#+ not wanting dipper to stay inside and play games/go on the computer all day

[nenoname]

part of me is kinda amused at people suddenly going "actually the younger twins' parents were terrible horrible people!!!!" when the reason why they (and shermie) don't show up is simply because alex was uninterested in them as characters and didn't think they mattered to the story when the focus is between the two sets of twins

[sirkkasnow]

08 If You’ve Gotta Fight, Fight Dirty

Ao3 link

07/17/13 Wednesday

Most of the old tools turned up in Soos’ usual closet, packed away into a not-new but well cared for hinged toolbox. The manual-crank drill and a batch of bits came easily to hand. Tracking down the hardware took a little longer. Staying in motion was automatic, his brain whirring all the while, settled by the steady incremental progress of physical labor.

There were a hundred good reasons not to get involved. He counted them off in the back of his head without much regard for keeping track as he sifted through jars of salvaged bolts and screws.

Stan padded down a few steps to the sublevel at the back, an odd space whose roof was too low and too slanted to be good for much of anything but stuffing boxes into. The great purge of last autumn had cleared out an eccentric pile of junk. Potentially useful odds and ends of machinery and materiel accumulated over decades had been rendered moot overnight. Between Soos and the brothers they’d hauled most of it out over the course of a few sweaty days. There wasn’t much left to clear from the center.

He was living the dream right now. Everything was going well and there was no reason to screw with a good situation.

The hand drill bit into wood in near silence. He routed out holes in each corner beam and mounted heavy screw eyes there, twisting until the steel squeaked. Absent, precise twitches of his fingers braided eye splices into the ends of the heaviest nylon rope he’d been able to find. Those got crossed at the corners of the room, bound and padded with strips of salvaged bubble wrap and triple thicknesses of packing tape.

Baltimore might as well be on the moon relative to the places he’d been in the last year and the places he and Ford were planning to visit next.

Stan looped S-hooks into the ropes’ eyes and set it all up, spanning from corner to corner. By the time he finished it was a bare suggestion of a boxing ring. When he leaned into the lines they stretched and shifted, the screw eyes groaning faintly in protest, but everything held to his satisfaction.

Complicating everything right as it was all going well for once should have been the very last thing on his mind. Fuck’s sake, she was just a tourist.

The background rattle of his thoughts ground to an abrupt halt. Stan sat on one of the crates he’d pushed off alongside the door and plucked off his glasses, laying a hand over aching eyes. He knew lies, he knew perfectly damned well when he was lying to himself, and that right there was a thin lie poorly told.

She hadn’t been just a tourist since she’d stuck her neck out for him the night he’d made some reckless choices regarding car repair and home décor and dragged her along for the ride. Hell, that had pretty much gone out the window the minute she started spitting bad lawyer jokes back at him. Dammit.

The thinking had tired him out more than the improvised engineering but he was, at last, worn down enough to snatch a few black and dreamless hours of sleep well after midnight.

Intensifying sunlight through the curtains kicked him out of bed again earlier than he would have liked. Stan managed to get halfway to respectable before he decided coffee pretty much had to trump everything else and dragged himself down to the kitchen. The kids were already up, empty cereal bowls ignored on the table as they bickered out their plans for the day. “Mornin’, gremlins. Anyone else up yet?”

“I think Grunkle Ford is still passed out in the lab,” Dipper volunteered. “At least no one’s gotten around to making coffee.” Stan set up the coffeemaker with fresh grounds and dumped in a potful of water.

“And Clary was here for a few minutes, then said she was heading down to Greasy’s for breakfast. Craving bacon or something.” Mabel’s chin rested in both her hands, her smile uncharacteristically sly. “How did you sleep, Grunkle Stan?”

“Just fine, sweetheart.” Stan reached way up for a mug. Both niece and nephew looked at him in disbelief. “What?”

“You like her.” Mabel was showing teeth in a wide knowing grin. Dipper tapped fingertips anxiously against each other, but nodded in agreement.

Stan leaned against the counter with a groan - god it was too early for this. “That woman’s been nothin’ but trouble, I’ve caused her nothin’ but grief, and if we’re both lucky I’ve got that junkheap of hers fixed enough that she can get the heck outta here and never look back. We both got places t’go and things t’do, kids.”

“Responsibilities,” Mabel sang, syllables stretching out, and Stan’s eyes narrowed a little. “So I guess you didn’t spend half the night running around to do something nice for her.”

“You two were supposed to be asleep.”

“I might have been working in my journal,” said Dipper. “Mabel might have been a little wired on sugar and getting stuff down in her scrapbook.”

All three of them eyed each other, Stan weighing the possible merits of turning this into a lecture on minding your own damn business and discarding the idea as way more trouble than it’d be worth. “All right,” he grumbled. “Yeah, I’m tryin’ t’do somethin’ nice since yesterday went completely sideways. If you wanna make plans for the day that get you the heck outta the house, then I might overlook your total failure t’go to bed on time.”

“Deal,” they chorused, sweeping up phones and notebooks and vacating the table in an instant.

“Library first, Mabel?”

“Yup! I’ve got a couple of confidential stops to make after that.” Mabel shooed Dipper out ahead of her, spun on her heel in the doorway and winked at him on her way out. “Have a swell day, Grunkle Stan! See you at dinnertime!”

Stan grunted in vague assent, pouring a cup of coffee and sloshing in a little milk. Yeah, that wasn’t ominous at all. He killed time collecting the twins’ breakfast debris, finished off the first cup of coffee, then headed upstairs to scrub his carcass a little closer to presentable.

He was well into the second cup of coffee half an hour later and getting restless when his phone, stuffed into a back pocket and forgotten, buzzed. Startled, he fumbled it out for a text message from Mabel - a contact, he realized after a moment’s confusion - CLARY trailed by a bunch of winged hearts and smooches. After a few false starts he stabbed enough buttons to save the thing to his tiny contacts list. It twinkled there at the top, above DIPPER and FORD and then MABEL.

Indecision made his fingers twitch. Finally he punched the number and jammed the little chunk of a phone, thick in its waterproof case, up between ear and shoulder.

After two rings he got a reply, all cool professional velvet. “C.J. Merrick.”

For a long second that didn’t compute at all. “Uh, Clary?”

A startled pause hung there before she replied, voice warming. “Why, Mr. Pines. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

That voice did things to him. He shoved the thought down. “Listen, I know you’re out but I’ve got a surprise for you back here at the Shack. Can y’wander back in when you’re done with breakfast?”

“Sure. I just got done, actually, let me settle up and I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“So you know, it’d be worth your while to get out those tennis shoes again. And maybe a t-shirt.”

She chuckled darkly, a low rumble that made his toes want to curl. “If this is another round of errands, I’m out.”

“Absolutely not, we’re stayin’ on house grounds this time.”

“Thank mercy. See you at the Shack, then.”

Stan shoved the phone back into its pocket and paced the kitchen for a minute, knowing he needed something else, trying to remember it and finally settling on a plastic pitcher full of water and all the ice he could scrounge out of the freezer. By the time he rounded up that and a couple of glasses, he’d heard the door and footsteps heading off towards her room. In another minute or two Clary stuck her head in at the doorway. His jacket was draped around her shoulders and she looked amused as hell about something. “Good morning, Stan.”

“G’mornin’, Clary. You doin’ all right? Got some sleep?”

“I did, thanks. I was pretty worn out last night. What’s up?” She shrugged out of the jacket and hung it on the back of a kitchen chair. Today’s kerchief was some kind of patterned yellow. The bike shorts, tennies and faded t-shirt she’d changed into - this one read ‘REAL MEN PLAY GAMES’, right under a crudely rendered 38-sided die - would do fine.

“You’ll see.” Stan handed off the two glasses and led the way back through the house, pitcher heavy in his hand. “How was breakfast? You look like you enjoyed it.”

“I met a man from Washington state,” she said, and he looked away because he didn’t trust himself to keep a straight face. “His name’s Mike, he has a lovely new speedboat, and you wouldn’t believe how glad he was to talk to someone who isn’t a local. His SUV is stuck at Gleeful’s while they fix a flat tire.” There was a tiny wicked smile curling a corner of her lips. “He has been having a little trouble making friends in town.”

“Damn shame, that.” Stan tugged open the storage room door with a flourish and she swanned past him only to come up short against the rope lines a couple feet inside. He eased in after and set the pitcher down on a crate, then plucked the juice glasses from her nerveless fingers to put them alongside. “So I was baskin’ in the glow of my shiny new Klouneng, thinkin’ about last week��.”

“You weren’t kidding,” Clary murmured, looking over the sketched-out boxing ring.

“Well, no, of course not! Anyway, you said - uh.” Stan put an awkward hand at the back of his neck, watching her carefully. Her expression had gone flat neutral. “I know a few things about how t’stand and fight, you know? Thought I’d show you how to throw that punch.”

The silence stretched for one or two seconds too long, one of her hands absently flexing. He was beginning to think he’d really stepped in it when she bent and slipped between the ropes. “Let’s do it.”

“All right.” His chuckle was half relief as he scooped up the spare handwraps and the old gloves, ducking in to stand beside her. “Gimme the right one, let’s make sure you don’t go bustin’ a knuckle here.” Clary laid her hand into his, the other tucked behind her back. He started binding across the palm, then between the fingers, with a bit of exaggerated care he couldn’t seem to help. She watched him all the while from behind downtilted lashes. “So this’s all about protectin’ the little bones. Whole thing goes under the gloves. Not that you’re gonna do a lot of hittin’ here, but these are your livin’, so….” The end of the wrap sealed off neatly at her wrist. “Next.”

“I could probably type with a pencil clutched in my teeth if I had to.”

“Let’s make sure y’don’t have to.” The outside fingers of her left hand twitched delicately as she gave it over into his grip and he frowned down in brief confusion. There was a notch in the outer edge of the palm, a long-mended scar from some deep, sharp cut. Stan wrapped her up with the same precise care he’d given the right hand, watching the pinky and ring finger twitch again as he cut between with the wrap. “This gonna be a problem?”

“It hasn’t been. The nerves never quite came back.”

“You’ve seen the handwraps before?”

“I did take self-defense classes for a while. Never boxing.”

“I can tell. You can’t hit worth a damn. I’m just gonna step behind you,” which he did, letting the thump and creak of his steps telegraph his position.

Clary huffed a soft laugh and he felt a bit of the tension ease. “The whole principle was to let gravity and concrete do most of the work, then run like hell. Besides, you were singing a different tune the other night.”

“I was tryin’ to make you feel better about bloodyin’ my nose!”

“Liar.”

“Prove it.” Stan tapped Clary at back and hip and wrist with the bare pads of two fingertips, guiding her gently as he explained the stance. She actually had a little understanding of the basics, weight well distributed, pivoting to let force flow all the way from core to knuckles. There was some wiry strength to work with in that square-shouldered frame. A lot more leg than arm, he absently noted, his bicep brushing hers as he reached to straighten her wrist. “Elbows in, that’s it. Snap it back.”

Defense came easy to her. Getting her out of the shell was clearly going to be the problem, so he coaxed and cajoled and got her to take swings at empty air - decent jab, he decided, but hesitant on anything stronger - until she was just bored enough with it to stop thinking so damn much, then reached for the gloves. “Not bad! So now you get to actually hit somethin’.”

Clary’s glance skittered around the mostly-empty room, then back to him, narrowing. “What, you?”

“You can try.” Stan dangled the gloves, read the doubt sketched in broad strokes across her features, and considered. “I’ve had a lot of practice at this, Clary. You just tag me real light - “ He held up a palm, and at the expectant sidelong flick of his eyes, she grudgingly jabbed him there. “Yeah, like that, easy. I can read you like a cheap paperback.“ She snorted, and he laughed, keeping it light. “Okay, okay, you’re a terrifyin’ enigma in all other ways, don’t worry ‘bout that. But you are not gonna hurt me.”

The flicker of her expressions was complex, but after a moment she released a held breath and offered her right hand. “Attagirl. Now, this won’t be so bad, I promise, you’ll learn somethin’. Just think of it as a dance.”

“With fists.”

He pulled the laces on the first glove wide and eased it over her fingers. “Sure, with fists. You watch me, I watch you. A shift in weight, a twitch in the shoulder or the eye, you can see where your partner’s goin’ an’ react. Get enough practice an’ it’s reflex, straight from the gut.” The gloves were a little too big, no shock that, and Stan took his time snugging down the laces. Clary flexed the right hand, testing the glove’s give, then offered him the left. “Not that one round of practice is gonna get you the reflexes.”

When he was done he looked her over. She’d been silent the whole while, watching with teeth set lightly into her lower lip and a line drawn between her brows. Stan enfolded her wrist in his hand, a fleeting squeeze of reassurance, and her smile flickered for a bare instant. “I’ve had some practice in taking an opponent’s measure, you know.” Clary stepped back to give him some room. “Go on, Stan. Wrap up. Let’s give this a try.”

“Right, right.” His own wraps took a minute to slap into place, fingerless sparring gloves over those since he wasn’t expecting to hit anything. Relaxing into the familiar half-coiled posture was almost comforting. “Come an’ get me.”

She was stiff as hell at first. Reluctance dragged at her limbs, and it took a good few minutes of him catching or deflecting her tentative strikes before that began to improve. The worry on her features chipped away with each swing, replaced by furrowed focus as sweat began to bead at her temples.

Dusty sunlight tracked along one edge of his improvised ring. By now it must have been close to lunchtime, the room heating up.

“I know you can put a little more force into it than that.” Stan caught another jab. “You don’t have to move quite so much. If you’re gonna run, then run, that’s the right response sometimes an’ you’re fast, but if you gotta stand up an’ fight you’ve gotta commit to it. Conserve your energy, ‘cause you’re gonna need it to hit.” He held up a hand to signal stop and left her standing there while he retrieved cold glasses of water for both of them. “Drink up.”

“Thanks.” Clary clutched the glass between both gloved hands and sucked the water down in long, relieved gulps, dumping the last couple tablespoons over the crown of her head. “I think I’ve got one more round in me before I collapse.”

“Tough bird like you, worn out so soon?”

“Mmhm. How’re you holding up, old man?” She licked her lips and grinned up at him, all brass despite the sweat and her obvious weariness.

Stan plucked the glass out of her awkward grip and dropped it off back on its crate. “Old age an’ treachery will beat youth and enthusiasm every time, kid.”

“I’m not that young.” Clary came at him warily at first, then loosened up - he almost felt it as something clicked behind those grey eyes. Damn it, she was younger and probably a little more fit and she’d finally figured out how to get her legs into it. One solid swing whiffed way too close as she poured her weight in from toes clear up to knuckles. It was an overextension and he had ways to counter that weren’t strictly fair, but she took advantage of his hesitation and followed up with a couple of well-angled jabs that forced him back a step.

They were both breathing in hard gasps at this point. She still had some juice in reserve, not much, but enough to push him back once more. When he caught her next blow it was a sharp, stinging impact, and he grinned to see her satisfaction. “All right,” he got out, catching her other fist as she lunged in to follow through. Momentum nearly smacked her into his chest; she pulled herself up short just in time. “Whoa, easy! Nice work - you could maybe get decent at this if you wanted to.”

“We done for now? Because that’s about all I’ve got.” Clary backed off a bit, which was just as well because cripes she was close, and Stan remembered to let go of her gloves.

“Yeah, we’re done before one of us keels over of heat exhaustion or somethin’.” He beckoned and she gave over the right hand, tugging with her teeth at the laces on the left glove while he worked on the other. Once those and the wraps were off they both collapsed gratefully onto the couple of crates by the door.

“Thanks for taking it easy on me.”

“Didn’t take it that easy. Your instincts aren’t bad.”

“So how’d a - “ He watched her sift through words, lips half-shaping a few options until he chuckled at her struggling to be tactful. She canted a brow at him in reproach. “How’d a showman of your caliber pick up all this expertise in fisticuffs anyway?”

Stan winced, peeling off his handwraps one by one. “You know Jersey. Town didn’t have much goin’ for it other than the boardwalk. Neither one of us fit in real well - I mean, you’ve seen Poindexter in action, an’ he’s always been like that, maybe worse, so focused on whatever that big brain can get goin’ that he loses track of the practical end of things, y’know? So it was my job to protect the both of us. Somebody had to be the tough one, and it’s what I was good at, ‘til Ford an’ I - “

He caught himself, swallowing words that’d just be too much - man, they’d both really worn themselves out, his guard was down - and when he continued it was with more caution. “When I left home I spent a fair few years on the road. I was a worse trouble magnet than you are. Knowin’ how t’fight is what got me through. I mean, it wasn’t all bad - “

Clary watched him with a sort of quiet weight, like maybe understanding, which made no damn sense. He tugged up the shoulder of his damp shirt and dabbed uselessly at his upper lip. “It wasn’t all bad, you stay tough long enough and you kinda forget how not to be - and hell, at least I was in the right place to run into you - “

Stan stiffened in his seat, blinking. “Oh,” he said. “Damn. That’s what I forgot. Towels.” He made to rise and bolt to the kitchen. That’d buy a minute to clear his head, because he really needed to shut it. “I’ll be right - “

Clary pressed something into his hand. Distracted, he stared down at it, registering yellow, then plucked at the fabric. Tawny gold, a soft and heavy weave, patterned with tumbling circus strongmen and their tiny barbells. Her kerchief.

Stan shook it out, patted down his neck, and only then ventured a glance.

Clary sat on the edge of the crate with elbows braced on her knees, hands loosely interlaced. The scar was…not so bad, as clean-cut and faded as the one in her palm, until she turned her head away and a little tension made its twisting length and angle along the left slope of her throat clear. The worst of it stutter-stepped to cut sharp and deep over the sheltered thrum of her carotid artery.

That had probably come close to killing her.

Something protective and furious sparked behind his breastbone.

He tilted his chin to indicate his focus, and saw her eye swivel to track him.

“That of a piece with the hand?”

“Yes.”

“Plate glass?”

“Yes.”

“Accident?”

“No.” Clary straightened where she sat, watching him with subtle apprehension.

“There a face I should be lookin’ to break?” he said at length.

“He’s dead. He’s been dead a long time.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I punched a dead man.”

Her lips parted. She blinked twice, then dissolved into low shocked laughter. He smoothed the fabric of her kerchief between his fingers and felt his heart lift a little. “What, you don’t believe me?”

“Oh no. I believe you completely.” Her hand slipped into his for a quick squeeze that lingered. “You’re a treasure. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

He squeezed back lightly and found he didn’t feel like letting go just yet. “What’cha doin’ after dinner?”

“Didn’t have any plans, really.” A faint tired smile softened the line of her mouth. “Got something in mind?”

His throat was dry, her hand was still linked into his and come on he’d been done with being nervous over this kind of crap when he was like fifteen. “Movie?”

A huff of surprise caught on her teeth and she tipped back until her shoulders hit the wall. “Yes,” after a still moment. “Sure. Please.”

Stan let out a half-held breath, pressed the kerchief into her palm and closed her fingers over it. “G’wan now. That’s enough dancin’ for one day. You should go get a shower, drink as much water as you can stand, get some aspirin because you are gonna be feelin’ it by nightfall, I can tell.” He waved shooing hands at her. “I’ll handle cleanup and it’s someone else’s job to cook tonight, you got it? Go get a nap or read a book or actually make like it’s vacation. I’ve put you through the wringer enough the last couple days.”

She didn’t argue. Clary snapped out the kerchief and tied it loosely around her throat. Habit lent precision to the process - she centered the widest part over the scar, brought the ends around, offset the knot to the left without a hitch. “I can tell I’ll barely be able to move tomorrow.”

“After our fishin’ trip, I’m surprised you got outta bed.”

“Places to go. People to see.” She came to her feet with a sigh and pressed his shoulder in passing. “That nap sounds like a great idea. Thank you, Stan, that was fun and educational.”

tumblr: [00][01][02][03][04][05][06][07][08][09][10][11][12]

Ao3: [00][01][02][03][04][05][06][07][08][09][10][11][12]

Clary doesn’t say a word and doesn’t look back at you, studying her hands, vulnerable with her neck bared.

At least you got out alive!

Is there someone I can punch?

Silent support.

[maplemarcher]

Rules: Answer the 20 questions and tag 20 amazing followers you would like to get to know better.

Name: Adreanna! (please call me Addy though)

Nicknames: I go by Addy, which is actually a nickname. Others include Addsabelle (my grandma), Sir Stinksalot (my step-dad, he’s weird), Princess (my girlfriend), and...so fucking many weird ones my mom has given me. She used to call me Apple Jane a lot

Zodiac Sign: Taurus yo

Height: 5′ 5′ (I think?)

Orientation: Bisexual, with a heavy, HEAVY preference for girls. Like if you had a pie chart of how much I like girls vs how much I like boys, it would be like 90% to 10%. Idk why exactly. Probably has something to do with every guy I’ve ever had a crush on being a douche in one way or another (and rejecting me every time lol) But girls are soft and pretty and wonderful I love them so much. I love my girlfriend more than anything in the world. I wouldn’t trade her for anything.

Ethnicity: I am very white. Scottish, Polish, and German, though none of that really holds any significance in my life. I don’t have any family traditions except for unhappy marriages

Favorite Fruit: Pineapple probably. I really like grapes though and Pink Lady apples too. Oh and cantaloupe and clementines!

Favorite season: Autumn. All the way autumn.

crunchy leaves

sweaters

beautiful leaf colors!!! like!!! where I live has a lot of trees on a lot of hills, so looking out the window at a hill full of red and orange and yellow and brown makes my heart go “!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

brisk weather

fall fashion is the best (I don’t participate in fashion as I am a whale with legs but everyone else looks beautiful)

perfect weather for hot drinks

APPLE CIDER

Thanksgiving!!!!

Halloween!!!!

bugs start to fuck off right back to hell where they belong

summer is ending. summer can fuck off I HATE summer

no longer sweating and dying

overcast skies, gloomy days, rain!!!!!

gray, cloudy, rainy days are,,, my reason for living

Funny thing is I actually don’t like pumpkin spice anything except for pumpkin pie guess I’ve gotta up my white girl game

Favorite Book: What the fuck kind of question is this. You come into my house. And you ask me to pick between my children.

This answer is really, really complicated. I love so many books for so many different reasons. I love Harry Potter because it’s what got me into reading longer series. I love Binge by Tyler Oakley because it helped me be more open-minded and was a big part in helping me discover what my sexuality was and that I was okay. I love The Hobbit because it was a book that helped me escape life and that taught me that caring about home and hearth is a good thing to do. I love the Warrior cats series because I fucking love cats and it was one of my first introductions to more adult situations (in terms of violence, death, grief, and loss). I love The Giver because it made me cry my eyes out. I love The Martian because it made me laugh. I love every Shel Silverstein book ever written because they made me feel like a kid again and that being a child at heart is okay. I love Journal 3 because Stanford Pines is a character I love with all my heart. I love the Percy Jackson series and most of its spin offs because I love mythology and modern aus. I love the Septimus Heap series because it was such a different, wonderful, beautiful approach to magic and wizardry that made me feel warm inside. I loved Entwined because...I just loved Entwined. (It’s a twisted fairy tale kind of deal with The 12 Dancing Princesses and one of the best things I’ve ever, ever read, hands down). I love A Series of Unfortunate Events because I have a dark sense of humor and because it makes me feel better about my life.

Books were basically my only friends growing up. People didn’t like me because I was fat, or because I didn’t want to play outside very much, or because I had only ever really talked to and hung out with my mom and my step-dad, so I had a more mature sense of humor and personality overall.. Friends came and went, but books never went anywhere. Books stayed. Junie B Jones always stayed with me. Jack and Annie always went on magical adventures that let me learn about history. Every character I met along the way stayed with me, even if they died, because I could pick them up off of a shelf and read their adventures again. I don’t read as much as I used to, because I spend a lot of time on the computer, but I’m working to change that. Books have always been an escape for me, and I’ll continue to love their stories until I die.

Favorite Flower: Roses! It’s a tie between red and pink roses. I also really like tulips!

Favorite scent: My girlfriend’s perfume. I think it’s sweetpea or something? Idk, but it always smells really nice. And I just like the way my clothes smell after I come home from spending the night at her house. It’s like her perfume, laundry detergent, and something that’s either wood or stale cigarette smoke.

Favorite color: Pink. Soft, pastel pinks.

Favorite animal: cats, red pandas, owls, wolves, penguins, cats, dogs (pugs in particular, I LOVE pugs!!!!), foxes, moose, narwhals, dolphins, orcas, eagles, hummingbirds, blue jays, orioles, lions, tigers, basically any big cats...I just love animals. If it’s soft, fluffy, or cute? Fuck yeah I love it

Coffee, Tea, or Hot Chocolate: As much as I love coffee...tea, probably. It’s just so relaxing to sit curled up under a blanket with a cup of tea and relaxing. Plus my girlfriend and I make tea whenever I go over to her house, so it holds a special place in my heart :)

Average Sleep Hours: Okay, so...if I ever got up on time, I’d be getting like five hours of sleep a night, which is fine. But I oversleep. Every. Fucking. Day. So usually seven or eight.

Cat or Dog person?: Cats. I love dogs with all my heart and I want one someday, but if I had to choose between a cat and a dog I’d choose a cat because

1.  TOE BEANS

2. purring

3. the kneading thing they do?

4. I love love LOVE the sound of a cat meowing. so cute. so gentle.

5. cat loaf

6. smaller and easier to manage

7. don’t have to walk them

8. if they need to pee in the middle of the night they just. use the litter box. you don’t need to get up and let them out

Favorite Fictional Character: 

Star vs the Forces of Evil: Star Butterfly, Marco Diaz, River Johansen Butterfly, Moon Butterfly, Ludo, Toffee, Buff Frog (I don’t know how to spell his real name :( )

Steven Universe: Pearl, Amethyst, Peridot, Greg Universe, Connie, Steven

Gravity Falls: Dipper Pines, Mabel Pines, Stanley Pines, Stanford Pines, Soos, Wendy Corduroy

Yuuri!!! On Ice: Yuuri Katsuki, Viktor Nikiforov, Yuri Plisetsky, Phichit Chualont

Check Please!: Eric “Bitty” Bittle, Shitty Knight, Adam “Holster” Birkholtz, Wlliam “Dex” Poindexter, Derek “Nursey��� Nurse, Chris “Chowder” Chow, Jack Zimmermann, Alexi “Tater” Mashkov, Justin “Ransom” Olransi

Harry Potter: Luna Lovegood, Hermione Granger, Ginny Weasely, Ron Weasely, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, Minerva McGonagall, Neville Longbottom, Molly Weasely, Fred and George

Sailor Moon: Sailor Jupiter, Sailor Moon, Sailor Chibi Moon, Luna

Fullmetal Alchemsit: Brotherhood: Edward Elric, Alphonse Elric, Riza Hawkeye, Roy Mustang, Ling, Greed (when he’s in Ling), Olivier Mira Armstrong

Lord of the Rings/The Hobbit: Bilbo Baggins, Samwise Gamgee, Pippin Took, Eowyn, Aragorn, Thorin Oakenshield, Fili and Kili, Aragorn

Disney princesses: Ariel, Moana, Rapunzel, Anna, Elsa, Belle

Homestuck: Terezi Pyrope, Dave Strider, Jade Harley, Jake English, John Eggbert, Vriska Serket, Roxy Lalonde, Karkat Vantas, Jane Crocker

Percy Jackson (among other Rick Riordan things): Annabeth Chase, Grover Underwood, Sally Jackson, Percy Jackson, Nico DiAngelo, Leo Valdez

Winnie the Pooh: Winnie, Eeyore, Tigger (I know this one seems silly but Winnie the Pooh is such an important thing to me you don’t understand)

Voltron: Allora, Shiro, Pidge, Kieth, Lance, Coran, Hunk (basically the paladins and Allora and Coran I love them all)

Avatar: the Last Airbender: Katara, Zuko, Sokka

Miraculous Ladybug: Ladybug, Chat Noir, Adrien Agreste (don’t fuckin hate on me they’re the same person but different characters)

A Series of Unfortunate Events: Violet Baudelaire, Klaus Baudelaire, Sunny Baudelaire, Lemony Snicket, Uncle Monty

Hamilton: Eliza Schuyler Hamilton, John Laurens, Thomas Jefferson, Alexander Hamilton

Stranger Things: Mike Wheeler, Eleven, Barb

i just,,,, have a lot of love for fictional characters,,,, there are more I’m sure, but I can’t think of any

I connected with a lot of these guys on a deep personal level. Like with Amethyst, I understand why she feels the way she does because I’ve gone through struggles of self-hatred and thinking I was a mistake. I love them all, but there are those few who I just feel like they were...made for me I guess.

Number of Blankets you sleep with: Just my comforter, but before I got my space heater in my room I’d sleep with two blankets, an electric blanket, and my comforter. My room used to be an attic, so it has like no insulation. Plus the heating ducts that go to my room are SUPER shitty, so barely any heat comes out of my vents. Now I’m just used to being cold XD But I don’t like sheets D: Even in the summer, I have to have my big comforter...sheets are too flimsy. Idk, I find the weight of a comforter or heavy blanket comforting.

When I was little though, I remember taking every blanket I owned and piling them on my bed in the winter...and I slept in a sleeping bag, on my bed, under those blankets! XD I miss that sleeping bag. It was a really pretty blue and was really warm...

Ideal Trip: going to New Zealand or England or the French countryside or somewhere with a lot of greenery. Staying somewhere where I can relax and stay in bed all day if I want to or go find things to do in the city or town or wherever is close by. My girlfriend being with me and being able to relax somewhere quiet with her where I can watch the sunlight stream across her face every morning and kiss her all over her face until she wakes up. Somewhere I can relax and not worry about what tomorrow brings; somewhere I can let my troubles float away.

Blog created: December 2014. I can’t believe I’ve been dicking around on here for almost three years.

Number of followers: 396. That may not seem like a lot to some people but??? That’s basically my graduating class??? And you’re all just here watching me shitpost about whichever one of my fandoms is relevant and cry about shit and post really fucking awful art and???? Whether you’ve been here since the beginning or just joined, thank you for hanging out with me through the internet! And if you’ve read all of this, thanks! You now know a lot more about me than I’ve ever said on here =w=

Okay now I have to tag people!

@97thebaluga @all-aboard-the-scream-train @ruled-by-jupiter @4899slayer @squirtlethosejigglypuffs @personalposting @universesinhermind @goddamnit-ross @awkward-fangirl-artist @youaremyrock-mydwayne-myjohnson @epic-leprachaun @save-me-grunkle-ford @civilizedhomosexuals @ninja-sparkle-party @assbutt-novak @howstrangeeveryonewas @not-what-everyone-seems @owlbear-dont-care @psychokumachan @2-many-fandoms-2-count

If I tagged you, don’t feel obligated! I realize some of you are mutuals and I like, never talk to y’all. I’m sorry :( I’m just bad at initiating conversations. Feel free to send me a message if you want to though! I love getting asks and IMs, it makes me feel good inside UwU

Thank you for reading! (and sorry this is so long jfc)

[theoryofthefalls]

TOTF Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven: The Author

Author: @moonbeamjean Wordcount: 9.8K Summary: Jessica finds herself face to face with a page in The Journal that paints Bill in an unflattering light. Much like the unflattering light and dust that’s clogging up the newly discovered spare room in the Mystery Shack.

A/N: This chapter is a nice exploration of some of the friendships that Jess has in Gravity Falls and the kind of roads they will take. Bill of course is a downhill spiral of deception and manipulation, but there’s also Dipper, McGucket, Kiara, Grunkle Stan, and yes, even early clues to ‘The Author’ that she’s only going to realise months down the line. Thank you so much for waiting on the update, and I hope you enjoy!

A whole month was gone now. Weeks worth of Summer were vanishing faster and faster, and Jessica Jean felt like she was becoming bigger than her bones. There was still fun in the ordinary life and sun of Gravity Falls, for sure. Dipper and Mabel seemed to have adventures every day of the week. What was the latest one? Oh yeah. Time Travel. That was possible now. Just casually thrown in there, along with a new pig, while Jess was running a Kissing Booth for Stanford Pines’ silly carnival games. But at least her ache of jealousy was dying. The power Bill gave her was being practiced more and more, and her little secret was spilling out beyond just the twins and Kiara.

Soos was the fourth person to find out about the little taste of witchcraft. Jess needed his help for a particular dance video and, well, she kind of had to explain how she could just summon a J-Pop cosplay out of thin air. Wendy was next - sneaking out onto the rooftop at sunset to find the blonde floating above the roof-tiles talking to ‘herself’. And then Mabel made those two new friends, Candy and Grenda, and suddenly every second day was being spent playing fairy dress-ups, re-enacting romance movies, and summoning glitter out of nowhere. But that was it. No more people had to know about this. It was supposed to be a secret, and she shouldn’t have been putting it on as a performance at their command (apparently, by Bill’s morals at least.) Still, she could float in front of more people now, which was relaxing. It was so easy to just slip out of focus and relax mid-air, drinking some Pit Cola in the warm glow of Summer, not having to worry about somebody finding her.

Now that the ‘Mystery Twins’ had their own channel and she was actually spending time with them, the videos kept coming and coming and coming. She could upload now on a nearly bi-weekly schedule. And the views were getting good! The small amount of money being made from the ads and watches was turning from a couple of cents into a couple of dollars. If Jessica didn’t have the power to infinitely spawn bills out of her hand, she probably would have celebrated this a little more. In fact, one of her most popular videos was just her slapping her hands together like at a strip club and spawning an infinite amount of green notes. She would have kept them, too, if Stanford hadn’t been heard around the corner at the sound of free money and she had to make it all disappear in a blink.

The only one who seemed to be both skeptical and awed was Dipper. That was no surprise. Originally, the friendship between them was a quiet, awkward, and scarce thing. He would ask the blonde for the video-camera, once even asking about her film degree and what her classes were like. That was a nice afternoon on the back porch. But now that Jess was out of the super-powered closet, there seemed to be a new kind of awkward interaction that the boy took joy in.

“This is Dipper Pines’ Guide to the Unexplained!” he announced into the silver cam-corder. It was the hottest day of Summer, and the babysitters were talking outside on the front porch. The boy scrambled around the nest of prepared notes and evidence - Journal 3, Mabel’s scrapbook of Summer adventures and romances, small piles of glitter and confetti from previous videos. Finally he found a page in Mabel’s book, a polaroid collection of Jess and Kiara Phoenix at the fair, sharing popcorn and the blonde making vulgar smooch-faces to the girl’s disposable camera. “Anomaly Number 38: Jessica Jean.

“She came along with our old babysitter, KP, to look out for us this Summer, and sometime between arriving here and four weeks ago, managed to obtain amazing, nearly limitless magical abilities! Like some kind of over-powered fairy godmother, she’s used this (as you’ve probably seen) for makeovers, saving us from crazy fake psychics, and cleaning around the house!” Dipper remembered the footage he’d sneakily caught of Jess around the Shack, her feet off the ground and reaching up to the tall cabinets of the kitchen. He’d have to splice it in somehow. Or hell, he’d have to edit this whole video together without the babysitter noticing.

Maybe he could borrow Soos’ computer? That would be a challenge for later. Dipper picked up the camera, and with a determined expression he approached the bedroom window. His voice lowered to a whisper. “I have various theories, none of which add up to the stories that she’s given us. It seems to change every time I ask!” He lifted the cam-corder to the windowpane and focused on the two girls standing below by the yellow car. “First it was mystic runes, then she said it was a fairy, and then she said she was a teen witch all along! And then one time—! One time Jess was just like, ‘Oh powers? What powers? I don’t have any!’, which was so frustrating, and—“

Dipper froze. KP was there, looking up at the window into the attic bedroom he and Mabel shared. In fact, it looked for a minute that she was staring right at him. Dressed in her oversized board shorts and tight but covering rashie, she had her had covered the sun from her eyes and staring at something just above the boy’s head. But the real creepy part was the fact that Jessica Jean, subject of the video, was no longer standing there.

“BOO!!!”

He screamed, nearly dropping the camera. Jess didn’t seem to mind, watching him scramble back and bumping his elbow into the frame of his bed. “Hahahaha!!! Oh, man…!!” Gently, gently, she floated down from the rooftop and right-side up once more, nudging the ajar window open and squeezing inside. Hips like hers had a hard time fitting through small spaces, but it was manageable. The blonde floating in the middle of his room, arms hung low and knees curled up. Limp and relaxed, dressed in shorts and a tied-up t-shirt. Peaking over her sunglasses, the camera flew into her hand gently and her thumb hit the record button ‘off’. “Dipper, seriously, if you’re going to film me at least ask!”

This was about the third time she’d caught him now. Always a scolding. Dipper groaned, hopping up on the mattress and watching the magic carefully. “I know, I know, I’m sorry,” he repeated. The usual apology, recited and well-practiced. “I'll ask to use your camera rather than sneak it out of your bag while you and KP are talking about…” Another groan. “Boys.”

Jess snickered. ‘Boy’ talk was not the right age bracket for talking about her friend’s obvious crush on their boss. It was more like ‘Grand-daddy’ talk. Ew. She tried to stay mad, but the kid had rare gem of sarcasm that made her smile. “No, ask before you film a girl without her knowledge! There’s stuff I don’t want the Internet to see!” She frowned on a more serious note then. “Wait… don’t tell me you film Wendy, do you?”

He blushed. Oh God, how many people knew about this awful crush. “No!! No, I would never!!”

A sigh of relief. “Good, then I don’t have to give you a stern talking-to…” Jessica brightened. “Anyway, while I have you here…” She shrugged off the purple back-pack from her shoulders, and proceeded to look through the levitating sack. KP had packed so much bloody sunscreen that it was like they were watching a group of penguins touring Australia. But there, at the bottom of the bag, was a nice cardboard box with an even nicer present inside. Jess shrugged it out, and chucked the box into his hands. “Got you something!”

“W-Woah!” Dipper caught it in an awkward bundle, holding it close. It had a lot of instructions and careful warnings on the side, but he recognised the image. It was a video-camera. Frighteningly similar to her own, that he had used for this whole third of the Summer together. He felt his jaw drop. “I… Wow, this is so cool!” He immediately looked at her. “Did you make this?”

Jess snorted with laughter. Her powers were good but not that good. “Dipper, if I could, I would have done this weeks ago.” She certainly wouldn’t have been able to make all the little foam nuggets that lived inside the box, anyway. Sometimes buying things came with more certainty than just making it out of thin air. Hoisting her legs into the air, the backpack dropped to the ground as she flew up in a casual sitting position. “I bought it yesterday. Figured you might finally stop borrowing my camera if you and Mabel had your own!”

Sharing it between two was going to be way easier than sharing it with three. Dipper grinned. All his footage of the Hide-Behind (or lack of) and the bizarre tooth (more like horrifying, cryptic, island-head-monster, but okay) was going to have some new company. He reeled with ideas of what to film. But he had to ask. After all, he was aware of their quiet but distant friendship, too. “Why are you doing this?”

A shrug. Like most of the things she answered him with. “Well, I’ve been using you guys for my channel as much as you use me for yours.” They called it ‘cameos’, but the truth was the truth. Views spiked with the Mystery Twins, and she was making cents from it. “I’d feel bad if I didn’t get something as a ‘thank you’, so I splurged into my Kissing Booth money and… Well, thank you.”

Dipper smiled. Small, embarrassed, just-as-bad-with-emotions smile, in the dimple of his cheek. He gripped the box tight. “No problem! Uhh… thanks for letting us borrow it for so long, I guess.”

“Anytime, Pine Tree!”

He headed for the others downstairs, the new video-camera in his hands and that familiar trucker-cap on his head. She trusted his anxiety and paranoia not to bring it with them to the public pool today and save it for mystery-solving. The items he had ready for his little ‘study’ of Jess were all around the floor in a mess that looked vaguely like a map of her life. The scrapbook, covered with glitter and macaroni, seemed to be getting thicker and thicker by the day. With the smallest shred of effort, the book raised into her hands and she turned through the open pages. So many pictures of Mabel and Waddles from the fair, scraps of crystals from their shrinking-torch, but there were drawings, too. Crayon and coloured pencil pieces of various caticatures, portraits of Jess and KP holding hands next to a blurry polaroid of them smooching at the fairgrounds.

Jessica grinned, closed the book, and waved it over to Mabel’s bedside. And she would have left it at that, but there was something else in the room that caught her eye. The Journal - equally messy, but in the way that an exploding lab or abused library was, rather than the 5AM dance-party aesthetic of the twin sister’s work. Dipper always kept it close and safe, and frankly she hadn’t seen enough of it for her liking. He didn’t like anyone over the age of 12 getting their hands on it, just in case. She could understand that. It was his secret, as her powers were hers, and she could respect that.

It still didn’t stop her from reading it though.

Perched on Dipper’s unmade bed, legs crossed, the book rested in her lap comfortably. Her fingertips traced the six-fingered hand of the cover fondly, inspected the paper’s slight shine, before she opened it up. Most of the dust between the pages were blown out from finally being read and loved again, but there was still a thin layer baked right into the spine. The pages were so thin and yellowed that she didn’t even use her fingers to turn it, using magic instead to avoid thumb-prints and tears. It seemed like the twins were making their own notes on top of the decades-old originals. ‘Gnomes: Weakness, lawnmowers’. ‘Ghosts, seen at convenience store’! And she should have been a little mad, considering that this book was practically a historical document and should be treated with respect, but then she thought about all the notes she used to write and doodle on her science books in college. This was no different.

… Man, there was a lot here, though. The Hide-Behind, a Gremoblin, the floating eyeballs from the cave, and pages full of sketches of the landscape and forests of Gravity Falls. So many creatures, so little time. The kids were getting better at finding them in the wild, though. Even if it often led to disastrous consequences. Another page turned slowly, expecting more bug-eyed weirdos and mountain dwelling spooks, when she came across—

Bill.

Jess paused. Bill Cipher was in the Journal. And it wasn’t in a good light.

He was illustrated as a silhouette of black ink, staring from the page with his singular eye. No lashes, no replicant of the shaky drawings and symbols from the cave. It was him. That eerie posture of his low-hanging arms and relaxed, slightly kicked legs was caught perfectly. Various codes and patterns surrounded him, written down in rushes only to be crossed out again. CAESER. ATBASH. Some codes weren’t even letters or recognisable sigils, but some kind of bizarre alien text of lines and dots - part hieroglyphics, part morse-code, all of it impossible to read.

But there were splatters of red in the corners, and it wasn’t ink. And a paragraph of notes and praise, beautifully written in cursive. Bill has proven himself to be one of the friendliest and most trustworthy individuals that I’ve ever encountered in my life. On and on, thankful and adoring, and not unlike Jessica’s own thought process. But it was all crossed out, stubborn and hurt, and there was a bold, terrifying series of four-words amongst the stains.

BILL CAN’T BE TRUSTED!

She swallowed thickly. Kiara would have loved this guy. Beware Bill. The most powerful and dangerous creature I’ve ever encountered.

It was wrong. The Author was wrong. He had to be. Her fingers pressed into the ruby bindings of the book, and she read the following page. An illustration of the small triangle, in more detail and accuracy, hopping into a barely detailed human brain. It was labelled with several, scientifically accurate parts. REFLECTIVES, said one third. DOMESTIC, said another. THE LADIES, marked the last.

… Maybe the guy was just a lonely kook. Jess looked up from the Journal with a deadpan expression. So the Author was a deranged horn-dog. Fine. The book closed, a little harder than necessary, and she tucked it just underneath Dipper’s pillow for safe-keeping. No wonder the boy seemed to enjoy his writing. But so what? There was plenty here that was incorrect. He was wrong. Wrong wrong wrong.

Bill was fine. She had magic powers. And they talked all the time. They were fine, they were great, they were friends. The corn-chip would have told her of any further intentions. She was smarter than this deranged lunatic and his coded notes. Jess asked questions. Jess read details. Or, alternatively, she asked questions and he would shut her down and talk about a vague, larger plan, and she didn’t have the guts to ask him what that plan was so she just kept her mouth zipped and enjoy what she had. Enjoy the feeling of life in her veins and magic in her bones and becoming something larger, grander, better than just a failed little girl.

She gripped the sheets, and didn’t move until she was called back downstairs by KP. Jessica played along the whole week by the poolside, flirtatious and funny and blonde and sweet, laughing everything off. She continued to tease Kiara about her obvious feelings for Stanford Pines, as old as he was, and waved at Mabel and her sweet, hispanic (??) mermaid (?!?!?) boyfriend. She had nothing to worry about. Nothing.

Is he watching me? asked the book under Dipper’s pillow.

- - - - -

“So who else have you made deals with?” Jean asked some time ago, turning over in the air to see him.

Bill was sitting back, hands behind him as one would put them behind their head. He watched the sky roll lazily by. “OH, YOU KNOW. DA VINCI, THE KENNEDY’S, A COUPLE OF RUBES,” he listed casually. “I HAD FUN FILMING THE MOON-LANDING WITH NASA. THAT WAS PRETTY GREAT.”

Jess wasn’t sure if she wanted to ask about that yet. Whole new bag of worms to deal with. But she did ask this: “Have you ever given anybody your powers before?”

Bill paused. Interesting of her to ask. “NO,” he answered eventually. “HAVEN’T NEEDED TO! AND WHEN I FIGURED OUT I NEEDED TO, THERE WEREN’T PEOPLE IN TOWN WHO WERE WORTH SHARING THEM WITH!”

It had flattered her at the time. She used to spend a whole day of mischief with her favourite triangle. The minute she was out of earshot, sometimes sooner, Bill would appear in a crack of light by her side. The space around him shifting between this world and the Mindscape, as vibrant a yellow as ever. They’d exchange a knowing grin, and Jess would pick up her feet and turn her walk into a float. Both to show off her control over his magic, and because flying was the best thing in the world.

Jessica was getting good at learning his magic. Understanding where it came from. Bill didn’t delve too much into how he learned them - nobody wants to give away their backstory all at once and take away the fun. But she got it. Learn an equation, think of a grander universal concept, and either conjure it or remove it from existence entirely. All he’d given her that afternoon nap by the cave was just a spark for her body and brain to withstand it. Something to make her physically grander than the average twenty-five year-old cheerleader. She was a science-interested mind with an artist’s imagination. It was a good combo that worked in his favour, and appealing to boot. He needed that for the long-term plans. And for the short-term, she was damn fine fun.

They still spend nights together. It was harder to see her during the day, and she needed him less and less to talk through her abilities. Between fun-fairs, pig adoption, swimming pools, and sunsets on the porch chopping firewood, Bill Cipher wasn’t bothering to visit as often as he used to. They had dreams and the Mindscape to talk, to unwind, to catch up and explore the valleys and peaks of her imagination’s hillsides. And he didn’t want to sit in on those long hours of playing make-up and detective and helping the kids making videos for their stupid little channels. So he stuck right out of that, folded his arms, and waited for his friend to fall asleep and finally give him some time.

It was irritating. He was irritated, and she was aware of that, and now there were blood-splattered pages in a very old book with his name written between warning signs.

Technically speaking, spending time with the kids and making dumb videos was still practicing her powers. Bill couldn’t get too mad at Jean for spending more and more time with them. Right? Right. Even so, the girl had to make it up to him. So she picked a night and used the building blocks of her mind and imagination to create something just for them. No twins, no Kiara, nothing. Just her and Bill. She owed him that, at least.

Jessica was about half an hour into her sleep when he appeared. Deep blue night skies, slender purple and indigo trees. The usual level of whimsy, and those same white silhouettes of faceless starlight walking past them. But those eager silhouettes seemed to be vanished, or gather somewhere else. Bill Cipher was a contrast of yellow - not a soft gold but rather the ink in your printer that always seemed to vanish at inconvenient times - and appeared in a burst of white light. On the cliffside, outside the memory of ‘his’ cave, looking over towards the lake. A haze of pink and peach lights, made from only the kind of old-fashioned bulbs around movie-star frames and… carnivals.

He squinted, flying down closer to the sight. The closer he flew, the louder it became. Happy giggles, old music from the 50’s, and rickety wooden structures. Part of it resembled what Stan Pines created in his backyard in the name of self-promotion, the other parts looked like the seaside carnivals over in San Francisco or Coney Island. There was a large ferris wheel that nearly eclipsed the milky moon, with rose-coloured seats and plush cushions. There were games to play that won ugly, llama-looking plush toys with soft pink cheeks and bowties. The Kissing Booth was not occupied by Crescent, but rather a silhouette of white who had curves in the right places and a vaguely androgynous face. He ignored it. Nothing was rigged, everyone was a winner, and there was a distinct perfume in the air of fairy-floss and caramel. It was charming in a very mortal, young-love kind of way.

The girl had worked incredibly hard on it. Even down to the harlequin-styled clown, juggling on a small stage and dropping all his rainbow-coloured balls into his face. Bill cackled with nasal laughter amongst the imagined figures, and turned at the sound of ukulele. Jessica was performing as a busker, something she did to pass time and make money in college, and was dressed in a summer frock of white lace that sat like an attractive potato sack. It was pretty, as were the flowers in her hair. She was playing an old song that Cipher recalled her parents used to play on the kitchen radio, and when his eye found her she immediately stopped. Put the instrument down, float above the crowd, just make him the center of her world again.

She tucked a hair behind her ear, relaxing her legs and standing on the ground once more. “Sooo… you found the place!”

Bill chuckled. “HARD TO MISS IT,” he said/exclaimed. He always spoke so loudly. One of his hands reached for his top-hat, and he lifted it in respect. “NOT BAD, CRESCENT. NOT BAD AT ALL. CAN’T WAIT TO SEE YOU MAKE SOMETHING LIKE THIS WHEN YOU’RE AWAKE!”

Jess wandered along, the bystanders of white parting from their way. It was hard to tell how much control she had over them sometimes, but the girl didn’t mind a crowded room. It was exciting. Especially in the dusk-coloured party lights and atmosphere of this little fairytale. She wanted to make him happy, show off how much she could do, and it was certainly fun to expand things further and further. “Well, y’know, I feel bad that I spent so much time with the kids lately… Running around with them is fun and all, but I would have liked to spend some of the day with my other friend.”

He heard the good intentions in her voice. She really meant it. The triangle chuckled, flattered and floating, and they made their way to the ferris wheel. She clicked her fingers and a pair of champagne glasses appeared just within their reach, taking gentle sips in unison as the sparkling attendant set them inside the comfortable, cozy ride. Bill’s eye shut, and he drank through the lids as one would a mouth, only to open them again as that frightening slit pupil. It made Jess giggle.

“SO WHAT’S THE OCCASION?” he asked, sitting down with a little wriggle of comedic effect. Jess ignored him, leaning back into the cozy pink pillows. She could make her ferris wheel as pretty and unsafe as she’d like. But Bill wasn’t giving up. “CHAMPAGNE? WEARING SOMETHING OTHER THAN THOSE FILTHY PYJAMAS? AN ENTIRE CARNIVAL BY THE SEA? YOU’RE INDULGING ME HERE, KID!”

Jessica nibbled her lip when she spoke. Her knees crossed over, she watched the bubbles in the gold drink. “Well… I guess I wanted to say thanks, too. I mean, you’ve taught me so much. I wanted to show you I—“

“CRESCENT.”

His voice was sharp. Bill’s eye was on her, and her only. “I KNOW WHAT YOU READ.”

The wheel began to turn, and they rotated up, gently, into the deep blue sky of night. Despite the light pollution of the sideshow, the stars remained ever-bright. Logic was second-thought in the Mindscape. The world could be as beautiful or as ugly as Jessica’s dreams and emotions dictated. And right now, it was beautiful. For him. And she was making herself dainty and small and sweet. She was nervous. And she was overcompensating with big gifts, gestures of affection, exploring her powers as much as possible to push back the fact that, finally, she had found something that shook her faith in the inter-dimensional being.

The blonde watched the view of deep blue sea and endless horizon. The pink and yellow lights of the fair glowed beneath their feet. “… KP’s always said I should be careful around you,” she began. “But she says that about all my friends and relationships.” Bless that sweet, honest girl. A small smile tugged briefly. “… We both know I have shit in my life that I don’t want to deal with. And I figured… that you were the same. You never asked me about my history, so I never pried too deep into yours. But…”

Jessica swallowed. “You knew the Author. And something happened between you guys that turned a good friendship bad.” Those blue eyes kept dancing, taking nervous glances at the triangle as she considered her words. “And the cave paintings, and the cipher wheel, and… You’ve told me so much about the world, Bill, and I am amazed. But I know nothing about you…! I barely know what you gave me these powers for in the first place!!”

“YOU KNOW WHY!” he said, a laugh to his voice. He set the champagne glass on an imaginary table, and it floated perfectly in the air beside him. “YOU’RE A BRIGHT KID, WITH A LOT OF IMAGINATION, AND IT—“

“Bill, no, I…” She bit her lip. The interruption made her blink. Jean gave a sigh, gentle but clearly pent-up, like the steam from a kettle. “Give me something… real. You gave me these for a reason. And you still haven’t told me what that reason is. I’m too polite to ask what your intentions are, but if you don’t want me using them for fun with my friends, and you don’t want me performing onstage, then you have to tell me what this whole thing is about.”

She didn’t even sound angry anymore. Just a bit stressed, a bit desperate, and finally snapping a little. Jess was a straight-shooter when she was serious. It was rare, but she could be. He was wondering whenabouts she’d finally pop the question. And her nerves were turning from quiet and unspoken to loud, and straight-forward, and determined. Enough games. Enough mindless flattery. She was asking for some truth. Bill sighed in a defeated manner. He couldn’t avoid this topic. “SO YOU WANNA HEAR IT? THE TRAGIC TALE OF BILL THE TRIANGLE GUY?”

Jessica Jean nodded. She leaned back in the seat as the ferris-wheel took them higher. A vision of white among the blue and pink of her little universe. His stiff three sides relaxed a little, almost wilting or melting, and Cipher’s eyelid grew heavy. “I’M FROM ANOTHER DIMENSION. NOT THE MINDSCAPE, NOT YOURS, ANOTHER PLACE. IT WAS A BORING LITTLE BLACK AND WHITE SPACE WITH SIMPLE-MINDED PEOPLE. OTHER SHAPES. OTHER TRIANGLES. BUT I KNEW I WAS ALWAYS ONE OF A KIND! SMARTER THAN THE AVERAGE SQUARE! GOOD OL’ BILL CIPHER! A CUT ABOVE THE REST!

“I KNEW I WAS TOO GOOD FOR THE WORLD. I HAD TO FIND A WAY OUT. I STARTED LOOKING UP THINGS I WASN’T SUPPOSED TO, AND IT MADE ME A SMARTER EQUILATERAL. SOON, I WAS ABLE TO LEAVE MY WORLD ENTIRELY. I CAME TO YOUR THIRD DIMENSION AND TRIED TO SHOW THE PEOPLE WHAT I WAS CAPABLE OF, BUT THEY DIDN’T LIKE ME AT ALL! ALL THEY WANTED TO DO WAS BANISH ME.“

“I saw,” she said. Jess curled up her knees, moving closer to his side. “The murals on cave… The red lightning?”

“THAT’S THE ONE,” said Bill. He couldn’t look at her. How could he? Why should he? He was so lowly and she was so sweet. He sighed. The half-humoured tone to his story began to fade. Even when his voice was so loud, so nasal, Cipher just sounded so sad. He practically lost his glow. “I’VE BEEN TRAPPED FOR HUNDREDS OF YEARS. I WATCHED SO MUCH OF THE WORLD COME AND GO, AND I WANTED TO BE PART OF IT SO BADLY! I MANAGED TO HELP A FEW PEOPLE CHANGE HISTORY. MAKE AN IMPACT. GIVE MY LIFE A LITTLE MEANING. BUT IT’S NEVER BEEN ENOUGH. I’VE… I’VE NEVER BEEN ENOUGH.”

Jessica swallowed. She knew that feeling. Not to his cosmic extent. But she knew it. The triangle continued to explain himself and his slit pupil met her blue eyes. “THE AUTHOR OF THE JOURNALS FOUND ME, AND DEMANDED I TELL HIM ALL THE SECRETS OF THE UNIVERSE. I SHARED WHAT I COULD, BUT IT DROVE HIM MAD WITH POWER. THE POOR GUY LOST HIS SANITY COMPLETELY.” He looked at her with what was the equivalent of a hopeful smile. An air of warmth resonated between them in the starry sky. “BUT YOU? … YOU’RE THE FIRST PERSON I’VE EVER GIVEN MY POWERS TO. YOU’RE A GOOD EGG. A SMART KID. SMART ENOUGH TO LEARN HOW IT WORKS, BUT FUN ENOUGH TO TAKE IT TO A WHOLE NEW LEVEL! YOU ARE EXACTLY WHAT I NEED.”

She was quiet the whole while, taking in his story and hanging onto every word. But Jess had to ask, directly, “And what do you need? What do you need me to be?”

Cipher looked at her with his big, adoring eye. It was shiny against the starlight. He was yellow against the purple and blue of her mind.  It crinkled in the corners, in his version of a mouthless smile. “I NEED YOU TO BE MY ACE IN THE HOLE IF SOMETHING GOES WRONG. I’VE GOT A PLAN TO COME OUT THERE, IN YOUR WORLD. IT’S READY FOR ME. BUT IF SOMETHING GOES HAYWIRE, YOU’RE MY BACK-UP. I NEED YOU TO KEEP PRACTICING WHAT I TEACH YA, AND I NEED YOU AT BECK AND CALL WHEN THOSE BIG PLANS PAY OFF.” He sounded a little nervous. A glance up and down at her. “CAN YOU DO THAT FOR ME, CRESCENT?”

By contract, she couldn’t say no. But he pretended that she could. And Jess believed it. She believed it all, as he expected her to do. She smiled, warm and tender, and edged a little closer to him. And before Bill knew it, she did something pretty unexpected. She hugged him. Arms wrapped around his pointy frame. Altogether, he was about as tall as her torso - a perfect size to get wrapped up in as she lay back in their booth.

“I can do that,” she answered quietly. “… you weird asshole.”

She heard a chuckle. It was limp, compared to his louder natural laugh. Heck, Cipher was kind of surprised that she was holding him in the first place. Aside from sex with near strangers and grabbing KP whenever possible, Jessica Jean didn’t have a track record of physical attention. It made her squeamish. If she hugged him, it meant she really liked him.

Good.

“WHAT WAS THAT CUTE LITTLE NUMBER YOU WERE SINGING EARLIER?” he asked, finishing the champagne. He still flashed gold light with each syllable he spoke.

Jess shrugged. “It’s something my Mom sang to me before the divorce.”

And she’d hold her like this, too. The same way she held Bill now. He felt her clutch him a little tighter, a little closer, just subconsciously. He reclined in her arms as best as he could. “I’VE HEARD IT SOMEWHERE BEFORE. WANNA SING IT AGAIN FOR ME?”

Crescent smiled. “Sure!”

They stared into the blue, quiet and still, and talked about the endlessness yet contained beauty of the universe. Eager questions about the past and future, venting about her previous relationships and friends, and drinking champagne. The wheel stopped with them right at the top, looking over the world they shared together. Her eyelids grew heavy even within the dream, relaxed into a complete state of bliss. Her fingertips traced the flat, two-dimensional edge of his body, and he didn’t protest to it.

J.F. Kennedy didn’t cuddle. Neither did Lovecraft. Bill didn’t really have many female humans as contracts or friends. Still getting used to some aspects of it. And hugging seemed to be one of them. It was sweet. Not his preferred thing, but it was new. And new things were always intriguing. Jessica Jean, lying back amongst pillows and pointing out constellations in her mind’s sky, held him in her arms. It was difficult to, given he was a being of pure energy and weightlessness, but she tried. And the effort was enough.

The song ended slowly, gently. “You know what?” she said, looking out onto the wide blue ocean. It went for miles. The edge of her mind. They looked at the limitless blue and she squeezed him tighter. It was hard to, but the effort was enough. “I can’t wait for you to come out of this place… I’ll actually be able to hug you for real!”

Bill groaned dramatically. “YEAH, YEAH, I CAN HARDLY WAIT.” And the sarcasm made her laugh enough to spill some champagne.

- - - - -

KP and Jessica were usually the ones in charge of grocery runs. Stanford’s parenting skills were getting better, but it seemed like his cooking always relied on beans and war rations. Not that they were culinary experts or anything, but college life and learning to live on your own meant you picked up a couple things like easy-bake pasta recipes, steaks, eggs, anything that required minimal ingredients and as many healthy things as they could fit. Plus, being a young(er) adult meant they could respect the kids’ needs for brightly coloured cereal, sugar, and fruit juice spelt with numbers for letters.

“Honestly, this one is just an exclamation mark!” said KP, pulling it off the shelf. The bottle was about as big as Manly Dan’s arm, and coloured like a neon pink sign at a video arcade. She grinned. “Is Mabel gonna make her juice again?”

Jess nodded. “Yup. Prepare your liver.”

The car ride back from the store was music, good times, big smiles, and a backseat full of groceries. Loud rock music from the 50’s mixed with trap from last week. It was an eclectic mess of music tastes, which is what the blonde seemed to enjoy most.  Every speed-bump made the beetle shake, but the stops and sights on the way to Gopher Road were becoming more and more familiar. Kiara smiled out the window, even at the sight of the massive white and blue tent of the Gleeful family. This strange little town felt more like home every day. Sunshine on her skin when she leaned on the window. Her shirt’s long black sleeves felt toasty warm in the light.

She smiled at the driver. “Could you live here?”

It had certainly come out of nowhere. As did the smile from Tad Strange, crossing past them at the intersection and holding hands with his boyfriend. Jess waved back, awkward but flattered smirk on her face, and turned to her not-girlfriend. “Why’d you ask?”

“I dunno…!” replied KP. In fact, it had surprised herself a little. But just being lost in thought in the golden taste of sunlight had sent her off to somewhere dream-like and strange. She imagined the clouds parting and the shining light against her right cheek like a little kiss. “Lately I’ve just been thinking, y’know… settling down, finding somewhere nice and quiet to work on my comics…” She turned to Jessica with a nervous but hopeful expression. “Once the Summer’s up and the kids are on the bus to California, I might even look into real estate here!”

“Aww…!” Jess was quiet but proud. “That’s great!” Planning the future was never her forte. She survived as much as she could in the present. Anything like a career or a marriage was far, far away from her priorities. “What are you thinking, an apartment…? Or a cute little cottage house somewhere like Wendy’s place or the Shack…?

KP smiled. “Yeah, the Shack is perfect!”

“Yeah… Rustic, charming, full of weird taxidermy…!” “Ha-ha, yeah! Perfect woodland get-away—“

“Hotter older gentleman waiting for you every night…” purred Jess.

Kiara Lee Phoenix frowned at the blonde. This was not a road she wished to bring up. Again. “Not a day goes by where y’don’t remind me of this stupid crush, do you?”

“IT’S ADORABLE!” squealed Jess behind the wheel. Also, talking about the feelings between Stanford Pines and her best friend was a nice distraction from thinking about the inevitable death of her childhood and having to become an independent person. Taking a left turn and finding the familiar path for Gopher Road, she tried to talk while paying full attention. It was difficult. “Honestly, sweetheart, it had been years since I last saw you get a crush this bad!!”

The brunette made a loud, ugly groan of embarrassing noise and hardship. Easy for her friend to say, but it was hard to carry the feeling. “Please stop!! It’s… it’s weird. He’s so much older but he’s so handsome and he really cares about the kids!!” Her experience with boys was awful. With men? Even worse. KP didn’t know how to handle the emotional need in her body. She itched for the comforting headphones around her neck. She sighed, defeated, and hugged herself instead. “Look, what do you reckon?”

“I’ve told you what I reckon!” laughed Jess. “It’s adorable. You’re adorable.”

“Be serious,” said KP, in a rather miserable tone. “Just tell me, is this weird or not? I’m trying to shut off my feelings for the guy but… I can’t. And I know he’s kinda rough, and not the most aware, but he really does the best he can, and…” She was so tired from feeling it. Why did they have to talk about it? Why did she have to feel it?! Kiara looked to Jess for guidance. “Just give it to me straight.”

“… KP, you know I’m bi, I can’t give things straight—“

“Shut your beautiful mouth and be serious, darn it!”

It started off with giggles, but Jess would get to the point in a minute. She made the proper turn and headed up the long, dirt lane of Gopher Road. With a little bit of magic she turned down the radio as a sign of ‘serious conversation ahead’. “Okay, okay…” She racked her brain for good points. Good points about the law-avoiding ex-boxer who somehow managed to make his own business in dealing lies to suckers. “… He’s funny. And yeah, he’s getting better around the kids… Personally, I like my guys a little fitter, and a little nerdier, but y’know, that’s just me!

“The age… isn’t that much of an issue these days. Big gaps are gross when you’re like, in high school and some creepy 30-year-old man asks you about your cup size when you’re sixteen. That’s fucked up. But as you start getting older and a little wiser, people start to blur across generations…! Love is just a concept of hormones and biological urges, anyway, so who cares about how old, or fat, or queer, or how different each of the people involved are as long as they’re consenting and honest to each other!” Jessica’s serious talks always seemed to delve into social or scientific issues. She tried to make it more personal and not just a vent. “You always talk about finding a guy who wants a family, who’s gonna treat you like a real classy lady, and boys our age usually don’t give a shit about that…”

KP nodded with a bitter sigh. Too true. It was why Jess had so much care-free luck in sex and why she’d had so little. The blonde was fleeting and lived on the physical drive that was easier to come by - Kiara wanted something more… mature. They both watched the trees go by as she drove onward. “So… It’s fine that I have the hots for a sixty-three year-old man?”

Jessica snorted. “Sweetie, if you don’t judge me for being a sexually active queer girl, I will not judge you for having a crush on a nice older gentleman who, according to you, is trying really hard to be a good guy.”

She smiled, cheeks flushed with a tint of pink. And it wasn’t the sunshine on her skin. Kiara adjusted her glasses on the bridge of her nose. “Thanks, sweetheart…” she mumbled, quiet and thinking things over. They drove in the silence for a little while, looking at the road ahead and the slowly-appearing rooftop of their favourite tourist trap. Finally, she came to a lightbulb moment. “Hey, I just realised! You haven't got any action this whole trip!”

“I know, right?!” “How are you handling being single and constantly horny in a town full of nice family folk?” Jessica’s face lit up in a big, movie-star grin. “It’s killing me inside like you wouldn’t believe!”

She was about to rant about her last sexual encounter being a disappointing boy at a nightclub a year and a half ago, but a cop car was speeding right past them and heading towards the Mystery Shack. Blubs and Durland were on the case. The case of something. The two girls exchanged a look of concern, silently prayed the Stan wasn’t in trouble with the law again, and hit the gas a little harder. Something was wrong.

The ‘wrong’ was more mumbo-jumbo weirdness in Mabel and Dipper’s lives. They had left that morning with the twins fighting over having to share a room (which disheartened KP, but honestly it was bound to happen at some point) and now seemed to escalate to secret rooms (which excited Jess, but honestly it was bound to happen at some point.) Somehow the kids had gotten mixed up with a turquoise-coloured, incredibly fuzzy throw-rug with bizarre scientific abilities. The experiment gone wrong had just been lying dormant in the dusty ruins hidden in the Shack, and now was leading to absolute chaos. The house had about five people too many and a screaming, terrified pig. Candy, Grenda, the two-person squad, and—

McGucket. Jess cringed. Not that weirdo. This madness was coming to a gentle end, bit by bit, and whatever was a mess seemed to be sorting itself out. The carpet of mind-switching atomic power was putting everybody back into their own bodies. The girls had caught the tail of it, with Dipper and Mabel trying to organise everybody back into their own bodies. Apparently these lunatics had been jumping and out of each other all day via electric shocks. Sorting one at a time was a lot harder than it sounds, especially when Deputy Derland was crying and shaking in the body of a small Vietnamese girl.

“Pffftt,” muttered Candy’s sweet voice inside of pig’s body. “It’s not that bad.”

But eventually, it was done. Required a lot of organisation and KP demanding everybody split into two groups, those comfy in their own skin and those trapped in somebody else’s, and trying to convince Jess not to be an asshole and shock her ‘for fun’. Everybody became adjusted, the carpet was avoided as much as possible, and even Soos managed to stay out of Waddles. More or less.

The boy looked himself over, trying to get the taste of wooden door-chips out of his mouth. “Oh, no, I changed back!” he assured the Pines twins. He gave a glance down at his belly and the dirt on his hands. “At least I think I did.”

“I’ll still eat ya…!” muttered a starved, shivering hillbilly behind him.

The knife and fork in McGucket’s hands were terrifying. As was the threat of cannibalism. Jessica squirmed. ‘Old Man’ McGucket always made her squeemish. Like some awful mess between a tragic story of homelessness and a genuinely off-putting, unappealing ease in his awkward, clumsy behaviour. That, and he built giant robots to take out his enemies. Shady. Dipper and Mabel pushed him out as far as they could, trying to get rid of him as respectfully as possible, but it was the blonde who ended up taking him by the shoulders with gingerly fingers and leading him through the house. Of course. Just her luck.

The blue plaid wallpaper and old, rickety floors were becoming far too familiar at this point. Honestly, they spent more time in the Mystery Shack that at the hostel. She took a glance down at the old man. Long, dirty white beard. Big pickle nose, blushed and pimpled. Poor guy smelt like rotten beans. With the rest of the confused victims of ‘carpet diem’ following behind them, she tried to make polite conversation. “Don’t you have, like, a son you could bother or something?”

She caught a glimpse of that young man at the lake, anyway, but he seemed to be embarrassed of the inventor.  “Maybe!” he laughed back. “Don’t rightly know, these days!!” What a kook. Jessica found herself a little lost, slowing down bit by bit as she tried to find her way in the labyrinth of rooms. Sometimes the house was more of a maze than a home. But McGucket pointed at a particular hallway. “Door’s that way, little lady!”

Jess frowned. A particularly correct hallway. “I know, I know…”

McGucket wouldn’t keep his mouth shut. “Has that pig always lived here?!”

“Mabel got him at a fun-fair, not that it’s any of your business.”

“You can win pigs at the fun-fair?!”

“Yeah, I…” Jess glanced at the living-room as they walked by. McGucket seemed to have his eyes set on the square-jawed, overweight uncle sitting in front of the TV. She snickered. “Were you talking about Grunkle Stan?”

“That’s a nice name for a pig!!”

Okay, she had to laugh at that. The hard push against his slack shoulders eased up just a bit. She was expecting her boss to yell at the two of them for poking fun, but he seemed pretty focused on cleaning a pair of glasses. Or maybe the episode of Baby Fights was particularly interesting. Whatever. She opened up the front door and shooed everybody out, a gentle hand waving away the two girls and the charming officers. Blubs began to give Grenda a proper talking to about ‘excessive giggling’. The sky was peach with the setting sun. Pink seemed to be the colour of Jessica’s summer nights these days. It was a nice view.

She looked down to her left. McGucket was watching the sky, too. Even through his cross-eyed pupils and hundred-yard stare. She would have thought it was sweet if not for the overwhelming stench of raccoons, rusty tin, and unwashed clothing.

Oh, to hell with it. The guy hadn’t eaten and was clearly homeless. Apparently McGucket slept in the Gravity Falls junkyard - he couldn’t help that he was as unstable as a rowboat in a storm, and was probably too crazy to remember this, anyway. Jess pulled a crisp fifty-dollar note from the inside of her bare palm, and held it out to the old man. He blinked at it.

She winced. “Please just take it.”

“What for?” he asked. His voice was still as twangy as banjo string.

She grimaced. “You haven’t eaten in a week and you smell like crap and I don’t want you in this house again, okay? Just take the money.”

It all came out a lot quicker and awkward than she’d anticipated. But the old guy didn’t seem to mind. Then again McGucket also had a bandaid on his beard and a cast for a wrist injury that had probably healed five years ago. He played with the note in his hands, stretching and twisting it about. He stood there, a little stunned, and Jess closed the door on him. Weirdo. The four kids were talking outside, trying to avoid the questions of the officers, and the house was finally quiet. Thank God. All that pig-screaming and running around in literal circles was getting to her. So much for a calm day getting groceries.

Jessica risked having a float, lifting up her feet and pocketing her hands in her overalls. Down the quiet hallways of old wood, save for the sound of crying children muffled in the lounge-room down the hallway. The static sound of the channels being flicked through one by one gave the house some white noise to it. It was nice. Cozy. Along with the gentle sounds of soft voices, understanding and anxious tones, that she only recognised as that of her best friend. She ducked in her head to find Kiara and Stanford there, changing channels. The eye-wear in his hand was practically squeaky clean, but the guy wouldn’t stop polishing it. KP had the remote and seemed to be finding something on the telly.

They were shaped kind of different from the ones he usually wore. She nodded towards them, and got to her feet pronto before their boss could recognise them. “Cool glasses.” He pocketed them in the striped boxer shorts, and grumbled something incoherent. She tried more conversation. “… They new?”

“Old,” answered the man gruffly. He reclined back in his vomit-coloured chair. This house had furniture from so many decades it was getting ridiculous. But nothing beat the old chair and the stone walls of the living room. He ignored her for a moment, and looked up at the better babysitter. “You gonna join in on this rerun or leave the mystery to me?”

KP laughed a little too loudly. “U-Uh… yeah! Sure!” And while there was room on the massive arms of the chair, she picked the soft and worn-out lounge to lie back on. A safe distance from Stanford and hopefully enough for him to forget the blush that was spreading to her face. Jess smiled internally. Girl had it bad.

Stan noticed the staring. He glanced at Jess up and down, and hiked a thumb towards the stairwell. He wasn’t going to have her standing around being a millennial nightmare when she could’ve been put to some good work. Especially when the ‘suck up’ contest was at an end and he could no longer abuse the fine line between ‘child labour’ and ‘time with the kids’. “Goldilocks, go clean up the new room for Dipper tonight, will ya?”

Her face caved. “Why me?”

“Because the kids have worked all day, Soos is being weird, and KP and I are watching TV. Get to it.”

The past week, she’d spent plenty of time being nice and doing favours for other people. Buying a video camera for the kids, making a spectacular carnival for herself and Bill to play in, and creating money from thin air to feed a weird old guy who married something that he found in a dumpster. Maybe the good-deeds energy from it was still in effect, or maybe the fact that KP and Stanford could have some time alone together was reason enough to do it. Jessica pretended to whine and get under Stan’s skin. Arms folded, leaning over to try and see the blurred screen, big pomp and fuss with her chest stuck out defensively. Play up and act like the clown. But when she left, Jess gave the slightest wink to KP. Those two could have some fun, even if was at an arm’s distance apart.

Kiara glanced nervously between the television screen and Stanford Pines. It was an ad-break, and she was trying to find something to talk about other than the massive, quiet, ink-blot of tension and romantic interest. “So…” she tried. “Th-the room’s going to Dipper then?”

Stan gave a shrug. “Yeah, let the nerd have it! It suits him.” He cleared his throat a little, reclining back on the couch and putting his hands behind his head. “I was gonna give it to you two girls, but I figured life at the hostel seemed pretty fun. Didn’t wanna, uh… cramp your style or anything.”

KP scoffed. “Yeah, it’s fun if you enjoy unwashed dishes, termites, and listening to people have loud sex at three in the morning…!”

“Ha!” The old man chuckled and turned to the young woman at his side. The re-run of Ducktective seemed to be less important. “Yeah you’re right. A pretty thing like you must be smothered with attention from all the guys there.”

Kiara could have swallowed her tongue as the red blush claimed her face.

The room was found by Soos that very morning. He’d decided, on his own love for the place and because Mr Mystery told him to, to clean up the boxes in the storage area. The towers of cardboard were greying, some soggy, all of them covered in specks of dust and mildew. They were sealed clumsily by Stanford with duct-tape and remained unopened. The guy had done as best as he could to organise them, but being unable to see what was inside it was more about vacuuming and dusting the piles already there. But he’d moved around enough to reveal a door, traditionally carved from redwood and resembling faintly of a Swedish get-away. Painted with green, yellow and blue floral accents amongst the deep rouge tones. This whole house was designed with bits and bobs from different styles, but this room was by far the strangest. When they’d asked Stan what the hell he’d locked it away for, apparently it was just easier to shut off the previous owner’s junk entirely than try to sort through and figure out what to sell. Lazybones.

It was caked in dust, save for where the kids had been running around. The first thing Jess did was roll up that chaotic piece of carpeting, not even touching the weird old thing but rather curling it up with her mind. The heavy piece of blue and gold shag helped prop the door open and let the room breathe a little more. The tag of Experiment 78 stuck out in a faded silver label. The square underneath was that perfect shape of dust-free space, and the greyed wooden floor was nearly white from being beneath the rug all these years. It had a stronger scotch and masculine smell, like Stan’s office, but it was fainter with the sands of time and smelt less of sweaty laundry. The guy really hadn’t touched it for a while.

Flying made things easier. As did summoning a dusting brush and a vacuum cleaner when she needed one. That way she could get rid of all the creepy cobwebs up in the hard-to-reach corners. Way easier to do now than when Jess was just a five-foot rocket without any fuel. She took in the room’s ambience while she was up there - this 70’s-designed hide-away of red asymmetrical furniture, low knee-high cabinets, and a small, stained-glass window with pink and orange squares. It filled the room with roses, the blue throw-pillows and yellow lamps being little spots of contrast to the colour. It was sweet. Very nicely designed. The rest of the Shack seemed to be mismatched with a memory of the original log-cabin, retro vibe. Stanford had renovated the place time and time again to make his home into a Mystery Shack. The Mystery Shack. But this place? It was untouched.

She pulled down the blue sheet that was hung open over a fold-away mirror. Somebody didn’t want to be seen, but it sure as hell wasn’t Jess. With a little turn and pose, twirling the duster between her fingers and checking out her own curves, she spotted little glass pyramids lined up on a shelf behind her. After a brief clean-up came a chance to play, and she lifted them up in the pink light of the room, reflecting rainbows across the walls and mirrors. A laugh escaped into the quiet. This room seemed to have plenty of knick-knacks - the calendar on the wall was stuck on a picture of a very fierce-looking owl (marked with the fourth of July, 1982), a trophy for a valedictorian, and a framed portrait of a short-haired, bushy-browed young lady who looked a lot like Mary Shelly.

Jess squinted. “… Fuck, I think that is Mary Shelly.”

Books, lamps, and retro clock on top of a blocked-up fireplace. She broke her foot roughly through the boards and vacuumed old ash. A lot of notes had been burned there. And there were stacks and stacks of papers all around. The shelves were full of old-school scoff novels and first editions. Some were guilty pleasure pulp types, and others hardback copies of famous theories and nonfiction collections. This room was… kind of awesome. Jessica was more of a 1960’s, psychedelic, free-love and flower-crowns soul to her trashy 90’s aesthetic, but she really did like the touch of modern 70’s here and there. No wonder Dipper and Mabel fought for it. If she had her say, she’d have been knocking them out for the key, too.

She adjusted the round, yellow lampshade until her feminine standards of ‘tidy’ were met. It was a shame this place was about to smell like unwashed jocks, and not the charming shelf of whiskies and scotch. It was a real shame of Stan to keep this place hidden for so long. But it was understandable. After all, this place was nothing like him. Nothing like Stanford Pines at all.