#the grass and flowers were damp from the dew in the morning

[immagoudaboi]

A bunch of pandas rolling down a hill at the same time would constitute the world's most adorable avalanche.

an avalanche of black and white fur just rolling down a hill at top speed is a sight to behold indeed hehe 🐼

I have heard we're called the cutest (natural) disasters 😎✨🐼

[deepwithintheabyss]

((no idea if you wanted someone to send you one of these or not, but! if you did, here’s one, otherwise, feel free to ignore :) ))

“that was, by far, the stupidest thing you’ve ever done.” <- for whatever pairing comes to mind first~

24) “that was, by far, the stupidest thing you’ve ever done.”

Added to ao3 as well (if you got tag suggestions please share)

Gotham rarely saw such beautiful days as this one.

The sun was up and shining, the sky blue with barely any cloud in sight. It was pleasantly warm, a small breeze carried with it the smell of fresh flowers and kept the air from going stale. The birds sang gently, and the buzzing of the bees added a nice background noise to it all. The atmosphere was almost serene, the silence only interrupted by the crunch of gravel under Jason's boots.

If he let himself think, he would have described it as almost poetic. But he didn't, kept his mind carefully blank, as he followed along the winding path. Didn't let himself feel the things the atmosphere wanted to dredge up. Hands loosely clenched in the pockets of his jacket, not breaking the skin of his palms like he distantly desperately wanted to.

Didn't let himself look as he arrived, only ensured he walked carefully onto the grass before he sat down in the shadow of a big tree. Mind too far away to even really care that the grass was still slightly damp with morning dew or that the smell of flowers was stronger now, almost sickening in its intensity.

He kept his gaze ahead, stared out into the open field, and let the silence speak for him as he tried to gather his thoughts, to figure out what he wanted to say, or to figure out why he even came here in the first place.

He had been invited by his family days before, but he hadn't been able to make himself come. Maybe this was an apology for it. Or maybe it was a way to speak about what he had never been able to say before, to finally lay it all out in the open.

"You're too smart to do things like that." he murmured finally, "And, I think we both know that was, by far, the stupidest thing you’ve ever done." it almost felt like a sacrilege to break the silence like that.

"I feel like I should scold you for it, tell you off for being so irresponsible with your own life about how you're too smart to not have known the risks and remind you that there are many people out there that care about you." he sighed, "But I figured that you already got to hear that from them all."

He let the silence settle around him again, kept his gaze ahead, didn't dare to even glance besides him.

"I think we all forgot that you are just like us." he admitted quietly.

"You always calculated so precisely everything you do. Were so careful with your actions. Never seemed to struggle with anything. I think it made all of us forgot that you're just as human as we are. Just as vulnerable."

A pause

"But you knew this, didn't you? Knew how vulnerable you are, how vulnerable we all are, and made this decision anyway."

The silence was almost deafening now. It didn't feel judging.

"I thought about thanking you. But I know you didn't do this for any thanks or gratitude."

His fingers itched for something to fiddle with, he buried them in the moist earth instead.

"You're so brilliant it hurts sometimes." he whispered.

His fingers dug deeper. He tried to work out how to keep going.

"Bruce put me to work on some of your cases. To pick up the slack, heh. I wouldn't have touched your stuff otherwise, swear it. Says it's important now that, well yeah." he trailed off awkwardly. Winced at how terrible this was going but kept moving anyway.

"You just care so much, I can see it now." huffed out a quiet laugh, "Well I mean I knew you did, no ones does what we do without putting at least some of their heart into it."

"But I can see it more clearly now." His breath stuttered slightly. "I never knew just how deeply you cared, about all of this, Gotham and its people. All of us."

He scoffed, "Hell, you cared even about me, when you had all the right in the world to hold a grudge against me. But that was never much like you, was it? I can read between the lines at least that much. To see how tirelessly you worked on all of it. Poured every fiber of your being into it. Your love for this city went so deep."

He couldn't help the sad smile that settled on his face "It makes a man really want to know what you saw in all of it. To make that future you wanted for all of us a reality, just to see your smile."

He didn't know how long he sat there silently after that. Smile slowly slipping from his face as his thoughts turned sadder. A coldness seemed to seep into him that wasn't related to the weather.

The silence still didn't feel judging, so he mustered up the last dredges of his courage within himself.

"I love you," the words slipped out almost so silently that he thought if anyone else had been there, no one but him would have been able to hear them.

He let the settle into the silence for a bit, before he finally stood up, knowing he'd never get an answer of any kind.

He dusted off his pants and let his eyes wander to the side for the very first time. Took in solemnly the grave besides him, let his eyes wander over the inscription praising and thanking him for his sacrifice. The many flowers that adorned it from friends and citizens alike that wanted to personally thank their savior and honor him.

Jason was glad that at least now, in death, Tim got finally the appreciation he deserved.

[embalmingparts]

Funeral March

Hello The Secret History fanbase… I offer you my first TSH fanfiction. this is more an exercise in character than anything, I want to be able to write them all accurately before doing much else of substance — and I really just wanted to write the Greek class being the weirdos that they are. go easy on me but I hope this is at the very least enjoyable.

not canon compliant, Bunny is alive and they’re all friends.

Word Count: 3k

Read on AO3 or below the cut! ☕️ ☆ 🕯️

Early morning. Tall blades of unkempt grass glimmered with the shine of dew drops; wildflowers sprouted in lush patches; and damp stepping stones littered the yard. The tang of wet, damp earth lingered heavy and humid; the air thick but clean. The snow had melted in the past week, and the Greek class was enjoying early spring at Francis’ country home. The sun had barely risen above the horizon to fill the yard with light when the smell of something sickly, putrid like an overripe fruit, became abundant.

“Oh, no!” Francis cried, stopping in his tracks and glancing towards the ground. He was in shirtsleeves, and his pants were rolled up to his knees. His pale feet were bare and wet with dew, disrupting the grass where he stood, and drops of water were rolling off him and catching on the hair on his legs. Charles stood next to him, peering down to see what had gotten Francis so upset.

“Look at that, Charles,” he said, pointing to a small clump of feathers and red. “Poor thing.”

Along with rain showers, vibrant greenery, and blooms of flowers, Vermont spring brought songbirds back from a winter away. Francis’ countryside property had found itself full of small birds, singing and chirping away at all hours (starting early, a bit before sunrise, tending to wake Bunny, who decided to wake everyone else in his tired annoyance). Dashes of blue jays and sparrows and warblers in the trees, daring near the ground only in search of food.

“Oh, what a shame! What are we to do?”

“Leave it,” Charles said dismissively. “Why should we have to do anything at all?”

“Charles, look at it.”

The blond crouched down in the grass, blades thick and full, to examine the mass of feathers and, upon closer inspection, gore.

A round, cream-colored bird lay with its wings spread in its full span. Its torn open chest painted the feathers on its small body close to the shade of a cardinal — red; visceral and bloody, vermillion, wine, raw meat. Sternum to ribcage cracked open like a pomegranate, seeds torn out, thrown back on the ground to let it sink into the earth. Its neck, Charles noticed, was turned at an unnatural angle, a bite mark deep in the flesh of its throat. Viscous, sticky liquid surrounded the small corpse, still and fresh. The smell was something awful, sickening but sweet, iron. It made Charles’ stomach clench the closer he got.

Reaching for a stick, Charles ignored Francis’ wailing (‘Oh, no, Charles, don’t,’ ‘I can’t look,’ ‘Oh, forget about it,’ something in French) and poked at the bird from a distance, turning it over and around. Getting a better look at it, the bird was a dove. A white mourning dove, a dove whose coos had likely woken Bunny up in the morning.

Francis’ house had not only been a springtime retreat for birds, but also for small but vicious predators – cats, raccoons, things with claws – one of which had seemingly gotten its paws and teeth sunk into the little dove nestled in a cushion of wet grass and stirred up dirt. Despite the still warm blood on its feathers, the unnatural tilt of its neck, and its exposed and empty abdomen, it looked peaceful, as all doves should be.

Francis’ eyebrows were scrunched together in a worried, pained sort of expression. “It was probably one of those damned cats you’ve been feeding. Look at this mess,” he said. “How horrible. Little thing only wanted some seeds–” tapping his foot – “I should’ve refilled the feeder yesterday. It must’ve been hungry. Oh, we’ve got to get rid of it. It’s dreadful.”

He pulled a pack of Marlboros from his breast pocket.

Unable to rip his eyes away from the mauled remains of the gentle creature, Charles stood in his grass-stained pants, propping himself up on one knee and pushing himself up. The stick, now bloody, was still clutched in his fist.

“The cat was hungry too.”

“What?” Francis asked, wiping his eye.

“The cat that got it,” Charles repeated. “It was hungry too.”

“Oh. Well, yes… but look at it. Brutalized. Careless. A horrible way to go.”

Charles paused, examining the bird again. The curve of its wings, body sprawled on the ground, looking as if it fell right from the sky and into the jowls of a predator with sharp, sharp teeth. Predestined. Inescapable. Fate.

In a way, it was beautiful. In its death, it had fallen into a patch of daisies, fresh and new, stained a color they would never naturally grow. Spring, the season of new life, of thriving, had brought death with it, too. For in the cycle of life and death, there is a profound sense of continuity, repeating and repeating and repeating. Die. Feed. Birth. And though brutal, ripped to shreds, the dove was peaceful – nothing could last forever; nothing that was mortal could ever escape the sharp teeth of death, be it a dove caught in the claws of a feral cat, or something more. In time, it would sink into earth, and feed the plants. Become a plant itself. Grow the seeds it was hungry for. Continuous. To live forever was to die, repeat the cycle. Become again.

However, as beautiful as it may have been, it was clearly distressing to Francis, who was now through with half a cigarette.

“It wasn’t malicious, Francis. Whatever it may have been,” Charles began, “it didn’t know any better. It was hungry. Everything needs to eat, that’s just how it goes. Besides –” he took Francis’ hand in his– “it’ll feed the flowers you like so much. Fertilizer?” He offered a smile.

“Right, sure, but… can we at least, God, I don’t know. Bury it? It’s horrible to look at, and it deserves a resting place, not so out in the open.” Francis said.

–

Across the yard, back at the house, Bunny sat in a porch chair, rosy-cheeked in the morning sun and coffee cup in hand, not paying the slightest attention to Francis and Charles in the grass. He had the radio set up on the table next to him, and he was listening to some awful war song (no one was quite sure if it was on a CD of his or if he had found a military radio station) that was far too loud for the hour. The large, French-style double doors were wide open, propped with books as door stops, and the sun sank into pools of light on the dark floorboards. In the house, Camilla and Henry walked back and forth across the foyer, visible every so often – carrying things, maybe books, Henry following Camilla’s lead.

Charles yelled something and waved his arms, trying to get anyone’s attention, unsuccessfully. He yelled again, this time Bunny’s name, holding up the bloodied stick and waving it around. The blood and the look on Francis’ face seemed to be alarming.

Bunny sprung up from his chair on the porch and ran through the yard — still in his robe and pajama bottoms — his mess of unruly blond hair not fully brushed and his not fully awake body tumbling over itself. He motioned for the others, and Camilla followed him, running towards the commotion with curlers in her hair; the gentle glow of the early morning sun made her face look soft but bare, and the gray of her eyes matched the sky so perfectly they nearly disappeared into the horizon. Shortly after, Richard appeared in shirtsleeves, struggling with pulling his shoes on, his eyes (and limbs) still heavy with sleep. And Henry followed behind them, fully dressed, like a disinterested father caring for his ill-behaved children, trying to control them before anyone had had any breakfast – they’re getting fussy, and he hadn’t had his coffee yet.

Bunny and Camilla came to a grinding halt, nearly crashing into each other upon Bunny’s sudden stop, Richard close behind them. Taking his time to reach the rest, Henry strolled through the grass, admiring the flowers. Charles and Francis pointed at the ground in unison.

They stood in a circle, heads together, mess of bird between their feet.

“Oh, that’s horrible.” Camilla was the first to speak. Her voice was layered with sleep, dark like tinted glass. “How on Earth could that have happened?”

It was, evidently, unnerving. Francis explained that he thought it was a cat, and Camilla cocked her head but was shushed by Charles before she could question him. Richard tried to hide his expression, one of disgust, but his nose scrunched and his eyebrows turned up. Bunny appeared similar, hiding it less; holding his nose closed with his fingers. Henry seemed indifferent, staring at the wounded bird with a lack of emotion.

“I want to bury it. I don’t like the way it looks,” Francis said.

“It’s just a bird,” Richard interjects. “What’s so wrong about it?”

“It’s eyes are open. It’s looking at me.”

“Sure is.” Bunny agreed. His voice was nasally, more than normal, nose plugged by pointer and middle. “Nasty sight. Damn awful smell, too. We should bury it, yes, yes. Hold it a proper funeral.”

“A funeral?” Camilla asked.

“Well, sure. Can’t just bury it all unceremoniously, can we? If we’re burying it, we might as well make a show of it. None of that Catholic bullshit. A real funeral! Like the Greeks! We’ll mourn, wear all black, pray to the gods. And Henry can dig the hole.”

–

Before Henry had much of a say about digging the grave, he stood in the garden, shovel in hand – expressionless, digging a dove-sized hole under a large willow tree next to the lake. He was wearing a black pin-stripe English suit, per Bunny’s request, and was narrowly avoiding getting dirt on his freshly polished Oxfords.

Bunny, Francis, Charles, and Richard had also found themselves in black suits – pieces of Charles’ suit oversized and borrowed from Bunny, as he doesn’t wear much black, nor did he plan on attending a funeral over the weekend. Francis wore his suit over a thin, starchy white shirt with turnback cuffs, his flame-colored hair slicked back and pince-nez glimmering in the (now afternoon) sun. Richard’s was ill-fitting, tight on the elbows, and had quite a few loose threads, adorned with a little golden lapel pin, shaped like the top of an Ionic-style column. They each held flowers in their hands, taken from the garden, that Camilla and Francis had tied together with strands of twine and ribbon. Charles still held the red-stained stick.

To Henry’s left stood Bunny, ordering him to dig the hole deeper and refusing to help. He had a black sheet thrown over his shoulder, a mockery of some sort of toga. Camilla stood to Henry’s right in a knee-length black dress with sheer black stockings underneath. She held the bird in her arms, wrapped in an old curtain Francis had found in the attic, laid in a small brown box, a makeshift coffin. Flowers lay around its body, and the smell of rot had been overtaken with the smell of a strong, floral perfume — stinging cherry blossom and bitter notes of bergamot. Bunny used his pocket square to wipe the sweat off of his, and then Henry’s, brow.

The smell of freshly turned dirt, woody and sweet. The air had warmed and cleared as the early morning turned to afternoon, the dew on the grass had evaporated, and the sun reflected off the lake in a blinding, star-like way. A dense, large willow shaded the funeral part; lush curtains of green cascading off of thin branches surrounded them and swayed with the breeze. The hushing sound of wind ruffling leaves was cut through by a funeral march – Chopin’s Piano Sonata No. 2, playing on the radio sitting on the tree roots. The glow of the sun hit the backs of Bunny, Henry, and Camilla, encasing the three of them in shadow haloed in gold, like a group of God’s finest angels, harbingers of death, or vengeful creatures sent by Hades up from the underworld. Henry mumbled something unintelligible to Camilla and held the shovel to his side. With that, Bunny began:

“Lady and gentlemen, we’re gathered here today in honor of this here dove. Tragically, our little friend was taken from us much too soon. Even though it woke me up this morning, no bird deserves a fate this bad, no, no. I’m sure it had a family, a bird-wife and chicks, you know, it’s spring and all. Real sad it ended up like this, all torn apart… Anyway, enough lamenting, right? This isn’t some pious, uptight mass, no, no Hail Mary’s. This is a celebration of this bird’s life! Sending it off.

“O Hermes, messenger of the gods, we ask you to guide the soul of our dearly departed dove safely across the river of Styx. Grant passage to the underworld of Hades, and let it find peace in the Elysian Fields, or wherever doves go,” Bunny said, talking with his hands and looking to the sky, like a preacher.

He rambled on, choosing his words carefully, about the underworld and the afterlife and how even sweet little birds had to meet their makers. When he finished, he wiped away a pretend tear, and Francis clapped, everyone else following his lead. Henry stifled a smile, covering his hand with his sleeve.

Thank yous were said to Bunny, and he bowed like he was a talk show host walking off stage – see you next time, folks! – and Camilla stepped forward in his place, box in hand, standing at the head of the grave plot and glancing down into the earth.

“Put him in, little lady.” Bunny motioned with his head towards her and put a hand on the small of her back.

She nodded, crouched, and lowered the box into the hole. The dove’s feathers ruffled in the breeze, its eyes still open and glossy as it and its box-casket were placed into the earth. Camilla placed it down gently, careful not to disturb it, as if she might’ve woken it up if she jostled it around. Henry offered his hand, and she took it in hers. He pulled her up, looking like he could’ve swept her up into a press lift as if they were dancing pas de deux. When she stood, her stockings and shoes were caked with damp dirt.

“Say goodbye, gentlemen. François, any final words?” Bunny asked.

Francis stepped to the head of the plot and threw his bouquet on top of the bird. “Au revoir, mon petit amie. Live forever, and let the flowers grow on top of this awful mess of dirt.”

Following his lead, Richard threw in his bundle of wildflowers, followed by Charles’, as well as the stick that had been stained with blood. Camilla unclasped her necklace – small, gold – and threw it in unceremoniously.

Henry, who had disappeared through the flower-tossing service, had returned, a bottle of wine in hand. He stood next to Camilla, his jaw clenched and his eyes glossy behind his glasses. With a pop, the cork, too, found itself in the shallow grave. The scent of grape, aged and spiced, poured into the earth, on top of the dove, and in the box. When the bottle neared being half empty, Francis ushered him to stop, and he did – taking quite a large swig of it himself – and handed it over.

The bottle was passed around between them as Henry shoveled the dirt back onto the grave. Bunny made reception small talk about “fond memories” of the dove while Camilla sat in the grass, tying pieces of twine around a bundle of sticks and flowers.

“Did we offer enough, do you think?” Charles asked, wrapping his arm around Francis’ shoulder.

“Sure,” said Francis, the bottle clenched in hand. “I’m just glad I can’t see it anymore.” He tilted the bottle up and finished it off.

“I’m sure Bunny’s speech was more than enough,” said Henry, calm and unbothered. “We gave it a thorough send-off. Returned it to the earth. The first dove to have a real funeral like this, I’d say. If the gods choose to care about a dove, this will be the one. Besides, I’m sure your flowers will look wonderful, Francis.” He threw another large pile of dirt into the grave, twirled the shovel in his fingers, and patted the earth down. “Factum est. Camilla, would you hand me that?”

He towered over her, encasing her in his shadow, and she handed over her stick-and-twine gravemarker. It was delicately made, but the details were clumsy: knots too big and in the wrong places, flowers lacking petals, an uneven bow in the front. Henry told her it was beautiful and stuck it into packed-down earth at the head of the burial site.

The six of them stood around the grave, now marked and permanent in Francis’ yard. The dirt was the color of freshly brewed tea, ornate and flowery, shaded by the dense overhang of weeping leaves and branches. In true fashion of spring, the sun had found itself behind a blanket of gray, surrounded by curls of hazy, dark shades, accompanied by the air marginally warming.

“You know,” Bunny began, slapping Francis on the back (startling him to a jump). “Every funeral I’ve ever been to, there’s been food after. A luncheon. And –” checking his watch – “It’s almost noon; that’s lunchtime. I’m starving, gentlemen.” Before any of them could answer, Bunny was already strolling towards the house – no, the driveway.

“I think it’s going to rain,” Richard cautioned, looking at the overcast gray of the clouds narrowly closing in.

“We better hurry up, then!” Bunny yelled as he took off towards the cars – Francis’, Henry’s. “Got to beat the weather, yes, yes!”

Glances were exchanged; the twins shrugged in unison, and took off after him. Gracefully, they moved their legs identically, and their feet kicked up dirt in unison. Charles yelled for Bunny to wait, and Camilla ran beside him, giggling. Francis took Richard by the hand, running along with him, and Henry followed behind the lot of them, patting his pockets to make sure he had his wallet.

[piss-pumpkin]

🪷☀️Some sunny day🌤️☔️

Douce amere chapter 4, (older)dipper pines x reader, ~4.9k words

Prev masterlist

The party, and really all that had happened in the last few days, had left you drained. You sighed, stretching. Today, you thought, could be a good day to do nothing, and see nobody. At least for a while, to recharge your social battery. 

It was afternoon, and Susan’s house was empty. But it was so sunny out, and the woods were nice. You glanced out the window, checking the weather again. Yeah, outside. That was where you should be. You grabbed your backpack, and opened the door.

You took a deep breath in, feeling the wind hit your face. It smelled vaguely like the woods, whatever that meant. Something like pine, cedar, dirt, with a pinch of monsters and mystery, though monsters didn’t smell very good, typically. You leaned on the railing of lazy Susan’s porch, and took another deep breath. It smelled like summer, and the woods were waiting.

You stepped down off the porch, and hopped onto the driveway. You’re backpack was heavy with Dippers book. Today was a good day to catch up, and the best place to do that, you decided, was the woods. If, by chance, no monster or adventure found you, you could read the beginning.

You started walking down town, headed for the Gravity falls forest that so often drew you in with mystery. As you walked, you checked your bag, double checking that you brought water and snacks. Thankfully you did.

You approached the edge of the forest. The tree line was thick immediately, the woods forming a clean barrier. It either was, or wasn’t. There was no place in between town and forest. The closest thing to that would be the shack.

You touched a tree. It was a little right, and a little wrong, your first time venturing into the woods this summer alone. Mystery hunting here was something you did with the twins, and your first summer memory in the forest being without them was strange. But alone was liberating. It was free. Alone was the fresh air in your lungs and the silence of the world replaced with the noise of the jungle. It made you feel like Gravity falls was yours, like you were the main character, so to speak. You stepped though the tree line, forging a path through.

The grass folded under your feet, and the brush parted as you lived through it to change trails. You found yourself smiling, hands swinging at your sides. It really was beautiful, the nature. The trees leaves blocked the sun overhead, what little rays could break through spotlighted whatever they landed on. And the morning dew and dampness of the forest created a mist to walk through.

So you walked. Carefully, as not to trip on any branches or roots, searching for a comfortable looking spot to read. That and taking in the sights. And your eye was caught by more then a few Gravity Falls weirdness things. You passed a few glowing flowers, strangely coloured vines, and a strange mole creature with human eyes. That one was strange. You did your best to take a picture of each oddity you saw, to show it Dipper later. Maybe he or Ford would know what you passed by. 

You picked a few faintly glowing red and pink flowers, who’s pollen centres seemed to be steaming. You looked them over, and wafted the scent of them towards your face as you went. Smelled like…sulphur. You threw the flowers away behind you. 

Looking back in front of you, you saw… a breakage in the trees. A clearing, with the sun shining in unbroken rays down over a grassy patch of the woods. Fuck yeah. If it was dry, that would be the perfect place.

You sped forward, into the clearing. The sudden sun was startling, and your arm flew up to shield your eyes. You scanned the area, checking for any gnomes, or perhaps a vicious plant. It seemed clear… stray for an unmoving grey silhouette facing away from you. That was a bit odd. 

You moved to investigate, getting closer to the… statue. As you stepped in front of it, you saw. It was a little guy, triangular in shape, with a little top hat at the tip of the pyramid. It was as if it was holding out a hand to shake. Most striking of all, a single eye took up half the face. Odd. 

You stared at it, considering taking a picture to show Dipper. You decided against it. Odd.

You squatted down, resting your hands on your knees to make curious eye contact with the statue. It felt familiar, and alien. You pondered what to name it. “You’re a weird looking guy,” you said, pointing at the statue. “What is your name?”

You paused, and it seemed like the sounds of the forest disappeared from your head. It was just you and the statue. As if the sun was shining just on the little stone pyramid, time seemed to slow. There was no wind, and no birds chirping to offer a bit of advice or naming inspiration. You stared into the eye, not touching the statue. In truth, you couldn’t look away. What to name it? The air was hot, and you were acutely aware of it in your lungs, for some reason. You could almost see the  statue was sparkling in the light. 

And then the thought came to you. Silently, the thought came and echoed in your mind, the only thought you could have. “You look like a William…” you tilted your head, the sounds of the woods and creatures and wind coming back. “But that’s too formal, you look like a casual kind of guy, despite the hat,” you pondered. “Hmmm, and Will isn’t right for you, you don’t look like a Will.”

You stood up, and started to pace around the little statue. “Ugh, and Billy is too childish for you,” you said. Your face soured, “And Willy is just stupid.” You walked in a small circle around it. “I’ll level with you, there’s only one nickname of William left I can think of,” you knelt back down in front of your new stone friend. “But I hate that name… my best friend really hates the name, so I won’t use it.” You sighed, flicking the hat, “So as much as it doesn’t suit you, I think I’ll call you Billy.”

You could almost feel the anger coming from the statue. “Yeah, yeah,” you shrugged. “I know, feels a little weird…” you booped it just under the eye, and smiled. “We’ll get used to it though.”

You stood up, and looked around. “So, Billy, the area looks pretty nice, is this the spot for me?” you asked your new friend. 

Silence as a response. Spine tingling silence.

”You’re, right,” you said, setting your bag down. “I think I’ll read here, it’s sunny and warm.” You set your bag down, and sat beside it, nearish to your new friend. You laid back on a flat and soft patch of grass, and leaned your head on your backpack. Comfy. 

You held the book so you could see, and started from the beginning. It was nice reading in company. Usually that was Dipper, today it was Billy. You glanced over at him. He hadn’t moved. You weren’t sure why you expected him to, given that he was made of stone. “Billy, do you like mysteries?”

Silence. Not even a bird chirp. Like the forest was just spitting static at you. And a mild ringing in your ears.

”Yeah, I have mixed feelings too. They can be really good at their best, but so boring, predictable, and lazy at worst,” you said, pulling the book to your chest. “And if it’s a murder mystery, it’s so hard to get invested in the characters…” you looked away from the eye and back up to the clouds passing overhead. “But my Dipshit likes them, and said this was was really good,” you opened the book again, eyes scanning over the first page. “So I’ll give it a fair shot.”

Billy didn’t have any thoughts of his own to offer. Figures, since he was a statue. 

As you read, you had to give credit where due, Dipshit picked a good one. Gripping story, and compelling mystery. You limited yourself to the marked page that Dipper had stopped at, so you could read the rest together. But stopping was a difficult task considering the quality. It took a lot of self restraint not to finish it, or at least read ahead of him. Instead, you decided to discuss what you did read with Billy.

”So, I really hope Dip is wrong about Paul… the friend character,” you said, rolling into your stomach and kicking your feet in the air. “Cuz I am not normal about him and the main guy.” 

Billy didn’t respond as you looked into his eye. The single, bulging eye, which seemed to be watching you. 

You were about to speak again, but were startled out of it. A small droplet of rain hit your face, causing you to blink a few times. “Well shit, Billy,” you said, standing up and looking at the bright but overcast sky. It was white and grey clouds for as far as the eye could see. “I think I have to leave you now, I can’t let Dip’s book get wet.”

You packed everything into your back, and slung it over your shoulders. But you couldn’t just leave. It seemed like it had been windy only a moment ago, but as you started off the clearing felt eerily still. Still and silent. You looked back at Billy. “Don’t worry, I’ll probably be back,” you said, snapping him a finger gun. “Any time I need away from all my bitch ass friends, you know the deal.”

Billy didn’t reply. But with those words, and that promise, life seemed to return to the valley. odd. So much was odd. But that was Gravity Falls, you supposed. You started to walk back to town, under the cover of the trees to avoid the rain. Back to your Aunts place, or perhaps Greasy’s diner.

                                            …

Lazy Susan was not a lazy woman, that was certain. She ran the only decent diner in town, cheap and open at the best and worst hours of the day. She greeted you as you came in, the bell drawing her attention, “Hello, Y/n!” 

“Eyyy,” you said, snapping at her. You took a seat on the counter, resting your elbows on the old stained wood, and kicking your dangling feet off the vintage seat. “What’s up?”

Susan leaned on the counter with you, “Oh, you know.” She glanced over to another customer waving her over, “Sorry, be right back, sweetie.” 

You nodded, biting the inside of your cheek through a smile. Cringe nickname, sweetie was. Not all bad though. Looking around, you saw the restaurant was swamped. You must have gotten there during the dinner rush. You watched as Susan tended to the customers order, the man winked at her. You squinted, and realized it was Toby Determined. Gross. 

As Susan came back, she sighed, starting to brew a coffee behind the counter. “So, Y/n, can I get you a drink?”

You smiled, “Of course. My favourite?”

Susan placed the coffee in front of Toby, and came back in front of you. “Of course.”

She knew your cafe order by heart by now. As she was making it, another few customers walked in, and another at a table tried to call over Susan. You sipped your drink and watched as she tried to juggle all of them. “Hey Susan, you want help today?” you asked. Wouldn’t be the first time you worked there, and wouldn’t be the last, you were sure.

Susan waved her hand, “Oh, no.” She shook her head, pouring a coffee for a manly Dan. “You’re on summer vacation, you should be outside enjoying yourself, go hangout with your friends.”

”Girlie, it’s busy in here and it’s just you today, come on,” you said, gesturing around.

A voice called out from the kitchen, “Hey, I’m here too!” Robbie, the dishwasher, shouted from the back.

You sighed, “My bad, it’s just you and Robbie here today, you need me to take some orders?”

Susan pursed her lips, and glanced around the room. More people coming in, more people needing service at tables. Yeah, it was busy. She sighed, “Alright, thank you.”

You smiled, “All good,” you said, snaking around the counter. There was an apron for you, hanging in the kitchen. Robbie was also there, unfortunately, scrubbing away. “Y/n,” he greeted flatly.

”Robbie,” you replied, nodding. 

You walked by the dish pit coming back to the front, a little too closely. Robbie flicked some soapy water at your face. Furrowing your brow, you sneered at him, “Nerd.”

He sneered back, “Nerd.”

So, you went to the front and took orders so Susan could focus on cooking. You put on a customer service voice, and did the absolute best you could with how busy it was and how tired you were at heart.

                                            …

Just a a couple hours. You just worked the dinner rush, and the closing hours. It wasn’t nearly enough to make your feet hurt, or supply you with the need to complain. You looked around the now empty diner, “Am I good to go?” you asked. 

Susan was in the cash register, “Of course, Sweetie. Thanks for helping today, I’ll pay you…” she paused, starting to the back kitchen, “Eventually.” Susan stopped, nearly falling off balance as she did so suddenly. She turned to you, and pointed at the door way, “Also, the Pines boy is here for you!”

You glanced at the closed door, then back to Susan. You barely saw the trailing end of her apron disappear into the kitchen. “Outside?” You asked, hanging your own apron on the rack. 

“Yeah!” you heard shouted from the kitchen. As well as faint complaints from Robbie, dealing with the final push of the dishes. 

It was dark out already, a wonder considering it was summer. The day does pass by fairly quickly when you sleep till noon. You grabbed your stuff, “Alright, I’m heading out!” You shouted to the kitchen.

You heard two responses. Robbie yelled a hearty, “good!” to you, while Susan said a quick, “Have fun!” You smiled, and pushed the door open. 

The moment you stepped out, he spoke. “Heyyyy,” Dipper said, leaned on the wall. “I would have come in to talk to you, but you looked super busy.”

You smirked, “Aww, never to busy for you, Dip.” You glanced back through the window, “It was actually swamped though, I wouldn’t have been able to chat much…” you turned back to him, stepping away from the diner, “so where we going?”

”Are you recovered enough to hangout at the Mystery Shack?” He asked, pushing himself off the wall and walking beside you. The car was still here, which you planned to drive illegally again.

You thought for a moment. After a few hours busting your ass at customer service, you were tired. That and the long night last night didn’t do wonders for your energy. A little tired to hangout with the big group, but just you and him? That was easy. “Yeah, let’s go,” you said, hopping in the car. “Get in.”

Dipper stood for a moment while you sat at the wheel. “Don’t you still have your L?”

“You didn’t care this morning,” you said, brow raised.

He sighed, and climbed in the passenger seat. “Well, I’m a lot more coherent now,” he said, putting on his seatbelt. “I took a nap, and now I can think critically.”

You snickered, starting be engine, “how unfortunate for you.” You started backing out into the parking lot, and turning into the road. “Lucky for me, I’m kinda delirious,” you smirked. “Did not sleep since the party.”

Dipper sighed, “Don’t crash.”

”Hey, if I didn’t this morning,” you said. You hit the road, “I think I’ve at least had rest time since then, sooo…”

                                            …

When you got to the shack, all you did was zone out in front of the tv and your phone. And that was fine, you were next to Dipper on the couch while Mabel was fast asleep upstairs, and the house was quiet. 

Then Dipper spoke up with a question, rather out of the blue. “Hey, wanna go in the roof?”

You looked at him, brow raised. It was late, probably pitch dark. “Like, now?” you asked, blinking tiredly at your phone.

He stood up, “yeah, it’s nice.”

You sighed, standing up to follow him. “And probably cold,” you smiled. He was in front of you, but you could guess he heard the curl of your lips. 

He found the gift shop, and Dipper crawled up the ladder, opening the hatch in the ceiling, “Come on, it’s cool.” You looked up at him, and at the crack of the night you could see. “Is it cold?” you asked, folding your arms across your chest. There was a breeze coming through the hole, and it sent goosebumps up your skin. 

Dipper stuck his hand out the hole, “No…  unless your a pussy,” he said, looking down at you. He threw the door open and waved you up, “Come on.”

You smiled up at him, shaking your head, “well, if you insist then.” Dipper climbed onto the roof while you ascended the ladder, and moved away from the hatch to let you through. 

You scrunched your face as it hit the cold air, a reaction you couldn’t control. Stepping out and kicking the door closed behind you, you saw Dipper. He was standing with his back too you, looking out onto the forest and the sky. The stars were out and bright enough that you could see the line of trees as a black silhouette against the sky.

You stared up above you. This side of Gravity Falls didn’t have much light pollution, the stars were so completely out and visible that it drew your eyes like a magnet. You elbowed Dipper, “hey, look, it’s you.”

You pointed up to the Big Dipper, and heard regular sized Dipper groan beside you. You looked at him as he rolled his eyes. “No escaping that one, is there,” he said, shaking his head. 

You turned your body to him, smirking. Your eyes wandered up to his forehead, and his birthmark peeking through under his hair. “It’s your namesake,” you said, trying to poke his face. He swatted your hand back gently. 

“Nickname-sake,” he scoffed. He turned away from you, fixing his hat so that it covered his birthmark. “And by no fault of mine,” he laughed. 

He sat down on the edge of the roof, letting his feet dangle off the edge. You smiled, doing the same next to him. “What, would you rather me call you Mason,” you said, leaning over to better see his face. The night air might have been cold on your cheeks if you weren’t blushing. Still cold on your arms though.

He winced, pursing his lips as a blush crept over his face. His eyes flickered over to you for a moment before he looked back at the view. “Yeah, no,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Now that I’m hearing it, it feels weird. Like you’re gonna murder me, or something.”

You snickered, “Yeah, you better watch your back, Mason.” 

“Ugh, stop,” he smiled, shaking his head. “That’s what my Mom calls me when I’m in shit,” he said. He cracked his knuckles idly, “I’m terrified for my life.”

“Maybe you should be,” you said, smacked him playfully across the chest. As he moved to block your strike, he threw himself off balance a moment, nearly stumbling off the roof. “Oh, shit!” you exclaimed, as he started to squeak in surprise. You reached out to grab him, pulling him just a little bit away from the edge, and steadying him. “God damn dude, maybe you really should be scared for your life.”

His eyes were wide, and brow furrowed He glanced over the edge of the roof, “I feel like this happens too much, I think I nearly fall to my death on a regular basis.”

You gasped in faux shock, “Maybe it’s a sign!”

Dipper scoffed, “of what, my impending death?”

You almost wanted to make another joke about falling in love. Almost. Two days in a row with that one was too much, you didn’t want to go too hard.

You opened your mouth to speak, but Dipper was faster. He laughed, “Or let me guess, falling in love with you.”

You felt your face flush. “Wow, you know me too well,” you shook your head, eyes wide and a nervous smile crossing your lips. “I need new jokes.”

It was Dippers turn to lean forward to to see you. “It’s true, you really do,” he deadpanned, brow raised. “I’m at a point where I can perfectly mimic your cringe.”

You snickered, “If that’s true, maybe then you’ll pull some bitches.” You internally grimaced at the irony. He did have the power to pull bitches, even without your cringe. Primarily, you. 

Dipper leaned back on his hands, kicking his legs back and forth as they dangled. “That implies you get bitches, which…” he trailed off, looking at you with skeptical eyes.

You punched him lightly on the arm, trying very hard to make eye contact and not look away in embarrassment. “Hey, I do, actually,” you said. You looked away after you did, staring again at the Big Dipper in the sky. “Unfortunately,” you added on. 

Dipper scrunched his face for a moment before it dawned on him. “Oh shitttt,” he said, stroking his chin. “Yeah, you dated that one guy last school year… god, what was his name?”

”If you remember, don’t say it,” you laughed. “That guy sucks.” You kept your eyes trained on the stars. They were shining and beautiful, it was true. But at heart, a big part of you wanted to look at Dipper beside you. “And don’t remind me of the cringe flirting I’ve endured from randos.”

Dipper paused, letting night silence hang over you for a moment. You fought the urge to look at him. While talking with your crush, the topic of conversation accidentally turned to your ex. That was not ideal. You bit the bullet, and glanced over at him. 

Immediately you were met with his eyes on yours. Shit. You looked away quickly, back at the tree line silhouette and stars above. Beside you, you gripped the edge of the roof hard, with the hand he couldn’t see. 

“Did you like him? Your ex, that is…” Dipper finally asked. “I know you don’t now, but like… did you before?” His voice was quiet, not unsure of himself, but small and soft. You looked over at him again, finding his gaze locked on the sky, face slightly red, from what you could tell in the dark.

You looked at your hand a moment. “I don’t know,” you sighed. “You know?” 

Dipper nodded his head up at you, silently asking for a little more to go off.

“I just… have no idea,” you said, thinking back. “I don’t think I did, really. Not like that, anyway.” You kicked your feet, embracing the fact that this conversation was happening, whether you wanted it or not. “It didn’t work with him because he sucked, for one… but I don’t think I was,” you paused, fidgeting with your hands. “Emotionally available… like,” you pressed your eyelids together in a very forceful blink, and then glanced at Dipper, making brief eye contact. “I still liked somebody else, and I think I knew that… but I didn’t know that, ya know?”

Dipper fiddled with his hands, “I think so, yeah, actually.”

You tilted your head, gazing still at the stars. “Oh yeah?” You pondered curiously, “ever date anyone back home?”

You could feel Dipper nod beside you. “I had… a similar problem to you, but I was a shittier person about it.” 

That piqued your curiosity, “Oh?” you asked, turning your body completely to face him. You crossed your legs in front of you, and leaned back on your hands. 

Dipper sighed, and did the same, fully facing you. “Yeah, I… dated somebody, for kind of a while, actually,” he rubbed the back of his neck. “Too long, I really hurt their feelings.” He was avoiding your eyes. That was okay, given the topic.

You pursed your lips as he spoke, trying to keep stoic. He dated somebody? And didn’t tell you? Your fingers owed at the roof shackles, grinding down the prints on the tips. And he was mean?

“I kinda sucked though, I knew I liked somebody else, and I was only dating this person to try and get over them.” Dipper shook his head at himself. “It uh-“ he finally looked at you, face flushed in embarrassment. “It didn’t work, and I just felt really bad, for a while.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “Damn, dude,” was all you could say. And you didn’t even know. Why wouldn’t  he mention that? And who was he trying to get over? It felt cruel to hope it was you, like you wished to be the cause of his distress. You tried to shake the thought, that tiny hope from your head. 

He folded his hands in his lap, and looked out into the trees. “Yeahhhh….” he said, small and unhappy smile on his lips.

You sighed, resting your cheek in your hand. “We all do shit, man. You seem really torn up about this, you wanna talk about it?”

Dipper glanced over at you, and threw his head back, neck nearly limp as he looked up at the sky above him. “Not really much to say, actually. Just kind of a bummer… and I lost a friend too, when we broke up… so that sucked.”

Damn. “That’s awful, man,” you said, taking a deep breath if night air in. “Honestly, I’m sorry.” What words were there, that could help. 

“Eh, don’t be. It was a little bit ago now… I wanna say around the same time you were dating that one asshole.” 

You smiled, “we’re twins, then!”

Dipper laughed, “Don’t tell Mabel, she’ll get jealous.”

You snickered. Your eyes were adjusted enough to the dark to see his face clearly, and the soft smile he wore while he looked at you. You pursed your lips, and wiggled them around, unsure if you should ask the question lingering in your mind. “Dip, can I ask…” you started. “Why didn’t you tell me? About any of that… I would have been happy to listen if you wanted to vent.”

Dipper groaned slightly with a sigh. “I thought about it…” he said, playing with his fingers. “I didn’t want to bother you with it,  plus I was kind of… ashamed.”

You put your hand in his, steadying his anxious movements. “Being ashamed isn’t a bad thing, Dip. It means you care, and you want to do better,” you told him. You tried your best to channel Mabel’s emotional intelligence. “And, also, talking to you is never a bother.”

Dipper looked down, leaving your eyes on his shaggy hair, and hat that was nearly falling off. But you could sense his smile. “Thanks, Y/n,” he said softly. 

You glanced up at the sky, barely catching a shimmer across it. “Shit, Dip, look,” you said, pointing up. “A shooting star!”

Dipper looked up, and you could see the light from the moon and cosmos reflected in his eyes. “Shit, I missed it…”

You hummed in disapproval, about to speak. As you were though, a stronger gust of wind hit you, cutting though any clothes you had on and giving you goosebumps on your skin. “Dip, I’m a pussy, it’s cold,” you said. “I might go inside soon.”

”Want my sweater?”

You paused a moment, thinking. The answer didn’t take a lot of thought. “Yeah,” you said quickly. You pursed your lips, “Oh wait, but then you’ll get cold.” 

He was already unzipping his hoodie, “You’re mistaken, I’m not a little bitch,” he said, tossing you the sweater. You started to put it on, feeling the lingering warmth from him as you did. Felt nice.

As you zipped it up, you turned back to dangle your legs off the edge. Dipper did the same as you did. You glanced over at him, hugging yourself in his sweater. You smiled, scooting closer so you were practically huddled together. He raised an eyebrow at you curiously. 

“Warmth,” you said. You pointed at his bare arm, “You are a bitch, I can see you’re goosebumps.”

He grumbled, “I can’t even feel that, actually.”

”Bullshit,” you called. “Well either way, I’m helping by blocking the wind, too.”

He sighed, “okay, it’s a little chilly without a coat on, I’ll give you that.” He looked around at the now swaying trees. “It’s cuz the wind picked up,” he pointed at the weather vane, which was spinning. “See?”

You snickered, “yeah I see… bitch.”

He shook his head. “Yeah, whatever nerd,” he said, putting his arm around you. Even warmer. Good. You leaned in more, snuggling closer to escape the growing win. He glanced down at you, huddled into yourself and looking much smaller then normal. “You’re right, though, we should go inside soon.”

You looked up at the sky, and felt his heavy arm around your shoulders. It was nice. “Soon,” you echoed. Not now, but soon.

It’s here I remind you again that y/n has never seen bill, despite all they’ve heard. Also sorry if you do t have an asshole ex I very much wrote this at a specific time in my life 💀

This chapter concludes the introduction arc.

[akioukun]

hi aki!! i felt very much inspired by your seasons au for harringrove earlier today so i wrote this little piece and i'd love for you to have it! i hope you like it!! thank you for always creating the most beautiful artwork, you continue to take my breath away!!

The new summer arrives with a burning promise for Steve.

Golden skin laced with molten sunlight, eyes as blue as the ocean, a voice reminiscent of waves crashing on a shore. This summer isn’t to be like the last, Steve knows.

They come together for the first time and produce the dew of an early morning, with damp grass and misty rain. Steve brings gentle song birds and Billy’s slow to wake, lulled to an easy slumber by their songs, not eager to rouse the heat of the day.

They work well enough but there’s something else hidden under the surface, hidden from sight, kept away.

It comes as no surprise that Billy’s hotter than a wildfire; just as unpredictable and uncontrollable. A temper that is unmatched, burning so brightly it’s no wonder Icarus fell from the sky if it were Billy’s heat that melted those wings.

Steve feels like that around Billy — like he’s in a free fall. Nothing to steady him, nothing to catch. No earth to dig his fingers into, no use in begging for help.

But, he likes it that way. Prefers it. Because Billy burns brighter than the sun but he warms Steve, makes him grow, makes flowers bloom in his chest where they shouldn’t. And he tends to them in secret, pretends that it isn’t Billy’s kisses that waters them and it’s not his smile that makes Steve’s world greener.

Because it’s forbidden. It’s not wise. They know better, they do. They shouldn’t get attached because seasons are fickle. They will leave whenever they want without warning.

But, a new summer loves the earth. And Steve’s willing to try.

HEY HI HELLO BAMBI HIHI

Um. Oh my god? I have no words? Actually I do FIRSTLY you are an absolute sweetheart and I am melting into a puddle at your kind words, I have so much love for the people that enjoy what I do because that by extension means my love for what I do is hopefully coming through. A big feedback loop of love is what it is and it means sososososooooo much to me that you put time and your energy into WRITING THIS INCREDIBLE MASTERPIECE???

I am. So in love with the way you use words and language, like I am actually going to implode that you wrote this. This is so poetic, so EXACT in its tone about how these two collide and and and that bit about flowers blooming in Steves chest where there is usually sleep and the slow slip into decay is SO BEAUTIFUL AND WHEN I READ IT I NEARLY THREW MY PHONE D O W N THE STAIRS. I WOULD REALLY LIKE TO KEEP AND USE IT IN THIS AU. I had tiny bits of like, more moss growing on Steve from Billys proximity in one of my attempts to write, but this…this is something else entirely more impactful and I am just, basically howling at the fact you would write this

My heart is so full, I adore you and your writing so much, thank you thank you THANK YOU for creating such a gorgeous piece I’m treasuring it forever 🖤🖤🖤

[theinfinitemoo]

Two words

Treebark hanahaki

Take that as you will, have a good day!

The following was written by Moo 🐮

This has taken an unreasonable amount of time and I am very sorry.

This is part one of 3 alternate ending type stories.

THIS FIC HAS NOW BEEN COMPLETED AND IS ALL UP ON MY AO3 @moo9395

Ending 1: Red Tulips

Ever since Dogwarts Martyn had loved Ren. Those first few months were wonderful. He had adored being in love even if his feelings had not been returned. But then it all fell apart.

It had started with a cough. No different from a normal cold at first though it seemed to last longer. After the cough came the chest pain. Deeper and sharper than anything Martyn had experienced before. Once the flowers came Martyn knew what was happening, though he felt he’d known since the first cough. 

The purple heliotrope petals had been small and few at first but since then they had grown in size and number and now often brought with them a smooth crimson liquid.

Martyn raised his head looking into the mirror above the sink wiping the trickle of blood and stray petals from his mouth. The coughing fits were more common now, people would start to notice his constant disappearances soon. 

After wiping his mouth and washing all traces of blood and flowers down the sink Martyn left the bathroom and made his way back to his room.

Last life had started around 2 weeks ago and had proved Martyns fear that taking part in a brutal survival game while fighting a painful lung disease wasn’t easy.

He found he was constantly trying to escape conversations with other players to avoid them seeing him choking up blood stained petals. 

More worryingly however the blonde discovered that the disease had significantly reduced his lung capacity making it difficult to run, fight or do any of the other physical activities that were essential in these games. 

Martyn made his way out from his tower through the grass which was damp with morning dew towards the southlands entrance.

He ambled along the path towards spawn, soft morning sunlight warming his face as he walked.

The day was unusually peaceful but Martyn was too preoccupied with his own issues to notice the lack of people, or the soft russell of leaves and quiet footsteps of the person following him.

The blond was drawn from his momentary trance by the snap of a twig. His head snapped up and he peered at his surroundings. 

As his hand moved to his sword he was distracted by a sudden movement as Joel appeared, jumping down from a tree close behind him.

The red names axe was already drawn and the green had no time to grab his own weapon. He ran.

Martyn tore through the trees wildly as Joel gave chase. Lungs screaming in protest at the lack of oxygen Martyn knew he would not be able to sustain this action long. He needed to get somewhere safe.

As if at his wish Scott appeared out of nowhere. Martyn tried to call out for help but found he couldn’t as he felt the all too familiar feeling of petals at his throat. 

Thankfully Scott seemed to notice the problem. Martyn wasn’t quite sure how it happened but moments later he and Scott were mercifully alone. 

“Lucky escape there” the blue eyed man said turning back to Martyn with a smile that fell quickly “Martyn are you alright?”.

Martyn was crouched on the floor hand at his throat, struggling to draw breath when he felt a soft warm hand at his back. “You’re okay, just try and take a breath”.

Upon doing as he was told, the blond choked and spat a handful of purple petals and a trickle of blood into the grass. 

“Oh Martyn.”

Martyn felt tears prick his eyes at the compassion in the cyan haired man's voice as he  straightened up.

“Don’t tell,” He pleaded breathlessly. 

The younger man looked pitifully at the blond “Come on, lets go inside”.

Martyn allowed himself to be led inside Scotts base, he felt himself be pushed gently into a soft cushioned sofa and shortly after accepted a warm mug of sweetened tea. 

“It’s Ren” Scott murmured gently “isnt it”

Martyn nodded, unable to speak.

“You should tell him” The blond had not expected this, raising his moist eyes to look into the blue ones.

“What's the point?” The defeated tone in his voice pulled painfully at Scotts heart strings.

Martyn felt a soft hand grasp his “You never know” he whispered “What if he feels the same?”

The blond avoided Scotts eyes, “I think it's a bit too late for that mate” with a humourless laugh.

“It's not Martyn” Scott implored “I promise it's not”

A flicker of hope seemed to ignite inside him for a moment. “How do you know?” he asked, trying (and failing) to hide the burning longing in his voice. 

“Because it happened to me” the builder's voice was barely above a whisper now.

The surprise at this revelation drove all thoughts of hiding tears from Martyns mind as he looked up at Scott “What?”.

Scott smiled softly “Last time” he said “With Jimmy”.

The blonds eyes widened in shock “I- I never knew”

“I didn’t tell anyone, '' Scott admitted and it was his turn to avoid his companions' eyes “I was scared, if it hadn't been for Jimmy… I don’t know what would've happened… for once it was him saving me” Scott smiled nostalgically. 

“Go on,” Martyn pressed gently.

“He caught me one day” Scotts obliged “I hadn’t progressed as far as you have but he had begun to notice my disappearances and followed me… once he saw what was happening he confronted me and I confessed and he told me he felt the same” 

Martyn was stunned, “Flower husbands really took on a whole new meaning then” attempting a joke. To his relief Scott chuckled softly. 

They sat in silence for a few moments as Martyn drank his tea, which dramatically reduced the burning pain in his throat.

“Thank you” 

“Anytime”

After leaving the builder with a promise to visit again soon Martyn made his way over to the Fairy Fort.

Upon arriving at the bridge that led to the Fairy Queen's base Martyn halted. 

The enormity of the task before him seemed to hit him suddenly and a wave of fear washed over him.

It was a new feeling. 

Not the kind of fear you usually felt in these games that was mingled with an adrenaline that made the situation bearable, almost enjoyable. 

This fear was different though, a bone deep anxiety that made him want to run and never stop but also left him rooted to the spot.

“Martyn?”

The blond started and looked up.

The speaker stood on the small wooden bridge before him.

“Are you alright?” Ren's voice was soft and warm.

Martyn had missed that voice so much. The same voice that had whispered to him as they lay under the stars together. Before the fall.

Tears burned behind Martyns eyes at the memory but he fought them back. 

“I need to talk to you” He tried to keep his voice level but the flash of worry in Ren's eyes told him that something had betrayed him. 

The taller man moved towards him cautiously, as though expecting a trap “Whats up?”

Martyns lungs burned in protest, the all too familiar taste of floral copper seemed to fill his mouth. 

The blue eyes closed in fear and anticipation. “I love you”.

An eternity passed in complete silence. As if nature itself held its breath. 

Martyn longed for it to end and yet feared the moment when it would.

He wished he had not allowed himself that small hope from Scotts words.

Wished he had been able to suppress that desperate longing.

The tears slipped down his face against his will, the faint taste of salt passed over his lips as though taunting him. 

And suddenly Ren is there.

And Ren is kissing him.

And Ren's hands are in his hair.

And Martyns' world is exploding.

And he just stands there.

Letting it all wash over him.

And then the darker haired man breaks away, though his hands still cradle Martyn’s face running soothing motions in his scalp.

And the whisper that comes is so close Martyn can feel the breath on his face “I love you to”.

And the pain is gone. 

And his lungs are free. 

And his heart is whole.

[ohmotherwhereartthou-if]

Yaro Short Story

AN: Here it is, sorry it's later in the day but I still was able to fix it as much as I could. Something about the word flow on this one is irking me but I can't place my finger on exactly why. So, I'll let it be and assume it's just me hating on my own writing.

The veridian trails of fleeting winds danced across the sky, humming a tune heard only by those with the keenest of ears. Their echoing howls could instill fear in many, understandably so; for they possessed an indescribable strength that most cannot see. The wind, invisible yet ever-present, makes its existence known. And so did he.

A young man observed a little bird struggling amidst its peers, likely on its first winter migration. Judging by the coloring of its feathers, it’s only just recently gained its flight feathers. The roar of the wind sends it spiraling backward, away from its flock, despite its desperate attempts to catch up.

His golden eyes watched passively, a glint of concern piercing through the veneer of impartiality that he often wears. With the slightest twitch of his index finger, an upward gust lifts the struggling bird, allowing it to glide back within the flock.

"I can only help you once, little thing. You’ll need to find your own way now."

The flock moves on, becoming a gradual fading view in the distance, the young man's gaze drifts downward towards the meadow. Within moments his feet touch lightly down unto the damp grass, the morning dew clinging unto the blades. He stands there for a moment, drinking in all the glories that the morning brings.

Sounds of birdsong, the rustle foxes tussling in their dens, and the gentle murmur of a nearby creek fully enveloped him. The serenity was strikingly beautiful. These isolated sanctuaries, untouched by the grasp of mankind, stood as testaments to nature's splendor. 

Yet, not everyone could fathom its beauty.

In his state of serenity, his mind drifted off to distant memories of his past. 

He reminisced mainly about his childhood; the family expeditions into the unexplored, his father documenting nature's marvels, his mother's explanations, his sister fighting the urge to touch everything and then there was him. Drinking in the splendor of it all. Filled with the joy of discovery. Traveling soon became second nature, the feeling of being an outsider akin to a second skin. 

To him, the world beyond seemed endless, filled with wonders waiting to be unraveled. Traveling with his family felt like it was just the way things were supposed to be, seeing others staying in one place felt almost comical. Did they not know the wonders of the unknown? That the world is so much wider than their little hamlets and crowded cities?

He smiles briefly, longingly looking up to the sky. Ignoring the faint whisper in the back of his head, reminding him that wanderlust is what drove his family apart. It's the reason his sister is gone and his parents no longer can even stand the sight of each other. The once perfect happy family, broken and lost. It’s truly a pity just how much time can change things.

He sighs; raking his hand across his head, pushing several of his thick dark chocolate locs back out of his face. He hates to dwell on the negatives, desperately trying to block them out and maintain the happy facade that they never even existed in the first place. 

Denial, his closest friend.

…

….

…..

Maggie is so full of it.

She thinks she knows everything and figures that just because I’m young that I know nothing. I'll prove her wrong. David's favorite flowers grow high on the mountainside, so I'll climb up from this meadow and gather them myself— that will shut her up. I've come prepared, equipped with everything in order to show everyone that I’m just as capable as anyone else in the village. I am my father's daughter.

I'll achieve this today and continue to do so from then onwards, repeatedly. Being the youngest in the family doesn't hinder my ability to accomplish what everyone else can. As I trek the trail up to the meadow, I sweep my eyes over the mountain base, seeking a suitable place to start climbing. From the corner of my eye, a tangle of unruly black hair captures my attention. Peering closer, I discern a tall, lean young man with seemingly golden eyes.

They're captivating—almost hypnotic. Clearly not anyone from the village, his features exude a welcoming warmth, an unfamiliarity that makes him intriguing. Alone in the meadow, he gazes skyward. Following his line of sight reveals nothing. As a soft breeze brushes against me, and when I glance back, he's gone. Did I imagine him?

Well, I guess it is still rather early, I could still be half asleep. I rub the tired from my eyes and set my sights on the highest point I can start my climb from and make my way there. I ready my rope and look over my gear, everything is just as good as it was last night when I prepared it. 

I am more than ready.

Scaling the rock face, I recall my father's teachings. Gathering herbs from the neighboring mountain ranges sustains our village. 

It's our way of life, part of our culture, most can even breathe the thin air as easily as we do. 

If I fail, perhaps I don't belong here.

I affirm my hand and foot placement before I commit to them, I observe my surroundings and access all possible options, and I take my time; I can do this. About several feet up and as the sun begins to lower from its high point in the sky that my prize is within my sights, a handful of Edelweiss grow along the edge of a ridge. I shuffle myself closer and smile as I enter a distance where the flowers are within arms reach. I open my satchel and make room for the flowers to safely be placed when I make my way back down. 

Perhaps it was in my haste to reach for my prize that I didn’t notice how loose the rock that held them was. I foolishly place my weight purely on one foot as I use all of my arm strength to pick them. The rock gives way and crumbles, making me swing backwards and sent flying quickly downward. The ground comes rushing forward so quickly, I barely have enough time to even scream. Tears prick the corner of my eyes and my mind quickly flashes to different points in my life, nothing congruent or clear; just the faces of the people I love.

"Oh Lord, please!" I manage in those fleeting moments before impact.

.

..

…

I feel a sudden gust of wind. An ephemeral chuckle echoes, accompanied by a flash of golden eyes. A brassy voice as smooth as honey whispers, smooth as honey, "I can only help you once, little thing. You’ll need to find your own way now."

To my surprise, I get to open my eyes, lying nestled near the mountain's base, cushioned by a bed of grass, facing the serene meadow. I can’t believe it—I should have been a shattered heap against the rocks, yet here I am. I look around, seeing nothing but a peaceful meadow. 

Completely silent, save for the sounds of crickets, birds and the rustle of the wind against the trees fill my ears. Was it a dream? I vividly recall scaling the mountain.

And yet? Here I am.

Perplexed and uncertain, I rise, readjusting myself. It's midday, and I should have returned to the village by now. Have I truly wasted the day, dreaming of what I was so set on doing?

I slump over, trying my best to repress the childish tears borne of disappointment in myself. Maybe Maggie's right about me. Perhaps I am nothing more than a naive child.

I reach into my satchel for my handkerchief, only to pull out a handful of Edelweiss.

[saintchaser]

dorcas meadowes, who braids her sisters' hair every morning, who wears chunky beaded necklaces, and paintbrushes and flowers in their hair. dorcas meadowes, who wears necklaces on every finger and who has pomegranate juice trickling down her hands, who visited wales for the sake of visiting all of the bookshops. dorcas meadowes, who has hundreds of thousands of unfinished paintings on heavy canvases, painting love, painting disaster, painting the heaviness of hearts. dorcas meadowes, who lives close to a forest and who dips in the oasis behind her house, wet arms and damp hair, who runs between trees and dew, blades of grass cutting their skin. dorcas meadowes, who borrowed her father's pick up truck and drove all around their neighborhood, bringing their sisters along. dorcas meadowes, who goes record shopping and always buys something, for them or their sisters. dorcas meadowes, blonde hair stuck to their clothes and a mismatched house tie, and a heart full of love for a blonde girl with dark eyes and a big smile.

dorcas meadowes, who is hurt and angry and loud, and who wants the world to be a better place for those who would come after her, who fights tooth and nail if it means they will get what they want. dorcas meadowes, who joined the order in a heartbeat even though no one trusted them. she knew her label, slytherin, yet they wanted to prove that they were good, that they were better than they thought of her to be. dorcas meadowes, who took missions and rose higher and higher in the order, day by day, and who was deemed as one of the biggest threats to the death eaters. dorcas meadowes, their heart filled with sorrow and a need for vengeance when her lover had been taken away from her. dorcas meadowes, killed my voldemort himself; a lonely funeral, lovers reunited.

[sophiie2000]

It's Just A Few Scratches

Kunihiro Kasai x MC/Reader

Hurt/Comfort

When Kunihiro hears his wife has been injured while visiting a site, can he keep his cool until he sees her?

Disclaimer - Characters belong to Voltage Inc

~ 1482 Words

The vivid pink cherry blossoms swayed in the gentle breeze, dancing beautifully in time with the soft melody of the wind. The greeting of Spring offered a pleasant rise in temperature. They often say the Spring is the time of awakening, of renewal, a metaphor which could be seen all around. Lately, the crisp grass had become a much more vibrant green, offering a fragrant dew. Flowers painted in shades of blues, yellows, pinks and oranges contrasted the greenery with their recent blooming. Trees welcomed the return of their leaves, dressing them in a new, different kind of splendour.

The Spring was famous for its glory. Its spectacular scenery, firework of colours. Its magnificence was something that attracted visitors from all over, while still mesmerising the locals. 

Yet today, one man failed to stop and admire this scenery. 

His hurried feet evidence of the importance of the journey he was taking. The tight crease in his brow, the clenching of his jaw, and the dampness gathering in his eyes, were all proof of his worry. 

Pushing through bystanders, offering quick, polite apologies as he unrelentingly barged through, the man stopped for no one. His feet not slowing. In fact, they had not slowed once since that dreaded phone call he had received moments earlier in his office. 

“Your wife was injured while visiting the site, she has been taken to the hospital to treat her injuries. It is also to ensure her injuries were not worse than they appeared”.

The sentence still rang in his ears. Echoing over and over. Taunting him, as though they had been shouted inside a vast cave. One which has lost its light, like he was losing his. 

He had only one destination in mind. Only one place he needed to be. Right by his wife’s side. 

After what had felt like an eternity to him, but was truthfully no more than ten minutes, he arrived at the hospital his wife had been taken to. Charging straight towards the reception desk, the words tumbling from his mouth before he even had a second to catch his breath. 

“I’m here to see my wife. ____ Kasai!? She was injured when visiting a site!”

The panic cracked his already hoarse voice. His hands shook, as they tightly gripped the rail. His fingers turning white as they maintained their hold. His breathing was erratic. In his haste to arrive at the hospital, he had not taken a moment to calm his thoughts. 

The receptionist, seemingly understanding his panic, checked for any information regarding Mrs Kasai as quickly as she could. 

Yet for Kunihiro, every second he waited was too long. 

His wife was hurt. How badly? He didn’t know. All he knew was, every second he was not with her was an injustice. 

He should have been there with her. He was supposed to have been the one visiting that site. The guilt was eating him up. Had a higher up not wanted to schedule a meeting for that morning, and had his lovely wife not have been so understanding and accommodating, he would have been there with her. But she had encouraged him to attend the meeting. She volunteered to go alone. She would be ok. She would update him as the inspection concluded. 

And he hadn’t batted an eyelid. 

He had agreed.

He never should have agreed. 

He was spiralling. Every worst-case scenario was passing though his mind’s eye. He felt dizzy, as though a wave of vertigo had engulfed him. He fell backwards into the chair in the waiting room. Accepting what little support it offered him lest he fall and add to the list of casualties in the Kasai household. 

He had only closed his eyes for a moment. Desperately warding off the dizziness and darkness trying to consume him. He needed to be strong before facing his wife. He wasn’t sure what would greet him, but he was determined he needed to be her pillar of support. 

He was in such turmoil he failed to register the sound of his own name, tumbling from the sonorous voice behind him. 

“Hiro?” 

This time, a hand gripped his shoulder, pulling Kunihiro back and tethering him in the now. That angelic voice, it was one which had soothed him so often. That soft, delicate, dainty hand which now firmly grasped his should was so familiar to him. 

One second, he had been sitting, the next he was up and grasping at the warmth he had feared was being snatched away from him. 

His eyes roamed his wife’s body. Cuts had marred her, while angry bruises discoloured her beautiful skin. His heart was cracking at the sight which told him he had not been able to protect the woman he had promised to look after. 

“What… what happened?” A shuddering breath escaped his lips. The dampness in his eyes threatened to become too much.

“It wasn’t anything major. They had been setting up the booths, but one of the fixtures hadn’t been tightened enough. I had been stood with my back to this particular fixture and so had failed to see it falling in time. It landed on me, knocking me over. Luckily one of the workers on the site noticed it falling and managed to stop it being worse.”

Kunihiro felt his chest tighten. It could have been worse. Not only could it have been worse, but he had not been there to stop it. To protect her. 

Mrs Kasi noticed her husband spiralling once more. The man, who when they first accidently married, was a bachelor who seemed incapable of loving one person so thoroughly… loved deeper than any other. 

And because he loved so deeply, so thoroughly, he hurt a great deal more too. From small mistakes to bigger ones, each time the man’s heart would be in tatters. He would blame himself. Punish himself greatly, even when things were not his fault. He shouldered these burdens, and he tried to do it alone.

“It’s just a couple of scratches, Hiro” she whispered, pressing soft kisses to his cheek.

“But it isn’t just scratches” His voice was hoarse, heavy with unshed tears.

“I don’t understand…” And she was confused. For even she could see, that it was just scratches and bruises marring her skin. She was here, nothing broken, with him.

“It isn’t just scratches… anyone could have been there. Anyone could have been hurt, and received a few scratches and bruises. Anyone… but it wasn’t just anyone.” 

His voice trembled. Tears finally began to fall. 

“It was you. It was you who was hurt. And so, yes, you are correct that you came away with scratches and bruises. But, my love, you were still injured. And I, your husband who promised to protect you, was not there to stop it”. 

And in that moment, Mrs Kasai realised just how deeply this had hurt her husband. Just how much he hated that he had not been with her. She knew, even if he was there, it would be likely the same thing would have happened. But he hadn’t been there. So, the counterfactual thought, that ‘what if I had been there’ that swam in his head now, was destroying him. 

Kunihiro felt as his wife grasped his hand. Slowly, she tugged his hand towards her injured body. Gently running his fingertips along the lines of her cuts. 

Uncertainty trembled in his gaze. His eyes, still swimming with tears meeting his wife’s.

“They’re just scratches Hiro…” she placed a gentle kiss to his palm, then each fingertip. “They will heal. It was just an accident. I’m ok, and I am here. With you… you mustn’t blame yourself”.

A shuddering breath escaped his tightly close lips. Just a few scratches… She was right. Seemingly, having pulled some sensibility back into himself, Kunihiro entwinned his fingers with Mrs Kasai’s.

“You’re on bed rest for the rest of day” He instructed, as he guided her out of the hospital and in the direction of their home. 

“Hmm, that’s unusual.” His wife commented, a questioning look in her gaze. 

“What is?” Kunihiro asked, wondering what could possibly be unusual in this moment,

“You don’t normally instruct me to get into bed without stripping me of my clothing first!” His wife joked, a sweet giggle escaping from her. 

“Well, I didn’t want to risk over exerting you while you were injured, but…” A dangerous glint flickered in Kunihiro’s eyes, “If you insist”. Nipping at his wife’s ear, Kunihiro released a low growl only she could hear. A pleasant blush painting her cheeks.

His inner tiger being released was proof he was beginning to feel like his usual self. 

Walking home chuckling with his wife beside him, Kunihiro made a new promise. He would protect her, but when he couldn’t… he would make sure he was there to nurse her back to health. 

[rosaliesimp]

Twilight Appreciation Week 2022

Day 2: Favorite Relationship, Family, or Coven

It's basic, I'm fully aware, but there's something about the unconditional love of Edward and Bella that I adore. Here's a small Bella x Edward fic in the meadow. Tried to write how Meyer does, wish me luck.

The Meadow.

I still hadn't learned how to navigate the uneven ground easily, and I still hadn't agreed to let Edward pull me on his back and run us there. So, it was no surprise when I tripped on a tree root and fell in to his awaiting arms.

We laughed as he set me back on my feet, and I glanced up at the canopy covering the sky to check for the sun. All the green and moist air didn't seem so bad when I was with Edward, but I still flinched when a piece of the morning dew fell from the leaves above and landed right on the tip of my nose.

I wiped it off with my palm, and rubbed my palm against my jeans. "Almost there," Edward announced. I smiled in anticipation. I couldn't wait to see the bright sun against his marble skin, and lay next to him in the flowers, watching it glisten.

He hurried forward to clear the way so I could have my fairytale entrance. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath in, waiting for him to return to my side. When I felt the familiar cold touch on my hand, I exhaled and opened my eyes.

A beautiful archway of twisted vines on moss covered branches introduced the sunkissed meadow. Compared to the rest of the dark, damp forest, it looked almost yellow.

"My lady," he said, doing an arm motion to tell me to go forward.

I held my breath as I took the first step, and everything felt so magical. There was a small stone bench off to the side of the circular meadow, and the birds were somehow more clear than before. The bright purple, white, and yellow flowers made me feel like a princess.

His steps made no sound, but his firm hands rested on my shoulders, rubbing them slightly. He kissed the top of my head, and I felt him smile against my hair. Even under his cool touch, every inch of my body seemed to burn.

"Your meadow..." I started, but I wasn't sure what to say. "Our meadow," he corrected.

I nodded as I stepped deeper in to the circle of tall grass and flowers, sitting on the dry ground. Everything felt so much real here. If I could be a princess with a beautiful garden in a place like this, surely Edward could look at me with such adoration, such happiness, and love me just as much as I loved him.

"What's mine is yours," he whispered as he sat beside me, quickly kissing my cheek. "Everything. Everything and anything," he whispered, leaning closer to me.

"Really, you being here..." I paused as I realized his shift in weight was to reach in to his pocket.

I stared at the box as he slowly opened it. The ring was beautiful. Two bands of gold with intricate metal work, with tiny crystals in between them. In the center was a small, but beautiful diamond in the shape of a teardrop.

I couldn't believe that it was meant for me. I looked at Edward, who had a completely serious expression, and realized this was no joke. "You're serious," I choked out. Edward smiled as he reached up to my cheek, wiping away the tears that had fought their way out.

"Isabella Marie Swan... I've loved you from the minute we met, and I promise to love you every minute more. Will you marry me?" he asked, his amber eyes waiting for my answer.

My mouth hung open, but nothing came out. My hands shook, and one of them trembled against my face. Finally, I managed to do something.

I swallowed once, and smiled. "Yes."

[your-name-is-my-favorite-verse]

Finding The Sun.

Chpt 1.

Sunlight.

That’s what she was made of.

She was the tall grass, the golden light of day. She was the morning dew that covered our bare feet as we ran together.

She was the light dampness that clung onto our clothes, outlining every curve in our bodies.

Her skin was warm and soft, her arms steady. She had a kind face, with a bright smile. Her eyes scrunched up at the corners. I know she always hated that about herself, saying it was “so ugly”. I always disagreed. I don’t think she ever knew how gorgeous she really was.

Waking up, the world was still dark. Fog covered my window, obscuring the view of the city.

I sat up, head ringing. I rubbed my hands together, trying to get the feeling of hers off of them. The apartment still smelled like her shampoo, mingled with the stench of cigarettes. I tried to quit a while ago. But in her absence, I needed something to fill my time.

My phone chimed and I scrambled to find it underneath messy covers. Opening the screen, I found it wasn’t her. Of course it wasn’t her. It was a calendar notification, for therapy.

Running my fingers through my hair to unsuccessfully detangle it, I sighed and stared in the mirror. My eyes were sunken, my mouth twisting into a grimace, sitting strangely on a pale face. Maybe once I talked about what happened, things would get better. Maybe.

My therapist’s office was a few blocks down from my apartment, overall not a far walk. The air outside was muggy, and the polluted air of late summer seemed to stick to my skin like a parasite.

The complex my therapist worked in was large, and old. The signage out front seemed to be made of cheap metal with weathered gold paint. It didn’t shine like new steel did, worn by rain and time. The door was heavy, and the air seal made it hard to open.

I entered the building and the door slammed behind me, much louder than I expected it to. The main lobby smelled like stale carpet. I looked below my feet, and realized the reason. The rug was ancient, with an ornate pattern I didn't recognize. It was gaudy, and didn’t fit the bright fluorescent lighting of the area.

I looked to the side, and saw both a staircase and an elevator. I picked the elevator, as my lungs weren’t exactly the most durable organs in my body. The inside of the elevator itself was cramped, stuffy and warm. A mirror covered the left wall, showing me the lost expression on my face. The elevator ride was short, just to the second floor. The soft whirring of the machinery sounded, as I traveled up. The doors opened on a hallway that was shockingly bright, with old, yellowed, peeling wallpaper.

Third door down, right side. Simple as that. Just three doors down was someone who could help me.

The door to Dr. Lindsay’s office was stuck, the wood was almost completely falling apart. Gel window stickers were plastered on her door, with beach balls and flamingos. I opened the door with a loud and dramatic creak, and the environment changed. Drastically.

Inside her office, it was calm. Lights with colored paper shades, dimming them and emitting a light glow around the room, a stark contrast to the bright LED bulbs of the hallway I had just exited. There were paintings of deer around the walls, fawns and stags with flowers weaved between their antlers. It felt safe. I sat down on one of the waiting room chairs, the pleather cushions giving way under me.

I only had to wait a few minutes, before a head popped out of an opening door.

“Hi! Charlotte?” Dr. Lindsay questioned.

“Charlie is fine.” I responded, my voice cracking.

She smiled and nodded.

“Charlie! Come on in.”

I stood up and walked through the door, hopefully into a brighter day.

[kyratittyfish]

Can I prompt a little fic maybe, Shepard having a nightmare or flashback and being comforted by Joker? :D

Sure, prompts are always welcome! Anyway, this "little fic" turned into a 4.4k words story, hope you like it!here

Read it on Ao3

Read it on ff.net

Burns like a forest fire

The undergrowth was soft and damp under Shepard’s bare feet. The air was crisp and felt pleasantly chilly on her cheeks, and a gentle breeze carried around the scent of pines and dew-splashed grass.

She put one hand forward and let the sunlight paint a play of lights on her skin, casting shadows of the thousand branches, leaves, and bird nests separating her from the light blue sky above, shielding her from the galaxy and all her fights and obligations.

She couldn’t remember the last time she felt so relaxed: the quiet was so deep and serene, it saturated the atmosphere, soaked through her skin and bones and muscles. It reached the depths of her own soul and made her forget everything that wasn’t this, and now. Come to think of it… how did she end up there?

I suppose it doesn’t matter all too much; she muttered to herself. I’d better enjoy the peace and quiet while it lasts.

She could hear the gurgling sound of water flowing in the distance- a stream, perhaps? Or maybe a small waterfall? Curious, she decided to investigate: was there a more perfect place than a forest creek to sit down in the shade and enjoy the nice weather? The murmur seemed to come from her left, so that’s where she headed.

She walked for a few minutes, or maybe longer- she had no way to tell without her omnitool. Did I forget to wear it when I got out of bed this morning? This wasn’t like her but then again, she’d been under an immense amount of pressure lately and she was still human after all.

Step by step, as she got closer to its source, the noise grew louder masking the chirping above and the buzzing of insects below her…

Until it suddenly stopped.

Even the bird had ceased singing, and the wind blew through the fronds without making a sound.

What is happening?

Did she go deaf all of a sudden? Maybe her cybernetics were malfunctioning- I should ask Chakwas or Miranda to take a look at them.

She took a step forward, and the crunching of dead leaves under her feet broke the silence.

This is strange.

At least her ears were still working.

A shiver ran down the back of her neck all the way to her fingertips, making the fine hair over her arms raise to attention. She looked up to study the thick curtain of clouds obscuring the sun, dark gray spots looming above her through the trees.

How is that possible? It was sunny up a few moments ago…

Something else felt off about her surroundings, and it wasn’t just the unnatural silence. Had the canopy of threes been that autumnal reddish-brown hue all along? She seemed to recall vibrant shades of green coloring the branches and flowers littering the verdant grass under her feet. Now a carpet of moss and fallen foliage gave way under her feet.

A few white specks started littering her vision, falling slowly to the ground from above, a few of them finding their resting place in her hair. Was that… snow?

I need to get away from here.

Shepard quickened her pace, despite having no idea of where she was going - she supposed moving in any direction at all was better than spending another minute in that unpredictable forest. She stumbled over a sharp rock and hissed in pain- why was she barefoot in the woods, anyway?

It wasn’t completely silent anymore, she realized. The pounding of her heartbeat and the creaking of the dead twigs snapping at each step almost covered the distant sound of…

Voices?

“Is somebody here? Can you hear me?”

Shepard was running now, but the whispers were all around her. They echoed beyond the leafless trees, reaching up to the sky above the bare branches that were waving towards the dark clouds like thousands of arms desperately begging for salvation.

Whoever they were, they were coming closer. And, she realized with horror, they were calling her name.

‘Shepard… Shepard…’

“Who are you? How do you know who I am?”

She stopped dead on her feet and spun around on her heels, sure to find herself face to face with one of those… people? Creatures?

But there was nobody there.

With every new word they chanted, she could differentiate more and more voices among the choir of disembodied ghosts. A woman, in particular, sounded almost familiar.

“Who are you? Answer me!”

They were so loud now, invading the air inside her lungs and reaching her mind, shaking it, sliding invisible fingers deep into her brain, her thoughts, her consciousness.

‘It’s us, Shepard’

Wait, is that… no, it can’t be…

“…Ashley?”

‘Don’t you know us?’

This time it was a hasty male voice calling out for her, with the high-pitched tone of a Salarian. She’d heard him speak to her before, in a different place than this cursed forest, but it felt like a lifetime ago.

Mordin?

“Doctor Solus? Is that you?”

Wide-eyed and gasping, she jammed her palms over her ears, trying to shut all that screaming, craving that same silence that had seemed so wrong just a few moments ago, pressing down her hands until her head hurt, and her skull felt like it was about to explode.

But still, the voices kept wailing her name.

‘Have you forgotten us, Siha?’

No, please …

“Thane! But… you’re dead!”

She covered her mouth and held back tears as memories of him flooded her mind: round, dark eyes catching her light like the black hole at the center of a galaxy, scaly fingers pulling a trigger and caressing her neck, a prayer uttered with a dying breath…

… I never meant for it to end like this

And then-

‘Janey’

With that single word she was a little girl again, building model ships with her father, his strong hands guiding her petite fingers in sliding miniature wings in place and his silvery voice narrating the wondrous adventures the tiny frigate would encounter one day.

Then she was 13, a heart full of dreams and rebellion, biting back anger as she waved him goodbye from the docks while counting the days until his deployment would be over and he’d be back home.

Finally, she was a young woman looking so fierce and proud in her Alliance blues as she placed a folded flag over his wooden coffin, her soul silently falling to pieces.

“DAD?”

‘We’re disappointed, Shepard… You let us die, and you can’t even remember our voices?’

So much death around her, so many ghosts, and her heart pounded loud enough for all of them.

It’s not real, it cannot be real- “WHY ARE YOU HERE? WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?”

Had they come to bring her home with them, drag her down to this cursed purgatory where she belonged, a reanimated corpse among the restless multitude of all the souls she’d ever failed?

‘Why did you let us die, Shepard? Why didn’t you save us?’

Featureless figures started emerging from the shadows, illuminated from behind by blazes of orange light. It wasn’t snow that was falling from the darkened sky, she realized now- it was ash.

‘Why Shepard, why?’

“I’M SORRY, I’M SORRY, I’M SORRY!”, she cried out in desperation, begging them for forgiveness.

A single voice was echoing in her ears, loud enough to silence all the other shouts and shrieks and whispers, but still so calm, so sweet, so familiar –

 ‘Guess you found a way to get rid of me too, uh, Shepard?’

No no no, not him too… “NO! PLEASE NO OH GOD NO…”

The flames were reaching her; long red fingers licking at her like venomous tongues, touching her, burning her.

‘You’d already died for me once, Shepard. It was my turn this time.’

Shepard collapsed to the ground and screamed, her hands in her hair, face up to the sky, tears clearing a path down her darkened cheeks, stained by the ashes that were now swirling around her like flies over a corpse.

‘Shepard…Shepard!’

She screamed till her throat was raw and her lungs were empty, until no sound would come out anymore, until her chest was burning, and her next breath was ash and smoke and fire.

‘SHEPARD!’

And then she screamed some more.

“Shepard, wake up!”

She opened her eyes to the almost complete darkness.

A dim light broke the blackness, barely enough to define the contours of a human-like figure looming over her. She could feel the pressure of a palm on her shoulder, pinning her down towards the soft surface beneath her back.

Cerberus.

In a matter of milliseconds, her military reflexes snapped her into action, and she grabbed the intruder’s wrist while her other hand went forward, ready to grab the stranger by the throat.

“Shepard, no! It’s me, Jeff! Wake up!”

For a split second, she froze, pure relief overwhelming her before reality dawned on her.

Oh, no no no…

Jane reached over her nightstand and switched on the lamp, letting the soft, warm light illuminate the safe, familiar space of her cabin. She anxiously turned to the other side of the bed, where Jeff was sitting, still partially covered by the duvet and clutching his right hand to his chest.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry… are you alright?”

He looked up at her with a half pained, half worried expression on his dozy face.

“What the shit, Shep? You scared the crap out of me!”

“Shit, Jeff, I’m sorry… Did I hurt you?”

“No, well… I mean, it wasn’t exactly pleasurable as far as surprise wake-ups go, but I don’t think anything’s broken.”

He gingerly flexed his wrist a few times, opening and closing his fist to confirm that everything was still in place.

“Here, let me get you an ice pack.”

“There’s no need for that Jane, really, I’m ok.”

She ignored him and headed towards her bathroom, where she kept a small box of emergency medical supplies. She always made sure to keep the thing well-stocked after EDI had once decided to make her aware of the shower speakers while Jane was shaving her legs- the AI’s poorly timed interruption had resulted in an embarrassing trip to the medbay with a blood-soaked bath towel awkwardly wrapped around one of Shepard’s ankles, but at least her misfortune had given Doctor Chakwas an amusing distraction from her usually more grim reasons for having to stitch someone up.

She opened the bathroom cabinet and reached over the pile of fresh towels to grab the first aid kit, then started rummaging through the metallic container for an icepack. Searching around in the dark wasn’t exactly ideal, but the bathroom lights were awfully bright, and her night had already been troubled enough without adding “blasted retinas” to the list of mishaps.

Plasters, elastic bandage, antiseptic… Come on, where are you?

Ah, here it was. She grabbed the packet of instant ice and shoved the tin box into its place, then headed out of the bathroom and towards her bed.  

Jeff had tossed the duvet aside and was now sitting cross-legged on the mattress, a few pillows propped up behind his back. He was wearing a pair of blue polka-dotted underwear and that old Galaxy of Fantasy t-shirt that was probably more patched-up holes and sewing thread than anything else by now. It was at least a couple of sizes too large for him, hanging loosely over his slender frame. Over the years the original black had washed out to a lighter shade of gray and the print was almost illegible.

The thing is going to fall apart during the next dry-clean cycle, I bet my ship on it. And he’ll pick up every single piece of fabric of it, no matter how small, stitch them all together again, and keep wearing it as if nothing happened.

His hair was pointing up in a dozen different directions, and the soft glow of the nightlight cast warm shadows over his freckled skin. He looked just so damn adorable, like comfort and security and home, a sight that made it easy for her to forget the horror she'd been facing just minutes ago.

And I get to wake up next to him every morning.

The thought alone was enough to send butterflies flying around her stomach and make her heart flutter with fondness and, for once in her life, real, unconditional happiness. It was a strange feeling, caring for someone so much and knowing them to be just as devoted to her. It felt good, and at the same time—as her nightmare proved—scary as hell.

She wasn’t used to the degree of vulnerability that came with loving someone. On the battlefield, exposure often meant death, so she quickly learned to watch her back and never let her weaknesses show. In this case, it was different: it meant trust, closeness, and comfort. At the same time, however, it made the ever-present risk of losing him seem worse than a bad battle wound- hell, worse than the whole Reapers invasion.

But it also gave her a reason to fight when all other motives looked meaningless and a lost cause - she’d burn the whole galaxy down to a smoking pile of ashes and herself with it before she let anybody hurt him.

Despite looking half asleep and about to doze off any moment now, Joker perked up as soon as he heard her coming back into the room.

She sat down on the bed next to him, shook the ice pack to activate the cooling element, and gently set the cold compress on his wrist. She also placed a light kiss on the back of his hand, just for good measure.

“I’m pretty sure ‘kissing the ouchie away’ only works as a placebo, but I’m feeling better already. Thanks, Shep.”

“Need another one? The supply here is endless.”

“It’s still hurting soooo much, now that I think of it.”

He put on an exaggerated pained expression and started cradling his arm back and forth. If his intent was to be credible, he was failing miserably: she’d seen soldiers who just lost limbs in battle behaving less dramatically.

“If it hurts that bad, I’ll have to call Chakwas. I’m sure she has the remedy for it, in the form of a long-ass needle.”

Her playful threat seemed to do the trick, and he immediately stopped his suffering act and sat up straighter.

“Alright, alright, you made your point… Can I still have another kiss? Please?”

He knew damn well she couldn’t resist those emerald green puppy eyes. He reminded her of that dog her best friend had when they were children- a short-haired mutt named Scotty who had quickly learned that cocking his head to the side and letting out a quiet whimper would almost certainly guarantee a treat from Jane. She fell for that same old trick now just as she used to do back then: she smiled and cupped Jeff’s face in her hands, planting a long kiss on his lips.

“Oh, wow. I think this gave me a toothache and cured it too! You’re truly a miracle woman, Shep!”

“Shh, don’t spread the rumor around or I’m going to have lines of people with bleeding wounds to smooch away… you sure you want that?”

“Nooope. Nope. Nope. Here. Now I’ve claimed you and your magical healing powers all to myself.”

He came closer to wrap his arms around her …and bit the tip of her left ear.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“Told you, claiming you for myself. I punch-stamped you. Tooth-punch-stamped you. Now you’re all mine.”

With his head still buried in the crook of her neck, she couldn’t see his expression, but she was so sure of the shit-eating grin he must have had plastered all over his face that she could picture it down to every freckle and dimple.

“Oh. My. God.”

She hugged him tighter and started giggling uncontrollably, shaking with each laugh.

“Hey, uh, Shep, not that I don’t like the affection and all that, but … could you maybe take it easy with the squeezing a bit? You’re kinda one fit of laughter away from cracking a couple of my ribs.”

She immediately pulled back, afraid of hurting him–almost fracturing his wrist was more than enough for a single night–and stifled one last laugh.

“Oh. Yeah. Right. Sorry.”

“S’all right, ribs are still holding together. I’m not so sure the same can be said for a few of my internal organs - you bear-hugged me pretty tight there - but I think I’ll live.”

“Oh, so we’ll need to call up Chakwas after all?”

He raised his palms towards her and shrugged, then lowered his gaze and forked a hand through his messy hair. His expression had suddenly turned awkwardly serious and he looked like he was struggling to put his words together.

Oh no, I know that look all too well.

“Listen, Shep, uh…”

And that tone, too. Shit, this means trouble. Time for evasive maneuvers.

“Alright, time to go back to bed. I’ll have to call the Council first thing in the morning and I really don’t feel like dealing with them while running on 3 hours of sleep.”

Avoiding his gaze, she turned to switch off the light but was interrupted by Jeff’s hand on her arm, gently pulling her towards him.

“Jane, wait. I know you’d rather make out with a husk than talk about whatever it was that got to you earlier, but I need you to talk to me … cause it’s really not healthy keeping all that stuff bottled up. And I’m the king of bottling crap up, I know what I’m talking about, so… please, Jane. Just…”

“Just what? Just assure you that I’m not going to almost snap your wrist again in my sleep?”

The wounded expression that dawned on his face made her regret her words as soon as they escaped her mouth. “I’ll… I’ll go sleep on the couch for tonight, I think.”

She turned her head to avoid looking at him and motioned to get up from the bed, but he cut her off before she even swung one leg off the mattress.

“I don’t fucking care if you fold my arm in half like a paper towel, Shep! I just… I just want to know what is going on with you, okay? Cause I’m worried sick about you here, and you’re not making it any easier!”

“I’m fine, Jeff”, she sneered back in annoyance.

“Right. You’re fine,” he answered with an almost audible eye-roll, “how could I ever doubt that? Cause when people are fine, it’s such a normal thing for them to wake up in the middle of the night screaming and shaking and basically swimming in a pool of their own sweat.”

“Jeff, really. You don’t have to worry about me, it’s… ok, it’s not fine. But it’s not that bad either. Now, let’s get back to bed, please?”

“No Shep, it’s a little bit too late to tell me not to worry about you. A few years too late, to be precise. You should have given me that order before I started to even give a shit about you–which was basically as soon as we first met, by the way–, before I fell in love with you, before you di… ” He all but deflated, losing all his energy in the middle of the word he was saying. “Look, Jane, I’ll never not worry about you, ok? So just… please. Talk to me.”

He grabbed one of her hands in his own, and she sighed, conceding defeat.

“It was… the forest nightmare. All over again.” Only much worse this time around...

He squeezed her hand a little tighter and studied her face, silently encouraging her to continue. They had been there before, with the same nightmare, the same attempt to get her talking, the same desire to push the hurt down until it all disappeared forever.

“They were calling out for me, just as they always do… dad, Ash, Mordin, Thane… telling me it’s all my fault. That they’re dead because of me. That…”

She sniffled. Joker raised his thumb to wipe away a tear that had rolled down the side of her nose.

“That’s not all of it, though, isn’t it? I’ve never seen you so… distraught during a nightmare before.”

The concern that dripped from his voice like thick honey and the tiredness that was settling over his features felt like a dull blade stabbing her through her ribs and straight into her heart.

That’s why I keep these things from you. Seeing you like this hurts way more than a bad dream.

“No, it’s not. I saw… someone else this time. Among them. Among those… ghosts. It took me a second to recognize the voice - they don’t really show their faces, they just talk to me – but when I did… shit, I…”

She grimaced and slid her palms across her face, letting silence engulf them for a few seconds. When she spoke again, her expression had hardened into an impassible mask.

“It was you. It was your voice. You weren’t angry at me or accusing like the others. You were just… resignedand, somehow, it was even worse… Now, the rational part of me knows that my messed-up brain must have heard you calling at me to wake me up and incorporated it into the nightmare but… fuck, it was the most terrified and devastated I’ve ever felt. The thought of losing you…”

Shit, she felt so drained, almost worse than she’d been after she’d come out alive of the damn suicide mission almost a year ago. Judging by the look on his pale face, Jeff must have been feeling a similar way.

“Jane, I…”

He stopped mid-sentence, collecting his thoughts, and pulled her closer. She lightly rested her head on his shoulder, and he draped an arm around her, gently stroking her hair with his other hand.

“First of all, I’m offended. You should know by now that, despite the appearances, I’m not that easy to kill.”

She let out a little laugh – the man could make me giggle in the middle of a funeral, and I wouldn’t even get mad at him for that.

“Second… As much as I’d love to promise you that your nightmare will always be just a bad dream… well, you know better than me that reality’s a little bit more fucked up than that. What I can swear to you is that I’ll bust my ass trying to keep that from ever happening, all right?”

She nodded a little and snuggled closer to him, bringing her knees to her breasts and laying one hand on his chest, right over his heart.

“All right.”

“Oh, and another thing, just in case you need further proof that it was just a bad dream: if you let the real me die, no way I’d be ‘just resigned’. You can bet your ass I’d be the most pain-in-the-butt ghost ever and I’d make it my life mission to haunt you.”

“Wouldn't it be a death mission then?”

“Yeah, details. The main thing is: ghost me.”

He wiggled his fingers and produced some weird booing noises that could probably count as his best impression of a tormented spirit.

“Oh, yeah baby! I’d drip your socks in ice-cold water every morning and turn your toilet paper roll around so it’s hanging from the dispenser the wrong way. Which, just to be clear, is hanging towards the wall.”

“You monster,” she replied with feigned indignation.

“About the socks or the toilet paper?”

“Eh, who cares about the socks. Everyone knows toilet paper should hang towards the wall.”

“Let’s… agree to disagree. And by that, I mean – let’s accept that my opinion is objectively the correct one and move on to the next topic. Which is, even if somehow the Reapers get me, or one day I fall out of bed and snap my neck and die, or Prothy the Prothean finally has enough of my nicknames for him and he throws me out of the airlock… you’ll still have to put up with my ever-annoying self.”

She put on her best heavy pondering face and stroked her chin with her index and thumb.

“Interesting. So… I’d still have you around, but without having to compete with you for the bedspread? Sounds like a win-win situation to me.”

“Uh… yeah, keep believing that, Shep. Now, how about we take up on your earlier offer and get our asses back to sleep? I’m kinda fighting a losing battle against my eyelids here.”

“I agree wholeheartedly.”

Their talk must have drained the last drop of Jeff’s energy- he’d barely had time to rest his head on the pillow before falling asleep. Smiling fondly, she adjusted the bedsheet so that it covered his shoulders, then, with one swift motion, turned off the lights and retreated under the warmth and safety provided by the duvet.

She curled up next to him, and he shifted in his sleep draping an arm around her torso.

Wrapped up in his arms, she trailed her fingers over his skin and admired the way the faint blue glow of the aquarium's illumination system cast soft shadows across his features. She took in every detail, memorizing the pattern of the freckles splattered all over his face, the dimples that showed up on his cheeks when he smiled, barely visible now just like the thin wrinkles that formed at the corner of his eyes when he squinted in concentration.

All of that was him: the map drawn by the lines on his palms, the bristling feeling of his beard against her cheek, the texture of the scars that crisscrossed the skin on his legs.

Every feature, every trait, every perfect imperfection that made him her Jeff.

She painted a picture of him on her mind’s canvas, so warm and safe and alive, and committed it to her memory. She could still see his face as she closed her eyes and finally drifted off to a deep, dreamless slumber.

[ailendolin]

Fluff Friday - 2 - Bill (2015)

Title: Daisy [AO3]

Fandom: Bill (2015)

Characters: Ian & Anne, Gabriel, Bill, the children

Prompt: Anne gives Ian some advice. - Prompt by the wonderful @unusual-ly can be found here.

A/N: I really enjoyed writing this little fic. There's just something incredibly sweet about Ian slowly but surely finding his place in the world and Anne gently coaxing him out of his shell. I hope you like what I came with for your pormpt!

Prompts are open, so if you want me to write a story for you as well just send me an ask with the fandom, characters and your prompt. I’m writing for Ghosts, Yonderland, Horrible Histories and Bill at the moment.

Six Idiots Whump Wednesday / Fluff Friday masterlist is here.

————

Daisy

“So,” Anne said conversationally. “Are you ready to tell me what you have planned for tomorrow or am I to be left in the dark like everyone else?”

She didn’t look at Ian when she said that, instead choosing to watch Gabriel and her husband trying – and obviously failing– to teach her children the skill of sword-fighting. There was quite a bit more giggling than actual fighting involved, she observed with an amused smile; especially when one of the blunt wooden swords managed to hit its mark and caused its victim to fall to the ground in a manner rather more dramatic than it truly needed to be.

They had fun, though, and that was the most important thing. Her family’s laughter was like music to Anne’s ears, just like the familiar and much missed birdsong that had greeted her this morning when she woke up. After months of staying in London they were finally back in Stratford – back home. It wasn’t a permanent move, of course; Bill still had a play to put on, after all. Stratford was their past, not their future. They both knew that, and yet it hadn’t taken much to convince him to take a week off and go home.

“We could celebrate Gabriel’s birthday there,” Anne had suggested with a sweet smile on her face she knew Bill couldn’t say no to. “Just think about it: the fresh air, the cherry trees in bloom, the wide, open spaces …”

Bill had dragged a hand down his face and sighed, and Anne knew she’d won. “I suppose we ought to make her first birthday here special so she won’t get too homesick.”

Anne had brushed her lips against his cheek in a soft, lingering kiss. “Exactly.”

Two weeks later, they’d packed their things and left the city behind for the first time in three months. Originally, Anne’s intention had been to show Gabriel more of England than dreary, crowded London but while Gabriel seemed to enjoy the sights of rolling fields and blossoming trees along the road it was Ian who actually marvelled at them. The smaller London became behind them, the wider his eyes grew as he looked around. He took in the trees and flowers and sunsets with unabashed awe, almost like a drowning man, and halfway between London and Stratford Anne had realised she had it all wrong. It wasn’t Gabriel who had never seen the sun rise over dew-damp grass or set over golden hills as millions of stars twinkled into existence in the night sky. She had travelled the world, or at least parts of it, and seen things most of them probably couldn’t even imagine whereas Ian–

Ian had only ever travelled one road: the one between the Earl’s residences in Croydon and London.

After realising that, Anne had adjusted her carefully made plans a little so Ian could come along on all the trips and activities she’d planned for Gabriel in and around Stratford. What she hadn’t anticipated was how hard it would be to drag him away from his duties. Anne had no idea how often she, Bill, Gabriel and even the children had tried to convince him that he was there as their guest, not their employee.

“Just relax, Ian,” Bill had practically begged only yesterday. “We’re on vacation.”

Anne began to suspect Ian had no idea what either of those things meant: relaxing and vacation. Not for the first time she wondered what kind of life he’d led before they met. She’d seen the way the Earl had treated him, of course, but she didn’t know for how long it had been going on, or how Ian had come to work for him in the first place. Ian didn’t like to talk about his past – or himself in general. Getting him to open up often felt like pulling teeth but from what little information Anne had managed to gather over the last few months she was pretty sure Ian’s life had not been a particular happy or carefree one.

Which was why seeing him sitting next to her on a blanket in a meadow, his restless hands still for once, almost seemed like a miracle. There was a small smile on his face as he observed the children’s swordplay – or, Anne suspected, rather Gabriel’s graceful movements. It was nice, seeing him like this: content and at ease, for once not worrying about tomorrow.

That all changed the moment Anne had to go and put her foot in her mouth by bringing up Gabriel’s birthday.

At the mention of it, Ian’s eyes dropped to the ground, the spectacle in front of them forgotten for the moment. With his pulled-up knees and hunched shoulders he suddenly looked small and fragile in a way Anne knew he truly wasn’t, not deep down. There was an inner strength to him she had come to admire ever since Ian had started living with them, and her chest tightened every time it was overshadowed by his own self-doubt.

Just like now.

“It’s nothing special,” he murmured softly, briefly glancing up before he rested his chin on his knees and sighed. “I couldn’t afford any of the things I know she’d like.”

He closed his eyes in shame and pulled his legs even closer to his body. Anne’s heart went out to him. Making sure Gabriel, Bill and the children weren’t paying them any attention, she scooted a little closer to Ian so she could place a comforting hand on his arm. He flinched, but only a little bit.

Progress, she thought and gave him a moment before she said softly, “You know, presents don’t have to cost a lot of money, or any at all, to be special.”

Ian glanced up at her. “The Earl’s presents did – at least when he wanted to impress someone.”

Anne gave him a look. “Really. The Earl of Croydon is your role model here?”

Ian shrugged. He looked both a little embarrassed and helpless in the face of her incredulity and it suddenly hit Anne how truly lonely his life must have been if the Earl of Croydon was the only person he could think of to look to for advice. As far as she knew Ian had no friends apart from her, Bill and Gabriel, no family he could ask for help and guidance; only a man who had been a terrible employer and an even worse human being.

Thank god that part of his life was over. Ian had her now, and Bill and Gabriel, and Anne would be damned if she let him go on thinking his present, whatever it was, was worthless just because it hadn’t cost a small fortune.

“Bill once gave me a daisy,” she began softly. “He just held it out to me one day, completely out of the blue, and said, “You’re as pretty as this flower, Miss Hathaway.” Anyone else would have given me a rose but not Bill Shakespeare. No, he picked the most ordinary flower of all and handed it to me with the sweetest smile and most earnest expression on his face, never realising he’d all but called me dull in that moment.”

She smiled at the memory and reached out to pluck a daisy out of the grass.

“I still have that daisy, you know? I preserved it between the pages of a book and every now and then I look at it and remember why I fell in love with that impossible man all those years ago.”

She shook her head, her eyes soft with fondness, and handed Ian the daisy. “That little flower means more to me than any of the bouquets Bill’s given me since. And it didn’t cost a single penny.”

Ian looked down at the delicate flower. It’s white petals, tinged faintly pink at the tips, gleamed in the warm sunlight as he turned it this way and that in quiet contemplation.

“I had planned on baking a birthday cake for her tonight,” he finally whispered. His shoulders relaxed a little, as if this soft confession had taken a huge weight off of them. “And tomorrow morning, before sunrise, I wanted to come back here and pick the prettiest flowers for her.” He offered Anne a small, sweet smile. “Just like this daisy.”

Anne smiled back at him, wondering how someone as kind and caring as Ian could have had so much bad luck in his life until now. She gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “I think that’s a wonderful idea.”

Ian’s cheeks coloured a little and he bit his lip, looking suddenly shy. “Do you think Gabriel will like it?”

His voice sounded so small Anne let go of his arm to pull him against her side. “She will love it, Ian. And do you know why?”

When Ian shook his head she lightly tapped her finger against his chest. “Because your present comes from the heart. And in the end, that’s worth more than all the money in Southampton’s treasury.”

Ian nodded slowly and then, to Anne’s surprise, allowed himself to relax against her. “Thank you, Anne.”

“Anytime.”

Together, they gazed at the daisy he kept twirling between his fingers while a few feet away, the children were in the process of overpowering both Gabriel and Bill by teaming up and foregoing their wooden swords in favour of lesser but more effective techniques that would undoubtedly lead to several bruised shins in the next few seconds. Anne smiled to herself and closed her eyes, for now content to simply sit here and soak up the sun as Bill shouted, “Hey, that’s not fair!”

Their life might not be perfect but it was good, better than any of them could have ever hoped for, and she was eager to see what tomorrow would bring.

[sunsetfell]

Cindy in the Water

It was after 4 p.m. when Cindy and Faulkner finally got in Faulkner’s car and drove out into the vast middle of Pennsylvania. Faulkner would have liked to start earlier, but Cindy woke up late as usual, especially since she’d been up till 3 a.m. last night at a friend’s party, then fallen back asleep, then woke up again with a headache, needing coffee and a long shower. When Cindy arrived at Faulkner’s apartment in dark green leggings and a denim jacket, it was after 3 p.m. and she had another cup of coffee in her hand.

This sky in early spring was gray as the piles of gravel that marked the occasional quarry by the highway. The sun had not melted the dew on the grass from that morning. An occasional flower could be seen, but most of the trees were bare.

One week prior, Faulkner had said: “Come drive with me next weekend,” and then explained the purpose of the trip. “I want to show you what this country is really like.”

Cindy was from a big city in Malaysia and never learned to drive. The nightlife in Philly lacked the vibrance she craved, but she and her classmates strived to make up for it—for their end-of-semester party, they had even hired their own DJ at the one girl’s apartment at 45th and Walnut.

But to really see America, Faulkner told her, you need to leave the city, to a place the bus doesn’t go. “And, since you’re only here till June, you gotta see things while you can.”

It was dark when they reached the cabin they’d booked near Coudersport, in Potter County, near the north-middle of the state. Cindy hauled her suitcase from the trunk, then gave a long sigh and leaned against the car. Faulkner took it in for her.

The cabin inside smelled of wood and adhesives. Cindy announced she wanted to shower. She fished a towel and other items out of her suitcase, then went into the bathroom and closed its wooden door.

In less than a minute Cindy came out again, now wearing only a towel. She rummaged through her suitcase, glancing occasionally at Faulkner as if to judge his reaction to seeing her undressed. In the end she took nothing from her suitcase and returned to the bathroom, closing the door.

After Cindy had showered she emerged wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt. She put on her red puffy coat and they went outside to sit at a picnic table by the cabin. It was nighttime and still cloudy, with neither the stars nor the moon visible. Faulkner commented it was one of the darkest nights he’d ever seen, but Cindy said she’d seen darker on a trip to India a few years ago, near Jaipur.

“You’ve seen so many places, it must be hard to impress you with someplace new,” Faulkner said.

“Oh, I haven’t seen so many,” Cindy replied. “My sister’s been to way more than me. She’s been to 23 countries.”

“I don’t even think I could name 23 countries,” Faulkner said, although it wasn’t true.

Cindy stood up and walked a few paces into the damp grass. Although she was just out of arm’s reach, she seemed to have disappeared into the darkness. Only the sound of her breathing remained—unusually loud in the silence of early spring, before the crickets and katydids began their chorus. It was as if she was a buoy in the ocean and her breath was the clanking bell warning ships of the rocks below her.

“There’s nothing to do here,” she declared.

“I’m sorry, Cindy,” Faulkner said.

The next morning Cindy got up earlier than she ever did—she was out of bed just after 8. Even Faulkner still felt sleepy. Outside the sky was yet again like gray rock.

Cindy went to the bathroom to change but came out in just her underwear, then sat on the bed and again sifted through her suitcase while removing nothing from it.

“Where are we going today?” she asked.

“There’s a restaurant in Austin where we can get breakfast.”

“Austin, Texas?”

“No, Austin, Pennsylvania. Just twenty minutes from Coudersport.”

In the car, Cindy said:

“I saw you staring at me in my underwear.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare,” Faulkner replied.

“I don’t want you to get the wrong idea,” Cindy said. “I’m not coming on this trip to sleep with you. I came because you told me it was the way to see America.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Faulkner said.

The restaurant served what Faulkner thought of as breakfast: eggs, bacon, toast, and potatoes. Cindy read the menu several times.

“Does anything here have flavor?” she asked.

In the end Cindy got an omelet that she smothered in ketchup.

After breakfast, Faulkner said he knew a trail along the Sinnemahoning Creek. At this time of year, the trail was deserted—they were the only ones on it. Soon, they left the trail and walked along the side of the pebbly creek bed. The water was low and their shoes stayed dry.

When they came to a boulder set in the creek bank, Faulkner proposed that they sit on it and rest. He did this, but Cindy declared that she wanted to swim.

“The water will be freezing this time of year,” Faulkner said.

“I don’t mind,” Cindy said.

She took off her shoes and socks and placed them on the rock, then pulled her pant legs up to her knees and waded in until the water was just below them.

“Do you think there are snakes in here?” Cindy asked.

“I don’t know,” Faulkner said. He knew he’d seen snakes in water around here, but he had no idea how many or whether they’d be around this time of year.

Cindy walked back to the rock, then sat on it and took off her pants, showing again her pink underwear.

“Don’t stare,” she said.

“Okay,” Faulkner replied.

Cindy went back into the creek, and the water was now just above her knees. She stared into it, poking around beneath the surface with her hands as if she spotted something she wanted to grab. She fished a rock from the creek bed and tossed it about 30 feet in front of her.

“This water is cold!” she yelled.

“I told you,” Faulkner said.

“Why don’t you come in?”

“Because it’s cold.”

Cindy stared into the creek toward her feet. The water was clear, and Faulkner could see her feet from where he was sitting, although they were distorted by refraction at the water’s surface.

“I want to go all the way in,” Cindy announced.

“It’s way too cold for that, Cindy.”

“I’ll just dunk myself in then come right out.”

Cindy stared a bit longer at the water. Then she walked over to beside the rock and removed the rest of her clothes, so that she was fully naked. Then she trudged back into the middle of the creek. Faulkner, remembering what she had told him, kept his gaze on the line between the black treetops and the gray sky.

Cindy plunged her whole body into the water, then came up shrieking and prancing around at the cold. She started to run back toward the rock where her clothes were.

As Cindy ran, her foot hit a sharp red rock that had not yet been worn smooth by the water rubbing against it. It dragged Cindy down and smashed her against the creek bed. Cindy came up screaming. Her calf and thigh were bleeding.

Cindy collapsed on the dry pebbles still screaming. Faulkner ran over.

Through screams, they agreed that the plan was for Faulkner to hold up Cindy’s left side while she hopped on her right leg, and in that way they made it to the car. Faulkner was able to get Cindy’s shirt and coat on, but her left leg was too painful to put on her pants or underwear.

Faulkner drove to the hospital in Lock Haven, where they told Cindy her ankle was badly sprained but nothing was broken. Cindy told Faulkner a social worker had stopped by the room, and although no explanation had been given, she could assume it was because she had showed up half naked, injured, and with a man.

On the drive home, they talked little of the events of the trip. Mostly Cindy talked about American music from the 1990s that she knew well from her childhood (where she’d had the songs on cassette tapes) but Faulkner didn’t. Occasionally she’d complain about the pain in her ankle or the itchiness of the bandage on her thigh.

In the days that followed, Cindy sent one text to Faulkner, on the morning two days later, but other than that there was silence. Faulkner texted her a few times to ask how she was doing, how her leg was healing, and whether she’d like to meet again, perhaps for something less dangerous, but he received no reply. This was strange because her last words on exiting the car at her West Philly apartment had been “I hope to see you soon.”

On a Saturday in a thrift store on Chestnut Street, Faulkner saw a denim jacket that looked like Cindy’s, and for a second thought she was really standing there wedged into the rack of clothes. He put his hand on his cell phone, wondering if this would, by coincidence, be the moment she finally texted him. But it was silent.

In a grocery store by 42nd and Walnut, Faulkner considered if he might run into Cindy, because he knew she shopped there occasionally. Would she accuse him of stalking her, because this was her territory he was in? But the store held only strangers, and no Cindy.

Three months after their road trip, Faulkner, desperate for answers, managed to find Cindy on LinkedIn. To his surprise, it said that she had already returned to Malaysia. She had cut her master’s program short, and started a job at a bank in Kuala Lumpur. Based on the timing, she must have left America no more than two weeks after she had plunged herself naked into the Sinnemahoning Creek.

Faulkner decided not to message her. She had obviously made a choice to end the conversation, and there was no more possibility of developing their relationship. He had accomplished one of the many things he had set out to do: he had shown her the part of America she wouldn’t have seen on her own. And he knew she would always remember that.

[robthewriter]

The Name of the Tree

Last year, I dropped a free to read story on here for Halloween. I have decided to do the same again. This one is brand new, written from scratch and never before published. It is also the first fiction I have written that way in over a year for many and various depressing reasons. However, it's October, it's (almost) Halloween, that's a reason to be cheerful I think? Just to say, please don't export, publish or otherwise reproduce this anywhere else without my specific permission, it is copyright material. You wouldn't do that anyway would you? Anyway, I have to say it, you know, just in case. So here it is, enjoy...

The Name of the Tree

The spider, plump and tiger striped, crouched at the heart of the web like a curled fist. Heavy dew glittered across the strands like rhinestones in the old gold light of a clear, crisp October morning.

Amber smiled at her.

‘Good morning, Marge,’ she said, stepping off the decking and onto the damp grass around the little shrub that “Marge” called home. Amber Morgan had a habit of naming things, indeed, she rather felt it was a super power of hers. One look at a thing, anything from a toaster, through plush toys, to her little runabout and Amber could instantly christen it. It was more than that, everyone agreed that the names that she chose were just “right” somehow.

She drew in a long breath, inhaling the rich aroma of the steaming mug of coffee cupped in her cold hands. “proper” coffee, not instant, it was a morning ritual for her. This little walk into her back garden had become something of a ritual too. God bless working from home, she thought. Later, there would be emails and idiots, Zoom spats and pointless meetings about having meetings but that was later. For now, it was a chill, bright Monday, still and calm. She was wrapped in a cardigan that could easily have doubled for a quilt and she had her coffee.

Startled, a thrush burst into the air ahead of her in a flurry of wings, a little wriggling prize dangling from its beak. Stella, your name’s Stella Amber thought. The departing thrush set the crows in her neighbour’s tall, old trees to cawing loudly. There were too many for Amber to name them all but she did, collectively, call them “the Greek Chorus.”

‘Woe, woe and thrice woe, thanks for your opinion ladies and gentleman,” she said, toasting them with her mug. ‘Today’s not going to be that bad, is it?’

The walk always terminated in the same spot, near the weary little apple tree, that looked like it had lived longer than a tree ever ought to live. How long it had actually lived was debatable, it came with the house and indeed was one of the reasons she had bought it. It somehow just ‘spoke’ to her. The venerable tree still managed to flower and even produced the odd apple upon occasion.

‘How are you today, Aubrey?’ she asked the tree. “Aubrey” of course did not reply, anymore than “Marge,” “Stella,” or the “Greek Chorus” had. There was though, something different about the tree today. Amber leaned in for a closer look. She frowned. What is that? she wondered.

There seemed to be a series of dark smudges on the bark, about head height from the lawn.

Amber stared at them intently. It’s some sort of fungus I think… Oh, mate, is your time nearly up? Am I going to lose you?

She turned away and as she did so, a chill little breeze seemed to pirouette around her, tracing a line in the grass. As quickly as it came, it was gone. Where did that come from? Amber thought in surprise, as the day resumed its former golden calm.

The dancing foot that had trailed across the lawn was of course, quite invisible to her.

***

On Tuesday, Amber had taken a picture of the tree on her phone, intending to put it on Facebook for opinions. Strangely though, the blurry, markings didn’t photograph. It was, she had decided, because the light was so bright, they had “washed out.”

Wednesday dawned and the light was a little hazier. Amber stood on her back step, phone in hand, coffee steaming on the counter behind her, ready to try again.

There was an insistent rapping from the garden. A pause… then it came again, then a sharp crack, like a glass breaking in the washing up bowl.

She stepped outside, the decking was dull and damp, it had rained in the night. Stella looked up at her from the edge of the boards, the gory, gooey remains of a snail in her sharp beak, scraps of the shattered shell at her feet.

‘Stella, you’re a monster,’ she said. The bird took flight.

Amber greeted Marge, as she passed the bush, with its fast-reddening leaves. The spider was restless this morning, patrolling her web like the strangest of tiny tigers.

Amber, leaving a silvery wake behind her in the wet grass, arrived at the tree. The markings were clearer than ever, arranged in a rough oval, they were almost like a face. There was a very good reason for that but not one that Amber would have been prepared to believe, even if she was aware of it.

Pareidolia, Amber said to herself firmly, in the sort of tone you might use on a child, to stop their imagination from running away with them.

Amber looked at the tree and the tree looked back. At least, the person hiding in the tree did. He slipped out from within its trunk and moved closer to her, a fact of which she was completely unaware.

She took a picture, then another and another and another. Amber’s face screwed up with an expression of perplexity, she “popped” her lips in puzzlement, then shrugged. Not one of the pictures showed any trace of the marks whatsoever.

Alberon slipped invisibly closer to her, with a balletic grace and the jerky speed of a hunting lizard. He tilted his head to one side and peered intently into Amber’s pale green eyes. Then he circled her, almost but not quite touching her tangle of fiery red hair. His chin traced the line of Amber’s cat-like cheek bones, just a hairs breadth above her porcelain skin. Alberon’s delicate nostrils twitched as he gently breathed in her scent. His tongue flicked out to touch his lips and he smiled. It was not the kind of smile that Amber would have appreciated, if she could have seen it.

The sun came out, burning through the haze.

Amber remembered her coffee, cooling in the kitchen. I will go and look at the pics again indoors, zoom in, in low light, see if I can see them that way, she thought.

Alberon, watched her go, admiring the way she moved, smiling still. Up in the dark trees, half bare of leaves, the crows called and called, trying their hoarse, harsh, best to give a warning.

***

On Thursday, Amber wore a jacket. The weather man said the temperatures were just the same but as soon as she opened the back door, she felt a chill. With a little shudder she slipped the jacket off its peg and gratefully slid her arms into it.

She did not know her discomfort was nothing to do with the weather but was, rather, because Alberon was sitting cross legged outside the door, in his long frock coat of iridescent blue butterfly scales, just waiting for her. He had a strangely adoring look on his narrow, pale but oddly handsome, even beautiful, face. He glided after her soundlessly, as she walked the length of her garden to a tale of woe from the Greek Chorus. Marge and Stella were nowhere in evidence this morning.

Alberon liked the little quilted jacket, he found it much more becoming than the shapeless cardigan, noting the way it nipped at Amber’s slim waist and accentuated the curve of her hips.

Amber wiggled her neck and shoulders uncomfortably, mistaking his gaze for a cold breeze.

Alberon slipped into the tree and looked out.

Amber opened her large eyes even wider, as she stared at the tree’s trunk.

‘Aubrey,’ she said, ‘Is that you?’

Indeed, the marks in the bark were now very clearly a face, just as if some fresco artist had sketched them there in chalk, prior to painting them.

She tentatively reached out a hand… Alberon tensed… Then she snatched it back.

This is too weird, she thought, is someone winding me up? After a moment she had a darker thought. Is someone getting into the garden at night and doing this? Mentally she swore, twice, then shuddered. She stepped back from “Aubrey” then took several more pictures. Not a sign of the “face” on any of them.

Worriedly, Amber turned quickly and after scanning all around the garden nervously, walked rapidly back to the open door. Alberon followed her, skipping, dancing, turning, twisting, long, ash blonde hair flowing in the breeze. He chuckled.

Amber’s head jerked around. To say that she heard the chuckle would be an exaggeration but she heard… something, something that wasn’t the crows…

She slammed the door shut, leaving Alberon, hands cupped against the glass, peering in for one last glimpse of her.

Amber phoned in sick.

***

Amber’s sleep was restless, full of wheeling, flurrying crows, blue/black and fluttering. A feathered storm cloud on a dark horizon. She woke slowly and clung to the bedcovers like a lifebelt, feeling as if she had been drinking heavily the night before.

I need coffee… I need coffee like a vampire needs blood, she thought.

Her phone lit up and pinged. She glanced at the screen and sighed. It was a text from her mother.

Their relationship had always been strained. She had been well cared for and not really lacked for anything but there was always a certain distance, the feeling that her mother was acting more from duty than affection. The nail in the coffin came, when a loose lipped aunt had let slip to a teenage Amber, that her mother initially rejected her at birth, being convinced that Amber ‘wasn’t hers.’ Aunt Vi had meant well, she was trying to stop Amber from blaming herself for her father leaving them. It had affected Amber deeply and coloured all of her relationships, perhaps explaining why she currently lived alone. More than one man had called Amber “intimidating,” which was odd, because asked to describe herself, Amber would have begun with the word, “fun.”

‘R U OK?’ said the glowing screen. Amber frowned. Why do you use “text speak” you silly woman, do you think it makes you seem young and trendy? She thought. Then immediately felt remorse for her uncharitable observation.

She threw one leg out of bed, then after a moment or two, the other one. She sat on the edge of the bed head drooping for several minutes.

‘Later Mum… I can’t just now…’ she muttered, snatching up her phone and swiping the message away. The phone pinged again.

‘I had a dream. Horrible dream. Text me back and break the dream.’ and a worried face emoji.

Amber looked at the message apprehensively. It was not the sort of message her mother would normally send, not like any message she had ever had from her. She stood and slipped into her dressing gown. Amber pursed her lips pensively. OK Mum but coffee first, she thought, sliding the phone into her pocket.

Rain trickled down the kitchen window in mournful, teardrop trails, the good weather had broken. She stared into the coffee as if it were a crystal ball, as if she would somehow scry all the answers in its deep brown depths but all she saw was the reflection of the kitchen spotlights.

Squeezing the mug tightly in her hands, she peered into the crepuscular blue rectangle of the window. Leaves flurried off the shivering trees like tawny snow and the crows were silent.

Then she saw the strangest thing.

Aubrey the apple tree was illuminated by a single shaft of bright sunlight, just as if it sat in a spotlight. Bizarrely, there did not seem to be any break in the Prussian blue clouds but it was unmistakeably sunlight none the less.

She put the coffee down. Then, with every sensible atom left in her troubled mind saying, no, screaming Don’t Go! Are you mad! Don’t go! She quickly shrugged into her jacket, pulled up the hood, roughly pushing her hair inside, grabbed her phone from the kitchen counter and threw open the back door.

Stopping intermittently to take photos, she hurried across the bending, whispering grass, through a whirl of dead, brown leaves, rain pattering on her hood and trickling down her face.

She stopped in front of the impossible tree.

She knew full well, that there was nothing behind the tree but a peeling, unloved fence that she should really have painted in the Summer. Now though, Spring was behind the tree. She looked beyond the tree into a wide, colourful meadow of bright, nodding wild flowers. Great puffy clouds sailed through a cerulean sky like racing yachts at sea and the air was full of bird song that came to her as if from a great distance.

Fascinated, she stepped closer, stepped willingly and of her own accord, into the pool of astonishing sunlight.

Abruptly, two glittering emerald eyes sharp as glass were looking into hers. She opened her mouth in shock but no sound came out. Slender, pale fingers closed over her forearms in a grip like an eagle snatching up a rabbit.

‘Amber, my love, my heart… welcome home,’ said a voice, a voice that an oboe might have, if the instrument could talk. She was folded into Alberon’s arms, as if they were about to waltz, indeed, he pressed his pale, cool cheek to hers as he spun them out of the rain and into the golden meadow.

Amber and Alberon vanished. The light vanished.

Amber’s phone dropped into the wet grass with a dull thud. Rain drops gathered on the glossy screen, obscuring dark images in which the apple tree could just about be seen in the murk. No golden light here… The screen timed out and went black, reflecting the lowering clouds.

Then, the Greek Chorus erupted from the tall, swaying trees into the swirling rain in a screeching cloud…

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

Text and image copyright Robin Tompkins 2023 all rights reserved

[someonestolemygrilledcheese]

Warriors: Call of the spirits

Chapter two

Please tell me how to link my first chapter so new readers can find the first one 🥲

Pebble scowled to himself, following the limping Gravel through the damp grass of the fields beyond the cabin.

a certain nervousness grew in his belly as they strayed farther and farther from the cabin, the breeze ruffling Pebbles long fur and making him long to be resting in the safety of their den. “Gravel, we should head back, you’ll never find that mouse!” Pebble hissed to Gravel, annoyed by his lack on urgency.

“hold on! I’ve got a scent, and when that mouse is in my mouth, we can head back.”

Gravel mewled as he sniffed the air, as if that was going to be easiest thing ever.

“yeah but..” Pebble looked down at the flowering grass, seeing his paws were dampened by morning dew and crushed grass.

“come on! The sooner you stop complaining the faster we get back.” Gravel darted into the forest to his right, Pebble sighing internally as he perked his ears and chased after him.

“Are you sure the scent was a mouse..? The field could’ve left anything when it’s damp, my paws will smell like dandelions and a muddy puddle for days.” Pebble complained, shaking out his paws before stepping onto the dry forest undergrowth.

“I’m positively sure it was a mouse scent, don’t you worry your little whiskers.” Gravel said confidently, leading into the forest.

as they entered, a new scent made Pebbles pelt prickle.

it wasn’t a like a wolf or a bear, but..it smelled like them? It was a cats, a..lot of them. It smelled of tree sap and squirrels.

“uh..Gravel?” Pebble whispered, but he wasn’t listening.

Gravel had sighted their mouse, crouching under the bracken and ferns towards the dusty brown scrap of fur.

His ears flattened as the scent grew, turning his head to the bushes as it rustled, a short growl warned from it as a figure pounced on Pebble, a paw pinning down Pebble by the neck as he turned side ways to look at the oblivious Gravel, who was still hunting.

he tried to call out to his brother, but the pressure put on his throat made it impossible for him to speak.

Though Pebble could understand why Gravel was oblivious to the new scent. these mysterious cats had smelled so much like the forest itself, you couldn’t even tell they were cats if you were unfocused to the slight change in scent. But Pebble, had always noticed these tiny differences, even when he was a tiny kit, sometimes even annoyingly so.

as Gravel bunched his hind legs, ready to pounce on his long awaited prize, amber eyes flashed as a large long haired dark brown tabby Tom leaped next to the mouse, it trilling in fear and scrambling into the ferns as the tabby looked down at the smaller Tom.

Gravel let out a startled yelp as the tabby flashed an unreadable look at him. “ShiftingBranch! Look! I caught this loner sneaking around on our territory!” The young voice of the Tom who pinned Pebble down yowled proudly to the Tom.

“Yes, I’m aware, StingingWasp.” The tabby said, uninterested.

“We should teach them to respect our scent markers- right?” The young Tom asked, as if wanting to sink their fangs into Pebbles throat.

ShiftingBranch growled internally, baring his fangs at Gravel, “this is our territory, loner. The forest is and will always be ours, so don’t even think about hunting here again.”

“Yeah! What he said!” The Tom pinning down Pebble exclaimed.

“But we didn’t know! It’s not fair we should go hungry because you’re being greedy about a bunch of trees!” Gravel hissed back, flattening his ears as he challenged ShiftingBranch.

Pebble could feel the anger shifting from StingingWasps muscles as he pinned him, Pebble going limp so he couldn’t take his anger out on him. ShiftingBranch’s tail lashed, his claws unsheathed as he clawed Gravel across the muzzle, taking Gravels moment of vulnerability to bite into his right ear, Gravel mewled in pain as the tabby pinned him down, hissing in his face.

“Since you want to talk like you’re my upper ranking, I’m going to teach you a lesson you won’t forget any time soon.” He hissed, Pebbles eyes widening in horror as ShiftingBranch was about to bite down on Gravels throat.

Pebble squirmed under Wasps paws, but it was no use, he was helpless. As he thought he was about to watch the death of his brother, a cat went in front of the two, a medium haired black Tom with white markings, his copper eyes matching Gravels.

“That’s enough Branch! He’s only a SmallClaw!” The Tom hissed to ShiftingBranch, arching his back as he stared at the brown tabby.

ShiftingBranch scowled, lifting his gaze to the Tom, though he kept Gravel tightly pinned down. “A Loner SmallClaw, trespassing, and hunting, on our territory.” He reminded the black Tom.

“How is he supposed to know that, to be honest, our markers don’t stand out against the forest all that well.” The Tom glanced at Gravel curiously.

“And it should stay that way, no one can scent us coming!” ShiftingBranch exclaimed, proud.

“Just let the poor SmallClaws go, you shouldn’t waste your energy saving DustyOaks from mass destruction.” The black Tom joked, as if thinking ShiftingBranch thought of the two young brothers that way.

”ugh! You’re a little suck up DarkeningShade.” ShiftingBranch rolled his eyes, taking his paw off Gravel as he scrambled up, his eyes darting from the two toms before back at Pebble. “StingingWasp…” DarkeningShade warned

“Aww..thought I was actually going to get some action today.” He sighed, stepping off Pebble, cantering to DarkeningShade with a disappointed look.

Pebble got a good look at the Tom, as young as them, a long haired dark ginger Rosetted cat with yellow eyes.

Pebble quickly got to his paws, going over to Gravel as they sprinted away from the three cats, the two older cats glaring at them as the young Tom hissed,

“and don’t come back! Next time we won’t be as generous!”

//This is where the story gets more ✨juicy✨ I swear! Thanks for following! It really means a lot to me.//