Tumgik
#and since tattoos are supposed to mean something id have to think very carefully about giving a full on backstory for them
Note
going thru your posts, I see that you have tattoos. Would you ever write stories with tattooed readers for all of us that have them too?
Hi, Anon! I’ve actually written one set of stories featuring a reader with tattoos: It’s the Ink-verse for Logan Delos.  Neon Lights reader has one tattoo on her wrist.  But I think that’s all for currently tattooed Reader-insert characters on my masterlist.  I would love to write for more tattooed readers/OCs in the future - I just need to find the right storyline for them. (Ryan would love it, and I think that Din, Ezra and maybe even Whiskey would be more than a little curious and appreciative, too).  Did you have a specific character that you wanted to see written with a tattooed reader? 
6 notes · View notes
bosspigeon · 3 years
Text
one for sorrow
Pairing: Gen, M!Detective/Mason Word Count:  3483 Summary: Juniper Fenn reflects on memories, nursery rhymes, loneliness, and wanting to be wanted.
Just a little (uh... kinda big, actually?) character study for my soft boy, Juni! It wound up a lot more emotional than I originally intended, but I like having this insight into his character.
CW for (implied) deadnaming, misgendering, coming out, and in the last portion a non-graphic post-sex scene with some allusions to said sex ahfdsjh.
                                     One for sorrow, two for joy.
He thought the needle would hurt more than it did. He closes his eyes and looks away, and the artist gives him the hairy eyeball when he clutches at Tina’s knee, like she’s afraid he’ll jump off the bench and bolt for the door. He wants to ask if that’s happened before, but he thinks he’s made enough of a fool of himself so far.
“You sure you’re good?” she asks, giving him an out. Somehow, that just strengthens his resolve.
He takes a slow breath and nods, closing his eyes.
He hears the buzzing, and when the machine first touches skin, he almost jumps, but he’s more worried about looking like more of a baby than he already does than he is startled, so he bites his lips and forces himself to holds still. And it does hurt, but not like he thought it would. He squints one eye open to watch the progress of the first line over his skin. He expects to be repulsed, like when he’s having bloodwork done, and he has to look away from the needle going into his arm. But this is different, somehow. Doesn’t make his stomach turn.
“This is the quietest I’ve ever seen you,” Tina teases, when the first wing has taken shape. He almost jumps again, but he manages to contain it to a twitch. He’s going to tip the artist as much as he’s able after this is done, just for dealing with someone as fidgety as him.
He chews at his lip. “It’s… I dunno. I wouldn’t say it feels good, but it’s kind of soothing, in a weird way?”
She leans over, watching, and the artist gives her a bit of a look, so she backs up again. “Have you told your mum?” she asks.
He snorts out a laugh and looks away, back at the stencil on his arm that will soon be filled in with black feathers and ringed with flowers. “Of course not. She’d probably kill me.”
“She doesn’t like tattoos?” Tina tilts her head, watching his face like she’s waiting for him to start whining about how it hurts. She’s always been the tougher of the two of them, and he’s got no illusions about that, so he’s sort of proud of himself for keeping his cool—as much as he’s got anyway.
He shrugs the arm that’s not under the machine, and wonders when he’ll get his next tattoo. He’s already got ideas for more, and knowing that it’s not so bad as he was worried it would be is exciting. Not to mention, it’s something that’s just for him. Not for anyone else. He’s… never really done anything like this before. “I don’t know what she likes, but I doubt she’d approve.”
She sucks her teeth and he squeezes her knee again when she gives him that soft, sad look she sometimes does when his mum comes up in conversation. “What’s it going to be?” she asks suddenly. Tina’s a good friend, changing the subject before he can get moody about it.
“A magpie,” he says softly, looking back down to watch the lone bird slowly taking shape on his skin.
                                       Three for a girl, four for a boy.
He asks what happened to all the pretty paintings around the house when he’s ten, because they disappear sometime after one of Mum’s visits, when she seemed more distant than usual. Maybe she hopes he won’t notice, but he misses them immediately. The house is too bare without them, it feels so lonely. It’s always been lonely, ever since Dad passed, but the bare walls make it even lonelier. Mum brushes it off, of course. He’s used to it at this point, so he doesn’t push her, but he’s also stubborn, so he goes looking. He’s even more determined when she tries to shut him up by replacing them all with clean, impersonal prints in neat little frames. He finds them in the attic, tucked away in a box, each one slipped carefully into a protective sleeve or folder and wrapped in tissue paper. He finds a dreamy matted watercolor of him as a baby, fat and freckly and smiling with no teeth, and he has to take a minute to sit down and cry as quietly as possible before he can start going through the rest. There’s a folder of scrawled pencil portraits, too. He finds one of Mum sitting on a pier, peeking back over her shoulder with her hair blowing in the wind. She’s smiling. He can’t remember the last time he saw her smile.
There’s a self portrait that makes him laugh through his tears, because the reflective surface Dad seems to have used as his mirror is a Christmas ornament, so his face is distorted, one eye huge, his tongue out, drawing himself drawing. He keeps that one for sure, and a few of the other ones he thinks he can get away with. An oil pastel of a wooden swing dripping with honeysuckle, a colored pencil drawing of the library, a few studies of people and plants and animals, and another watercolor of the three magpies, sitting in a juniper tree.
There are three magpies painted on his bedroom wall, from back when it was his nursery. Dad painted them right after he was born, before they brought him home from the hospital. They’d waited until he arrived to know what his gender would be. Of course, he went and messed that up, like he did most things. Sometimes he wonders if Dad would be disappointed, or if he’d think it was funny.
They used to be above his crib, and then his bed when he outgrew that, but he moves his bed to the opposite side of his room when he’s fourteen, and covers them with a poster. He thinks for sure Mum’s going to give him an earful about it, but he’s surprised she hasn’t tried to cover them up herself. He supposes it’s not really an issue, since when she is home, it’s not like she spends any time in his bedroom.
And then he's sixteen, and he’s been practicing his watercolor for years at this point. Sometimes, he creeps into the attic when he’s got the house to himself, rifles through Dad’s paintings, studies his style for as long as he can. He’s been old enough not to need a proper nanny for years now, though someone comes to check up on him frequently and make sure he’s got food and necessities, but beyond that he’s got plenty of time alone. He sits in the attic until he's sore from the wooden floor, trying to think of how Dad’s hands might have looked while he worked, the speed and angle of his brush strokes. He doesn’t think he can find anything new at this point, as many times as he’s snuck up here to look at Dad’s work, but out of the blue, he finds what might have been a really nice landscape, if it weren’t marred by fat little handprints in bright yellow and green, as if he’d smeared his hands across the palette the second Da took his eyes off it, and slapped them down in the middle of the paper. He comes back to it a lot, when he spends time in the attic, because when he looks at it, he swears he can hear what he imagines Dad’s laugh sounded like, his voice calling him a little menace with all the fondness in the world. 
And then he’s eighteen, and he’s alone on his birthday. Mum calls, tells him she loves him and she would come and visit him later on, so they could do something together, but she couldn’t take the day off. She tells him how proud she is of her daughter being all grown up, and he winces, but keeps his mouth shut.
And then he maybe gets a little bit drunk, drags out his paints and brushes, rifles through the portfolio hidden carefully in the back of his closet, and finds the painting with the juniper tree and the three magpies
He takes another shot to steady his nerves, and paints in a fourth.
                                      Five for silver, six for gold.
He shouldn’t be surprised Mum doesn't come to his graduation, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. She’s busy, she’s always been busy, she’s been busy since he was a toddler.
He was stupid to believe anything he did would be important enough for her to bother with. To believe that he could matter to anyone enough.
Tina’s stepmum had more foresight than he did, inviting him along to her and Tina’s celebration dinner at a fancy restaurant out of town, and he has to take a minute to cry in the bathroom after they proudly present him with a messily wrapped gift and a card that practically explodes with glitter when he open it, but he can’t even pretend to be annoyed because it has his name in it, and while he's trying very hard not to break down crying in public, Tina hugs him so tightly his spine creaks and tells him she couldn’t have wished for a better brother.
When they drop him off at home, his eyes are still red and a bit wet, he’s full of good food and affection, and he’s smiling like an idiot in spite of the fact that he can’t stop sniffling. The heavy sterling silver magpie skull charm rests against his collarbone, the weight comforting in a way he can’t hope to put into words. He'll never forget Tina’s dewy, smiling eyes as she clasped it around his neck and told him proudly, “Now you’ve got two.'"
He falls into bed holding the charm, reluctant to take it off, but knowing he should put it somewhere safe before bed. He exhales a happy sigh, laughing a bit wetly to himself.
And then his phone vibrates in the pocket of his slacks, and his heart seizes in his chest.
He doesn’t have to check the ID to know who it is. Nobody ever calls him, and his eyes flicker anxiously to the pressed dress in its plastic garment bag still hanging untouched on the back of his closet door. He’d given Tina the expensive name-brand heels for her own graduation outfit, because even if he did want them, he couldn’t walk in the damn things anyway. Lucky for him, they wear the same size shoe.
He takes a moment to calm his breathing, but that means he has to fumble to answer the call before it ends, and he winces when he sees two more missed calls in his log. “Mum!” he blurts, his voice instinctively pitching higher. “Hi! How are you?”
“I’m fine,” she tells him easily. “I’m sorry again I couldn’t make it today. There was  a—”
“A big project, I know,” he finishes. It’s always a project, or a trip, or a meeting. The details are always scant, but Mum knows how to make it sound big and important and in need of her attention. He’s tried not to be bitter about it, but there’s always been a part of him that wishes, for once, she’d decide he was important enough to need her attention. “It’s okay, Mum.” It’s not, it never was, but it would be selfish of him to tell her that. She’s got enough to worry about.
“Well, I didn’t want you to think I’d forgotten, so I had a gift delivered. It should have arrived today.”
He bites back a sigh. He wonders if it would be easier if she had just forgotten. If it would hurt less than knowing she always made the decision not to see him. “Oh, I’ll go check!” he blurts, trying to inject as much enthusiasm into his voice as possible. He rolls out of bed and heads for the door, poking out to check the mailbox. Of course, inside there is a slim, rectangular package, wrapped in tidy brown paper. The address and names are printed on stickers.
He takes it inside with the phone tucked against his shoulder, weighing the box in his hands. It’s light, and he wants to be excited about whatever it is, but he’s suddenly drained from the day, from crying and laughing and crying some more.
The dining room, somehow, has always felt more lonely than anywhere else in the house, and he’s never been able to figure out why, but he puts the package on the table and starts picking at the neat wrapping. Mum is quiet on the other end of the phone, waiting, and Juni wants to break the odd silence, but can’t even begin to think of what to say. He wishes he didn’t bite his nails, because it takes him way too long to break into the pristine paper, and inside is a long red jewelry box. When he lifts the lid, there is a delicate gold necklace resting on a soft velvet pad, understated and objectively lovely, if not really his style, but it’s the note that flutters out of the box that catches his attention. His eyes skim the note, expecting her usual platitudes that he sometimes wonders if she has someone else type for her.
I am so proud of the woman you’ve become.
His breath leaves him in a painful, strangled rush, his lungs squeezing tight in his chest. And before Mum can speak, he blurts "I can't take this," trailed by a ragged sob.
“Of course you can,” she says gently, kindly. “I know how you get about expensive gifts, but really, it’s no trouble—”
His head fills with screaming static when she calls him what she’s always called him, what she doesn’t know better than to call him, because he’s never told her. He’s never had the chance, it’s never been the right time, it felt wrong not to do it in person, but whenever he sees her in person he feels like he shouldn’t waste the time with her by bringing up something so…
“My name is Juniper!” It explodes out of him, louder than he’s ever been with her, and it stuns her into silence. “I’m not your daughter!” he cries desperately, “I’m your son. You can’t be proud of the woman I’ve become, because I’m not a woman!” He sounds insane, he knows he does, shrill and frantic, but his heart is hammering so hard he feels dizzy, the walls are yawning wide around him, the dining room feels huge and so empty and so bleak. He’s never felt more alone in this dark, quiet house he’s spent his entire life rattling around in than he does in this exact moment, and it’s suffocating. His phone drops from shaking fingers onto the floor, and he drops with it, curling into a ball and struggling to remember how to breathe, dizzily hoping he won’t need to go scrambling for his inhaler. His fingers clench so tightly around the heavy silver charm he’s almost worried he’s going to snap the simple leather cord, but he needs to ground himself or he feels like he’ll dissolve entirely.
He hears Mum calling the name that’s not his, and when he finally manages to fumble his phone with nerveless fingers, he winces seeing the screen is cracked. “I’m sorry,” he sobs weakly, his eyes burning with tears. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He can’t even be sure what he’s apologizing for, but he knows he has to, especially when he slams the end call button and buries his face in his knees so he can cry alone in the dark.
                              Seven for a secret, never to be told.
Juni’s skin is starting to get clammy, but he’s too comfortable to move. Eventually, he’s going to have to, if for nothing else than to get up and get cleaned up, but for now, he’s happy, if a little chilly. He nuzzles into the soft curls dusted across Mason’s chest, and lets his eyelids fall to half-mast, just open enough to absently count the freckles hidden under the chest hair, inevitably lose count, and start counting again. Mason smells good, cooling sweat and sandalwood, and dozy as he is, it takes a moment for Juni to realize he doesn’t really smell like smoke at all anymore. His room doesn’t smell lke smoke, either, he realizes. His heart thuds hard behind his ribs.
He gets distracted when a shiver rolls over him, the chill suddenly overwhelming against his sticky skin, and he curls further into Mason’s chest in an attempt to leach some of his warmth.
Mason clicks his tongue, and Juni’s whole body stiffens, worry zinging into his gut to rattle around there like a bird in a too-small cage. Mason shifts underneath him, and he starts to roll away, to apologize, to get out of his hair, before a strong hand clasps the back of his neck.
“Hold still,” Mason grunts, sitting up and patting around for the edge of the blanket. He pulls it out from under them both, which almost sends the detective rolling off the bed against his will this time, but Mason's hand shifts down to spread across his lower back and hold him steady until he can get them both tucked underneath.
He flops back against the pillows again, one arm tucked under his head and the other loose at his side, and slowly, cautiously, Juni crawls his way under it. The hand lands  on his hip and squeezes, and Juni settles his head back on the vampire’s chest just in time to hear the pleased little rumble there. He flushes down to his chest and bites his lip, distracting himself by petting at Mason’s chest hair.
And then he pokes his flat, brown nipple and says, “Boop!” on some stupid impulse, and giggles like an idiot.
Mason scoffs and rolls his eyes, but shifts so that Juni’s thigh hitches up over his. “Keep that up, sweetheart, and we’ll be going into round two sooner rather than later.” Juni can feel the truth in that statement against his thigh, and he blushes so hotly he knows Mason can feel it at every point their bodies are touching. He might be approaching supernova levels of heat when Mason smugly adds, “Well, round two for me. Three for you.”
He hides his face in Mason’s chest with a long groan. “I’m going to explode,” he declares. “I’m going to collapse like a dying star.”
Mason laughs, sharp and startled and shockingly bright, and Juni’s head shoots up so he can see his face. His hair is a mess, but of course it still looks amazing, hanging around his face in loose, sweat-damp spirals. His vulpine grey eyes are crinkling at the corners, even his sharp nose wrinkling in a way that makes Juni’s heart almost stop. And his mouth, usually either pinned into a scowl, or twisted into a sly (and stupidly attractive) smirk,  is curled into a smile, breathtaking in its open softness.
God, I love you, Juni wants to cry, his heart pounding in counterpoint to the desperate, silent declaration he traps behind his teeth by digging them into his lower lip so hard he’s almost afraid he’s going to make himself bleed. And it doesn’t stop. I love you, I love you, I love you drums in his chest, hums through his blood, and when Mason catches him looking, he reaches out to push the tangled forelock of curls hanging in Juni’s eyes out of his face, cupping his cheek to pull him into a kiss. Juni shivers and braces his hand on Mason’s chest, feeling the vampire’s heart thumping there, steady and stable and achingly familiar. His own matches it beat for beat, and thankfully his mouth is too occupied for the pulsing plea of love me, love me, please love me to spill out. So he dives into it, clings to it, and when Mason breaks away to let him breathe, Juni buries his mouth against the arch of his throat instead, presses messy kisses to his collarbones, his chest, his shoulders, throttles the words before they can escape him and pushes them into touches instead. Touches can’t damn him the way words can.
There’s a soft, shameful part of him he ignores like he always has that whispers to him that maybe, just maybe, if he pours enough of himself into every kiss, every touch, that the words will finally be understood. That the weak little part of him he buries deeper and deeper every time it cries out will finally be seen, and answered, and cradled tenderly in someone’s strong, freckled hands.
But until then, it will sit there in his chest under lock and key and ache, like all his secrets do.
28 notes · View notes
pikapeppa · 3 years
Text
Professor Solas/Lavellan: First Impressions
Chap 1 of Inadvisable (professor Solas AU) is posted! In which Nare Lavellan has a chance run-in, literally. 
Beautiful art by Nare’s creator, @elbenherzart​!
~2400 words; read on AO3 instead.
Tumblr media
- NARE -
Nare swept her hair into a tidy ponytail, then gave her face one last critical look before stepping out of her bedroom. She tapped lightly on the closed bedroom door across from her own. “Tamaris?” she called. “Are you–”
“I’m coming,” Tamaris grunted. “Give me two fucking minutes.”
Nare smirked at Tamaris’s customary early-morning surliness, then padded quietly down the hall to the living room. Athera was waiting pertly on the couch with a half-finished cup of tea in her hands, and she grinned at Nare as she approached. 
“She’s awake, at least?” Athera asked.
“Awake enough,” Nare said drolly. She sat next to Athera and tucked her legs up on the couch. “Are you nervous about your first day?”
Athera laughed. “Me? Nervous? Of course not! Just a normal first day doing this job for the first time in the only Ancient Elvhen Studies program in the entire country. What’s to be nervous about?”
Nare sympathetically eyed her friend’s bright smile. She didn’t blame Athera for being nervous. Athera had been looking for a research coordinator position for years. Her new job at the University of Orlais was well-earned, in Nare’s opinion, and it was just a stroke of happy fortune that Athera was starting her job at the same time that Nare was starting her Master’s of fine arts with U of O’s prestigious — and infamous — Ancient Elvhen Studies program. 
It was also serendipitous that Tamaris had decided she wanted a change of pace and place, resulting in the three girls splitting the rent on a cozy three-bedroom-plus-studio apartment close to the university.
“Don’t be nervous,” Nare said warmly. “It’s going to be great! By the end of the week, the director will be wondering how they lived without you making the whole lab twice as efficient.”
Athera grimaced and ran a hand through her hair long chestnut hair. “I don’t know. Professor Abelas did not sound that impressed with my lack of experience during the phone interview. I’m still surprised I got the job.”
“He probably thinks he can train you up fresh since you’re so-called ‘inexperienced’,” Nare said knowingly. “He’ll see how good you are in two seconds. I’m sure of it.”
Athera smiled at her. “Aw, you’re sweet. I bet you’re going to impress your new supervisor just as much when you meet with him tomorrow.”
“I hope so,” Nare said. But her belly jolted at the mention of Solas. 
Professor Solas, she reminded herself. Just because she had a crush on her new supervisor’s voice didn’t mean she could start thinking of him in an informal way before they’d even met. 
Oh, but he had such a gorgeous voice. The majority of her communication with Professor Solas had been via email, but the one time they’d spoken on the phone… Fenedhis, Nare couldn’t get it out of her mind. His voice was smooth and mild like a hot vanilla latte, with a curl of an Elvhen accent that made something shiver in her belly in a very visceral way. She was still surprised that she’d managed to keep her calm and sound like a reasonable and intelligent person after hearing Professor Solas’s first few words floating into her ear through the phone. 
And that was just from hearing him talk about the Elvhen art stream of the program and the opportunities for exhibiting her work in the galleries in Val Royeaux. Imagine if he ever spoke to her in that beautiful smooth voice about other, less professional things… 
Stop it, she scolded herself silently. She was being so stupid and horny, developing a crush on a man purely for his voice. Well, not just his voice: he was incredibly intelligent and knowledgeable, and strong-willed to the point of stubborn as well, if his academic position papers were anything to go by. But if Nare was being honest, his intelligence wasn’t the main thing that had been keeping her up at night for the past couple of months since she and Solas had last spoken on the phone. 
It was stupid to be thinking such carnal things about his voice, though. She didn’t even know what he looked like — not for a lack of trying to find out, if she was perfectly honest. She’d searched online for a photo of her soon-to-be supervisor, but he didn’t have a faculty photo anywhere on the U of O website, and a Google search had been shockingly unhelpful, leaving Nare with only a blank slate to imagine along with that knicker-melting voice. 
“Nare, you okay?” Athera said.
Nare jolted slightly, then smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. Just thinking.”
Athera gave her a shrewd look. “Something tells me I’m not the only one who’s nervous.”
“I thought you weren’t nervous,” Nare teased.
Athera grinned, but Tamaris’s grumpy voice interrupted before Athera could reply. “You guys have nothing to be nervous about. You’re going to impress the shit out of everyone. Now let’s go get some coffee already.” She wandered over to the door and started jamming her feet into her scuffed black motorcycle boots. 
Nare exchanged a smirk with Athera, then popped up from the couch. “Good morning, lethallan,” she crooned. 
Athera giggled and hugged Tamaris’s arm. “Good morning,” she sing-songed.
Tamaris groaned. “Fuck off, both of you. I’m only awake this early because I have a client in an hour.” 
“Wait, is it already nine?” Athera said in alarm. She checked her watch, then squeaked. “Oh shoot! Oh shoot, I’m supposed to meet Abelas at the office in fifteen minutes!” She shoved her feet onto a pair of flats and grabbed her bag, then flung open the door. “Bye! Have a good one!” she yelled, and she bolted down the stairs. 
Nare smiled at Tamaris. “Looks like it’s just you and me.”
“Lucky you,” Tamaris drawled. “You get to suffer my morning-gremlin attitude all alone.”
Nare chuckled, and they made their way down the stairs at a more measured pace and wandered toward their favourite café at the end of the block. 
It was a perfect crisp early-September day. The sun was a lovely warm wash of light, and the air was fresh and cool without being cold. The leaves hadn’t started changing colours yet, but the quality of their verdancy was starting to shift from the lush springlike undertones of blue to the more autumn-like undertones of yellow. When Nare pointed this out to Tamaris, Tamaris huffed in amusement.
“That’s such an artist-y thing to say,” she said. 
Nare gave her a chiding look. “You say that like you aren’t an artist yourself.” She pointedly eyed the delicate vallaslin that curled around Tamaris’s left eye — vallaslin that Tamaris had carefully tapped into her own skin, and the same skills which had imbued Nare and Athera with their vallaslin as well.
“I don’t often work with colour, though,” Tamaris said. 
“Isn’t your client this morning for a coloured tattoo?”
“Yeah, but that’s different than painting,” Tamaris pointed out. 
“Your tattoo work is amazing, though,” Nare said.
Tamaris smirked. “Fine. We’re both amazing artists with mind-blowing skills. Are you going to buy my coffee for me because I’m so awesome?”
“I’m the student here,” Nare said with a grin. “You should be buying me coffee.”
Tamaris tsked. “Fine. Just this once though, you leech.” She pulled open the café door and gestured sarcastically for Nare to enter before her.
Nare chuckled and slid into the café. They placed their orders together, then sat at a sunny table to enjoy their coffee and fresh scones — vegan blueberry for Nare, and lemon-glazed for Tamaris. 
Nare took the lid off of her cup and blew on her coffee. “So you’re coming to the start-of-year mixer tonight, right?”
Tamaris slumped in her seat and shoved a hand through her lush midnight curls. “Explain again why you want me to come to this mixer thing. I’m not a student.”
“It doesn’t matter that you’re not a student,” Nare said. In truth, she just wanted to get Tamaris out of the apartment before she started forming roots.
“It kind of does,” Tamaris said flatly. “It’s happening at the campus bar.”
“Lots of non-students go to the campus bar,” Nare pointed out. “It’s a nice bar.”
Tamaris grunted. Nare leaned toward her slightly. “Come on, Tam,” she wheedled. “Come to the mixer. Athera’s coming.”
“She works at the university now,” Tamaris pointed out. “It makes sense for her to go.”
Nare wilted. “What else are you going to do if you stay home?”
Tamaris’s reply was prompt. “I’ll rewatch The Archdemon Rises 3 for the fifth time and paint my nails.”
Nare declined to mention that Tamaris’s eggplant-purple manicure was still intact since she’d last done her nails two days ago. Instead, she widened her eyes pleadingly. “Please come? We’ll make a girls’ night of it. It’ll be fun, I promise.” 
Tamaris eyed her stonily for a moment, then sighed. “Ugh, you and your baby blues. Fine, I’ll come.” 
Nare beamed at her and took a bite of her scone. A leisurely half-hour later, they stepped out of the café.
Tamaris stretched her arms over her head. “All right, I’m headed home,” she said with a yawn. “You sure you don’t want to wait until tomorrow so we can go to that museum exhibit together?”
Nare shook her head. “I want to see it before my meeting with my supervisor tomorrow.”
Tamaris smirked. “Hoping to impress him with your up-to-date knowledge of the local art scene, huh?”
Nare poked her playfully. “Yes, okay? I want to make a good first impression.”
“You’ll be fine,” Tamaris said. “You always make a good first impression.”
Tamaris’s tone was dry, and Nare gazed fondly at her seemingly standoffish friend. “Thanks,” she said sincerely. “I’ll see you later.” 
Tamaris nodded and headed back to the apartment, and Nare turned in the opposite direction toward the modern art museum. She pulled her phone out of her purse and tapped open her browser to check the price of tickets for the special neo-Avvar exhibit; she was fairly sure she’d get a discounted admission with her student ID, but some of the museum’s special exhibits were even free for students, and Nare couldn’t remember if— 
She suddenly slammed right into someone. 
She stumbled back, then squeaked in alarm as she tripped over an uneven crack in the sidewalk. Her phone dropped from her fingers, and she grabbed for it even as she tried to find her footing, oh no oh shit she was going to fall down–
A strong pair of hands grabbed her arms, and Nare gasped as she regained her balance. “Shit,” she blurted. “I’m so sorry, I – my phone, I was distracted…”
“The fault is mine. I apologize.” 
A heated ripple of recognition spilled down her spine. That voice. She knew that voice. She’d been replaying that voice in her head for months and wondering what the person who owned that voice looked like: how tall he was, how big his hands were, what his lips looked like shaped around the liquids vowels of that divine Arlathani accent… 
Lightheaded with disbelief, her heart in her throat, Nare lifted her eyes to his face.
Her breath left her in a punch of shock. Gorgeous. He was gorgeous. An impeccably shaven head, a mere hint of crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes which put him somewhere in his late 30s or early 40s, lush lips with a perfect cupid’s bow, a delicate divot in his chin and a jawline sharp enough to cut, and his eyes… 
His eyes were perfectly lucid, a perfect quixotic blend of light grey and pale blue that Nare couldn’t quite name, and they were so warm. His eyebrows were creased with a hint of concern, and when the crease in his brow deepened, she realized that she was staring.
“Are you all right?” Professor Solas said. 
She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Which was a good thing, because the only words Nare could think were you are fucking hot.
She nodded dumbly. A tiny hint of a smile curled the left corner of his lips, and he released her arms. “I apologize for the collision,” he said, and he crouched down to pick up his book and her phone. “I should know better than to read and walk at the same time.” 
Nare watched stupidly as he rose to his full height. Fenedhis, he was tall.
He held out her phone, and Nare carefully studied his face. There was no recognition there. There was warmth in his handsome face, but no recognition. He didn’t know who she was. 
Not that she would necessarily expect him to, since he was a professional and an intellectual, and professional intellectuals probably didn’t online-stalk their new grad students to find out what they looked like. 
She took her phone with trembling fingers and swallowed hard. “Thank you,” she whispered. 
“You’re welcome,” he said. “You are not hurt, I hope?” 
Ugh, he was so good-looking. Why did her supervisor have to be her exact ideal physical type?
She dropped his gaze and tucked a stray strand of hair over her ear. “I — no. I’m fine,” she said in a tiny voice. 
“Good,” he said. “And again, I apologize for the collision.” 
She shrugged and tried to nod at the same time, then wanted to smack herself for being so fucking awkward.
“Take care,” he said. A moment later, he was walking away from her. 
She finally dragged in a breath and watched greedily as Professor Solas walked away. For someone who had such a mild voice and such kind eyes, his gait was certainly confident. 
Confident and sexy. 
Nare blew out a breath and forced herself to turn away. She was shaking. Why was she shaking? Why was her heart beating so hard, not just in her chest but in her entire body? 
Why was her mind completely taken over by the thought of Professor Solas stretching her naked body out on a desk, those warm grey-blue eyes scanning her from head to toe before he taught her all kinds of torrid lessons that she would never forget? 
Fuck, she thought desperately. I am in so much trouble.
51 notes · View notes
hazeofhearts · 6 years
Text
Last Minute (Connor x reader)
Tumblr media
Soulmate au: first thing your soulmate says to you is tattooed on your body
Warnings: Swearing, drinking (legal!)
As soon as androids deviated, they got soulmate tattoos. No matter where they were or who they were with or what they were doing at the time. They all got soulmate tattoos.
Nobody knew how this phenomenon worked. After the android revolution, Elijah Kamski himself took it upon himself to have an internationally broadcasted interview about it. Immediately everyone was swarming chat forums for what it could mean. One person even suggested that that was why maybe a lot of people didn’t have soulmate marks.
Like you for example.
Everyone up until this point in time, thought that if you didn’t have a soulmate tattoo by the time you were five, then your soulmate hadn’t been born yet. All through middle school, high school and college you were made fun of for not having a soulmate tattoo. And the older you got, the more you feared when and how you would meet your soulmate.
Currently you were twenty three, on the edge of your seat, ready to watch the news and see what Elijah fucking Kamski had to say about the whole android soulmate thing because an android was obviously much more preferable than a child.
Absentmindedly, you brushed your fingers over the small line of neat text printed across your wrist. The single five word statement popping up eight months ago in November. It was right around the android revolution in fact.
The logo for the local news station flashed on the screen before Elijah simply popped up onto the screen. You gasped aloud at the sight of him. He was very attractive. But his name wasn’t the one featured in the words that were on your wrist.
Elijah went on the explain what he and his team had been testing for months. They had manufactured an android and waited for it to become deviant. When it did so, a soulmate tattoo appeared on their skin. Then they let it out into the world and followed it secretly, seeing if the experience was the exact same for humans. They’d followed it for more than a year before the android met its soulmate and it was love at first sight.
Then, something happened that set your phone and laptop blowing up even more than they already were. Your laptop was sitting in the news website forum and your phone was constantly refreshing from the discourse chat you were in.
Markus, the leader of the android revolution, was sitting in a chair across from Elijah Kamski. A flash of hope raised itself in you but lowered once again when you saw that Markus had pulled up his sleeve.
The camera zoomed in to show the words ‘Welcome to Jericho’ printed in swirling script across his wrist. Your brow furrowed as you recalled that the deviant android hide out was called Jericho.
Your eyes scanned the chat on the news site, seeing people spurt out weird conspiracy theories but also being really mature about the whole situation. Meanwhile, the people on the discourse weren’t being as grown up about the situation.
You closed out the tab on your phone and did the same for your laptop before turning them both off. You sat leaning forward on your overstuffed couch in your near barren living room.
When would your soulmate come? Who would they be? Were they an android? They had to be, right?
You sighed and finished out the program, more longing in your chest than ever before. Now that you had your soulmate tattoo, you just wanted to meet them but you knew that wasn’t how it worked. It was all up to fate.
You heaved yourself up from your couch and walked to the kitchen to get yourself something to eat. If you planned on drinking tonight, which you just decided you were, you needed to fill yourself up. Your roommate came out of her room, her LED flashing yellow as she watched you mope around the kitchen, gathering stuff to make yourself a sandwich.
“Did you watch the soulmate program?”
“Yeah,” you said forlornly.
“Here, let me,” she said as she pushed your hands aside.
“No, Macey, let me.”
“No, no,” Macey said, flapping her hands before combining your preferred ingredients together to make your favorite sandwich.
“I know you were a housekeeper model before you deviated but I swear, your mothering instincts have doubled since we became roommates.”
Macey chuckled, a few of her dreadlocks falling out of their loose bun she had on the side of her head. You twisted them up and back into the mix and she thanked you, handing you your sandwich.
You both sat at the table in silence, listening to the rain patter on the roof as Macey poured some chips on your plate as well. You played with your food for a bit before actually eating anything. Macey simply stared at you with her hands folded. She was waiting for you to make the first move.
“So how was your day,” you inquired.
Macey rose a carefully arched eyebrow at you before deciding to play along.
“It was good. Work was normal. That creepy guy came back again and asked for my number. I told him I didn’t have a phone but that I could remember his number and he got pissed again. It’s like he doesn’t see my LED. Not to mention that if he thought we were soulmates that we would have known already.”
You scoffed in disgust.
“The nerve of that guy honestly confuses me. Like he’s so blinded by whatever that he doesn’t realize that you’re not blowing him off and that you can LITERALLY call him with your MIND!”
Macey laughs, tossing her head back, her perfectly winged eyeliner catching your attention.
“Hey, Macey. Can you do my makeup tonight?”
“For what,” she inquired, her giggles still sitting under her words.
“I want to go out tonight. Get fucked up. You can come if you want but would you mind doing my makeup?”
Macey clapped her hands and grabbed her five tier makeup caboodle from her room, smacking it down on the table before spreading it open like her black market bag of makeup tips and tricks.
You swallowed the last bite of sandwich that was in your mouth and dropped the paper plate into the trash, stretching yourself slightly to reach the can.
Macey approached you and commanded you not to look until everything was done. Once she stepped away, she handed you a mirror. She left you with a glittery royal blue eye shadow and dramatically winged liner to match your dark red lipstick. It was very dramatic but very much what you wanted.
“Can I pick your outfit too?”
“Sure. Make me look hot but also please make it comfortable.”
Macey sent you a wink before jogging off to rummage around in your closet.
She came back with dark jeans, a white T-shirt and your leather jacket for you. You smiled softly as she placed the items on the table.
“Thanks.”
You changed right there, not bothering to move. Macey was your best friend, what was there to be shy about? She’d helped you when you were puking all over yourself the last time you drank about your soulmate. In turn, you did the same thing for her when she fell and needed minor repairs from you. You’d think that an android would be able to keep itself upright considering how many tests the creators would have to go through to make proper coding but you supposed you could be wrong.
You finished getting ready, slipping your shoes on and calling a taxi to come get you. You grabbed your house key, gave one last goodbye to Macey and headed to your favorite bar.
It was a quaint one all the way across the city but it was well worth the twenty minute drive plus traffic. Jimmy’s was a place where you could drink until you became a fucking idiot and nobody would care as long as you were quiet.
You slid out of the taxi and adjusted your clothes before heading in, no emotion on your face. You pushed the door and walked in, not sparing any of the old farts a sideways glance. They could underestimate you all they wanted, you were here to drink. You took a seat at the middle of the bar and rested your feet on the metal bar at the bottom of the bar stool.
“One alcohol with rocks please,” you said, giving Jimmy a wry smirk. He clicked his tongue with a fond smile, getting your glass ready. You drummed your fingers as he prepared you a mystery drink.
He placed it on the counter but blocked your hands from getting it.
“I’m gonna need to see some ID.”
“Come on, shit head. You know how old I am,” you tried wrestling with his hands.
“You look about 18.”
“We’re fourteen years apart you fucker,” you said, chuckling.
“Oh yeah, that’s right. Here you go.”
You grabbed the glass and took a good mouthful, coughing as it went down your throat.
“Man I fuckin hate scotch.”
“I’m trying to get you used to it.”
You playfully stuck your tongue out at him and resumed your drinking.
After two more glasses, you couldn’t even taste the liquor anymore. You were leaned forward, your forehead on your bent wrist. You could see Jimmy waving off persistent guys from approaching you out of the corner of your eye.
You threw back your final drink, the fourth one of the night and stood carefully from the barstool. While you were sitting, the bar had somehow filled up with more older men. You slapped a $20 bill on the counter, gave Jimmy finger guns and wobbled as best you could out of the bar.
You were a strange drunk, indeed.
The door opens again and out comes a clean cut man in black dress pants, a crisp white shirt and a loosened tie around his neck.
He approached you and stood with his hands behind his back, staring straight at you.
“Hi, my name is Connor.”
You felt your wrist warm up and your subconscious, tipsy mind answered with the first thing that came to the surface.
“Aw fuck me, man.”
You slapped a hand over your mouth and looked at him embarrassed. He rolled down his sleeve to show his tattoo to you. You did the same for him.
“Ah, what a wonderful first impression I must’ve made.”
“I could tell your personality simply how you interacted with Jimmy when you first came into the bar. My first impression of you was then. Should we exchange numbers so we can stay in contact, soulmate?”
You could tell that the word soulmate felt strange in the androids mouth with the way he sort of scrunched up his nose at saying it. You chuckled.
“That sounds nice, I’d love that.”
You gave him your number and nearly fell into the taxi when it pulled up in front of you. You blew him a kiss before the taxi drove off and saw his pale cheeks turn pink.
When you got home, you fumbled with your keys for a minute before getting them in the lock and opening the door. Knowing Macey was awake, you simply shouted into the apartment.
“Hey Macey, you’re never gonna fuckin’ believe what happened!”
191 notes · View notes
artificialqueens · 5 years
Text
Indomitable; shattering glass doesn't fix hearts (Trixya) - Dymphna
Hi! I began posting this on AO3 awhile ago but decided to bring it here as well since… well, I don’t know, it’s the fic I like most that I’ve written myself. I’ll be the first to admit it takes quite awhile to get to the actual plot but… bear with me guys! I hope you enjoy, any feedback is appreciated :) <3 
You can find me at my blog @tropicaldepressionkatya 
-
Who the fuck wears nude shoes to a hunt in the woods? Trixie couldn’t believe her own stupidity. She’d think it was her first hunt. When she glanced down at her feet, the mud was already all over the soft shoe. The fabric soaked it all up, and Trixie wanted to just take them off, preferably throw them in a fire as well. Unfortunately, she had made a choice. And the price was a pair of perfect nude colored heels.
So there she was, crouched, a once beautiful pair of shoes on her feet, her hair in a ponytail. She was chewing on the inside of her cheek, eyes not leaving the tree. The tree where the demon was supposed to appear.
Everything had led her to that point, and she was prepared. Salt, salt bullets, iron, even. The thing about demons was that they responded differently to certain things. Salt always kept them out, but couldn’t always kill them. Iron only worked on some.
After Trixie had seen a hunter with angel blood kill a demon, she had cursed her own parents for not sleeping with angels. The runes, which apart from looking amazing, also made them better at, let’s say, everything. They had knives and swords that were given to them by the angels themselves, buzzing with light and slicing through the demons with ease. After a hit in the chest, they crawled back to where they came from.
Trixie was jealous, but she couldn’t change her blood type and decided to let it go. She had killed plenty of demons all on her own, without runes and fancy knives. She was an amazing hunter, even though working alone could get her killed faster than she’d like.
Her legs and knees were beginning to hurt, the demon hadn’t showed up yet. Beginning to get impatient, Trixie cocked her gun, checking the bullets, cleaning her knives.
“Did you hear that?” Someone hissed, a little too loud, to be sneaky. “Someone is here.”
Changing the position of her feet, Trixie stopped breathing, trying to figure out where the voice was coming from.
“It’s probably nothing. Let’s get this over with.” She exhaled again
Two women walked towards the small open spot, the tree in the middle. Big, majestic, demonic. Probably all Trixie’s favorite things, it just missed some pink.
The smaller one, wild curls bouncing as she glanced around, reached for a bottle, which she sprinkled over the tree. Trixie caught a glimpse of a tattoo. She had no idea what they were doing. The other woman, a little taller, wearing a tight dress and black pumps, almost tripped a couple of times, before she lighted a match.
Trixie liked to think she was pretty smart, but she didn’t realize that the girls were going to light the demon tree – her demon tree –on fire until the match was thrown towards the tree.
“What the fuck?!” Trixie jumped up, her voice a low growl. “Do you have any idea what the fuck you’ve just done?!” She yelled, grabbing her gun and cocking it again.
“Oh my-“
The smallest girl also pulled out a gun, black and modern, yet not a revolver. Trixie knew her bullets wouldn’t kill a human, but the long shaft looked intimidating.
The taller blonde, apparently a lot slower than her friend, pulled a machete from her back. The fire reflected on the metal. It seemed so close, too close. Trixie might have been angry, but her job was protecting the mundane, so she lunged forwards, yanking the smallest girl closer to her. “Watch out! Your fucking fire is gonna bite your asses.”
Stunned, they looked back. Just shortly, but Trixie had lowered her gun. “I hope you know that this town is seriously fucked now, it’s y’all’s fault.”
“We actually saved the town!” The blonde called, machete loosely dangling in her hand. “You don’t know what we’re talking about.”
“Whatever,” Trixie put away her gun. “I’ll drop a flower on your grave.” She turned her back to the girls, jogging away. The girls wouldn’t hurt her. Not when she saved them from getting severe burns. Trixie thought it was weird they carried weapons, but consumed by anger and annoyance, she didn’t think to give it, or them, any attention.
“Is she wearing nude shoes? Out of fabric? Is she stupid?”
-
Throwing the shoes back into the sink, Trixie rubbed her eyes, sighing. As expected, those shoes were ruined. Now all she had was a pair of pink and white cowboy boots and a selection of ugly black and blue pumps. After she’d saved the town from the demons that were going to flood the town, she’d go shopping. Her formal wear was beginning to thin, all her nice clothes destroyed during working hours. So there she was, in black jeans and an orange sweater. She hated that sweater. It tickled her all the time, and by the end of the day, her skin would be red and itchy.
The sun was beginning to rise, and Trixie realized she had lost another night of sleep to working and not being able to sleep. The coffee maker was way too loud, deafening almost, in the quiet motel. She didn’t like coffee, but the lack of tropical redbull forced her to do things she didn’t like.
Slipping into her white boots, Trixie took her shoes, strutting through the hallway. The lights were on, but there was no sound, no living soul in sight.
The dumpster next to the motel doors were something that had put Trixie off at first, but it was the closest to the woods and the city. After all, it was convenient. From where she was standing, she could see a crushed wall and an obvious hole in the roof. She hoped no one was dumb enough to use those rooms.
She dropped the shoes in the dumpster, sighing once again before she turned around.
“What is a pretty lady like you doing up so early?” Trixie had almost bumped into a tall man. He had a lot of muscles, and light hair. Generally speaking, he was attractive.
“Not just appearing and scarring other pretty ladies.” Trixie didn’t mean to snap, but his gaze held something offputting and empty. She tried to brush past him, but he spoke again.
“Come on, we’re already here, let’s make the most of it.” His voice was deep, but missed the warmth Trixie liked.
“I have an appointment in two hours.”
“Oh, with a boyfriend?” He teased, and Trixie turned fully back to the man. Her face was blank, something she always had been able to do. Resting bitchface, people said. Others said she was just a bitch.
“No, with the police. I’m helping them.” Trixie was bluffing, but she had a certain confidence, one that people simply couldn’t ignore.
“Oh,” His voice dropped in volume. “What are you investigating, hm?”
“Classified,” Trixie smiled, waving. “I’m going to get ready now.” The man didn’t say anything else.
Closing and locking the door behind her, the coffee maker was done, and she poured herself a cup. The key to delicious coffee was lots of sugar and milk. A lot of it.
Walking over to her suitcase, Trixie frowned. FBI clothing. Her last formal skirt was covered in blood stains, after she had raided a vampire nest a few weeks ago. She really needed to go shopping.
Since she didn’t have much choice, she picked a dark pant suit. One of the few positive things about it was that she had a pocket for her lipstick.
Moving to the small bathroom with her mug in her hand, clothes over her arm, and shampoo bottle in her other hand, she bumped the door open with her hip.
She’d been in the motel for a few days, so she knew the water took ages to heat up. So Trixie turned on the shower, carefully hanging the clothes over the sink as she sipped the last of her coffee. The motel towels were crappy, they always were, but bringing her own was just something she couldn’t afford. She was usually on the road, anyway. The apartment she owned in California was just collecting dust. She hadn’t been there in four months.
But having a place where she could stack all of her stuff, her books, her bills, and pictures was nice. She planned on going back for some time after her current job.
She stepped into the shower, the water turning dark with dirt almost immediately. Her feet and legs had been gross, covered in dirt. She’s washed most off when she got back, but dirt was annoying like that.
Her flowery and over-expensive shampoo covered the smells of her adventure and the lack of sleep, even though her makeup was going to finish that job.
Whatever she had to do, she would. She was going to fix the mistakes of the girls in the woods. She didn’t have a choice, really. She wouldn’t run away, even though it’d probably be safer.
-
“Miss Johnson?” Trixie turned at the sound of her fake name. When she was an FBI agent, she was Jessica Johnson, a widow. “Your coworkers have arrived.”
“I-“ Trixie bit her tongue, offering the officer a polite smile. “They’re here sooner than expected. Delayed flight,” She explained. “Could I talk to them for a minute?”
“Of course, they’re with officer White.” He said. “I’ll take you, Johnson.”
“Please, call me Jessica.” Trixie followed the man, wondering if they were real agents. Her fake ID was convincing, but with the shoes she picked, she’d never be fast enough to outrun an agent.
“Well, here they are. If it’s fishy…” He trailed off, clearing his throat. “Call me when you’re done, okay?”
Trixie closed the door behind her. The doors in the whole building were rather heavy. Trixie wondered why that was. But when she spotted the two agents, it was a good thing the doors were heavy.
She pulled her gun, pointing it at the woman with wild curls. The blonde pulled her gun a little later.
“What are you doing here?” Trixie snapped. “You set a very special tree on fire, no way they would let two idiots be FBI agents.” Trixie slowly cocked the gun, her eyes following every movement of the girls.
“We are,” The blonde spat back. “I’m going to reach in my pocket, grab my ID.”
Trixie nodded, balancing her focus over the blonde and the girl with dark hair. The blonde fished out an ID, it looked real enough. Then again, so did hers. “Isabel?”
“The one and only,” Isabel lowered her gun. “That’s Rose.”
“Sounds like the fakest names ever,” Trixie scoffed, rolling her eyes. “I’m the FBI agent. Y’all are imposters.”
Rose scoffed at the same tone as Trixie. “Well, girl, what was a real FBI agent doing in the freaking woods at night? Alone?”
“Important stuff, but that’s-“ The door was flung open, startling Trixie, who turned to the person. It was the man from that morning. “What the-“
Even though the man only hit her with one hand, his power was enormous. As she was being thrown against the floor, she realized that it was a demon. Her vision got blurry, the air was slammed out of her lungs. She needed to get up. She needed to protect the girls.
She forced herself up, slightly dizzy, but she had fought in worse shape. The blonde girl, who Trixie had written off as not so bright and slow, had a blade in her hand. Trixie would recognize blades like that everywhere. Freaking angel bloods. Of course they were, no one else would be as stupid to burn a demon portal tree. The other girl, Rose, reached for a weapon, but the man – demon – hit her with his fist, full against her head.
“Shangela!” The blonde called out through gritted teeth. Trixie’s head was too messed up to connect the dots. She didn’t care, anyway. It didn’t matter who these girls were, as long as they would be alive when Trixie left the building, trying to come up with a great lie.
She cocked her gun, the metal cold against her warm fingertips. She could feel blood drip down her neck. The blonde girl lunged away from the demon, hissing when he clawed at her skin.
Narrowing her eyes, Trixie had trouble keeping the gun straight, seeing straight. She shot. She was pointing at the demon’s head, but missed. It hit him in the shoulder, an unnatural sound leaving his mouth. Even if he was just distracted for a moment, the blonde lady, Isabel, jumped back forwards, slamming her fancy knife into the demon’s chest. With much more strength that Trixie thought was possible for a skinny thing like Isabel, she repeated the action multiple times, until the man opened his mouth, the demon circling out before vanishing with an agonizing scream.
Isabel was panting, dropping the dead body and rushing to Rose, or Shangela’s, side. “Hey,” She whispered, so softly that if Trixie had been standing two steps back, she wouldn’t have heard it. She wouldn’t have heard the desperation, fear and slight crack in her voice. “Shangela, Shangie, are you there?”
Trixie wondered how no one had noticed a gunshot or the obvious sounds of a fight. She just assumed the walls were soundproof. She hurried to the door, seeing a few officers frown at her. She smiled politely, closing the door again. Getting that body out would be a problem.
“Is she alright?”
“Fuck no,” The blonde snapped. Trixie was almost sure her name wasn’t Isabel. “Damn it, why did I leave my Steele in the hotel?” She ran a hand through her hair, biting her lip before getting up in frustration. She kicked one of the chairs before a few creative and impressive cuss words left her mouth.
“That isn’t gonna solve anything,” Trixie bit at the woman. She moved closer, her first-aid classes coming back. She had plenty of experience with wounds. Her head had stopped spinning, and the blood hadn’t dropped onto the floor, so she knew she was good. Better than the girl – Shangela, she assumed – on the floor.
After a quick glance, she knew the woman needed a hospital, or a real doctor, at least. She remained calm, speaking slowly to not alert the other girl. “She probably has a concussion. I can’t tell if she’ll wake up all by herself. I think she needs a doctor.”
“Okay, okay,” The girl breathed out, returning by her friend’s side. “Hear that Shangela? We’re gonna call Pep for you.”
“Who the hell-”
“Did I fucking ask you anything?” The blonde snapped probably harder than she intended to. She released another shaky breath. “I’m sorry, I’m really frustrated. I can’t carry her all by myself. Could you please help me?”
“My Jeep is outside,” Trixie said, looking at the still unconscious body. “But the body. We can’t become wanted after y’all burned a demon portal.”
Isabel closed her eyes, grinding her teeth. “Fine. I’ll take care of the body. Can you cause some distraction?”
“Isabel,” Trixie smiled. “Distraction is my second name.”
-
From the corner of her eye, Trixie could see the younger woman drag the body behind her, doing surprisingly well for her slim and breakable form. The officers were gathered around her as she clutched her forehead. The wound wasn’t deep, but stretched long enough over her face to worry some. Her agonizing groans were rather convincing, and men were always looking for a damsel in distress.
“I- it was a man! How did you not see him?! He rushed over there!” Tears were streaming over her face, and Trixie was amazed at how amazing she was doing. “Please, he said he was going to kill me!”
Several officers shuffled away, to the direction Trixie pointed at. Two stayed by her side. “Miss, it’s going to be okay. Come with us, we’ll make some phone calls-”
“No, no,” Trixie wiped her tears away. “I- I should go home.” Trixie wiped at the last tears. “I’m okay, I’ll be okay. I just… need to get out of here.”
“I understand, miss,” One officer said softly, a soothing tone to his voice. “Should I go and grab your purse?” He already was moving towards the door when Trixie saw Isabel hurrying back inside.
“No!” Trixie cleared her throat, hoping her voice would break just a little. “It’s fine, I can do that myself. Can you please help him get behind bars?” The innocent flutter of eyelashes broke something in the man, his eyes softening. It wasn’t the best thing for an officer.
“Thank you,” Trixie sniffed, wiping under her eyes again, offering the man a smile. She got up from her crouched position, taking the offered hand before she slowly skipped back to the room. Isabel was already inside, A bright grin on her face. “Good enough?”
“Yeah,” She said, a hand pressed against Shangela’s arm. “Help me with her, okay?” Trixie didn’t even have time to brag about her theatrical skills and charm.
Trixie put the lady’s arm around her neck, gently lifting her to her feet. The other girl did the same. “So, I’m guessing you’re not Isabel?” As she groaned softly under her weight.
“Aquaria,” She muttered back, walking as fast as she could. Even though no one was walking in the main office, they didn’t know how fast they’d be back. The black Jeep was shining around the corner, and Aquaria let Trixie alone to deal with the unconscious girl as she opened the door. The two of them gently laid the girl on the back seat. She’d been out for a good ten minutes, and Trixie was beginning to worry.
Hopping in her car, the blonde was already sitting in the passenger seat, typing furiously on her phone. “Who’re you calling? We’re bringing her to the hospital.”
“No!” Aquaria snapped once again. She really seemed on edge, and Trixie couldn’t blame her. “How do you think they’ll look when they see her with all those wounds? With weirdly shaped scars? Too many questions. Besides, Peppermint can get her back on her feet in just a few hours.”
Aquaria pressed call, and was getting frustrated pretty fast. Trixie watched the girl on the backseat with caution and worry. She hoped this Peppermint person was as talented as Aquaria claimed her to be. If she wasn’t, Shangela would be dead by morning, she guessed. But Trixie felt like she couldn’t argue. Shangela had angel blood, after all.
“Okay,” Aquaria breathed out. “Here left. Pep will be there in half an hour.”
“That’s fast, where’s she from?”
“She’s in France, right now,” Aquaria glanced at Shangela, her curls decorating the last seat. “She needs to set up a portal, but she loves us. We’d do anything for her, and so would she.”
Trixie decided to say nothing. So Peppermint was going to travel by portal. Right. Sure. Whatever.
Trixie followed Aquaria’s direction, parked in front of a rather fancy looking hotel, at least in comparison to her motel, and helped carry the brunette to their room. Room 015, first floor, luckily. The hallways were thankfully empty.
“Let’s bring her to the bed,” Aquaria opened the door with a key, and Trixie was stunned. How in the world could they afford that place? The kitchen was small and neat and the dinner table had 4 spots. The table was decorated with a white tablecloth and yellow flowers. There even was a rather large lounge. “Over here.”
Trixie followed Aquaria’s lead, Shangela’s eyes sometimes opening a bit. At that point, Trixie wasn’t sure if she was affected by the hit on her head or if the demon blood had been too much for her. The burns in her legs and arms had been big.
Gently, they placed the woman on the bed, which was big and looked incredibly soft.
Aquaria brushed Shangela’s hair out of her face with a fond look on her face. “You’ll be okay, Peppermint is on her way.”
Trixie felt like she didn��t belong in that moment, too intimate and familiar. “Wanna help with the hot chocolate?”
“Hot chocolate?”
“Pep likes hot chocolate. We’re kinda friends, I guess. We don’t need to pay her anymore, so I make sure we always gets some chocolate when she comes to the rescue.”
“Oh,” Trixie whispered, nodding her head and following Aquaria back to the kitchen. Now that there wasn’t an unconscious girl hanging between them, Trixie noticed that it wasn’t white and gold, but a soft pink cream color and bronze. The couch was one of the few shades of brown that Trixie thought didn’t look like shit, and the painting above a dresser had blue and pink tones that matched the walls and the kitchen cabinets. “I didn’t know hunting paid this well.”
She let her fingers glide over the dresser, which was spotless. Cleaned that morning, probably.
“Oh, it really doesn’t,” Aquaria smiled, opening the cabinet to grab a pan before moving to the fridge, which undoubtedly was too large for a hotel room. Aquaria’s mood had shifted, she didn’t seem too worried anymore. “You get creative, though. Lots of people die, you know. The unsaveable. We just…”
“Take their money,” Trixie finished. She hadn’t done that often, found it a rather disrespectful thing to do, and got what she wanted by lying, shoplifting, and going on dates to fancy restaurants. “I thought y’all angels were nice people.”
“Being nice doesn’t bring bread to the table,” Aquaria added some sugar to her mixture. “Can you close the curtains? Peppermint will be here soon.”
Since Aquaria didn’t say why, Trixie didn’t think it was her place to ask. She just did what was asked, muttering her questions under her breath, growing annoyed with the whole situation. In all honesty, she should probably go to her motel, try to solve the case, and forget about Aquaria and Shangela. But her curiosity was sparked, and if there was one thing Trixie knew about herself, it was that all questions should be answered.
So Trixie let Aquaria babble on and on and on. Humming or chuckling where needed. She talked a lot, stumbling over her own words from time to time, earning a genuine giggle from Trixie. It only took Peppermint about ten minutes, before she literally walked through the wall.
“What the fuck?” Trixie chocked out when she saw the light wall darken, the core so black, it looked as if nothing had ever been there. “Aquaria, What the fuck is happening?”
Aquaria glanced over the edge of her phone, an eyebrow raised. “Oh,” Aquaria dropped her gaze to her phone again, shutting it off a few seconds later. “The portal.”
Aquaria moved closer to the wall, a bright smile of excitement on her face. It was as if she had forgotten about Shangela. Or that she didn’t really care. Trixie shrugged those thoughts off, because it could just be her coping mechanism, and because it definitely wasn’t her job to judge whatever was going on between them.
A woman with black braids and pink lips stepped through the ‘portal’, smiling brightly as she spotted Aquaria. “Hello, dear,” Her voice was soft and gentle, and Trixie could imagine her hug being comforting and motherly. “What happened? Where is she?”
Aquaria led the woman to the room, and Trixie felt left out and unsure what she should do. It was a familiar feeling, even though she rarely paid attention to it. She preferred to work and travel alone, not wanting to take care of anyone, or being a burden for someone else. However, it did get lonely.
But Kim had warned her for that, yet young and dumb Trixie had been fueled by anger and fear, and she never thought about what it had meant, getting into the business. Now that she was almost ten years older, Trixie knew, and had to live with the consequences every day, sleep with it every night.
She hadn’t worked together since Kim, and even though she wouldn’t call saving Shangela’s live working together, she didn’t mind listening to Aquaria’s rambling, or the change of scenery. Sometimes, Trixie wondered if she made the wrong decision by working on her own.
“You okay?” Aquaria had her hair pulled in a high ponytail, the grey-ish tone in her hair more prominent now that she was opening the curtains again. The sun was shining, and even though Trixie doubted it would warm her skin up, it was pleasant to know she wouldn’t need a raincoat.
“Yeah,” Trixie gently shook her head, coming back from wherever her mind had wandered. It was a place she didn’t like to visit. “Is she going to be okay?” Trixie pointed at the door. The door was closed, and she swore she could hear a faint whisper.
“Pep is fixing her,” Aquaria’s hands were balled into fists. “She’s been through worse, Shangela,” The blonde let herself fall on the couch, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose. Trixie could see the hint of dirt under her nails. Maybe it was blood.
“What about you?” Trixie couldn’t believe she forgot to ask that. Her social skills were rusting, that was obvious. The occasional hook up didn’t require much talking. Most of the time she was lying, anyway. She couldn’t be Trixie Mattel, often she had to be Jessica, or Isabella, or Alice. It was easy to forget who she was, even though fighting always brought her back.
“I’m fine,”
“No demon blood?” Trixie had a hard time believing that. Aquaria had been dressed in a skirt and the thinnest white blouse she’d ever seen. “Want me to take a look?”
“No, when Shangela wakes up, she’ll do it, it’s fine.”
“You sure?” Trixie carefully stopped herself from correcting Aquaria. If Shangela wakes up.
“Yeah, runes will heal it in no time.”
Right. Aquaria had angel blood. Trixie tensed up. “I can look at yours, if you want. I make killer healing runes, just so you know.”
“No,” Trixie sounded harsher than she meant to. “I mean I’m fine. I should just … go.”
“What?” Aquaria sounded surprised, pushing herself up and shaking her head. “Hell no, you’re staying. Wouldn’t it be better if we solved this case together?”
Trixie scoffed. “It’s obvious y’all need it, because you set a portal on fire.”
“Geez, let it go,” Aquaria chuckled. “We’ll work on that, it’ll be good in no time.”
“Let it go,” Trixie scoffed, pushing the tip of her shoe into the carpet, which looked too soft and expensive for an hotel. “I could be on my way home, but no, I might have to stay for weeks if it’s as bad as I think it is.”
Aquaria raised an eyebrow. “Weeks for closing a broken portal? Girl, how aren’t you dead yet?”
“What?” It came out harsher than she meant, but Aquaria seemed unbothered.
“I already texted someone from back home, she’ll bring some stuff and we’ll be done here in like, two days.” Aquaria looked at her nails, sighing in annoyance when she noticed that the baby blue polish had chipped a little bit. “I have to fix this.” As much as she tried to hide it, Trixie guessed she wasn’t fine, too restless to be okay.
The girl walked away, but Trixie wasn’t done. She often spent weeks trying to find a solution, and this freaking teen just let someone bring the answer to all their problems to them? Well, the solution to some problems.
“What do you mean? What is she bringing?”
Aquaria, who had an air of slight arrogance around her, looked at Trixie as if she was the one who figured out how to use the potty two days ago. “Some sort of dirt made from iron and salt. A few sticks with runes. I don’t know, we’ve used it for ages.” Aquaria spoke while painting her nails a cute orange, soft yet outstanding. “Where are you from?”
Dumbfounded by the simple question after Trixie had come to know something major, she just stood there for a long moment, trying to grasp the meaning of the words, before they hit her in the chest. “I live in Cali. Well, my house is there. I travel a lot.”
“I can tell,” Aquaria didn’t clarify what she meant, and when Trixie was about to ask, about to be offended, the girl began talking. “We’re from Boston. We go home often enough, Raven has a large place. Sometimes we do smaller cases in little groups, the big ones all together. We’re with a lot, you know.”
Trixie, for one, couldn’t imagine working with a large group. That only meant more people to look after, more people to protect. She couldn’t even protect one extra, how the hell was she about to take care of a group? However, Aquaria didn’t seem to have that problem.
“Sounds like fun,” Trixie rolled from the heel of her foot back to her toes. “Does this Peppermint person always take so long?”
“She won’t be ready before dawn,” Aquaria closed the bottle, blowing her nails with elegance and a certain laziness that was fascinating. “You can leave, if you want. It was really nice to bring her here.”
“I-“ What was she supposed to say? “It’s fine, I hope she’s okay,” Trixie glanced back to the closed door. “Can I come over tomorrow? Just to check if she’s okay.”
“Of course!” Aquaria stopped blowing her nails to smile. “Maybe you could help with cleaning up some more demons. You seem like a good hunter.”
It did feel indispensable to leave Aquaria, a foolish girl who painted her nails before fighting demons, possibly alone to kill maybe a dozen of demons. “Sure, why not?” Trixie scratches her nose, careful not to smudge her makeup, a strange tingle in her chest. “I’ll come over at noon?”
Aquaria nodded, giving her an awkward wave while not stopping her blowing. When Trixie left, she knew for a fact that Aquaria wasn’t looking at her.
-
Her fingers were shaking when she tried to open her room, the faint smell of something disgusting not bothering her for the first time since she checked in. She couldn’t stop the tremble, her heart was throbbing in her throat, and tears were threatening to well up any moment. It was weird, Trixie didn’t know where it all came from.
And yet she did.
Careless banter with someone who understood what she did. Someone who knew more than her and wanted to work together. She hadn’t worked together in three years.
When the lock finally clicked open, Trixie pushed herself in, hoping to find relief in the motel room, an empty room, a silent room. Nothing changed.
So, deciding that facing her feelings would be too hard, she kicked her shoes out with more force than intended, and moved to the little kitchen. The glasses had been dirty when she arrived, and she had only cared to clean one. Filling it with water, she took a small sip. Even though it did cool her down, she still felt like crying, like fainting.
I love you.
The words were loud and clear in her mind, she could even imagine that stupid crooked smile.
She threw her glass against the wall with a yell. She reached for the used plate in the sink, which soon followed the glass. Some of the glass hit the wall, jolting back at Trixie. She didn’t know if something hit her. Not then. She didn’t care.
See you at dinner, loser.
She leaned with her palms on the itchy tablecloth, her breathing uneven when a large tear rolled over her cheek. She never saw her at dinner.
8 notes · View notes
iishipallthethings · 6 years
Text
The Hunt Chapter 1
Story Summary:  Its been thirteen years since Mabel helped Dipper defeat Bill. And five years since she last step foot in Gravity Falls or even seen her twin brother. Desperate for information and help, Mabel returns to Gravity Falls in hopes of finding her Grunkle Ford but instead, she finds Wendy Corduroy, the new sheriff of the strange town. Why did Mabel leave? What is Wendy hiding?
Chapter Title: Cheers!
Pairing: Wendy x Mabel (slow burn)
Coffee?
The Skull Fracture was the only bar in Gravity Falls. It was advertised as an extreme biker joint and it certainly lived up to that reputation. Mabel parked her motorcycle and headed up to the bouncer guarding the door. He glared down at her and she had to bite her tongue from laughing at his ridiculous “CHIN” and “HEAD” tattoos. She pulled out her ID, well one of them, and handed it over. He glanced at it and jerked his head to the door as he gave it back. “Don’t summon another gnome, kid. I still have the scar from before.” Apparently he remembered her from the time she let loose the gnomes on him when he worked for Gideon. At least he wasn't holding it against her.
Mabel slipped into the bar and surveyed the area. Everything looked pretty much the same from the first time she visited the bar as a child, except there was no Manly Dan destroying the game, Bicepticus. There was however, his daughter waving Mabel over to a table in the back corner. Mabel walked quickly to the older woman, expertly dodging a pair of fighting patrons.
“I’m glad you could make it,” Wendy said with a smile. She was already nursing a bottle and pushed over one that was opened but untouched. Wendy watched Mabel take a gulp, mildly surprised that the older Pines twin could without making a face. “Did anything interesting happen once I left the Mystery Shack?” Wendy asked, sipping her own beer. She had been in Skull Fracture for well over an hour now and she was glad she had the bartender clear away the three previous beers.
“Nah but Soos and I talked a bit more.” Mabel noticed how Wendy’s eyes were slightly more closed than usual and how the older woman had an ever pleasant smile on her face. She wondered how many beers Wendy already had. “He told me about you joining the police force and quickly rising through the ranks because,” she looked around to make sure there were no outsiders present at the bar. Finding none, she continued, “of your involvement with the magical creatures of Gravity Falls.”
Wendy showed her confusion and tightened her grip on her bottle on instinct. Realization dawned on her face and she loosened the bottle to wave away Mabel’s words. “Oh that? It’s not a big deal, really.” Wendy took a gulp from her bottle and frowned when only a little came out. She sighed and pushed the empty bottle away. “After all the weird stuff was exposed during Weirdmageddon, the magical folk didn’t want to stay in the forests anymore. I guess they figured if people already knew about them, then why not venture out?” Wendy rested an elbow on the table and then her chin in her palm so her vision of Mabel wouldn’t sway so much. “We obviously couldn’t let them roam free with all those tourists coming and going so we, or rather I, came up with a deal when I got onto the police force.” She turned her head so she was looking at the bar’s counter. “Hey! I want some sex on a beach!” Several of the bar’s attendees hooted at the words and Wendy rolled her eyes. It took Mabel a few moments and a blush later to realize the older woman was ordering the drink and not making a sexual request. Wendy looked back at Mabel, “Three, two, one.”
Just as she hit one, the doors leading into the kitchen slammed open and a Manotaur came walking out. He had to hold the drink up high and sidewalk through the little opening in the counter. The bar’s patrons didn’t react to the half-man, half-taur moving about, humming some tune. He set the drink down in front of Wendy. “Here you go, sheriff. It’s on the house, along with your other drinks.”
“Thank you, Chutzpar.” Wendy winked at Mabel and pointed to the charm hanging from the Manotaur’s neck. “See that?” Without asking permission, she reached over and grabbed the charm. Chutzpar didn’t seem to mind, he even leaned closer so the two women could better see the little trinket. It was made from ancient oak dyed red and carved into an eight-pointed star. “This is the alchemical symbol of life. Inside it, there is a small vial of the wearer’s blood. To anyone who doesn’t know Chutzpar’s a Manotaur, he would appear as an average, unremarkable human being.”
Chutzpar stood up straight and Wendy let go of the charm. He slammed a closed fist into his chest, careful not to crush his charm. “Even if I did look human, I look like the manliest man there is!” he declared. Wendy rolled her eyes again and grabbed her drink. Before she could take even a sip of it, Chutzpar laid a hand on her arm, covering it entirely. “Wait, I forgot the most important part!” He reached into the pocket of the apron he had tied around his waist. Chutzpar opened up a bright pink tiny umbrella and carefully set it into the drink. “There! Perfect!”  He turned around and headed back to the kitchen, taking orders from the other customers as he walked past.
“I got to hand it to him, he makes a killer sex on a beach,” Wendy said, plucking out the umbrella and holding it out to Mabel. The older Pines twin however just stood there with her mouth agape. Wendy frowned and poked her forehead. “Uh, you still there Mabel?”
Mabel came back to earth and shook her head, her eyes glued to the closed kitchen door. “Wha?”
Wendy chuckled and grabbed Mabel’s hand, turning it over and opening it. She placed the umbrella into her palm and settled back to her seat. “Cool, right? Gideon made them after a bus of tourists got flashed by something called the Hide Behind near the Mystery Shack. A kid got really freaked and started screaming it's the Slenderman or something, I don’t know. Either way, we had to erase their memories and Gideon made all of the magical creatures their own charm.” The sheriff shrugged like the entire incident wasn’t a big deal.
“Gideon!?” Mabel choked on her beer and Wendy gave her a few slaps on the back. The sheriff was a lot stronger than she looked, it felt as if she was being punched by Manly Dan. Mabel shook her head at another slap and caught her breath. “He made them?”
“Well yeah. I mean Mr. Ford helped but Gideon did all the carvings.” Wendy drank from her glass and looked down at it with a grimace. “Why did I even order this?” She looked at Mabel and a sly grin spread across her cheeks. She nodded to the beer Mabel was holding. “I’ll trade ya. I know how much you like girly things and this isn’t nearly as strong as those beers, I swear.”
Mabel cocked an eyebrow. “What, you think I can’t drink?” Wendy nodded, her smile becoming cocky mixed with a little mockery. Mabel looked over to the bar and slapped a hand against the table. “One mongolian motherfucker, please!”
“Whoah, Mabel wait,” Wendy immediately began protesting. “Don’t you know what’s in those?” She knew she might have been teasing the younger woman too much by suggesting she couldn’t drink but this was definitely not the right response. Mabel was going to end up even drunker than her if she gets that drink. And Mabel was supposed to be her ride home!
Mabel simply smirked at Wendy and tapped her fingertips on the wood. “Take back what you said about me not being able to drink and I’ll cancel it.”
Wendy didn’t even take the time to consider the proposition. “You can drink, okay! I mean, man can you drink. You finished that beer in like what, twenty minutes?” Mabel’s eyes narrowed and Wendy scrambled to say something else. “Not that that means you can’t hold your liquor! You just wanted to savor the taste, I get that more than anyone!”
But it was too late. Chutzpar had come out of the kitchen, looking as dubious as Wendy felt. He placed the drink in front of Mabel and cleared his throat. “Before you drink that, I’m going to have to ask for your keys.” Mabel handed them over without any complaint. He stuffed them in his pocket and walked back to the kitchen, telling people their food would be ready soon enough.
“Any last words?” Mabel asked, lifting the drink.
“Please don’t,” Wendy pleaded, doing her very best puppy dog face.
To her credit, Mabel hesitated for a moment but it ended with a smirk as she took a huge gulp from the glass. Wendy watched in stunned disbelief as Mabel gave a sound of appreciation and set the glass down, not grimacing or gagging as the fiery mixture went down her throat. “Not bad,” she praised.
Wendy blinked a few times, trying to connect this new Mabel to the one she first met thirteen years ago. “What’s gotten into you?”
Mabel shrugged and took a swig from her drink, much less this time Wendy noticed but still too much in her opinion. “When you go out and travel the world, you learn how to drink.”
The words seemed to have stolen some of the drunken happy atmosphere that was being created around the two. Wendy sheltered her meager sex on a beach in both of her hands, staring down at the fruity mixture. “It was really unexpected you know.” Wendy glanced away at where two men were singing a song about a woman stealing their heart and money at the top of their lungs at the bar. “It was like you were here and then poof! You left us.” She lifted her eyes to look at Mabel’s and the younger woman had no idea she could cause this much pain with her absence. “Can you at least tell me why?”
“I- uh,” Mabel bought herself some precious time by taking a long sip from her drink. Now the bubblegum flavor tasted like motor oil. “I wanted to go off on my own for a bit,” she said lamely. She wasn’t sure if she could tell Wendy the truth. The sheriff would have worried over her too much.
Wendy frowned at Mabel, seeing through the lie easily. “Without Dipper?” she pressed. “He’s your twin, you two went to literal hell and back. You defeated Bill together!” The way Mabel’s grip tightened on her drink made Wendy’s eyes soften with regret. “I’m sorry, I should have figured that it was a sore spot.” It was for her too in truth, after everything settled, it took months for her not to wake up screaming and sobbing and even longer for the nightmares to stop plaguing her on a regular basis. Mabel must have gotten a lot worse from that monster.
Mabel held up a hand of truce. “It’s okay. I shouldn't be like this now, it’s been more than a decade since that Bill fiasco.” She looked around her at the laughing and occasional fighting. “I should have moved on by now.” Mabel was jolted by the hard slap Wendy gave the table.
Wendy jabbed a finger at Mabel’s face. “That’s it. No more sad times.” She looked at the door where Chutzpar’s head was poking out. “Two rounds of tequila and keep them coming!”
The Manotaur disappeared for a quick second and came back, balancing a tray of fresh food and the two women’s liquor. With expert ease, he handed the food to the respective customers before standing in front of the two. He set two shots of tequila in front of Mabel and two more for Wendy. He held the tray under his arm and held out his hand. “Keys,” he said. Wendy placed her own into his palm and he walked back to the kitchen. “I’ll tell your friend to take over your shift.”
“You’re still on work!?” Mabel exclaimed.
The sheriff laughed and pointed an accusing finger at Mabel. “What did I say about not having more sad times?” She took her first shot and raised it in a salute. “Besides, nothing serious happens around here anymore. It’s totally fine if I get a little tipsy.”
Mabel wasn’t sure if she agreed with that logic but her hand already found its way to the shot. She saluted Wendy and they downed the drinks, foregoing the lemon and salt altogether.
The rest of the time at Skull Fracture was a blur. One shot turned into two, then three, then Mabel couldn't count anymore. All she knew was that Chutzpar cut them off sometime later and when Wendy threatened to arrest him for not letting her to continue to drink, he called a cab. Mabel didn’t like how calm the Manotaur was about dealing with a drunk Wendy. She did like however how Wendy slurred the words to the song she claimed to despise when they were younger. She especially liked how Wendy tried to grab her leg to chew at her uniform pants when she belched out the “Eat your pants” part. Now Mabel was staring up at a ceiling on some couch. It was so comfy and the pillows had cute robins sewn on them. She traced one and imagined it spread its wings so she would have more to touch. “So soft,” she murmured. A loud and rather carefree bout of laughter brought Mabel’s attention down to the floor. Wendy laid on her back, looking up at the older Pines twin. “Hey you,” Mabel called out, swinging down an arm to touch Wendy’s face.
The sheriff just laughed harder and batted the hand away. “You’ve changed a lot but you’re still a dork.” She reached up to pat at Mabel’s arm. “What do you do on your travels?” Wendy giggled at her choice of words.
“Stuff,” Mabel answered, rolling so she laid on her stomach to better see Wendy. She was half on the couch and half off but she couldn’t find herself to care.
“What kind of stuff?”
Mabel chewed her bottom lip and figured what the hell. “Hunting.” She saw Wendy’s eyes narrow in confusion. Mabel could have hunted in Gravity Falls. The younger woman laughed and slapped at Wendy’s arm. “Not like that! I mean I’ve been hunting bad things.” She knew it was dangerous to tell her friend of her adventures but it was like a floodgate was opened. She couldn't close her mouth, even as understanding and horror spread on Wendy’s features. “I’ve actually met a couple of hunters like me. They’re really nice, except for Jake. Jake’s a dick.” Mabel giggled and slapped a hand on her forehead, but missed and ended up hitting herself right in the middle of her face. She winced but shrugged off the sting. “Wait, that’s mean. But it’s true.”
Wendy sat up and rested a hand on Mabel’s arm, staring into the woman’s eyes. “You’re killing magical creatures?” she whispered like speaking too loud would alert said creatures of Mabel’s deeds.
Mabel didn’t like the look Wendy was giving her and it twisted her insides to see a tiny bit of fear in her eyes. She should be smiling. Wendy said it herself. No more sad times, damnit! “I’m only putting down the evil kind. The ones like Bill and his asshole buddies.”
“Oh,” was all Wendy could say to that. She licked her lips, suddenly parched. “Are you being safe?”
“As safe as I can be.” Which meant not safe at all but Wendy didn’t need to know that. She worried enough as it was in Mabel’s mind. She patted Wendy’s head as if she was a dog and giggled at the responding grimace and drunken glare. “I’ve already escaped death once or twice even before meeting Bill. I got this,” she said confidently. Her head fell back to the couch. She didn’t realize how comfortable it was until now. It was so soft and comfy. “Night night,” she yawned.
Wendy opened her mouth to continue the conversation but a light snore came out of Mabel. She had completely passed out on her. The sheriff released a shaky breath and moved a strand of hair out of Mabel’s mouth. She got up on trembling legs and made her way to her bedroom. Wendy collapsed on her bed and held the penguin, panda thing that Dipper had won her all those years ago close to her chest. The way Mabel talked about ‘hunting’ made Wendy’s blood freeze in her veins. There was something in her eye. If Wendy’s mind wasn't so obscured by so much liquor she would have recognized it as pride. As bloodlust.
8 notes · View notes