent of food. Magnus conjured a small dish of cream and set it beside his chair.
“Well, if it’s terrible you can just magic away your memory of it,” Alec murmured under his breath, so quietly Magnus might have missed it if the coffee cup halfway to his mouth hadn’t acted as a small echo chamber.
Magnus set down the fork he’d just picked up.
“You’re still troubled by the request your mother made of me.” He covered Alec’s hand with his own. “You don’t need to be. I would never take your memories without your consent.”
“I know.”
Then what’s this about? Magnus wanted to demand, but he swallowed the question down in favor of something less confrontational.
“Do you? I wouldn’t blame you if you had doubted.” Magnus stroked the back of Alec’s fingers idly. “I…try not to look back very much. Or forward, either. When you live for centuries, worrying too much about the future, or an inability to let go of the past, becomes a liability. Anxiety and regrets could easily become an unbearable burden. But what I did for Jocelyn, with Clary…capitulating to that request is not something I’m proud of. Jocelyn had a way of swaying people, and I agreed that raising Clary someplace Valentine would never think to look for her was a sound idea, so I went along with it. If I had to do it over again, I’d probably make very different choices.”
Alec sighed and bowed his head over his plate, the lines of his posture as weary as they’d been before they’d left on their honeymoon. Maybe even more so. Had he been resting at all?
“Magnus, my reservations weren’t because I’m afraid you’d steal my memories. You asked my permission before we went to Idris, I trusted you wouldn’t do it again without permission. And maybe, to protect Izzy, I’d even agree to it. I just—”
He swallowed audibly, his mouth working around words that seemed lodged in his throat. Magnus didn’t attempt to fill the silence, but simply waited for Alec to find what he needed to say.
Finally his hand clenched into a fist beneath Magnus’s palm. “Look, if we get so entrenched in denying anything happened that we convince ourselves nothing did happen, we’re at risk of missing warning signs that something is wrong. With me.”
“So far there are no proof that anything is wrong. Everything you’ve experienced…”
“…Can be explained by other factors. Yeah, I know. Grief can be causing my bad dreams a-and…and trauma is what’s making everything feel foreign, and you just can’t redo a parabatai bond, and the damn cat is only being fickle.” His other palm smacked the table, making the flatware jump on their plates.
Mouse’s claws scrabbled at the flooring until she found enough traction to streak away.
“Oh, I can’t even imagine what else might be putting her off,” Magnus deadpanned.
Alec gave him a narrow look, his lips pressed into a tight line. “My point is, when do we stop rationalizing things away on a point-by-point basis and start looking at the bigger picture?”
“You’re assuming too much on too little evidence, Alexander.”
“Am I? Or am I just putting together the pieces everyone else is determined to bury?”
“No one is burying anything. You’re looking for fantastical explanations where simple ones will suffice!”
“You said yourself there could be consequences—”
“And if there are, we’ll deal with them, but right now you’re just borrowing trouble!”
“That’s easy for you to say.” Alec’s lip curled up into a sneer. “It’s fine for you to claim you don’t look forward or back. You have that luxury. But the last time I let my guard down, Max died. I won’t let anyone hurt the people I love again. Not even me.”
His chair scraped against the floor as he pushed back from the table. “I need to get to the Institute,” he muttered, and strode away before Magnus could protest.
Alec’s thumbs hovered over his phone, hesitating before sending the text that would summon Izzy to his office.
When she arrived, what would he say? Should he thank her for bringing him back? Berate her for her recklessness and for not telling him what she’d done? Censure her for wasting the Angel’s boon on him?
Beg her to help him keep an eye out for the things Magnus clearly didn’t want to see?
A rap on his open door solved the dilemma for him, once he saw who it was. He pressed “send” and silently begged Izzy to hurry and rescue him from the harangue that was no doubt forthcoming.
“Welcome back,” Liz, their chief medic, said when he beckoned her in. “I thought you’d be gone for another week.”
“Change of plans,” Alec answered vaguely. She sank into the chair across his desk and he frowned, noticing the slump and the distinct lack of the brisk energy he’s come to associate with her. “You okay?”
She grimaced and nodded. “Yeah. Long night. That’s actually what I came to talk to you about.”
Alec’s eyebrows rose. “I assumed you’d come to rake me over the coals for not taking the full two weeks you wanted me to take.”
“And any other day, you’d be right.” Liz sighed, clutching her lab coat around herself. “There’s something I think the Institute needs to—”
“You wanted to see me, Alec?” Izzy came striding through the door and stopped abruptly. “Oh, sorry, Liz. I just got Alec’s text. I can come back.”
“No, it’s fine. Stay. Nothing confidential being discussed.” Liz shifted in her chair as though it were uncomfortable for her. “I was just telling Alec about a situation I think the Institute needs to check up on. Last night, Rona’s brother Tim was murdered.”
“Your girlfriend?” Alec asked.
Liz nodded. “Partner, yes.”
“He was a werewolf also?”
“No. The Dempseys adopted Rona when she was a toddler. She’s not a born lycanthrope, anyway. She got turned by a girl she hooked up with at a sorority party her first year at college.” Liz managed a half-hearted smile. “She’d thought it was tough growing up with people who never really understood the issues she faced due to her race and sexuality. Then she became a werewolf in a family of mundanes.”
“You don’t think her brother’s murder is a mundane crime?” Izzy inquired.
“Tim was a pediatric nurse working with neonates down at St. Ambrose. Whoever murdered him did it right in the middle of the nursery and then kidnapped one of the infants. Rona overheard one of the detectives taking a statement from the security officer who checked the surveillance footage. The killer isn’t on there.”
Alec frowned. “The footage was tampered with? Looped?”
“No. I mean the killer was invisible. Tim is clearly there in the footage. One minute he’s on his feet filling out charts, the next he drops to the floor clutching his neck. Whoever came up behind him and slashed his throat as he stood there at his terminal couldn’t be seen.”
“They were glamoured,” Izzy murmured.
“Werewolves can’t glamour. Which means we’re looking for a demon, Seelie, or a warlock,” Liz said.
“Or maybe a vampire,” Alec added.
Izzy shook her head. “Vampires can deceive human perception, but not a surveillance camera.”
“Not as such, but they could have been moving too fast to be seen,” Alec added. “We’d have to slow the footage down to tell.”
Liz made a disgruntled sound. “Why would a vampire take a baby when there’s a full-grown adult lying there, bleeding? Blood is blood, and the adult would have a lot more of it to offer.”
“Some vampires have certain predilections that don’t have much to do with the quantity of blood their victim has to offer,” Izzy conceded. “But a demon or warlock seems most likely.”
“It could have been a Seelie, especially with their history of swapping out babies for changelings, but they tend to go for easier and older targets, not newborns in a secured nursery.” Alec tapped his fingers on his desk as he pondered. “Newborn blood or flesh could be used in dark magic rituals. We should probably start looking there.”
Liz went a little pale and Izzy gave him a scolding look.
What? He mouthed at her as she continued to glare at him.
“Catarina works at St. Ambrose,” he said, shrugging her off. “Izzy, can you take point on this and find out if she knows anything? Grab Clary or Jace to accompany you if you need backup. Liz, do you know which precinct caught the case? Luke is our usual source in the NYPD and the one to try to run interference to keep the mundanes away from the Shadow World investigations.”
Liz sighed. “Rona asked her alpha in Queens to call Luke, but there’s bad blood there. Apparently her pack leader was good friends with Theo, the alpha Luke killed to take over the Brooklyn pack.”
“I’ll call him personally,” Alec assured her.
“How are you holding up?” Izzy asked gently, touching her fingertips to Liz’s forearm. “This has to be hitting pretty close to home.”
Liz’s smile wobbled a little. “I’m okay. Rona is my concern right now. Still, I’m glad we decided I’d be the one to try to carry this pregnancy. She nearly shifted when she got the news about Tim, and had another close call as we were leaving the hospital. If she’d been pregnant it would have been another miscarriage for sure.”
Alec’s mouth open and shut several times before he found his voice again. “Oh. Damn, Liz, I’m so sorry—I didn’t realize—”
No wonder she’d turned green around the gills when he’d mentioned using infants in dark magic rituals.
She smiled wryly and rubbed her belly while Izzy rolled her eyes. “It’s fine.”
Alec’s face heated as he looked away. “You’re always wearing a lab coat,” he muttered uncomfortably. “Congratulations?”
She gave him a weary chuckle. “Thanks.”
“You’re five months along now?” Izzy asked warmly.
“Just over six.” She glanced sideways at Alec and took pity on what was probably a hilariously clueless expression. “Adoption isn’t really an option for us. There aren’t any orphaned cubs from the local packs, and the Clave is never going to let a werewolf adopt a Nephilim child.”
“…And as far as mundane authorities are concerned, neither of you would pass the required background checks and vetting,” Izzy observed.
“Exactly.” Liz answered with another sigh. “Rona’s medical records indicate she suffered seizures and psychotic episodes back in college, and I don’t even exist. So when we decided to start a family, we knew we’d have to make our own. But transformations make lycanthrope pregnancies tricky.”
Izzy’s eyes narrowed a little and Alec could practically see her slipping into clinical mode. “She loses control of her shifts?”
“Unfortunately, yes. She’s fine controlling her it under normal circumstances, but pregnancy hormones just make her grip on her emotions too precarious. So she miscarried twice before we decided I’d be the one to have our baby. Not ideal, what with the Clave’s use of child soldiers, but we didn’t have much of a choice.” She grimaced. “If we’re lucky, our kid will want to train for a support role or as a medic.”
Even though he knew she hadn’t intended it, her remark about the child soldiers hit both him and Izzy like a punch to the gut. She saw their synchronized flinch and it was her turn to flush wretchedly.
“Oh,dammit. I’m so sorry—”
“Don’t be,” he and Izzy answered in unison.
“Anyway, I’ll head back to the Infirmary, since the taste of my own feet may be the one craving I haven’t developed. Thank you for looking into Tim’s murder,” Liz said, rising. “Since you’re coming back to work early, swing by sometime today and let me check you over so I can get it down on record that you’re cleared for duty.”
When she was gone, Alec covered his face with his hands and sighed. Izzy chuckled at him.
“What?” he muttered, peering at her between his fingers.
“Do I have to explain the birds and the turkey basters?”
“Shut up. And close the door.” He dropped his hands and took a deep breath while she complied and returned to her chair, then asked softly, “How could you do that? Using Raziel’s wish that way. Really, Izzy?”
“What was I supposed to do? Just…tell the Angel it was all a mistake and o go back where he came from, while you were lying there dead?” Her hands twisted in her lap, and she looked as uncertain as he’d ever seen her. “Max was—I couldn’t lose you, too.”
“But at what cost? You know what the Law says about anyone who misuses Raziel’s wish. Mom and I will do what we can to shield you, but if the Clave finds out… Despite being the Inquisitor, Mom’s hands will be tied.”
“Butyou’ll be alive,” she replied leaning forward in her chair. “And happy. You’re happy with Magnus, right? He loves you. He’ll always be there for you.”
“Assuming the Clave doesn’t kill me just to be on the safe side,” he said bluntly.
“Don’t even joke about that,” Izzy snapped.
“Who says I’m joking? Iz, there’s no roadmap for this. A resurrected Shadowhunter—there’s no telling what the consequences could be. Not being able to re-forge my parabatai bond with Jace is just the start.”
Izzy huffed. “You sound like Magnus did that night.”
“Really? Well, he seems to have adapted to the idea. However, I’m still on the fence.”
“What’s to be on the fence about, Alec? You’re alive. Whatever else happens, we’ll deal with it. As long as we have you.” She gave him a tight smile and smoothed her skirt over her legs in a gesture so reminiscent of their mother that Alec had to do a double-take. “Besides, Mom’s right. You have work left to do, good work. I talked to Clary about what the Angel said when Valentine summoned him. He outright told Valentine it wasn’t the will of Heaven to eradicate the Downworld. The Nephilim have been moving away from our purpose for centuries. What Max died for, protecting Madzie…you can make that happen.”
“Not if the Seelie Queen has her way.”
“You’ll find a way. It just may take time. Which you have now.” She rose and skirted his desk, kissing the top of his head. “And so do we. I’m going to go check out St. Ambrose and see if Catarina is there. I’ll call Luke and have him meet me there if he can.”
ACOTAR’s fic I’d like to write/keep writing if I wasn’t so tired/I would not feel alone writing it for me and 2 more random people
FinishThe Fox of the Night. Rhysand x Lucien love story should be continued but arrrgh maybe I will finish it!!
Batboys’ + Mor’s story (whose dift I have). This one would focus on Mor and Rhys cuz yeah pls they’re my babes. In general, I would write about how close Rhys and Mor were, what happened when Rhys went to Illyria, how everything happened there until Azriel found Mor naked etc etc.
RHYSLION’S LOVE STORY. It would be looooooong and I’d enjoy writing every damned letter. Overall I would write about Rhys’ problems and Helion’s problems and how they helped each other with their problems (Rhys’ knowing about Lady Autumn. Helion knowing about Rhys’ daddy issues and mental illness cuz hmm… comfy headcanon)
About Rhys’ powers and his relationship with Amren. How he discovered the death weapon that he is. How Amren taught him to control the gifts. The relationship between them that was built. But nobody cares about Rhys much less about Amren lol
i’d like to thank both @itseatyourdamnapplesand@lost-in-the-shelves for helping me flesh out some future plans of make them gold (read here)! i got this idea for how i wanted part three to go and i wasn’t sure if it would be interesting to read, if it sounded right as a plot, and all that jazz! and they were both super helpful about it, and they were very kind, and i just really appreciate them!!!
Fandom: Amnesia: The Dark Descent Category:Mature Pairing:Alexander/Daniel Characters: Alexander, Daniel, Hazel Tags: Slow Burn, Canon divergence – AU, Angst, Folklore
“And what are you going to do once you have your answers? Run away screaming into the night? Alert the villagers and tell them to bring torches and pitchforks?”
Rating: gen (preview), explicit (finished work) Pairing:Alexander/Daniel Summary:This is a follow-up to my oneshot Fantasies from a couple of years ago. Daniel and Alexander hooked up during a ferry trip to Stockholm, had a fantastic one-night stand, and have been kinda-sorta dancing around the concept of dating ever since, which culminates in an actual date night once Daniel gets his shit together and says yes. Yes, I’ve been working on this for like 2 years, however slowly. Modern AU, full of quirky (read: dumb) banter, plus expat Alexander and exchange student Daniel. Oh yeah, did I mention it’s set in Finland? It’s set in Finland. Why? Because this AU is my self-indulgent, sexy little safe haven, and because I can do what I want. Enjoy!
PS. I haven’t proof-read this whatsoever, it’s still in the 1st draft stage, after all. Typos and missing words are almost guaranteed.
Calm down, Daniel, he told himself firmly. Stop freaking out. This isn’t the first time you’ve been with him.
The reassurances did nothing to make him feel any calmer whatsoever, but he forced himself to ignore the butterflies in his stomach as he re-entered the living room.
Alexander seemed to have eased himself out of his suit jacket in the meantime, Daniel noted – it lay on the sofa, along with his tie. He glanced over his shoulder quickly, inclining his head, followed by a soft clink and a hiss, and Daniel saw that there was a beer bottle in his hand.
“There you are,” Alexander said, putting down the bottle opener. “You took a while. Everything all right?”
“Oh, definitely. Just did a routine check-up on your bathroom cupboards to help determine if you’re a serial killer, after all.”
Alexander chuckled. “I’d expect nothing less from you. And what conclusion did you reach?”
“That if you have secrets, you’ve hidden them somewhere less obvious.”
The elder let out a soft noise as Daniel leaned against his back. His hands slid up his sides and onto his front, and with a bit of fumbling he located Alexander’s collar and started unbuttoning it. His skin was enticingly warm, practically begging to be explored, and Daniel let his hand slip inside his shirt.
“Daniel,” Alexander sighed. His head tipped back as Daniel’s lips mouthed the curve of his neck, leaving slow, lazy kisses everywhere he could reach.
The brunette let his arms slide back down and wrap around Alexander’s waist as he rested his head on his shoulder. “You’re real,” he murmured, momentarily tightening his hold.
“Sorry?”
Daniel took a steadying breath, letting his eyes slip closed. “You’ll laugh. It’s really dumb.”
“I won’t laugh, whatever it is.”
Daniel was quiet for some time. He could feel Alexander’s quiet heartbeat against his cheek, and the scent of his aftershave made his head reel. “I just… can’t wrap my head around it. That this is happening.” He swallowed. “That you actually wanted to see me again.”
“You thought I wouldn’t want to?”
“Feared, more like.”
“Why?”
There was a quiet thunk as Alexander put down the bottle. His hands came to rest against Daniel’s, warm, reassuring, and Daniel squeezed him tighter.
“It’s just,” he continued, voice muffled against the elder’s shoulder. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you ever since… you know. I wanted to see you again so bad, it was driving me nuts. And then you actually asked me and I freaked out – like, what if it’s too good to be true, or something.”
Gently, Alexander prised himself free and turned around to face him. Daniel was staring at the floor, face burning up.
“Daniel,” he said softly and touched his chin. “Please look at me.”
Daniel exhaled slowly and, with an enormous effort, forced himself to look up. The look in Alexander’s eyes made something tighten painfully in his chest. He saw Alexander’s lips part but before he could say another word Daniel had already crushed their lips together, kissing him with the force of every desperate thought he’d had about him. He heard Alexander moan softly into the kiss as his tongue slipped inside his mouth and then his arms were around Daniel, simply clinging to him until he’d had his fill.
Daniel cupped the elder’s face between his palms as they broke away, so close that he could feel the warmth of his breath against his mouth. “I think… I think I missed you,” Daniel whispered, which earned him a soft peck from Alexander.
“I missed you, too. Why do you think I asked you out?” Alexander asked.
Daniel closed his eyes. His visage was burning up, and the words took some effort. “Sex, mostly. I mean, I’d be fine with just that, too, but—“ He paused, the words catching in his throat. He swallowed again. “I really like you. All of you. And…”
Alexander’s lips grazed against the brunette’s. “And?”
Fandom: Amnesia: The Dark Descent Category:Mature Pairing:Alexander/Daniel Characters: Alexander, Daniel, Hazel Tags: Slow Burn, Canon divergence – AU, Angst, Folklore
“Alexander had stopped ahead where the treeline ended. He beckoned to them, and only for a moment Hazel hesitated. He alone stood out, as sharp and clear as her vision had been. The air around him stood still. A gust of wind made the branches tremble, but it never seemed to touch him.”
Fandom: Amnesia: The Dark Descent Category:Mature Pairing:Alexander/Daniel Characters: Alexander, Daniel, Hazel Tags: Slow Burn, Canon divergence – AU, Angst, Folklore
“She knew that she was more tired than she felt, but as soon as she placed the tip of the quill on an empty page she stopped thinking about everything else. All that mattered was her and her words on paper, and they had all the time in the world for each other.”
Moodboard and Fanart for “I’ll Never Love Another”
Not sure if you’ve had a chance to read @scimitar-and-longsword BB fic “I’ll Never Love Another”, but here’s a little moodboard I did for it, and under the cut, some letters I wrote and spliced together featuring dialogue from the fic :)
I’m always working on at least 5 WIPs at any given time, but the last one I made any progress on was my teen wolf creature!stiles season 2 rewrite
“I’m a girl,” Stiles says, and puts the freak-out he wants to have about saying that out loud to one side to deal with later. “Not all the time, but sometimes.”
Because really, what’s even the point of shape-shifting powers if you’re not going to use them to queer everyone’s gender?
I’m terrible at matching up AO3 handles with tumblr usernames, so I’m tagging:
I’ve officially hit 100,000 words in my sterek creature!stiles AU fic!
It’s still only half done, because it turns out rewriting an entire season with 3 added subplots and a bunch of extra world-building and character work takes a lot of words, and I haven’t started any of the big dramatic action heavy chapters that are going to take the longest to write
but I think this is the point at which I have given up any thought of not finishing it. I have invested so much time and mental energy in this thing, i am going to finish it if only out of pure spite
Maybe it was childish and unrealistic, but some part of Dipper had expected Bill to choose a more… Thematic location. They’d been sailing to where the ransom note for the governor’s daughter had said to meet for about two days, and in that time, Dipper had somehow gotten it in his head that it would be somewhere grand like in the legends and storybooks: An impressive and exotic backdrop to a dramatic battle.
It was just a small uninhabited cay.
The thick reef and shallow waters around it made approach difficult though, so maybe that was the point—creating choke points and limiting approaching vessels to only a few options. They were coming in quietly from the other side of where The Isosceles’ imposing silhouette stood against the starry sky. So far there was no sign that an alarm had been raised. On the shore the light of a bonfire shone, flickering through the night. If he strained he could see people. The sun had gone down an hour or two ago, but the air was still stiflingly hot.
Mabel and Dipper were supposed to stay onboard The Mystery. Stan had been perfectly clear about that. It wasn’t safe for them to come, he’d argued. It was risky enough that they were with him on the ship, he refused to let them anywhere near Bill. Perhaps unsurprisingly, they hadn’t obeyed. They hid at the back of one of the rowboats ferrying the crew the last bit the ship couldn’t travel. It was maybe not a good decision, but it was a unanimous one.
“Goodbye, ship.” Mabel whispered under her breath as her and Dipper got under a tarp on the boat being lowered into the water.
It looked like almost everyone was going. There was going to be a fight, it was almost guaranteed. Numbers were necessary.
“Okay.” Stan—it sounded like Stan, but none of the boats had their lanterns lit and it was hard to see—spoke quietly. “Here is what we’re going to do…”
Stan spoke hurriedly and quietly as the boats floated through pitch black water that somewhere on the horizon became inky sky. You could hardly tell the two apart, both were just dark and the stars above reflected the same below. It felt like rowing through space.
“They’re expecting someone to come hand over that tapestry junk Bill wanted, so we’re going to send someone forward pretending like they’re doing just that. While they’re distracted, the rest of us encircle them. There’s slopes around where they’ve set up shop; we’ll wait there in the brush to ambush.”
Nobody raised any protests, but the unspoken question of who’d play bait hung in the air. After a full minute of silence, Fiddleford spoke up.
“Fair e'nuff. I’ll go.”
“What? No. If Ford’s still around, he’ll kill me if I let you do that.”
“’S only logical. They might recognize ya lot. Ah’m a fresh face.” He shrugged. “Well—metaphorically.”
Stan paused, sighed, and nodded.
“Alright. Let’s keep moving.”
The last stretch to reach the shoreline was tense, but soon enough their feet hit white sand with no opposition. There was already a small boat pulled up on the shore, but no people in the immediate proximity. Sounds of cheers and laughter and slurred singing drifted in between the trees and down the beach. Mabel and Dipper snuck around the back of the group making sure to keep behind their taller crewmembers and away from Stan, Soos, and Wendy.
“I don’t get it. There should be a lookout.” Soos scanned the area around them with sharp and alert eyes.
“I’ve got your lookout right here.” Stan said, pushing some kind of tall bladed plant out of the way with the blunt edge of his sword. Half underneath the foliage was a man laying prone. Stan wrinkled his nose. “He’s out cold and smells like cheap rum.”
“Huh. Got a pretty nasty bump on his head too.” Wendy pointed out.
“Probably hit a rock when he passed out drunk. Someone tie him up just to be safe and let’s keep moving.”
Moving through the short stretch of forest until they reached their vantage point, again, went shockingly smoothly. For the first time, the kids got to see Bill—the terrifying boogeyman from their grandfather’s stories—with their own two eyes.
Dipper had expected an old man. Intimidating, yes, but grey and wrinkly. This guy was supposed to have been a captain since their great uncles’ time after all. But Bill didn’t look old. He looked thirty, maybe forty at most. His hair was still a pale brown without a hint of white and he stood tall and straight. He laughed sharply at something said, and Dipper saw metal glinting in his mouth. The gold false eye reflected the fire’s glow, the x shaped scar around it almost looked fresh.
He recognised the woman seated next to him drinking and talking as the one that had been in charge of the ship when Dipper and Mabel had seen it the first time. A bit further away, pouring over some old parchment in the light of the bonfire and only occasionally injecting something into the conversation, was a man with a monocle and diamond shaped face. He looked more well-kempt than his two companions, his clothes were prim and his face unscarred. He could have been an aristocrat, or at least some kind of official. The three of them sat just far enough from the rest of the crew to mark them as more important. All of them seemed relaxed. The atmosphere was confident and jovial. They were just people. Bad people, but still. He’d somehow expected them to be more.
It was almost disappointing.
There was a girl with blond hair and an extravagant purple dress tied to a tree where the flickering light faded to darkness. She looked understandably upset and scared, but not injured. Dipper noted with some relief that Stan had been right; she was unharmed.
“Ah reckon that’s her?” Fiddleford said mostly to himself, standing up with his expression set in a determined scowl. “Poor lass. Those people ‘ave no souls.”
“Hang on.” Stan grabbed the edge of Fiddleford’s vest, stopping him. He reached into his jacket. “Pistol.” He stated simply, handing the weapon over. “There’s no time to reload in the heat of battle. You have one shot.”
Fiddleford nodded, accepting the pistol and hiding it under his beard. He walked off through the brush, leaving them waiting in tense quietness. The other crew was still making a ruckus without a care in the world beneath the slope, but it was meaningless background noise just as much as the waves and the occasional seagull’s screech was. Circling around to avoid drawing attention to the hiding crew, Fiddleford walked out from the trees a bit further down. On one side, the jungle incline flanked the campsite. On the other waves lapped the beach.
He coughed into a hand, cutting through the singing and laughing like a knife. Bill and the woman turned to regard the newcomer along with most of the crew, but the upper class looking man remained facing the other way—picking up the slack for the others’ faltering vigilance.
“Ah… I was sent to collect the girl.” Fiddleford spoke, standing straight and making an effort to collect himself and minimise the accent.
“Were you now?” Bill smiled lazily, and Fiddleford had to fight to keep his dinner down as he stared into the same cold gold and steely-grey eyes that had haunted his nightmares for thirty years. He’d never thought he’d see Bill again. He’d hoped he never would. But now the devil was back right in front of him, and he felt like he was twenty-something again; standing on deck watching Ford be dragged to his death.
“Yes.”
His hands shook, screaming for the weapon he’d been given. He refused them. The others were counting on him to keep up the facade until they had an opening. A child’s life was on the line. None of that was worth sacrificing for short-sighted revenge.
“Do we attack?” Wendy whispered.
Stan ground his teeth. “Wait. We want their focus elsewhere. Bill and Pyronica might be easy enough to distract by shaking a shiny new toy in front of them, but Kryptos is still on edge.” He sighed. “Damn it. I guess someonehad to be their self preservation instinct.”
What kind of names were ‘Pyronica’ and ‘Kryptos’? Dipper thought to himself as he nervously watched the exchange happening below. He risked moving a bit closer to the front of the group to get a better look at what was going on.
“Alright, I think we- What the hell are you doing here!” Dipper flinched as Stan’s voice abruptly rose from the earlier whisper. He cringed, turning to see the older man staring directly at him with wide furious eyes.
“Shit.” Wendy said.
“Okay! I-I know we weren’t supposed to-!” Dipper’s pitch rose and cracked as he raised his hands placatingly. “But we couldn’t just stay on the ship while you all-”
A sound like thunder crackled, loud and harsh enough to make their ears ring. The gunshot missed Stan’s head by an inch. Looking back, Fiddleford was grappling with Bill for a pistol as the surrounding crew were quickly growing alarmed.
“Well that’s just great.” Stan growled. “Get your sister, get back on board, and stay there. Everyone else, attack!” Before Dipper could object, Stan vaulted over the small hill with the others close behind, and the confused alarm grew into a messy fight in a matter of seconds.
Stan landed surprisingly smoothly for his age and immediately started down to Bill and Fiddleford. Fiddleford managed to pull Bill’s pistol out of his hands (Stan would have to thank him for the save later) and struck the side of his head with the handle. It stunned him very briefly, but by the time Stan was able to get to them Bill had shrugged off the blow and was retaliating. Stan got in between, stopping the slash with his own blade.
“Apparently-” Stan shouted over his shoulder as he engaged Bill. “-You’ve got threekids to worry about.
Fiddleford’s eyes widened as he followed the direction Stan crooked his head in and spotted the shades of two small forms in the trees. For a second he faltered, looking between Pacifica and the twins, before deciding Pacifica was in more immediate danger.
Good, if Fiddleford focused on getting the kids out, Stan could focus on Bill.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Wendy engage Kryptos and Soos fight Pyronica. He almost wished he could spare a second to watch. He was proud of the both of them. But trying to keep Bill back took all his attention. The man fought viciously and with no hesitation, like he had no regard for his own life, like he enjoyed the pain. He grinned through stabs and slashes. He didn’t even blink.
The recklessness made him all the more dangerous, but it was also the only reason Stan got any openings at all.
The clanging of their two swords was almost lost to all the other noise, like just two instruments in one giant loud, disorderly, orchestra. There was clashing steel, pinging bullets, screams and shouts. It was chaotic. They’d been prepared for a fight, but they’d expected to have the element of surprise. Bill’s crew had them outnumbered and outgunned.
“Look at you running that aristocrat asshole’s errands! You a good little lapdog now?” Bill ducked a sword swing, but Stan managed to elbow him in the face on the backstroke. Bill stumbled back, swaying like the walking dead, before steadying and looking back up. Blood ran from his already half-destroyed nose. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Your brother learnt to obey too eventually.”
The mention of Ford made Stan’s blood boil, but that was exactly what Bill wanted. Goading him into lashing out predictably. He wanted to snap back, rub Bill’s face in the truth of Ford’s survival. But all that would do was paint a target on his back, wherever he was. Instead, he charged forwards with a roar. Fighting close quarters was even riskier, but he acted on instinct and gut feeling. It was a flurry of blows and blood from both sides. Neither man seemed to notice the crowd around them starting to disperse. Bill ducked again, but this time he used the motion to sweep Stan’s legs, making him fall hard on his back.
Damn his distraction.
The air was knocked out of his lungs, and before he could catch his breath the pointed edge of a sword was at his throat. It really wasn’t fair Bill was still that nimble, he should be an old man too.
Heshould.
“You know, we were having a perfectly enjoyable evening before your rabble interrupted.” Bill was panting through the exertion. “The least you could have done was bring me my tapestry.”
“Fuck you.” Stan coughed, spitting bloody saliva onto the sand in front of Bill’s shoe.
Out of nowhere, something hit Bill’s face. A rock bounced off, landing between them. Bill stared furiously past Stan, before his face split open into an inhumanly wide smile. Blood dripped into his eyes from a cut under the messy hair across his temple.
“Cute kid.” Bill breathed. Dipper had managed to tear a hand free despite Fiddleford’s desperate attempt to keep all three children under control. “How much ’d you have to pay his mom to let you sleep with her?”
He was knocked over suddenly by a blur of colour crashing into his legs. Stan froze, as he realized the shape just an arms reach from Bill was Mabel.
“Leave them alone!” She yelled defiantly. Bill had dropped his sword when she knocked him over, but before Stan could even get back on his legs he’d pulled a knife from somewhere in his vest.
A final pang of a pistol rang clear and Bill screeched inhumanly, dropping the knife and grabbing his bleeding arm. Fiddleford had let go of Dipper. Instead, both his hands held the flintlock Stan had handed him at the start.
“I was aiming for the heart.” He said, almost in disbelief.
“I don’t think he has one.”
Stan got to his feet and pulled Mabel back, but before he could land another blow at Bill a much louder and deeper explosion resonated across the shore. A cannonball hit the beach, spraying sand everywhere. Each of the adults ducked to shield the kids as more and more deafening canonfire sounded. The air turned thick and unbreathable with dust, birds screamed and trees splintered and fell.
When the barrage finally cleared, Bill was nowhere to be seen. The Isosceles was disappearing onto the horizon.
“Captain!” Someone screamed, but Stan couldn’t tell who through the ringing in his ears.
“Captain! The ship is sinking!”
Stan stared out across the water, his heart dropping like an icy rock into his stomach, as he watched The Mystery, the ship that had been his home for thirty years, sink beneath the waves.
In stunned silence, the crew watched their ship go under. Like ghosts, they moved through the haze of shock and disbelief to count their losses and save what supplies they could. The sand was saturated with blood and shrapnel, yet somehow, the most poignant loss was The Mystery. The ship vanished, riddled with holes from cannonballs and carrying memories and hopes. Wendy and Soos had practically grown up in its wooden hull. The room at the front with its fabric covered ceiling and the soft bunkbed was the first real home Dipper and Mabel had known since Sherman died. All of it was gone just like that, only to ever again be inhabited by fish and coral.
They were stranded. Practically, everyone knew that should be the biggest concern. But the pressing danger felt unreal. All of it felt unreal. It felt like floating, lost and unmoored.
The rest of the crew took inventory of what they had immediately on them, and what they might be able to get from their surroundings. Somewhat miraculously, both Gompers and Waddles managed to swim ashore from the sinking vessel. So Mabel sat with her back against a tree with the pig on her lap, hiding her tears against the animal’s side. Dipper sat shoulder to shoulder with her, looking out over the dark empty water where there should have been a ship. Mabel could feel him trembling all the way through his arm into hers.
“It’s my fault.” He whispered. “We finally had a home again, and I blew it.”
Mabel shook her head vehemently, but her voice was too unsteady to answer.
“Don’t beat yourself up.” Stan collapsed to sitting in the sand next to them. His voice was thin. He sounded old and tired. “I guess it’s a good thing you two weren’t onboard after all.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shook his head. “She… She was just a ship. What matters is we’re alive.”
He was back to square one. No ship, no hope, and no closer to finding what became of Ford. The only thing that had gone their way was that Pacifica was alive and well, if shaken. Maybe she sensed the dire situation too, because she surprisingly neither bothered them nor complained.
As if to just rub salt in the wound, by the time day broke another ship appeared on the horizon.
At first, spotting the ship had sent everyone into a frenzy of fight or flight—expecting it to be The Isosceles returning to finish the job. But it soon became clear it wasn’t. The ship was far smaller than the imposing galleon would have been, closer to The Mystery in size.
Stan recognized the ship first, and it made him want to punch something.
“Why hello there!” Gideon’s nasally voice drifted out over the sad sight. “Looks like you have gotten yourselves into quite the predicament, I do say.”
“What do you want, you little troll?” Stan huffed at him. Irritated, but sounding markably defeated.
“My, there’s no need to be so hostile!” Gideon put a hand to his chest dramatically. “We just happened to be sailing by when we spotted that there campfire smoke and figured you folks might need a hand. Such a shame we can’t help criminals, but I’m sure my captain’d be willing to make an exception for the most junior members of your crew.”
Mabel felt the bile rise in her throat at the expression Gideon very pointedly aimed at her. She saw Stan tense and clench his fists.
“‘Course, someone has got to get these lovely ladies back to port, and I suppose the boy could come too. You sure as gitout ain’t getting the credit for freeing Miss Northwest if you don’t even have a ship to bring her back with.”
Stan glared furiously at Gideon, like he wanted to yell back something foul. But then the air went out of him and he said in a very small voice:
“Go with him.”
“What?” Dipper cried. “No way, we can’t just leave you guys!”
“Look, kid, I can’t look after you. This was stupid of me, so just… Go back to port. I’m sorry.”
“No!” He answered. “We finally have family again! We can’t just-”
“Let’s go.” Mabel said resolutely, staring at the ship with a hard gaze. Dipper turned to her stunned.
“You’re kidding.”
“Listen to your sister.” Stan said numbly, refusing to look at either of them. “Maybe you can stay with Tate for a bit, or… Hell, maybe the Northwest’s will let you work the manor when you come home with their kid. It’s better than being shipwrecked with the rest of us.”
Pacifica walked ahead of them with her head held high, helped onto the ship by one of the sailors. Dipper followed Mabel in a haze. Soos and Wendy stared at them sadly, but neither objected. Stan didn’t say anything more. Not even goodbye.
They were losing their family all over again.
Mabel stood with her brother and the other girl—Pacifica—down in the brig of the very same blue ship she’d admired back in port and mentally berated herself for having ever thought of it as pretty. She hugged herself slouched against the wall while one of the sailors locked them in; a safety precaution the captain had insisted on. Her breathing began to pick up, remembering the last time she’d been locked in a merchant ship’s brig, but this time she wasn’t alone.
This time, she had a plan.
As soon as they were alone, she turned to Dipper. But he beat her to it.
“What was that about? I thought you were the one who was all for this piracy and swashbuckling junk, but you agreed to leave Stan and the others just like that!” His voice fell. Not accusatory, not really, but hurt and almost betrayed. “I don’t understand.”
“Remember what Stan told us?” She countered, looking intently at the door. “That so long as the sails aren’t furled and the anchor’s not dropped three people can sail a ship?”
Dipper’s eyes widened with understanding.
“You want us to steal their ship?” Pacifica interrupted them.
“No.” Mabel answered. “The naval term is commandeer.”
“How?” Dipper asked. Not in the doubting sense. Not in a matter of 'what are you thinking?’, but as a genuine 'what do we do?’. His brows furrowed and lips quirked with the same intensely thinking expression he adopted whenever a word in Ford’s journal had him stumped.
“You expect the three of us to fight the entire crew?” Pacifica said, and her voice was genuinely disbelieving. She looked at them with disapproval. “Maybe you two aren’t above starting brawls and robbing people like a pair of common racketeers, but I’m a proper lady.”
“A proper lady who’d rather get carted home like a fancy bargaining chip?” Dipper asked, and she turned to him furiously.
“How dare you!”
“We just need you to get us out of here, Pacifica.” Mabel said pleadingly. “We’ll take care of the rest.”
“Again;how?”
“You make them let you out of here and steal a key when they’re not looking.” Mabel continued at Pacifica. “You come back and let us out.”
“Andhow do you expect me to do that?” She pinched her nose in annoyance, gesturing resignedly at the twins.
“Throw a fit and get them to let you out. You’re the governor’s daughter, you’re not supposed to be stuck in the brig, you’re supposed to—I don’t know—be dining with the captain or something!”
“Seriously?”
“Yes!”
“Then?” Dipper asked before it could turn into a fight.
“Then—you remember all that fancy equipment Soos showed us? You sabotage the sounding rod-”
“The what?” Pacifica butted in again. Mabel waved her away but explained nonetheless.
“It’s a pipe that runs through the ship that you can sound to see if there’s flooding. Plug the openings, fill the pipe, it’ll sound like the ship is sinking.” Dipper lit up with understanding, nodding enthusiastically. “I’ll sneak into the storeroom and start a small fire. The smoke and the instrument readings will make them assume the ship is going under and they need to evacuate. I’ll convince Gideon.” She grimaced.
Pacifica stared blankly at the two of them.
“You guys just… Do stuff like this? Casually?”
“Never to this scale, but being homeless orphans kind of means you have to get sneaky.” Dipper replied. Mabel slung an arm around his shoulders.
“We’re twins. It’s like you come preset with a co-conspirator.”
“No kidding. My parents would kill me.” Pacifica said. There was the sound of someone moving outside the door to the brig. “I… Fine. I’ll do it. But just because I’m not letting a boy who wears more makeup than I do parade me around like a prize.”
“Hey, you! Get in here!” Pacifica yelled at the door. After a short silence, a sailor opened the door and carefully peeked inside.
“I-”
Before he had a chance to start talking, Pacifica made a show of throwing her hair back, padding her wide skirt down, before beginning to berate him.
“How dare you people lock me up in here with two filthy street urchins! When my father finds out about this, he’ll have all of you marched before a London judge and tried for kidnapping and dumb insult!”
Mabel wasn’t sure if she should feel impressed or insulted. The man shrunk back, half hiding behind the door.
“I’ve been trapped with a filthy gaggle of pirates for over two weeks now, look at my clothes, look at my hair! If my parents see me like this, they’ll say you’ve tortured me! I demand to be taken to the officers’ quarters this once so I can make myself presentable.” She crossed her arms across her chest, striding up to the cell door. She carried herself with a mix of dignity and self-righteous fury. “Trust me, that’s as much in your best interests as it is mine.”
The man opened and closed his mouth, gaping like a fish out of water, before meekly slinking into the room and unlocking the door for Pacifica. Her dress’ skirt was so wide it barely fit through the door when she left.
It passed almost an hour before she returned to the brig, marching back into the cell and glaring the man down while he locked the door and left again. Once he did and the three children were alone, she produced a large skeleton key from within the folds of her dress and dangled it in front of them.
“Took you long enough.” Dipper complained.
“What? Like I was going to pass up the opportunity to properly wash up?”
“They… That was mostly just for show, right?” Mabel asked cautiously, swallowing the lump in her throat. “They didn’t actually touch you when you were trapped. Did they?”
“No.” Pacifica answered, looking down and leaning her back against the bars. “Just threatened. I’m pretty sure the captain wanted to hurt me, but this wannabe aristocrat kept reminding him it was 'impractical’.”
“Okay. Good.” Mabel breathed a sigh of relief. “We… We had a relative run into Bill. He wasn’t as lucky.”
Pacifica looked at them questioningly, but when neither sibling elaborated she simply handed them the key and stood back while they unlocked the door.
Dipper took off in the direction of where the sounding rod would have been located on The Mystery. Mabel more than trusted him to find it, even if the ship was a different make. Pacifica wavered on her feet, still within the cell despite the open door.
“So… You’re heading deeper into the ship?” She asked, and Mabel nodded. “Okay. I'll… I’ll go with your brother.”
With that, Pacifica quickly but remarkably quietly followed Dipper into the labyrinth of hallways. It was still very early, and thankfully it seemed like most of the crew was asleep. Still, it was impressive how she could move so quietly in heels. Why would a girl from Pacifica’s world ever need to learn how to take up lessspace?
Mabel took a lantern off the cell wall and crept out, traveling further down into the darkened ship. Through twists and turns and claustrophobic hallways, she eventually reached what looked to be the cargo hold.
The large room was full of crates and barrels stacked to the roof, much like the cargo hold her and Dipper had stowed away in before everything went south. Mabel shuddered as she remembered the mutilated body with its hollow eye sockets and empty mouth. She wasn’t sure she’d ever forget it, it was so viscerally wrong. She wondered briefly who the person had been. Wondered if Pacifica might have seen them alive, since she was onboard at the time.
She tried to push the uncomfortable thoughts out of mind, but the familiarly cramped surroundings made it hard to not think back. It wasn’t doing her any good, it was just unsettling her, making her feel like she was being watched. Like something was moving in the shadows between the shipments.
Tipping over the closest open crate, Mabel began to dig through the junk looking for something she could use to make smoke without setting the ship on fire for real. Any kind of rags or rope ends would do. She just wanted to find something so she could get back out of the cargo hold’s unsettlingly looming shade.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Mabel almost screamed, before throwing her hands up over her mouth to stop herself and turning to face whoever had snuck up on her. A thousand half thought through excuses bounced around her brain, before she took in the man’s appearance and it made her pause.
His face was halfway hidden behind a dark cloak, but there was something that struck her as very familiar about his eyes behind half-moon glasses. Dark grey hair ruffled by wind and stiff with salt decorated his head. He looked at her sternly, but despite it all, something about him put her at ease. Something about his eyes.
Something half fell half flew down from a box to gracelessly land on his shoulder and Mabel gasped.
“You have an animal on your body!” She whispered delightedly staring at the bird. He raised a brow at her.
“I’m not asking again. What are you doing?” His voice was deep and smooth, but he sounded suspicious. His clothes didn’t look like what the crew wore.
The cargo hold was a good place for a stowaway to hide. After all, her and Dipper had managed for almost a month.
“You’re a stowaway.”
“And you’re a prisoner.” He said, unimpressed. “I don’t believe you have any right to judge.”
“You look familiar.”
“And you look markedly like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. What. Are you. Doing?”
Mabel didn’t answer, instead she stood up straight and looked at him in quiet challenge. He quirked a brow.
“Alright then, let me guess. You were taken onboard last time they stopped, along with two others. And now you’ve broken out and are digging through things that don’t belong to you.” He narrowed his eyes, continuing with distaste in his tone. “Were you left behind when Bill fled? You’re a child. Far too young to throw away your life turning pirate.”
“Iam a pirate.” Mabel fired back. “But I’m not with Bill.”
“How nobel.” He said sarcastically.
Mabel glared back at him. For all her gut told her he was trustworthy, he sure didn’t seem like he trusted her. He spit the word 'pirate’ like it was poison. Fine, if he didn’t want anything to do with her, he didn’t have to. She was just about to turn back to the task at hand when a thought struck her.
“Hang on. Bill left hours before this ship showed up. How did you know he’d even been on the island?” Her trust faltered. “Were you left behind when they fled?”
His eyes flew opened, and suddenly it was like he wasn’t even looking at her anymore. Like he was looking straight through her, past her, at some unfathomably horrible thing she couldn’t see. Couldn’t even comprehend. His body went stiff, his shoulders hiked and his chest heaved. The sudden shift from the confident evasive stranger was palpable.
The bird—seagull—croaked softly and combed its beak through his hair. It seemed to snap him out of whatever thought it was that had him so startled, and he snarled at her.
“Don’t. Don’t ever insinuate I’d work with that demon.”
“Then what were you doing there?”
The stranger breathed hard, raising a shaking, gloved, hand to comb through the feathers on the gull’s head.
“Iintended to search through their things when they were too drunk to notice. There’s something that doesn’t add up about Captain Cipher and I intend to figure out what. I’d knocked out their lookout without being caught, but before I got an opening some other crowd decided to pick a fight. Might I assume you were with them, then?”
“They’re our crew. They’re not the enemy here, we’re after Bill too.”
“Aren’t you pirates?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’re the enemy.”
Mabel glared at him. He was even more obstinate than Dipper. But she’d wasted enough time arguing with him.
“Okay.”
“I answered your question. You answer mine, if you’re so sure we’re on the same side. What are you doing?”
Mabel stopped again halfway through the junk in the box. She’d found some books, but she’d rather avoid burning that unless it was a last resort. Dipper would never forgive her.
“Trying to find something to make smoke with. We’re tricking the crew off of the ship, so we can take it and go back to save the others.”
“You’re trying to commandeer a ship?” He said incredulously.
“Yes. We’re going to take the ship, and we’re going to save our family.”
“Then what? What port do you plan to make for?”
“Gravity Falls.”
The man looked at her, looked around himself, then exhaled slowly through his nose. He had a large nose.
“How about a dea- agreement.” He said, and Mabel looked. “I intended to travel towards that port too, but these people aren’t heading in the right direction. If I aid you in… This. Then when your crew takes over the ship, you don’t tell any of them I’m here. I’ll stay until we reach Gravity Falls, you’ll stay quiet about my presence, and I’ll leave once in port.”
“I’m pretty sure they’ll let you stay if you just ask.” Mabel said. “They’re not gonna hurt you, you don’t have to hide down here.”
“Forgive me if I don’t trust that. Do we have an agreement?”
Mabel thought. She didn’t know this guy, she had no real reason to trust him. There was nothing to say he wasn’t just trying to get the crew gone so he could take over himself. But… If there was one thing she knew, it was people. Dipper said so. He was good with numbers and letters and plans, she was good with people. He trusted her to tell who they could and couldn’t trust, who was dangerous, and who wasn’t. And for the most part, it had led them right. She had nothing to prove this man wouldn’t betray them, but she felt it. She made up her mind, hesitated for a second, then nodded.
“Okay.” She said. “Deal.”
She thought she saw him flinch at the word, but nothing more came of it. Instead he simply asked:
“So. What was your plan? Make smoke?”
“My brother sabotaged their sounding equipment. I’m supposed to get something to burn. We want to make the crew think they have to abandon ship.”
“Smoke.” The stowaway repeated, closing his eyes. “We can do that. Come with me.”
Picking up one of the smaller barrels Mabel was relatively sure contained water, he began to walk down the ship towards the other end and she followed behind. He was clearly strong, despite looking old. Those barrels were heavy.
They reached a door where a guard with a rifle was stationed, and Mabel stopped out of sight. The other man didn’t. He kept walking resolutely and confidently, like he had every right to be down there. The guard was too confused to react, before he was grabbed, slammed against the wall, and knocked unconscious.
Mabel gasped.
“What did you-!”
“He fainted from the smoke.” The stowaway said indifferently. He looked back at her, his expression softening slightly when he saw the horrified look on her face. “He’ll be okay, I didn’t hit him that hard. You can drag him out on deck to the others when you go. Might even strengthen your 'accident’ narrative.”
“What’s past here that’s important enough to station a guard?”
“Powder magazine.”
Mabel stopped dead in her tracks as he pushed open the door.
“What!?” She cried. “Are you crazy!?”
“Black powder makes plenty of smoke even if you don’t burn a lot of it.” He explained as he stepped inside. Mabel tripped over her own feet to follow him.
“It also explodes and sinks ships!”
“That would be counterproductive. See these walls? They’re lined with copper. Copper doesn’t spark, and it keeps the water out properly.” He knocked a gloved hand against the shiny orange-brown metal sheets covering the walls demonstratively. The room smelled like sulfur. “Black powder doesn’t explode if it’s wet, just smokes and smoulders.”
With that, the man dumped the contents of the water barrel over the explosive load. Mabel understood.
“You’ll use the wet powder?”
He nodded, gesturing for her to hand him the still lit lantern half forgotten in her hands.
“You know, I’m pretty sure this makes you a pirate too.” She told him, relinquishing the hold on the lantern that’d serve as their source of ignition. He dipped his cloak in the excess water and held it over his mouth.
“The thing is not to act like it.”
“DoI act like it?”
Mabel saw the man’s hands pause halfway through the motion of igniting the powder. He turned to look at her briefly, before looking away.
“… You should get out on deck. Smoke isn’t good for little lungs.”
“Okay.”
Taking the unconscious guard under his arms, Mabel managed to drag him out just as thick grey smoke began spilling from the magazine, making her cough and hack. She found Dipper and Pacifica a floor above, and after that it was just a matter of making a ruckus and convincing the confused and barely awake merchants that something was seriously wrong.
Mabel ran to Gideon, forcing all the panic and anguish she could into her voice as she told him there’d been an explosion below deck. Some part of her suspected she should feel guilty for the blatant manipulation, but he’d forced her hand by separating them from their family. She wasn’t going to let that happen, wasn’t going to lose everything all over again without a fight.
No one went below deck to search for the damage. The instruments all said the same thing, that the ship was taking on water at dangerous rates. The choking smoke made any hopes of salvaging the vessel vain. There was nothing left to do but evacuate to the rowboats. Gideon told the actual captain as much.
It wasn’t until the crew was already in small boats floating on a calm early morning sea that they could very plainly see the hull was still well above water. But by then it was too late to reverse their decision. Four small rowboats couldn’t catch up to the proper merchant ship quickly leaving them behind even with three inexperienced children at the helm.
Once they’d managed to get far enough that not even the specks of rowboats were visible in the distance, they collapsed onto the deserted deck, exhausted but giddy as the adrenaline finally began to run its course.
“That was insane.” Pacifica breathed, laying on her back on the planks. Her hair was messy and her dress crumpled and torn. She looked like a normal kid for once. “You’re insane.”
“Insane.” Mabel repeated, laying similarly on her back before abruptly shooting upright and cheering.
They’d done it.
Exhaustedly, Dipper joined in the cheers without rising to his feet. Any air or 'stuck up noblewoman’ vanished as Pacifica snorted and laughed out loud.
Dipper read the map, Mabel took the helm. Just like Stan, Soos, and Wendy had shown. Pacifica made a show of complaining and fussing, but followed their lead the best she could. It wasn’t many hours before the island they’d been separated on returned into view.
Things were still dire. They were still lost, and their home was gone. But their family was not.
They had each other, and they had a ship.
They had hope.
Stan hugged them tight and told them he’d never been prouder of his 'proper pirate’ niece and nephew. When someone called him on the sap, he was quick to fire back. But everyone could tell just how relieved he was.
Briefly, Mabel wondered if she should tell them about the stowaway. But she didn’t. She’d made a promise after all.
He was only going to be with them until they reached the Falls again.
Everyone agreed they couldn’t stay at the manor any longer than they absolutely had to. Reunions and explanations had to wait. Getting away from the scene of the crime had to come first.
Thankfully, in the chaos of startled guests and confused investigation, slinking out unnoticed was not a difficult feat.
Stan had the tapestry folded up and hidden safely in one of the several hidden inner pockets he’d added to most of his clothes. They had what they’d come for, now all that was left was making a clean getaway from the port, and figuring out what the hell made some moth-eaten old wall decoration so important that three independent parties all wanted to get it. Three, including…
Including Ford.
Stan looked back at Ford, walking at the very back of the group a few feet behind everyone else and looking all around himself. His gaze was flitting erratically every which way. But he’d at least calmed down enough to follow them out.
The nervousness was just barely visible under the façade of calm and collected steely resolve. Stan was almost surprised—if infinitely relieved—that he could still tell what feelings Ford was hiding under the surface. It had been so long. He’d never thought he’d see him again, but now he was there, walking back to the ship with them.
It was a strange melancholy feeling. The confused mix of emotions from earlier had run its course. He saw the ship docked in port, and all he felt was a profound homesickness that it wasn’t The Mystery. He would have loved to show off his actual ship to his brother after so many years.
The kids had reached the gangplank first, but been reluctantly stopped by Pacifica before they could move to board the ship. She looked at Mabel and Dipper with an expression of conflicted sadness.
“So… You’re leaving already?” Pacifica asked.
Mabel and Dipper shared a glance, before nodding in unison.
“It’s been a really fun night, despite everything.” Mabel said sympathetically. She meant it too, even with the ghost and the fighting and the shocking revelation as to whom exactly her new friend was. She’d gotten to dress up and attend the kind of party she’d only been able to dream of back when they lived with their grandfather. “But…”
“But we can’t stay.” Dipper finished for her.
“Why not?” Pacifica said suddenly, crossing her hands over her chest and looking back towards the manor. “I could… I could make my parents hire you. You can get a room in the manor, isn’t that better than living on a dingy boat with people constantly after you?”
“Ship.” Dipper corrected automatically, but his thoughts were elsewhere.
Just a month ago he and Mabel had been homeless stowaways with nowhere to go and nothing but each other. A month ago, he would have absolutely jumped at the chance of an honest job and a comfortable room on a safe shore. But now…
“Thanks, but… I think we’re exactly where we need to be.” Dipper smiled at her apologetically.
“Yeah!” Mabel slung an arm over his shoulders. “Besides, grunkle Stan needs us.”
Pacifica slumped, nodding glumly and taking a step back.
The rest of the crew boarded as she watched silently. Even Ford followed after, albeit with some hesitation. Pacifica chewed her lip and wrung a piece of her skirt tightly in her hands, until suddenly she blurted out:
“Let me come too!”
The people closest to the gangplank—Stan, Wendy, Dipper and Mabel—looked at her in unison. She crushed the fabric of her skirt even tighter between her hands, wavering on the spot.
Then, she let the fabric go, squared her shoulders, and marched up on deck.
“I’m enlisting in your ship-” She pointed at a very confused Stan with a scowl. “So- so you better deal with it!”
“I can say no to recruits, ya know.” He looked at her sceptically, leaning back against the railing. He let his face fall into a stern mask.
“Yeah, well if those two are good enough for this floating tub then so am I!” She stood her ground.
“You’re acting awfully entitled for someone with no nautical skills.” Stan narrowed his eyes at her. “That attitude ain’t helping yer case. Believe it or not, table manners and horse riding aren’t useful skills on the ocean.”
“But-”
“You won’t last ten seconds scrubbing decks and hoisting sails in a ballgown. Go back home, kid.”
“ Please .” Her voice cracked, and he stopped. She no longer stood straight and confident, she was folded in on herself, looking between Dipper, Mabel, and Stan with pleading eyes.
“If I go home, my parents will-… I- I don’t want to go back. Please , they’ll be furious.” She drew a shaky breath. “You’re the first people to actually treat me like people . I mean, I got more genuine praise for helping peel potatoes yesterday than I’ve gotten from dad in- in ever !”
“Look, I know they’re-” Stan barely had time to start talking.
“ Please .” She begged. “Please don’t send me back.”
Stan hesitated. Pacifica was an entitled aristocrat brat. But her father was not a good man, and something in him just knew that-
Seventeen years old, watching Filbrick throw him to the wolves, nowhere to go, no one to turn to.
Stan snatched a hammock from the arms of a crewmember carrying fresh supplies and tossed it to the child. She yelped as she was buried in canvas.
“Pull yer own weight. Don’t expect special treatment.” He snapped as she extracted herself from underneath the fabric.
She stared at the hammock in her arms, the metaphorical extended hand, and the implicit new place for her to stay.
“Y-Yes sir!” She hugged the fabric close to her chest, nodding breathlessly.
“Yes ‘Captain' . Go find Susan and ask where to hang that, you can help in the galley.”
Further in on deck, Fiddleford had just walked out from the ship with a bundle of rolled up mechanical sketches in his hands. While the others had spent the evening at the party he’d been left with some much needed time to work on upgrades for the ship. When The Mystery went under, so did an alarming amount of his hard work. But as much as it hurt him to lose all that progress, there was no better cure than to start over. He’d rebuild. Bigger, better, and with maybe just a tad more destructive potential. They were in the thick of it now, after all.
There were some design ideas he needed to talk to Stan about. Fiddleford knew his craft, but if he wanted ship specifics there was no one better to ask. He approached the other man—still dressed in formal clothes with his gray hair tied back—from behind and drowsily tapped his shoulder.
Stan’s shoulders shot up, he inhaled sharply and twisted around to face Fiddleford with his hands up as if ready to defend himself. Fiddleford was startled back by the abrupt movement, before the realization hit him like a cold wave.
That wasn’t Stan.
Ford stared at the man who’d managed to sneak up behind him while he was distracted trying to build up the nerve to confront Stan. He couldn’t keep losing focus like this, he needed to stay alert and ready for any threat. He was relatively confident Stan wasn’t going to do anything to him, but he couldn’t turn his back to the crew. Who knew what kind of immoral lowlifes his brother might have recruited? Stan had always had a knack for falling in with the wrong crowd. He needed to be ready to defend himself.
The bearded man was lanky, but hunched over enough that Ford still stood taller. A pair of odd green tinted glasses rested on his remarkably long nose. The surprised eyes behind the lenses were light blue, alert and intelligent.
He dropped the papers he was carrying in his arms, and as they fluttered down to the wooden deck Ford saw that they were blueprints. The neat, hauntingly familiar, signature in the corner caught his eye, and Ford’s arms fell from their defensive posture.
“F-… Fiddleford?” His voice was faint and fragile, like it could shatter and fall into the sea at any moment.
Fiddleford didn’t reply. He took Ford’s arms in a vice grip and pulled him into a bone-crushing hug.
Ford tensed up, but didn’t try to get away. It was Fiddleford . Fiddleford wouldn’t hurt him.
He’d barely finished that thought, before his friend pulled back and punched him square in the jaw.
“ Thirty years, Stanferd! ” He cried. “Thirty darn years! Why on God’s green earth didn’ cha come back!?”
Ford pressed the palm of his hand to his throbbing jaw, responding numbly. “I thought you were dead.”
He'd thought Fiddleford was dead, that practically everyone he’d known in Gravity Falls was gone. Bill had attacked, and hundreds had died. They were dead, Bill said so. They were dead, and it was Ford’s fault, because he led Bill to them.
“So!?” Fiddleford yelled at him in disbelief, and Ford winced. “Ah thought you were dead!”
“I’m sorry, Fiddleford, I just… I couldn’t go back.”
“ Why ?” He countered. Exhausted. Pleading.
Why? Because Ford was to blame. It was that simple. Because he was scared. Because he was a coward, who couldn’t face what he’d done.
Because death followed him, and he couldn’t risk bringing it back.
“It was my fault. If I hadn’t-”
“Will ya quit it with t’ martyr complex already?” Fiddleford scolded him. He grabbed his upper arms again, shaking him lightly. “None of what he did was your fault.”
Fiddleford was wrong, Ford was telling the truth. But he didn’t have it in him to argue. Maybe it was cowardice again, but he didn’t want to explain. Didn’t want to watch those kind empathetic eyes fill with hate. Instead he just nodded meekly, and removed the hand from his arm.
He'd thought Fiddleford was dead.
He’d thought Stan was dead too.
Filbrick had told everyone Stan had gone after Ford and died trying. Apparently, he really had gone after Ford—or more accurately Bill, in revenge for Ford—but he was still alive. Had Pa known that? Did Ma know, or did he keep the truth from her as well? Why? Because the truth might hurt their reputation?
The truth.
Stan was a pirate Captain . Justifying it as some necessary evil, he’d gone down the exact same path as Bill. Ford couldn’t even trust Stan anymore. He had to talk to him, set things straight.
“Stanley!”
Ford walked away from Fiddleford without another word. For a second he looked upset, before sighing deeply and kneeling down to pick up his scattered blueprints again. He supposed some things would never change.
“Stanley, we need to talk.” Ford declared sternly, walking across deck to where his brother stood speaking to the children.
There were children on board, what was he thinking?
Holding a hand out to halt Ford, Stan spoke.
“We need to get underway first. I know there’s a lot of shit to explain, but wait until I’ve gotten them raising the anchor and dropping the sails.” He said. “If Pyronica and Kryptos—the two from the party, they’re Bill’s first and second mate—were at the manor then The Isosceles can’t be far behind. It’s better we get a head start, and lead Bill away from the island.”
Ford reluctantly agreed that Stan’s thinking was reasonable, and let him walk off to oversee the crew. With that Ford was left standing alone with the children, watching the deck buzz to life with activity. Seagull-Stan—that was going to get confusing, he really should have picked a less idiotically sentimental name—surveyed the scene from high in the rigging. Keeping watch for potential threats to his human.
“Sooo…” The little girl he’d met before scooted up beside him. “Um, sorry for biting you. My name’s Mabel.”
Ford nodded once at her. “And I assume this is the twin brother you told me about?”
“Told him about?” The boy turned to look at his sister questioningly.
“Yeah, he was kind of stowing away in the cargo hold since the fight with Bill.” Mabel laughed nervously. The boy looked incredulous, but somehow not surprised. “Anyways, this is Dipper.”
“Greetings.” Ford replied simply.
Dipper stared at his hands. Ford tried not to acknowledge it, people always stared. But the scrutiny really wasn’t what he needed right now.
“So… You’re Ford.” Dipper said, more a statement than a question. “You’re Stan’s twin.”
“Yes.”
“I guess that makes you our uncle too, then.” The boy nodded to himself, slotting that piece of information neatly into place. At first, Ford was too distracted to realize the implications of what he’d said. But then the realization came to him and his attention snapped back to the children.
“ Uncle ?” He said in disbelief. “Stanley is-…?”
“No! No, no no, he’s our great uncle!” Mabel was quick to clarify.
“Oh thank God.” Ford muttered, leaning back against the taffrail. “So, Sherman, then?”
“Yeah.” Mabel answered. “He’s our grandpa.”
“Then why are you here ?”
The three went quiet. Around themselves the space filled with the noise of people hurrying every which way untying ropes and pulling chains and checking rudders. All without ever once acknowledging them. The children shared a glance that looked hauntingly familiar from his own childhood, a sibling bond so close that words weren’t necessary.
“Grandpa died last winter.” Dipper said sadly as the two children stepped closer to each other for comfort. “Mom and dad have been gone a long time.”
Ford’s heart sank. He’d never really thought he’d see Sherman again. Family was something he’s consciously given up when he went after Bill. But to hear that not only had his older brother passed away, but he’d also had at least one child who’d lived and died without Ford ever knowing… It stung.
“Ah, I see.” Ford said. “So that’s how you ended up with Stanley then.”
What was Stan thinking, dragging children into this mess? Mabel and Dipper didn’t look like they could be older than eleven or so, and here they were, chasing a man who wouldn’t hesitate to kill them horrifically and running from the law. Was there really no other guardian Sherman could have found for them? Was there really nobody more responsible than Stan ?
Come to think of it, how had Sherman even known Stan was still alive?
“Are you two okay?” Ford asked the children. “Is he treating you well?”
“Yes.” Mabel said resolutely, like she was getting tired of answering the same question. “I told you already, this is our family, they’re good people. We trust Stan.”
“Family and good don’t have to be synonyms.”
“Well they are here.” Dipper shot back defensively. “Look man, you want to know how we ended up here?”
The boy looked at Ford with a fierce expression, and he found himself nodding.
“After grandpa died, we were in a rough place.” Dipper explained, crossing his arms and glaring at Ford.“ Orphans are supposed to be looked after by the parish, but surprise, surprise, they didn’t want us. We ran away and snuck onboard a trading ship docked in our port, just sort of hoping it’d take us someplace better. But they found us.”
Mabel put a hand on Dipper’s shoulder and took a step past him towards Ford.
“They kidnapped me.” She continued, looking ahead with determination. “And left Dipper all alone on an island.”
“That was the island I found this on.” Dipper took something out from the now rumpled formal jacket he was still wearing. Ford made a small gasp, as he recognised the red leather and brass details of his own research journal.
“Stan and the others saved me. They didn’t know who I was, they had nothing to gain from it. They just did it because it would have been wrong to leave me. They helped me save Mabel from those merchants too.” Dipper hugged the journal to his chest. “I know you probably have a hard time trusting them after what you went through. I didn’t trust them at first either. I-I mean, I was honestly kind of a jerk. But they saved us. So don’t go after grunkle Stan when you never came to help us either.”
Ford hardly heard what the boy was saying. All his mind was completely consumed by the sight of that old journal, and the thought that his idiot brother had let children read it. That Stan had somehow thought it was a good idea to let two small children read a first hand account of exactly the kind of ordeal that awaited them all should this endeavour to find Bill end up for the worse.
He felt furious, but mixed with that fury, was a gross sticky feeling of shame clinging to his entire person. Those memories had been buried for a reason. His most intimate thoughts, his most painful and vulnerable moments had been laid bare in front of what little family he hadn’t even known he had.
Nauseous fear was fluttering around his head. There was no way these children would ever see him as anything short of pathetic after reading all of that.
Dipper finished his speech, before drawing back suddenly. His stern expression and impassioned voice faltered, he looked at Ford with worry.
“I-… I’m sorry, t-that was harsh! Are you okay, you look really-”
“I’m fine.” Ford said through his teeth. He pushed himself away from the taffrail he’d suddenly found himself steadying against. He didn’t have to make even more of a spectacle of himself in front of them.
Dipper pressed the book close to his chest. Mabel came forward slightly with a hand reaching out, but Ford ignored it. After a moment, Dipper suddenly relinquished his hold and instead offered the journal forth.
“Here. It’s yours, so, if you want it back…”
Ford considered, but he didn’t even want to touch that damnable book. The damage was already done anyway.
“Keep it.” He said after a few steadying breaths. “It’s just bad memories.”
The younger twins shared another glance, but didn’t press the subject. Dipper returned the book to his jacket, secretly relieved to have been allowed to keep it. The research was fascinating, even if he still struggled to read most of it. Even if the tale it told was an unhappy one, it left him feeling nothing short of awe for the man before them who’d persevered through all of it.
Mabel and Dipper continued to talk, with Ford only occasionally contributing to the conversation. Once the ship was out on open water, Stan reappeared.
He placed one hand on each of the two childrens’ shoulders, smiling at them as they turned to look.
“Great job tonight kids, I couldn’t be prouder.” His voice was warm, and they beamed at him. “Still, all this junk kept us up way later than usual. I’m beat, and so should you be.”
“Well, you are an old man.” Mabel replied, and Stan ruffled her hair.
“Yeah, whatever. The 'old men’ need to talk, so run off ta bed ya gremlins.”
The kids did as they were asked, walking back into the ship after brief 'good-nights’. The two men were left behind alone in their little corner of the mostly abandoned deck.
As soon as the kids were out of sight, Stan’s easy smile fell. His shoulder slumped and he went to lean over the taffrail, staring out across the pitch black ocean.
“Thirty fucking years, Ford?” Stan looked back at him, eyes sincere and teeth chattering faintly against each other. His shoulders were trembling, and his hands held the railing so tightly his knuckles were turning white.
“Fiddleford has already scolded me, thank you.” Ford replied, taking position next to his own twin. Through the black, he could just barely see their faces reflecting back up at them from the dark water. He would almost rather sink through the deck and down into the depths than have this conversation, but it needed to be done.
“The children told me how you met them.” He jumped to the first at least somewhat non-confrontational topic he could think of. He had to build up his resolve before asking the really uncomfortable questions. “I take it the merchants they stowed away with are no longer amongst the living?”
Stan looked at him, wrinkling his nose like Ford’s statement was distasteful. Even though he’d done his best to keep his tone level, and his choice of words neutral. Just because it was an accusation didn’t mean it had to sound like one.
“For your information, yes they are.” Stan said. “Reason we’re one lifeboat short is cause we didn't leave 'em to drown after The Isosceles attacked them.”
“Humph.”
“Ford, what the hell is up with you? We don’t see eachother for forty years and when I finally have you back you act like I’m not worth the time of day!”
“Well, I’m sorry.” Ford huffed, his grip on the railing becoming equally forceful. “Excuse me if I’m having some difficulty in looking past the fact that you decided the best way to fight Bill was to become Bill.”
Stan just blinked at him without comprehending, before his face went red. His hands left the taffrail and he turned on Ford with clenched fists and a furious expression.
“How the FUCK am I Bill!? I spent thirty years trying to kill him for the sake of your ungrateful ass!”
“He who fights monsters, Stanley.” Ford muttered back at him. “You tried to combat a pirate by becoming a pirate.”
“No, okay, you know what? Fuck that.” Stan breathed heavily. “Do you have any idea why I did that? 'Honorable ships’ and 'honourable people’ are all shams, I spent ten years practically a slave for those people just to have a roof over my head and something to eat. We had crewmates whipped for backtalk and die from the food. There were six year olds getting their hands blown off carrying gunpowder, just so the Captain could win some meaningless title from a king he’d never meet. I tried to do things the 'good way’ and that achieved jack!”
Stan stopped, breathing hard just to steady himself, before slumping back again and running a hand across his suddenly very old looking face.
“The rules were all made for and by the people on the top. Nobody came to help us when Gravity Falls was burned to the ground. Nobody gave a shit about taking down a monster like Bill. Nothing got done until I stopped playing by the rules.”
Ford was stunned briefly. He wasn’t scared of Stan, even with them having changed so much, he’d never be scared of him. But seeing him so worked up, shouting and fuming, it was… Disquieting.
“Have you ever killed someone?” Ford asked sternly. Stan looked back over the top of his hand and twisted the piercing question back around.
“Have you ?”
Ford found himself unwilling to answer, falling silent again. Stan stood back up straight after another few moments of silence.
“We’re thieves , not monsters. We do as little harm as possible.” When Ford didn’t answer this time either, Stan tried to take his arm but Ford pulled away from the touch. “Let me show you something.”
With a bit of reluctance, Ford followed Stan across the deck to a chest resting by the base of the mast. He undid the locks and opened it. It was full of neatly folded flags.
“These are our old signal flags, Soos managed to save them when our ship sank fighting Bill.” Stan selected a red flag folded in the corner and pulled it out. He shook it, and a cloud of dust formed thick enough that it made Ford sneeze.
“ This , is a no quarter flag.” Stan pressed the blood red fabric into Ford’s hand. “There’s only one person I plan on raising that for, and it’s Bill. Because Bill hurt you . He hurt Fiddleford, he hurt Soos, he hurt Wendy… He hurt my family . That’s what I’ve been trying to avenge for thirty years.”
“Ford…” Stan’s voice shook with emotion. “Where were you?”
Ford looked at the thin red fabric hanging innocently in his grip, moving slightly with the warm seabreeze.
“There’s something wrong with Bill.” Ford stated simply. “And I mean beyond the obvious.”
“Like what?”
“You can’t be dumb enough to seriously think Bill still looks that young by coincidence.” Ford looked at him tiredly. Stan shrugged.
“Some people age well.”
“Maybe.” Ford admitted. That was the easy explanation, but he swore there was more to it. He’d seen Bill thirty years ago, and he’d seen Bill just days ago. He looked far too similar, like he’d been completely untouched by the passage of time, but there was definitely something that had changed. Something was different, but it had been so long that Ford couldn’t tell for sure. It was like returning to your childhood home and being absolutely certain the walls had been a different colour, or that your bed had been on the other side of the room, but with nothing indicating anything had changed. There was nothing to go on but memories, and memories were unreliable.
Especially traumatic ones.
“I’ve been travelling all over the world, trying to find anything at all that might explain what’s going on. Whether it’s natural or not. I’ve been everywhere, in libraries and archives and temples in all the corners of the world. But still… Nothing. No answers.”
“You could have come back before you set off. We could have helped.”
“I tried to go back. I sailed all the way home to Glass Shard Harbor. You weren’t there .” His heart sank at the admission, scratching old wounds back open. The part of him that was old and jaded felt resentful. Betrayed.
The part that remained from before everything broke quietly inside, scared and pleading: 'Why weren’t you there?' .
“Why didn’t you go back to Gravity Falls, then?”
Ford didn’t want to go into that again, trying to explain to Fiddleford had been painful enough. He knew it was his fault, he didn’t need everyone knowing it.
“Gravity Falls was destroyed.” He replied instead.
“I repaired it.”
Without thinking, Ford slammed the red flag down against the chest lid. Anger flared up in him.
“You corrupted it.”
Stan had found Ford’s safe place, his refuge, the first home he’d had aside from his twin. And he’d destroyed it. Not in the same way Bill had, but in another way. Stan had twisted the sanctity of what Ford loved, and turned it into a safe haven for everything that hurt.
“You corrupt everything .” Ford snapped. “You corrupted Gravity Falls, and now you’re turning our only remaining relatives into something twisted too.”
Stan stepped back at the sudden outburst, looking stricken, before his face turned back to anger.
“I saved them! I’m protecting them.”
“If you’re so concerned with looking out for them, why did you let them read my journal !?” He wasn’t sure which slight hurt the most, which wound felt the most raw, but that one was definitely the most personal. “They’re children! The things I wrote in that— they shouldn't have to know.”
“There’s a difference between protecting and patronising! Also, Dipper doesn’t know Latin worth shit.”
“He’ll learn, he’s the studious type.”
“By then he’ll be old enough to know.” Stan insisted, apparently completely oblivious to the fact that that wasn’t his call to make. He dug through his coat again, pulling out neatly folded sheets of paper and offering them to Ford. “'Sides, I tore out the worst pages.”
Ford snatched the pages from Stan’s hand, crumpling the parchment and throwing it over the side of the ship furiously. It didn’t do much to relieve the anger.
“I never meant for that book to be found. I buried it for a reason.”
“And Dipper dug it up like the good little grave robber he is. He did offer to give you it back.”
“Whatever!” Ford finally landed on, shouting breathlessly before the energy left him, and he repeated bitterly. “Whatever.”
Ford looked at his twin. It was terrifying how after thirty years, they somehow looked both so different but so alike. Ford continued speaking.
“This life you’ve dragged them into is at best going to end with them killed in some naval battle, and at worst hung at the gallows.” He tried not to dwell to long on the mental image the dire warning conjured. Tried not to feel sick at the fact that in the nightmare scenario, Stan was right there beside them.
Everything was changed, and everything was continuing to change, and somehow, Stan being back just made those changes so much more real. Everything had changed, and Ford had absolutely no say in it. He’d been powerless to stop the world he’d felt safe in from turning on him with claws and teeth. He’d been powerless.
He was so tired of feeling powerless.
Someone had to take the blame. He needed to grab and hold onto the shreds of control that remained, even if it meant ripping them away from someone else, because without them to hang onto like a lifeline he was going to drown.
“Listen.” Ford said. “This is no way for two children to live. As soon as this is all over… As soon as Bill is finally dead… Mabel and Dipper are going to come with me, and I’ll move them back to the mainland where they can be safe .”
Without another word, Ford pushed past Stan and walked into the ship.
“I’m not going to sleep, I need to be alert in case someone comes down here.” Ford glared at the seagull perched high up on a cargo crate, eyeing him disapprovingly as he paced around the hold. It cawed mutinously.
“You know very well that I’ve gone longer without sleeping than this.” He snapped back.
No, sleeping was absolutely out of the question. He didn’t think he could even if he wanted to. He was in enemy territory, hiding in the damp dark depths of a stranger’s ship. Not just strangers; pirates. Pirates that he’d helped steal a ship from its legitimate owners. But no, it was for the greater good. He had to get back to Gravity Falls before Bill could send someone to steal the relic he was after. Or worse, launch an all out attack to do it himself. If the ship’s original owners had known his reasons, they would have thankedhim.
He kept pacing, nerves winding themselves tighter and tighter until it felt like something in him was going to snap and break.
Any minute someone could enter the cargo hold. There had been people down once already, but they’d only checked the items closest to the door and Ford had stayed deathly silent in the far back and mercifully avoided detection.
Rationally, he knew that this wasn’t Bill’s ship. He also knew that he was a lot more capable of defending himself than he’d been thirty years ago. But he was still trapped in a dingy pirate ship. Outnumbered and alone and…
Scared.
His nerves were eating him alive. Despite his best attempts and despite the passage of days, he still couldn’t shake the sight of Bill down on that empty stretch of beach.
The man’s crew had changed, but eerily, Bill himself didn’t seem to. He was still the same brown-haired, shark toothed, monster. He hadn’t aged a day. But there was something about him that didn’t line up. Except, Ford couldn’t pinpoint it. Because the second Bill turned and by a fluke passed his eyes over the patch of trees where Ford was hidden, everything had suddenly started going dark. He should have shot the bastard and ended everything once and for all. Bill never even saw him. But Ford hadn’t.
Because Bill unknowingly looked at him, and suddenly Ford was twenty again: Disheveled and curled up on his side, whimpering against the filthy floor of The Isosceles’ captain’s cabin surrounded by gold and expensive fabrics and blood.
Bill looked away, completely oblivious. But Bill was also right there beside him. Above him. Towering overhead, circling his prone body, hissing and screaming and whispering threats smooth as silk. Like the silk curtains framing the burning port outside the windows.
‘You sold yourself.’
Bill sneered at him.
'You sold yourself to me for the safety of your friends. I ownyou.’
The present and past were mixing together into a disorienting blur. He trembled through the darkness, grasping with shaky hands for the logic that had abandoned him at the mercy of memories.
'You did this.’
The door to the hold opened, unexpectedly halting Ford’s spiraling tirade. It wasn’t opened abruptly or loudly. It was so quiet in fact that it seemed like whoever did it was trying to get in undetected. But Ford was too skittishly vigilant not to notice. He turned around, ready to fight if hiding failed. But it was just the little girl from before.
“Hello?” She whispered into the silence. Ford considered staying quiet and hoping for her to leave. But she already knew he was there. Better to see what she wanted and send her on her way again.
“Yes?” Ford stepped into the light.
The girl smiled at him, relieved. In her hands she carried a small square tray with a plate of food on it. She walked up to him with a slight bit of hesitation, before holding it out.
“I convinced Susan to give me seconds.” She smiled at him with a bit of trepidation. “Cause, uh, I figured there wasn’t much for you to eat down here.”
Ford eyed the food skeptically and considered turning it down; it was probably safe to eat, he doubted the child would seriously try to poison him, but it didn’t exactly look appetizing. Not that ships food usually was. But his stomach gurgled demonstratively and he relented, accepting with a curt nod and seating himself on a crate. The girl didn’t leave, instead settling in front of him.
There was some kind of meat—most likely dried and salted and stored for who knows how long—cooked with potatoes and something orange. A piece of hardtack lay under it all to soak up the congealed animal fat and hopefully turn soggy enough to eat without breaking the teeth. He grimaced at the unappealing food, but he’d had worse.
“There wasn’t any fresh food in storage. You might not want to touch the bread, there were beetles in mine.” The girl shuddered. “Soos said it was still okay to eat, but I gave it to Waddles.”
“Duly noted.” He picked up the offending food item and inspected it. He could just barely see something moving. Biscuit weevils, probably. Well, his gull had never objected to eating bugs. Or anything for that matter. “Stan?”
The bird jumped down next to him, taking the food offered and making short work of swallowing it clumsily. Good, if he was fed then Ford wouldn’t have to worry about letting him out of their hiding place to scrounge up his own food. And right now, he didn’t want to go without the reassurance of a familiar presence.
“I like your bird.” The child said. “Can I pet him?”
“That’s up to him.”
The seagull tilted his head, looking at her, before clumsily flying over to land on her shoulder. With the old bullet injury, he couldn’t stay airborne for long. But his wings could carry him for a bit at least. He croaked quietly—Ford was very glad that Stan seemed smart enough to know when they needed to stay quiet—and ran his beak through her long brown hair.
“So…” The child began, scratching the feathers on the bird’s head. “Where are you going once we get to Gravity Falls?”
“It’s probably for the better that I don’t talk about that.” Ford answered. “What about you, though? Once you’ve returned the governor’s daughter, what will you do?”
She shrugged.
“Don’t know, but that’s okay. The Captain has a plan.” She said. “I trust him.”
Ford’s teeth grinded against each other and his shoulders tensed.
“You don’t seem like a bad child. Don’t you have anywhere else you can go than… This?” He closed his eyes. “These are not good people.”
“You don’t know that, you haven’t met them.” She fired back. “You refuse to meet them.”
Ford huffed irritably. “Oh yes, of course, do forgive me for not presenting myself on a silver platter to a band of thieves and deviants.” 'Again’ he thought grimly. No, he’d learnt his lesson from Bill. “What makes you so sure they’re good people when all signs point to the contrary?”
He was speaking faster, his voice rising. The gull left the girl and returned to land in his hair, pecking the top of his head once. The weight was grounding, and his voice fell into a more measured tone again.
“You should go back home. Don’t you miss it?” He continued.
She fell quiet, looking down on the floor sadly. “I miss our room.” She conceded.
“With your parents back on shore?”
“On our old ship.” She answered firmly. “The one we lost fighting Bill, because we’re not the bad guys.”
How could one child be so stubborn?
“Your parents are probably worried sick.”
“No.” She said, looking up with hard and determined eyes. Her gaze was so fierce it had him taken aback. “No, they’re not. This is the only family we have.”
“'We’. You keep saying 'we’.”
This time it was the child who paused before nodding slowly.
“My brother.” She said. “I have a twin brother.”
Ford paused. That plain and simple revelation sent him reeling. There wasn’t just one child, there were two. Twins. Twins in danger of being hurt, or killed, or separated by a few bad mistakes and a naive decision to trust the word of a pirate. Twins just like-…
It changed nothing and everything.
“You… Even if you don’t have parents to go back to, there has to be some other option.” Ford argued breathlessly, almost desperately. There was another peck against his temple, but he ignored it. “There has to be.”
She looked at him questioningly, raising her hands in a placating gesture.
“It’s okay. Really.” She assured. “I’m protecting him.
No. No, no, this was all wrong. She was going to get herself hurt. She was a child, she couldn’t even protect herself, let alone her twin brother. She was too small, too trusting, too-
Too much like Stanley.
"I-…” There had to be something he could do. There had to, he couldn’t just watch fate repeat itself cruelly. “I have a friend back in Gravity Falls-”
No, Fiddleford was dead. Everyone was dead, Bill killed them, Bill killed everyone,Bill was going to kill this child.
He was pecked again, harder, but paid no mind. The bird hopped down to his shoulder, mumbling worriedly as it began preening the strands of his unkempt fringe.
“It’s okay.” She said, getting down from the barrel on which she’d been seated. She reached out a hand, but stopped herself and drew it back. Instead she just did her best to smile reassuringly.
Half drowned out by his own buzzing head, Ford heard someone shout from upstairs. The child who suddenly looked uncannily similar to a young Stanley threw a glance behind herself and yelled back.
“We’re here.” Her voice sounded distorted. “I have to go.”
She turned and left.
Ford’s head was full of molten gold and high pitched laughter.
Stan sighed, securing the gaudy fish-shaped mask over his eyes and adding the last detail to his uncomfortable formal getup. Of course a pair of upper class twats would think the best way to celebrate getting their daughter back safely from a murderous maniac was hosting a damn ball. No concern for the kid’s feelings, no wanting to reunite quietly and privately. No, just get her back home and immediately use the occasion to doll her up and show her off. Preston was almost worse than Filbrick had been.
Amasquerade ball. As if the aristocracy’s dresses and suits weren’t ostentatious enough without frilly masks.
At least it did present them with a golden opportunity.
If Bill was dead set enough on getting some crumbling old relic from the Northwests that he was willing to kidnap and hold off on killing a little girl to get it, then it had to be important. More importantly, Bill could not be allowed to get it. Even if it meant Stan and his crew would just have to steal it first.
Stan wished he could ditch their attempts at going after Bill and just focus on finding Ford. The idea of finally taking Bill down felt less like glorious revenge, and more like one big red herring he’d wasted thirty years on, in the light of Ford having survived. But the painful truth was that they had no other leads. All they knew was that Ford had meant to go after Bill. The only option was to follow Bill’s trail and hope to anything and everything that might be watching that their paths would intertwine.
Somewhere along the way, the terrifying idea that Ford might be dead after all had struck him. Even with Bill failing to kill Ford, there were thousands of things that could have done it in the thirty years he’d been gone. If nothing else, getting to Stan’s age was far from a guarantee. But something told him Ford was still alive, and Stan would search for the rest of his life if he had to.
“Oh come on, do I really have to wear this frilly-… Whatever it is!?” The voice of a very markedly annoyed boy groaned. Stan turned to watch his niblings with amused fondness.
“My thoughts exactly kid.” He replied, watching Mabel help her brother tie the cravat around his neck.
“Pppft, you two are no fun!” Mabel fired back. She looked absolutely giddy with excited energy, hopping up and down in a large pink poofy dress covered in frills and fake flowers. He wasn’t sure if the tailor had done an excellent job, because of how very Mabel the dress looked, or a terrible job, because of how eye-hurtingly pink it was.
“This dumb collar is choking me.” Dipper muttered, pulling at the fabric in question. He wore a prim and proper vest with a jacket so dark blue it almost looked black. The crows nest on his head—Stan chuckled sadly, he must have gotten that from Sherman—was slightly tamed down with a tuft tied behind his head in similarly dark ribbon. “Why do we need all this junk? I liked my normal clothes.”
“Sure.” Wendy rolled her eyes. “Show up at the governor’s place dressed like that, and maybe we can convince him we found you in the weird part of the woods. Nah, but I feel ya. This blows.”
“The weird part of the woods?” Dipper asked, temporarily distracted from the physical discomfort.
“Eh, not important right now.” She dismissed.
“Get your masks kids, and let’s get going.” Stan said with finality. No use stalling.
Dipper’s mask was made out of polished wood with edges like gnarled branches reaching for the ceiling. Mabel’s was bright and covered in little stones like sparkling stars. Soos and Wendy were coming too as backup, so they needed to fit in. The girl looked miserable with a large cumbersome dress weighing her down, but the mask hid it somewhat under more wood and clear glass details like frost staining the surface. Soos didn’t seem to mind, dutifully following the others with a smile and bright eyes behind a softly curving mask.
He wasn’t sure where exactly the Northwest’s had gotten the masks from, but Pacifica digging some old antiques out from the attic at least meant they wouldn’t have to go through the hassle of finding their own.
She hadn’t exactly been happy about the idea of helping them steal from her own parents. If Stan didn’t know better, he’d said she was scared of them. But the memory of that first raid three decades ago was pressing enough—even in the minds of those who hadn’t been alive to see it—that any sacrifice that might keep Bill from coming back was a worthy one.
So that brought them to the crowded grand ballroom of the Northwest mansion. The grandest house on the island, overlooking the falls and the deep dark forest. The night sky hung silently above even as the party began.
There were so many people. Gravity falls wasn’t a terribly small port, but it wasn’t by any means a wealthy one. Save for a few landowners and captains, almost everyone present had to be off-islanders. There just weren’t that many upper crust residents. Unfortunately but predictably, Preston and his wife were right there centre stage and dressed—ironically—in all white with pale masks like angels or saints. Preston saw them coming in, and Stan cursed quietly as he walked over.
“Ah, Stanley, good to see you.” He smiled insincerely, snatching a wine glass from the tray of a passing waiter. “A shame you couldn’t think of a costume.”
He flicked Stan’s fish shaped mask, and turned to share in his dumb pompous laugh with some other nearby guests.
“Well, what’re you gonna do? Seemed only right to leave the masks to the ones who need them.” Preston’s expression soured immediately. Stan wanted to break his nose, but just smiled a conman’s smile instead. Wide and disarming and not in the least bit sincere.
Preston never liked him. Ever since turning the port’s fortunes around, Stan had had influence with the people. But it wasn’t like the governor could do anything. An insult towards The Captain of The Mystery would be an insult towards the peasants, and he couldn’t risk a revolt. The port was lawless enough that nobody would come to his aid, no matter nobility or connections.
But Stan couldn’t act out either, or it might be the straw that finally broke the camel’s back and brought the wrath of king and country down on them.
All they could do was make jabs under the faintest veneer of polite conversation.
“So-” Stan jerked his head, motioning for the others to follow him as he and Preston walked towards one of the tables laid out with drinks and food. Dipper could barely stop Mabel from picking up more fancy pastries than she could carry. They were supposed to be on a mission. “-did your kid not feel like socializing, or has she already been snatched out from under ya again?” He asked pointedly.
Preston grit his teeth through the smile, procuring a bell from a pocket and ringing it. Pacifica appeared within seconds.
“Yes father?” She gulped.
“Don’t run, it’s unladylike.” He snapped. “Anyways. Stanley here was just-”
Preston said his name like it was something gross he wanted out of his mouth, but before he could finish his sentence a crash interrupted them and someone screamed.
Further down the table, the pristine white cloth was on fire. A lady in a deep pink layered dress was leaning over the table stiffly. Stan took a step forward instinctively to help, and Soos did the same at his side. But before either could act a man standing beside the woman shrugged off his long teal jacket and smothered the flames.
The woman turned her head, looking at Stan with wide startled eyes under a now slightly askew horned mask. She opened her mouth as if to say something, before the same man who’d put out the fire she’d seemingly started grabbed her upper arm and maneuvered her behind him.
He looked flustered, almost cornered, before draping the now charred jacket over his arm and fluidly righting himself again with the practiced poise of an aristocrat. He smiled apologetically, and bowed at the sudden audience.
“I’m terribly sorry gentlemen.” He shook his head, righting and placing a hand on the shoulder of the lady in pink. She looked like she wanted to snap his wrist. “My dear sister must have taken fright at your mask and knocked over the candlestick. The poor woman was always so veryfrail.”
“Ah, of course.” Preston said distastefully, but nonetheless nodded. “I suppose it’s only natural for a woman’s heart.”
Stan snorted, turning to look behind himself where Wendy was currently engaged in a competition with Mabel over who could fit the most puff pastries in their mouths. Dipper had apparently given up on protesting and was cheering them on.
“Sure, something like that.” He added. “Speaking of, Mabel, sweetie? Don’t you and Pacifica want to—uh—go find someone to dance with?”
Mabel lit up like the sun. Dipper looked at him incredulously.
“Dipper, chaperone your sister.” He waved them off, and understanding registered on the kid’s face.
“On it.”
“I’ll go with them.” Wendy said, subtly putting her hand on the axe he knew was more likely than not hidden in her heavy skirts.
“Now hold on.” Preston stepped up. “Who is she?”
Stan met Wendy’s foreboding stare, grinned and turned back to Preston with an excuse he knew the stuck-up twat would accept.
“She’s the nanny.” He said innocently.
Wendy muttered at him, but with that said, followed the kids until soon enough they were lost in the crowd. Leaving Stan with Soos as backup.
“This way.” Pacifica said quickly, as soon as all eyes were off them. She brushed away the strands of her fringe caught on the wrong side of her llama mask. “If I’m thinking about the same tapestry you are, it should be up the stairs in the library.”
The hallways of the manor stretched on forever and seemed to all look the same. Even with someone who knew the building intimately, it took an uncomfortably long time to reach the door. The ornate walls and polished wooden floors seemed colder the further away from the light and noise of the party they went. The single candle they’d taken with them seemed to cast less and less light the further they went. The floor was cold. Somewhere along the way, Wendy had taken her axe at the ready, walking at the back of the group and watching vigilantly over the heads of the children.
They finally stopped at a large looming oak door. Wendy walked past them, going first this time, to push open the door and risk venturing inside.
Dipper couldn’t place the strange foreboding feeling that was pressing down on them, until they entered the library proper and it hit him so hard it made him nauseous. It was the same feeling he’d gotten that day they first saw The Isosceles. The same oppressive dread as when they fished that mutilated body out of the sea.
“Here it is.” Pacifica shuddered, gesturing to a tapestry hanging alone on a naked wall.
A large red eye on a dark triangle looked down from the woven fabric, as if surveying both the room itself and the scene depicted by threads and paint. Two people were depicted underneath in a field full of dead trees and swallowed by fire. The ground under them was covered in skeletal remains. It was framed by lighter brown borders, and tassels hung down from the bottom edge.
Just looking at it made Dipper’s thoughts wriggle like a nest of worms, squirming around each other and eating his brain until nothing remained but a lone burning red eye.
“Yeah, that definitely feels like Bill.” Wendy said. She looked tense, not uncomfortable to the same degree as Dipper and Mabel, but very much on edge.
“Can’t exactly say I’ll be sad to see it go.” Pacifica continued.
Wendy was the first to build up the courage to approach and take the tapestry off the wall. But the second she touched the frayed old threads, something happened.
The door slammed shut as if pushed by strong winds. Pacifica yelled, dropping the candle she was carrying to light their way. In the second before it hit the floor and went out, Dipper saw the flame flare up fiercely and burn blue. Then they were completely in the dark.
“Oh what the hell!?” Wendy shouted. “Who’s there?”
Dipper reached out blindly, finding Mabel reaching back much the same. She grasped his hand and pulled him close.
“Show yourself!” Dipper yelled, voice squeaky and high, but emboldened by Wendy’s.
The pattern of fire embroidered into the tapestry shifted in the darkness. It had to be a trick of the light, the fire seemed to turn from red to blue, and it almost looked like the silently staring eye closed.
The formerly placid water far beneath the mansion was suddenly turning tumultuous, waves reaching high enough to slam against the windows like an angry beast trying to smash them in.
This time there was no writing it off, the tapestry was changing. The two people stood, joined by others behind them in the fire’s glow. The empty eye sockets of the buried skulls flickered alight with blue. Pacifica backed into Dipper and Mabel. Wendy got between them and the relic, axe raised.
“What do you want from us!?” She yelled into the empty room.
The skulls’ eyes glowed. From somewhere, there was chanting.
Flesh and bone and earthly chains
Keep him bound till none remains
“What is this?” Mabel asked worriedly. Dipper thought back desperately.
“I- I think I read about stuff like this in Ford’s journal!”
“Then what do we do!?” Pacifica screamed at him, grabbing his collar.
“I don’t know! I’ve barely translated half of it!” He defended. “I… I think it might be a-”
“Ghost.” Wendy finished.
The others looked up, finally seeing what they’d been too distracted to notice. Hovering in front of them, glowing blue, was the figure of a transparent man.
He was large with arms like tree trunks and a thick burning beard providing the only light in the room. Despite the fire, he seemed to be dripping wet. A small puddle was forming under him, phantom footprints leading from the tapestry to where he stood.
There was the hilt of a cutlass buried in his stomach. His eyes narrowed as he regarded the four still living people.
“Go.” His voice boomed, and the doors flew open again. “There’s nothing for you here.”
“But we-” Mabel began to take a step forward, before being stopped by Wendy’s hand pushing her back.
“You two go find The Captain.” She told them without taking her eyes off of the spectre. “Hurry.”
“But-” Dipper was about to protest, but Mabel grabbed his hand and rushed out the door.
'The Captain’, not Stan. Wendy always called him 'Stan’.
They ran back through the corridor as fast as possible. Arriving back in the main room completely out of breath after what still felt painfully too long.
Stan was still engaged in a painfully slow conversation with Preston, faux politely trading blows. Soos spotted the kids first, rushing over to see what was wrong. They spoke hurriedly, but stopped the second Stan was within earshot. Preston had followed. Of course, it wasn’t like they could discuss stealing in front of him.
“What’s going on here?” Preston demanded to know. “Where is my daughter?”
“That’s-… I-…” Dipper wheezed out between pants.
Mabel looked up suddenly, her eyes widening at something behind them. Stan and Preston both turned to follow her gaze.
There was a seagull perched in the rafters.
“Ugh, disgusting pest!” Preston scrunched his nose, pulling an ornate pistol from his jacket.
“Wait!” Mabel cried. But before Preston could fire on the offending bird, a new stranger appeared at their side, kicking the inside of his knee and sending him crumpling onto the floor.
“Damn, I’ve wanted to do that all evening.” Stan breathed.
The stranger pulled a sword, and any remaining threads of composure were severed. The party erupted into chaos. The second weapons were drawn, all bets were off.
“You!” Mabel cried at the stranger. He looked back at her, eyes surprised behind his mask. It was a strange mask, like a pair of gilded hands clasped over his eyes, but with the fingers parted just enough for him to see through.
Apparently deciding any attempts to keep a low profile were futile at this point, Dipper grabbed Stan’s jacket.
“We found the tapestry!” He pointed in the direction of the library. Stan and the stranger both snapped to attention, their poses almost mirroring each other. “But there’s- There’s a problem-!”
Before Dipper could elaborate, the stranger took off down the way he’d pointed. The seagull in the rafters flew down, gliding to land on his shoulder.
“Shit, looks like we’re not the only thieves out tonight.” Stan pulled his cutlass as well, and with Soos and the kids hot on his heels he ran after the other man.
Racing through the hallways once again, Stan soon noticed Dipper starting to fall behind. Mabel was keeping up okay, but Dipper was scrawnier and already beat from the earlier sprint. Without hesitation, Soos scooped him up and kept running.
Stan nodded back at him, looking forward again in the direction they were going just in time to see the stranger reach out and tip over a pedestal with a large vase placed precariously on top. It splintered against the floor and Stan tripped, swearing loudly. Mabel vaulted over the downed pillar and kept running.
“Not cool!” She shouted angrily after him. “I gave you lunch!”
What the hell was she on about? Stan pushed himself up, his hands slick and red with cuts from the broken china. Alright, fine. If the stranger drew first blood it was only fair he give back in kind. Especially with one of his kids dangerously close to the man.
“Mabel, get back here!” He commanded. Instead, she threw herself at the stranger’s legs tripping him up. Just the same as she’d done against Bill. Just as brainlessly reckless.
The other went down, spinning onto his back and raising a leg as if to kick the child off. Before thinking different of it at the last second and instead shoving her firmly. Mabel bit his hand.
Good girl.
“Okay.” Stan grabbed Mabel by the bow on her dress, pulling her back and safely behind himself before aiming the point of his sword at the other man. “Who the hell are you? Did Bill send you?”
The man practically growled at Stan, baring his teeth in reply. Before he could continue the interrogation, something flew into the back of his skull.
A large bird pulled his hair hard, letting out ear-splitting screeches. He waved blindly, trying to get the animal away from himself.
“No, bad gull!” Mabel jumped to reach the feathered rat. It took off, landing on the stranger’s shoulder just as he got up and kept running. They kept running after him, but as it turned out, they ran straight into a dead end.
Mabel’s dress shoes squeaked against the floor as she came to an abrupt halt and clasped her hands over her mouth.
“Wrong direction! Wrong direction! Shoot, I was so distracted I didn’t even think to-”
“Don’t worry sis.” From behind them, Dipper appeared triumphantly with Soos behind him. Neatly folded in his hands was the creepy tapestry from the library. “Weweren’t.”
“Atta boy!” Stan beamed at them. “That just leaves him.”
Stan turned back to the masked stranger. He snarled at them, pressed into the corner like a trapped animal: Ready to lash out the second anyone approached.
Stan recognized the look in his eyes. The man was terrified.
“Woah, who’s that?” Soos asked.
“Beats me.” Stan shrugged. “But I have a feeling Mabel has something she’d like to share with us.”
She took a step back, crossing her hands behind her back and fidgeting on the spot.
“He's… He… Uh… He was sort of stowing away on our ship?”
“What!?” Stan snapped at her. “You should have said something, he could have hurt you!”
Mabel slunk back, before bolting over to in front of the masked man. He froze.
“Mabel-!”
“No! He’s not a bad guy, I promise!”
Stan’s breathing picked up. These kids were going to be the death of him. He walked forward very slowly, trying not to set the man off but needing to snatch Mabel back before she got hurt.
“Mabel, you have no idea who that even is…”
“Well, then he can take off his mask!”
At that, the man looked like he stopped breathing. If possible, he pushed himself even further against the wall. Somehow, something in Stan hurt at the sight.
“If we just all calm down I’m sure we can-”
“Hey!” Dipper shouted suddenly. Stan turned just in time to see an unknown tall man rip the folded fabric from his arms and take off running.
“Seriously!?” Stan shouted. He wanted to punch something. “How many fucking people are after that dumb thing? After him!”
Soos recovered first, taking off down a new set of corridors. But Stan was quickly catching up beside him.
His knees were definitely going to complain tomorrow.
The stranger with the hand shaped mask soon overtook them. His hair was grey, he had to be old, but he was running faster and lighter than Stan. He threw himself on the man like an animal pouncing, knocking him to the ground. The tapestry flew. Soos dove for it, but before he could get it someone else snatched it up.
It was the woman from the start of the evening. The one dressed in pink with a devil mask.
The grey haired man tore the mask from the face of her companion—the man who’d claimed to be her brother, Stan realized—despite his best attempts to throw him off.
Kryptos.
It was Kryptos. Bill’s second mate. Of course Bill would send someone, and if that was Kryptos than the woman could only be-
“Pyronica!” Stan roared.
She grinned at him, baring her misaligned teeth and ripping the mask off.
“Sorry, but I’m afraid me and my 'poor woman’s heart’ isn’t up for a fight right now.”
She pulled something that looked like an incendiary out from her dress. But this time, Dipper got there first. Picking up the closest object from one of the accent tables, an ornate little sculpture, he threw it straight at Pyronica’s hand making her drop the relic.
His aim was improving, Stan noted proudly. Judging by the new notches in the ship’s mast, he was pretty sure Wendy had been giving him pointers on axe throwing.
Stan grabbed the tapestry, and with that suddenly it was everyone against him.
The grey haired man slashed at him with his cutlass, but Stan just barely dodged out of the way. Somewhere in the mad sprint, he’d lost his own sword. Instead he pulled the curtains down from the window and pulled it over the other’s face. He flailed and shouted, but without his sight Stan managed to disarm him as well before being thrown off. The other threw himself over him, holding him down and desperately trying to pull the tapestry from Stan’s grip.
Stan pressed his knees to the other man’s chest, kicking him away. He’d been quicker and more agile, but Stan seemed to have more brute strength. The man fell against the wall, Stan wasted no time, pressing him against the expensive paneling as he snarled and scratched, ripping the mask off of his face and-
And Stan’s world screeched to a halt.
Staring back at him as if through a warped mirror was a copy of his own face.
Ford.
It was Ford.
He was old and grey, fighting to break loose like a wild thing, but it was him.
His eyes were completely devoid of recognition. He looked at Stan with wide panicked eyes disguised by his furious features, as if Stan was a complete stranger. As if he was a threat.
“F-… Ford?”
He reacted at hearing the name, only confirming what Stan already realized. His eyes fell on the hands trying desperately to push him away. One, two, three four five-
Six.
He had six fingers.
Stan’s mind suddenly shifted gears. From thinking a mile an hour, to grinding to a halt almost completely. He just sat there. It was like the storm of his confused emotions had blown past by half, leaving him numb and startled in the eye of the storm staring into a pair of eyes that were almost the exact same as his. There was so much to say, so much to feel, so many things he’d wanted to be able to do for thirty years. But all possibilities spun around him in the screaming wind, so quickly and so erratically there was no way to catch and hold onto a single one.
Joy—it was Ford, Ford was there, Ford was alive—anger—Ford was scarred and terrified and acting like a feral cat held down by a predator—hurt—Ford wasn’t recognising him—but no single feeling stayed concrete for more than a second.
The shock was enough to distract him, enough that he didn’t even realize he was being snuck up on before he was hit over the head with a gold candle holder. The blow sent him onto the floor, his head swimming and screaming at him even louder. Before he could recover and get back up Pyronica grabbed the tapestry again, taking off with Kryptos behind her.
“Captain Pines!” Soos got up beside him, helping him onto his feet. “I’m so sorry dude, I couldn’t fight both-”
Stan didn’t stay to listen. Before he’d even completely regained his balance, he took off after the other two. Ford was still on the ground, breathing hard and staring into nothing with that bird frantically cawing at him. He should stay, but he couldn’t let Bill win.
“Soos, keep an eye on him.” He snapped, beginning to stumble down the hall. He’d have no chance against two people unarmed and disoriented, but he had to try.
Pyronica stopped as she saw him catching up to them.
“You really are a stubborn old goat, huh?” Kryptos asked, annoyed.
Stan didn’t answer, just did his best to right himself and glare at them with fierce determination. Kryptos held the tapestry, and Pyronica began to step forward. She procured another explosive from somewhere, but then something happened that none of them saw coming.
The window they’d been attempting to escape through slammed shut. She dropped the explosive, and it went off on its own, filling the hallway with a strange cold blue fire that had all three drawing back.
Inside of his own head, Stan heard chanting.
Between the three combatants, a puddle of water started to grow from nothing, dripping upwards against gravity. In the middle of it, the figure of a man rose from the floor.
He glared at Pyronica and Kryptos disapprovingly, closing his eyes and breathing deeply.
When his eyes snapped open again, they glowed bright blue like the flames licking the walls. His face erupted into fire, and with that, so did the tapestry.
Kryptos gasped and dropped it.
“Do you have any idea what you just cost us!?” Pyronica screamed at the spectre, stepping forward and drawing her blade. The ghost simply looked at them angrily.
“You can’t kill what isn’t alive.” He told them plainly.
Kryptos approached more carefully than Pyronica had done. He was less likely to lash out without thinking, and put a restraining hand on her shoulder.
“Weknow.” He stared the ghost down. Pyronica’s hand trembled on the hilt of her sword, clearly wanting to take out her anger. But with another firm gesture, she relented and put the weapon away.
The two turned, running down the corridor.
Stan breathed hard. Stumbling back and almost falling over. The adrenaline had run out, he just felt exhausted and confused.
Someone caught his arm, steadying him.
“Don’t worry, sir.” Wendy. It was Wendy. “We’ve got ya.”
He turned to look at her, pulling his hand down his face tiredly but accepting the shoulder to lean on.
“The hell is going on, kid?”
The fire faded away leaving no damage behind. Even the tapestry lay unburnt where it had been dropped. Stan saw Pacifica pick it up, warily watching the ghost all the while. She swathed the troublesome fabric in paper.
“He’s my grandpa.” Wendy explained, watching the transparent figure. “He died in the raid thirty years ago, keeping mom and dad safe from Bill’s crew.”
Stan looked back at the spirit, watching them warily.
That explained the sword in his gut.
“The tapestry?” Stan asked.
“He can’t be allowed to have it.” The ghost said tiredly. “If Cipher has it, my fate will befall far more than just I.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.” The ghost looked away. “They told me, and so I defended it.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.” He sighed. “I’m tired. My granddaughter told me you could be trusted, that you wanted to stop Cipher as well, so… So, I’ll entrust you with it.”
Pacifica carefully handed the paper-wrapped bundle to Stan. He took it without leaving the spectre with his eyes
“I’m tired.” The ghost repeated.
“It’s okay.” Wendy said. “It’s okay, we’ll take it from here. I promise.”
The man looked at them, nodding one last time slowly and deliberately. The fire decorating his face dampened down and died. The sharp blue light illuminating the hall faded, leaving a calm darkness.
As their eyes again adjusted to the gloom, all that was left in the middle of the room was an ornate sword laying in a puddle.
Wendy carefully walked over, bowed her head, and picked the weapon up.
“We need to go.” Stan said carefully.
She looked at him solemnly.
“Okay.”
Ford—itwas Ford, it really was—was still sitting against the wall once they came back, curled up tight, hugging himself and holding onto his own jacket in a vice grip. Soos and Dipper both stood at a distance, watching concerned and confused. But Mabel sat down right next to him, pressed side to side.
Stan got onto his knees in front of him, hesitantly putting a hand on his brother’s arm for the first time in decades. Ford flinched, looking up.
The thought finally hit Stan to remove his own mask. In the struggle, he’d forgotten he even had it on.
Ford’s eyes widened. His lips trembled, but no sound came through.
Here are some holiday themed Reylo Fic’s to help us through the end of 2020.
Oh hey, these are all Modern AU ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Enjoy!
Until then we’ll have to muddle through somehow by greyorchids |@grey-orchids | Explicit | 10k | One shot | Modern AU | Christmas | Enemies to Lovers | co-workers | Family Dinner | Author!Ben | Editor!Rey | Rey POV |Rey is an editor, eviscerating Ben Solo’s novel. Their constant verbal sparring comes to a head when Rey is unexpectedly invited to Ben’s Family Christmas dinner. Too much wine and too much tension leads to a steamy conclusion.
Dancing in a swirl of golden memories by hi_raeth|@eleanor-writes-stuff | Teen | 9k | One shot | Modern AU | Christmas | Ex-lovers | Fake-dating | Pining | Getting-back-togther | Rey POV | Ben needs a date to appease his parents this Christmas, his ex-girlfriend/kinda-friend Rey is down to help him out. | Normally ex-lovers isnt my jam but, oh my god, I absolutley love the backstory for these two.
A place to go by delia-pavorum|@delia-pavorum | Explicit | 52k | Complete | Modern AU | Snowed in | Christmas | Strangers to lovers | Sharing a bed | Cabincore | Canada | Multi POV |Rey is a teacher trying to have some peace and quiet over the holidays. Ben is a writer trying to run from his problems. They both end up snowed in at Luke’s cabin. | This has got to be one of my all time favourite fics (top 5 for sure). Their dynamic is so engrossing and the charcterization and backstory feel so genuine. With beautifully written prose, an attention to detail that adds a richness and some *chef kiss* smut. I would pay money for this fic.
Blame it on the Mistletoe by deedreamer, HopelesslyReylo|@deedreamer | Explicit | 24k | Complete | Modern AU | Co-workers | Teachers | Christmas | Family Dynamic | Rey POV | Rey gets invited to her co-worker’s christmas dinner which is promised to be filled with all things christmasy, it’s a shame that she hates Christmas and is secretly crushing on said co-worker.|SO. WELL. WRITTEN. Great characterization (everyone! especially Leia), Great dialouge/banter! Steamy AF. Love the family dynamic! Very organic feeling story.
Baby, Please Come Home by v3ryvelvet |@v3ryvelvet | Explicit | 6k | One shot | PWP | Modern AU | A/B/O | Devoted Reylo | Office Party | Multi POV | Newly married (and mated) couple Rey & Ben get an unexpected suprise while Ben is at his Office Christmas party… (It’s Rey’s heat). |I was expecting this to be more fluffy rather than the insanely hot smut fest it is. And there is a tiny, hilarious cameo that made me cackle!
Mistle-Oh-No by KyloTrashForever | Explicit | 15k | Complete | Modern AU | Christmas | Mistaken identity | Enemies to lovers | Co-worker dynamic | Rey POV | Okay I thought this was gonna be straight up asshole Ben Solo but its smitten Ben Solo. Soft and fluffy with *chef kiss* flirting.
The Smash Before the Splash by HarpiaHarpyja |@thisgarbagepicker | Explicit | 27k | Complete | Modern AU | Christmas | Festivus | Co-workers | Office dynamic | Bets and wagers | Office xmas party | One-night-stand (sure jan) | Rey POV | Rey tries everything to convince office grump Ben Solo to participate in this year’s polar plunge. She definitely bit off more than she can chew.|Well constructed, brilliantly written fic with great prose and dynamic characterization. The writting is so good halfway through I knew I was gonna have to look up this authors other works.
Silver and Gold by Daisyflo|@reylolujah | Explicit | 10k | Complete | Modern AU | Strangers to lovers | Buying-jewlery-instead-of-flirting | Rey POV |Leading up to Christmas Ben continuously returns to the little jewelry store Rey works in to buy more and more jewelry.| So adorable and fluffy!
Lessons & Carols by angharabbit|@angharabbit | Explicit | 7k | One shot | Modern AU | A/B/O | Christmas Eve | priest!Ben | Librarian!Rey | “Forbidden” love | Rey POV |It’s Christmas eve and some asshole Alpha is ruining Rey’s evening. Her petty revenge does not go as planned. Meanwhile Father Ben’s shitty night takes an unexpected turn for the better. | Steamy and funny with great chemistry.
Moodboard by @cruelerintentions (her moodboards are gorgeous– check them out!)
Tis the season…
Not necessarily Christmas themed, but some lovely fics set in the Winter.
The man, the stallion, and the wind by voicedimplosives |@voicedimplosives |Explicit | 17k | One shot | Modern AU | Strangers to lovers | Road trip | Snowed in | Sharing a bed | Alternating POV | While roadtripping across Canada, Rey picks up hitchhiker Ben who is running away from his problems.| Love, love, love this story. Well written with interesting backstory and steamy smut and delicious chemistry. And it’s set in Canada too!
mountain at my gates by KyloTrashForever | Explicit | 26k | Complete | Modern AU | A/B/O | PWP | Snowed in | lumberjack!Ben Solo | Engineer!Rey | Tropes galore | Rey POV | Omega Rey gets stuck in the middle of nowhere with no suppressants, good thing woodsman Ben is there to help her out. You can guess where this is going.
Hanging by a Moment by crossingwinter|@shmisolo | Explicit | 44k | Complete | Modern-ish AU | 2000s | Funerals and Wakes | Strangers to lovers | Family Dysfunction | Chronic Illness | Angst with HEA | Misunderstandings | Ben POV | Ben comes home after years away for his father’s funeral to deal with his gold-digger step mother. But nothing is what it seems, and this week away will turn his life upsidedown. | Another one of my all time favourite fics. The story, the tension, the emotion! Brilliantly crafted with great charcterization.
Happy Reading!
Wow. WOW. Not only do I feel so honoured to be included on a list with all these incredible writers, but your unbelievably kind words have truly left me speechless, @readingreylo. Thank you sooo much for your lovely thoughts on my story - you have no idea how happy I am that you liked it so much. ♥️
Wishing you a wonderful holiday season and the happiest new year.
Summary:She’d thought she’d known loneliness before. The years on Jakku. Touching the reflective surface of the cave on Ahch-To. Aching for her parents. For answers.She is off Jakku now. She has her answers.And this loneliness, the loneliness of lost opportunity, of a future foretold but never realized, this is the most unbearable thing of all.
Delia is one of my favorite Reylo authors and her stories never disappoint. This is a very intense but also very beautiful journey into Rey’s grief after losing Ben in Exegol. It really feels like you’re inside Rey’s mind and feeling everything she’s feeling. It’s heavy, but also very cathartic. I can’t wait for chapter 2 (where Delia says we’ll get to the “happy parts” of the story!)
Summary:The best part of Ben Solo’s day is his visit to his local coffee shop. The fact that he can’t stop thinking about the barista who works there is completely unrelated.
Sometimes all you need is a soft and fluffy coffee shop AU.
Summary:Home, Ben has come to realize, isn’t four walls and a roof. Home is the pair of arms that hold you, the lips that kiss you goodnight, the face you see when you wake up in the morning, the person whose heartbeat is synced to yours. Home is Rey. And Rey is here (or: the one where Ben and baby go out to greet Rey).
This is one of my go-to stories whenever I’m craving canon Reylo domesticity/baby cuteness. It fills my heart with joy every single time! So adorable.
Grief is a deeply lonely thing. The world continues around you. People give you space when you just desperately want to be held and talked to. You try to move on and heal but the quiet screams.
I want to write something about Rey having to come to terms with her parents’ deaths. Surrounded by friends but with no one to lean on. Keeping a brave face for the morale of the Resistance but wishing she could break. Feeling the agony of it but knowing she’s alone in her pain. This time, she really is alone.
And maybe she thinks about how she wishes Ben were there this time. That maybe he would have understood.
But he’s not there. The bond is closed. So she keeps going on her own. It’s what she’s best at.
“They were filthy junk traders. Sold you off for drinking money. They’re dead in a pauper’s grave in the Jakku desert.“
They’re dead in a pauper’s grave in the Jakku desert.
dead in a pauper’s grave.
dead
dead
dead.
Rey bursts through the door into the captain’s quarters of the Falcon and lets it shut automatically behind her, before bracing her hands on her knees and folding her body near in half, head almost between her legs. Her breath is coming out in frenetic wheezes and choked gasps and she can feel the corners of her vision darkening.
It’s happening again.
For the third time in as many days, she has found herself gripped by a feeling that manifests in cold dread, icy sweat prickling her forehead and back, gathering at her upper lip and under her arms. Once she starts feeling this way, she knows now that she needs to get somewhere private, quickly, before the other symptoms begin and anyone sees her.
Oh, she knows Finn would be worried. Rose and Leia troubled and sympathetic, respectively. Poe would be outwardly, demonstratively concerned, with an underlying thread of This is our spark? Our last hope? that he would believe stayed hidden in the depths of his mind (little does he know).
The problem is, none of them would understand.
Regardless, she can’t burden them. Poe is right: she is the spark. The hope. The last Jedi. The one who is meant to lead them to victory. It wouldn’t do for any of them, not a single one, to see her in her current state.
The feeling of dread escalates now to a catastrophic scale. Bile rises in her throat as her arms go numb, hands tightening until they involuntarily curl into fists and she can do nothing to unfurl them. So this is what it feels like to die, she thinks, also for the third time in as many days. Her practical mind can understand that this is not death, this is simply her body rebelling against the shocks it has undergone in so little time. However, where is her practical mind now? Would practicality not dictate that her breath come out smooth and steady, rather than in these short, panicked, retching gasps? Would practicality not deem the use of her legs as important, as opposed to having them collapse underneath her, knees hitting the ground with jarring force?
Practical mind, indeed.
She feels herself shifting out of consciousness and it reminds her of the Force Bond. Of Ben.
I wish, she thinks, as her chest continues to tighten and tighten and she knows, with certainty, that this is the end, I wish he were here. He would understand. He would know what to do with this all-encompassing grief, this feeling of loneliness and despair so primordial she is sure it must have been man’s first emotion, perhaps his only emotion, perhaps the only emotion that has ever existed. Happiness is simply less despair. Love is less loneliness. But neither ever fully reach any real sort of euphoria, despite what the holos would have you believe.
Her body hits the ground next and she is wheezing, arms curling inwards, as she protectively tucks her knotted hands into her chest, wondering what it would be like if she had anticipated she would die alone. Would it be easier? To not have held out the hope of someone’s return? Of a life yet to begin? Would it be easier, now, to be by herself as the world goes dark and sound cuts out and her gasping breath echoes across a vast emptiness–
“Rey.”
She feels a vibration on the ground beneath her, can see the shape of a black figure dropping down beside her. Feels a large, warm hand on her back.
She senses an invasion, a pressing of her mind, but is powerless to defend herself against it so she allows it and tries only to hide her overwhelming feeling of relief.
He’s here.
He’s here.
It will be okay now.
Everything will be okay.
sending you my condolences @the-reylo-void. hope this maybe helped, even just a little? many, many hugs to you. please remember you are not alone. xo
backstory: Inspired by a tweet and turned into a tweetfic, this one-shot ended up with an additional 4100 words (mostly smut) and a home on AO3.
summary:
He didn’t know why she drank every week. Didn’t know if it was with friends or alone. If it was after work or after midnight. Didn’t know why it would inevitably lead her to his home, his bed.
All he knew was that, when she was there, she was his.
And he would protect her at all costs, from whatever demons chased her into his arms.
Ben Solo wakes up about once a week to find his neighbour, Rey Johnson, inexplicably in bed with him. Oddly, he doesn’t seem to mind.
preview:
She looked so sheepish and adorable that his heart seized a little bit; a sweet-sharp plunk of longing, despite the fact that she was right there in his arms.
I could love her, he thought, lying to himself—knowing he already did.
Standing in the doorway of his brother’s office, Gregory realized something quite astounding.
Whether it was thanks to the brandy, or just the general events of that evening, he knew that he wanted to see Lucy Abernathy.
What about, he had no idea. She was sure to be just as miserable as he was in the current moment. (Or, no, strangely enough, he wasn’t very miserable in the current moment.)
He just wanted to talk to her, he supposed. See how she was feeling. Hear what she might be thinking about all this.
He hadn’t been planning on running right into her, of course, but it had been dark in the hallway. Or, perhaps, his eyes just weren’t quite open. Oh, well. If the world was going to keep springing surprises on him that night, they might as well be ones that suited him.
And it was nice speaking to her. Watching the way her mouth moved as she talked, lips parting and closing as she stumbled into a bout of coughing. The light was dim, but he could still make out the angles on her face. The wave of her cheek. The soft curves of her nose and lips.
Huh. The slight pout of the bottom one, the pleasant bow the top one made. He hadn’t really considered the curve of her lips before.
Alright, he supposed he had thought about it. Once, maybe twice. But it hadn’t been serious then.
Now, however.
Now, it was serious. He truly was considering it.
Strangely, he hadn’t considered Hermione’s lips, just her neck.
Why had he been so concerned with necks when lips were right there?
She looked quite nice, he thought as they continued talking. Lucy. Lucinda. Lady Lucinda. Quite nice, indeed.
Though he couldn’t see the color of her eyes in the moonlight peeking out through the open doorways, he could see their shape. Could see her lashes fluttering as she blinked. Could imagine those seven freckles on her face, including the one shaped like Ireland. It was a funny detail for a funny girl. A freckle shaped like Ireland.
He really was in a good mood. Maybe even a great one. Who would have believed that to be possible?
The woman he’d reckoned himself in love with was currently engaged to another man. A man who had punched Gregory just earlier that evening. A man who he’d sworn was his worst enemy not twenty-four hours ago.
And now?
Now, he simply did not care. He felt warmth in his belly. Comfort. Content.
Perhaps even happy.
Lucy had claimed she was leaving, multiple times, in fact, but still, there she stood, right in front of him.
Meanwhile, Gregory was deliberating whether his good humor was brought on by the brandy or not. Simon- or maybe it was Colin- once told him that a good brandy was all that a man needed to rejuvenate himself. He hadn’t been convinced then, but now he was coming around to the idea.
Hm. Lucy was sensible. Really sensible, actually. She might be a good person to ask about this sort of thing.
He liked her. Lucy. She was a fine girl. Overly apologetic, that much was for certain. And a bit too honest, definitely. But still, nice. Good manners. Strong taste in sandwiches. A fortunate skill to have, indeed.
His mood really was exceptional. He felt like smiling, laughing. Frankly, there was little else he’d enjoy more at the moment than standing in this well-furnished hallway with Lucy Abernathy.
Her mood wasn’t as nice, he noticed. Unlike him, she’d been surprised to see her brother on the verge of ruining her best friend. To find how the secret love he’d been housing from her.
Huh. Gregory suddenly wondered how he would feel in her position. Maybe if he’d caught Hyacinth and Gareth like that, back before they were married. He really couldn’t picture it.
Squinting, he inspected her. He watched her swallow, seeing the way her throat moved. His eyes moved upwards though, far more interested in the way her mouth tightened.
She was telling him that she was unsettled by the entire situation. It was likely the way he should have felt.
But he didn’t.
She was grabbing his arm, telling him that it wasn’t right. He agreed, whether in his head or aloud, he did not know. All he knew was that Lucy deserved better, deserved to feel better.
His arm tingled where she held it. Where her meticulous fingers met his exposed forearm. The pulse through her hand made its way to his own veins.
It really, really wasn’t right for her to be unhappy. Pretty Lucy, nice Lucy, good Lucy. She deserved to feel as free and unconcerned as he did.
She really was quite pretty, what with the round, moonlit eyes, and soft, curvy lips.
Curvy lips- was that a thing? A curve of a lip surely was.
He liked the way they moved when she talked. She was always talking. Talking, talking, talking.
Until she wasn’t anymore.
She wasn’t talking because his lips had gotten in the way.
He was kissing her.
Lucy. He was kissing Lucy.
And he was enjoying it. Immensely.
Suddenly, he didn’t feel drunk anymore. His mind felt clear and sharp, and he knew that he was doing the exact right thing.
His hands found her waist, then the small of her back. The feeling of velvet on his fingertips. The feeling of her body moving into his, fitting like half of a broken vase.
It was unexpected, she was unexpected.
Her hands ran up his arms, leaving a trail of fire singing the fabric separating them, until her delicate fingers met the skin above his collar. He shivered into the kiss.
Her lips parted, a sigh passing from her mouth to his as he was let in. He groaned, his own hand making its way to her hair, caressing fingers edging a few locks out of their pins.
He wanted more, far more than he knew he should. Lucinda Abernathy was a lady, an innocent, someone untouchable; certainly not someone he was meant to be attempting to consume in his brother’s hallway.
But he wanted this. Desperately, God help him, he wanted this.
Her back arched under his grip, and his lips pried themselves from hers to meet her jaw, taking in all that he could.
It was inconceivable to think he hadn’t noticed her immediately. Not when he now saw her as the siren that she was.
The siren that had noticed the sailor upon their very first moment.
Whether she’d have been willing to admit it or not, Lucy had liked Gregory from the start. The very second he had come up and kissed her hand first.
But he’d chosen Hermione, of course, and Lucy herself was practically engaged. Of course.
Practically.
But he was so handsome. And endearing. And when they spoke, it really felt like he was listening to her. To her, Lucy. Not Hermione’s friend, not Richard’s sister. Just Lucy.
And now, he was here, with her. Nipping at the corners of her mouth, running his teeth over her lower lip, placing frantic kisses down her neck. Her stomach jolted as his lips met a sensitive spot right where her neck met her collarbone. She didn’t even realize that she’d let out a moan until he lingered there, sucking in the bit of skin.
“Lucy… My God, Lucy,” he whispered against her, the words sliding down her spine like ice.
She’d never heard her name said like that, with reverence, desire. Worship. Like a vow
She wanted to say his name. Claim it the same way he had hers. The word would not come out.
Hands were everywhere- tugging, cupping, caressing.
Hers made their way into his hair, his lower down her back, pulling her even closer. Closer until their bodies were pressed together, every inch melting into the other. It was the closest she’d ever been with anyone, and she could feel him- all of him.
Still, it wasn’t close enough. Still, she wanted more.
Her back met the wall, Gregory’s weight pressing her against it. Her fingers clawed him, pulling him closer, closer. Hearts pounding against each other. Desperation swelled between them, hands clambering to take more and more. Sighs were exchanged through kisses, mystifying sounds that somehow resembled music in their minds.
That sliver of exposed skin in his open shirt collar, the one Lucy had not allowed herself to admire mere minutes ago, met her fingertips as they ran up his chest. He groaned, his hand crawling back up to her hip, then her ribs, to meet her own chest.
Lucy gasped, feeling as though her knees might give out at any moment. She wanted to fall to the floor with him, to feel the entire weight of his body on hers.
And then they were sliding and shifting. And it was Gregory’s back to the wall and Lucy on his lap, knees around his hips. His hands moved, finding her ankles, then her calves, hiking up her skirts until his fingers rested on her thighs, pressing into her skin.
Her hands moved inside his vest, grasping for whatever she could. No matter what, it wasn’t enough- none of it was ever enough.
Gregory wanted it just as much, his entire body screaming at him to keep going, to take it further. He couldn’t control himself, couldn’t get himself to think about it rationally. This was Lucy, and she was magnificent. He groaned as he pulled her closer onto his lap.
She would never be close enough.
Closer, closer, closer-
They broke apart, a loud slam of a door echoing around them.
Neither of them spoke, neither of them breathed. The dismay, the fear of someone coming down toward them froze them in place. Lucy glanced at Gregory, his chest dramatically rising and falling as he looked down the hall, hand gripping hers.
She was petrified of what she might hear next.
But, appallingly, it wasn’t the thought of someone catching them that scared her. It was simply the thought of someone coming and forcing them to hide, to halt this one divine moment in her life.
This one moment where she finally understood what life was about.
They waited in silence for eighteen seconds- anticipating, listening. Neither of them moved, not from the hallway and not from each other. Frightened out of their minds that someone from Gregory’s family, or worse, a rogue guest as she had been, would be making their way towards them.
Yet still, they did not move. They did not separate themselves. They were still entangled in each other, everything scandalizingly close. Still blissfully close.
No one came. The hallway stayed empty apart from them. The only sounds that could be heard were from the faint melody coming from the ballroom (or, perhaps, it was just the symphony playing in Lucy’s mind).
Finally, Gregory turned back, meeting her eyes. Like a bolt of lightning.
They were pressed together again. “Lucy,” he breathed, eyes clearing.
Her name on his lips. The heat that came from it. Her own words slipped out.
“Can we go somewhere more private?”
His body froze against hers, breaths mixing together in the small space between them. The space that felt like nothing at all and yet still too much.
He looked at her with all the care in the world. A concerned crinkle of his brow. “Lucy…”
“Gregory.” A secret oath, meant just for him. She leaned in to kiss him again, wanting the rapture again. Wanting the elation. “Gregory.”
An oath that felt so right, but so wrong at the same time.
She could taste the faint remnants of brandy, or she could imagine it. Her head jerked to the bottle just a few feet away.
A reminder. A blow. A shove back to reality.
He was drunk.
Not totally, of course, but enough.
He had been in love with her best friend not two hours before.
He was heartbroken, and she was the nearest diversion.
She could have ignored it all, she had ignored it. But she couldn’t do it again. Not when his name felt so much like hers even when he wasn’t.
Not when her name sounded like it belonged to him, yet neither it nor she did.
Slowly, Lucy stood up, straightening her skirts on wobbly legs. Gregory reached out to assist her, and she stepped away, unable to look at him.
“No. I can’t do this.”
And she couldn’t.
Gregory was in love with someone else, and she was meant to be engaged by the end of the season.
He had given her the best moment of her life, and she was thankful for it. But she couldn’t. They couldn’t.
it’s been well over a month since I promised this fic would be done, and I am so sorry y’all. I’ve written and rewritten it so many times trying to get it perfect. It’s not perfect, but I’m proud of it!! sorry if the tone is different in certain parts, I would leave and come back to the fic in a different mindset. aaallllsoooooo i’m not super happy with the ending, but I think I’m gonna use it to tie into my next piece which will be a sub!chadwick fic! anyways thank y’all for waiting!! p.s.I’m moving the tags to the end! sorry for any typos i just wanted to get this up!!
You felt his fingers trail down your neck. They rested on your throat for just a moment. He gave a gentle squeeze, causing you to gasp. Chadwick smiled to himself as he let his hands slide down to caress your arms. He let his hands hold yours before he completely let go and stepped away. You heard him moving around the room, and you couldn’t help but wonder what tricks your lover had up his sleeve.
“Now that I’ve warmed you up, I think it’s time to cool down,” he growled out. You only had a split second to try and decipher what he meant by that before you felt a wet, cold sensation on your nipples. You shrieked and tugged at your restraints. The sensation moved down to just under your breasts.
“Sorry that was mean,” Chadwick said, his breath caressing the taut peak of your right nipple. His warm tongue laved and carressed the pebbled flesh. You let out a sigh of relief when he paid the other nipple the same attention. Suddenly, the cold sensation was back, but it was intermingled with the heat of Chadwick’s mouth. ‘ICE’ you realized. The feeling of Chadwick’s chilled tongue flicking between your nipples was driving you insane. He held an ice cube on one while he focused his ministrations on the other by swirling his tongue, and writing alphabets. He took your left bud between his teeth and tugged. Your back arched off the bed. Your hips were jutting up to get him to touch you where you needed it most. He switched sides, and began to move with more urgency. He sucked hard at your tit. The hot and cold sensations in his mouth battled for dominance as he caressed your nipple with his tongue. All succeeding in driving you wild.
“Fuck yes baby,” you groaned out.
“What was that,” Chadwick questioned as he pulled off your tit with a pop. Your brain was so clouded by pleasure that you had completely forgotten about the rules. The haze of euphoria began to clear, and you’d realized that you’d said more than you were supposed to. “Baby, I’m gonna have to punish you, and you’re going to take it like a good girl right?” he asked.
“Right,” you trembled out. He slapped one of your tits, and you screamed then whimpered.
“Try again,” he gritted out.
“…yes…daddy..” you whimpered.
“Good girl,” he said. You felt more ice at your navel, and your stomach tensed. The ice went lower and lower and lower until it was mere millimeters away from your clit. “What a shame. I was gonna let you orgasm like that. Too bad,” he sounded genuinely disappointed in your slip up. Chadwick sild the ice down so it was making direct contact with your bud, making you shriek. He applied a little pressure as he slid his hand lower and pressed the ice into your opening. You couldn’t help the scream that escaped your lips. Unbenounced to you, a smirk formed on your lover’s lips, as a devious thought came to mind. The ice that was inside of you began melting rapidly, and you felt the ice that was freezing your sensitive clit leave.
“I’m sorry!” you squeaked out as ice returned to your nipples. A hard, open-handed slap landed on your pussy. Air rushed out of your lungs at the force of it. A second, harder slap followed mere seconds later.
“You,”slap. “still,” slap. “haven’t,” slap. “learned,” slap.“your,”slap. “lesson,” slap. Chadwick’s large hand was delivering punishing blows to your inner thighs, outer labia, and clit. You were a blubbering mess, tugging desperately at your unforgiving restraints.
“PLEASE DADDY,” you screamed, trying to prove you could be good. A dark chuckle rumbled from Chadwick’s chest.
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” he murmured against your ear. The ice returned to your poor, abused pussy. “Let’s see how prettily I can make you beg.”
“Please, please, please, pleASE,” you paused to moan. Chadwick’s chilled fingers were gently exploring your sensitive lower lips. “aAAAHAH OHHHH mmmmMMM,” you moaned trying to avoid saying words you shouldn’t. Despite the shock of your punishment, your pussy was dripping wet. The combination of the blindfold and the temperature of your lover’s fingers made his familiar touch feel foreign. At that thought, a shiver of excitement flowed through your body. Chadwick felt you clench around the two of his fingers that were exploring your insides.
“As much fun as it is to watch you squirm when I have to punish you,” he said, his breath ghosting along your inner thighs. “I’d rather get to the part where I’m giving you unfathomable and unending pleasure. What do ya say?”
“yes,” you whispered. Chadwick gave another forceful tap to your clit, making your hips jump.
“Yes who, baby?” he growled.
“Yes daddy,” you moaned out with reverence.
“That’s more like it,” Chadwick’s growl turned into a groan. He enveloped your clit in his mouth. He made loud slurping noises as he sucked up the ice that was melting on and in your pussy. Your moans staccatoed as his tongue played with your folds. He traced dirty, wet lines along your outer labia, followed by flicking your clit ever so gently. Your slow groans let him know his teasing was working. He let his tongue find its way back to your entrance. His strong arms slipped under your thighs, and he held your lower body against his face. He was giving you little kitten licks. You squirmed your hips, trying to get him to give you a good tongue fucking.
“I know what you want, Beg for it,” he moaned into your wet cunt.
“Daddy,” you moaned, your voice tinged with desperation.
“Yes?” He let his teeth graze your labia as he spoke.
“Daddy, pleaaassse,” you begged pitifully.
“I guess that’ll do for your first orgasm,” he mused. Using his thumbs to spread your pussy, he thrusted his tongue in and out of you at a dizzying pace. He slipped in one finger causing you to sigh out a pleased moan. Chadwick chuckled and added a second. While his tongue was thrusting, his fingers were searching out your g-spot.
“OHYESDADDY,” you howled out when he found it. He did a ‘come hither’ motion with the fingers buried in your snatch, sending sparks flying in your mind. You felt the tell-tell heat rising in your stomach. Chadwick kept upping the ante with his tongue and finger combo–he could feel you were close. You began clenching hard as you anticipated your orgasm.
“Oooooo, mmmm, mhm, mhm, YES YES!” you were panting out.
“Cum,” Chadwick demanded. You hips shook against his face. Your pussy was clenching hard around his tongue and fingers.
“Yes daddy,” you sobbed out. “Yees, oh, uhf, yes, yes, yes.” You came so hard your vision blacked out for a moment. Your eyes were rolling underneath your blindfold, and you couldn’t help but tug at all of your restraints. You were breathing heavily as you came down from your high. Chadwick’s face was no longer between your thighs, but his fingers were still stretching your pussy.
“Please,” you whimpered, “please daddy.”
“Sh, shhhhh you’re doing so good baby girl, and we’re just getting started,” Chadwick cooed in your ear. He began planting kisses on the shell of your ear, before making his way down your neck. He slipped his fingers out, and you moaned at the loss. Again, you felt his weight shift off the bed, and you wondered what he had in store. However, you didn’t have to wonder for long. A faint buzzing noise made you clench in anticipation.
“Daddy?” you tried to question. Chadwick could feel your nervousness.
“Hush kitten, it’s just on the first setting,” he comforted, knowing how sensitive you are after you cum. He was again at your side, resuming kissing your neck. He slid the vibrator up and down your torso from your sternum to your belly button. He moved lower to place kisses on your breasts, never reaching your areolas, and he dragged the vibrator up and down the inside of your thighs. He felt drugged by the soft moans that escaped your lips, and you felt him take a breath to recompose himself. He was breathing right over your left nipple, and the vibrator was slowly inching towards your outer lips. You waited, and waited, and waited. The moment your body relaxed, Chadwick pounced. He sucked the waiting nipple into his mouth, and he held the vibrator directly to your clit.
‘OH FUCK’ you thought, but after your earlier punishment, you wouldn’t dare say that out loud. Instead you let out a scream. Your hips tried to swivel away from the immense pleasure, but Chadwick followed you. “AH, AHHHHH, PLEASE. PLEASE DADDY,” you yelled. Your lover was busy suckling, nibbling, and teasing your nipples. Your body felt like a live wire, and everything Chadwick did was had your neurons firing like crazy. He hit a button on the device between your legs, making the vibrations strengthen just slightly. It was too much, especially on the heels of the life-shattering orgasm you’d just experienced. Your hands clenched the air for purchase, your toes pointed, and your hips jutted every which way.
“CHADWICK FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK,” you yelled. Tears rolled from beneath your blindfold as pleasure overtook your every sense. “OH SHIT, OHSHITSHITSHIT,” you couldn’t control your screams. Your clit was throbbing. One of your nipples was aching between Chadwick’s teeth while the other was being pinched between his thumb and forefinger. Wetness ran down your thighs. You felt like you were flying into another dimension. “FUCK DADDY, YES,” was the last thing you uttered before you blacked out for a few moments.
When you came to, you felt Chadwick’s thumbs brushing away the stray tears on your face. “What’s your color baby?” he asked with fear coloring his voice.
“….g-green,” you whispered.
“Really? Because I thought I’d lost you for a second,” he chuckled.
“Yes, daddy,” you said obediently.
“Oh, NOW you remember the rules,” he asked. You didn’t really know what left your mouth during your last climax, but by the sound of Chadwick’s tone, it sounded like you broke the rules again.
“Considering how hard you cum, it was unfair of me to leave out curse words,” he started, “so from now on you can say shit and fuck too. Mostly because I love the way they sound coming from your pretty mouth. But you did break the rules sooo…”
“Daddy?” you questioned when he got silent.
“It seems like the last punishment didn’t work, so I wonder what would happen if I torture you with pleasure instead of pain.” The vibrator returned to your poor, overly sensitive clit–this time at full strength. Your body cringed away, and you let out throaty scream. Chadwick kept the intense vibration focused on your abused bud. He watched as your legs tensed and your hands curled into fists. Your orgasm was approaching hard and fast. When your pussy started quivering, he ripped the vibrator away. You groaned in relief until the vibrator buzzed to life on one of your nipples.
“fUCk dADDY,” you yelled. His long fingers entered you, and his already erect dick hardened further when he felt the ocean of wetness between your thighs. A needy whimper left his mouth before he could compose himself. It reassured you to know that he was struggling with his control too, even if it was just a small crack in the facade. You were thrown back into fits of ecstasy when Chadwick started thrusting his fingers in and out of your dripping slit. His thumb was making tight circles around your swollen clitoris. He watched as your hips rolled, and your chest rose and fell rapidly. You couldn’t decide if you wanted to seek the pleasure he was giving you, or cringe away from it.
“oooooplease,” you slurred in a haze of euphoria. Chadwick brought his lips to yours, and the two of you began making out in a frenzy. He sped up his fingers, making you pant and whine.
“Would my angel like to cum?” he murmured against your lips.
“Yes, daddy,” you breathed out. He moved the vibrator to the other nipple, and he took the freed one back into his mouth. The beginnings of a powerful orgasm stirred in your gut. Chadwick felt the strong clenches sucking his fingers deeper into your cunt. You squeaked out a high pitched keen, feeling your release draw near.
“Well that’s too damn bad,” Chadwick said in a mocking tone. He removed his fingers, turned off the vibrator, and got off the bed.
“SHIT,” was all you could say. Your body was still trembling, and your pussy was still clenching. Your breathing was still shaky too. Coming down was so intense that you began to fear what would happen when Chadwick finally let you come. Chadwick took this time to recompose himself. Sweat dripped down his temples, and he took several deep breaths. He wanted to keep teasing you, but your reactions, your moans, your wetness was making it hard–or rather, making him hard. It took everything in his power not to untie you and fuck you into oblivion. ‘One more time,’ he thought, ‘Imma edge her one more time, and then I’m gettin’ in there.’
Mere minutes had passed as the two of you calmed down, but it felt like hours. You were still trying to collect yourself when you felt Chadwick’s presence nearing again. You held your breath to try to steel yourself for whatever was coming next. What you didn’t expect were hands that gently massaged your calves. The slow touch made you tense up in surprise.
“Shhhh, shh, sh. Calm down baby,” Chadwick spoke reverently against the soft skin behind your knee. “Be good, and this’ll be your last punishment. You can be good for me, right baby?”
“Yes, daddy,” you murmured. Chadwick bit the inside of your thigh.
“I didn’t believe that one bit,” he growled. You gasped when you realized how close he was getting to your core. He was going back and forth inching up your inner thighs, leaving kisses and licks in his wake. Your breath hitched when he left gentle kisses on your outer lips. He kissed his way up one side and repeated the action on the other lip. He pulled back to admire the rivers of slick that were pouring out of your pussy. Chadwick debated on if he should give into his urges and ravenously dive in or if he should tease you with more delicate kitten licks. All you could feel was his breath ghosting over your neglected mound. You made a needy keen and ever so slightly wiggled your hips. That did it. Chadwick dove in and began sucking at your clit like his life depended on it.
“f-FUCK,” you stammered. Your lover was driving you mad. He pulled back the hood of your clit to expose your most sensitive bundle of nerves. His tongue and lips made a vacuum seal around your bud, and stars exploded behind your closed lids. He ate you out like a starving man. Wet suckling and lapping noises filled the room, turning you on more. “ooohhhff, ahHHHH….ssssshiiiiit,” you moaned. Chadwick began flicking your clit with his tongue between sucks. He licked his way down to your opening and back up again. Your tell-tell tremble started, and he pulled back just a little, letting only his soft lips meet your labia in adorning kisses. “P-p-p-pleeEaaAAase dAdDy,” your voice was hiccuping and your breathing was hitching. Chadwick massaged your lips with his thumbs while he went back to bathing your clit with his tongue. He snuck two fingers inside of you, causing you to let out a deep moan.
“God, you’re soaked. Are you ready to come for me, love,” Chadwick inquired between licks. You tried to squeak out a ‘yes, daddy’, but all that came out was a series of whimpers, keens, and moans. Taking that as a yes, Chadwick curled his fingers so they met your g-spot and began thrusting with urgency. His sucking didn’t relent and the pace of his fingers was punishing. You could hear the thud of your heartbeat in your ears. You tried to clutch your restraints for purchase, and your legs were wildly and uncontrollable shaking.
“SHITFUCKOOOOOHHFUUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK DA-FU-OOOOOHHHHHSHIIIIIT,” you babble-yelled. Your back arched sharply off the bed as every muscle in your body tensed. You let out a chesty scream and started flew into the orgasm of the century. Your walls clenched and the released rhythmically. You couldn’t hear anything but wet squelching noises and your blood pumping. Chadwick watched in awe as every muscle in your body spasmed. He noticed you felt wetter than normal, so he peaked at where his fingers were spreading you. The sight he was met with made his jaw drop and his eyes bulge. Your pussy was squirting like a fountain. His arm was soaked to the elbow, and the bed beneath you was dark with your release. Every plan he had to tease you with his dick or edge you again was immediately vetoed.
He didn’t even wait for you to finish cumming. He took his fingers out of you and hastily started undoing the ties around your ankles. You were too spaced out to try and comprehend what was happening. Chadwick threw your legs over his shoulders and sunk into your waiting cunt. Your body was still overly sensitive, so you screamed with pleasure when you felt his length enter you.
“Fuck, baby…” Chadwick said through labored breaths. He bottomed out and held your hips to his.
A pitiful, whined “uuooooaahh please daddy,” is all that you could muster, but it was enough. Chadwick started fucking you within an inch of your life. He pulled your hips up to meet his every thrust while he dropped down into you. The feeling of fullness and the perfect stretch you’d been waiting for made you scream and yell every time he slid back in. He moved the hand that wasn’t holding your hips to your neck. He knew this was your ultimate kink, and he wanted to see if he could make you squirt again.When he added a slight swivel to his thrust, you were done for. Your screams were becoming less hearty as he added more pressure around your throat. The lack of air mixed with his expert strokes set you off. Your body squeezed around his hard dick, and you shivered and shook. You were wiggling like a wild cat beneath him, trying to get away from the immense euphoria. Your eyes rolled and your fingers grabbed at nothing in particular. Your pussy shot out more slick, wetting Chadwick’s lower half. Chadwick was the one letting out groans and almost screaming moans this time.
“BABYOOOUUUUAOOOAOAH FUCK,” his voice pitched higher with each word. “You f-f-feeel soOOOOOooo gOOD. SHIT.” He paused for a moment, as if to collect himself. Suddenly, your blindfold was ripped off. Light flooded your eyes, and your blinked furiously for a few moments. When you could finally see again, your eyes meet with Chadwick’s. His pupils were huge and sweat was dripping down his forehead and temples. You could tell your lover was straining to let go. One of his hands was resting on your throat while the other was busy freeing your hands. Once you were free, your hands immediately went to your lover’s body. Chadwick started a slow grind into your and watched your eyes flutter shut. One of your hands was entangled with his and the other was clenching his bicep.
“You can say anything now baby,” he murmured, his lips almost meeting yours.
“I know you wanna cum. Use me baby. Give me that cum daddy,” you said while making intense eye contact. You felt his dick twitch inside of you as he made an awestruck face, and you smirked. However, your feeling of victory was short lived. Chadwick pulled you up so that you were sitting in his lap, and the new position made you moan into his neck. He made sure your legs were secure on his shoulders, and he grabbed your hips. He started lifting you up and down on his lap. The display of strength in combination with the feeling of being positively used sent tingles down your spine. He basked in the warmth and slick of your cunt. His eyes closed in pleasure and he moved you up and down faster.
“Give it to me yes daddy YES,” you moaned. Chadwick opened his eyes and threw you back on the bed. He pounded into you even harder until you felt his hips stutter.
“OHOHOHH FUCKINBABYGIRL,” he screamed. Chadwick collapsed into you. His hips trying to force his dick as deep as he could get it. His arms clenched, pulling you closer to him, and his eyes rolled back. You felt him shoot huge ropes of cum into your dripping cunt. You brought his face to yours, and the two of you began making out in a frenzy. He held your face in his hands, and your wrapped your arms around his neck. His breathing came out in trembling huffs, and his hips continued to jerk up. Feeling overstimulated, he tried to wiggle out of your cunt, but you locked him into place with your legs. “p-please, let me go baby,” he said in a small, whiny voice. That sent a surprising tingle through you, causing your pussy to clench. “F-F-FUCCCCK, BABY,” he moaned louder. You didn’t think either one of you could go for another round, so you released him. Chadwick sighed in relief, and flopped on his back next to you. You were both silent for a moment until your gazes met. The two of you fell into a fit of giggles.
“Chadwick, that was….amazing,” you stated.
“Are you sure it wasn’t too much,” he asked. His face was scrunching up with concern.
“No!! It was everything I wanted it to be and more,” you exclaimed. A slow, lopsided smile overtook your lover’s face. He pulled you closer, and you snuggled into his side. He placed loving kisses all around you face. You giggled when he started play-biting your neck. He chuckled and backed off.
“I’m glad baby. I love you,” his sleepy voice was taking over. He kissed the top of your head before his breathing started to level out. You could tell he was falling asleep, and you happily laid your head on his chest.
“It’s your turn next time,” you said kissing his chest.
“Mmmhmmm,” he groaned. He shuffled and stretched. “WAIT WHAT,” he said with realization
“Oh nothing baby, go to bed,” you said with a smirk. You dozed off feeling absolutely worn out, but oh so satisfied.
My God the submission! Dom Chadwick is so sexy. The way he took care of her while being firm. The way her pleasure was sending him over the edge. The way he nearly exploded when it was time for them to engage without rules! Amazing!
You built the anticipation so well. I felt it and I saw it. I’d pay anything to hear Chadwick moan in any octave. He really enjoyed being with her and it showed.
Hot damn, I need to read this again. It was so good and worth the wait. I can’t wait to see what you come up with next.
Also excited for this chart reading if you’re doing that. @stressedgyal done taught me some things and I’m ready to dive in!
@kumkaniudaku omg thank you so much boo this actually means so much I’m so glad you liked it!! Hopefully it won’t take me as long to ge the new works out!! Thank you so much for reading
