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krirebr · 3 days

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Luck Be a Lady

Pairing: soft!dark Curtis Everett x female reader

Word Count: ~10.1k

Summary: Desperate for money, you accept a job as a cocktail waitress at an underground casino. You think you know what you're doing, but when you meet Curtis, will you realize you're in over your head?

Warnings: Mob AU, violence, allusions to murder, explicit language, dubcon touching, noncon touching (not Curtis), willfully oblivious reader, SMUT - facefucking, dirty talk, light d/s dynamics, praise kink, other explicit sexual content. This is definitely on the darker end of the soft!dark spectrum, so proceed with caution! All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by @thecutestgrotto

Masterlist

A/N: And here it finally is! This is my first real attempt at soft!dark. I hope I did it right! 😂

This was inspired by two things: 1) me going to a rep screening of Goodfellas and spending the entire time wondering why I hadn't done a mob au yet and 2) @bigtreefest saying "enforcer!Curtis Everett and mob boss!Andy Barber" in my general direction. Thanks for the inspo, friend!!

And big thanks as always to @paperweight91 who not only came up with Curtis's name for reader but also offered heaps of encouragement and was a great sounding board. And thanks to @stargazingfangirl18 for helping me figure out how exactly we'd get to the smut. Thanks Siri!

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. Please come scream at me about this! 😄 As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

You fruitlessly tug down your very short skirt as Holly talks at you. You’re both standing in the corner of the bar’s basement waiting for the night to start in earnest—your first night.

“Lloyd’s not so bad,” she says of your boss, the man who runs this little underground gambling ring. “You’ll have to split your tips with him at the end of the night, but he doesn’t take that much, and you’ll make enough that you won’t really notice. As long as you do that, he’ll mostly keep his hands to himself.”

You nod along, glancing at the mustachioed man conferring with the bouncer at the door. The interview process for this job had boiled down to a thorough once-over that’d made you feel naked in your jeans and t-shirt and a “You’re not too stupid to take a drink order, are you?” and then you had the job.

Holly had vouched for you. Neighbors for almost half a year, she’d come home early one morning last week and witnessed you trying to convince the landlord that you were good for your past-due rent. She’d taken you for coffee and told you she might be able to help if you were good at keeping your head down and mouth shut. And now you were here.

“The customers, on the other hand,” she continues, smacking her gum, “you’ll have to let them touch, at least a little bit. Within reason, you know? But if anything gets out of hand, you can just tell Jake at the door and he’ll take care of it.”

“Within reason?” you ask, voice shaking, just the littlest bit, as the pit that started forming in your stomach when you agreed to this grows a little more.

The look she gives you verges on exasperated. “Well, you want to make money, don’t you?”

Yes, you do. Very much so. It’s a need, not a want. So you nod and try to listen as she keeps giving you the rundown.

Before you’re ready, the first patrons start trickling in and then you’re off to the races. It’s not too bad. No one’s orders are too complicated, mostly just bottles of beer and glasses of straight whiskey. The bartender, Colin, is friendly enough, although you learn that he’s another person you’ll need to split your tips with.

As for the touching, there are hands on your hips, pats to your ass. But you’re rewarded with folded-up bills held up between fingers or tucked into the strap of your top. Or, twice, slid behind the waistband of your skirt. Once you realize that the majority of these bills aren’t ones or fives, but twenties, you care about the touching that comes with them much less. Plus, you’re too busy to really think about it that hard.

You can’t believe how busy it is for a random Tuesday night, multiple games of poker, craps, and who knows what else all going at once. But when you mention that to Holly, she just laughs and shakes her head. “This is nothing,” she says. “On the weekends there’ll be three more of us and another one of Jake. Things get wild.”

You don’t have time to decide whether that makes you nervous or excited before someone is signaling for your attention again. You manage to suppress your grimace when he slides his arm around your waist to tell you what he needs from the bar. You’re rewarded for your troubles by a wad of twenties. You aren’t sure who these men are to tip so freely, but you know better than to look a gift horse in the mouth.

It’s an hour or two later that Lloyd calls you over to where he’s speaking to a large, impossibly broad man, dressed in a soft-looking henley under a leather jacket with dark jeans. There’s dark ink all over his hands that disappears up his sleeves and reappears on his neck in intricate lines. He’s got close-cropped hair and a full beard that’s neatly trimmed. His deep blue eyes drill into you right away and you do your best not to shiver.

“Got a new girl tonight, Everett. Still learning the ropes, but she’ll take good care of you, won’t you, Cupcake?”

“Yes, of course,” you say, before Lloyd wanders off to check on one of the poker games.

The man, Everett, lets his eyes rove over you. “Cupcake, huh?” His voice is deep, gritty, but there's something there that's much gentler than you expected.

You give him what you hope is a coy smile. “Sure. If you want.” Lloyd was treating him like he's important. You hope important means deep pockets.

He hits you with a penetrative stare, so strong you almost have to take a step back. “No,” he finally says. “I don't think so. I'll find something more fitting.” Then he turns and starts to walk away, before calling over his shoulder. “I'm gonna get dealt in. Bring me a whiskey once I'm settled.”

You watch him go for just a moment, and then head to the bar, asking for a whiskey.

“This for Everett?” the bartender, Colin, asks. When you nod, he grabs a fancy bottle off the top shelf. “This is all he drinks. And he doesn't pay for it, alright? Don't ever think about giving him a bill.”

You look back at the man in question, seriously looking at the cards he’s just been dealt. Who is he???

You collect his whiskey and move back to him. As you set it down, he turns to you. “How about this?” he asks as he holds up a crisply folded hundred-dollar bill between two fingers. Your eyes widen at the money. All you’ve done is bring him one straight pour. “There’s another one of these in it for you if you make sure I never see the bottom of this glass tonight. Sound good?” And then he folds the bill one more time in his thick fingers, before sliding it under the low-cut neckline of your blouse. Your skin tingles where he brushes against it.

“Yeah, you got it,” you just breathe out, a little shocked you’re able to form words. He gives you a smug smile that you can only describe as shark-like before turning back to his cards, and you understand it as the dismissal that it is.

You move around the room, collecting empties, getting refills, trying to goodnaturedly accept unsolicited touches. The whole time you feel eyes on you, but whenever you glance Everett’s way, he’s focused on his poker game.

Eventually, a down moment finds you catching your breath against the wall. The moment Holly sees you standing still, she’s quickly making her way to you. “You need to be more careful around Curtis,” she hisses, lowly.

You look at her, confused. “Curtis?” Jake’s at the door. Colin’s behind the bar. You don’t know a Curtis.

“Curtis Everett!” You glance at the man at the poker table. He’s running a poker chip across his knuckles mindlessly. Then he looks up and you briefly make eye contact before you quickly look away. Holly is staring at you and she looks worried. But the name still doesn’t mean anything to you, so you shake your head and shrug. She groans as quietly as she can. “He’s Barber’s top enforcer!”

This whole conversation feels so out of the blue that it takes you a minute to catch up. Barber. Andrew Barber. The most feared mob boss in the city. Probably the state. Maybe even more. Ruthless and exacting was how the papers described him. He’d been the subject of multiple stings and taskforces and whathaveyou but nothing ever stuck. “He works for Andrew Barber?” you ask, shocked and a little appalled.

Holly stares at you in a way that you can only describe as dumbfounded. It takes her a few moments to find her words, then, “Bitch, you work for Andrew Barber!”

Everything stops. “What?” you gasp.

“Oh my god,” Holly groans. “This was such a mistake. It’s an underground card game in his city! Who did you think was running things?”

“I– I don’t know,” you stutter, stupidly. The god’s honest truth is that you’d never really stopped to think about it. You’d been staring down an eviction, struggling to afford groceries. Unable to make ends meet no matter what you did. When Holly told you about this job, all you saw were dollar signs. You didn't think about anything further. Of course, you’d known these games were illegal, but it seemed so minor in the grand scheme of things. You hadn’t connected it to anything bigger because you just hadn’t wanted to.

But now– Now that you know the truth, what are you going to do? You know what you should do. You should walk out the door right now. You should find some other legitimate way to pay your bills. It’ll be safer. It’ll be better. It’ll be so much harder.

As you bite your lip, trying to process all of this information, Holly continues. “Listen,” she says, “still get him drinks, be friendly, whatever you need to do. But keep your distance however you can. Don't encourage him. He's just– He's really dangerous. They don't call him Barber’s attack dog for nothing, ok?”

“Yeah,” you say. You start to look back in Curtis’s direction but stop yourself. You think about the hundred you already have and the one promised to you at the end of the night. You think of how empty your pantry is. But then you see the genuine fear in Holly's eyes. You let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. I got it. Thanks.”

“He doesn't even come in here that often. I'm surprised to see him tonight, so I'm sure it’ll be fine,” she says, but you can tell she’s nervous.

You nod, absently, finally letting yourself glance over at him. His drink is getting close to the bottom. “Shit,” you mumble. “I gotta get him his refill.”

“Do you want me to do it?” Holly asks.

You should let her do it. You absolutely should. But you just can’t give up on that tip. You shake your head. “No, I’ll be fine. But thanks.”

You head back to the bar and grab Curtis’s top-shelf whiskey of choice from Colin, then make your way to his table. You set it down next to him, hoping to move away without him even noticing, he’s so engrossed in the game. But as you take a step back, his hand shoots out to grab your wrist. He holds it tightly until you meet his eyes. “Good girl,” he murmurs, and you can’t help the sharp intake of breath or the way you feel his words in your knees. He strokes his thumb down the inside of your wrist, then abruptly lets go, pushing his chips to the middle of the table. You step away, gathering yourself as subtly as you can, and get back to work.

The rest of the night goes quickly. The crowd gets a little rowdier as they drink more, but you find that it’s nothing you can’t handle. The reality of who these people are, what they’re connected to, never leaves your mind. But really, they’re not so bad. None of this feels so bad at all. And soon, people start heading out. You’re beginning to clean up, when a recognizable voice rings out, “Bambi!” You turn and lock eyes with Curtis. He crooks two fingers at you and you quickly make your way over to him.

“Bambi?” you ask.

He grins at you and it feels more than a little predatory. You’ll never admit how much you like it. You try to keep Holly’s warning at the forefront of your mind. “Wide eyes and just getting your legs under you,” he says. You instinctively duck your head at that, which earns a dark chuckle. “Here,” he continues, as he pulls a genuine, fat money clip out of his back pocket. You’ve never seen something like it in real life before. He peels off two bills and holds them out to you. “This is what good girls get,” he says, a low rumble in his voice.

You swallow as you take them from him. Two hundred dollars. Twice what you were expecting. “Thank you,” you say quietly.

He shakes his head. “You earned it.” Then, after one last long look at you, he turns around and leaves.

You stand and stare after him. You don’t doubt anything Holly said, but three hundred dollars, just for bringing him drinks. He doesn��t seem that bad, not really. A little intense maybe, but there’s some sort of interest there, and it can’t be that bad to encourage it, just a little if it earns you these sorts of tips, can it??

Any hesitance you have about this entire endeavor completely disappears as you count your money at the end of the night.

Your first week flies by. You're starting to get the hang of the job. You get along with your coworkers. You get to know the regulars. You like it. Even Lloyd isn’t so bad as long as you give him his cut at the end of every night.

And you’re making so much money.

In your downtime, you pay your landlord what you owe him. You go grocery shopping without scouring for coupons first or calculating exactly what you can afford beforehand. You make a Pinterest board of what you want your apartment to look like now that you might actually be able to buy things to fill it. For the very first time, you’re thinking about things you actually want, not just desperately trying to figure out how you’ll pay your bills. You’ve never felt this calm, this relaxed, this free before. It’s an incredible feeling.

And Curtis. Despite Holly’s reassurances that you wouldn’t see him much, he seems to be there whenever you are, trying to capitalize on his winning streak at the poker tables, you assume. His tips are still insanely generous. You don’t think he carries anything less than hundred dollar bills.

And there’s just something about him. The way he looks at you. The way he touches you. It’s not like the other men here. His touch is like fire, warming from the inside. There’ve been times when his hand on your hip has almost made your knees buckle. That doesn’t happen with anyone else here.

But you’re being smart and you’re being safe. You are. You’re going to set a savings goal, you think. And once you hit that number, you’ll be out of here, onto something more legitimate. And until then, you’ll just keep your head down and mouth shut, like Holly said. You haven’t even really seen anything. It’s a good plan. It’ll be fine.

She’s right that the weekends are wilder. Even with three additional girls working the room, you’re kept running. You do your best to keep an eye on Curtis’s drinks, but it’s much harder than on weeknights. And you aren’t really able to pause when you drop them off. It’s one of these times, as you’re pulling away from the table as soon as you’ve set his glass down, that you’re stopped short by his hand on you. He pulls you back in by the wrist and says, “They’re just running you ragged tonight, huh, Bambi?”

You smile and shrug. “It’s busy.”

He holds out a bill and you try not to smile even wider as he slips it into the waistband of your skirt. “For all your hard work.”

You bat your lashes a little. “You spoil me.”

“I like spoiling you,” he says, lowly.

“You’re too sweet,” you say softly. Then, pulling your arm away with a wink, you add, “Gotta run,” and you’re onto the next table.

You’re getting good at this, figuring out what level of harmless flirting is just enough to keep the money flowing. And you’re having fun. You’d never expected that.

Holly and two of the other girls, Jane and Kristi, are congregated at the end of the bar, waiting for drinks, when you join them. They’re all watching you warily. “So, uh,” Jane starts quietly, “you seem to be getting pretty cozy with Curtis.”

Before you can respond, Holly scoffs behind her. “I’ve tried to warn her but she won’t fucking listen.”

You roll your eyes. You’re tired of hearing this. “I seriously don’t get what the big deal is. He’s nice and he tips well. It’s harmless!”

Kristi just gapes at you. “He’s nice?!”

Holly slams the drinks she was waiting for onto her tray. “Whatever,” she grumbles. “It’s her fucking funeral.”

You shake your head as you watch her go. It’s fine. You can take care of yourself.

The rest of the night goes by in a blur. You don’t get much of a chance to talk to Curtis, but you feel his eyes on you before he disappears a little before closing.

At the end of the night, once you’ve helped clean up, you cash out with Colin and Jake and then go to find Lloyd in his office. You think it’s kind of ridiculous that you’re basically paying him to work there, but it is what it is. And Holly was right, you’re making so much that you barely even notice.

Lloyd is sitting at his desk, looking a little more disheveled than you’re used to. He startles at your approach, which is also new.

“Oh, hey,” he says, with slightly rounded eyes. “What can I do for you?”

You look at him, a little confused. “Just here with your cut,” you say as you hold out his money.

His hands immediately fly up to his chest, palms out. “No, no,” he says. “You made that fair and square. You just– you keep what you make from now on, Cupcake. Sound good?”

You swallow and nod, preparing yourself for whatever other price you’ll have to pay for keeping your job, mentally calculating what you’re willing to do. But Lloyd doesn’t do anything, doesn’t make any move to get closer to you. Just stays there at his desk, turning back to his work. “You have a good night,” he says, clearly dismissing you.

You leave confused, but richer, telling yourself not to question it too hard.

Things go so smoothly for a few weeks that you’re a little shocked when the bubble bursts.

It’s a relatively quiet weeknight. There are a few games going, but nothing compared to the weekend. The pace of the night feels leisurely. It’s nice.

It’s maybe the first night you haven’t seen Curtis there. It feels weird. He’s become such a part of this place for you. A fixture, like the bar or the carpet. Just one of the elements that make it what it is. But it’s fine. Of course, he doesn’t come every night. He probably has a whole life outside of this. He must’ve gotten bored of playing cards. Oh well. It was nice while it lasted.

You’re passing the time talking to one of the regulars at the bar, Vinny. He’s in his fifties, you think, with gray hair and laugh lines. He’d gone bust at the poker table (or maybe it was craps tonight) earlier and then had moved to the bar to drink away his sorrows and bad luck. That was how his nights tended to go.

He’s sitting on a barstool, his arm around your waist where you stand next to him. He’s a little close for comfort, but he’s always just been a friendly guy, so you’re alright. Which is why you’re so surprised when, in the middle of a story about the good old days of the Copa Cabana, his other hand suddenly finds its way between your thighs. You freeze. For just a second. Then you force out a laugh and try to push his hand away. “Bad boy,” you try to tease, your voice shaking. His hand will not move. What is happening? “Come on, let’s keep our hands to ourselves.”

Instead of doing what you’ve asked, his thumb briefly brushes the inside of your leg and then his whole hand begins moving higher. You stop breathing. You push again but he won’t budge.

“You’re such a pretty doll, aren’tcha?” he says.

Tears start to gather in your eyes. You look around wildly to see if anyone’s noticing what’s happening. Colin’s busy making drinks. Jake and Lloyd are talking by the door. Everyone else is engrossed in their own business. “Vinnie, stop, please,” you whisper. You don’t know why you can’t get your voice to work, can’t get your body to move.

“Come on,” he cajoles, “I’m being nice, aren’t I?”

Then his thumb brushes against your panties and your entire body jolts into action. You wrench your leg out of his grasp and take several steps away from him. Your whole body is shaking now. “I gotta–” you start, trying to keep your tone casual and failing miserably. “I gotta get back to work, Vinny.” Then you grab your tray off the bartop and walk away as fast as you can.

You don’t really have a destination in mind. You pick up a few empties as you wander between tables. You can feel his eyes on you, following you. You try to take a deep breath, calm yourself down. It isn’t very helpful. You look up to see Jake by himself now. You make your way over to him, Holly’s words on your first night in your ears. That was out of hand, wasn’t it?

He looks up as you approach. His big golden retriever smile on his face. “Hey, what’s up?” Then he actually takes you in and his smile drops. “What happened?”

“Um, Vinny, he, uh–” You feel a few tears fall down your cheeks and you just shake your head.

Jake’s face darkens. “Did he hurt you?”

“No, uh, he– he just–” You shake your head again. “No, he didn’t hurt me.”

Jake doesn’t say anything for a moment, just looks at you. There’s something about the way he does it that makes you think he understands everything you just can’t say. He nods once. “Alright. I’ll take care of it. You go take your time in the back. Do what you need to do. He’ll be gone by the time you’re done.”

You let out a shaky breath. “Okay, thank you,” you say so quietly. Then you get yourself to the back room as quickly as you can.

It’s really more of a hallway than a room, small and narrow. All of the storage space for the building is in the legitimate bar upstairs. But there’s enough room for you to crouch down, your knees pulled up tight to your chin. You bury your face in your thighs and let the tears you’ve been holding in finally fall. You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re safe. You’re fine.

You don’t know how long you’ve spent trying to calm yourself down when a large shadow suddenly looms over you. It takes you a moment to gather your strength to find out who it is. You hope it’s Jake telling you Vinny’s gone. You’re afraid it might be Lloyd, here to tell you to get back to work. There’s a slowly building terror that it might be Vinny himself.

After a deep breath, you look up to find Curtis staring down at you, concern on his face and fiery anger in his eyes. “What happened?” he growls.

You shake your head and turn away. He crouches down in front of you. “Are you alright?”

A humorless, uncontrolled laugh escapes you. Once you finally stop, you ignore his question and ask your own, “Why are you here?”

It takes him a very long time to answer. He just looks at you seriously for several moments. Then, finally, “Jake called me.” While you try to figure out why on earth Jake would do that, he continues, “I'm sorry I wasn’t already here.”

“Why?” you blurt out without thinking.

He looks away without saying anything. You both just sit in the silence for a few moments. Then, you try to change tactics. “Where were you?” you ask out of morbid curiosity. You can't imagine what his life is like outside of here.

“Working,” he says curtly. He plays with a ring on his middle finger and the movement draws your eyes to his hands, specifically his knuckles. They're scraped and caked with dried blood.

You swallow and you catch how his eyes track the movement. His eyes are always on you. He catches everything.

“Someone touched you?”

“Lots of people touch me,” you say, flatly. “It's part of the job. You touch me.”

His eyes narrow at that. “But this was different.” It isn’t a question.

You look down at your hands in your lap and don't say anything.

“Tell me who it was.”

“No,” you say instinctively, something about the moment feeling incredibly dangerous.

He huffs in frustration. “Are you trying to protect him?”

“No!” you say, sharply. “I’m protecting myself.”

“You don’t have to do that. Not from me. Not ever.”

You don’t know how to tell him that every atom in you knows that that isn’t true. You can’t explain it, and it wasn’t until the moment he joined you in this little closet, but you’d swear that he’s a danger to you. You just can't articulate how, but you feel it in your bones. And still, here you stay.

At your silence, he grits out, “If you don’t tell me who it was, Jake will.”

Jake probably already has, that’s what you’ve figured. “Great,” you say. “Then you don’t need me to say it.”

“Bambi,” he lets out in an exasperated growl. “I'm trying to help you.”

You just look at him and then figure you may as well ask the main question that's on your mind. “Why did Jake call you?”

He ignores you and stands up. “Come on,” he says and extends his hand, “I'm taking you home.”

You just blink up at him. “My shift isn't over.”

He shakes his hand at you impatiently. “It is now. Come on.”

You shake your head. “Curtis, this is my job. I can't just– Lloyd will–”

“I'll take care of Lloyd. Let’s go.”

You think about going home. About sitting alone in your small apartment. At least here you'll have something to do, things to focus on, to keep you busy. At home, there'll be nothing to think about other than that hand between your legs and– “No,” you say as firmly as you can manage. “I'm staying here. I'm finishing the night.”

His jaw ticks but he doesn’t say anything, just tries to stare you down. You stare right back. You will not concede this.

Finally, he exhales through his nostrils, then growls out an unhappy “Fine. But I'll–” He's interrupted by his phone ringing in his pocket. He takes it out and glances at the caller ID and sighs. “I have to take this.” He steps away as much as he can in the tiny area and answers with a curt “Everett.” There's a slight pause. “Yeah, I took care of it.” Another pause that has him glancing at you. “No, something else came up.”

You don't wait to hear the rest of the conversation. You take the opportunity to go back to the main room and get back to work.

You don't see Curtis again that night. You don't spare much thought to where he might've gone. You're too focused on getting through the remainder of your shift. When it's done, Jake insists on seeing you home. You don't ask why. You already know who's behind it.

The next few days are fine. You try to put what happened behind you, doing your best to ignore it. But that becomes impossible when three days after the incident you watch Vinny walk in. You can’t help the little burst of panic you feel as you warily watch him sit down at his usual table and get dealt in.

As subtly as you can, you make your way over to Jake. You don’t even say anything before he’s looking at you, chagrined. “I know,” he says. “I’m sorry, but I had to let him in. I promise it’s all going to be taken care of. It’s just– You can ignore him tonight, ok? Just trust me. You don’t need to worry about him. I promise.”

“Ok,” you say reluctantly, trying to resist looking back at Vinny. “I just– I didn’t think I’d have to see him again.”

“I really think that after tonight you won’t,” he says sincerely.

You don’t really understand what that means, but you nod anyway. “Ok,” you say. “I, uh, I should get back to work then.”

He just nods after you, looking a little concerned and a little sad. But the room is filling up, so you don’t have time to delve into it.

Sometime later, as you’re taking a brief moment to idle by the bar, a strange hush descends over the room. You’re facing away from the door, away from the rest of the room, but you see Colin take in whatever it is that’s caused this. His face pales and he lets out a quiet, urgent, “Shit.”

You turn around to see what on earth could be going on and you immediately freeze. Curtis is here. But that’s not what’s garnering all of this attention. Well, not all. Because he’s not alone, there’s a man with him. A little shorter, not quite as broad. But you’d be able to feel the power radiating off of him, even if you didn’t recognize him. Soft dark hair, thick beard, an immaculately tailored suit. You’ve seen him in the papers, on the news, but in real life, he’s even more intimidating. Andrew Barber.

Barber leans in close to say something to Curtis, who nods, eyes scanning the room until they land on you. Your breath catches, but luckily Colin calls your name behind you and you have an excuse to turn around. He places two glasses of dark liquor on the bar. “Everett,” he says, gesturing to one, then “Barber,” while waving his hand over the other. “Got it?” You nod and place them on your tray. They’re identical to your eyes except for the fact that Barber's has a muddled black cherry at the bottom of the glass.

You carefully bring them over, trying to force yourself to breathe. Curtis intercepts you and grabs the drinks when you're a few steps away. “Thank you, Bambi,” he says, lowly.

Barber perks up. “This is Bambi? Really?” He extends a hand and you have no choice but to take it. “Andy Barber,” he says with a disarming smile. “It's a pleasure to meet you finally.”

His handshake is firm, demanding. He is terrifying in his friendliness. And he knows who you are. Has known, for who knows how long. You glance at Curtis, but he's just calmly drinking his whiskey. You don't know what to say, what are you supposed to say?? So after too long a pause, you practically whisper, “Thank you, Mr. Barber.”

He chuckles lightly as he takes back his hand. To Curtis, he says, “You're right, Bambi does suit her.” Then he turns back to you and adds, “Andy, please.”

“O– Okay, Andy,” you say, with what you desperately hope is a benign smile. You look over at Curtis, you’re not entirely sure why, but out of these two dangerous options, he, at least, is familiar. “I should get back to work.”

Curtis is staring at you, but it’s Andy who answers. “Mmm, and we have a game to join, don’t we?” Curtis nods but still doesn’t break his gaze. Andy smirks, “No rest for the wicked.”

You have no idea what to do with that sentiment, so you take the opportunity and get out of there. You walk through the tables, checking to see if anyone needs anything, but the mob boss’s physical presence seems to have ground all action to a halt. The room is collectively holding its breath.

You go back to the bar for want of anything else to do. Colin is standing ramrod straight, coiled in case he needs to spring into action. Lloyd is sitting down at the end of the bar, drumming his fingers, eyes moving all around the room. You settle next to Holly, who looks just as scared as she did that first night when she was trying to warn you off of Curtis. “Is this,” you start to ask, your voice shaking. “Is this normal? Does he come here a lot?”

“No, never” she shakes her head. “Why would he come here? He has real clubs and restaurants. He doesn’t need to hang out in a shit hole like this.” She shakes her head again. “He’d only come here for a reason.”

You turn your head back to the room and find that Andy and Curtis have settled at Vinny’s table, joining his game across from him. Your heart lands in your throat. That can’t– No. You’re just some cocktail waitress. Even with Curtis’s obvious interest in you, you aren’t important enough to bring the most powerful man in the city here. You’re nothing. He must have other reasons.

The room is quiet enough to hear a pin drop as everyone waits for something to happen, which is why when Andy does start speaking, you don’t have to strain your ears to pick up every word.

He looks at his cards carefully, then over at Vinny. “You know, Vinny, you’re a hard man to track down.” His voice is so calm, it sends a chill up your spine. “You don’t go home, we can’t find you at work. I was starting to get worried.” He runs a few chips through his fingers before tossing them into the center of the felt. “That’s why, when I heard you were showing up here, I sent my best man to investigate,” he nods towards Curtis, “just to make sure you were ok.”

You don’t have a great view of Vinny from where you’re standing, but you can see how stiff he is, how silent. But he still calls when it’s his turn.

“You can imagine my relief when I found out you were alright. Except,” he raises again, a few more chips into the pot, “you’re losing a lot of money, aren’t you? Now, this upsets me. Not because you’re losing your own money. But because it’s mine, isn’t it?”

Vinny finally tries to pipe up. “Andy, hold on. I can ex–”

“You owe me $150,000, Vinny. With interest, that total’s climbing every day. And yet, you sit here and you just keep losing, don’t you? At my own game. What would you do if you won, huh? Would you really try paying me back with my own money? I thought maybe you’d at least have the smarts to cross the border and try this at one of Roger’s casinos. Huh? Paying me back with my enemy’s money, at least that I could respect. But no, it’s only me you think is stupid enough to fall for your bullshit. So now I’m here to give you the chance to fucking do it to my face.” With that, he violently pushes all of his chips into the center of the table.

Everyone else has folded. It’s just Barber and Vinny now. You’re not sure Curtis even actually played. He’s just staring Vinny down, although occasionally his eyes will flick up and meet yours. You hate feeling like you’re a part of this, but you don’t know what else to do besides watch it play out.

Vinny is just spluttering, while Andy calmly looks on. It’s all the expected, cliche stuff you’ve seen in gangster movies. He’s got the money, he swears. He just needs a little more time. Andy has to know he’s good for it! You want to roll your eyes right along with Andy.

“Call, Vinny,” Andy cuts him off, sternly. “That’s $150,000 I just put in the pot. Call. And if you win, we’re even. Your debt’s erased. But if you lose, well then that’s $300,000 you’ll owe me. And you know I won’t be able to tolerate that. So call. And let’s find out where we stand.”

You can’t see what Vinny’s doing, but you can imagine the way his fingers must be hovering over his chips, his eyes moving down to his cards to check, one more time, if they’re as good or bad as he remembers. You know there’s no way out for him either way. He’ll have to call. He’s just delaying the inevitable.

You feel like you can't breathe as you wait for him to just finally do it, but Andy cuts in again. “The thing I can't understand, Vinny, is why you kept coming here after Curtis showed up. Either you're very stupid or really fucking greedy.” He looks at Vinny carefully. “Maybe a little of both. I hear you've been touching something that doesn't belong to you.”

You gasp. No one notices, but you do. He can't be talking about you. He can't. He can't.

Vinny seems even more confused than you. “What are you talking about? I haven't touched anything!”

Andy continues to ignore him. “So you're stupid and greedy. That's why you aren't afraid of him like you should be. They call him my attack dog, did you know? Have you heard that? Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe you think he’s some puppy that follows me around. You’d be stupid to underestimate him, underestimate me. But maybe you only do that because you've never seen my dog off his leash.”

Curtis springs into action, lunging across the table to grab Vinny by the collar, and then slams his head into the felt. Before there’s even time to react, he’s stood and he's picking Vinny back up and hurling him onto the floor. Curtis comes around the table to stalk after him and the look on his face has you gasping for breath. You've never seen Curtis like this. There's a glint in his eye that might be the scariest thing you've ever seen. Who is this man? What is he capable of?

Vinny is dazedly trying to crawl away, but Curtis catches him easily. He grabs Vinny’s collar and hauls him back up, delivering two punches to his face in quick succession. The sound it makes. There's no other sound in the whole room. No one's saying anything, no one's doing anything. Everyone's just watching, hypnotized. You turn away, your stomach churning. Your eyes catch on Andy, sitting back in his chair, placidly drinking the whiskey you brought him, completely relaxed, like he's watching anything else. You can't look at him either.

The room is completely silent except for the crunching of bones, Vinny’s whimpers, and Curtis’s grunts. You look up again to be startled by eye contact with Curtis. His eyes are wild, unhinged. Feral. But there's something else in it, like all of this is for you. That all of you are there, everything is happening, because Vinny dared to touch you. It takes your breath away. It’s mesmerizing.

Andy finally stands and strides over to where Curtis is holding Vinny up in the middle of the room. He looks down at Vinny, then spits in his face. “I'm tired of trying to draw blood from a stone,” he says. Then he turns to Curtis and finishes, “Get rid of him.”

Curtis gives you one last long look, his face unreadable. You feel it in your knees. Then he drags Vinny out, leaving a bloody trail behind him.

The moment they're gone, it's like the entire room can breathe again. “Lloyd,” Andy calls out. “How ‘bout a round for everyone? On me.”

Lloyd nods to Colin who hurriedly starts pouring drinks. And you, so grateful for something to do, instead of just standing there, shaking, start loading the glasses on your tray.

As you begin to pass them out, Andy of all people, pulls you aside. “Bambi,” he says quietly, “I hope you know now, we take care of our own.”

You gaze at him, shocked. It feels like a comfort and a threat. But why? It's not so much the implication that this all had something to do with you, but you can't for the life of you imagine what you've done to get yourself to a place where Andy Barber might consider you his, however distantly. It can't just be that you work here. You can't picture him doing something similar for Holly or Colin. Once again, this all feels so incredibly dangerous.

While you're struggling to come up with anything to say to that, he grabs a drink off your tray and downs it quickly. Then, with a wink, he turns and leaves. You’re left staring after him until someone calls after you and you're scrambling to pass out drinks again.

The night ends quickly. No one seems eager to stay and drink and play after everything that's happened. Not when there's still blood on the floor.

You do what you can to help clean up, but when you stare at the stain helplessly, Lloyd tells you not to worry about it. He's got a guy.

Colin walks out with you so you aren’t in the parking lot alone. You're grateful. You're still so shaken. As you approach your car, your beater that you still don’t quite have the money to replace, you see someone leaning against it. You stop short, looking to Colin for help, but he just keeps walking to his own car, his head down. That’s when you know it’s Curtis.

You take a deep breath and then force yourself to keep walking towards him. You can't begin to parse how you feel to see him now. Your keys are ready in your hand like you might just get in and drive off without speaking to him. You know you won’t.

When you reach him, his voice is rough as he asks, “Are you ok?” He’s cleaned up. There’s no more blood on his hands, his clothes have been straightened.

You open your mouth to answer, even though you have no idea, so instead what comes out is “Did you kill him?”

“Did you want me to?” is his immediate reply.

It stops you in your tracks as all sorts of feelings come bubbling up, ones you can not, will not examine. This is about his propensity for violence, how terrifying he became, not– No. “Did you?” you insist.

He looks at you carefully then shakes his head. “I don't think you actually want me to answer that.”

“But you've killed before?” You can't stop yourself from pressing, from pushing. You don’t know why.

He just sort of smiles, gently almost, in a way that is deeply unsettling. “You need to stop asking questions you aren’t ready for me to answer, Bambi.” And it’s the way he says the nickname, like you really are that babe in the woods, just born with no knowledge of the world around you, that has your hackles rising.

“Andy called you his dog,” you say, like he should be offended.

To your surprise, he laughs, his head thrown back. Then he takes a step closer to you, and you take the opportunity to sneak in behind him, get to your car. You realize your mistake immediately when he turns back around and cages you in, your back pressed against the driver’s side door. “Everyone calls me his dog. Because he’s the civilized man in the designer suit, and I’m the animal just begging for a reason to slip my leash.”

Your heart pounds wildly in your chest. You should get into your car. You should drive away as fast as you can. You should never come back. But you don’t. “You did it for him,” you say, mustering all the strength into your voice that you can. “You didn’t do it for me.”

He leans over you, the space between you shrinking rapidly. “Yeah, he asked me to do it,” he nods. “But if he hadn’t, I still would have done it. For you.”

You try to shake your head, to tell him that that can’t be true, even as a wild, loud part of you starts to rise up and claw out of your chest. You try to tamp it down, deny it, but before you can, Curtis is leaning in further, his whole body pressing against you, and then he covers your lips with his.

There’s a heat that comes up out of him that fills you, the instant his skin touches yours. His hands are on you, your neck, your hip. You can’t keep track, can only say that his hands are there, everywhere, that his body touches all of yours, that his lips and his tongue are demanding, unrelenting. You are burning up from the inside.

Too soon, but ages later, he pulls away. His eyes are on fire as he looks at you. Then he tears his gaze away, and hits the roof of your decrepit car twice, looking at it disdainfully. “You get home safe,” he says, then steps back to allow you the space you need to get into your car.

You do what he wants you to do. You get in your car, sit in the driver’s seat, and then stare blankly out the windshield. You’ve never felt so out of control in your life. How did this happen? You were flirting for tips, that was all! You encouraged it for money, that was it, and now– You press your thighs together, trying not to pant. You will not be unmoored.

A slight movement in your periphery makes you notice that Curtis is still standing just to the side of your car, watching you. You turn your keys in the ignition and shift into drive.

It doesn’t mean anything it doesn’t mean anything it doesn’t mean anything, you chant to yourself all the way home.

It’s your next shift back, and everything seems to have changed. You don’t understand it. You keep doing laps of the room, keep sidling up to regulars you were so friendly with just a few nights ago, but now, they won’t even look at you, let alone touch you. No one’s ordering anything.

Or at least, they aren’t ordering from you.

Holly has been running around nonstop all night, basically having to take care of the entire room by herself. You watch man after man after man slip her little bundles of money.

You want to scream. What the fuck happened? What did you do? What are you going to do?

You go to stand by the bar to wait for something you can do. Colin gives you a brief nod of acknowledgment but that’s it. He’s been cold, too. No. Not cold, distant. You don’t understand what’s changed.

You take a deep breath. It’s one weird night. Things will be better tomorrow.

Things don’t get better. The next night is the same. You’re starting to panic. This job was supposed to be your lifeline. Without it, without the money you were making, you’re not sure how you’ll survive.

Curtis comes in after a couple of hours of nothing. You could cry you’re so happy to see him. But terrified too. If he gives you the cold shoulder, this job really is over. But you have no idea how he’s going to act, not after what happened last time. You’re not sure how you’re going to act either. You can still feel his lips on yours.

You bring him his whiskey immediately and he greets you with an arm around your waist, pulling you in. “Hey Bambi,” he says quietly. Then he gets a good look at you. “What’s wrong?”

You look at him carefully, not sure what to confide. You aren’t even sure what the problem is. You shake your head. “Not my best night,” you say with a tired smile. “But I’m fine.”

He stares at you for a moment, then stands up. “Come on,” he says, grabbing your hand and leading you to the little back room. You feel eyes on the two of you the whole way there.

Once he’s closed the door behind you both, he asks again, “What’s wrong?”

You sigh. “The last two nights have been weird here. I don’t– I don’t know. I’m just worried. I don’t know what happened but I’m not making any tips. No one’s treating me like they used to.”

“Mmm,” Curtis hums thoughtfully. “I think,” he says as he takes two steps closer to you, which in this small space is significant, “everyone else here has figured it out.”

It’s suddenly a little hard to breathe with him standing over you like this. His presence, his attention is always so much. “Figured what out?” you ask, confused.

“That I have lost my patience for watching other men touch you.”

It hits you like a freight train. “What?” It comes out in a whisper.

“I’ve let this go on for too long,” he says, his voice is calm, casual. “I don’t want you working here anymore. This is done.”

“I– What? Curtis. What?! I have to work! I have to pay my bills! I don’t understand. I don’t–”

He takes one last step forward. You feel the heat coming off of him. “Shh,” he soothes, cradling your cheek in his hand. “It’ll be alright. I’ll take care of you. I take care of what’s mine.”

You pull your face away, even as the urge to nuzzle into him is so strong. You feel like you’ve missed something, a thousand things. You feel too many steps behind. “Curtis, I’m not– I’m not yours.”

Something comes into his eyes and you’re reminded of him standing over Vinny, covered in blood. His hand travels down from your cheek. He strokes your throat once, and then his hand closes around it. “Look me in the eye,” he growls, “and say that again.”

His hand is firm, snug, but it doesn’t tighten. But you can imagine so easily how it might. You look him in the eye. You open your mouth, ready to say it again. But then– then you see it. In the way he looks at you, the way he’s always looked at you. You feel it in his grip on you, now. You can’t deny it anymore.

Curtis shoves you into his bedroom. You’re panting already. You need his hands on you, right now. You don’t have to ask for it. He gets you to the center of the room and yanks down your skirt, tearing it in the process. You step out of it and take your blouse off, throwing it on top of your skirt. Curtis’s eyes are cataloging your body, the swell of your breasts spilling out of your bra, your soft tummy, thick thighs. His gaze, as always, takes your breath away.

You reach out for Curtis’s shirt, but he grabs your hands. “I want you on your knees,” he growls and you immediately kneel for him. He throws off his shirt, revealing the expanse of his chest, the muted blacks and grays of his tattoos. You’re desperate to run your hands over them, trace the art, but instead, they just twitch at your side. He'll tell you what you're allowed to do.

He begins unbuttoning his jeans and your mouth drops open. He chuckles darkly. “Perfect little slut.” He takes his phone out of his back pocket and aims it at you, taking a picture as you gaze up at him under your lashes, your mouth wide open. “I've been dreaming of getting you on your knees for me.” He puts his phone on his dresser, then continues taking off his pants. “You ready to choke on my cock, baby?”

“Please,” you whine. You're practically salivating now. His bare thighs are as thick as tree trunks, the muscles corded. His abs ripple as he moves. His shoulders, his back. You want.

He frees his cock and rolls his black boxer briefs down his legs, stepping out of them. It's long and thick, just like the rest of him. Your breath catches. You don't think you've ever taken something that big before.

He takes a few steps so he's completely in your space, his cock bobbing right in front of your face. He takes it in one hand, the other firmly on the back of your head and slowly feeds the tip into your mouth. You taste his musk on your tongue. As he rocks into your mouth, going a little further each time, your hands come up to grasp his thighs. On his next thrust in, you run your tongue along the underside of his dick. His movements stutter just a little and then he looks down at you, a smirk overtaking his face. It's just a touch mean, in a way that has you soaking your panties. “You ready?” he asks, his voice rough. And then without waiting for the answer, he thrusts in all the way, making you take him deep in your throat.

You flail, slapping his thigh as you try to swallow around him, breathing frantically through your nose. After holding you there for a moment, he sets a brutal but steady pace. It takes you a moment, but you find your rhythm, your panic subsiding. Once you feel steady, you lift one hand from his thighs and bring it up to cradle his balls. “Fuck, Bambi,” he grinds out. “You're gonna– I– fuck!” His hand moves from the back of your head down to the back of your neck, which he grips firmly, pulling you off his cock. As you cough and splutter on the floor, he growls, “The first time you make me come is gonna be inside that perfect cunt.”

He helps you stand on wobbly legs, then shoves his hand between your legs, cupping your pussy over your panties. “Shit, fucking soaked just from deepthroating me?”

You let out a needy little whine, trying to push further into his hand, but he withdraws it, instead settling on your hip. “Well,” he grins, “if they’re ruined anyway…” then uses that hand to rip the black lace down the side, letting them fall to the floor. He makes quick work of your bra as well, then takes a step back and sighs, “Shit, Bambi, look at you.” It’s the reverence in his voice and on his face that has you launching yourself at him, unable to keep from kissing him any longer. He lets you, quickly taking control, letting you feel all his hunger, the want he’s kept barely bottled up since he first laid eyes on you. You understand it all now. His erection brushes against you, and now it’s his turn to whine, just a little.

He pulls away, brushing a hand down your cheek, then says “Get on the bed, on your stomach.” You quickly comply, laying in the center of the bed with your knees pulled up and spread beneath you. He brings his hand down on one asscheek harshly and you can’t help the lewd moan that escapes you. He chuckles, “Oh, I will definitely remember that for later.” He grabs your hips and cants them up, then whistles at your exposed cunt. “I knew it. Absolutely beautiful.” Then he unceremoniously shoves two fingers into your hole and you choke on nothing. “Shh,” he coos. “You can take it. My cock’s gonna be a lot thicker.”

As he starts scissoring his fingers inside you, you can’t hold it in any longer and start babbling. Mostly a combination of “please,” and “Curtis,” and “I need,” over and over.

“I know, baby,” he says as he pulls his fingers out of you. “I’ve got what you need right here.” You have a brief moment to feel the tip of his cock on your pussy lips before he’s thrusting it into you, as far as he can go without making it hurt.

“Oh my god,” you cry, pressing your forehead into the mattress and balling his dark blue sheets in your hands. You feel so full. It’s so good. He’s working himself into you as quickly as he can, desperate now. You both are. Once he bottoms out, fully seated in you, he pauses. Then with one hand on your stomach and the other around your neck, he pulls you up onto your knees, your back flush to his chest. You cry out at the new angle; he’s somehow even deeper now. He starts thrusting up into you at a punishing pace. You’re bouncing up and down in his firm grasp. The hand on your neck turns your head to face him, his lips brushing against yours. He holds eye contact with you as the hand on your stomach snakes down your pelvis so his thick fingers can begin circling your clit. “Fuck! Curtis, please!” you shout.

“Yeah, come on,” he breathes, “you can let go. You can do it. Come for me like a good girl.” It’s those words that send you careening over the edge, your cunt pulsing around his cock, squeezing him until he’s coming too with a grunt, filling you up until both your cum is leaking out around him.

He holds you there, on your knees, as you both come down, your twin pants all you can hear.

You wake up slowly, the sun shining on you through the soft drapes. You start to shift then groan at how stiff you are. The night before comes back to you. Curtis took you two more times before you both collapsed in satisfied exhaustion. He’s still out like a light beneath you.

You take a moment to look at him. It’s odd to see him so peaceful, so still. There’s nothing of the feral predator he projects to the world. It makes you feel oddly close to him, seeing him like this.

You carefully get up without disturbing him and begin collecting your clothes. You put on your bra, but there’s no saving your panties. Same for your skirt; it’s ripped along the seam. So instead you pick up Curtis’s t-shirt from last night and put it on. It smells like him. You breathe it in shamelessly knowing there’s no one to witness it.

You savor the soreness as you move out of the bedroom. It’s like you can still feel him inside you, how much he wanted you, needed you. It makes you feel a little powerful, having that effect on a man like him.

You make your way into his living room. You didn’t really have a chance to look at his house last night, as determined as he was to get you into the bedroom. If you’d ever thought to picture it, this wouldn’t be far off. It’s all rich blues and greens and grays, leather and dark wood. Masculine. It suits him.

As you’re admiring the room, you hear footsteps behind you and then two big arms are encircling your waist, pulling you into him. “Good morning,” he rasps.

You turn your head to him. “Good morning,” you say with a smile.

“Fuck, Bambi, you’re even hotter in my shirt than you were last night.”

You smirk at him even as your face heats. “Mmm,” you hum. “It’s comfy. You might not get it back.” He nuzzles into your neck as you continue. “I was hoping you might have something I could wear for bottoms, too. You destroyed my skirt.”

His beard roughly drags against your skin as he asks, “Why the hell would I let you wear bottoms?”

You laugh. “Because I have to leave the house, Curtis.”

“No, you don’t,” he says as his hand begins to move between your thighs.

You playfully swat him away, even as you feel yourself getting wet again from his attention. “I have to go home.”

“Why? You’re staying here.” It’s how certain he sounds that has you turning around in his arms.

“What?”

“I don’t like your building. It isn’t safe enough. Now that I finally have you, of course, I’m going to keep you here with me.”

Once again, you feel too many steps behind. You just blink at him, confused. How does he even know where you live??

He takes your chin in his hand, his fingers gentle. “I told you, Bambi, I take care of what’s mine.”

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spectralscathath · 1 day

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Tour Guide to the Unexplained- A Gravity Falls Fanfiction

Chapter 2- Blue Light Fright Night

Stan and Ford didn’t expect much when getting shipped up to Gravity Falls to stay with estranged family. Not a party-hating ghost, not new friends and new enemies, and definitely not the Mystery Shack and their lying uncle who runs it. But with Ford’s smarts and Stan’s punching, there’s no mystery they can’t solve.

Ao3 Link

"I can't believe it," Ford scowled as he restocked the snowglobe shelf. Little mini Mystery Shacks mocked him as they sat beside glass-encased Waddleses. How did Grunkle Dipper even get question mark-shaped glitter for these? "Gnomes on our first day- then we don't see jack!"

"Maybe we fought the gnomes so well they told the rest of the forest to be scared of us?" Stan polished the body parts jars on the other side of the aisle.

"I think you're giving yourself too much credit."

"Hey-" Stan kicked him in the shin. Ford kicked back without thinking, focused on trying to get all the snowglobes lined up perfectly. "Maybe we're just looking in the wrong places? It's only been three days since gnome-pocalypse."

"We're not calling it 'gnome-pocalypse'. It was only a hundred or so gnomes. An apocalypse would require at least a thousand." He was rounding down as well.

"Fine. What are we gonna call it then?"

"Uh-"

"So are you guys coming to the party tonight?" Carla interrupted as she came around the corner, her nametag pinned to the front of her pink shirt and a flower in her hair.

"Party?" Ford looked at her, setting down the final snowglobe.

"Yeah!" Carla beamed and did a little dance in place, hopping from one foot to the other. "It's at the high school gym- the local sheriff sets up one every month for all the teens and it's super fun. You should totally come and meet all my friends- it'll be awesome!"

Ford's breath caught in his throat, an indescribable mixture of wonder and excitement filling him from the tips of his toes to the top of his head. A real invitation to a real party. They'd never had one before! And here Carla was, offering an invitation like they were normal . Like it didn't matter that Ford had six fingers and Stan had the school record for detentions.

"Yeah, we'll definitely be there!" He blurted out immediately, unwilling to let the opportunity of a lifetime slip by. "Wow, this is so exciting- Stanley, our first party!"

"Have you… never been to a party before?" Carla's face fell.

" Pfft - of course we have," Stanley jumped in, waving a hand. "He just means in Gravity Falls, yunno. Jersey parties are really different so-"

"Oh, totally. But get ready, a Gravity Falls party is gonna knock your socks off!" Carla was all smiles again. Ford could see the reason why Grunkle Dipper had her as a cashier, she had a very upbeat demeanour that seemed popular with the tourists. The way she talked to them, able to get them smiling and laughing and telling her stories about their travels, she made it look so easy. Like talking to people was easy. Ford wondered how she did it.

Maybe if he asked, she'd let him observe and record her interactions for science?

"Earth to Sixer-" Stanley poked him in the face and Ford spluttered, swatting at his hand. "You okay in there?"

'I'm fine!" Ford looked around and adjusted his glasses. "Where'd Carla go?"

"A tour finished so she's gone to do her charm offensive on getting them to buy junk," Stan shrugged. "Are you sure you want to go to a party?"

"Yeah!" Was that even a question? "Don't you? Why did you lie to Carla? We've never been invited anywhere before."

"Listen, Fordsy," Stanley put an arm around his shoulders. "When people invite you to do stuff you haven't done, you gotta pretend you have, or else they'll think 'wow, what kinda losers are those guys, never going to parties'. You wanna be in the in-crowd, go along with the popular decision if you don't wanna stand out."

"How do you know that?" Ford scrunched his nose. It seemed unnecessarily complicated, wouldn't honesty be the best policy in any conversation?

"Just makes sense," Stan shrugged. "Now Carla won't be thinking, 'those guys must be lame', she'll be thinking we're cool dudes back home."

"But we're not?"

"Yeah, but you shouldn't say that." Stan patted his back. "Do you really wanna go?"

"Of course! This is a chance to meet the wider population of Gravity Falls, and I bet with all the anomalies in this area, I won't even be the weirdest thing anyone's seen today!" He'd always wanted to go to a party. Like a regular kid. Maybe Gravity Falls wasn't so bad.

"You're not weird," Stan scowled. "If any of them give you trouble I'll hit them."

"Stanley, mom said one week. You still have three more days." Ford reminded him.

"Blegh-" Stanley stuck out his tongue. "Now we just gotta convince Grunkle Dipper to let us go."

"Why would we need to convince him? Surely he'll understand how important this is to our preteen social development."

"Not a chance." Dipper didn't even look up from the pasta sauce he was stirring.

"What?!" They yelled in unison, Ford looking like all his dreams crashed and burned and Stan slamming his hands on the kitchen table. He hid a wince. Toughen up, Stan. Be a man.

"It's a cop party, no nephews of mine are going to a cop party."

"Grunkle Dipper, do you have something against cops?" Stan had to ask.

"I didn't agree to more questions."

So the answer was a yes. Cool.

"But Grunkle Dipper-" Ford whined. "We've never been to a party before and we told Carla we'd be there. Please?"

"Okay, here's the thing." Dipper turned around and pointed his pasta spoon at them, pajama pants and a threadbare sweater on. It was silly. It had a puppy on it. "Grenda throws these parties once a month for all the teens in town, and because everyone's kids are there, all the townsfolk treat it as a social event. It's loud, annoying, and seriously not worth your time."

"But we could be party rocking in the house tonight." Ford said it with all the sincerity in his soul and Stan wanted to know how his nerd of a brother had found out about songs that weren't from the 1700s or whenever.

"What?" Dipper's face scrunched before he shook it off and went back to mixing pasta sauce and spaghetti. "Let me explain: I don't 'like' or 'trust' most of the people in this town, and the feeling's pretty mutual. Why don't you just have a party here? This is a house, it can- it can 'party rock'."

"Can we invite people?" Ford perked up.

"No."

"Grunkle Dipper!"

Stan hid a snort-laugh as he watched, studying Dipper more so than Ford, head tilted to make sure he didn't miss anything. There had to be a magic word of some sort to get him to agree. He didn't trust the townspeople, hey?

"If you don't like anyone here-" he cut off Ford's rant about the 'psychosocial development of twelve-year-old brains' before it really got going- "then the smartest option is to bring us into town when everyone's gonna be there." Stan shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world, playing up the casualness.

Dipper looked at him with suspicion. "What's your game, kid?"

"That way you can point out who to avoid and who we should keep an eye on so we can recognise them. I mean, we're gonna need to go into town eventually, might as well get it over with."

"... Alright, that's not a bad point." Dipper nodded, brow furrowed. Stan gave him an absolutely angelic smile, well practiced for when mom busted out the camera for family photos, and Dipper's brows furrowed harder.

"So can we go? Carla invited us as well, it would look bad if we went back on our word. And you said you wanted us to have a good summer."

"Okay, okay, okay." Dipper groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, serving up three plates of spaghetti as he joined them at the table. "You can go, but if Sheriff Grenda asks about me, tell her I'm dead or whatever."

"Yes!" Stan punched the air. "Yes!"

"What?! How is that the conclusion of this?" Ford looked stunned, mouth hanging open.

"Your brother drives a hard bargain, kid," Dipper pointed with a plastic spork. All his cutlery was plastic and Stan thought it was weird, no metal, no forks. But it was the durable, colourful kind used for camping. "Eat your pasta and we'll get this over with."

Stan shoveled the pasta into his mouth, enjoying the taste of victory. Whaddaya know, for once Stan got them the win. That was never gonna happen again.

Ford's excitement only grew as they drove into town, staring out the window and trying to see anomalies in the dark. Stan kicked the back of the empty passenger seat and tossed his head back with a groan. "Why are we listening to BABBA?"

"Because I love this song." Grunkle Dipper turned it up a notch and sang along, badly. Ford winced at the falsetto of "Dis-co Girl! Coming through! That girl is you!"

"Get me outta here!" Stan's next kick used both feet. "If you're listening, save me, Paul Bunyan!"

"Calm down, Stanley, we're almost there!" Ford could see all the cars parked outside the high school, and a giant RV with GIDEON across the side that towered over everything else. "What's that?"

"First people in this town you need to avoid: Gideon Gleeful and his lil b-" Dipper growled, cutting himself off before continuing- "Bud Gleeful. Gideon's the worst, they're just a creepy pair. Just got back from touring America with their fake psychic act."

"Okay." A fake psychic. Just like their mom. Ford missed her, she promised she'd call every week but it didn't feel like enough. "Anyone else?"

"Preston Northwest is about your age and a piece of work?"

"I thought you'd have more enemies." Stan grinned mischievously.

"Those are just the child ones." Dipper hooked an elbow over his seat and looked back as he reversed into a parking space, wearing one of the baseball caps from the gift shop with a pine tree logo. His denim jacket and pajama pants clashed terribly with his 'dog playing basketball' sweater. Ford hadn't seen him wear the same sweater twice, but they all looked decades old, handknitted, and far too irrational for him. Perhaps he had some ancient sweater collection?

"How many adult enemies are there?" Stan unclipped his seatbelt as the truck stopped.

"Don't you have a party to go to?" Dipper waved a hand at them. "Have fun and don't die or something. I'll be here when you want to leave."

"Thanks, Grunkle Dipper!" They chorused and hopped out, Stan racing around to Ford's side of the truck.

"You ready?" He took Ford's hand for a second, and Ford snatched it back, trying not to think about his hands. It was gonna be fine, this wasn't Jersey. People here would like him.

"Race you in?" He offered instead, shoving his hands into his pockets just in case.

"You're on." Stan grinned and took off. He might have been better at punching, but they were both pretty fast from a childhood of dodging bullies. Usually it was a tie.

This time Ford got there first by mere seconds and paused, able to feel the thud of the music inside in his ribcage. Of course- soundwaves were physical, that only made sense. He was about to lift his hand from his pocket before hesitating. His first party. Did he want to start off with a bad impression?

Stan caught up and pushed open the door. "After you, Sixer."

Ford smiled gratefully at him, stepping in as the smell of dry ice and cheese flavouring hit him. The gym was big, all the bleachers tucked away, and while there was no disco ball, someone had set up projector lights that sent rainbow shapes and lazers everywhere. The room was surprisingly full, and Ford had a sinking feeling they arrived late. "Were we meant to be here earlier?"

"Don't worry- it's cool to arrive late, I heard." Stanley stuck by his side as they stood in the doorway. "Should we find Carla? She's the only person we know here, I think."

Ford had a thought. A bit of a mean thought. Did he want his first impression on people to be Stanley as well? Not that Stanley was bad, Ford loved his brother more than anything, but his nicknames might give people the wrong idea, and the other way around- Maybe Stan would want to meet people without having to talk for Ford as well?

"We can split up, do a sweep on each side, and meet on the other end of the gym." He felt guilty saying it, but he couldn't help being interested in what would happen if he made introductions on his own for once. It was an experiment.

"See who spots her first so we can talk to her, good idea." Stanley nodded. "Race you there."

He took off through the crowd to the right, leaving Ford to his own business and taking the other. He didn't move as fast as Stanley, keeping his hands in his pockets as he avoided the major crowd and skirted the edges. His head swivelled like an owl's as he looked around, trying to see anyone who might be safe to talk to.

He saw something sparking near the wall and immediately remembered the various dangers of electrical hazards, resolving to check it and report it to the nearest grown-up- oh, but if that was Sheriff Grenda, Grunkle Dipper said not to talk to her-

Ford didn't really want to do what Dipper said, but… what if he got angry at them for disobeying?

More sparks. He blinked, regaining his focus, and sped up, noticing they were tucked beside the folded bleachers, hard for people in the crowd to see, hidden by the fog of dry ice.

There was someone there. Two someones. Ford drew closer, in time to see a blowtorch light up and be lowered to a piece of metal.

"What are you doing?" He blurted out, the two teenagers looking at him. It was hard to make out clear details in the dark hall, but the one leaning against the wall held a plastic bag of sliced bread, and the boy on the floor had a welding visor over his face.

"Hi there!" The boy stood and flipped his welding mask up, revealing round glasses, a thin face, a long nose, and a friendly smile. "I'm Fiddleford McGucket, local inventor."

"You're an inventor?" Ford smiled. "Me too! I mean- I'm branching out into the field, I'm currently working on a magnet gun."

"Well that sounds mathematically feasible, I reckon." Fiddleford offered a hand to shake, absolutely covered in bandages.

Ford stared at it. "Uh- won't that hurt if I touch it?"

"I've got an un-nat-ur-al-ly high tolerance to pain, doctors say," he laughed, singsonging each syllable in a playful Tennessee twang. "Don't mind the bandages, all from my thingamajig building."

Ford hesitated just a moment longer before he pulled his hand from his pocket and shook Fiddleford's hand.

"Why, that is a mighty fine case of polydactyly you got there." Fiddleford complimented.

"Th- thanks." He stuttered, in utter shock. No one had ever actually complimented him on it before. Most people didn't even know the term. "You too- I mean- not polydactyly, just thanks?"

"Thank you kindly, and this here's my friend, Tad."

"Hi, I'm Tad Strange." The deepness of the other boy's voice had Ford reeling. Was that natural? He looked barely older than Ford, with shiny black hair and very neat clothes. He had to be the most nondescript person Ford had ever seen. "Would you like some bread?"

"Uh- okay?" Ford took some of the offered bread. Plain white sliced, from a grocery store. Was he meant to eat this without anything on it? Well- okay, he could try. "Do you carry this everywhere?"

"Of course. It's my emergency bread."

"Oh. Cool?" It didn't seem normal, but maybe it was for Gravity Falls? His hypothesis was correct, he was an anomaly in a town of anomalies! He could fit in here! "I like your voice."

"Thank you." Tad smiled. Ford liked his diction, how deliberately he spoke, how even his voice was. It seemed so calm. "It broke when Tad Strange was seven."

"If we're talking about weird body things, I'm double-jointed?" Fiddleford offered and pulled out a pair of black goggles, a matching pair to the ones Tad had pushed up into his dark hair, hard to see. "Here, put these on, I'm working on improving Tad's phone. I reckon I can really spruce it up."

"Tad Strange would like jetpack capabilities."

"Yeah! I'd love to help!" Ford's smile was so wide it hurt at the edges, so excited he feared he may explode. Not that it was scientifically possible.

Was this how easy making friends could be?

Stan plunged into the crowd like a superhero charged through henchmen, keeping his head cocked in case he heard Ford get in trouble. He had to be always ready for bullies, Ford could have all the hope he wanted, as long as Stanley protected him.

He squinted through the dark, not able to see too much in the weird party lights, lots of pinks and blues and kinda dark. He didn't really like his glasses much when he had to wear them, they were nerdy and made bullies throw stuff at him. He could see most things anyway, just blurry, and as long as he could get the gist he could work with the rest. 'Sides, no point in him having glasses anymore, amount of fights he got in.

A hand grabbed his shoulder and he swung without thinking, catching air. Carla's laugh was bright and cheery. "Easy, tiger! Didn't mean to surprise you."

"Sorry." Stan mumbled. He wasn't as noble as some of the boys back home, who didn't hit girls. Seemed insulting to Stan, if they wanted to fight they should get to fight. But Carla wasn't like the girls back home, he didn't want to hit her.

"C'mon, my friends are this way." Carla took his hand and pulled him through the crowd. Her hand was warm around his, and she didn't even hesitate. Known him four days and still took his hand. Wow, she was nice.

She pulled him to the snacks table, piled high with chips and chocolates and one very big lady in a cop uniform serving punch. Carla let go of his hand and spun around to face him, her skirt twirling as the lazers made the sequin design on it sparkle, and Stan suddenly got why Shermie used to get so weird around girls. Holy Moses.

"Stanley Pines, meet my besties!" Carla gestured at the group. One girl was spinning in place with an eye closed, two boys were having a string cheese war that looked more like flirting than fighting, the other girl was filming, and the last boy was cheering everyone on. "That's Shandra, Susan, Daryl and Edwin, and Tyler! Everyone, this is Stan!"

"Hi." Stan nodded at them, getting a nod back from the girls and Tyler.

"And- wait, where's your brother?" Carla looked worriedly at him. "Didn't he come?"

"Course he did! Just went to scope out some of the party," Stan played it off, even as he looked around. What if Ford was already getting picked on? "He'll catch up."

"Okay, cool!" Carla looked up over the crowd and brightened. Didn't seem possible but she managed it. "There's Bud! Hold on, I'll get him." She dove into the crowd again, leaving Stan with her friends and no idea what to do.

He grabbed a random bar of candy to eat to avoid having to make conversation, shoving it all in his mouth in one go. He accidentally made eye contact with the cop and looked away too fast. That was probably suspicious. What was it Grunkle Dipper said? Don't speak English to cops?

Carla came back to the group with a wave, her hand entwined with another boy's. "Okay everyone! I need to introduce you all to my new boyfriend, Bud Gleeful!"

Stan was real dumb. Shoulda seen that coming, obviously Carla had a boyfriend. Little weird that it was one of Grunkle Dipper's enemies, but it was Stan's own fault that he got all weird just because the prettiest, nicest girl he ever met thought he was worth being kind to. No point being disappointed because he got stupid.

"What a delight to meet you all," Bud smiled cheerfully, his brown roots visibly showing through white hair dye. Stan turned his back and started eating more candy.

The other teens offered a chorus of uninterested 'hi's, still focused on their cheese fight. Looked like Blubs was winning, if the goal was to spray as much cheese as possible in his mouth?

Stan was starting to get why Grunkle Dipper didn't bother with the town, he was not impressed so far. Except by Carla, but she worked in the Mystery Shack so she didn't count.

"And who might you be, lil fella?" Bud drawled from behind Stan, which had his hackles up and his fists clenched, ready for a fight. Bud was twice his size, but so was Crampelter, and Stan had won that last fight. He wasn't weak and useless anymore, he wasn't the wimp that cried after just one hit, not now that he could fight.

He turned around, feet shifting into the stance from his boxing lessons as he looked up at the bigger teenager. "I'm Stan. Who wants to know?"

"Why, just 'lil ol me'-" he spoke it like a quote- "it's merely just- well, small towns, I tend to know near-everyone. But I don't recall seeing you here before."

"He and his twin are Dipper's nephews and they're in town for the summer," Carla smiled, clinging to Bud's arm. "They're here all the way from New Jersey, how cool is that?"

The other teens looked a bit more interested hearing that, looking at him like he was an oddity, something to gawk at. Was this how Ford felt? All the time?

"Yeah, what about it?"

"That's quite a distance," Bud whistled. "Would I be right in assuming you're staying in that old shack in the woods?"

"Where else would I stay, smart guy?" Stan mouthed off, focus narrowing to who else might be coming in for a sneak attack. Crampelter had friends, maybe Bud did too. "My Grunkle lives there."

"Yes, a so-called man of mystery," Bud clicked his tongue. "He's quite a shameless fraud, wouldn't you agree?"

"Coming from someone who's dad is a fake psychic?" Stan aimed for what would hurt, because it hurt when he thought about it. "What a liar, bet you can't trust anything he says."

Everyone gasped. But they didn't know. He loved his mom so much, so much , but she lied so much, just because, even when there was no reason. She didn't mean any harm, but…

"Hey now, that's not true!" Bud snapped, getting angry, and Stan regretted saying anything when he saw the look on Carla's face. She looked at him like he said something bad. He did say something bad. He was a bad kid, everyone knew it.

What was he doing? He was ruining the party, he was making everyone upset, and Ford wasn't here, Stan needed him and he wasn't here, and why did he instantly make it a fight? Because Dipper said not to trust someone? What was wrong with him?!

He had to get out of here. He pulled a smoke bomb from his pocket and hoped and prayed he got it right- got something right- and threw it at the ground.

It shattered with a flash and a POP! and sent up a cloud of smoke and sparkles that had everyone coughing, and Stan bolted.

He ran, sticking to the walls and the shadows, passing a supply closet as he looked for Ford. Where was his brother?

He was rounding the bleachers when he heard Ford laughing. At what? He slowed his steps, peeking around the corner to see Ford holding a blowtorch and soldering something, laughing and talking with two other boys. He looked like he was having a great time. Without Stanley.

Stan felt the bottom drop out of his stomach, fists clenched tight and shaking with that energy he got in fights. Ford had some sciency name for it that Stan couldn't remember right now.

Ford was fine. He found people who liked him. Just like he wanted. Stan was tempted to go over there and say hi- but if Ford wanted that wouldn't he have come and got Stanley? Ford always wanted to show off cool things he found, he dragged Stanley all over Glass Shard Beach, so this must mean Ford didn't want to show off his new friends.

Stanley could take a hint. Heck- Ford would probably be better off with friends who were smart like him. Stan just caused trouble, everyone knew it.

He backed away, genuinely considering sneaking out to go sit with Grunkle Dipper. Even if that meant listening to girly pop music.

Actually-

Nah. Still not desperate enough for that. He still wasn't sure if Grunkle Dipper even wanted them around, Shermie had been the one to push for the trip. Even brought the bus tickets.

Everyone else kept making decisions and Stan kept having to deal with them. He scowled and found the supply closet again, because at least Carla and Bud wouldn't find him in here if they wanted to get mad at him for causing problems.

He closed the door behind him and shoved over the nearest thing, sending janitor supplies clattering to the ground as he yelled, just to get the energy out. "I never even wanted to come here! Ford did, not me!"

He turned and punched the drywall. "I hate stupid parties!"

The drywall cracked. Cracked more. Fell away to reveal a big boxy safe hidden behind the plaster, rusted and covered in dust and cobwebs. Stan had a suddenly cold feeling, a looming sense that he'd done something very stupid.

A girl's voice whispered in his ear.

"Me too."

The screaming started as Dipper chewed a pen, brainstorming new attractions for the track. He caught the smell of ectoplasm in the air, able to recognise it instantly, and shoved open the door to his truck, sprinting towards the gym as a pale glow began to surround the building.

He could hear the panic of the townsfolk, his focus set on the door as he raced the ghostly energy, trying to get in before it cut off the gym from the outside world. The boys were still in there.

"No, no, no, no-!" The ectoplasm covered the door right as he reached it, the handle chilling his fingers as he failed to yank it open. He kept trying to jiggle it open before he switched to banging his fists against the glass. "Kids!"

"My lil Buddy-boy!" He heard from behind him, Gideon Gleeful running in his bedazzled suit, his white pompadour bouncing with each step of his wingtip shoes. Dipper ignored him and braced his shoulder against the door, trying to shove it open. Now wasn't the time to start fighting his nemesis. Maybe? He could multitask.

"Hold on, son!" Gideon panicked before turning to the crowd, hand on his bolo tie. "Everyone, please! I need you all to step back and let me use my psychic abilities! Step back, everyone!"

Dipper felt himself step back before he could snap at Gideon to back off, watching Gideon raise his hand to the building.

"Spirit! I compel thee! Release our children and be banished from this place!" Gideon's voice boomed out bombastically, bringing his TV psychic bravado to the real world.

Nothing happened.

Obviously.

"Oh no! Something's blocking my powers! My innate abilities! That I definitely have!"

"Yeah, yeah," Dipper snarled and pulled a glove from his pocket, yanking it on as he stomped to the door. "Hey, ghost! Open up!"

He drew back his fist and punched the door, the ectoplasmic coating jiggling like jello before it started to wobble faster, energy building up. Bad sign.

Dipper had enough time to swear for real before the ghost blasted him away from the building and into darkness.

One minute Ford was helping solder an ignition wire, the next the walls were glowing and tables and chairs were floating in the air. Snacks were flying, aimed at people's heads as screams filled the air, and Tad had to struggle to hold onto his bread as it threatened to fly away too.

"What's happening?" Fiddleford clutched his hands together, rubbing at his spindly fingers. The rest of the party were freaking out, some rushing the doors, others trying to hide, some freezing in fear.

Ford? Ford felt alive . This was it, the weirdness he knew was here.

"Hold on, I may have an answer-" but the diary was so uncool-looking, what if his new friends didn't want to be his friends because of it?

"Ford!" That was Stanley! "Ford, Ford, Ford!"

"Over here!" He responded without hesitation, because that was his brother calling and Ford would always answer.

Stan rounded the bleachers and skidded to a stop, worn sneakers nearly losing traction on the smooth gym floors. His eyes were wide and he almost looked scared. Couldn't be true though, Ford had documented Stan's phobias and fear responses. Paranormal activity wasn't meant to register. "It's bad! It's really bad!"

"Wait-" Ford adjusted his glasses. "Stanley, did you do this?"

"I didn't plan on it, Sixer!" Stan flipped a switch into anger, shoulders hunched defensively. "I think it's a girl! I heard a voice!"

"A voice? So not only is this clearly paranormal activity of some form, but it's aware enough to manifest vocals and self-identify? Fascinating!"

"Uh, Ford? Who's this?" Fiddleford tapped him on the shoulder.

"Oh!" He'd completely forgotten they were there, so caught up in the supernatural. "Fiddleford, Tad, this is my twin brother, Stanley. Stanley, these are my friends, Fiddleford and Tad."

"Hi. I'm Tad Strange. I like bread."

"Yeah, great to meetcha, the nerd book , Ford, what does it say ?" Stan made a swipe for Ford's jacket, where he knew the book was.

Ford backed up. "I don't- I haven't looked yet!"

"Why not?!"

"Because-" laughter, vicious and dark, rang out around the room, and Stan whirled, hand out like he was protecting Ford and his friends. Ford stared as Carla lifted into the centre of the room, her eyes glowing white from within and her arms outstretched.

She spoke with a voice that wasn't hers. "Sixty years I've watched you all party! Now tonight will be your last!"

"Hey!" Sheriff Grenda stomped forward and pointed at her. "You're under arrest for possession! Get outta that teenager!"

"Adults," the ghost scoffed, crossing Carla's arms. "You threw this party? Then I'll throw you!"

Carla pointed as Grenda was enveloped in pale light before she seemed to- rip apart? But it looked wet? But there was also no blood or anything, her matter was just rearranged? That was so cool! Oh- and bad too, right.

"Sheriff!"

"Where did she go?"

"It turned her into a disco ball!"

It had. Ford had never seen a disco ball with a face before. He wanted to take so many notes.

"Back behind the bleachers, c'mon!" Fiddleford dragged both the twins to the corner he and Tad were hiding in, sitting them down as they hid in the shadows. It wasn't much of a hiding spot, but the panicking crowd likely drew more attention.

"Poindexter!" Stanley grabbed his shoulders and shook him. "You gotta focus! How do we stop this?"

"Okay." He pulled out the diary and started flipping through, face burning. He hoped Fiddleford and Tad didn't laugh at the sparkliness of it. "Ghosts, ghosts, I know I saw something- here!"

He cleared his throat and began reading the sticker-covered page, googly eyes pasted onto a drawing of a happy ghost.

"Dear diary,

I fought a ghost today! It was crazy! He was really cute, definitely dreamy, but he was also a major meanie who wanted to destroy town, so dateability: questionable.

Good thing I saw some of her ghost hunting tapes, otherwise I wouldn't have kicked ghostly butt! I bet this one would have counted as a Category 5, so kind of a ghost wimp. Lemme list the categories before I forget! Womp womp!"

Ford scanned through the categories before he found it. "This must be it! 'Category 8: Haunted Buildings- these ghosts are stuck in one place and make reality go all whoa! But they can't actually hurt people permanently and you can totally work things out with them by talking about their feelings, awwwwww' and then there's a heart drawn in? And people hugging?"

"We're all gonna die," Stan decided.

"Stan, you have to tell me how this happened. Maybe there's a clue there."

"I just hit a wall." Stan shrugged, looking away. "Same as always."

"Perhaps we should ask the ghost what it wants?" Tad offered as a solution, looking abnormally calm while Fiddleford was having a silent freak out next to him, rocking back and forth and carding his hands through his hair. Ford felt a bit bad to see him so nervous, he must not have encountered an anomaly before.

"I think it's pretty easy to tell what the ghost wants, Strange." Stan snarked.

"I WILL DESTROY ALL THE PARTY SPIRIT THAT HAS EVER EXISTED!"

"Yeah, that bit's obvious," Ford agreed. "It says that Category 8s aren't unreasonable, so maybe we can convince it to leave everyone alone?"

"We have to get it out of Carla," Stan agreed and took Ford's hand. Ford blinked at him in surprise. Stan must have really been scared, they hadn't held hands in a while. His fingers were trembling.

Ford didn't let go this time. Not if Stanley needed it. He squeezed his twin's hand and pulled them both out of hiding, the room nearly empty from everyone being turned into party favours and posters and stuff. Carla's body floated, items swirling around her like a tornado, her flower missing from her hair.

"Hey, ghost!" Ford yelled as he and Stan stepped up. "We wanna talk!"

"Oh?" Carla's body raised a hand and they were both floating. Ford felt Stanley's hand go tight in a death grip, hard enough to hurt. His fear of heights, Ford had to do something. The ghost continued, making Carla's face angry in a way that didn't look right. "What do you possibly have to say? Here to defend parties like everyone else?"

"I- we wanted to ask why you're unhappy!" Ford blurted out. "We want to try fix it!"

"How can you fix it? You were invited to this party like everyone else, I bet you've been to lots of them, everyone has! Everyone but me!"

"No we haven't!" Ford tried to convince her. "Tell her, Stanley!"

"I-" Stan's eyes were scrunched shut, face pale and sweaty. "We haven't! Look at us, we're losers! Who'd invite us anywhere?!"

Everything in the gym stopped spinning. Then it all crashed to the ground, Stan and Ford included. Stan immediately dropped to his knees and pressed his face to the floor, while Ford landed a little steadier. He placed a hand on Stanley's back and looked up at Carla, or, more accurately, at the ghost that had appeared, holding Carla up by the shoulders.

She looked like a normal teenager in retro clothes, just with thick glasses like Ford.

"You're losers like me? But you don't look like it!"

Ford held up his hand and wiggled his six fingers. "I'm definitely a loser. And my brother…" they both looked at Stanley, currently muttering 'sweet Moses, I love you ground'.

"But if you're losers, then why are you at a party?" She scowled and adjusted her glasses. "Especially when one of you hates them."

"Huh?" Ford looked at Stanley, feeling betrayed. Stanley didn't like parties? But he was the one who convinced Grunkle Dipper, and said they'd been to lots to Carla, and-

And, Ford suddenly remembered, dodged the question about wanting to go in the first place.

"Stanley?"

Stanley looked away and swiped his nose with his wrist brace. "Whatever. So what if I do?" He pointed at the ghost. "Why do you hate them?"

The ghost gave a very big sigh and Ford braced for backstory. "No one in this town ever invited me to anything."

"Even all of the parties that were meant for everyone, I would get an anti-invitation. An unvitation ." The ghost floated just above the ground, looking sad. "So one day, I decided that I would ignore my unvitation and go to a party meant for everyone."

She tilted her head. "Unfortunately, that party was to celebrate Gravity Falls' Annual Heavy Object Tossing Competition, and a safe landed right on me."

"That can not be a real thing-"

"It's real!" Sheriff Grenda, in disco ball form, yelled out. "I've won it eight years in a row!"

"Okay…?" Ford shook his head, resolving to ignore that. "So you've been here ever since?"

"Yes. I've watched people party for sixty years here!" The ghost began to turn red and catch fire. "And still! No invitations!"

"What if we invited you?" Ford offered.

"Or Carla!" Stan blurted out. "Carla over there, you just possessed her. She's super nice and will invite anyone. She invited us, for cryin' out loud."

"Oh. Okay." The ghost floated over to Carla, sitting on the floor staring blankly into the middle distance, hugging her knees to her chest. "Hi Carla! Can I come to this party?"

"Uh…" Carla looked over at them, frazzled and ruffled. Ford nodded as hard as he could while Stan gave her very emphatic thumbs up. Carla looked back to the ghost. "Sure...?"

"Great!" The ghost snapped her fingers and everything went right back to normal. People turned back into people, Grenda was no longer a disco ball, and the music started up again. "I've always wanted to go to a party! Whoo-hoo!"

"Can I ask you a million questions about being a ghost?!" Ford asked now that the danger was gone, pulling out a spare notepad and pencil, not noticing Stan walk off.

Stan picked up Carla's plastic flower and held it out to her. "Are you okay?"

"I'm not sure?" Carla accepted the flower, putting it in her hair. "I think my whole worldview just changed."

"Yep." Stan hesitated, fidgeting with his wrist brace. "I'm sorry I said mean things to Bud."

"Oh. Well- thanks, but I think you need to apologise to him, okay?" Carla smiled at him and stood up, brushing off her skirt.

Stan nodded and scuffed his shoe against the floor. "I will."

"Thanks. You're a good kid, Stan." She patted his shoulder. "And for the record: I don't think you're a loser, you or your brother. Jersey doesn't know what they got."

"Kay." Stan agreed because how was he meant to argue that? Not when Carla was smiling at him like she believed it, like she wasn't so cool. "Thanks, Carla."

"Carla!" Bud shoved through the crowd, flowery shirt looking a bit rumpled. "Are you alright, dearest-darlingest?"

"I'm fine, really!" Carla beamed, taking Bud's hands. "Stan and Ford saved me."

"I can see that." Bud shot Stan a filthy look.

"Hey, Bud." Stan shoved his hands into his pockets, having to drag the words out of himself. He didn't like apologising much. Usually it didn't help things.

"Can I help you, Stanley?" He made it sound utterly frigid.

"Sorry for what I said about your dad and stuff. It was mean." Stan looked away, looking at Ford, who was introducing the ghost to Strange and McGucket. At least he was having fun.

"I… suppose I'm also sorry about what I said about your great uncle. It was uncalled for." Bud tugged at the collar of his shirt. "Perhaps we should call a truce?"

"Sure. Truce." Stan stuck out his hand, too late realising it was his braced hand.

Bud took it, squeezing way too hard and making the bones hurt. Stan didn't flinch and dug his nails in as an answer. 'Truce'. Sure. When Carla was around, at least.

"Yay!" Carla did a happy dance. "The power of friendship wins again!"

They both put on a smile for her, immediately shooting daggers at the other the moment she wasn't looking. Looked like they'd be hating each other in secret. Stan could live with that.

"I'm gonna go check on my brother." Stan yanked his hand back and walked off, already sick of Bud Gleeful. He was joining his Grunkle's rivalry on the side of his Grunkle.

They found their Grunkle Dipper snoring in the back of his pick-up truck, having one of those old people naps he usually had in his armchair. Ford poked his face with a pencil, not expecting him to bolt upright and immediately fall out of the truck with a surprisingly girly scream.

"Augh! Dipper down! Dipper down!"

"Grunkle Dipper, we met a ghost!" Surely he saw the building glow, right? He'd believe Ford now!

"Huh?" Dipper rubbed his head, accidentally showing off the birthmark on his forehead of the Big Dipper constellation. He picked up his cap and set it down, blinking blearily up at Stan and Ford. "You what a what?"

"Met a ghost. Fought her, invited her to a party, whole shebang," Stan yawned. "Can we go home now?"

"I made friends!" Ford already had so many plans. "Can they come over for a sleepover tomorrow? They already called their parents and asked!"

"Sure and sure?" Dipper dusted off his pajamas, surprisingly dirty for a nap in his truck, and Ford noticed something.

"What's that glove?"

"Glove?" Dipper looked down before he noticed the blue glove on his right hand. He made a weird face before he pulled it off. "Uh, it's a- a compression glove? Yep! That thing! For my old man arthritis. Flares up sometimes. 'Cause I'm old."

"Aren't you fifty-seven?"

"I'm whatever age a senior's discount at the movies is," Dipper snarked, and Ford scowled. That felt sorta illegal. Definitely unethical.

"I like your moxie, Grunkle Dip," Stan complimented as he clambered out of the back of the truck. "So did you see any of that?"

"Any of what? I've been sleeping." Dipper blinked innocently.

"Oh, come on!" Now Ford really had to find proof of the supernatural. Time to build a gnome trap.

He reached for Stanley's hand again, resolving to talk to him later about stuff. Stanley squeezed his hand back, smiling at him before he yawned again.

Ford yawned in response. Okay. Tomorrow. They'd talk tomorrow. Stanley shouldn't have to feel like he needed to hide things, not from his brother.

Mystery twins forever, after all.

#gravity falls #dipper pines #stanford pines #stanley pines #fanfic #relativity falls au but Mabel is the Author #trying a more episodic style of writing with these chapters #Old Man Dipper wears Mabel sweaters as PJs #my writings #gf

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