#Psychic Reading in California | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hcneymooners · 6 months ago

Note

best friends mom ambessa? perchance? love ur fics 🤍

⋆ you made me crazy, you made me wild.

best friend's mother!ambessa x curvy!f!reader. men & minors dni.

synopsis: a psychic once told you you'd have the kind of love that would mark you for the rest of your life. did it have to be with your best friend's mother?

cw: milf!bessa, age difference, older woman/younger woman, modern au, you and mel are best friends, long rich people vacations, curvy!reader, reader is implied to be a woc but you can still read regardless, forbidden love, sneaking around, vaping bc i have an oral fixation however i have never once smoked i just like the vibe i fear, non-sexual intimacy, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, overstimulation (bessa!receiving, r!recieving), multiple orgasms, tribbing, cunnilingus (bessa!receiving), you go to town on her my god, squirting (bessaaaa does it), tender sex, floor sex, manhandling, light angst, friendship breakups, angst with a happy ending.

notes: perchance is killing me. thank you so much for being so sweet mami. hope you enjoy. also, don't vape kids!

you and mel haven't spoken in three weeks.

the thought sits heavy in your chest as you perch on the window seat of your boutique, one leg tucked beneath you, the other dangling lazily. your cream silk camisole rides up your belly, catching on the velvet cushions behind you. outside, venice beach awakens like a lioness stretching in the sun, all languid and golden.

the brass bell above your door chimes softly in the morning breeze. your fingers find your vape – a delicate thing of gold, engraved with climbing roses – and bring it to your lips in a motion as natural as breathing.

the sweet ghost of vanilla mango curls around you like a familiar lover. you've always needed something between your lips, a fact that amuses your friends and once made ambessa raise an eyebrow in that way that sent heat flooding through your body.

the recent mornings have been sadder and slower than most, though objectively one wouldn’t be able to tell. you keep waking in fits, your body heavy with mourning. your reflection in the shop window shows what you've become in her absence: curves nestled in vintage, mussed hair tumbling past your shoulders, lips stained the color of crushed berries.

a crystal pendant nestles in the soft valley between your breasts, and your rings catch the light as you fidget with the hemline of your denim cutoffs. there's nothing calculated about your appearance today – no performance or intention. it's as honest as you can muster this morning.

the wooden floor creaks beneath your bare feet as you move to arrange a display of moonstone rings. your own fingers are adorned with gold bands, each one telling a story of who you were before that summer in england. before mel, before her mother and that library with its leather-bound books and muggy afternoons, before you watched her, endeared as she peered at her phone with those sunglasses perched on the top of her head.

before you realized that the soft animal of your body had found its home in the worst fucking lineage alive.

your phone lights up again – another message from mel. her name on the screen sends a fresh wave of guilt through you, but not regret. never regret. not about the way her mother’s hands felt on your waist in the conservatory, not about the first kiss that tasted of chlorine and whiskey, not even about the screaming match that ended with you on a plane back to california.

you take another long drag from your vape, watching the morning light fracture through hanging crystals into rainbow patterns across your skin. the salt air mingles with your perfume – something expensive and european that ambessa had picked out because she liked to dress you like a little doll, build your body up.

a customer pushes open the door, sending the brass bell into a symphony, and you unfold yourself from the window seat. your reflection shows a woman who knows exactly who she is – soft-bodied but steel-spined, tarnished but holding out for healing.

you tuck the vape into a vintage ceramic dish beside your register, next to the rose quartz crystal your psychic insisted would bring your true love back to you. you're not sure you believe it, but you keep it close anyway, just in case the universe is listening.

the customer's voice hits you like a wave – crisp, cultured british vowels discussing the merits of different pieces. it's nothing like ambessa's voice, really, but it's enough to send you tumbling back into that summer, that first day when everything changed.

𓇼

mel had been waiting at heathrow, practically vibrating with anxiety, her locs spun into a tight chignon at the nape of her neck—a nervous habit since childhood. you'd fallen into each other's arms like you always did, all tears and high laughter, ignoring the disapproving looks from passing businessmen. it was the same way you'd hugged since you were five, sharing grape juice boxes and childish fantasies on the playground.

"it's just a little cottage in the countryside," mel had said on facetime, twisting her initial necklace. "very quaint, very english. you'll probably think it's charming." what she hadn't mentioned was that her "cottage" was actually a sprawling estate that made downton abbey look modest.

honey-colored stone stretched towards the sky, windows gleaming like diamonds in the afternoon sun. the gravel drive seemed endless, winding through gardens that swallowed the sun within their towering walls. it must’ve been a dream to grow up here, small feet tumbling through the mazes and nothing but the entire world before you. your hand was still clasped in hers on the gearshift of her vintage mercedes, just like always, but you could feel her fingers trembling slightly.

"mom's probably in the library," mel said, killing the engine. "she's got this thing about afternoon light."

she chewed her lip, a habit you recognized from exam days and first dates.

"just… don't take it personally if she's a bit… well, you know. she can be kind of intense. dad always says she's an acquired taste."

you remember adjusting your dress, a red-and-white gingham number that clung delicately to your stomach. the bow at the bust had come undone at least three times that morning, and the skirt, airy and flared, fluttered in the slightest breeze. it felt a little too simple, too worn for the looming grandeur of mel’s childhood home, but you hadn’t thought to pack anything else. besides, something was grounding about it—the way the cotton pressed against your skin, the familiar weight of the straps on your shoulders, like it was trying to remind you who you were.

you followed mel through halls lined with oil paintings and antiquities. your sandals clicked against marble floors, echoing off high ceilings. everything smelled overwhelmingly of jasmine and time passed, the atmosphere practically bloated by money’s touch.

and then there was ambessa.

she stood in a shaft of golden light, tall and elegant in a cream linen suit that probably cost more than your entire wardrobe. silver threaded through her dark hair which was braided down into a neat, long plait and when she turned, her eyes caught yours with an intensity that made your knees weak. your psychic's words echoed in your head – "your palm reads of a love that will shake you. stand fast, girl." – and something in your chest shifted, like tectonic plates realigning.

"mom, this is my best friend," mel was saying, but her voice seemed to come from very far away. you noticed how she shifted her weight from foot to foot, how her fingers twisted in the waistband of her maxi skirt. "the one i've been telling you about."

ambessa's handshake was firm, her skin warm against yours.

"welcome to our home," she said, and her voice – god, her voice was like honey over gravel, like smoke and leather. "i trust you'll find everything… adequate."

you managed to say something appropriate, probably, though you couldn't remember what. all you could focus on was the way ambessa's eyes lingered on the wide basket of your waist, the delicate line of your collarbone, the pearl drop nestled between your breasts. it felt like a cigarette dragged slowly across your skin.

later, sprawled across mel's massive bed like you used to do at sleepovers, both of you tipsy on expensive wine stolen from the cellar, mel talked about her latest boyfriend drama – some posh boy from oxford who couldn't commit – while you traced patterns on her linen sheets. but your mind kept drifting to the library, to ambessa's knowing smile, to the way she'd looked at you over dinner like you were a deer she very much wanted to fell.

you didn't know then that those looks would become your undoing.

𓇼

you couldn't sleep that first week, your body stubbornly running on pacific time. the massive house creaked and whispered at night, all those endless corridors filled with shadows. you'd taken to wandering, padding through the halls in your cotton shorts and an old guns & roses tee, your thick hair piled high in a silk scarf that your grandmother had taught you to wrap just so.

that's how she found you the third night, curled up in the window seat of the informal library (because of course there were multiple libraries), reading the beautiful and damned by phone light. your bare legs were tucked up under you, painted toes peeking out, a half-eaten peach leaving sticky fingerprints on the pages.

"fitzgerald at three in the morning?" her voice was rough with sleep, but still commanding. ambessa stood in the doorway in a black silk robe that made your mouth go dry, her hair loose around her shoulders. "how terribly american of you."

"can't sleep," you drawled, your accent thick and lazy in the quiet. "time zones are, like, totally brutal."

the ghost of a smile touched her lips at your exaggerated californian lilt, and something warm unfurled in your chest when her eyes lingered on your face, studying you with a naked interest that made your skin prickle.

it became a ritual after that – you in your sun-faded pajamas, her in sophisticated sleepwear that probably cost more than your rent. she'd pour two fingers of sherry ("none of that silly wine you girls keep stealing." “yeah, sorry about that.”), and you'd talk about everything and nothing.

you told her about your boutique—at the time—dream, about learning to make jewelry from an old hippie who read tarot cards on the boardwalk. she spoke of art acquisitions and board meetings, but sometimes, when the night grew soft and heavy around you, she'd share pieces of herself that felt like an easy glimpse into your future.

mel noticed, of course she did.

"mum’s different with you," she said one afternoon, watching you apply coconut oil to your sun-warmed skin by the pool. her voice was careful, measured in a way that made your stomach twist. "she actually laughs at your jokes. she never laughs at anyone's jokes."

you hummed noncommittally, pretending to be absorbed in moisturizing. but you could feel mel's eyes on you, the same sharp gaze she'd inherited from her mother, taking in how you'd started wearing your nicest pajama sets to your nighttime wanderings, how you'd borrowed one of her expensive face creams "just to test it out."

during the days, you'd lounge in the massive gardens with mel, your skin deepening to further in the english sun while she talked less and less about her boyfriend's drama and more about how strange it was to see her mother so… present. but at night – at night you belonged to the library, to raspy-voiced conversations and loaded silences, to the way ambessa's eyes would trace the crescent of your folded body, the arch of your neck, the fullness of your lips.

"you're nothing like i expected," she said one night, two months in, her voice low and intimate in the darkness. you were sprawled on the persian rug, head tipped back against a leather armchair, humming some alternative song under your breath. your skin glowed warm and rich in the lamplight, a sharp contrast to the pale marble and cream walls surrounding you.

"oh?" you looked up at her through your lashes, feeling brave from the whiskey and the late hour. "what did you expect?"

"someone more like mel's other friends. polished. proper." her lips curved around the words as if they amused her. "not this beautiful little creature in threadbare pajamas, so full of freedom and self-assuredness. you hold your own."

beautiful. the word hung in the air between you, dangerous and flickering. like the growing tension you felt whenever mel watched you both at dinner, her eyes narrowing at each shared glance, each lingering moment. you sat up slowly, your movements sluggish and dream-like.

"i don’t. not really. you make me nervous, but i learned early on how to fake it."

her eyes met yours in the dim light, and the air flooded with something thick and heady. your body felt electric. behind you, a floorboard creaked – mel, you'd realize later, watching from the doorway with dawning understanding.

but in that moment, all you could see was ambessa, all you could feel was the weight of what was building between you, an avalanche you were both choosing to let bury you.

in a matter of minutes, she had her hands on you, your back against her firm chest with two fingers tucked inside of your cunt. your legs sprawled open, your pussy blossoming with arousal like rain on roses.

she was softer than you’d imagined, but it was almost relieving. the tenderness did more for you anyway, sent your pulse more freely throughout your body.

you bucked your hips as heat spiraled up from the base of your spine. ambessa pressed you back down, fingers gripping deeply into your thighs.

“no,” she murmured. “stay down.”

you were nestled into her lap, her fingers milking you gently as you arched. your voice seemed caught in your throat, your neck extended in expectation of a kiss. she indulged you, mouth capturing yours while her thumb slipped past your thatch of curls to play with your clit.

the kiss was wet and sloppy, uncoordinated as a result of your jerking body. still, she fed from you reaping kiss after kiss, suckling at your tongue. she groaned into your lips as you threaded a harsh hand into her hair, pining her face against yours.

in response, she inserted a third finger. you let out a high moan at the added stimulation, rooting a hand around her neck to better fuck yourself down. she laughed lightly at your desire, pumping faster until your cunt dribbled gratitude down her knuckles.

“there you go, sweet girl,” she cooed and you shivered.

you suddenly understood cults and their leaders, how special you could feel when their attention was laved over you. you were trying your best to remain quiet, thick thighs trembling as she fucked you a little harder. your tits were bouncing as you met her thrusts and she hid her face into your neck, sucking and biting lightly.

with a muffled squeal you came, squirting lavishly all over where the two of you were locked together. true to her nature, ambessa didn’t give you a moment. with an efficient maneuver, she slid you around and on top of her. it was then that you realized she was naked, robe hanging open at her sides. you weren’t given a second to admire her.

instead, she tucked you into her and kissed you as she extended her legs out and settled you onto her warm cunt. you collapsed fully into her, face buried in the soft crevice of her heavy tits. she let out a slight hum of satisfaction as she slotted your clits together, hooking a leg over you to better increase the spread of your puffy pussy. eventually, you understood the intention and began to rock steadily against her.

the friction was heavenly and you clutched her tightly, burrowing into her broad body as you chased your pleasure. ambessa was just as frantic, snapping up with a hand anchored into your hair. your silk scarf had fallen long ago but you didn’t worry about it. all that mattered was her deep groans of pleasure and the way she kept fucking up against you.

“fuck, honey,” she murmured and you wanted to tell her that you knew, that you understood.

but you couldn’t. you were rendered pathetic by the threat of your second orgasm and settled for cumming inside of her with a wet wail. you could feel her legs shaking but you knew she hadn’t finished, and with a great groan you slid off of her.

stumbling slightly, you stood and rearranged so that you were kneeling in between the apex of her legs with your ass high in the air. as you dripped onto the carpet you began to lap at her and reached a hand up to twist and pinch at her nipples, alternating between her tits.

her breath began to shudder, her chest heaving as she ground down on her tongue. it only took a couple more broad strokes up her pussy and a relentless circling of her clit for her to finish, the liquid dowsing your nose and chin. the spray was thick and warm.

pleased, you hummed into her and started the whole thing up again. she cried out, legs closing around you in a suffocating crush.

not once did you let go.

𓇼

the fight had been brutal. even now, the memory makes your stomach churn—leaves you flinching, sick, and unsteady.

“jesus, [name],” mel’s voice had been sharp, cutting through the quiet. “you’re playing house with my fucking mother.”

“mel—”

“no!” she snapped, her words laced with disbelief and venom. “i can’t believe you. what? are you just desperate? taking whatever scraps you can get? ‘but i love her, melly!’”

her voice pitched high, mocking, cruel in a way you’d never heard before.

“i mean, my god, just go to therapy. don’t go fucking my mother!”

your hand cracked against her cheek before you even registered the motion.

“fuck you,” you spat, trembling, the tears hot and blinding.

she staggered back a step, wide-eyed and disbelieving. you mirrored her shock, your palm still stinging. the silence that followed was suffocating, broken only by the harsh sound of both your breaths. ambessa had stepped out moments before—it was just the two of you now, suspended in the aftermath.

her lips parted as if to say something, but no words came.

your ticket was booked that afternoon, your bag packed by evening. you were gone before the sun had fully set.

𓇼

you close the shop early, your hands moving automatically as the weight of the day presses down on you.

the steady drag on your vape blurs the edges of your thoughts, a small comfort that does nothing to ease the growing ache in your chest. by the time you arrive home, the haze has lifted, but it leaves behind a sharp clarity: you’re alone. sadder than anything. the kind of heartbroken that settles deep in your bones and brings you down, quiet and constant like a low hum you can’t escape.

so you’re surprised when you’re met with a sleek range rover loitering in the parking lot outside your apartment complex.

you didn’t expect to see her this soon. or ever. didn’t want to. three weeks of silence, of space between you both, and you thought you were okay with it. you’d been fine with the quiet, with the absence. but there she is.

mel is right outside your building, sitting pretty and cross-legged in the backseat, the car’s headlights casting long, soft shadows over the cracked pavement. ambessa is sitting in the passenger seat, her face illuminated by the glow from the dashboard, and something about the way she holds herself makes it clear that she’s on the edge. she probably didn’t even want to do this. maybe she’d flown here for mel. maybe mel had flown here for you.

your chest tightens as you stand there, frozen for a moment, caught between the impulse to walk away and the need to understand what’s brought them here. you don’t move, just watch.

the undiscovered truth is that ambessa’s done this for both of you.

mel’s been struggling without you. she’s noticed it; this is her daughter after all. mel hasn’t said it outright, but ambessa can see it in the way her shoulders slump when she talks to anyone else, the small, tired smiles that don’t reach her eyes. she’s miserable without her best friend. and then—gradually—ambessa realized how much she needed you, too. wanted you.

the air between you and the car is heavy with guilt and longing. you can see it in mel’s face, too—how much she loves her mother, how she wants this to be different, even if she doesn’t quite know how to fix it.

and you? you feel a bit numb. maybe it’s the dredges of your vanilla buzz. the sadness in your chest, the loneliness, the quiet hope that maybe—just maybe—this could still work? it’s half dead, half living. you can’t tell if you’re ready to talk, to face what’s been left unsaid for so long. but you know one thing for sure: you’ve missed them both.

you keep standing there, rooted to the spot, watching the car like it’s some kind of omen. the silence feels louder than anything you’ve heard in weeks. ambessa remains in the passenger seat, her gaze distant, like she’s trying to work through something too. you don’t know what it is—whether it’s the weight of her possible regret or the silent pressure she’s putting on her daughter.

mel shifts in her seat, and then, before you can even brace yourself, she’s out of the car, the door slamming shut behind her. she’s standing in front of you now, her eyes wide with something that looks like hesitation.

“i didn’t know where else to go,” she says, her voice quiet but raw.

you don’t know what to say. the words that have been sitting in your throat for weeks suddenly seem impossible to spit out. you want to scream, to ask her why she didn’t come sooner, why it took so long. but all you can do is stand there, your chest tight and aching.

“you don’t have to say anything,” mel continues, her eyes darting between your face and the ground. “i just… i didn’t know what else to do. my mom’s…” she trails off, and there’s something in her voice—something that sounds like both love and frustration.

“she’s been miserable without you. i’ve been miserable without you.”

the admission hangs between you, thick and vulnerable. your breath catches in your throat. you didn’t know how much you missed her until this moment. you want to reach out, to pull her close, but you don’t. the ground between you both feels too fragile. finally, you speak.

“you deserve an apology too,” you croak out. “i shouldn’t have gone behind your back and i sure as hell should have never fucking hit you. it was unacceptable and i’m sorry, melly.”

her eyes grow bright and glassy with tears. she nods.

“i’m not going to say it’s fine because it’s not. but thank you for apologizing.”

you nod, resigned to another night of crying yourself to sleep.

i realized,” mel says wetly, “before this whole thing i’d never—i’d never seen you in love. i’ve never seen you that happy. i’m sorry for mocking that especially since you’ve never had that before, and it’s all you’ve ever wanted.”

you shrug, looking away.

“it’s how i’ve been living.”

before mel can say anything else, ambessa opens her door and steps out of the car. she’s quiet, her movements deliberate, but there’s something gentle in the way she walks toward you. she stops just a foot away, and without a word, she closes the gap and cups your face in her hands, her palms warm against your skin.

you blink, the shock of her touch overwhelming.

“i can’t believe you’re here,” you tell her, your voice cracking down the middle. “have you even been to california before?”

and it’s so stupid to say when you haven’t fucking seen her in months, haven’t stopped loving her for days, but ambessa only smiles. her eyes soften as she leans in, her lips brushing your forehead in a delicate.

“i’ve only ever tasted it,” she murmurs, her breath warm against your skin.

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millenianthemums · 16 days ago

Text

At long last, here’s Chapter Seven of Mabel’s Guide to the Power of Friendship!!! please enjoy

I had a long stint of writer’s block that I’m slowly recovering from, so this chapter took forever. and then i wanted to do something fun for the chapter art to celebrate finally getting the chapter out, and this took sooo long but was very fun to do. anyway thank you everyone for waiting and reading along, see you soon with the next chapter hopefully

INDEX

chapter text under cut

As much as Mabel hated even thinking the phrase… Bill had been right. Sneaking back upstairs was pretty effortless. Still, as she laid in the dark, curled up in bed, anxiety tugged at her brain. Why was Dipper up? He was a total night owl, he was never up this early unless he’d just pulled an all-nighter. But he’d been fast asleep when she’d snuck out earlier…

She grumbled and rubbed her eyes, trying to hold off a headache. Something was off. Did he know about Bill? Or suspect something? Were he and Ford talking because one of those sci-fi gadgets in Ford’s study detected Bill somehow?

Or was Dipper hiding something too? Something that had nothing to do with Bill, or her? His own sneaky little summer project that he didn’t trust her with. Like that dumb thesis contest he was so excited and cagey about.

Mabel’s eyes stung a little. It was probably something like that. But hey, she was keeping secrets from him too. Big, stupid, scary, dangerous, messed-up secrets that would horrify him. So it was only fair, really.

It was fine. It wasn’t the end of the world, it was just something they couldn’t talk about. Siblings weren’t supposed to be able to talk to each other about everything. Siblings hide things. They grow apart. They build separate lives, bigger and bigger, until they’re so many layers deep that they’re nowhere near each other anymore. That’s fine; it’s just how life is. She scrubbed roughly at a tear.

One hand thrashed around through the pile of plushies on her bed, searching for one in particular. She knew when she’d grabbed it without even looking. The fur fabric was rubbed smooth in some patches and still fuzzy in others, patched with all different textures and materials. It was Agatha. A big, pink, pillow-shaped, ratty old cat that had been with Mabel since it was bigger than her.

Last year Agatha had stayed in California, after a bunch of warnings that she’d take up too much suitcase space. But this past year had been… a lot. High school exceeding its bad reputation, the schlepping back and forth between Dad’s house and Mom’s new condo, the family drama, the nightmares, the weird panicky moments that came out of nowhere… but somehow, despite it all, hugging Agatha always made her feel a little better. So she’d made room for her.

Like she had so many times, Mabel squeezed the cat as tight as she could. And like always, it felt like a soft warmth pulsed out from her cotton-filled core, into Mabel’s heart. A reassuring glow that wore away her sadness just a little, like a gentle, fluffy, reassuring hug of pure psychic energy. With a small, weary sigh, Mabel looked at Agatha’s face, and imagined that her button eyes softened a little, like she was telling her everything would be okay.

Mabel wiped her face clean, cuddled into the blankets, and sunk into sleep. Whatever happened could wait until the sun came up. Right now, it was time to rest.

—-

And then, very quickly, it wasn’t. Pale morning light was streaming through the attic windows, and her brother was shaking her awake, saying her name in an excited whisper.

Her brain felt like sludge. “Hhbwuh?” she managed to ask.

“Follow me.” He was grinning like a 1000-watt bulb. “I’ve got something to share.”

He led her by the hand into the dark living room. She squinted around, thoughts still muffled by sleep. She barely had time to start being curious before the lights clicked on.

A trifold poster was set up on the coffee table, standing proudly in the center of the room like the guest of honor. On it, blurry polaroids of gnomes, lake monsters, dinosaurs and more cluttered every inch of bare poster board. Red string linked every picture in a wild web of conspiracy, and at the center of the chaos, every string led to a single point. A photo of Dipper and Mabel in front of the Mystery Shack, silly grins beaming at the camera.

A title festooned the top of the board, Dipper’s handwriting rendered with colorful highlighters. “Thesis Project: Dipper and Mabel’s Guide to the Unexplained.”

“I know the design’s not great,” Dipper said with a sheepish grin. “I just wanted to surprise you.”

Mabel had to swallow the lump in her throat before she spoke. “This is your thesis project?”

“This is our thesis project.” Dipper put his hands on her shoulders. “I mean… I want it to be. I want to spend this summer studying the anomalies in Gravity Falls, and I want you to help me.”

She snorted. “I would’ve drawn you a cover page whether you asked me to or not—“

“Not just the cover page,” Dipper said. “I want you to be my co-author. I want us to do this project together as lab partners and submit it together. Mabel, every awesome thing we did last summer, everything we learned and accomplished, it only happened because we worked together. If we do this together, there’s no way we won’t win.” He trailed off, suddenly sheepish again. “I mean, if you want. It’s okay if you don’t, I know it’s a lot of wo—“

“DIPPERRRRR!!!!!!!!” Mabel launched forward and tackled him off his feet with the biggest hug she could manage.

“—OUGH— ack— Mabel I can’t breathe!” he laughed. When he managed to loosen the vice grip embrace, he saw her face and his eyes bulged with concern. “Whoa, are you okay??”

Mabel scrubbed the happy tears from her face. “Of course I’ll be your lab partner!!” she sobbed. “There’s nothing I’d rather do!”

Dipper’s eyes glittered too. He grinned and hugged her back.

Mabel looked up at the sound of clapping, and saw Ford and a very sleepy Stan sitting at the kitchen table. “Bravo, Dipper!” Ford said brightly. “See, I told you it would go over perfectly!”

Stan nudged his brother. “And what’d I tell you, huh?” he grunted. “This town’s in good hands.”

——

Bill hadn’t meant to fall asleep again. Really, he thought he hadn’t. He thought he’d just been sitting on the floor, back against the wall, tapping his foot and trying to run through all his favorite songs in his head, beginning to end, just to kill some time.

It was harder than it should have been. He kept mixing up names, forgetting lyrics, sometimes forgetting whole songs he’d sung a million times. It was starting to drive him even crazier than usual.

He was about to give up on the whole exercise, just push away the terrifying notion that his mind, trapped in a tangle of delicate neurons and slimy fatty brain matter, was being slowly unspooled and pulled away from him with every second that passed, every cell that died. He was just about to forget all about that completely. But he wanted to finish this one last song. It was a good one, an old classic.

He’d almost managed to get lost in it for a second. Half-singing, half-humming the pre-chorus, idly performing for nobody. “—GONNA RISE UP SINGIN’… HMHM, TO THE SKY… BUT ‘TIL THAT MORNING, THERE’S NOTHIN’ CAN HARM—”

He stopped.

There was a sound. A soft sound in the room. He’d heard it while he was singing. And when he’d stopped, it had stopped too. Just a little too late. Another voice singing with him.

Frozen in place, Bill glanced around the room. It was dark. Still. Not a hint of life aside from him.

Then he saw the door was standing open.

In the doorway stood a triangle. A small triangle with lopsided edges, one side drooping into soft rounded lumps, like a chocolate bar melting in the sun. It was standing there in the doorway, perfectly still. In the dim orange light spilling in from behind, it was a pure black silhouette.

It reached out a hand. In a raspy, weak voice, it began to sing again. As the fire in the hallway swelled to a raging bonfire, began to spit hot forked tongues into the room, its voice was just barely audible over the flames. “so hush, little baby… don’t you cry…”

Bill sat up with a jolt, a half-strangled scream caught in his throat. Looking around wildly, he saw the room was empty. The door was still closed, and shafts of light were poking through the window above him.

“OKAY,” he croaked. “THIS IS GOING TO BE A PROBLEM.”

Then he realized what had woken him. Just outside the window, a car engine was roaring to life.

Bill leapt to his feet, ignoring the headrush and momentary ringing in his ears, and raced to the window just in time to leap onto the trunk and pull himself up high enough to look out through the window. The car driving away had four distinct figures inside. All four Pines, lined up like little ducks, leaving the nest unguarded.

With a quick cackle, Bill dropped back down and grabbed for his lockpick. He wasn’t about to let a golden opportunity like this pass by. They might not be gone for long, but he might not get another chance to explore the upstairs rooms. It was time to get sneaky.

Just as he’d hoped, there was no one to interrupt his trip upstairs; even that dumb pig was nowhere in sight. A quick glance over the bedrooms confirmed his suspicion that he’d find nothing of interest. But when he turned the corner after them, his eye landed on a door left ajar. A tangle of wires spilled out into the hall from inside, and as he drew closer he saw that even if someone had tried, they couldn’t have kept that door shut; there were towering piles of books and corners of machinery jutting against the doorframe. Too much garbage for the room to contain.

Ford’s lab. Jackpot.

Bill could barely contain his maniacal laughter as he snuck around the room. It was like a candy store after he’d killed all the employees; so many treats all ripe for the taking. But he had to be careful, he reminded himself. He couldn’t take anything Ford would miss. He couldn’t leave a trace of his passing. Sure, this place looked like it had all the organization of a hurricane site, but knowing Ford, he probably had an intricate “system”.

Glancing around the half-buried desk, something caught his eye. In an overflowing cup full of pens, one was wrapped in painter’s tape with Stan’s sloppy handwriting in big block letters: “SHRINK PEN— NOT FOR WRITING!!”

Well, that was an intriguing label for a pen. Bill plucked it from the cup and inspected it. It wasn’t a pen at all, he realized. It was one of those little laser light pointers you can crash planes with. Fun in itself, but not any use to him right now… still, “shrink pen”? This required further investigation.

He pointed the pen at an empty coffee mug wedged into an empty spot on the edge of the desk. Searching for the button to activate it revealed a tiny panel on the side which slid away to reveal an even tinier screen and some up and down arrow buttons, with another in the middle labeled “reset”. Intrigued, Bill hit the up arrow, and the screen lit up with numbers and decimals. He set the display to “+2.0”, and clicked the button on the end.

The mug lurched as a beam of purple light hit it, and then began to swell. With a sudden pop, it was twice the size it had been, and Bill had to scramble to catch it before it tipped over and shattered on the ground. He fumbled with it and almost took a pile of papers down in his struggle to right himself. “GODDAMMIT!” he hissed. “IT SAID *SHRINK* PEN, NOT— UGH! LEAVE IT TO STANLEY TO SCREW ME OVER…”

He glanced around hastily, listening for any sign that the noises he’d made were overheard. Nothing stirred, except a few sheets of paper fluttering in the A/C. He sighed and turned to the giant coffee mug. Nervously, he pointed the penlight and pressed the “reset” button.

Sure enough, the cup receded back to its original size. Trying again, he set the dial to “-2.0” instead; as he’d guessed, the cup shrank to half its size this time.

He reset the cup and placed it back onto the circular stain where he’d found it. Then his eye landed on a toolbox lying nearby, and his eye widened with inspiration.

He pointed the penlight at the box and set it to “-0.25”. The box shrank down to the size of a dollhouse prop, and he rushed over to peek inside the tiny lid. He almost cheered; inside was a tiny arrangement of tools the size of little grains of rice. He shut the lid and reset the box’s size; all the tools were in perfect shape once he peeked inside again.

This was it. This was how he’d get tools and steel and rebar down into the basement. This was how he’d avoid discovery until the portal was complete. It was almost too perfect to be true; the only wrinkle was in how he’d keep Ford from noticing the missing pen.

He snapped his fingers. The copy machine! Surely Ford still had that magic copy machine downstairs somewhere. He just had to put the pen through that and then he’d have as many shrink rays as a triangle could ever need! He hadn’t heard the Pines’ car pulling back in yet; maybe he had enough time.

Bill shoved the pen into his hat and rushed downstairs to search. He swung around corners and skidded across floors, giving no mind to his surroundings— nobody was home anyway, and time was of the essence. He slipped on some tile floor, caught a locked doorknob and swung around a corner. He was just about to race forward when a shrill alarm tone sounded from a door just down the hall, and the doorknob started to rattle. Bill let out a barely-stifled shriek of panic and scuffled backwards, fumbling around for a hiding place while keeping his eye on the door. Just before it swung open, he managed to yank open a closet door and wedge himself inside. Through the crack in the door, he saw that big guy, Stan’s employee, hustle out into the hallway. Bill couldn’t remember his name… something dumb, like Smoof or something. He couldn’t even remember the guy’s symbol; he was wearing it on his shirt when they met, but now he was in a plain white dress shirt and suit. And a fez, weirdly. Dressed up uncannily like Stan, when he did his stupid Mr. Mystery act. And as he passed by the closet, Bill heard him muttering: “Hey, next tour’s here! Perfect timing!”

Weird. No time to dwell on it, though. Once he was gone, Bill slipped from the closet and rushed straight back down to the basement. If that guy was here, who knew if the rest of the peanut gallery was around somewhere… hell, if the Shack was having tours come through, any rando could wander away from the group and barge right into him. No way was he taking that kind of risk right now. Not when he finally had something resembling a plan.

He stashed the shrink pen inside that old treasure chest, underneath some blankets. He could have just kept it in his hat, but he wanted to cut down on the temptation to mess around with it. It was hard to resist his destructive impulses at the best of times, and all the harder when he had nothing else to keep him busy. This room was soooo boring. Even the small amount of time he’d spent cooped up in here was starting to feel like an eternity— and this was coming from the guy who spent the whole Triassic Period stuck in traffic. This was worse than that. Still not as bad as the void… but worse than that.

He rolled his eye and flopped backwards onto the beanbag chair. You’re a trillion and twelve, Billy. You’ve watched civilizations rise and fall without needing to blink. You’ve won staring contests with entire species. You can kill a couple hours alone in a room. The portal will be fixed in no time, and this whole ordeal will be over before you know it.

He stared at the blank ceiling and repeated the thought over and over, until he believed it.

——

Once Dipper and Mabel were finished crying and hugging over the thesis project, they launched into the planning stage. Dipper, in true Dipper fashion, had already made a huge spreadsheet with supplies they’d need and ideas to get them started. Before the sun had even finished rising, they were already wrangling the Grunkles into the car for a shopping trip. Stan only barely managed to convince them to wolf down some breakfast before they set out.

The next few hours were a whirlwind of tents, trail cams, hiking supplies, and far too many high-tech gadgets for Mabel to keep up with. Grunkle Ford had happily agreed to lend them a bunch of his inventions, and Stan had turned into a veritable font of advice about weapons. “Remember, kids, never carry a weapon where people can see it,” he’d said in the car. “Nobody should get a chance to nab it from you ‘til your finger’s on the trigger.” Then he’d paused. “By the way, if your parents ask, this conversation never happened.”

Around noon, they’d been at the mall perusing the selection at Richard’s Legally Distinct Sporting Goods, when Stan had heard Dipper’s stomach growling and demanded they break for lunch. He and Ford swore they’d handle the rest of the shopping. Stan even offered to foot the bill for the food. Of his own free will! No griping or anything! Dipper and Mabel both knew that wasn’t a deal to be taken lightly. So they agreed to bike to Lazy Susan’s Diner; maybe they could get an order in before brunch hours ended. Mabel had really been craving some strawberry pancakes.

Between the flurry of shopping, the rushed bike ride to Susan’s, and the dreamy visions of pancakes all crowding Mabel’s brain, she didn’t have brainspace worry about anything. So it wasn’t until the two of them were settled into a corner booth with menus and drinks that the thought of Bill even crossed her mind.

Dipper was in the middle of an infodump about the gadgets Ford had given them. “I’m already calling them ‘Weirdness Scanners’ in my head,” he said, holding two palm-sized contraptions that looked kind of like souped-up, military-grade Gameboys. “It’s oversimplified, sure, but it’s way easier to remember than… whatever Ford called them. See, the screen has a radar display that shows little blips when there’s an anomaly nearby. Anything interdimensional, reality-distorting, logic-defying… pretty much anything about base-level weirdness for our reality. So when we’re tracking a monster… or, y’know, being tracked… we’ll know where to look. And it even records the coordinates so we can check later! In case we’re, like, running or something, and don’t have time to note them down.”

“So does it only work when you hit the switch?” Mabel examined the scanner he’d handed her, inspecting all its sides and resisting the urge to press random buttons. “If it keeps records, maybe we could leave one on in the woods somewhere and see if something weird passes by? Like trail cams?”

Dipper’s face lit up. “Hey, good thinking! We could put these up all over the place! I bet we could talk to Grunkle Ford and set it up so we can get all the readings remotely… then if they spike somewhere, we’ll know to investigate! You’re a genius, Mabel!”

Mabel beamed, a glow of pride filling her chest. But her smile froze when Dipper continued. “We could set them up around the shack to start, and move further out from there. It’d be like a security system! If any monsters get near the house, we’d know right away!”

His voice faded in her ears, drowned out by sudden dread. Bill. There was no way the scanners wouldn’t pick up Bill, right? Magic powers or not, he was still a talking triangle! Definitely not normal! And if that was how the others found out he was hiding in their house…

Her dread was drowned by guilt. What was she doing? Dipper had trusted her enough to make her his partner on this huge project that meant so much to him, and here she was hiding this huge, crazy secret from him! What kind of sister was she? She’d been so hurt when she’d thought he was hiding something… how could she turn around and do the same to him?! It was so selfish, so mean, and for what?? Bill Cipher?? What was she doing?!

“Hey Dipper,” she blurted out. He stopped his brainstorming mid-sentence. Mabel’s throat was dry, she felt all clammy… no way he couldn’t tell she was about to say something really bad. She swallowed nervously and continued. “You, uh… you remember Bill, right?” She winced. What a terrible opening.

“What? Yeah, of course I do.” Dipper was suddenly pale and serious. The lump of guilt in Mabel’s throat got bigger. “Why, did something happen? … Are you having nightmares again?”

Mabel’s throat was almost totally blocked. She tried her best to clear it. “N-no. No, what? Of course not, it’s just…” She paused, trying to think of how to play this right. “I didn’t have… that many nightmares…”

Wrong move. Dipper’s frown deepened. “Uh, yeah you did, Mabel. You woke up screaming for weeks. You couldn’t even look at a snowglobe all winter.”

She twisted a sweater sleeve in her hand, flushing. “I got over that…”

“I’m not judging,” he said firmly, grabbing her hand. “I was right there with you. I still can’t look at marionettes without feeling gross, y’know?”

Her stomach turned, and she squeezed his hand, wracked by a wave of guilt. “Yeah, I know…”

“Listen, Mabel, it’s gonna be okay. He’s dead. He’s never coming back.” Dipper squeezed her hand in return. “And if he ever does, I’ll kill him on sight. I promise.”

Mabel’s throat was too dry to even think about speaking. She just kept her eyes fixed on the table where her hand was clasped in Dipper’s. Should she tell him now? Wait for a better time? Would there ever be a good time? Was there any chance he’d ever forgive her for doing this??

She had no idea, but she knew she had to say something. She had to make a choice…

“Dipper! Mabel!” A loud voice rang across the diner.

They both jolted and looked up, just in time to see Wendy Corduroy as she threw her arms around both their shoulders and pulled them into a crushing bear hug. “I missed you guys!” she boomed.

Mabel laughed, trying not to be crushed in the friendly embrace. Thank God for Wendy. This was the perfect excuse to take a little more time to make a plan about Bill.

Beside her, Dipper dislodged himself just enough to speak. “Wendy, c’mon!” he laughed. “We saw you two days ago!”

“Hey, you’ve only been back for a week! We’re supposed to be making up for lost time!” She mussed up Dipper’s hair. “What, are we just work friends now? We only hang out while I’m working at your house? No weekends?”

“Okay, okay, sorry! We get it!” Dipper was laughing as he tried uselessly to escape. Even if he’d actually wanted to stop the hug, he’d stand no chance. After spending the last nine months helping out with the family lumberjack business, Wendy was totally shredded. Mabel assumed she could pick up a tree with one hand by now. She’d look like an MMA champ if it weren’t for Dipper’s old cap she still wore everywhere.

When Mabel glanced up at the hat, her eyes widened. “Whoa!” She jumped up and pointed dramatically. “New haircut!”

Wendy grinned, stood back and flipped her hair to show it off. “Just got it last night! You like it?”

“Do I?! You look like a rock star!” Mabel gushed. Wendy’s bright red hair was teased up and styled into a spiky glam-rock mullet situation, all flared out dramatically as it fell to brush her shoulders. But most exciting, the edge of her scalp was buzzed short, a patch that wrapped around below her hair in an undercut. Along with the big brash grin from Mabel’s compliment, she’d be right at home onstage with one of those glittery glam-rock bands Mabel had been obsessed with lately.

Her imaginings were cut short as Wendy scooped her up off the ground in another big, rough hug. “That’s exactly what I was going for!” she cheered. “That’s exactly what I told Tambry: give me something my dad hates and Mabel Pines loves!”

They all laughed together, until a second booming voice rang across the restaurant. This one was deep and gravelly, like if Tom Waits had spent twenty years breathing sawdust. “Wendy! We’re headed out!”

“Ugh, speak of the devil,” Wendy groaned, turning to see Manly Dan Corduroy escorting her brothers out the door single file. “Sorry guys, gotta go. See you at the shack tomorrow.”

“We’ll be there!” Dipper promised, and he and Mabel both waved as she followed her family out the door.

Once she was gone, Mabel turned back to her plate, only to yelp and flinch back when her eyes landed on someone standing mere feet away. Dipper hadn’t even had time to turn around yet, so he flinched twice as hard at the sound of Mabel’s yelp, and swung around to glare at the grinning figure. In a high-pitched Southern twang, the kid piped up: “Pines twins! It’s been too long!”

“Gideon,” Dipper said, not quite able to feign convincing enthusiasm. Mabel managed to smile as she sat down and subtly scooted away, further into the corner of the booth. Maybe he was just passing by.

“Aw, I’m pleased as punch to finally run into you fellas!” Gideon continued, taking an uninvited seat right next to Mabel. “I’ve been lookin’ for you ever since I heard you were back! I’ve just been dyin’ to catch up with y’all!”

Mabel’s smile was melting into a grimace. She hoped Gideon didn’t notice. Even if he had tried to kill them multiple times last summer, and stole their house for a while, and been a total creep to her the whole time she’d known him… but still, people could always change. She knew he was trying to turn a new leaf; that much was clear just by looking at him. He’d ditched his usual weird little suit and bolo tie for a graphic tee and a backwards baseball cap. His hair didn’t even look professionally coiffed. And heck, if she was letting BILL CIPHER crash in her family’s basement just off an unconvincing promise to “behave”, she could give Gideon Gleeful a chance too.

Oh, he was still talking. “Y’know, kickflips are a lot easier than folks make ‘em out to be! All my pals were real impressed. You remember Ghost Eyes and those fellas, right?”

Dipper nodded. “The guys who tried to run me over with monster trucks last summer.”

“The very same!” Gideon said brightly. “Gracious, I still can’t believe we ain’t seen each other since then…” he suddenly slapped his hands on the table and stood up, making Mabel jump. “Speaking of which! Y’all notice anything different about me?”

Mabel stared at him, confused. Other than the new fashion choices, nothing about him seemed different. If anything, his face and hairstyle was almost eerily identical to last year, the tall white coif clashing bizarrely with his aggressively casual clothes. What was he expecting them to notice?

Intrigued now, she scanned him up and down. Still nothing jumped out at her, just more skater clothes; pre-ripped jeans, platform sneakers—

Hold on. Those weren’t platforms, those were flats.

“You got taller!” she shouted, so hyped by the discovery that her voice rang through the whole diner.

Dipper and Gideon both jumped in surprise, but the instant he recovered, Gideon was beaming brighter than a nuclear reactor. “I sure did!” he cheered, grabbing Mabel’s hands and hauling her to her feet with him. “I knew you’d notice! Look at this, we’re eye level now! Ain’t that just a delight?”

Mabel grinned uncomfortably. His voice had taken a tone that she didn’t really like. And he really should have let go of her hands by now. Still, when she saw the “you okay?” look Dipper was sending her way, she still gestured at him to stand down.

“Yeah…! That’s great!” she said to Gideon. He was so clearly excited about this, she didn’t want to be rude. “I’m happy for you! You can ride roller coasters now! Like… small ones!”

“Exactly!!” Still beaming, Gideon clasped her hands tighter and pulled them to his chest. “The whole world’s openin’ up for me! Y’know, it really is such a delight to see you again, Mabel… and say, speakin’ of roller coasters, there’s this brand new theme park in town- maybe sometime you and me could mosey on over there, give it a look?”

“OH. Uh. I’m… busy, actually!” Mabel yanked her hands free and sidled away. “I’m gonna be really really busy for the next, uh…”

They all jumped when a new voice cut in. “HELLO! Hot plates coming through! Can we make a little room here?”

Mabel turned to see a girl she half-recognized. Bottle-blonde hair turning brown at the roots, hurried but gorgeous eye makeup that mostly hid the dark circles below her darker blue eyes. A stained apron over a sensible work shirt, a tray of pancakes in her hands, and an ice-cold gaze searing holes straight into Gideon. “Your table’s actually over there, you know,” she said coldly, nodding her head sharply to the side.

For once in his life, Gideon took a hint. “Oh my, look at the time! Sorry to cut things short, folks! Let’s chat more later!” And he scurried back to his table, that glare following him the whole way. And when the girl turned back to look at Mabel again, it clicked.

“Pacifica!” she cheered. “Oh my gosh, it’s you!”

“Uh, yeah, obviously.” The response had no venom in it, which was still a little jarring after all this time. “What, did you think I was Susan? My makeup can’t be that bad”.

“Nah, Susan usually does it better,” Dipper said, leaning back with a wry smile.

“You know there’s boiling liquid in this pitcher, right?” Pacifica jabbed back with a grin, setting out their plates of strawberry pancakes and pouring them each some coffee. (Now that they were teens, that was officially allowed! That had always been the house rule, and they’d already told Mom and Dad no take-backs.)

“Don’t listen to Dipper, your makeup’s gorgeous ,” Mabel said.

Pacifica giggled. “Mabel, you said that about a bird once.”

“Hey, that bird’s mascara was flawless! I still think you should try a style like that.”

“Why don’t you go first.”

“You think I could pull off red and yellow eyeshadow??” Mabel demanded. “I’d look like a freakin’ hot dog! It’s not fair, you make everything look pretty.”

Pacifica snorted, turning pink. “Shut up,” she said, nudging Mabel. Mabel’s chest suddenly clenched, and she tried to gauge the other girl’s expression. Was that too far? Did she say something weird?

Mercifully, Dipper cut off her train of thought. “Okay, what poor bird did you try to put eyeshadow…” Pacifica cut Dipper off by holding out her phone with the secretary bird photos Mabel had sent her last week. “…Oh. Okay, I see your point, actually.”

“You guys are nuts,” Pacifica laughed. “Man, it’s been dull since you left. I know we’ve been talking and stuff, but it’s good to have you back.”

“Yeah, it is,” Dipper said, while Mabel nodded emphatically. “We really missed everybody.”

“We should hang out!” Mabel blurted out. “Make up for lost time! I mean, I know you’ll be working and all, and Dipper and I are gonna have a bunch of cool paranormal research projects to do, but still! We should do something! Like a movie, or, uh…” She trailed off, realizing abruptly that she’d been talking way too long. Finish the thought, Mabel. Suggest something. Dinner? No, that sounds weird. What else is there? C’mon, say something…

“I heard there’s a new theme park in town,” Dipper said with a knowing grin.

“Yeah! Yeah, we should go! That’d be—“ Mabel paused, remembering what Gideon had just said. She felt her cheeks burning, but she made herself finish the sentence. “…That’d be fun. We should do that.”

“We totally should,” Pacifica said. Then a dinner bell chimed from the back of the diner, and she jolted. “Ughhh, I gotta get back to my stupid job now. Call me, okay?” Mabel barely had time to give a thumbs up before Pacifica rushed off.

Once she was gone from sight, Mabel slumped over and let her head thunk against the table. “Ugh…”

“You good?” Dipper asked through a mouthful of pancakes.

Mabel sighed. “That was so awkward. Why was that so awkward? I’ve been texting her all summer, we’ve called and video chatted and everything… why now when we’re in person am I suddenly acting so awkward??”

“You weren’t?” Dipper said. “You seemed totally normal to me.”

“Yeah, right,” Mabel grumbled. “This from the guy who set me up to sound like Gideon…”

Dipper winced. “Yeah… sorry. That was a little mean. But it’s not the same thing, y’know? I mean, he was being creepy.”

“Ugh, I’m glad that wasn’t just me,” Mabel said. “I get that he’s trying, it’s just… I dunno.”

“He’s trying too hard. He should give you space. He really messed things up with you, he shouldn’t be trying to push you into hanging out with him again.”

“Yeah… you’re right. Thanks, Dipper.” Some of the tension in Mabel’s chest released. She celebrated by polishing off a few pancakes.

“But yeah, you’re not acting anything like Gideon with Pacifica,” Dipper continued, once they’d both had time to finish their plates. “She actually wants to hang out with you.”

Mabel flushed. “You think so?”

“Uh, yeah. I have eyes,” Dipper said, rolling them. “She likes you a lot, Mabel.”

Mabel clamped her hands over her cheeks, feeling them burning. “Um. Cool. Okay, good.” Then their conversation flashed back through her mind, and she covered the rest of her face. “It’s just hard to imagine when I’m acting so weird… I don’t get it! She’s our friend now, we’ve been talking for months! Why am I suddenly so nervous around her?!” With an exhausted sigh, she grabbed her water glass and took a big gulp to soothe her dry throat.

“‘Cause you have a crush on her,” Dipper said with a casual shrug.

Mabel spewed her water all across the table. Dipper barely leapt out of the way in time to avoid getting drenched.

“WHAT???” Mabel shouted in a completely nonchalant, unsuspicious way. “Are you NUTS? What are you TALKING about??”

“Oh, are we not at that stage yet?” Dipper asked, mopping the table with some paper towels. “My bad. Forget I said anything.”

“That’s RIDICULOUS. That’s not even– why would you think– that’s not a thing.” Mabel cleared her throat to make her voice sound even less shrill and anxious than it already did. “We’re friends. We’re just friends. I don’t even– I’m not– there’s nothing WRONG with it, but I’m NOT, and even if I WAS, I mean… she’s your ex, Dipper. It’d totally violate the Bro Code.”

Dipper laughed. “My ‘ex??’ We went on one date!”

“Still counts,” Mabel muttered, slumping against the table again.

“Mabel, seriously. We went into the movie as a couple, and before the credits even rolled we’d already decided to just be friends. That’s a relationship duration of less than 90 minutes.”

Mabel winced. “Seriously? Aw, Dipper, I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be!” he said with a laugh. “We had way more fun once we stopped trying to act like boyfriend and girlfriend. Nobody’s heart got broken, it was just… we were both trying to force something that wasn’t really there, and once we decided to just be honest with ourselves, it was like a weight lifted.”

Mabel nodded slowly, a hundred awkward middle school dates flashing through her memory. “Well… good!” she finally said. “Because if she did break your heart, I would’ve had to kill her.”

Dipper laughed, shaking his head like he’d heard that joke a hundred times. She laughed with him, even though she wasn’t even slightly joking.

“Y’know, it’s funny,” Dipper said. “On our date, there was one big thing that tipped me off that we should just stay friends. Pacifica was laughing at some joke in the movie, I forget what it was, and then she just casually said ‘I wish Mabel was here, she’d love this–’”

“Uh, HEY! What’s that??” Mabel shouted, jumping up from her seat and pointing at the window across the diner. She’d just been desperately scrambling for a chance to change the subject before her face turned even redder. But then, like a gift from the heavens, there was a blinding flash of light.

And then, like a gift from… somewhere else… a power line pole caught on fire.

Dipper and Mabel exchanged that look that always meant “let’s check it out” and raced to the window. They were just in time to see a sparking blob of light leap out of the fire and slide across the power line like a skateboarder grinding on a rail. Then it leapt out onto a tree branch and bounced from one tree to another, vanishing deep into the forest, leaving bursts of burning leaves in its wake.

The lights in the diner fizzled and went out, just as a mighty roll of thunder swept through the sky. Like an entourage trailing that weird lightning bolt, dark heavy clouds were rushing in overhead, crowding out the sun as sheets of driving rain smashed into the ground. As shouts of alarm and annoyance filled the room around them, Dipper and Mabel locked eyes again. Dipper was holding his camera, lens locked on the trail of destruction the living storm had left behind.

They both broke into grins.

“I’ve got an idea for our first research project,” Dipper said. Mabel extended a fist, and he bumped it with aplomb.

——

Bill was losing his battle against boredom. Despite his very best efforts, his eye kept drifting closed as sleep clawed at him. And whenever it did, he jolted up again the next instant, blazing heat and eye-burning colors seared into his eyelids.

And how could anybody blame him? This place was so bland and unremarkable that it wrapped back around to being weird. Not a single object of interest; even the walls were just dingy off-white. Sure, Bill was no expert in interior design, but all anyone needed was one functioning eye to see that this place needed some work before it reached a comfort level of “bearable”.

Then again, Bill had a funny feeling that Ford had never intended this room as a place for comfort. The vibes were less “hangout den” and more “POW torture chamber”.

So he had to deal with the crappy amenities of a dungeon, and nobody was even bothering to torture him either! His brain had to do that part all by itself. Inconsiderate jerks. This place is getting ZERO stars for customer service.

His hands tensed anxiously. It was too quiet. He was getting too close to dozing off again. He scratched at his arm, felt his claws unsheath and dig into his skin. The sting of pain was reassuring. It reminded him that he was alive. It still wasn’t as fun as before, now that he knew he’d have to deal with scabs and bruises and scar tissue later. But the sharp rush of adrenaline kept his brain wired. Just a little scratch was as intense as when he’d stabbed forks into Ford’s possessed flesh, back in the old days. Like all the sensations around him, it was overwhelming. But at least this was one he could control.

Just as he’d started to draw blood, a sound jolted him back to the present. A knock at the door. Rather, three knocks, two soft and one heavy, then a pause, then the same three knocks.

The kid was finally back. About time; he’d started to wonder if she’d forgotten he was here. He crossed to the door and replied with a shave-and-a-haircut knock.

She almost knocked him over when she barrelled in at top speed. He staggered and shoved the door shut as she turned to him, eyes bright with near-manic excitement. “WHOA!” he shouted. “WHERE’S THE FIRE, KID?”

“We gotta be quick,” she said. “Dipper’s waiting upstairs. I’m just letting you know, the plan’s changed a little.”

Bill’s hands tensed even tighter than before. “HOW SO?” he asked suspiciously.

“So, Dipper and I…” she paused. “…Okay, first you gotta promise you won’t freak out.”

His suspicion quadrupled in size. “UH. SURE.”

“Okay, so Dipper and I are gonna be studying Gravity Falls all summer. We’re gonna be away on nature expeditions, like… basically all the time.”

Bill tried very hard not to let his excitement show. Getting the kids out of the way would be a dream come true, but there was definitely a catch coming up. “…AND?”

“And you’re gonna come with us.”

“WHAT?!?” he roared. He didn’t even think to hold back his rage. This wasn’t the time for tactics, this was pure insanity.

“Hey, you promised not to freak out!”

“YOU TOLD HIM?!?” Bill gripped his head. “I TOLD YOU— YOU SAID—"

“I didn’t tell him!” she shouted. “Just relax, okay?! I didn’t even finish!”

He took in a hissing breath. “THIS BETTER BE GOOD.”

“I didn’t tell Dipper anything,” she said. “He doesn’t have to know until I’m ready. But there’s no way I’m just leaving you in the house all the time while no one else knows you’re here–”

“THE DOOR’S LOCKED!” Bill blurted out.

She scowled. “Oh, come on! You’re a trillion-year-old evil mastermind or whatever! You expect me to believe you can’t pick a lock??”

Part of him almost appreciated that for a second. Then reason came back. “I’M HERE ‘CAUSE I’M IN HIDING, REMEMBER? WHY WOULD I WANT TO SNEAK OUT?!” That was the wrong thing to say, he realized slightly too late. He shouldn’t be giving her reasons to wonder what his plan might be.

“I know you’re not just gonna sit in here all day doing nothing,” she fired back. “Part of the deal was for you to stay close by so I can keep an eye on— so I can supervise you. And I’m not leaving you here while my family doesn’t know to watch their backs!”

“SERIOUSLY? WHAT, YOU THINK I’M GONNA START STABBING PEOPLE THE SECOND YOU TAKE YOUR EYES OFF ME?? I’M NOT A GREMLIN, KID, I’M A FULL-GROWN FULLY REALIZED PERSON!!” He stomped his foot, steaming with frustration. “JUST ‘CAUSE I SOMETIMES DO THINGS YOU DON’T LIKE, THAT DOESN’T MEAN I SPEND EVERY WAKING MOMENT BRAINSTORMING WAYS TO CAUSE PROBLEMS FOR YOU!”

She looked doubtful.

“COME ON! HOW WOULD TURNING ON YOU NOW BENEFIT ME AT ALL?!” He inwardly begged her not to think of an answer. “WHY ARE YOU SO CONVINCED I’M OUT TO GET YOU GUYS?!”

“Why shouldn’t I be?!” Bill actually staggered back at the sudden force of her voice. Her eyes bored into him, white-hot. “You tried to kill us!! You spent a whole summer trying to kill us! And you already said you want revenge! It was really dumb of me to bring you here in the first place… so if you wanna stay, you’re playing by my rules!” She stopped, shook her head, and pushed back some rogue strands of hair. “Besides. You still didn’t let me finish.”

He just stared at her coldly; she took his silence as permission to keep talking. “We’ll be in the woods most of the time. It won’t be that hard to stay out of sight. You’ve just gotta hide in my bike basket on the way there and back, so I know you’re not sneaking around our house. Then just stay nearby until we head back. We’ll keep in touch with texts.”

“YOU’VE GOTTA BE KIDDING,” Bill snarled. “I SIGNED UP FOR ROOM AND BOARD, NOT TO TRAIL TWO KIDS AROUND A FOREST WHILE THEY CHASE GNOMES ALL DAY! NOT A CHANCE! NO!!”

She gritted her teeth and stared him down. He stared right back, immovable and silent. Nobody blinked.

“Fine,” she said at last. “Then the deal’s off.”

“FINE! WHO NEEDS YOU ANYWAY!” He turned to the window.

She grabbed his wrist.

He jolted in shock at the sudden harsh texture, and tried to tear his hand away. Her grip just tightened, and she started to drag him toward the door.

His stomach dropped. “WHAT— WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”

“If you’re leaving, I’m walking you out the front door,” she said simply. “If you climb out that window, you could just sneak right back in.”

“WHAT?! ARE YOU CRAZY?!?” He was using “crazy” as an insult; that’s how crazy this was. “THEY’RE UP THERE! THEY’LL SEE ME!”

“They might not, if we’re quick.” Her voice was ice cold.

Right. As if. And it was clear she wouldn’t lift a finger if they did. He launched his other arm out, and it stretched just far enough to latch onto the opposite wall corner. He planted his feet and pulled against her as hard as he could, but she just kept going. Dragging him along. Her hand was almost at the doorknob.

“THEY’LL KILL ME!” he roared desperately. “YOU KNOW THEY WILL!!”

She turned to look at him. When she met his eye, her steely gaze faltered. Oh, thank GOD. Of course Shooting Star wasn’t that ruthless. She wasn’t just going to drag him out there to his death. She wouldn’t get her hands dirty like that. Hell, she couldn’t even leave him to die in the rain earlier, when all she had to do was walk away! If she was too soft for that, she’d never have the spine to do this. He just had to push a little harder—

But then her features set into a colder scowl than ever. She turned and started dragging him again. SHIT! Had he been smiling? Poker face— he wasn’t used to these stupid face muscles, he never used to have to worry about his muscles moving on their own, he’d forgotten to hold a goddamn POKER FACE—

She grabbed the doorknob and started to turn it. “WAIT! STOP! I’LL DO IT!!” he screamed, wild with terror.

Her hand froze in place. Then the hand on his wrist unclenched and he ripped his arm away, scurrying back to the opposite end of the room.

Her shoulders slumped as she stared after him. The icy scowl was gone, replaced by a look of sheer exhaustion. As if holding that face had been an Atlas-level effort.

“I’LL DO IT.” It was his turn with the scowl; however guilty she wanted to seem, it wasn’t good enough. She’d shown where she really stood on all this. “I MEAN, I GUESS I’VE GOT NO CHOICE, HUH?”

She sighed. “I wouldn’t have let them—”

“SURE,” he said icily. “THAT’S WHY IT MADE SUCH A GOOD THREAT, RIGHT? LOOK, IF THIS IS A HOSTAGE SITUATION, LET’S AT LEAST BE UP FRONT ABOUT IT.”

“It’s not! I just… wanted to be sure…”

“TRUST IS A TWO-WAY STREET, KID.” He took a seat on the beanbag and glared at her. Trying to rat him out to her family was one thing; if anything, he was surprised it didn’t happen sooner. And using it as leverage was just as inevitable. But trying to convince him that wasn’t what was happening was just insulting. What kind of idiot would go against their allies to help some rando, let alone a proven threat? She wasn’t that stupid, even if she wanted to seem like it.

She sighed again. It looked like she wanted to keep talking, but he shot another glare and turned away, leaning back on the beanbag. He wasn’t in the mood to chat anymore.

He heard her fidgeting nervously with something behind him for a minute. Then she spoke up. “I’ll be back later. Once I know when we’re leaving.”

He gave a dismissive thumbs up without turning around. He heard one more sigh, and then the door closed. After a bit of hesitation, the lock clicked too, and footsteps padded slowly up the stairs.

He sat up and glared back at where she’d been. Once he knew he was alone, exhaustion slammed into him. Another entry on the “why bodies suck” list: the adrenaline crash. Because just being scared for your life isn’t bad enough. Your brain has to power wash all the energy out of your body as soon as the rhetorical tiger is gone. Because tigers famously never attack more than once.

“WELL, SOMETHING INTERESTING HAPPENED, BILL. HAPPY?” He rolled his eye and stood up, planning to pace the room and ward off sleep for as long as possible.

Something was piled up by the door. Warily, he approached.

A bunch of snack cakes and energy bars, placed atop a small stack of books. One thick paperback with a black-and-bright-green cover that just said “MISSING”, one with a very dramatic looking painting of cats, one with a mouse running into battle with a sewing needle “sword”; he chuckled a little at that one. And one coloring book with dragons, complete with a couple loose crayons scattered on the floor.

Bill just stared at the pile for a minute. This kid was tough to get a bead on. Talk about mixed signals.

“WHAT THE HELL,” he muttered, and cracked open the mouse book. Little guy stood no chance in hell with that pitiful weapon. Might at least be funny.

#gravity falls #mabel’s guide to the power of friendship #bill & mabel friendship au #bill cipher #mabel pines #dipper pines #gravity falls fanfiction #milleniart #robin writes stuff

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